This morning I was up at six, listening to the howling of the wind outside and the rain pounding my windows. To quote Mrs. Palmer in Sense and Sensibility, “I wish this rain would stop!” But the rain won’t listen to me–my guess is that it speaks French. Je souhaite que cette pluie arrête!
Anyway, I did have breakfast…at six…and by 8:30 (or 8h30, to put it the European way), I was ravenous again. So I ventured out to my neighborhood bakery for second breakfast.
David Lebovitz, who has lived in Paris for ten years, says that when you live here, people assume that you’re running all over the city to get the best bread every day, when at a certain point, you go to whatever’s closest. I have a few choices in walking distance. When I want bread, I usually go to this one.
I know baguettes are supposed to be kind of airy with bubbles in them, but the baguettes at this bakery are a little chewier, a little more substantial, and I love them. Actually, all three of my nearby bakeries do very good bread, and excellent pain aux raisins:
While I ate this monster, I took a little walk in a direction I hadn’t gone before, and hit a supermarket. I stopped in to buy new shampoo and, because my American tube has run out, French deodorant. I have little to no faith in this particular product, based on the reek of the métro, some of the practice rooms at the Schola, and passersby, but I will give it a try. Et encore, qui sait?
This morning when it was still pitch black outside, and it sounded like the apocalypse was nigh, I listened to one of the only voices guaranteed to brighten everything up.