The morning was overcast, chilly and damp. We thought the pervasive drizzle must be "la pluie fine" so often mentioned in Georges Simenon’s novels featuring his Paris-based detective hero, le Commissaire Maigret.

We made a leisurely breakfast of croissants and oranges purchased at the neighborhood boulangerie-patisserie and Champion supermarket, respectively, and an equally leisurely exploration of Mme Laroche’s bookshelves. Then we put on raincoats, turned up the collars in the manner of the redoubtable Maigret, and stepped out into la pluie fine in pursuit of lunch at the nearest restaurant:

40 rue Friant, Paris 14. Métro Alésia.

Though neat enough, the interior had a weary and dingy air about it. The only other customers were a few preoccupied business people.

Amuse bouche: A slice of a cold and clammy terrine, and too many little tarts tasting too strongly of French bacon and cheese.

Dureuil-Janthial Rully 1992 (demi, F100). After the previous day’s fiasco with Pouilly-Fuissé, we played it safe with this more reliable white-Burgundy appelation.

Pets de nonne d’escargots au Chablis et persil: Small fritters enclosing snails poached in white wine with parsley, arranged in a circle around a small frisée salad. The fritters had the feeble flavor and damp consistency suggesting they had been made hours or even days previously.

Do people really say "pets de nonne"—literally "nun’s farts"—out loud? This waiter did not. The cowardly fellow preferred the generic "beignet."

Légumes crus à la croque au sel: Various freshly-prepared raw vegetables—slices of cucumber, carrot, tomato, mushroom, etc.—served with a little bowl, or croque, containing fluffy-textured sea salt from Guérande. The platter also included little pots of herbed yogurt and of herbed crème fromage fermière, or white cheese, both of refreshing tartness that fitted well with the vegetables.

Dos de saumon en croûte de sel: The back, or meaty part of a salmon enclosed in a thin, dense pastry crust and sprinkled with a few large grains of sea salt. The crust was infused with the flavor of the fish to mildly agreeable effect.

We were confused by the words "en croûte de sel," which suggested to us that the fish was cooked in a crust of salt rather than pastry. The chef must have changed the preparation without changing the menu.

Magret de canard à la bière et au pain d’épices: Sliced duck breast cooked somewhat beyond the "à point" stage requested, served on a beer sauce with oven-dried bread flavored with spices. The dish also included baked apple. The spice bread, brown and brittle, made an intriguing combination with the sauce’s flavor of hops. But unfortunately the whole effect was spoiled by the duck breast’s faint off-flavor, reminiscent of a stale dish-rag.

Craquelin aux framboises: Cooked raspberries in a crème patisserie, between crisp disks of pastry.

Mendiant glacé aux abricots confits et pistaches: A frozen dessert resembling nougat glacé, incorporating nuts and preserved apricots. It was attractively presented with apricot jam and a scatter of brittle pistachios.

Including coffee the charge for lunch at les Vendanges came to F570.

Despite a couple of redeeming touches—the légumes crus and the mendiant—we left with the feeling that our lunch had been mostly thrown together out of dinner leftovers from the preceding Saturday.