"Amelie has no boyfriend. She tried once or twice, but the results were a letdown. Instead, she cultivates a taste for small pleasures: dipping her hand into sacks of grain, cracking crème brûlée with a teaspoon and skipping stones at St. Martin's Canal." - Amelie (a French film)
I nibbled on almond cream, fig preserves, and toast while writing of the night before. A Frenchman strummed on his guitar singing songs of Paris as a “deaf” lady swindled me out of five Euro. I spent my morning window shopping, sipping coffee, and exploring the streets of Paris with Fanni. We walked along the river to the Louvre, stopping often to enjoy the view and snap pictures of each other. There were French bands performing along the streets, strumming on their guitars and singing of Parisian days gone by. Hours of walking led us back to Montmartre, a bohemian area of France which happens to be home to the Moulin Rouge, where we stopped at Le Café Gourmand to enjoy a glass of red wine, petit légumes de saison marinés aux jus de raciness et huile de noix (for those non-French speakers, here’s the less beautiful version: marinated seasonal vegetables with root juices and walnut oil) and Le Café Gourmand qui perle (pistachio crème brûlée, pistachio pudding, and chocolate mousse on a chocolate cookie, served with a café latte).
Our wine was deep ruby and full bodied, with a slight aftertaste that marred the flavor. The waiter brought crostini topped with a creamy tomato spread as an appetizer that thoroughly whet our appetites! My vegetables were lovely - colorful and bright, crunchy and abounding with texture. The cold dish was garnished with fried vegetable chips and had two different marinades to try. As it was technically an appetizer, I was pleasantly ready for the dessert sampler! A delightful plate of three miniature desserts was placed in front of me, along with a steaming café latte. The pistachio crème brûlée was by far my favorite: the crunch and crackle of the spoon as it breaks through the caramelized sugar – the creamy nutty flavor, so different from its custard sibling as it meets the tongue – the satisfaction as the taste buds fire away with pleasure. The pistachio pudding was just as it sounds, a pudding. The chocolate cookie was rich, smooth, and creamy with a hint of toffee. I preceded to photograph the whole ensemble.
The French group seated next to us was quite amused by my penchant for food photography and made many comments and attempts to be included in our photos. We enjoyed lively camaraderie with a German couple, who spends every vacation in a little town in Southern France, giving their skin a deep tan. A slight drizzle had us racing towards our little haven of an apartment, expecting a downpour which never occurred. I grabbed my netbook and headed towards the square where I sat under a large tree with a big bower and avoided the drizzle. Paris blooms in the evening and doesn’t sleep until the wee hours of the morning. As I uploaded my photos, I enjoyed the cadence of conversations, watching the families and the partiers pass me by.
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