I had the very best day today - Paris is truly a moveable feast, particularly when you a) don't have pneumonia and b) know that you can't eat gluten, which means c) I felt vibrant and alive rather than deathly ill like on my previous trips. It was brisk and chilly most of the day, but the sun was out and everything was tres chic. Kathia and I met Terry at the cafe across from the hotel, where we had a perfectly acceptable omelette to keep me from gnawing off my own flesh as I would have done if they had gone out for croissants. Then we wandered through the streets and alleys of Paris and did some window shopping - it could have quite easily turned into real shopping, but the shops we admired were all closed. We stopped for Champagne at Les Deux Magots in St. Germain, which is famous for being the cafe where Hemingway, Beauvoir, Sartre, Camus and others used to hang out. The old man next to us was busy telling his companion that it was rude to order Champagne as we ordered our bubbly, and he likely thought it was even ruder that we were taking photos and tweeting, but c'est la vie.
We then continued our peregrinations to the Jardin du Luxembourg, a v. lovely park with all sorts of trees and flowers. I was on the hunt for great statues to take pictures of, since I'm still researching the not-so-secret non-gargoyle young adult book - and today was awesome for inspiration, to the point that I want to promptly go off the grid and write both this book and the next romance at the same time. It won't happen, but I can dream. After the jardin, we were feeling a bit parched since we hadn't had a drink in an hour - so we stopped at some cafe that looked so-so from the outside but was incredible on the inside. It had four floors of extravagant tables and decorations and carpets and the like, and we had red wine and v. delicious steak frites.
Thus properly nourished, we parted ways; Kathia and I went back to the hotel to take naps, while Terry went for a run (foolish choice). I only slept for forty minutes, and then went down to the hotel bar and drank tea and wrote for an hour, which was v. necessary. Then Terry came back, and she and I brainstormed Prudence for a bit before I retrieved Kathia. We wandered around the Marais, stopping at some charming but odd little bar for wine and charcuterie/fromage (the meat and cheese were fine, but not as good as last night, but the wine was quite tasty). Then we window shopped some more before stumbling across a restaurant called Glou, which we decided we had to eat at based solely on the fact that the inside smelled v. deliciously of truffles. So we sat outside drinking some gorgeous red wine from Languedoc and playing with an overly enthusiastic dog until our table was ready.
And it was all simply fantastic. I had a dish that I can't describe and will never have again, which gave me a profound, ineffable sense of sadness because it was one of the most delicious things I've ever had. The name was 'boudin du pays Basque', and it was essentially some sort of chopped/reconstructed sausage patty, cooked to a delectably caramelized char on the outside and perfectly seasoned internally. It looked horrible, so I didn't take a picture, but it gave me the happiest sense of wonder I've had over food in a long time. And the mashed potatoes with it were nearly as good, if more pedestrian. Combined with the wine (and the good company, of course, although I kind of forgot about them), it was a meal I hope I never forget. In fact, I hope that if I have dementia someday, my grandkids get sick of hearing me say 'Sausage? Did I tell you about the time I had this most amazing sausage in Paris?' Yes, that's a buzzkill.
After dinner, we sat around and drank coffee and talked some more, then wandered back to our hotel, saying goodbye to Terry along the way. And now I shall go to bed - Kathia and I have grand plans to write in the morning before we pursue other Parisian adventures, and I want to accomplish many tings. Bonsoir!
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