Une Vrai Parisienne (sometimes)

The Paris-based American pastry chef and food writer, David Lebovitz (who I met!!), declared that he realized he had become a real Parisian when he felt the need to get properly dressed to take out the trash because after all, you WILL be judged on how you look over here. I, however, feel most Parisian when shopkeepers recognize me as a “regular”. It first happened at “my” café across the street with the cute bartender, which I had to ditch when it got bought out and gained 20 years in a day. I was also a regular at an Asian traiteur (deli / caterer) in Passy (I know I know) and a brasserie by my old office. The sad thing is when I walk into my new café (young and hip like me, ha!) and they immediately know what I want to drink, which usually isn’t water…


Today I stopped by a little Italian traiteur on the way home from class. The chef was there and coerced me into having an espresso like I used to do after my physical therapy sessions last year. I’m such a granny with my injuries (from classical ballet and charging at people with a sabre) and old habits sometimes! It’s so nice to be treated as a “valued customer” in Paris, where I usually feel like I’m intruding if I dare to want to buy something. I bought some stuffed foccacia, crocche, arancino, baby bread and green bean salad and he didn’t even charge me for the coffee! Or maybe he just forgot. Hmm…