Life used to be so easy. At least my lunch choices were. I’d saunter over to the Haut Marais, into le Marché des Enfants Rouges, and hit up Alain, “my” sandwich guy. It started one day when I ordered the delicious organic smoked salmon sandwich that he made on ciabatta and slowly, patiently toasted up to crunchy perfection on his crepe burner. I quickly became addicted. Then he introduced the Cornet Vegetarien, and suddenly all bets were off. Inside a savory crepe, he’d combine gobs of delicious ingredients (“tout bio!” he’d proudly point out) such as fresh greens and mushrooms, grated carrots and fennel, marinated onions, sliced avocado and chèvre, olive oil, chives, sea salt, diced parsley, lemon juice, lime zest, and, à la fin, honey—or, ”the French touch!” in Alain’s words. In my own words, the best sandwich in the city.

Merce and the Muse, Tartes Kluger – Julien Hausherr

But suddenly, my choices are a lot more plentiful. Casual eateries keep popping up, making me feel a little torn about sampling the new goods versus sticking to what I know and love. But let’s be honest: a girl can’t live on sandwiches alone. And as much as I’d like to eat several lunches a day, I must make my choices wisely. So, while I still visit Alain as often as possible, I’ve also been eating up the other fresh dishes put forth in the Haut Marais these days.

Cococook – Julien Hausherr

Say it’s a nice, sunny day and I’m heading to Square du Temple or Square Georges Cain, craving something beyond a sandwich for lunch. I exit the back of the Marché des Enfants Rouges, on rue Charlot, to the brilliant Cococook. Open for nearly a year now, it’s the kind of fresh and simple take-out food that has been perfected in U.S. cities like New York and San Francisco: a simple spinach salad, studded with sesame seeds, for example, or quinoa with coriander chicken and butternut squash. There are healthy drinks (carrot-ginger-orange juice) and naughty desserts (chocolate caramel tarte). But maybe the best thing is that the cute and clean operation is open every day and every night and even delivers—a true rarity in this city.

Tartes Kluger – Julien Hausherr

Instead of sitting in a park, sometimes I want a quiet oasis where I can enjoy my food—in which case I hit up Tartes Kluger. Tucked a block beyond the neighborhood’s sceniest intersection (rues Charlot and Bretagne), this serene spot is friendly and comfortable, with two communal tables, Anglo magazines (Bon Appetit and Jamie—yay) and zero pretension. The tartes are available across town at different restaurants such as Colette, and change depending on seasonal inspiration. What I especially like about them—aside from the giant salads they’re served along with—is that there’s usually at least one unexpected ingredient. The salmon tarte, for example, is paired with dill, oui, but also asparagus, rather than spinach. While the spinach tarte is made with ricotta instead of goat cheese. And don’t even get me started on the beautiful and delicious fruit tartes, to say nothing of the killer chocolate tarte.

Rose Bakery – Julien Hausherr

Speaking of amazing desserts, when Rose Bakery descended from rue des Martyrs and opened in the Haut Marais in ’08, it brought its celebrated scones, cheesecake and carrot cake with it. These English baked goods and other veggie-friendly menu items, like potato salad, scrambled eggs and pizzettes, were much more novel—but no less appreciated—than when the original bakery opened in 2002.

Rose Bakery – Julien Hausherr

Even today, every visit to the rue Debelleyme outpost inspires gasps of excitement (tofu and dashi—in gay Paris!) and sighs of contentment (hel-lo, lemon pound cake), whether I cram myself at one of the tables in the long, narrow restaurant so I can inhale the delightful smells coming from the open kitchen, or take my goods to enjoy outside.

Merce and the Muse – Julien Hausherr

And then there’s the new girl in town. Opening next door to the new gelateria, Mary (Nutella gelato for le gouter??), Merce and the Muse is another welcome taste of home. A DC native, Merce (pronounced “Mer-cy”) was always jonesing for a good cup of coffee that could be enjoyed in a casual, friendly hangout. After running her own baking company, and journeying to Denmark’s Coffee Collective to get schooled in proper preparation, she recently opened her coffee shop/café on rue Dupuis. With do-whop on the phonograph, and beet, granny smith and chèvre salad served from big terracotta picnic bowls, you’d swear you were on the East Coast, not the Haut Marias. At least I do. Which is why you’re almost guaranteed to find me there every weekend this summer.

