Wednesdays, Thursdays...

My parent’ visit to Paris is in part to see Paris, in part to see me, but is largely characterized by a quest to find a conciliatory gift for my sister Caroline, who unfortunately couldn’t make it here because of school. On Wednesday, I met my parents in the Marais for phở at Trésors d’Asie: they were not disappointed, and with the sudden onslaught of colder temperatures, the soup had a regenerative effect on our spirits. From there we went to Montmarte to search for a) a bag, b) a sweater, c) a scarf, or d) anything at all that seemed to say “Caroline.” There were some whispers, but nothing really definitive, and so we headed back to the Metro and sped over to Saint-Germain, where the shops were a little less boutique-y and a little more commercial, but equally full of exciting fashion. An interesting statue we saw on the way...


With the temperature dropping and our patience thinning, we searched madly for a café to refuel with caffeine. We finally ended up on the narrow Rue de Buci, which is packed with cafés, but we settled on the reliable Paul. What happened next is kind of a blur: at some point we returned to my parents’ hotel, where I took a long, hot bath. Then I passed out for about 2 hours (or so I’m told), leaving me barely any time to find a dinner place! Luckily, my parents had already researched Le Petit Pontoise, a family run bistro near the Seine, but walkable from the Pantheon.

My mother had an incredible lamb. My father had a baked camembert (the brand... President, it was baked in the packaging, a small disappointment) with a honey-almond crust and a roast chicken with mashed potatoes. The wine wasn’t as good as some of the others we had tasted. It had a modern looking label and boasted of its autumn-ness, but it was a little yellow-taily to me. I had a tuna carpaccio, a duck magret with forest fruit, and a fatal baba au rhum for dessert. Very alcoholic. Setting this tiny sponge on fire does not burn off the generous ocean of rum it’s swimming in. I was spinning.

Thursday, one might think I was in for a break, since I couldn’t see my parents at all as I had class in the evening, but this week our conversation session took place in the 20th Arrondissement, over a very decent Moroccan dinner in a restaurant with live entertainment. The woman singing jazz on the stage was a friend of our host, who knew a lot of the customers as this was the area in which she had grown up. Let’s face it: the meals were nothing compared to the array of flavors I tasted at Le Souk, but for the prices and the entertainment gratuit, I couldn’t complain. I'm storing this location in my pocket for another visit. Afterward, we went to the Bastille, but were overwhelmed by the scene and smartly decided to move the party back to our dorm. We drank and watched the daily show online and laughed uncontrollably until 4 in the morning.