by jemma margaret
(I wrote this post yesterday, but in a late night exhaustion unsuccessfully published it. So it goes.)
On Sunday mornings around 11 o’clock, I begin to freak out a little bit knowing that the grocery stores will soon be closed and the food markets wont open until Tuesday. Oh my goodness! I worry silently, will there be enough to eat?
The answer to this question is of course always yes.
Last Monday, as I stood in the Jardin des Plantes beside a damp bench wearing a damper dress (if only it had been a dapper dress) and eating a leftover spanikopita, my parents were heading down to Aux Tonneaux des Halles.
For those of you who do not read this blog assiduously (now is the time to start), that particular restaurant is where my sister and I enjoyed heartwrenching steak, frîtes, and broken bones. Our visit was a father sponsored expedition to suss out red meat and fried potato quality. According to my expert sister’s assessment, the place passed with flying colors.
Hence, my father and mother happily hurried down to Madeleine approved meat, only to find (despite the fact that they are open Monday nights and various websites state they are only closed on Sunday evenings) that there was no Monday lunch service. They found another spot nearby where allegedly the steak was perfectly correct, but no one shed a single tear.
Hot chocolate, which had seemed like a very good idea in the 9 o’clock thunderstorm turned out to be a rather unappealing decision under the blazing afternoon sun. Nevertheless, that is where we all met up and enjoyed a variety of other sweets better suited to tropical weather.
Dinner was no famine either. I managed to make enough more or less presentable though asymmetrical buckwheat crêpes for a three person meal. Meanwhile, my parents charmed the neighborhood cheese monger, wine shop owner, and produce vendor. Now might be a good time to tell you that my cheese lady and I have unofficially gone our separate ways. It was the last tomme de savoie and the fact that the market is now about 4 miles from home.
Anyway, greener pastures up here in the ninth along with a pretty funky pear cider, we managed to fill our bellies just enough.