So today I’ll finally get to Paris, though I feel somewhat guilty, knowing I owe a few paragraphs to both Sarajevo, Bosnia and Hercegovina, and Yerevan, Armenia. It’s only fair to address the cities in order, especially since I never thought I’d be doing business in Sarajevo or Yerevan, or that one of them made it in my top five (Sarajevo). And so we’re going to work on covering Paris, and then sometime this weekend we’ll do a country recap, then my official TOP FIVE FAVORITE CITIES OF THE WORLD tally and then we’ll move on to how my wedding became a goddamned monster and what I’m going to do to fix it (create a lottery). Let’s get started.
Paris, my new 8th grade crush. It’s like in 6th grade I never knew you existed, but all of a sudden in 8th grade, wow, there you were and I was so wrong for never noticing you. You are pretty and shy and well traveled and intelligent and I was wrong, Paris. You are not cliché or annoying or overrated or classless. You are none of those things. You are a new favorite discovery of mine, and though you have flaws, I’d like to ask you to go steady with me, because I plan on coming back to see you a few more times this year.
Paris, my little firefly of a city. I heart you. I love your food and your people and their accents that seem to dance like little butterflies fluttering in my ears, in comparison to another, harsh, throaty, evil language I know.
And now most importantly, here are some of the foods we took the time to try. I did miss out on some, but I was also busy walking, trying out the wine, picture taking, and napping, and so I will have to try the rest next time. France really has the most amazing food I’ve ever had, and I’d support going back just for a trip full of eating–anything, really, to escape the schnitzels.
French Onion Soup: The real deal. Carmelized. Gooey. Sweet, salty, thick.
Crispy, warm goat cheese with honey: To die for. Sweet, crunchy, salty, creamy, fresh.
Foie Gras: I don’t care how expensive this is. I guess I had some sort of idea in my head that led me to believe it’s like that pate you put on crackers on Christmas Eve at your Meme’s house or something. That stuff is surprisingly good, in a eat it once a year and don’t look at it or smell it type way. Foie Gras, though? I cannot believe they are somewhat the same thing. If you compare it to say strawberries and strawberry jam, meaning ground up strawberries, the two are pretty similar. This was not. This was a whole lot of yuck. Expensive yuck accompanied by tasteless and sharp pieces of toast. Dry, gamey, rustic, dirt, cat food, yuck. Iron Chef, you are a liar, sir. The only actual interesting part about foie gras is how it comes to be, which is amazing. See funny picture to visualize.
Escargot: Well done, Paris! Any other escargot I’ve ever tried has been nothing but a rubbery mess soaked in vats of garlic butter with no shells to be found. However, these plump snails were in their shells, allowing me to pull them out of the lady’s sweat they cooked in and taste them as they should be–slightly buttery, light and maybe with some sort of pesto? I’m not sure what that green is. Covered in lady’s sweat…or at least Chris told me that’s what their juices are called, or at least he says the Iron Chef said that. Apparently we put a lot of trust in the Iron Chef. I wonder if that’s healthy.
Fish and shellfish casserole: This is actually like a really delicious fish bisque (not chowder) inside a pot pie crust. Imagine my delight when that came out.
Crème brûlée: I thought this was Italian, but apparently everyone else in the world thinks it’s French and so we had it for dessert one night. It was amazing. It was sweet and it crackled when I pounced on it with a spoon and parts of it tasted sweet and smokey, like a slightly burnt campfire marshmallow, which is a surprisingly delightful taste.
Now I should at least go over what I thought was the biggest disappointment: Cathedrale Notre Dame de Paris. I really thought it would be something out of the ordinary, but really it was just any old church. The cathedral in Strasbourg is fifty times better, at least. Chris didn’t think my, “That’s 20 minutes of my life I can’t get back” comment was necessary as we left Notre Dame, but I was serious. Waste of time. Not only was is boring, but the amount of gypsies outside asking, “Do you speak English?”, was outrageous, especially since I didn’t bother with more than, “No.” Which means yes, I do, because I understood you and I said no and I clearly look American. So please take your change cup and your aggressive children and go attack someone with a fanny pack.
And now Musee De Louvre. God, I really loved this place. We only had a few hours to spend, and I really thought we could probably breeze through it, and I was wrong. We made it through 2 floors, 100,000 anteaters, too many amazing paintings and displays of jaw dropping creativity and we had to go. Next time I go back, I plan on spending a full day there. It’s well worth the 9euro.
And so, because I’m off to my First Annual Stuttgart Onesie Party, I’ll have to end this. Yes, that’s right. A Onesie party, meaning wearing pjs with footsies or whatever they are, while drinking with friends. No, we’re not bored or even that weird. Just another day in the Stu.