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Let me just set the scene for you as I write this: Rusty, Stacy, Kelley and I have come back to the apartment after a fun day, which I will describe, and we are now relaxing in the living room with cheap but tasty wine, a given in Paris.
We’re enjoying hors d’oeuvres: slices of fresh baguette, topped with creamy cheese and amazing sausage-mushroom marinara ,leftover from last night’s dinner (browned in the oven). There’s also a plate of sliced Fuji apples, hard cheese, pesto-marinated cherry tomatoes and more baguette except this batch is room-temperature slices rubbed with garlic, smeared with olive oil and a smattering of cracked black pepper.
We had another great day filled with iconic Paris sights and experiences. We walked approximately 50 yards across a crushed pebble park walkway and were that quickly under the mammoth Eiffel Tower equidistant between its four “feet.” What an imposing yet elegant structure!
It’s pedestrian-only beneath the tower, the anchor of one end of the Champs de Mars, the famous tree-lined grassy mall. At the other end of this extended vista is L’Ecole Militaire, the military academy where Napoleon and countless other French soldiers studied military strategy. We veered off the Champs de Mars to reach Marie Anne Cantin, arguably Paris’ most famous cheese shop. It is a tiny shop, as are most in Paris, but it is jam-packed floor to ceiling with the most fabulous yet ugly, moldy cheese – from wedges to rounds, blocks and enormous wheels. We only peered in through the huge glass windows and watched the purveyor slice and weigh her stinky-yet-divine wares. We could honestly smell the cheese vapors escaping through the glass! Just a few steps later we were at the Rue Cler, a famed pedestrian-only market street.
While window-shopping and mingling there, we noticed a nearly inconspicuous camera crew directed toward a man – wearing a very conspicuous wig – and woman who were attending a card-table set up nearly in the middle of the street. They were offering passers-by a cup of red wine they were ladling from a bowl. We were hesitant at first, but they insisted, in English, that they were giving away cups of wine today and that we should try some. Kelley was the only brave one, but Rusty, Stacy and I gathered around to observe. After Kelley tasted the wine, the couple asked him what he thought of it. Kelley said it was awful! They agreed it was, that it tasted like vinegar. (Odd.) They thanked us for trying it and we walked away.
Just a few steps down the street we were stopped by a young lady who said we had been part of a joke they were staging for a comedy DVD being filmed there today. She told us we were part of a prank by famous French comedian, Jean-Yves Lafesse. Apparently it was he in the bad wig. We all signed a release and hopefully will someday see ourselves – or hear from others who saw us – on the DVD.
Along with a huge crowd of French folks out on their lunch break, we secured a table at the Café Marche. Kelley’s sister had highly recommended we visit the café; we also found later it was touted by our Fodor’s Paris book. We were not disappointed.
Their signature dish is duck confit, a hind-quarter of duck, pan fried (in its own fat, hence the “confit”) served with pan-fried diced potatoes and a green salad. Kelley and Stacy chose the confit, with promises to share.
I ordered a salad consisting of butter lettuce, shredded carrots, steamed haricot verts, cauliflower florets and shredded cabbage which seemed to be lightly coated with a creamy vinegar-based dressing. 
Along one side of the salad was a mound of beautiful yellow cous cous studded with a few golden raisins. Atop all this were two-by-three inch squares of breaded and pan fried, amazingly creamy goat cheese. O-M-G.
Rusty chose the salmon skewers which came chargrilled with a sweet glaze, accompanied by a mound of white rice. The salmon was extremely fresh and had none of the unfortunately common “whang” many inland salmon dishes have in the States. He declared it fantastic, as did I, because he was kind enough to share a bite. Kelley and Stacy shared generous tastes of their duck and potatoes which were also TOO DIE FOR. See pics of all.
As if the lunch entrees weren’t enough, we shared two desserts. I chose a pear tart wading in homemade chocolate sauce, and Rusty chose profiteroles – puff pastry balls filled with chilled cream and topped with ice cream and chocolate drizzle. My pear tart was beautiful! The pear slices were paper thin and pinwheeled expertly in a circle atop the vanilla cream filling. Unfortunately, a butane kitchen torch, used to give the pears a browned highlight, completely burned the edge of the crust to a pitch black. We enjoyed the inside but left the outside crust alone.
The profiteroles were light and sweet, and the creamy parts were divine. Amazingly, we were able to ambulate and make our way to Les Invalides, a sprawling former military hospital and where Napoleon is buried.
We then caught the metro to Montmartre, a hilly, funky, touristy artists’ neighborhood full of shops and cafes in the literal shadow of the neighborhood’s focal point, the hilltop Sacre Coeur cathedral. Sacre Coeur’s dome is the second highest spot in Paris; only the Eiffel Tower soars higher.
Stacy and I browsed the shops and picked up a few souvenirs, while Kelley and Rusty went ahead to find a spot out of the fray. We caught up with them and decided not to scale the significantly steep, bestepped hillside to tour the church, but instead surveyed the sunlit structure in perfect view from four café seats below.
Tomorrow: Versailles
Bon soir (good night)!
