Rien Faire Comme Un Au Pair

The RER trains into Paris were on strike this weekend, which means I have to take a different train that takes even longer to get into Paris. The problem is not that I don't have the time to spare, but rather that this long and arduous journey makes me believe that I somehow deserve to indulge myself in fine Parisian haute cuisine. And indulge myself I did.

After this au pair that I was supposed to meet up with bailed on me -- a turn of events that I was secretly somewhat ecstatic about -- it was time to feast. After stopping in at the Breizh Cafe only to be told the wait was an hour and a half, I decided to make my way from the Marais to Saint Germain des Pres. This is somewhat of a troop so I stopped at a market and bought myself une galette saucisse traditionnelle. It was a hot sausage wrapped in a cold buckwheat crepe. Pretty delicious.

Next I stopped by L'Epigramme per David Leib's recommendation but alas, it's Sunday so it was closed. I stumbled onto Boulevard Saint Germain and saw Da Rosa... I figured if nothing else, I could just eat raisins soaked in sauterne and covered with chocolate for lunch. I asked if they had room for one, but the place was packed. Luckily the waiter must have seen my disappointment, and explained that there was a table in the basement where they hang the Spanish hams; if I wanted, I could eat there. C'est un peu froid mais quand meme... So I ended up sitting all by myself at this little table in the meat room of De Rosa. At first it felt weird, but then I developed a sort of back-room Tony Soprano understanding of it and I was like this is iiiiiiill.


Ok, I'll speed this up. I ordered the risotto with Iberico ham and a Savignon Blanc avec une carafe d'eau, bien sur. It was phenomenal. Dessert was an insane chocolate cake that was super moist, filled with a warm chocolate pudding and surrounded by a vanilla cream. As I bit into it three words inevitably came to mind: Get 'em girl!

After finally seeing the entire Limits of Control, I had a sausage shwarma at a pretty good little Lebanese restaurant next to the theater. As I'm writing this, I'm finishing up my Le Petit Suisse, fromage frais with a little pure cane sugar on top.

And I leave you with a little adapted Adorno:

Rien faire comme [un au pair], lying on water and looking peacefully at the sky, ‘being nothing else, without any further definition and fulfilment’, might take the place of process, act, satisfaction, and so truly keep the promise of dialectical logic that it would culminate in its origin.