The food of Paris

We had a limited number of days (and more to the point, meals), and we weren’t going to waste them on anything less than delicieux. So it will come as no surprise when I say the food of Paris was incomparable. Just as J. Arthur Prufrock measured his life with coffee spoons, we measured our days by deliberating about which restaurant would be best for which meal and congratulating ourselves on well-made gastronomic selections. 

Snails in garlicky butter, sopped up with bits of bread followed by a thick lamb chop accompanied by sparkling water (de l'eau gazeuse) and a glass of cold wine made me ridiculously happy.  A peasant’s dish of chicken fricassee in a thick vegetable broth, carried to the table in individual copper tureens with a plate of homemade noodles on the side, reminded me of the wonderful food my grandmother made when I was a child.


Open-faced creamy cheese sandwiches on toasted bread at an outdoor café, with a bit of spring chill still lingering in the air and a steaming cup of cappuccino?  You tell me.  I’m actually a little surprised to find myself going on like this about food because honestly, I don’t love to cook and seldom find anyone else’s cooking that I love. But this place called Paris?  c'était l’amour