Boots, baguette, and a blog...

So, we did something different this year with our sleep ritual. We did that flight from NYC, instead of our usual direct flight from DFW. What that means is that we left early, so early that our 12 hour opportunity of sleep was not possible. No biggie...we stayed up for the first leg of the trip, and then slept about 4 hours from NYC to Paris.

So, upon our arrival into Paris, we acted like we were fairly rested. We did our aforementioned shopping for provisions, walked around St. Germaine because, once again, I brought the wrong shoes, and Roger, being my sweet, considerate husband, knows that my feet determine the outcome of the trip. If the feet ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

Well, no success with the shoe search, but we were tired, so we did the non-ritual go-back-to the-apartment, take-a-nap thing. SO not us. We slept for three hours, woke up at 8, and went back to sleep at 12:00 am. BACK ON SCHEDULE! By accident, we figured it out! We got up at 8, and started the day at 10.

Okay, if you ever come to Paris, which I really hope you will, there is this app called Paris Metro. It ROCKS! All you have to do is put in your starting Metro location, your ending Metro destination, and it will tell you what you need to do, where to transfer, where to get off, etc. SO COOL! We used it to go to St. Ouen flea market. Monday is the last day of the flea market for the weekend, and given that next weekend is Christmas, it was our only opportunity.

It's official....I have my first pair of rubber boots ever purchased at a flea market. Roger picked them out. Also the first...Roger picking out shoes for me. He did good! Given the unlikely weather including snow,they were a real necessity, and for 25 Euro, they were the deal of the year. They kept my feet warm, and dry. Thanks Rog! And thanks to the nice guy who sold them to us.

From the flea market, we went to THE FLEA MARKET, the reason we had ventured to St. Ouen...treasures. We found a new (old, really)coffee pot (sorry Parigi family, it requires polishing), and had lunch at Paul Bert restaurant, an institution since 1953

Lovely lunch: shared onion soup and Croque Madame (why are we so afraid of the fried egg in America?)followed by coffee and ba ba rhum for dessert. Diet, what diet? Hopefully the walking will make it even!

From there, Rog headed back to the apt to do some work, and I stayed behind to look for more treasures. However, be it known...they all leave after about 2:00 on Monday. They have been there for 3 days straight, and (especially when it is as cold as it is, they close it down early).

I hit the metro, and take the Les Halles exit. Thinking that is where all the cool cooking
stores are. I feel like a beacon...accidentally, I find all of them! Some cool things, but long lines. I will come back with Emily. She arrives on Thursday. (for those of you who don't know Emily, she is my little protege at the Culinary Institute of America, and I like to think of her as mini me.)

Rog calls, says he is done with his work, will I meet him? Tell him where I am, (now BHV...think Borders meets Niemans, meets Elliots Hardware, meets Michaels, meets Sur la Table/Williams Sanoma...it's ALL there). I am not done, but great visit for Emily and me to revisit. He says he will give me a head start, because it is so far away, and knows it will take me a while to get there. CHALLENGE! Oh, hell no, I will be there in record time.

On my way there (sans help from my map app, thank you very much) I proceed to look in the store windows, walk casually, and get to our destination within 1 hour. He is shocked. I am not the only one who knows my way around Paris!

So, we meet up at Conti, see our old friend Olson (the wire haired terrier, 12 years old now who rules the corner of Rue de Buci), and have some wine. Our young waiter is cool...something familiar about him. Further conversation confirms we DO know each other...he worked at another bistro we went to a year ago. He remembered us because Roger speaks Spanish, from Caracas, the whole Parigi connection, and I remembered him because he was going to Le Cordon Bleu, Paris, and was Colombian. Talk about a small world! He feels compelled to buy us a shot...Tequila. No one panic. Strange to do a shot of Patron in Paris, but hey, Juan, from Colombia knew it was ok.

From there, Rog goes for the oysters (tradition by now), we get some flowers, and a baguette. We are headed home.

Now we are home on the Seine, and the song playing is "nothing's too good for my baby.". Rog and I agree on something.

Merry Christmas!