Refuge Des Fondus

On my second night in Paris, Jana, her boyfriend Nassim (he's french, oh la la), and I went out to a dinner that can only be classified as an experience.  The restaurant, called Refuge Des Fondus, is situated on the hilly rue des Trois-Frères  in Montmarte, the red light district of Paris.  The experience begins from the moment you reach the door.  The window is largely taken up by a giant painted clown lifting a barbel made of cheese.  The door knob is a golden baby bottle, a preview of what is to come.  

When you step inside the door (which takes a surprising amount of strength to open, you are more than likely to be ushered back out in loud french complemented by hand gestures, by the lone waiter, dressed in an iron maiden shirt and scruffy jeans, to wait outside until a spot frees up.  

The restaurant is tiny, and the walls and ceilings are covered with graffiti and signatures from patrons over the years.  Its about 100 degrees. Tables are set in two long lines.  Half of the diners sit on benches along the wall, while the other half sit on a hodge-podge mixture of stools and wicker chairs.  Once allowed in, the waiter insisits that you deposit all belongings on pegs near the kitchen.  The dining room is too small to keep purses, jackets, etc. with you.  After unloading, I was advised by Jana to visit the bathroom before sitting, as it is very hard to get up once the meal has begun.  The toilet seat was bright yellow, and had pictures of cheese on it.  But the true experience begins with the task of sitting down.  Those who the waiter chooses to sit on the benches (me) must climb onto a stool, straddle the table (which is laden with fondu pots, cocktail glasses, and baby bottles (for wine, hence the door handle), then scoot down into the bench (not an easy task when the space between the table and the bench top is about a foot).  Once everyone is situated the waiter delivers a plate of hors d'oeuvres and mini cocktails.  

Wine in baby bottles (yes, the ones for babies with nipples and everything), and the fondu pot with bread pieces soon follows.  As the night progresses, the wine flows, and the cheese pots empty, the waiter gets more and more ridiculous.  At the end of the night, Jana and I added out own graffiti.  Its fabulous.  Go.