frexinet ice

I’m afraid we misbehaved a bit last night.

We’re back in Paris, almost a year to the day after the most recent post in this blog. It has been a busy year, but not one that has much of anything with expatting, so the blog has been quiet. With today’s entry, it returns.


It began with a bottle of cava. Frexinet from our old Catalonian neighborhood near Girona. They call it Frexinet “Ice.”  I like to chill cava in the freezer for 45 minutes before I open it. After it’s chilled like that, shards of ice float on the surface when it’s poured. From the looks of the bottle (above), Frexinet Ice was to be my elixir.

Au Fil des Saisons

Restaurant Au Fil des Saisons

So we bought a bottle. Drank it, then went out for dinner at a little Parisian hideaway three blocks from our apartment called Au Fil des Saisons. We followed the cava with a few more drinks there, laughed a bit loudly while discussing American politics, and generally contributed to the further tarnishment of the image of Americans worldwide.

The behavior was bad. The food was good. The cava was awful.

This is an oblique attempt to illustrate our life with food in Paris. Our neighborhood (Northern Marais, 3rd arrondissement) is “…a buzzing enclave of hip cafes [and] eateries,” according to Google Maps — and it is. Within a 15-minute walk of our apartment, one can dine on exquisite French cuisine, of course, but also hot dogs, pizza, McDonald’s, Burger King, KFC — even lobster rolls. Louise is from Rhode Island. Lobster rolls are her elixir

fast food

Fast food row on Boulevard Saint-Martin (note how Louise appears twice…)

To my delight there’s a boulangerie next door (see this post), and for those occasions when one absolutely must eat something besides fresh pâtisseries, there’s an open-air market five minutes up the street.

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The delight of Parisian food is the variety. French marchés offer food that’s fresh and gorgeous. Quaint little restaurants range from gourmet to everyday. French fast food is cheap and imaginative (even the American brands). And here in the 3rd arrondissement, everything is within a fifteen-minute walk—or less.

So. We’re back in Paris. Misbehavin’ (but not too much), eating (oh so well), and loving everything the city has to offer.