Le journal intime d'un glutton à Paris

With a liver still recovering from the bad influence of Penny from Brighton on Thursday night and a head suffering from a long and very entertaining Friday in the office, I grabbed up my duffle bag and headed for Waterloo. The French were very polite about letting me into their country and I elegantly boarded the train for Paris, wistfully gazing out to the platform hoping to catch a glimpse of a black-and-white Matt in a trench coat running along the platform to stop me leaving then waving good bye in a sad admission of romantic defeat.

Several average chapters of my trashy novel later, I found myself pulling into the far more lovely Gare du Nord. And there they were. The enigmatic Alex who vanished mysteriously from our lives a few months back, only to pop up in photos from France, and our long lost Jenny. And she looked HOT!

Ok. More chic. But also so warm and welcoming with a big grin and a lovely compliment at the ready.

In a bit of a haze I was escorted by my local hosts back to ‘Republique’, guided round piles of dog turd, over cobbledy paths through the PARIS(!) streets until we found the big doors that lead to the smaller door that lead to the old (read scungy) staircase that lead to four more flights that lead to the little door that lead to the delightfully fresh and cozy SRF Paris branch.

Let the eating begin!

Be it well past 11pm, there was no hesitation in popping a couple of bottles and tucking into some brilliant cheese and meat snacks. A good ol’ catch up with our favourite Frenchies and eventually I was treated to a demonstration of the click-clack bed I later enjoyed for many comfortable hours.

Saturday? Alex came in with pastries. Add coffee, more meat and cheese and some very interesting fishy paste and you have a breakfast of ‘champions’ - (French for Champions).

Some wandering down brilliant streets past chocolate shops and delis to aspire to and crepes were the next logical step. Savoury ones. With cidar.

More walking, then coffee at a café. More walking then beers at a pub. More walking (stopping at a bizarre supermarket selling only frozen foods, and not just your peas and pies, either) then it became rushing as Alex and I realised a very great need to pee.

Then more walking and dinner at a very charming little French restaurant where I feasted on Confit Canard and a darling little chocolate pudding with easy red.

Then more walking and mojitos next to a spewing man.

Then back to the apartment for wine.

Breakfast was a very delicate creation from Alex – figs with goats cheese wrapped in prosciutto (I think) green plumbs and a citrus fruit the name of which Jenny will leave for me in the comments of this post.

‘Light breakfast’ I imagine you thinking to yourself. Well we needed room for the savoury brunch that followed. Sweet crepes (and a waffle for Alex) on a roundabout. A very grand roundabout.

Sadly, this all left only enough time to admire some very raunchy cake decorations before it was time to escort the fatter and happier Aussie back to her train.

Leaving sucked.

A big thank you to Jenny and Alex for their wonderful hospitality. I hope its not too long before we see you again. A big apology to all readers for the over abundance of superlatives in this post. It really was that good.