Related Links:

• Cococook, 30 Rue Charlot, 3e, 01 42 74 80 00
• Tartes Kluger, 6 rue du Forez, 3e, 01 53 01 53 53
• Merce and the Muse, 1 bis rue Dupuis, 3e
• Amy’s list of places to score American foods in Paris
• Richard Nahem’s favorite spots in the Marais
• Parisien Salon on cantine-dining in Paris
• Meg Zimbeck on Tartes Kluger
• David Lebovitz on Merce and the Muse, and Mary

Written by Amy Thomas for the HiP Paris Blog. Julien Hausherr is a photographer based in Paris, specializing in architecture, still-life and reporting. Contact: julienhausherr@hotmail.fr. Looking for a fabulous vacation rental in Paris, Provence, or Tuscany? Check out Haven in Paris.

For those of you who have had the joy of spending time at the Marliave in downtown Boston, you are likely familiar with their fun cocktails, great wine list, cool vintage atmosphere and if you are particularly lucky – their incredible sliders. However, this post does not focus on their spacious upstairs bars and dining rooms, but the tiny five-seat bar at street level on Province Street.

As a regular café customer in this space over the last year or two, I have become smitten with the space; the charming barista, Tommy; the fantastic coffee and “mini” breakfast treats that they serve there. So when I saw an announcement that the little café was going to be transformed into an afternoon/evening bar featuring cheese, wine, scotch and chocolates, I was pretty freaking excited. Attending the cheese bar’s opening night, I was literally first in line.

I’m here to tell you that the experience is fantastic at the cheese counter. Friendly, knowledgeable servers are ready to give great suggestions and pairing recommendations.  The menu suggests different wines to try alongside the cheeses, and there is a fantastic selection of fine scotches and chocolate truffles, if that’s your thing.

While visiting the Marliave’s cheese counter is a real treat that I would recommend to anyone living in or visiting the greater Boston area, I think that you could also gain real inspiration from your trip and (nearly) duplicate the experience by making your own cheese plate.

Since the Marliave received their cheese education from the experts at Formaggio, I would venture a guess that one could find most (if not all) of the featured offerings at their store. I have also seen many of these cheeses for sale at Whole Foods around the region, so for those of you not in the immediate area, inquire about the following selections at your local cheese counter:

• Bucheron, a French chevre, is simply nothing like the ubiquitous logs of goat cheese found in most grocery stores. It is buttery and velvety with two different textures and consistencies; a wide creamy rind and a flakier, brighter interior.  It is probably my favorite cheese and very hard to resist when I see it at restaurants or for sale at a shop.
• Any Taleggio is a winner in my book. A soft, Italian cheese that usually features a nice funky scent, taleggio pairs really well with a sweet spread, like a fig jam or the honey that it is served with at the Marliave. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.
• For cheese that is made right here in New England, I can’t write about cheese without sharing my love for Cabot Clothbound Cheddar. Now, I love Cabot cheddar as my everyday cheese, but their special clothbound version really takes things to a whole new level. The crumbly texture and slightly sweet and nutty flavor makes this cheddar a real crowd pleaser.

Marliave serves up their cheese along with a great spread: fig jam, spiced walnuts, lavender honey and a choice of toasted breads. I suggest you pick up something similar for a great tasting experience! Marliave has some great recommendations for wine pairings with each cheese, and I have always really loved their suggestions (one idea in particular that I picked up from the café was to pair bubbly with creamy cheeses, like the Taleggio – Try it.) For more information, check out the cheese menu on their website for more pairing suggestions and to plan your visit!

Photos by splityarn and Shelby Graham

I needed a break. I’m sure you know the drill. You work, work, work 60 hours each week and forget that, wow, the seasons are changing right before your eyes and, wow, you’re so lucky to live in Massachusetts. But I had forgotten all that and desperately needed a mini-vacation, a moment to reconnect with my husband and appreciate the glorious summer that’s beginning to cloak one of my favorite parts of the world, the New England coastline.

Since a real vacation is not in my immediate future and I was itching for a tiny break, I knew the husband could see an idea in my eye when I returned from lunch with one of my favorite foodie people, Heather Atwood, a wonderful lady, food columnist at the Gloucester Daily Times, and sometimes-writer for this very site. She had just met the team at Market Restaurant in Gloucester, Massachusetts and tasted their delicious menu; I was urged to visit as soon as possible.

