Vigo Baby's Rhapsodies

[Boondoggle de France] -- Paris Bread Hunt I

Having purchased museum passes, we decided to start our day early in order to cover as many museums as our feeble legs (and hearts) would allow. France, like most parts in the United States, observes the notorious Daylight Saving Time (DST) rule. In fact, rumor has it (how contradictory!) that it was the French who invented this DST thing-y, and Benjamin Franklin, while a minister to France, thought it was cute and brought it back, among French fries and many other useless – and useful – stuff, to the States.

(While it was fun to blame – I mean, credit – the French with this novel DST idea, as a conscientious scientist, with all the rights and privileges pertaining thereto [1], I inevitably ran a search on the history of DST, and voila! It was Franklin, and Franklin alone, that in a moment of whimsy, suggested this idea in an essay titled "An Economical Project for Diminishing the Cost of Light," published in the Journal de Paris in April 1784. – Now that’s where my French connection was from…

What did DTS have to do with museums? Well, to make full use of the 3-day passes, we set off at sunrise, 8am. Considering last night’s questionable quality of sleep, we were doing very well. But there was no time to indulge in self-congratulations; if we didn’t get coffee soon, some people would collapse. We hurried to the metro station. Greeting us as we entered the underground passages was this unworldly wonderful aroma of freshly-baked breads, which unfortunately, agitated us even more.

We got out at Metro Pyramides, took rue des Pyramides, and turned to rue St. Honore. According to various tour books, we should have smelled Café Verlet when coming into its 3km radius. However, not only was Café Verlet no where to be found, the highly-appraised coffee parfume that was supposed to be permanent in the air, left not a tiny trace in this gloomy Parisian morning. We asked around: the staff of the nearby hotels, the neighboring cafés, and the delivery people on the street, all smiled and pointed us to the same, right direction. We walked up and down rue St. Honore again and again and again. Then we heard noises coming out of some shop/store. That was it! Café Verlet did not vanish; it was under renovation. (That was our best consolation…)

As we desperately needed to fuel ourselves, we sat down in a café next to the Louvre. The full breakfast came with espresso – the precious fluid of life – orange juice, eggs and ham, croissants with jam, and demi baguettes. The espresso was good – in fact, at this hour of jet-lag wilt, any espresso will do – the orange juice, eggs, and ham were, well, orange juice, eggs, and ham. The croissants were popping hot, as puffy pastries should be; and the slender flute-like, pale looking baguette, halved and coated with a thick layer of butter from Brittany, was neither warm nor cold, not particularly enticing. But the first bite (and the many subsequent bites) proved itself in its own way – Or could it be because we were starved and eager to break the fast? I was never a big fan of baguettes in America: the outside is too crinkling crackling crusty that hurts every part of your mouth; the inside has too many holes, and when cooled, chewier than rubber. How could this one be so different?

Answer: this is NOT America! (Interestingly, this was the only time we were served bread and butter in Paris. Could this explain why the average French are thinner than the average American?)


[1] For the curious, please refer to any diploma of Doctor of Philosophy. As to what this actually means, sorry, it’s beyond the scope of this writing.

posted by Vigo Baby at 9:44 PM