Birthday in Paris: Part 3
Mike brings me breakfast in bed. Mostly because I’m still in it at 11:00am due to exhaustion. We walked fourteen miles yesterday according to my Apple watch. I sip cappuccino and decide what I’m going to do today on my birthday. The plan comes together as follows: Classic French baguette sandwiches, macarons, a pilgrimage to Guerlain, and cap it off with a sunset climb up Tour Eiffel. Dinner and wine to follow, as always.
One block over from the hotel is a boulangerie that we previously scouted out as a potential bread hot spot. We walk over around noon and there’s a small line out the door comprised mostly of locals on their lunch break. Always a good sign. We select foot-long baguette sandwiches (traditional ham and cheese, chicken salad, chicken curry) and a large raspberry macaron in the dessert display case. It’s loud and crowded, so we resort to pointing at things, saying “une!”, nodding, “oui!” and “merci beaucoup!” to order without interrupting the flow. Lesson: whenever you’re intimidated by the language barrier, hand gestures and smiles will almost always work.
The baguettes, like everything we’ve eaten thus far, are mind-blowing. The bread is absolutely luscious. A French baguette flute is very narrow, with a perfect texture balance of crusty and pillowy. The ham is strikingly lean and bursting with flavor. There is precisely one paper thin layer of it across the sandwich, followed by one thin layer of gruyere cheese. The only condiment is a hint of salted butter. It is restrained. It is simple. It is only 5€. And it is divine. Even now, I dream of this sandwich.
Walking down the street with our lunch, we passed a Subway sandwich chain. They have them in Paris, for reasons still unknown. There is a line of college-aged kids inside ordering foot longs. I desperately want to slap the money out of their hands and shake some sense into them. I wanted to save them. How, with food this good and cheap, can you bear to eat those horrible imitations?
Instead, I walked on and ate my giant macaron. Macarons are my favorite dessert. I would choose them over any cake, pie, or ice cream. They are not Italian macaroons, which are dense, chewy lumps of coconut and almonds. They are French sandwich cookies, airy and flaky with cream fillings. They come in a rainbow of pastel colors with just as many delectable flavors. Today I chose Raspberry since it seemed like the traditional option. It is sweet and tart and jammy.
The next stop is Maison Guerlain. Paris is the fragrance capital of the world and Guerlain is the most famous perfume house in history. Their gilded doors at 68 Les Champs-Elysées open into the very height of luxury. A uniformed guard detail greets you as you step in from the street, ready to polish your fingerprints off the door handle the moment you turn your back to them. Which you do because it is the largest perfume boutique in the entire world.
Golden bees and Baccarat crystal chandeliers swim above you in the vaulted ceilings. Mirrored counters lined with crystal bottles, each filled with golden liquid, sparkle softly all around you. The silver wallpaper shimmers. Grand marble staircases lead up and down into further mazes of opulence. Perfectly coiffed sales ladies in tailored clothes waltz about. It reminds me of the masquerade ballroom from Labyrinth. I think I might have muttered to Mike, “I want to die here.”
Along the mirrored counter tops, each fragrance bottle is showcased with a tiny ceramic bell which has been sprayed inside with scent. You test each perfume by lifting the delicate bell to your nose while silently praying that you do not drop it in your excitement and signal to the armed guards that you should be immediately deposited on the sidewalk. I proceed carefully.
Since many of the fragrances are available back home, I decided to stick to those things which are exclusive to the boutique. One of which was Ne m’Oubliez Pas (Forget Me Not), a gorgeous pink parfum extrait in a tassled quadrilobe bottle and bearing an imprint of the Arc de Triomphe. It opens with plum, cumin and cardamom, then continues with rose, immortelle, carnation and cinnamon, and finishes with patchouli, moss, amber, and vanilla. It is spicy and smokey. I loved it, naturally. But at 550€ per bottle, I decided I did not love it quite enough as would be necessary.
We did not walk away empty handed though. In the lower level of Guerlain is a posh restaurant, a bakery, a candle boutique, a bookshop, and Les Délices du 68, a selection teas designed to compliment Guerlain fragrances. I select the black Shalimar tea (obviously) and the wonderfully fragrant Winter Délice herbal tea. I also purchased a small jar of Guerlain honey. The honey, as the staff explained, is cultivated from bees at Orphin, the flower fields where Guerlain produces fragrances. It is produced in very small, limited batches because inventory is entirely dependent on the local bee population.
I purchased a jar of honey for Mike’s mom and Mike purchased a lovely gift set of tiny Guerlain perfumes for his sister. Shout out to the lovely sales lady who assisted us with everything in English, and stocked me up on skincare samples, a vial of Shalimar Souffle de Parfum, and a special little cream puff from the bakery. As we exit the store, I give my wrist a good heavy spritz of Ne m’Oubliez Pas. If I can’t buy it, at least let me wear it for a while.
If anyone ever tells you to skip the Eiffel Tower when visiting Paris for the first time, politely tell them get fucked. It’s brilliant. Is it a tourist trap? Yes, of course it is. The gift shop to historic landmark ratio is roughly 50/50 and would tip if they built another snow globe kiosk inside. But that does not mean it is not enjoyable.
It is truly an impressive monument. Viewed from afar, it’s a twinkling tower and iconic symbol recalling all your romantic notions of Paris. From below, it’s an engineering marvel that can make your head spin. From inside the lifts that ascend the tower, it is a thrill ride worthy of the finest amusement park. From the first and second observation decks, it is much larger than you ever expected (shops, cafes, restaurants, and an ice skating rink). From the very top floor, the panoramic views can take your breath away.
So when you’re in Paris, embrace being a tourist like we did. Take the lift all the way to the top. Buy a flute of overpriced champagne from the happy gentleman in the tiny booth. Toast to crossing something off your bucket list. Tell your loved ones that you love them. Take kissy face selfies. Watch the sun set over the city. Go for broke on being happy.
After descending Eiffel, we journeyed back over to the hotel. Knowing that restaurants wouldn’t open for a time, we popped into a little grocery shop across the street. For under 20€ we got a fresh baguette flute, a chunk of brie, a packet of sliced cured meat, and a bottle of wine. I snuck two glasses and a plate of Madeline cookies from the hotel bar. Mike washed off his new Star Wars plates and broke the bread into pieces. Together there, we enjoyed the finest picnic I’ve ever had.
The picnic tied us over a little too well. By the time we were hungry again, the highly specific dinner window had passed by. That ruled out fine dining. The La Fourchette app guided us over to La Boetie, a brasserie offering late night fare.
I’d managed to speak French with the waiter from the door all the way to our table, so give me a merit badge for overcoming anxiety. To be honest I could never tell whether my accent was actually improving or the staff were just indulging a pair of hungry tourists. Once we were seated, I leaned over to Mike and pointed out (in English) that the wallpaper was the same pattern as the carpet in The Shining. The waiter laughed and nodded, then flipped right over to English to chat about the owner loving horror movies.
Our cover was broken but it was all good. I ordered the risotto à la crème de truffle. Mike ordered a classique burger de bœuf, frites maison. Or a cheeseburger and french fries, but it sounds way fancier when they say it. It was solid, hearty pub fare and a nice change of pace. The wine we chose that evening, a Côtes du Rhône, was my favorite of the whole trip. It had little bees on the label and reminded me of the golden honey bees floating in Guerlain.
I could not have imagined a more perfect birthday.
Continue to Birthday in Paris: Part 4
