LAUREN WALDSTEIN

When we got to Paris it was cold and rainy and the sky was gray.  Pretty much exactly how I pictured it.  Our hotel, Hotel de l'Europe, was right by the Gare du Nord situated just below Montmartre, so after we checked in we headed straight for the top to Sacre Coeur. 

On the way, we stopped for some French cuisine at a little cafe.  The cafes and restaurants all look so typically French, just like the Italian restaurants look so typically Italian.  Maybe that sounds stupid, but I always thought that the bold, mustard colored, cartoonish writing and the maroon awnings in American French restaurants were just an attempt to set a Parisian mood.  That someone somewhere decided that's what "French" feels like.  But that's actually what they're like.  I feel the same way about Italian restaurants.  Most of them do have red checkered table cloths with wine bottles on the tables and slender cursive writing on their awnings. 

Anyway, we walked into a little French cafe where I ordered an omelette avec fromage and Hallie ordered a crepe avec nutella.  Both of our orders were right on for a little afternoon pick me up.  Then we headed up to the Sacre Coeur which is the giant church at the very top of Montmartre. 

The next day we woke up to another grey sky and chilly air.  We started the morning with croissants and baguettes downstairs at our hotel.  Now, up until that Monday morning if someone had asked me if I'd had a croissant before, I'd have said yes.  But wow.  This was a croissant.  It was light, flaky, buttery, crusty, and crispy on the outside, but moist and little chewy on the inside.  It pulled apart perfectly with a slight spring in the dough and a tiny crumb explosion from the crust.  Pair that with a little cherry jelly and some cafe and orange juice and call it a breakfast of champions.

On the way to the Centre Pompidou, we stopped at Paul, a chain bakery all over Paris.  This chain is the real deal.  I ordered a chocolate macaroon, but not like the Jewish macaroons that are like a little bite of coconutty cake.  This kind of macaroon is a moist, dense, rich chocolate cake forming a sandwich around a light, fluffy, mouthwatering chocolate mousse.  It is the best food I have ever eaten.  I did not want it to end.  It was creamy and rich, but the darkness of the chocolate gave it a little bite, and the warmth of the whole thing filled my body with deliciousness in the midst of a cold, dreary day.

From the Pompidou we went home, our feet begging us for a break.  "My dogs were barking," as Dad might say.  After another short siesta we went to Stephie's friend Sanna's apartment where we chilled and stayed warm and then she took us to get another one of the best meals of my life.  At a little bistro/bar/cafe at 11:30 at night we went to get french onion soup, pomme frites, and beer.  THE BEST SOUP EVER.  EVER.  The cheese was so perfectly gooey and buttery on top of the steaming broth with wonderfully limp onions, and chunky soggy bread.  I'm not even a soup person, and I have been thinking about this soup ever since. 

Day 3.  We woke up and headed back to the Eiffel Tower where we were supposed to meet some friends, but plans fell through and we ended up missing them.  Neither of us cared too much because we still got to start the day at the Eiffel Tower.  Pretty good.  We stopped at a patisserie for lunch where I got a chicken breast, lettuce, and tomato baguette.  I have to say, Paris kicks Rome's ass in the bread department.  I did not have a single bad piece of bread while I was there.  But not only that, every kind of bread I ate was more amazing than the last. 

Hallie got a hot dog and then a mini lemon meringue pie, which she more than enjoyed.  She went up to the counter after finishing her hot dog, brought back the pie, then silently began to take bite after bite.  At one point she said to me all in one breath, "Doyouwantabiteyoudon'tlikelemon."  I laughed and said, "Actually if you don't mind I'd love to try a little."  So she gave me the smallest, fastest bite ever and then continued her endeavor.  At the end of her tiny pie she took a breath, slammed her fork down on the table, looked up and said "That is the best pie I have ever eaten."  I pick my friends based on their enthusiasm for food. 

After Paris we were Barcelona bound...