the grown-ups' table: le petit keller, 75011

If I were ten years younger, I'd probably spend a lot of time on rue Keller. Recent years have seen a cornucopia of earnest young bars and restaurants open on this Voltaire-area side street, some pristine and intelligent (Aux Deux Cygnes), others less so (Barcardi Mojito Lab). I'd dig rue Keller's slew of vintage boutiques, book shops, and records shops, and the curious contrast between the innocence of these endeavors and the heavily-armed soldiers patrolling the street for the safety of its most famous and incongruous resident, Prime Minister Manuel Valls.

As things stand in this lifetime, however, I haven't spent much time on rue Keller. I do most of my shopping on Amazon, and when I dine out, I seem to gravitate towards businesses run by my elders. My reasoning for the latter is simple: I have more to learn from them. Paris' younger bars and bistrots can blur together at times, particularly if, as is often the case, they're sourcing their wines from the same handful of agents.

But now rue Keller, too, is growing up. The celebrated Franco-Japanese chef Kaori Endo (ex-Nanashi, ex-Rose Bakery) and her husband, the hyper-discreet O.G. natural wine caviste Michael Lemasle (Crus et Découvertes), have transformed quaint bistrot Le Petit Keller into something new and intriguing in the Paris restaurant scene. With ambitious opening hours, refined cuisine drawing equally on western health-consciousness and eastern home-cooking, and a smart natural wine list, the new Le Petit Keller is a savvy small-plates restaurant that dials down the masculine indulgence of the format without sacrificing an iota of sophistication.

ponzu scheme: tsubame, ito izakaya, peco peco, 75009

I'm a bit late in discussing the tsunami of twee Japanese concepts that arrived on my doorstep in the 9ème over the course of last year.

I like Japanese cuisine as much as anyone - indeed, I assume I'm genetically inclined towards it - and Ito Izakaya, Peco Peco, and Tsubame all make a point of serving natural and organic wines, which, until recently, have functioned as a useful indicator of conscious restaurateurism in Paris and beyond.

But these restaurant openings mark the discomfiting moment that a natural-by-numbers wine list became a feature of contemporary Parisian décor, like Tsubame's blackboard, or the hideous scratchy DIY cardboard table in Ito's rear room. Within the context of a Japanese restaurant in Paris, a natural-by-numbers wine list is, perversely, a sign of inauthenticity, an indicator that one is sitting in a Parisian Japanese concept, rather than an unselfconscious Japanese restaurant. Whether there is really anything wrong with that will depend on the rigor of one's aesthetic demands, and whether it is lunchtime.

yonne bike trip: le bistrot des grands crus, chablis

Here's a hoary chestnut of dining wisdom: when choosing amongst countryside bistrots, one doesn't often go wrong sticking to those associated with Michelin-starred restaurants. In the best cases, one gets access to the mothership's wine list, while avoiding fusty lobster-themed dinners that begin and end with variations of costly eclair. The bistrot-offshoot, furthermore, is often where the locals actually dine.

No locals were in sight, though, when after our tasting with Vincent Dauvissat in Chablis, my friends and I eschewed the one-star cuisine of Michel Vignaud at L'Hostellerie des Clos for an early table at Le Bistrot des Grands Crus. Chablis in summertime might as well be Devon: it's positively crawling with elderly well-to-do Brits. If, like me, you have ever given serious thought to who on earth actually orders half-bottles, well, cased closed.

But that's beside the point. Le Bistrot des Grands Crus is straightfowardly true to its name: a place where average country fare provides a wonderful excuse to open bottles of serious Chablis in a comfy courtyard terrace.

the ideal : caffè dei cioppi, 75011

In the same way that many fine-dining waiters wish to be wizards whose assistants, the busser staff, do all actual plate-clearing, many restaurateurs aspire to invent Perpetual Motion Machines. It's the ideal restaurant: a motor that runs itself, free of vindictive neighbors, staff orgies, mass poisonings, or any of the other baroque malfunctions that can trip up a business and consume the sanity of its management. Ironically,  efforts to actually build Perpetual Motion Machine restaurants usually come at the expense of things like soul and hospitality and food quality. Whether we like it or not, these things won't run on inertia alone.

But I suspect there's another way to build a Perpetual Motion Machine. It's by being skilled and loving one's business and not, in fact, wishing to build a PMM as a means of absenting oneself from its daily workings.

Miniscule and modest, 11ème arrondissement Italian restaurant Caffè dei Cioppi would seem to exemplify this business model. Chef-owner Fabrizio Ferrara has for the past four years been garnering great reviews merely for offering actual serious Italian food to Parisians at fair prices, accompanied by well-chosen honest wines. The menu changes at the pace of a glacier; nothing is controversial; everything runs like a dream. The only thing more astonishing than the fact that no one else in Paris has replicated Ferrara's blueprint is that Ferrara himself has not replicated Ferrara's blueprint.

jura bike trip: macvin ice cream at le grand jardin, baume-les-messieurs

One thing I noted in the Jura was the relative abundance of artisanal ice creams I saw advertised in village after village there. It wasn't, like, the Ile St. Louis or anything, but it was noticeable. I expect it has something to do with the region's other chief industry,* the production of comté. Most villages are home to at least one fruitière, or cooperative cheesemaking operation, often linked with local winemaking cooperatives.

During our pit stop in Arbois on the first day we'd gotten ice cream from a stand whose brand I forget. The ice cream, too, was forgettable - like bad gelato, oversweetened, with far too much air in it. Nevertheless we decided to give Jura ice cream another try on our way back from Domaine Macle, when our attempts to go see the abbey at Baume-Les-Messieurs** were frustrated by a major repaving operation. On our way out of town we found ourselves admiring an older gentleman's vintage motorcycle on the terrace of a restaurant called Le Grand Jardin.

Initially we planned to just get apéros. But we'd just had some fairly weighty, consequential wines earlier than afternoon, before more sunbeaten uphill biking. Ice cream was more appealing, and - the clincher - they had some amusing regional flavors, such as Macvin.

pants: le pantruche, 75009

A defining feature of the blog era is that it permits anyone, just anyone, to publish criticism on a given subject, regardless of his or her expertise in, or even familiarity with, said subject. I myself benefit from this phenomenon as much as the next guy: I'll pronounce opinions on wine regions I've never visited, for instance, or I'll rely solely on web research for the history of a particular wine bar. These are habits that are rightly discouraged in conventional journalism.

One arguable advantage of this new blog order is the addition of fresh voices, fresh perspectives into niche fields that were historically the province of established professionals. Published criticism of any sort has gotten a great deal less Mandarin. Reader and writer, once divided by the greater access and broader perspective of the latter, have grown closer than ever.

The downside is that many of these fresh outsider voices are just totally uninformed. And perceptibly outside the industries they cover. I'm not saying it's impossible to know a subject well without ever having worked with it professionally. It is less likely, though.* One is liable to get snowed. For instance, I suspect it was mostly just critical naivete, combined with a certain hunger for newness typical of the hyperactive blog media environment, that yielded a flush of great press earlier this year for 9ème modern bistro Le Pantruche.

It's a restaurant that might succeed in charming you if, by gosh, you just like fancy food, and to hell with details, such as wine, knowledgeable service, inspired restaurateurism, etc.