Gloucester is about 45 minutes from Boston, but only half that from me, so I made an early reservation and zipped out to the seashore on Saturday evening. As the traffic began to build up (as it’s wont to do near the beach), I worried a bit. I didn’t want a busy beach experience, I simply wanted to spend a quiet evening staring at some bobbing boats and devouring some local food. Good, local food. If the traffic didn’t stress me out enough, the anticipation of visiting a new restaurant that had been open only two days did worry me. The hubby and I really needed a chance to breathe and appreciate life, and a bad meal wasn’t going to aid in our relief.

Market Restaurant isn’t exactly in downtown Gloucester. It’s in the village of Annisquam, out on this little interior harbor called Lobster Cove. It’s the type of village that is, as Heather puts it, quite “pure.” (I wondered what she meant, and totally got it the moment we drove into town.) Annisquam is primarily a residential neighborhood, but it does have one restaurant, one little spot on the dock that was recently occupied by this energetic twosome who have some fabulous resumes, including gigs at Alice Waters legendary Chez Panisse in Berkeley, California.

As we turned the bend toward the restaurant, the skies suddenly opened up, letting loose a steady stream of fat rain drops and a few pounds of thunder. It was beautiful and frustrating at the same time. I believe in signs and a downpour was the distinct sign that something big might happen. Well, it totally did. I had one of the most refreshing and friendliest evenings in a long, long time.

Before I even tasted a morsel, I fell in love with the very modest restaurant decor. This joint is small, with seating for about 30 guests, and many of those guests are served at a long bar. The walls are covered in a mellow yellow and warm almost-periwinkle blue, colors I somehow firmly associate with the seaside. The woods in the room are all blond and the tables are so sweet, each pressed and laminated with maps of the region.

The food was as modest as the decor, but in the best possible way. My husband’s pounded tuna carpaccio was sweet, tart and full of texture, thanks to some crispy-fried shallots. It was so pretty and pure on the plate, tempting me to sneak fork-fulls when he was busy staring out at the harbor. I stared out the window too, and was especially touched when a bride and groom jumped onto their sailboat and proceeded to sail off toward their new life… and their reception around the curve. I had a flash of my own wedding, also held on a cove, and smiled before I dug into my dish.

My first course was as pretty as my hubby’s. Imagine a white cafe-style plate, thick and weighty as if it belongs in a roadside diner, but loaded with barely cooked and lightly seasoned shaved asparagus, radicchio, soft-boiled eggs and a crunchy homemade romesco sauce. The pretty pink radish set it all off beautifully… and reminded me that my spicy gems will be ready for harvest next week.

Our next courses were so special too. My salmon was gently cooked (poached? baked?) with butter and potatoes and fava beans and fresh dill and more butter. I couldn’t have been more pleased with the soft dish, each bite sprinkled with fresh local dill sprigs. The hubby loves potatoes and kept nibbling mine. That was fine. I wasted no time lapping up the herby aioli that accompanied his seafood cakes, lightly fried, full of lobster and scallops and barely anything else. I believe they took the position that when you have seafood this fresh, you don’t need much else.

Market Restaurant is very new, so their liquor license is still in progress. That was no bother to us, because we came prepared with a luscious bottle of Hendry Primitivo from our favorite vineyard in Carneros, a region of Napa Valley. The bottle was a precious souvenir from our honeymoon. We keep a small stash of Hendry wines in the bottom of our wine rack (the special spot, no?) and only grab a bottle when the moment moves us. Every moment at Market Restaurant definitely moved us. We felt lucky to live in a region that was finally getting its due, full of fresh local product, meats and grains that would compel seriously inspired chefs to take on an old lobster shack. More pointedly, chefs who would take something small and make it very big, all the while keeping it small… if you follow my drift.

While the food touched our hearts, we were far more impressed by Market’s gift for delivering gentle hospitality. We were seated fairly immediately. But for those forced to wait a few, they were invited to do so on a beautiful deck. With a glass of wine in hand and that gentle breeze, I would have waited all night.

The moment I sat down, my server Lauren (hello, Lauren!) smiled her sweet smile and pointed out that she recognized me from the prior day. In fact, she was in the very same restaurant where Heather and I had eaten lunch, in the same room when Heather urged me to visit Market Restaurant. I love coincidences. Between the downpour and the familiar woman walking us through our meal, the signs were stacking up in our favor.

