Guiliano - Meet Paris oyster: a love affair with the perfect food

The initial tip came nearly a decade ago from my Parisian friend Mlanie, who loves oysters almost as much as I do. Hutrerie Rgis has just opened in your neighborhood, she e-mailed. You must go; its on the short street between the March Saint-Germain and the Boulevard Saint-Germain and like no other place in the world Sorry, but they dont take reservations. She knew I would love it.

So I went. And went. Between October and May, whenever I am in Paris, it is my cantine, though it is hard to call one of the tiniest restaurants possible a cafeteria. The oyster has a lot to do with why I go to this seemingly one-dish restaurant, but really it is much more than that: a hutrerie is basically an oyster bar, and there are plenty in town, but this is one of a kind. For one thing, as a regular pointed out to me early on and only semi-jokingly: Rgis picks his customers. And the customer is not zee king here, Rgis is. It is a restaurant with personality and attitude and the highest quality.

I almost blew it with Rgis on my first visit. When on a lovely fall day my early-morning plane arrival from New York became a late-morning arrival, I was starving and a bit frustrated, so I thought a few oysters would reconcile me with the world. Plus, I was eager to test this new place. I arrived at almost 2 p.m., but I wasnt sure theyd serve me as the place was pretty packed (it doesnt take much for it to be filled), with only one gentleman seemingly ready to leave. A minute later, I had a table. I felt lucky. A great little table pour moi.

The menu arrived immediately, and a fetchingly pert young waitress took my order two minutes later. And then I waited, and waited, and waited. In a one-dish restaurant there is no amuse or appetizers or even a bread basket before the food, and the key in my head had still not switched from New York to Paris art de vivre. My stomach was growling, and I was wondering why it was taking so long to shuck a dozen oysters. Meanwhile, most customers were almost done or chatting over their espresso. I sat, feeling hungrier and hungrier. Edward, my husband of many decades, knows well that I can get grumpy fast when Im very hungry. I was almost ready to ask if they had forgotten me. Plus, I had been in such a rush to get to the restaurant while it was still serving (2 p.m. is a common cutoff time) that I came without my smart phone or anything to read. So I just sat there, and my expression surely turned into a glare. Rgis no doubt read my face and did whatever it took to lengthen the pleasure, or test me, as I later learned. He simply ignored me.

Fortunately for me, I overheard a regular next to me mentioning how Rgis was in a bad mood today after a morning telephone argument with the credit card machine sales rep, and so patience was required (or was the man observing the show and trying to give me a heads-up?). That was definitely a hint I took as a favor and kept quiet and waited, and waited, and contemplated the restaurant. Apparently, as I learned after a few visits and conversations with regulars, for someone like Rgis, who gets up very early six days a week, rushing is not in order, and those who are in a hurry better go elsewhere. Wow, how is that for customer service? Thats how I learned his number one rule: Nobody gives me pressure. A few months later, a single man at the table next to me described what Rgis calls difficult customers, or in his lexicon