Savoring the Unexpected

The instant you poke your head in the door, you know you're where you should be. Named for what it offered in another life, a place to buy dairy products, but a wine store since 1947, the single room dates to the late 19th century. Lovely hand-painted tiles from that era still grace the ceiling all these decades later. Don't expect much elbow room. The walls double as shelving for La Cremerie's pride and joy -- organic wines from around France. Counting a few stools at a bar, there are seats for a mere 16 customers. Bordering the small counter are a chalkboard listing wines by the glass, always two reds and two whites, and a few suspended sausages -- the perfect prelude to Camdeborde's tasting menu back at Le Comptoir.

If he hears you speaking English, the man behind the counter introduces himself with a flawless American accent. Serge Mathieu, the owner, was born in the United States but raised in France, where he studied and worked as an architect until he stumbled upon this Left Bank boite, fell in love with its spirit and volunteered to help its then-owner, who sold the place to him last year.

"I'm not a bar. I'm not a restaurant," insists Mathieu, 43. But his wife, Helene, also a former architect, whips up soups in winter and salads in summer for visitors to enjoy along with their wine. (A small upstairs office includes an oven; a downstairs cellar keeps his inventory of 3,500 bottles cool.) For a corkage fee of 6 euros, about $8, customers can buy and drink any wine from La Cremerie's 400 or so labels. Because of La Cremerie's license, the sipping has to be accompanied by food, and you'll want to make sure your snack involves some artisanal cheese -- maybe goat cheese from the Loire Valley, drizzled with honey -- and slices of snappy chorizo and the ham of free-range, acorn-fed Iberian pigs from Spain. Mathieu uses a bright-red, 1936-vintage Berkel slicer to cut the meat by hand, and the gadget is more than a handsome prop; the blades of more modern cutting machines turn so fast, and emit such heat, that they melt the fat of the meat and change its flavor.

Mathieu's devoted following includes French actor Gilbert Melki and a man from Seattle who, on frequent visits to Paris, starts each night at La Cremerie with wine and a discussion with the discerning Mathieu of where to eat. (For his efforts, the owner received a decanter from the American last Christmas.) And now, I, too, plan to make this a destination rather than a mere holding place on my next trip to the City of Light. Rarely is waiting for a table such an occasion for pleasure.

La Cremerie,

9 rue des Quatre-Vents,

Paris; 011-33-1-43-54-99-30

I'VE SEEN PEOPLE STOP IN THEIR TRACKS, literally, when they spot the big yellow vending cart selling Korean bulgogi on the corner of 14th and L streets downtown. "I can't believe it's not hot dogs!" one woman says to no one in particular as she pauses from her routine to check out the stand, a recent weekday introduction to downtown's lunch scene. The cart, which carries no name, is tended to by Doho Kim, a 24-year-old tae kwon do master by night, and his mother, Young Sun Kim, a former cook at, among other places, Woo Lae Oak in Arlington. In their first week of business, late last month, they made friends by offering toothpick-speared samples of stir-fried beef or chicken. One of the recipients, a young man toting a Subway sandwich back to his office, brightened at the prospect of a fresh lunch choice. "I'll be by tomorrow!" he promised.

Bulgogi is an easy sale, however. It's hard to resist a layer of steamed rice topped with a lean protein of choice -- the shaved meat gets its savor from a long soak in soy sauce, sesame oil, garlic and sugar -- and completed with flourishes of crisp lettuce and fiery kimchi, Korea's famous fermented cabbage. The stand opens around 9:30 a.m. and operates until around 3 p.m., Monday through Friday, but be sure to go early. One recent Thursday, the rice was gone by 2 p.m., though that didn't stop some customers from ordering bulgogi ($6.75) anyway. While Doho takes the orders, his mother stir-fries each meal to order, using two outsize woks and a propane fire.

They don't need a sign to advertise their fare. The fragrance of beef and garlic -- and the appeal of an alternative to hot dogs and potato chips -- is promotion enough.

Bulgogi cart,

corner of 14th and L streets NW

Ask Tom will return.