I happily turn down the menu Anglais and order in perfect French the tartare de saumon et un carafe d'eau from the large menu du jour scribbled in dusty chalk on the board on the wall. Just like old times.
I am one of several Parisians dining un seul. Slowly savoring each morceau of my tartare and the heavenly, creamy sauce that is sabotaging any chance it once had of being healthy. When I finish, I place my fork and knife at 10 o'clock and get lost in the symphony of French conversation around me. I look out to the lively market on the street with fromage, chocolate, fruits, pain... and as I always do in Paris - see la vie en rose.
Although it is raining - the day is beautiful to me, the damp air smells of cooking crepes and melting Nutella, and though there is no music playing, I can hear an acoordian happily tooting notes that perfectly capture the je ne sais quoi of Paris in way that nothing else could. I resist digging into the box of macaron to steal a cassis that I picked up at laudree for the client I'm meeting with later, and instead refill my carafe.
I think back to two years ago when I sat in this very chair as a jeune etuidant, taking French everyday and exploring the quartiers by night. My charming apartment in the marais and my (unwanted) pet mouse. Each day I fell more and more in love with this city, and since I've been away - absence has definitely made my cheese-filled heart grow fonder.
The waitress won't bring l'addition until I ask for it - so I sit, undisturbed, in my dream-like state, soaking in Paris and smiling for no particular reason except that I feel I am home.
I was warmly welcomed last night by my now old friends - Didier et Valerie - into their Haussmian home on the rue d'Hauteville. My stay with them last time was so wonderful i wouldn't consider anywhere else. They are now my French family.
We had some wine, of course, and we cheerfully chatted and laughed as they shared stories of other guests who have visited. This morning over fresh squeezed OJ and buttery croissants we continued to our franglais conversation.
This time, no week-old cupcakes were pulled from the fridge, but there was plenty of comedy nonetheless.
I am in the larger room this time, called the Eugienie. It has a lovely chaisse and an antique, Napoleon-era writing desk in addition to the fluffy, King-sized bed. The double French doors open to a long balcony looking over the rue, and I have to close the thick, golden silk curtains at night to keep the light from the iron street lamps from shining in. I fantasize about renting this room out from them for a year or two and living here as I lay cosied up under the thick duvet.
My dinner of a Demi-baguette has left me eagerly anticipating the morning and the fresh pain au raisin that Didier has promised me, since I somehow never managed to try one.
This is my third trip here since I moved to London in November, and while I want to see the whole world, I am quite certain I will never feel for any other city the way I feel about Paris.
Ours is a love that will stand the test of time.
Tomorrow evening is my birthday celebration with Eiffel Tower - something I have never done before, but cannot wait to make a tradition of!
I think the tour has big plans for the two of us. Let's just say when the sparkling begins at 9pm - I know exactly who it is sparkling for.
Bon nuits mes amis!
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