Eating Fois Gras in the park.

 

I have been a flea market girl since our neighbors indoctrinated me when I was about twelve yrs old.  So I consider myself an old timer.  I have collected a lovely set of perfume bottles over the years and I am always on the prowl for another.  There is a Brocante on either side of the Arsenal Basin right now.  I noticed that it is over on May 17^th.   So, today I thought self, “how about visiting that Brocante (Flea Market) today and then after a trip to the regular market?”  It was a lesson in Flea markets European style. I was not really surprised at being charged to enter, though I thought the 8-euro price a bit steep.  But that was nothing, because if you could not afford the entrance you had absolutely no business in the market!  I did find some perfume bottles, but I did not see any priced at less than 80 euros.  And those are the same ones I can find at home, common ones, less than 50 ears old.  Needless to say I did not indulge.  I did run across a stand selling Fois Gras sandwiches.  I got a laugh out of that after all the times I turned up my nose at Moms branschweiger!  I really do not find it in the same taste group though!  I purchased a sandwich as well as a glass of incredibly sweet wine, a wine that any of my maligned non-wino friends would be glad to drink.  I think they might even like it better than Oliver soft red!  I wanted to take it to the charming garden below.  The Brocnate was well guarded and in an effort to find the person responsible for this particular entrance, I caught him taking a leak, or at least finishing up.  Poor guy, he was pretty sheepish.  Little did he know that as a nurse……….

It was a pleasant time to sit and watch people stroll, eat my sandwich and watch the pigeons.  I could not resist a stroll among the flowers to before returning to the Market.  Then on my way back out of the market I found exactly what I was looking for, can’t tell or it would ruin the surprise.  But the woman I did business with was a modern day crone.  Her hair was frizzed, her manner slovenly and Lord only knows the last time she had brushed her old wine laden black teeth.    However for some reason she took a liking to me, she offered me a deal that I had to resist. Darn that space issue!  Remember her, as she will show up again.  Anyway, as I left it started raining, and it is very close to the apartment, so came back to drop off my goods, stick my left over sandwich in the fridge and avail myself of the facilities. 

Back out to the streets to head off to that darned market. As I was walking down the Faubourg St. Antoine I was sucked right into a lingerie store.  I have always wanted some French lingerie, but have never found a bra that would fit properly.  Today was about to be different.  I picked out a pretty brown lacy wisp, assured by the sales girl that it would be my size.  Let’s face it, I haven’t seen an A cup since I was about 11.  So I was dubious, but game.  I got in the room and it fit reasonably well, but…..  Then a new sales person showed up and wanted to SEE.  I just did not have it adjusted properly and with a few tugs and re-snappings it fit much better, and then the porting of other styles started.  I walked out three brassieres richer, crème, aqua and brown!

I continued my treck to the market, and it rained, so I went in Monoprix and snooped a bit.  It quit raining for the moment, but by then I was DONE and as I walked down the other side of Faubourg St Antoine and it began to rain again. I stopped in a cute little café; it looked to be left over from the 40’s.  One walks in and the bar is right there: several people did stop in for a quick espresso that they threw down while standing at the counter and then they were gone.  In the back were a handful of tables, with vases of flowers.  The lady at the counter was my idea of a French grandma and she was a peach.  I had  (I was hungry again!) café au lait and a pate au Sucre – which was an apple tart.  I just may have to go back.

I came home, did some miscellaneous things around the apt and then thought about dinner.  I have studiously avoided Bofinger because I have been told it is a tourist trap.  My landlady, however, told me that I should try it.  It is only a block or so away and a reasonable distance to walk after dark, so off I went.  I got there and someone had spilled in the entry way and I had a flashback to Bastille Day with the kids.  People were going to push their way in no matter what or who got hurt.  It is amazing to me, that behavior.  Anyway, One man who walked in after me had cut ahead of me and demanded a table for four.  He was told it would be about 20 minutes, and then the matrie’d looked at me and asked me if I had a reservation, I apologized and asked if it might be possible for me to get a table for one, he led me straight back and seated me!  Tee HeeHee.

Bofinger is an amazing place; another restaurant that looks like it stepped right out of 1900.  Wait staff bustling up ad down stairs carrying often 4-5 covered plates stacked up on a tray!  Lots of wood and an exquisite domed Tiffany glass ceiling.  The waiter was a sweetie (reminded me of my friend Jeff Ferrell at work– so I took an instant liking to him).  I had gazpacho, which is as good as mine, and salmon in a port sauce with mashed potatoes and a glass of Sancerre.  The food was good and I am taking a liking to this wine.  Pino may have started a new habit for me!  So, about that crone.  I was sitting there with a prime seat for people watching, enjoying my food and out walked my buddy from the Brocante.  I wonder if she could even taste her food? The gray pony tailed man she was with, was just as interesting! I felt a surge of pity for her wait staff.