Manger Bouger

Productivity awaits as soon as I step out the door, so today entailed a trip across the river to check out a café that has received great press in terms of serving up Americana in Francelandia. It’s called The Sugarplum Cake Shop, and it’s located (quite fittingly for me)  next to Ernest Hemingway’s old digs.

 As soon as I walk through the café door, the counter guy greets me in super-friendly American English. The interior is simply adorned to be warm and inviting- there’s no assault of some electric pink and purple decor- as you might expect given the cake shop’s name. I’m loving the fact that Joy Division and Joni Mitchell are playing on the sound system; this is definitely a place that invites a person to linger for awhile- and that’s precisely what I intend on doing.

As I wait to place my order, I’m scanning the display of unpretentious yet sophisticated confections… 

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Yes they have cake, but on the far right you can see Rice Krispy treats and real live chocolate chip cookies. Also on the menu are bottomless cups of filter coffee, something that will go quite well with the big table that I have staked out for myself. Big tables…endless cups of black coffee…am I really in France?

It’s also not so horrible that the guy waiting on me is really cute. He is super nice and very friendly, but I have to say that I was a little bemused at his relative deficiency in terms of being an attentive cafe worker. That’s okay though- I’m in no rush, and I’ve accepted that guys who are the prettiest to look at are also the ones who have the least to offer in terms of mental dexterity. I’m sure that men would say the same thing about women…but I’m getting off topic here…

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Very sweet and beautiful-eyed boy aside, I’m left to my devices to drink coffee and read about all the drugs that are making their way through the waters of West Africa. I had ordered a slice of cake, which I forgot to photograph (but this it here). I will tell you that the frosting had loads of real vanilla beans in it, and I am still on a sugar high some eight hours later. It. Was. Awesome.
After getting my fill of coffee and how much help Africa needs in terms of combating instability, I depart this excellent café and get ready for a nice, wandering walk home. I live about an hour away from here on foot- probably more given the fact that I will doubtlessly get turned around- but I don’t mind the delay. It’s a beautiful afternoon, and this city has streetlights and sidewalks! Alhamdoulilah.

I soon arrive at the Seine and make my way towards the nearest bridge spanning over to Île de la Cité. As I’m walking past the bouquinistes, I am stopped by a kind lady who wants to give me something. It’s not a flier, so I take it from her as she gestures to go and walk down the stairs to the riverside. I’m a little confused, but am also intrigued. Something’s going on down there, and quickly decide that my social calendar can make room for a deliberate detour down to water level.

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Why it’s some kind of market. France only has a million of these wonderful things going on at any given time. Still, this might be worth checking out…

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This guy was handing out slices of melon for people to taste. I wasn’t about to drop that into my bag, so I continued on into the crowd.

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It turns out that this is a “floating market” that has come to Paris in order to show off the best products of southwest France. Bonjour to another score in agendaless exploration!

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I see a line being formed near the quay, so like any good human being I quickly hop in before seeing what it’s all about. (Hey, I don’t want to miss the boat on a potentially good thing!) As it turns out, my blind instinct is correct; when I finally see the sign on the railing, it shows two words that spell “win” in my book: “degustation” and “Master Chef”. Okay, that’s three words, but something good must be going on here…
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The Master Chef not only has a book, but here she is hard at work making something on a hot plate. After my cake-fueled study period, I’m still not really hungry- but if we’re talking about doing something in the name of cultural awareness, I’m always game to try something out.
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Here is the chef’s creation (nail color by the way, is courtesy of April, my stylish nail polish hook-up). This aesthetically-pleasing creation had oatmeal, grapes, apples, and a jam-laced whipped cream concoction that was really nice. Not too sweet, not too heavy- and not at all like the Sugarplum cake from an hour ago. Still, it was tasty in its own right.

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As I wait in line for the Master Chef, I continue to hold this mystery paper bag in my hands- the one that brought me down here in the first place. It is not until I get to the head of the line at the Chef’s table that I understand its purpose. The line next door is handing out free stuff, so I of course give in to my “humans like free stuff” urge and head on over that table.

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It turns out that lots of people want free stuff, so I patiently queue up and field the same question asked of me several times: “What are you all waiting for?”. Free stuff and standing in line, two great tastes that go together.

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It’s not long before the super-smiley volunteers put some fresh fruit and a head of garlic into my little sack. At this stage in the afternoon the market is pretty packed, and I can tell that these vendors are not from the city…they are way too happy to be dealing with us yahoos who are only here for the free food.

Actually, the market is a balanced mix of stuff for sale and stuff for tasting. There is so much to see that I spend a fair amount of time floating from table to table, just to see what the southwest of France has to offer. Here’s a look:

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Captive Pears! How did they get in the bottle? They may be prisoners, but at least they are serving out their sentence by being complétement saoule.

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The French have a serious love of prunes, and I’m not quite sure why. I got to this table and the lady had me try a stuffed prune. “What is it stuffed with?” I asked. “Prunes!” was her answer. I tasted it, and yep- it certainly was. I don’t understand the attraction, apart from the fact that this would help me stay regular.

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So many prune products, but I couldn’t bring myself to buy a bag of prune-stuffed prunes. So instead I gave the lady two euros and bought this shot of prune-soaked liqueur. I’m thinking that this will probably end up being something that is gifted and re-gifted a few times. Prunes don’t top the list of things that excite me when we’re talking about flavored booze. Still, I’m all about the culture here….

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I’m starting to think that I need to get my ass to this part of France. I’ve never been out there…

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Pain d‘épices, more than you would ever want in one sitting! Incidentally, this stuff is used to make my favorite ice cream flavor in France (yes, that would be called pain d’épices flavor).

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 Wow. Now this is a serious chocolate stand. After my cake and coffee from tout à l’heure, it’s still too much of a sugar rush for me to try out all in one day…I can’t possibly eat anything more…

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…hang on a minute…..

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I love escargots!  The vendor was selling little baskets of them, but I wasn’t hungry for a whole bucket. I asked him instead if it would be possible for me to buy just one. “No, it’s not possible for you to buy just one!” he said, “You can have one for free!”. He handed me a stick of snail, and again I was amazed at the joviality of the people manning this market.

The snail is a tiny serving of herbed and buttery happiness that does not disappoint. This is one kick-ass market. The only problem now is that I’m thirsty. Lucky for me all I need to do is move over to the next table and visit the nice lady selling glasses of wine for 2 euros a pop. 
“What kind of red wine do you like?” she asks me. I tell her that I like all wine, so she sets off to having me sample a healthy pour from each bottle before I make my decision. I thank her for being so kind, and she promptly informs me that she is not about to sell me a glass of wine that I won’t like. Then she proceeds to fill my cup up to the brim, and I start to wonder if she’s partaking in her own product.  Good for her if that’s the case. I thank her again for the beverage, and she answers with one of my favorite French responses, one that I have heard several times over during the course of this day: “C’est moi qui vous remercie“- “No, thank you“. That sounds better in French…
Now that my purse is weighed down with fruit, prune booze and my school work, I need to get out of this market and head home. I make my way back towards the stairs leading to city-level, but not before raising a toast to my afternoon of fun finds.

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 Cheers, random floating market!

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This time I actually make it across the bridge and step onto Île de la Cité. Before cutting across the island, I do stop to check in on Charlemagne and ensure that he’s still keeping watch over my favorite spot in the world. (Dad, you’ll be happy to know that OPS are still normal over here.)

One wine-buzzed walk back up the hill, and I finally arrive home feeling quite satisfied with my day fueled by cake, snails and maritime security. I don’t know if I’ll be as productive tomorrow, but today was certainly another reminder that it pays to get out and about.