How I lost my mind in Paris..

My new Asterix PEZ dispenser

Paris is killing me. I assure you that I mean this in a good way. There are endless discoveries to be made and I am at a loss in deciding what to focus on. So for now, you'll have to bear with me while I give you a little bit of everything. I will expand on some of these finds in future posts, but for now I think this adequately reflects the state of mind I currently find myself in.

My day on Wednesday (or was it Tuesday?) started out fairly innocently. I should have been job searching, but it's hard to suppress my wanderlust. No, not just hard, impossible actually.

Avoiding that which I should have been doing, I decided to make a trip to the Galeries Lafayette, a large department store in Paris, to see what all the fuss is about. I admired its stunning stained glass and steel dome, and gaped at the purses, the shoes, the scarves, and the lingerie. Kudos to the French on the lingerie. They really know what they are doing. I left with a naughty little bundle.

I then moseyed (yes, the walk changed once that bundle was in my possession) over to their gourmet food shop. I was not as dazzled as I had been on my first trip to La Grande Epicerie de Paris. It has a very nice selection, but it was lacking a certain je ne sais quoi. Perhaps it was the low ceilings. A girl is more inspired to shop in a lofty space. Yes, I know that I'm already well on my way to becoming a spoiled brat.

I wandered the aisles and came upon a Hediard boutique franchise. Hediard is famous for its chocolate, so I bought a jar of jam. Figue de Provence, as a matter of fact. I felt as though I was defying the masses by not buying the chocolate and it made me feel good for a moment. I regretted it later.
(More jam tasting is required before I can provide a final verdict. It was runnier than I expected so I need time to adjust.)


Confiture Figue de Provence

As I made my way to the checkout, I was momentarily sidetracked by the sight of the Pain aux olives at the Eric Kayser bakery. I couldn't just leave it there, could I? (It more than lived up to my expectations, it was delicious. Just look at all those happy little olives in there. And happy olives make for a happy me.)


Pain aux olives

I hopped on the metro and headed across the river to St. Germain-des-Prés. It was hot and I was already sweaty and tired. I took a familiar walk down the Rue de Seine towards a shop named J.S.F.P Traiteur, that I am continually drawn to. I wandered in, feeling my stomach growl. I already knew that I liked their couscous and thought it would be so much easier to buy it again than to make something for myself for lunch. So, I asked for a small container, oh and one of those pretty little quiches on the side. I took the liberty of calling it my "emergency quiche". After all, there was no telling how hungry I'd be once I got home after all this walking around.


Couscous

Quiche à l'ognion

I headed back towards Notre Dame in the direction of home. Before crossing the river, I stepped into Shakespeare and Company, a rather well-known bookstore, run by an eccentric, 91 year old American fellow who I had seen on a previous day puttering around in front of the shop in his pyjamas, fretting about a missing ladder. The shops shelves are packed with books, new and used, there is not an empty space in the room. I couldn't resist buying a copy of A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.
(The book was read front to back that very same night.)


Shakespeare and Company

I crossed over onto Ile de la Cité and found a bench for a much needed rest. Shopping is hard, hard work.


I continued back up to rue St. Antoine for the final leg of my journey home. Along the way I stumbled upon a shop called A L'Olivier that I hadn't noticed there before. After Melissa raved about her olive jam, I could not resist it when I spotted a jar of Olive and Fig Jam. Yes, I had conveniently put it out of my mind that I had just bought a jar of fig jam. But you can never have too much fig jam. Can you? All told, I walked happily out of there with a jar of Delice d'Artichauts, a jar of Confiture Olives et Figues and a bar of olive oil soap. By now I was close to home, so I didn't have far to carry the extra packages. See? I'm always thinking.



I passed by Paul, a bakery that has several locations in the city that seem to be always overflowing with people. I had a fleeting thought that it would be nice to pick something up for a late afternoon coffee break. I wandered in and bought 2 caneles. They were small and looked so very charming, and I had never had one before. So why not?
(From what I gather, a canele is a small cake invented in the last century by the sisters of the Sainte-Eulalie convent in Bordeaux. They are flavoured with rum and vanilla and baked until slightly caramelized. The inside of them was a surprise to me. Very moist and dense. I enjoyed it thoroughly. I will definitely purchase them again, although I will try a different bakery for the sake of comparison.)


Canele's from Paul Bakery

I was just about to cross the street when I decided to visit my local cheese shop, Fromager Pascal Trotte. I stepped in and admired the fresh, raw milk cheeses, many of which I had never even heard of before. I couldn't resist the cute little fig shaped one with its equally cute name, Figuette, and a much larger one called Merle de Blanc.
(Both turned out to be delicious. Merle de Blanc especially good for taking a big slice off and making a grilled goat cheese sandwich with tapenade or sun dried tomato pesto spread on the inside of the bread. )


Figuette and Merle Blanc goat cheeses

I realized, as my apartment building came into view, that I may have overdone it. I was never so sure of that as I was when I got home, unloaded my purchases, and discovered that I had completely forgotten all about the Asterix PEZ dispenser that I had also purchased that day.
And suddenly it was clear. I'm in Paris, and I have completely lost my mind.


Addresses are provided where a website could not be found

J.S.F.P Traiteur
8, rue de Buci, 75006
(they also make a great take home roasted rosemary chicken, which is a godsend for me, the girl who moved to Paris and discovered her apartment had a stovetop but no oven. The horror I tell you. The horror.)

Fromager, Affineur Pascal Trotte
97, rue St. Antoine, 75004

A L'Olivier
23, rue de Rivoli, 75004