Italiene - Les Cailloux

I had eyed this place on my first night. It looked so inviting - people still enjoying wine and digestifs at around midnight.

It sits at the junction in what might be regarded as the centre of La Butte aux Cailles - the surreally-perfect picturesque village-within-Paris in the 13 arrondissment.

I am lucky enough to live only a stones throw from La Butte aux Cailles, a minutes walk up the hill of rue Alphand. On learning that I was a temporary resident of the area, Edouard, my friend and invaluable informant of all things good and gourmet in Paris, reacted with a degree of surprise and a hint of envy - remarking that it is one of the most beautiful and unknown areas of the city. Jackpot, I thought to myself!

Prestigiously straddling rue Alphand and rue des Cinq-Diamants, Les Cailloux sits separate from a stretch of less affluent looking cafe bars who run the commonplace bistro-style menus. Steak, fritte etc.

I had enjoyed a morning in one such venue; drinking coffee and observing the ever-moving technicoloured demography of these fascinating small streets. You are as likely to see a paint-covered workman as you are a suave, blue-suited vespa-rider from the inner city; while buggy pushing bo-bo mums compete for pavement space with weathered looking old ladies and their trolleys full of fruit. All kinds of characters come and go.

Over the way, lunch at Les Cailloux seemed attractive. It was upward of 40€ for dinner and as I looked on at 1.30 trade looked in no way ready to cease. Here, I thought, busy = good. Ignorantly I hadn't realised it was Italian and to learn that even at lunch one is looking to hand over no less than 15€ for a bowl of pasta, I briefly admonished myself for relinquishing that important childhood mantra 'to never judge a book by its cover'!

Whats more, for the past year, great pasta had been at my beck and call, free of charge (as staff food) and previous to that I had enjoyed a love affair with Giorgio Locatelli and that Magnus Opus, 'Made in Italy'. I'd had my fill and I was now in Paris - for a reason.

That said, it didn't prevent me from enjoying a perfectly al dente linguine with langoustine: lots of fresh parsley and some deliciously sweet cherry tomatoes, which together with some butter formed a glossy liquor that both coated the pasta and provided a good puddle for a chunk of bread to be dipped in at the end.

I certainly did enjoy it, though I felt that I had gone for the wrong reasons and had been rewarded thus. I went because it looked cool and I have learnt, that in Paris, the real gems lay where you least expect them. And so, an early lesson has been learnt: for now, at least, as a wide-eyed would-be gourmand, be guided; and probably follow the workman on foot, not the suit on his vespa.