Trattoria Enza Famiglia

We ended up here after the Louvre, a tiny place near Les Halles. Half the customers were ordering takeaway, and honestly, that told you everything you needed to know.

Anyway, let's start with the carbonara. The blackboard said "no cream," and I thought fair enough, already better than your average Paris joint. Except I'm pretty sure there was some cream in there. Not dramatically French levels, mind you, but you could taste it. But that wasn't even the real problem: garlic. And leeks. Or chives, I'm not sure, but it was everywhere. What's the point? At least the guanciale was actual guanciale, not that lardon nonsense they usually palm off on you—that part was right.

The cacio e pepe was worse. Basically pasta with shavings of young cheese dumped on top. Pepper? Not a trace. Zero. How do you call it cacio e pepe if there's no pepper?

The only one that didn't completely fall apart was the norma—that one was decent enough. Missing the salted ricotta on top, but at least it tasted like something.

Look, I know we're in Paris and Italian food here is what it is. But that's exactly why if you open a place and write "carbonara no cream" on the board, you'd expect them to at least nail the basics. Thirty euros a head for this stuff... meh.

Would we go back? No.