Lauren was a delight, but so was every staff person in that small room. Everyone was friendly and almost lit up from within. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who felt lucky; the staff seemed united, happy to be making great experiences for each guest. (You can follow Market’s owners/founders on Twitter here.)

The little signs didn’t stop there. Two other little strokes of genius will keep Market in my memory. First, I always celebrate super salty butter and when a restaurant serves creamy butter loaded with delicate salt, I feel loved with each brush of the good stuff on my crusty bread. Market serves bread from A.J. King in Salem, Massachusetts. A.J. King makes some great bread and the butter only made it shine more.

The next special little sign was the milk served with my coffee. Both the coffee and milk were lovely and local, but better yet, the milk was served in the cutest little glass bottles labeled as though they were from, get this, Normandie. As in, France. As in, where I lived for the early part of this year. As in, it may not mean much to others but for me, it was a gentle reminder of my time over there. It hit a memory in the best possible way, and stuck my entire Market experience into my memory as well, way back there, in the spot where you just don’t forget for a long, long time.

Our dinner at Market was really wonderful, and the entire experience moved me to want to cook. (Don’t you love it when that happens? When a chef or restaurant or experience sparkles enough to make you say, “I want to do that. I bet if I focused, I could do that!”) So I spent today focused on making that herby aioli. As members of the Cape Ann Fresh Catch weekly distribution program, we get piles of amazing fish from just off the coast of Gloucester every week. I knew that herby aioli would go well with any of it, so made a large batch packed with herbs from my garden, local eggs from my farm (a.k.a., my community-supported agriculture program) and lots of olive oil. It wasn’t perfect, but cooking never is. I’ve stashed it away in my fridge for our fish later this week.

So while the food and hospitality and decor were all very lovely, Market restaurant won’t be remembered for all those things individually. I’ll remember the smiles from the staff, the bride and groom on the boat, and the downpour that finally broke for the sun to shine down on this little cove. I’ll remember the vacation vibe radiating from all the guests and from one previously stressed-out husband and wife (us!). I’ll remember and remake that aioli all summer long, and perhaps twist it up and make it mine. And I’m certainly bringing all my summer visitors out to Market Restaurant, so they can make their own little memories.

Have you ever visited a place, and immediately recognized that it was special?  Your heart may have quickened a bit; you had the urge to explore every nook and cranny; you may have simply wanted to move right in and make yourself at home.  Could this be described as having a crush on a building?  It might be an accurate description, because I think I may have fallen hard for the Montague Book Mill the first time I laid eyes on it.  Tucked away along the rushing Sawmill River in the teeny town of Montague, Massachusetts, the Book Mill’s motto rings very true: “books you don’t need in a place you can’t find.”

Built in 1834, the building was first used as a grist mill, capturing the water power of the river to grind whole grain into flour, which was then purchased by local residents. In the 1930s, the building was purchased by a machine manufacturing company, until they left the site in the 1960s, leaving the mill empty.  It wasn’t until the late 1980s that an enterprising soul attempted to rehabilitate the building and introduce a completely new used bookstore.  Over the years, other uses were added, including an antique dealer, an artist’s workshop, a music and video store, and two restaurants.

This leads me to the Lady Killigrew Café.  A simple endeavor, the Lady Killigrew serves up super fresh baked goods, sandwiches, soups, and salads, all while making a concerted effort at locally sourcing their food and beverages.  We are talking cheeses from nearby Vermont, coffee beans roasted in Hadley, pickles made in the next town over, and eggs, milk and produce from the surrounding countryside.

Most times that I have visited the café, it has been on the earlier side, so I have typically gone with a very tasty grilled cheese, tomato and egg sandwich.  On my most recent visit, however, it was closer to lunchtime so I was able to get a bit more wild with a curried chicken salad sandwich and fresh salad greens.  Oh my goodness. We broke our self-inflicted rule and all three of us ordered the same thing.  Good thing, or else we may have had a serious sharing problem.

The great news is, that even after four or five visits to the Book Mill complex under my belt, I still have so much more to explore. There is the Night Kitchen, the slightly more elegant restaurant that features gourmet food and a large deck perched right over the river.  There is the opportunity to imbibe a few of the local beers (High and Mighty!) at Lady Killigrew while overlooking that same picturesque river one late afternoon.  I won’t even get into their amazingly deep selection of books and small, comfortable reading spots scattered throughout the building where I can picture myself getting completely and happily lost in a novel, a baked treat, and a large cup of coffee.

