Merde! It was all so easy solo dining and drinking my way around Paris. I was a foreigner and a pretty exotic one at that in a foreign land. I would walk in with my Del Boy accented french and get a seat and well it was fun. Not that I cared what the waiting staff thought but frankly I sounded as if I just stepped off the Eurostar a day ago not 4.5 years ago and so got away with it. Not so, now that I am back in London, my S-o-u-t-h London accent is as strong as ever. It doesn’t seem as fun. I get a little lost but not so much. What do I miss the most about Paris is the question I get asked the most. The bridges and bread. I miss bread being on the table as soon I sat down and being able to tell the quality of the place from the bread. Honestly, the bread will tell you if you’ll be eating a plate of merde or foodie delight!
My simple diet rule is this: if a cake or biscuit is crumbled and/or broken up in pieces so much the better as that means all the calories have escaped = a calorie free delight a.k.a guilt free eating!
‘Tis the season or maybe that should read pre-season and I am on a pre- Christmas diet so my simple diet rule is working overtime with all those patisseries filled with wonderful edible delights. My simple diet rule also works for chocolate bars – I break them up so the calories escape. Therefore, you can imagine my delight when I walked past ciel patisserie – specialising in angel cakes, well if the cakes are heaven sent then they have to be calorie free. View Post
Who was I in 1728? I couldn’t tell you. Do I believe in reincarnation well that is a discussion best had over a couple bottles of wine. What I do know is that in this life I am a princess and I expect to be treated as such. Although after my solo aperitif at 1728 on Friday 14 June, I now consider myself a queen! View Post
Back in Paris and I was sick of the cold. The weather just couldn’t make up its mind whether it felt like snowing, torrential rain or the constant grey drizzle. Tonight it was just torrential rain with episodic hailstones thrown in for good measure. I decided that there was only one thing for it: choose a restaurant that makes me think of summer. I eat pizza in the summer preferably on a terrace with a nice cold glass of white wine in Italy. Where to find that in Paris. I knew exactly the place!
On a bitterly cold winter’s night what better way to warm the soul than to have a rib sticking meal in a neighbourhood brasserie in 14th arrondissement.
This is exactly what I did on my second foray of solo eating in Paris. From a swift read of the menu blackboard on the pavement, and I mean swift, it was -2 and snowing that night. I was enticed in by a modern take on a French brasserie. As I opened the door and pushed past the heavy red velvet curtains, providing a welcomed barrier to the harsh elements outside, I was greeted by a waitress whose smile lit up the room. I told her I wanted a table for one for dinner which didn’t seem to faze her. She gave me a choice of two tables. Neither table was hidden away and I chose one facing the rest of the restaurant.