oh la la...a quick stop in Paris

I always love getting a trip to Paris on my roster.  It's so close to home and yet it's somewhere I never go.  Luckily I have a Parisian friend who is always happy to meet up for lunch and show me around, and I tell you, meeting up in a city with a native is the best.  You feel like you're one of the locals, eating where they eat, shopping where they shop (apparently, shopping on the Champs-Élysées is trés passé and is simply where the tourists go). Unfortunately my colleagues often frequent the same 'haunts'; on this particular occasion the captain offered to meet up at the local Irish pub (of all places!) followed by dinner at Flunch (on retelling this to my boyfriend who happens to be French, he visibly recoiled in disgust - apparently 'eating at Flunch is like jetting to the Caribbean and swimming in an indoor pool').  No thank you!

Fortunately for me my Parisian friend, Louison, has much more taste.  Last time we met up we had a coffee at the famous Cafe de Flore - it's claim to fame being the frequent haunt of 20th Century philosophers and writers - and lunch at L'Industrie near St Germain which had fabulous onglets de boeuf, although she had a rather questionable dish called boudin noir which I believe is a sausage shaped mass of congealed pig blood.  Mmm.  I tried a little, but it was the same as when I tried steak tartare in Strasbourg last year - my tongue was OK with it, but my brain couldn't shake the disgusting idea that I was eating cold, raw meat and wouldn't let me enjoy it.  Sorry, I tried, but I think it's degueulasse.

This time we met at a bistro with her friend Julia, who's one of those amazing people who can speak five languages fluently, and of whom I will be eternally jealous.  We shared a bottle of red - bien sur - but Louison had to rush off to see a concert with her dad.  Julia and I had got on like a house on fire so we decided to hang out that afternoon.  She showed me her chic Parisian apartment which, although small, had a  gorgeous view of the city below - so envious.  Her friend Romain popped over and we decided to go out to a bar that evening in Pigalle - the arty yet seedy district of Paris.

On the way I had a little 'Marilyn Monroe' moment outside the Moulin Rouge...as you do.

And my head is aflame!

Julia and Romain

Now, I was expecting the typical studenty bar, the type I used to go to in Leeds.  It certainly looked like one, a small establishment buzzing with young people.  But on closer inspection the chalky words on the blackboards weren't offering 'pound a pint' or 'woo woos', but a rather diverse selection of wines and beers. And not just the grapes, but their regions too.  In a STUDENT bar.  I don't think any of us cared, or even knew about wine regions at uni, as long as the booze got us sufficiently sloshed.  I was impressed.

As we all sat around a tiny table and I was duly introduced to some friends of theirs, Romain ordered a petit plat, which he said was a little snack to have with our drinks.  I was expecting some peanuts, McCoys, or perhaps a dish of the French equivalent of Tyrrell's Handmade Crisps, seeing as this place was a little classier than your average student bar.  No, we were presented with this:

A mini fromagerie and charcuterie, with a little basket of fresh, warm baguette.  I was visibly astounded; it all tasted sensational.  Romain simply shrugged.  'C'est normal', he said indifferently, 'It is to compliment our wine.'  Bloody hell, I thought, the Parisians, even students on a budget, really do know how to live.