A huge selection of interesting used books; great locally sourced food; and a truly amazing view. To me, this may be the sum of a perfect place.  What is your formula? What makes a place truly special to you?  Share with us below!

The Montague Bookmill is located in Montague, Massachusetts, about 20 minutes north of Northampton and just south of Greenfield.  No matter where you are coming from, its worth the trip!

I miss Paris – the gorgeous gray buildings, the bridges over that little river, the cranky taxi drivers. Oh, let’s be real for a moment; I miss the food more than anything else. And since my initial post on Paris Foods You Must Eat (part 1) did so well, I thought an encore was in order.

Let’s start with the chocolate mousse, that luscious mix of cream, sugar, cocoa and air. Only this mousse is featured in a chocolate mousse bar – that’s right, folks, an entire bar of mousses made from all different types of chocolate – that is scooped out by the spatula-full into a tiny paper cone. You gotta try this good stuff, made in a shop tucked away on a sleepy section of St. Germain. Chocolat Chapon is located at 69 Rue du Bac, 75007 Paris, Tel: 01 42 22 95 98‎.

If thick chocolate mousse is not quite your speed, try the best gelato in Paris. I waited in line for 30 minutes in order to spoon this pistachio and hazelnut combo from Pozzetto (39 Rue du Roi de Sicile, 75004 Paris, Tel: 01 42 77 08 64‎) into my waiting belly. Well, I spooned it into my mouth and it traveled into my belly and… I loved it.

But you may, in fact, decide that thick chocolate mousse or creamy gelato is too much for your svelte summer figure. If that’s the case, head over to any little quickie cafe for a tiny cup of whole milk yogurt, fruit and nutty granola. It’s great for breakfast, but I was served this consistently for dessert post-lunch and was never disappointed.

From yogurt to cheese, there isn’t anything better than a selection of cheeses from your local fromagerie, a fresh crispy baguette and a bottle of organic French wine. The moment you visit Paris, put the fancy restaurants on hold and gather supplies for your own makeshift picnic in your rented flat or hotel room. Make sure to choose a creamy cheese (brie or camembert), a fresh cheese (goat) and something stinky or blue. With a fresh baguette and an easy fruity red, a pile of local cheeses was my twice-weekly dinner in the city of lights, and I lost 20 pounds while abroad. Crazy, but so true, people.

If there’s one cheese you must try, do as David Lebovitz instructs all of his followers to do and pick up some of this legendary 30-month comte. It’s so good, it made two dinner guests almost cry at my dinner table. I swear it was the cheese and not any other part of the meal. Or was it?! I picked up my wedges at La Fermette at 86, rue Montorgueil 75001 Paris.

I don’t know about you, but I think cheese just goes beautifully with booze. Except on the first sunny day in Paris, which fortunately for me, hit the city on the day after my flight home was canceled. A friend helped me heal my sadness with a walk around the Marais, including a stop at a Chilean wine bar that serves a nice dry rose in a cute round glass. Le Cap Horn (8 Rue de Birague 75004 Paris) is not terribly impressive, but perfect for a quick afternoon break. That liquid courage motivated me to buy a much-desired handbag around the corner. Thanks, Le Cap Horn!

One of the first foods I craved when I got back to the States was any sort of Chinese food. I was dreaming of these beautiful sesame shrimp toasts I had enjoyed at a cocktail party in Paris. In fact, Chinese chef Vincent Wong (geezarwong@hotmail.com, Tel: 06 75 19 25 07, 01 30 33 55 95) cooked a banquet for 20 people at my Paris flat, and I can’t stop thinking about his sesame shrimp toasts. If you’re in Paris and need a banquet fit for true gourmands, just ring or email him. He’s sweet as duck sauce.

If all this cheese and mousse and sesame shrimp toasts have filled you up, head on over to Café des Musées (49 Rue de Turenne, 75003 Paris, Tel: 01 42 72 96 17) for their delicious vegetable dish. I took a serious vegetarian there and she was delighted with the staub pot filled with roasted root vegetables and topped with fresh salad greens. She felt stuffed but had more than enough room to eat more than half of our shared dessert. Thanks, sweetie. I forgive you.

Because you left plenty of champagne for me!

Just restaurant facades and nothing else. Enjoy all the bright colors and random medley of Paris foodie spots!