Let me just set the scene for you as I write this: Rusty, Stacy, Kelley and I have come back to the apartment after a fun day, which I will describe, and we are now relaxing in the living room with cheap but tasty wine, a given in Paris.
We’re enjoying hors d’oeuvres: slices of fresh baguette, topped with creamy cheese and amazing sausage-mushroom marinara ,leftover from last night’s dinner (browned in the oven). There’s also a plate of sliced Fuji apples, hard cheese, pesto-marinated cherry tomatoes and more baguette except this batch is room-temperature slices rubbed with garlic, smeared with olive oil and a smattering of cracked black pepper.
We had another great day filled with iconic Paris sights and experiences. We walked approximately 50 yards across a crushed pebble park walkway and were that quickly under the mammoth Eiffel Tower equidistant between its four “feet.” What an imposing yet elegant structure!
It’s pedestrian-only beneath the tower, the anchor of one end of the Champs de Mars, the famous tree-lined grassy mall. At the other end of this extended vista is L’Ecole Militaire, the military academy where Napoleon and countless other French soldiers studied military strategy. We veered off the Champs de Mars to reach Marie Anne Cantin, arguably Paris’ most famous cheese shop. It is a tiny shop, as are most in Paris, but it is jam-packed floor to ceiling with the most fabulous yet ugly, moldy cheese – from wedges to rounds, blocks and enormous wheels. We only peered in through the huge glass windows and watched the purveyor slice and weigh her stinky-yet-divine wares. We could honestly smell the cheese vapors escaping through the glass! Just a few steps later we were at the Rue Cler, a famed pedestrian-only market street.
While window-shopping and mingling there, we noticed a nearly inconspicuous camera crew directed toward a man – wearing a very conspicuous wig – and woman who were attending a card-table set up nearly in the middle of the street. They were offering passers-by a cup of red wine they were ladling from a bowl. We were hesitant at first, but they insisted, in English, that they were giving away cups of wine today and that we should try some. Kelley was the only brave one, but Rusty, Stacy and I gathered around to observe. After Kelley tasted the wine, the couple asked him what he thought of it. Kelley said it was awful! They agreed it was, that it tasted like vinegar. (Odd.) They thanked us for trying it and we walked away.
Just a few steps down the street we were stopped by a young lady who said we had been part of a joke they were staging for a comedy DVD being filmed there today. She told us we were part of a prank by famous French comedian, Jean-Yves Lafesse. Apparently it was he in the bad wig. We all signed a release and hopefully will someday see ourselves – or hear from others who saw us – on the DVD.
Along with a huge crowd of French folks out on their lunch break, we secured a table at the Café Marche. Kelley’s sister had highly recommended we visit the café; we also found later it was touted by our Fodor’s Paris book. We were not disappointed.
Their signature dish is duck confit, a hind-quarter of duck, pan fried (in its own fat, hence the “confit”) served with pan-fried diced potatoes and a green salad. Kelley and Stacy chose the confit, with promises to share.
I ordered a salad consisting of butter lettuce, shredded carrots, steamed haricot verts, cauliflower florets and shredded cabbage which seemed to be lightly coated with a creamy vinegar-based dressing. 
Along one side of the salad was a mound of beautiful yellow cous cous studded with a few golden raisins. Atop all this were two-by-three inch squares of breaded and pan fried, amazingly creamy goat cheese. O-M-G.
Rusty chose the salmon skewers which came chargrilled with a sweet glaze, accompanied by a mound of white rice. The salmon was extremely fresh and had none of the unfortunately common “whang” many inland salmon dishes have in the States. He declared it fantastic, as did I, because he was kind enough to share a bite. Kelley and Stacy shared generous tastes of their duck and potatoes which were also TOO DIE FOR. See pics of all.
As if the lunch entrees weren’t enough, we shared two desserts. I chose a pear tart wading in homemade chocolate sauce, and Rusty chose profiteroles – puff pastry balls filled with chilled cream and topped with ice cream and chocolate drizzle. My pear tart was beautiful! The pear slices were paper thin and pinwheeled expertly in a circle atop the vanilla cream filling. Unfortunately, a butane kitchen torch, used to give the pears a browned highlight, completely burned the edge of the crust to a pitch black. We enjoyed the inside but left the outside crust alone.
The profiteroles were light and sweet, and the creamy parts were divine. Amazingly, we were able to ambulate and make our way to Les Invalides, a sprawling former military hospital and where Napoleon is buried.
We then caught the metro to Montmartre, a hilly, funky, touristy artists’ neighborhood full of shops and cafes in the literal shadow of the neighborhood’s focal point, the hilltop Sacre Coeur cathedral. Sacre Coeur’s dome is the second highest spot in Paris; only the Eiffel Tower soars higher.
Stacy and I browsed the shops and picked up a few souvenirs, while Kelley and Rusty went ahead to find a spot out of the fray. We caught up with them and decided not to scale the significantly steep, bestepped hillside to tour the church, but instead surveyed the sunlit structure in perfect view from four café seats below.
Tomorrow: Versailles
Bon soir (good night)!
