Du pain, du vin, et du Boursin

 
Forget the Eiffel Tower, walks along the Seine and accordions; I fell for Paris the first time I did a food shop. And whenever this fair City of Lights angers me with her dog poo, her complete disregard for cyclists, or her lack of vaguely helpful call-centre staff, I open my fridge and remember why I do love Paris really.
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1. Bread and her sneaky cousin the pastry
Arriving in Paris, I remember sniffing out my local boulangerie and standing slack-jawed in front of the window, completely overwhelmed by the display. How was my year’s plan to become a chic, skinny¸Parisienne ever going to work if French bakeries seduce you with a sugar offensive before even stepping foot inside?

There is a cunning reason that the bread is always at the back of the shop. You need the will power of a saint to stagger past the army of macaroons and pain-au-heaveninabuns without caving in, gesticulating like a madwoman at the cream cakes, then the chocolate pudding, then the millefeuille, maybe a couple of macaroons…. It rarely ends well*.
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* “Well” in the sense that you leave the premises with exactly what you came in to purchase, a sense of pride, restraint, and no sugary crumbs on your chin.
2. Wine
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“TWO EUROS SEVENTY FIVE CENTS!”
“But it looks gross. And it’s in a plastic bottle”
“LET’S GET LOOOOOADS”
 
 
 
The morning after, I vowed never to drop below the four euro mark. But I still never stop smirking smugly when I’m in the drinks aisle at Tesco’s in the UK. In Paris, a glass of wine costs less than a diet coke, which may explain why my alcohol consumption has risen sharply since expatriating. Swings and roundabouts.
(Plus there are great little wine bars like this one I wrote about) http://www.parisvoice.com/food-and-drink/404-discovering-the-cave-du-daron
3. Cheese
cheese
The worse it smells, the more I’m going to want it.
This is not my life mantra, but it’s true that part of me has always been a little bit française in my cheese preferences. I love going to the Saint Quentin indoor market and chatting to the cheese ladies, one of whom once went to Liverpool on a cheese course, and is desperate to find herself a liverpudlian boyfriend parce qu’ils sont tous adorables. There is always a far larger amount of free taster cheese in my stomach than in my little plastic bag swinging on the side of my bike. And I always forget the name.
http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/March%C3%A9_Saint-Quentin

Map picture

So here’s to Paris, and stuffing our faces Smile
 
Deliciously Yours,
 
Mustard

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This entry was posted in food and wine, France, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, Paris, things to do in Paris. Bookmark the permalink.

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