Many say that Boston is not actually a big city, but really a large town.  This is never truer than when a widely-acclaimed new restaurant opens. Especially when it’s from Ken Oringer, of Clio, KO Prime, Toro and La Verdad fame and when the chef is Jamie Bissonette of Toro. Throughout the last year or so, hype has been growing exponentially for their newest restaurant, Coppa, a small enotoca in the South End. Coppa has gained critical acclaim, and fans are particularly excited about the restaurant’s “nose-to-tail” mindset and that all meats are cured on site. Housed in a cozy corner spot on a very neighborhood-y stretch of Shawmut Avenue, Coppa has been packing the house ever since it opened last December.

As a resident of the neighborhood, I walked by from time to time, shaking my head at the masses and retreating comfortably to local nearby favorites. “Typical hype,” I thought. “No big deal… Definitely not worth the multi-hours waits in overcrowded settings or on the frigid patio. Not for a rushed, cramped meal.” But I was wrong.

Last Friday night, after finally eating at Coppa, I was charmed. From the atmosphere to the service to the oh-so-amazing food, they got me. Instead of feeling rushed, the casually dressed and mannered waitress made us feel right at home.  She explained that the menu was made up of small plates, and if we ordered all at once, we would be served as they were ready. She explained that we could slow things down by ordering in a more “course by course” fashion, which is exactly what we did.

We started with a crostini with ricotta and duck prosciutto, which we divided into tiny bites and tried to eat as slowly as possible to fully appreciate each flavor. Next, we moved on to the freshest tasting salad ever consisting of fennel and arugula, with red onions, fiddlehead tomme, and tossed with a lemony vinaigrette.

For dinner, we each had pasta, the calves brain ravioli in brown butter sauce and orecchiette with fennel sausage and broccoli raabe. The generously poured glasses of wine kept us happy and smiling as we savored each taste and carefully curated ingredient. Fantastic coffee closed out the meal and was the perfect ending to what was a nearly perfect meal.

Believe the hype. It was one of the best dining experiences I have had in years.  I can’t wait to go back and try more of their menu. I woke up the next day thinking about all of the different tastes that I experienced at Coppa and started scheming about the recipes I could take from their menu.  While I probably won’t be making calves brains ravioli anytime soon, I was able to throw together a really fresh salad that was inspired by Coppa.

Arugula, Fennel and Parmigiano Reggiano Salad

• 1 small fennel bulb, very thinly sliced (about 1/2 cup)
• 4 cups washed and dried arugula
• 1/2 cup (2 ounces) shaved fresh Parmigiano Reggiano cheese (use a vegetable peeler)

Quick-Pickled Red Onions:

• 1 small red onion, thinly sliced (or a few thin slices of a bigger onion- you know how much onion you can take!)
• ½ cup vinegar (white, apple cider or even red wine vinegar would work here)
• ¼ cup warm water
• 2 tsp sugar

Vinaigrette:

• 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
• 1  teaspoon sugar
• 1 tablespoon  olive oil
• 1/2  teaspoon  salt
• 1/4  teaspoon  black pepper

Thinly slice a red onion and stir together the warm water, the vinegar and the sugar. Place the onions in a shallow bowl and pour pickling liquid on top. Put aside while you make the rest of your dinner. The longer this sits, the sweeter and tangy-er the onions will be.

Wash and dry the arugula, place into a medium bowl. Add the thinly sliced fennel bulb. Using a vegetable peeler, shave bits of the parmigiano reggiano onto the salad. Remove the onions from the pickling liquid and dice. Add to the bowl.

In a separate small bowl or a glass measuring cup, mix together the lemon juice, sugar, salt and pepper. While whisking, slowly add the olive oil and mix until slightly emulsified. Toss the dressing with the salad just before serving. Enjoy!

Have you ever had sweet mint tea in a just-blossoming garden filled with bright blue furniture and bright-eyed strangers, all of you just waiting for the minutes to tick, tock, tick, tock away? I have.

And the tea was so very sweet. It was honey-hued, the consistency of a sugar syrup. With a taste like candy, this tea delighted each of us in this walled-garden, especially me and the hubby (who pulled a très thoughtful pose as I clicked away on my camera).

The tea was bright but when it reflected the gray sky above, it clouded up, giving a nod to the fat rain drops that soon followed. No bother to any of us, because we were drinking tea in a garden.

We were drinking the sweetest tea in sturdy vibrant blue chairs that popped off the multicolored low walls. The furniture was both soothing and electric at the same time, lulling us to rest a while but also pepping us up for the rest of our Paris walk.

