Rose Bakery, Breasts, stalkers

What an amazing day, and its only 2 pm here! I woke up this morning in Paris, again.  I guess this might take some time to get used to but I am loving this opportunity that I have been given.  Yesterday I was stuck in doors for most of the day and wasn’t interested in walking, however today I was out for 4 hours and it felt like nothing (my feet would disagree).  My day started with some googling.  Since I am unable to use gps on my phone I write the directions to my destination on my phone and hope I don’t get lost. Googling turned into a video chat with my mom.  She asked me how my day was and I was slightly confused, but then realized she was talking about yesterday, because it was “yesterday” where she is. 

Yesterday I got a phone! I named it bug because it looks like a ladybug.

I also went to Monoprix yesterday. It’s like a smaller slightly more upscale (?) version of Target, but not really. I spent at least an hour there walking around from the home accessories to beauty supplies and lastly to the two floors of food! I have to say that the selection was wonderful but the set up was slightly odd and nonsensical.  I kept happening upon spices and pastas in different aisles.

I ended up with a jewish mango, a box of tomato paste-ish, thyme, lentils, Chinese peppers (apparently they don’t believe in crushed red peppers here, sin), pasta, some fixings for coleslaw, white sheets and a red comforter cover.  My plan was to end up with pink sheets, which I did, well at least blotchy tie dye looking pink sheets.

Post Monoprix coma, I attempted to walk home with my four bags of stuff but I made it far enough to hop in a cab at a cabstand. Unfortunately an older woman decided to feed the pigeons right next to me and I ended up being attacked by a possessed nasty flying rat. It landed on my head and I think I may have screamed. I spent the last hours of my day wondering how long it would take for a pigeon disease to set in and kill me.

I am so excited to tell you about my first meal today and my day that I have to skip to the end and just show a picture of my dinner last night.  I decided to cook some pasta with the stuff I had picked up at Monoprix.  I sautéed garlic and shallots in olive oil and within minutes I was cooking in the kitchen at home with my mom.  The aroma wafted through my apartment, I was home.

Back to today’s adventure.  I put on my most Parisian looking outfit, a white with blue striped shirt, a navy blue skirt and red flats. Okay, so I looked out the window before I left my apartment and realized that all you really need to look Parisian, is a jacket.

Skip forward 40 minutes, on my way to Rose Bakery. Walking down the street, I was approached by a man who attempted to talk to me for 5 minutes.  He finally came out with this jumbled sentence, “ can I give you my phone, I want to come to your hotel.” After having said no, sorry and bye in French, I sternly said NO and walked away.  I guess life is all about experiences, and once I got to Rose Bakery I had a life changing one. Not only was my walk overwhelming with the beauty of every single building, my breakfast was heavenly.

Walking down the street, I knew I was there without looking at the sign. It was exactly the place I could imagine my mom going to. There were flats of fruits and veggies lining the floor just below the cases on the counter.  Everything looked perfect. The display started with chard filled quiches, then moved to small pizzas with tomato sauce, petit slices of mozzarella and olives, then finally moving to the sweets. There were a variety of loave: citrus, marble, something green with raspberries, and a lemon polenta cake. The display continued with more delectable looking sweets, and then there it was, a pile of small, almost perfectly circular scones. 

After I was told that the kitchen wasn’t open until 12, I decided to try two of their prepared salads. There was cucumber with fennel, a slaw, haricot vert with a light, creamy dressing and little chunks of something and lastly a potato salad.  The lady who helped me, Nikki, an American from Los Angeles, gave me a bowl of haricot vert and the slaw.  It was something that my mom would have made (minus the cream dressing).

I spent a few extra seconds wondering which treat to have.  Although I thought nothing could be better than a Tartine scone, I opted to try one of theirs. The warmed scone came with a two small bowls on the side, one with a medallion of butter and a, what I thought to be, homemade chunky blueberry jam. I like to enjoy the simplicity of the scone flavor, however something drew me to the jam.

First, the scone was more like a current biscuit, with light and flakey layers that come apart like pull apart bread. As for the jam, the flavors burst in my mouth.  It was sweet with a slight tartness.  I began to pull the scone apart layer by layer, slathering it with the jam. It was so flavorful and amazing that I guiltily licked the knife after each glide across the scone. As I sat in the long, narrow bakery, with two other patrons (also American), and Nikki, eating my scone, I shed a single tear. Maybe because it reminded me of home, or that my parents raved about it since last November, but I think it was the scone.

I walked up to the front and talked to Nikki for a bit. She was beautiful, tall with brown hair and a perfect French accent. She had moved from LA last year.  She told me that she teaches English part time and works at Rose Bakery part time as well.  If I wasn’t here for a particular reason, I would have said that I could pack up and go home, I wont find anything as good here. I also got a marble cake and polenta cake to go, neither of which compare to the scone, although the marble cake uses dark chocolate that melts in your mouth.

On my journey home, I took a wrong turn and ended up meandering around and happened upon Monoprix, where I bought some white, comfy slippers for my poor feet.  I also came across this cute flower shop. 

To top the day off, I had a quick, lovely visit from the Rocherolle family. It is so nice to see a familiar face in a foreign country.

Tonight I am going out for Emilie’s birthday! I hope to have a fantastic time with her and her friends. What a lovely ending to an amazing day.

One last thought. Breasts must not exist in Paris. From a short study done by myself in the last 2 days, I have concluded that the French are much worse than Americans in the inappropriately staring department, and its not just the men.  Yes, I have breasts, I also have eyes, and they are on my face.  They’re here, I’ve had to get used to them, so do you Paris. Keep it moving!

Bisous