In light of the heart wrenching news coming from Paris tonigh, I thought I’d repost this little, simple post about why I love Paris as much as I do.
It’s not an exaggeration to say that drinking a cup of coffee in Paris is magical.
You order a café crème and you are brought coffee served with an ounce of hot heavy cream. Sounds simple enough. It’s like any other coffee only with the decadence of cream instead of milk.
But for some reason it tastes exquisite.
It could be because you’re still fighting the eight-hour time difference and any supply of caffeine would be equally satisfying.
But I think it’s all about the place.
It’s interesting that one of the most delicious cups of coffee was served in a café just across the Seine from Notre Dame. The window of the café reflected the cathedral … all framed by the pink blossoms of cherry trees.
Another cup was served in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. The sun was setting, the sky was pink, and young families were out for an early evening stroll. It was calm and quiet and the coffee was comforting and smooth.
But the best tasting coffee was at the Musee d’Orsay where I was sitting across the table from my niece. It was her first trip to Paris and she was about to see the magical paintings of one of her favourite painters…Monet. We sat in retro modern white chairs that matched the spiral orange wire sculptures. We we lorded over by the immense train station clock
as we waited for our lunch. The coffee was rich and delectable as was the day.
Memory affects taste just as taste affects memory.
When I reminisce about my visit to Paris some of my most valued memories are all linked together by the delightful flavor
of café crème.