And still. Working undercover this year, behind the booth, Cornichon comes away with a different perspective. The view was not of the Space Needle or the expansive Memorial Fountain lawn, but of that little courtyard behind KeyArena, where celebrity chef Tom Douglas hosted a mini-Bite dubbed "The Alley." A single $8.50 ticket bought tastes from six restaurants. (Does this sound like the old Kathy Casey's Alley? Indeed, a close look at the URL shows it's still called "Kathy." Gulp.)

Issaquah's Iris Grill shows up on day one with tasty Moroccan lamb chops, topped with a blob of something they keep calling "riata" that's actually a dilled yogurt raita. (Get it right, guys!) Despite the Friday's rain and sparse crowds, by mid-afternoon they run out of food ... so they pack up and go home. For shame, for shame.

Tom's chefs worked the first station, serving up grilled steak and lamb, with Queen Anne's six-month-old Sicilian trattoria Sorrentino the only permanent member of the visiting team. Among the others: usual suspects Union Square Grill (pulled pork sandwiches), Troiani (pasta), Salty's (gazpacho); indies Volterra (panna cotta), Crush (sweet pea soup).

Impressive camaraderie: Tom Douglas himself takes turns grilling and slicing when he isn't checking on his crew at Serious Pie; USG's GM Josh Anderson is on hand Friday and Saturday ("This is the fun part of the job"); Jason Wilson of Crush brings wife Nicole and infant son for the day on Sunday. Enza Sorrentino pulls full shifts all three days, dishing out her labor-intensive gnocchi with truffle butter, handmade spinach and ricotta ravioli and sweet Amorosa tomatoes lovingly filled with rice and tuna.

As for Al Silverman, he stops by regularly to thank both vendors and volunteers from Food Lifeline, the designated beneficiary of the 5,000 or so overfed eaters who come through the Alley. He plants a kiss on Enza's cheek. "If I were 15 years younger, I'd marry you," he says.

She recoils slightly. "Che ha detto?" she asks. Alas, at that moment, no one else speaks enough Italian to explain.

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WINEMAKER GARY McLEAN presents a magnum of Barons V cabernet sauvignon to The Local Vine's Sarah Munson and Allison Nelson.

Glass of 2002 Leonetti merlot might go well with it, should you have $65 to spare, though you'd be better off sharing the bottle, a bargain at $199. (That Screaming Eagle we described last month is priced at $480 for a 5-ounce pour.) Truth be told, I'd be (almost) as happy with a glass of Cline Zinfandel at $9. Is there a market in Belltown for small plates and upscale wine by the glass? For 60 different pours? Is the bear Catholic?

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More from the nabe
Couple of anniversaries to celebrate. Queen City Grill, now 20 years old and going strong, offers 20 new selections of wine under $20. ... Shallots, turning 10, has the neighbors in for a bite and a glass. My longtime favorite here: Phad Thai with extra lime-chili sauce.

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Lucky 07 07 07 in Burgundy
According to the rental car's dashboard digits, it's 11:11 on 07 07 07, the temperature is 22.2 degrees and we've driven 333.3 kilometers since leaving Paris. What does it all mean? That would be the coincidence of crossing paths with Seattle chef Kerry Sear at the bustling Saturday market in Beaune, France, of all places.

Normally, he's leading Saturday morning tours of the Pike Place Market, then returning to Cascadia to make lunch for the gang. But he's winding up a two-week vacation in France, split between Paris and Burgundy. And at today's weekly farmers market, he's seriously impressed with the richness of produce, meat and cheese, from $1.25 a pound on-the-vine tomatoes to the piles of foraged mousserons and girolles. "No big fuss about 'organic' here, is there?" he observes. "No need."

In Paris for the first week of his vacation, Kerry spent a day in the three-star kitchen of the George V, another day watching 14 line cooks prepare small plates for the 24-seat at the Atelier Joel Robuchon. Back home, it's going to be Urban: Paris with Paris-on-the-patio wine tastings in August, Rural: Burgundy in September. Inspiration, that's what vacations are all about, n'est-ce pas?

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Back to those tomatoes
That little voice that gets you into trouble, the one that says, "Go ahead, how bad can it be?" before you do something truly stupid, also nags. Brush your teeth, make your bed, tie your shoelaces, eat your vegetables. It's not always easy advice to follow when you're on the road. Businessmen in suits and cellphones allow themselves to be seated at the classic Brasserie Balzar one Paris lunchtime. Tourists wearing pearls sit alongside a pair of girlfriends out shopping. Older gents in ties with much younger, beautiful women. The singles remain out on the terrace eating their croque-monsieurs, but inside it's the full meal deal: appetizer (assiette de crudités), plat du jour (sautéed calf liver), dessert (wild strawberries that taste like lavender), coffee. Hit and miss at other brasseries. Scrappy infield single at Lipp, where the leeks vinaigrette come topped with chopped hardboiled eggs and parsley (but, alas, not quite free of grit). At Polidor, a $5 plate of crudites wear its four-color modesty (carrots, beets, cucumbers, red cabbage) proudly. But the venerable Procope serves a plate of vegetables "noodles" (fennel and celery run through the mandoline) topped with smoked salmon, that was never formally introduced to the vinaigrette. What's more, the veal scallop is too thick and there's a lemon seed stuck to the carafe of sauvignon blanc. Hard, the life of the foreign traveler.

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Tour de France Not for a couple of decades had the Tour de France gone through Burgundy. This year, it happened on Friday the Thirteenth. We watch and wait, glasses of white wine from these very vineyards in hand. Burgundy's grand cru Montrachet vineyards span the two villages, no more than a couple of hundred yards of vines, well under a minute's ride along the gentle slope. The leader as he zooms along the old N6 between the villages of Puligny and Chassagne was an Englishman who would finish the day in last place; the peloton follows about eight minutes later.

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Paris Bike Ride (no helmet) Back in Paris for a summertime lunch, where we carry on with our pals about the apparent failures of Velib as if it were the end of Western Civilization. (Velib is the city's brand new, hourly bike rental program; see "Paris When it Fizzles" entry on Cornichon. It's kind of like a one-way Flexcar.) When we pass a Velib "station" near the Arc de Triomphe, we triumphantly demonstrate that American credit cards won't work. Then Paris Pal swipes his Amex...and, well, the gates of Paradise swing open! A stylish 3-speed bike is released from its stanchion. Blazer and shoulder bag into the bike's basket, and we're off in the mid-afternoon sun, no helmet (this would never fly in Seattle), down the bone-jarring cobblestones of the Champs Elysées, right at Le Fouquet's, past the George V and the American Cathedral down to the Place de l'Alma and across to the Left Bank, passing directly above the Princess Di crash site.

We can't believe we're actually cycling past the Eiffel Tower! Once we're on the Boulevard St. Germain, there's a dedicated lane shared by bikes, buses and taxis. On TV last night, a "cycle-ologist" showed viewers how to do this: Stick to the right and you're fine. Unlike our bicycle behavior in Seattle, we dutifully stop for traffic lights and don't climb the curbs. An 80-year-old guy gives us a thumbs-up. "A bit heavy, but practical," he says. "Bonne visite," says a young Frenchwoman. A hot, 45-minute ride later, the bike reattaches to the rack near our hotel. We owe our Paris Pal one euro! Okay, you Fremont Naked Bike Riders: We get it now.

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