When the drops fells, it wasn’t a bother either. We simply all huddled under the elegant umbrellas and waited it out with our super sweet tea.

We were tempted to hurry inside, but instead let the drops fall around us. The inside was, however, equally gorgeous, with bright blue and gold furniture. It was empty; we were all outside under the rain drops.

All of these simple delights lie behind one of the many solid old doors surrounding one of the most beautiful mosques in Paris. You can experience the pleasures of the sweet tea, blue hues and garden vibes at La Grande Mosquée de Paris at 39 Rue Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, 75005 Paris, France. Tel: 01 43 31 18 14. There’s lots of other-worldy experiences waiting for you there, but don’t forget to drink the tea, okay?

Written by Maggie Battista

My first week in Paris has been hard. I don’t know the language and my French classes aren’t making me a master anytime soon. I don’t know the city at all, and the Metro system has felt nothing like the subway systems of New York or Boston, probably due to all those darn French words I just don’t understand. My neighborhood in the 18th is fine and my apartment is sweet, but they just don’t feel like home.

(I know, I know. I’m super lucky to be spending three glorious months in the City of Light, but sympathize with me for a few more paragraphs, okay?)

Yesterday, I wanted to pack it in, give in to this beautiful but totally foreign city. I was about to shut myself away in my little apartment and venture out only when I had to finally get to French ecole (school) on Monday morning. Working against the little voice inside my tête (head), I forced myself out into the city. And with sore feet from all these vicious hills and rough pavement, I found myself completely lost.

Then, my phone rang.

One of my dearest girlfriends from home, a woman married to a French man, walked me through getting to the Galleries Lafayette (where I needed to scout out some real, but chic walking shoes). Her surprise call and the corresponding little triumph (comfy shoes found!), came at the most perfect moment. It boosted my confidence, and gave me the will to venture out again today.

Today, I found Le Marais. Or rather, ten years after I first traversed it’s narrow streets, Le Marais found me. Every street felt familiar. Each building made me remember. The neighborhood reminded me of Boston’s South End and New York City’s Nolita all at once, but better, sweeter, far lovelier. And as I wandered off the main boulevards, I finally felt at home.

I got a little lost here and there, walking up and down side streets searching out a little restaurant for my birthday lunch. (Yes, happy birthday to me! I’m old. Don’t ask.) But I didn’t mind feeling lost there. And the moment I was about to pull out my map to figure out the locale of Glou, my phone rang. The husband called to say a quick hello, to ensure I was making the most of my birthday. As I hung up, I looked up and voila! There was Glou.

Glou is a parfait (perfect) little spot for a special meal. It’s chic and sparse enough to feel like your own modern gastro-pub, but friendly enough to cater to my silly American questions. They had an English version of their menu, which made ordering a breeze. Of course, I already knew the French word for Champagne. (Um, it’s Champagne, folks.) And while I do believe that on some level I could survive on Champagne alone, I opted to order a few plates.

The Utah Beach huîtres (oysters) were the best oysters of my life, and I promise that’s not because I ate them in Paris. These oysters are special. Utah Beach (in Normandy) is the spot to farm oysters in France. The taste of these delightful specimens was certainly salty, but also uplifting, bright and citrusy. The oysters were served with a big pat of butter with which to spread over the brown bread in my basket. I suspected it was Breton butter, the best in France. (Butter elates me almost as much as Champagne. Almost.) In Brittany, they serve their seafood with bread and butter, something I learned from Anthony Bourdain recently. (Check out the preview to his Brittany episode on YouTube.)

I rounded out my meal with a bowl of pumpkin soup that warmed me from the inside. It was pure pumpkin and radiantly orange, with bits of fresh herbs on top. As I slurped sweetly (of course!), I gabbed with my fellow sole diner, a kind girl from Brazil, about the pure pumpkin flavor. We sipped espressos together and then went on our ways.

So not only did the divine intervene and lead me to Glou – my husband is going to love that I associated him with ‘the divine’ – but the divine once again gave me a dining partner and a delicious birthday lunch. I stepped back out into Paris and wandered down every little street confidently.

I couldn’t find this fabulous little wine shop, Julien Cavieste, that a food friend recommended, but slowly (and surely) parts of Paris will begin to feel like home to me and I will venture out once again to find that wine shop.

Because I need more Champagne. This half-bottle of brut rose is disappearing fast.