How many times, and I still refuse to learn. If the train arrives early to the station then its not the right train. I insist on attributing the Italian train system with a quality it does not posses- efficiency. Beyond efficiency. early. No such thing.
I realized it was the wrong station when I stepped onto an unpaved platform and, aside for me only a teenage boy had boarded off. I turned to board again but it was too late. The train was gone and I was in the middle of nowhere.
Not a soul.
20 Km away at the next stop, a connecting train was scheduled and I was supposed to be on it. The teenager spoke no English.
Between his English and my Italian this was a matter for drastic measures. And I was in no way willing or equipped to sleep outdoors.
The boy was waiting for his father to pick him up.
Both were in the car and ready to drive home to a warm pasta dish accompanied by a glass of Lambrusco when they saw me in the back seat sitting, seatbelt buckled, with bags piled on top of me. I aint staying here alone. Dinner would have to wait.
It was a race against time, me, two kind Italians and a train to catch.
I still ended up missing my connecting train. By less then 10 seconds.
I was saving the soggy, squashed Parisian chocolate almond croissant I bought earlier in the day for breakfast. It was my dinner, and it was comforting.
I may have been stranded, messy and tired, but not hungry.
More paris, more food, more new discoveries
A glowing bride waiting to be whisked away, I discovered an indigenous French cheese (though technically, not a cheese). Covered in a white muslin cloth to protect its delicate structure, the Fontainebleau is a lighter version of the crème Chantilly and must be eaten on the day it is put out on sale. A mélange of separately strained and whisked whipped cream and fromage blanc the light and fluffy Fontainebleau is recommended with red fruit.
Did I mention the 75% fat??
Paris, think of a thick layer of butter spread on a freshly baked baguette. There is butter for every pocket, taste and mood; hand made, with crunchy chunks of fleur de sel, smoked salt, algae flakes and yuzu and more. I just know that if I’ll pack one in my suitcase I’ll be sorry when I unpack.
The marché des enfant rouge is Paris’s oldest market. Never heard of it, right? Neither has every Parisian I told of it. Established in the early 1600s in the heart of the Marais, this is the oldest covered market in Paris, only adding to the mystery. The market has a variety of small stalls serving Italian, Japanese, French, Afro-Caribbean, and Middle Eastern food.
39 rue de Bretagne,
entrance opposite rue Charlot
Tartes kluger is a tart shop I stumbled upon looking for the entrance to the marché des enfant rouge. I was in the wrong direction when I walked into this strange looking place but the kitchen in the back drew my attention. It’s a tart place.
A wide choice of sweet (passion fruit tart with hazelnut meringue, maple brioche, rhubarb riz au lait ) and savory ( asparagus, orange zest and chervil, carrots, preserved lemon and coriander) tarts are either custom made on order or enjoyed on site.
There is a website for preorder that expands on each tart that is also paired with a recommended wine. Getting lost had its purpose. You cant find it if it ain’t lost.
6, rue du Forez
Fromagerie Quatrehomme on rue de sevres is run by Marie Quatrehomme (voted France’s worker of the year in 2000), a cheese experts in Paris, and the preferred supplier for chefs such as Guy Savoy and Pierre Gagnaire. Complete with a creamery and cheese- aging cellar on site the fromagerie is conveniently located 5 minutes walk from the Le Bon Marche’s grand epicerie. (This would be a good opportunity to get some of the butter and Fontainebleau.)
62, rue de sevres
Mº Duroc or Vaneau