Cat by
Rosina WachtmeisterFelt a bit jaded when I woke up the next day and had to be revived with a pain au chocolat. Our hotel was located near Grands Boulevards, a bustling area near Opéra (9th arr.) that I was completely unfamiliar with. There were heaps bakeries nearby along with a lot of shops with certificates from the Beth Din of Paris, guaranteeing the food on sale is kosher.
The first thing Wingnut and me did that day was to leave our nose prints alongside everyone else's on the window of À la mere de familie, the oldest chocolaterie in Paris. After that, we wandered down the shopping galleries which had lots of lovely objects in the windows, especially the antiquarian booksellers. More nose prints. I then fell unreasonably in love with
a painting by Edwige Leprin but decided on coming home that it wouldn't fit. Am still delighted with the porcelain cat that Wingnut had gotten me earlier though. A bit Dave McKean, without the creepy.
We tried finding a favourite café in the Palais Royal which does the best chai, but it had disappeared. Sometimes it doesn't pay to go back.
Instead we wound up at a nearby café close to one of my
favourite métro entrances. Our crêpes arrived, but my drink and my fork did not. Upon application to the garkon, I got my juice de pomme, but no fork. My crêpes were cooling. I ask again. There is no fork. And again, but this time the garkon says that, despite the evidence, yes, there are forks, but they're being washed. Sure enough, some minutes later he comes out with a tray and starts handing people their forks. Café de la Comédie, remember the name. :-D
The hens and stags reunited for a late dinner at
Pig'Z (2ème) which was gorgeous with forks for all. I'd been hoping to collar one of the French people in the party for new book recommendations and had heard the IT guy mention a book, so cautiously asked if he liked reading. Well, I didn't want to assume. He kindly answered that he'd majored in Lit. *facepalm* Could've spent all night talking books, really!