Monday, October 8, 2012

Eating in Paris and Sexy Butchers

Food & Real Life
The bread is damn good. Vegetables are fresh, sweet and so aesthetically pleasing that I must admit to having had taken a few photos of a certain cauliflower who lives down the road. The vegetables seem to pose coquettishly in their stands, guilty-pleasures winking and mesmerizing passerbyers with their array of peacock colors. And the fruit is pleasurable on a level that is almost surreal; the scent of the seasonal offerings wafts down the road and I can hear the strawberries singing their Siren song.

I am not someone who, in the past, appreciated a butcher per say but this has changed in Paris. All the butchers I have seen thus far are handsome and do not bear any resemblance to the Disney caricature of the days past. You know – the guys who adorned the same bloody apron day in and day out whilst chewing on a toothpick and tossing slabs of meat over bulging shoulders? I purposefully stroll Cedric down Rue de la Pompe near our home so we can gaze into the butcher’s window and admire the men who look as if they were film stars acting in a commercial. Immaculately dressed, their costumes are auburn colored and pressed so that the creases perfectly align just above the elbow - teasing the housewives with a glimpse of their muscular forearms. Their coifed hair, sparkling teeth and tanned skin imply lazy days spent in St. Tropez.

Other than the lovely outdoor markets and shops, the restaurants are delightful and did you know that eating I cannot stop eating steak tartar? I may not actually digest this consumption in the long term but one can hope. On his side, Andy is thrilled that his infamous dinners in China of sea urchin and golden coin have ended.

I have also learned that drinking wine with every meal is perfectly acceptable. People drink everywhere - in the outdoor cafes or while swinging children in the park. There is a gaggle of women I see in the cafĂ© next to our apartment almost every morning after I drop off Cedric. They emphatically chat together, puff on their cigarettes while rolling their eyes and drink espresso without cease. Until about 12:30 when, after fetching Cedric from school, I pass them again and observe that the coffee cups have been replaced with wine carafes. The Barbie backpacks and snack bags resting by their well-dressed feet.  

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