Unfinished Biz

feast-worthy

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So I realized I never finished blabbering about the things I inhaled in Paris last month, which is a crime and no way to end the year. What if I didn’t tell the world about my goat cheese quiche? How would people even find purpose? IDK. So here I go. Also, this is how I remember my caloric intake/revelations abroad, which is crucial for when I migrate/elope there and never come back.

Also, I don’t consider myself an alcoholic but if I was forced to consume three (or five) cocktails a night, I would gladly chug. I hate that checkbox at the doctor when it’s like 2-3 drinks nightly and then they look at you like you’re ratchet. Go judge your mother. I’m invincible. Until I vomit my intestines. Then, no bueno. (Minus the lbs. down the drain.) Sorry, that was me telling you about the cocktail bars I visited and loved.

…That includes Le Mary Celeste (fell in love with the bartender, went back the next night). But also, this tequila, dry vermouth, tomato water, agave and lime situation was the bomb. Essentially like eating gazpacho.

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Then there was Candelaria, which used to be my shit, but this time my drink tasted like a legitimate turd, and it was the first time in my life I didn’t finish it, so I guess I just paid for the vibes, which is fine. Could have also been my fault since there was horchata, rum and tequila all up in my drink. What was I thinking? (I wasn’t.)

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I also went back to Andy Wahloo since it was remodeled and now the floor lights up which is kind of trippy, and the bathroom was dark AF so I kind of peed all over my leg, BUT my mezcal cocktail was totally delicious. And so were the free olives.

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Also, these steak frites from Le Relais de Venise de L’Entrecôte do not get old. I’ve been here more times than I care to share (why do you even care?) and I can tell you that getting seconds of steak and fries piled onto your plate with some mind-altering secret sauce is the key to finding happiness and fulfillment in your soul. If you haven’t been, I just don’t think we can connect on deep and personal levels. I’m not telling you about the dessert consumed unless you send me a personal message.

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I’m probably immortal but if I were to request a death-row meal, it would likely be quiche with a side of Honey Bunches of Oats mixed with Cinnamon Toast Crunch and sliced banana, with three large cookies from Levain, a Reese’s cup, and…I feel like I’m missing shit. Stay tuned.

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Oh, the quiche. Bread and Roses is definitely the most overpriced quiche you can find on the continent, but it’s somehow worth it because it’s like 6 inches tall and the microscopic bread basket contains this really epic nutty and dried fruit morsel of bread that makes you wonder why you even eat Wasa crackers in the first place, etc. So yeah, for 18 Euros, you can experience this leek and goat cheese quiche with a decorative sliver of asparagus. Just enough to make your pee still smell.

I SWEAR I DO CULTURAL SHIT TOO.

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The Luxembourg Gardens is one of my favorite places in the world. I’ve def enjoyed some baguettes and fromage on the grass there (the other grass field, not pictured). It was too cold to sit, linger and ponder the fate of my future and existence for too long because the seats were also frozen and ugh, not D, but it’s right next to Bread & Roses so all things were very strategic.

Regarding the pic of my cookie and latte all the way at the top: I was a cookie in my past life. So what? Maybe I was a cookie monster. Totally interchangeable. Anyways, that was at Boot Cafe, which is the size of my bathroom. Practically invisible to the naked eye, and not worth a trek to, but definitely drop by for some caffeine if you’re in the hood.

This is basically the whole place. There are three tables the size of my face.

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Okay, I also found my new go-to spot. It’s called L’Avant Comptoir and the menu items (all tapas) are hanging from the ceiling so you may have to crack your neck for 12 minutes while contemplating the future of your culinary endeavors, but this place is a must. There are no chairs, so you just stand and make a mess all over the bar while eating tasty apps, drinking delicious wine, and overindulging in the bread and mountain of butter that is a communal centerpiece.

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Pretty sure (actually, this is a fact) that we spent three hours there. You see that block of life that is sitting on a wooden board with a red knife to it’s left? That’s butter.

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Have you ever had fried ravioli before? They’re small. Also, that mushroom situation with an egg. That little plate on the left that looks like chocolate cake is actually a little sandwich with a cow’s tail (like in steak form). I ate a cow’s tail. It tasted like a combination of brisket and short rib. I was into it.

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Should’ve given the photographer the lowdown on what a proper angle looks like so that the person all the way on the left (that would be me) does not have a double chin, but it’s too late. Do you think the bread and butter had an instant effect? Whatever. That’s the crew! My cousin, Noemie and her husband, Anthony. Epic creatures.

Then, there’s Claus. Another overpriced favorite of mine that I couldn’t leave without inhaling. Mer. They offer an a la carte menu, along with a few prix-fixes, ranging from 17 Euros (basically a drink and a croissant), and it goes up to 31.50 if you’re a baller and want aaaaall the croissants. I might’ve had one. And a scone. And a few other things.

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This is the downstairs part, reserved for walk-in’s. The upstairs is a bit more cozy. This place is small and there’s always a long ass wait, so definitely reserve if you’re planning on going. Slightly overpriced? Oui. Life-changing eats? Non. Worth it? Def.

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Random buildings I wouldn’t mind residing in. Like, why doesn’t my apartment look like Hotel de Ville? Is that too much to ask? I don’t think so.

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Okay, and this little floating book situation because it feels very much like Paris to me. And also to reiterate that I do things aside from eat. Only sometimes though.

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I have this thing for turtlenecks where I go from zero to mature lady real quick. It’s either tits all out or turtleneck. Balance was never my forte.

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And FYI, I did see some art. AND I freaking waited in line while it was weirdly misting for one hour while hungry and not yet caffeinated. I know, can’t fathom either.

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So that’s the Fondation Louis Vuitton. My grandma was V proud. I was hitting her up on Whatsapp like Yo! Here’s your Matisse. And look, Degas, Monet, Picasso, and all your homies. It was a pretty cool place to see, but definitely go early AF and don’t even reserve because people with pre-bought tickets waited just as long. Just go early and caffeinated so you don’t bark at people and dead artists.

There are a few other things inhaled but I think that’s enough for 2016. Yala, bye.

This should be an annual (solo) trip.

 

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