It’s a common complaint but one I don’t share.

I find Paris to be one of the more reasonable world capitals provided you show some modest restraint and creativity.

Sure, you can easily blow the budget with a couple of long taxi rides, a single meal in a Michelin three star, or an impetuous purchase on the Boulevard Saint Germain. However, if you take the Métro, a ticket can cost as little as a $1.40 and it will take you within blocks of just about any address.  That beats the IRT and rings loops around the London Underground.

As for restaurants, bargains abound. They all offer a “prix fixe”, “plat du jour”, or “formule”, prices based on app and main course or main course and dessert.  These deals are clearly on display without having to enter the establishment, and there are never any hidden fees as the Value Added Tax (V.A.T) is included in the price along with the tip.  A quarter or half-liter of house wine won’t set you back either.

Except at the snootiest of addresses, merchants are happy for you to browse and admire their wares. Just remember to say “bonjour madame” and “merci monsieur” as manners count for a lot.

As for entertainment, nothing beats the people-watching from a café along a busy thoroughfare. For the price of a ticket on Broadway, I can sip 50 espressos on the Boulevard Haussmann and observe la comédie humaine.

Have I convinced you?

Tomi de Taxis du Poet, noble truffle dog

Please allow me to introduce a very good friend of mine, Tomi (pronounced: Toe’me) de Taxis du Poet, noble truffle dog.  He lives on a large wine estate near Vaison la Romaine in Provence.

Tomi is only two years old but last winter he found his very first truffle, roughly the size of a large golf ball weighing 300 grams.

When I saw him a couple of weeks ago, he had just returned from an outing with his master. No truffles. Lack of rain in the fall has made this an especially difficult season. Consequently, truffles are selling for 900 Euros per kilo at a local purveyor in Uzés.

For the past couple of weeks, the ground has been frozen in Tomi’s country. His master tells me that he and Tomi expect to go truffle hunting later this week when the weather warms.

If Tomi digs up a few of the precious Tuber melanosporum, I know he won’t let success go to his head.

He is one of the most loving and loyal dogs I know.

Bonne chance, mon ami.

Michel Chaudun's

Paris is a city designed for walking.

I often prefer walking with no view in mind of where I’m going, but last Thursday I had a pilgrimage to make. I traversed the chocolate-rich neighborhood of the 7^th arrondissement, bypassing La Maison du Chocolat on the Blvd. Raspail, skipping Jean-Paul Hévin at avenue de la Motte-Picquet, and headed straight for Michel Chaudun’s wondrous little shop near the end of the rue de l’Université (”rue de Loo” as Julia called it).

Usually, I allow my mind to wander when some historical point of interest resets the time machine of my imagination, but this day the old stones along my route really were mute. I could only think of Chaudun’s ganache pavés, perfect little cubed pavers of chocolate intensity. Great chocolate can have that sort of obsessive effect on a man and Chaudun’s is simply the best I’ve ever tasted.

I bought a small number of jewelry-sized boxes for Valentine’s Day (possibly there’s one for you if you’re intrigued by my offer).

Mission accomplished, I returned to my wandering ways, free to observe Paris in reverie as I usually do.