Saturday night was spent mostly outside in the cold wandering the streets, although the two bottles of wine German and I chugged outside Hôtel de Ville earlier kept us warm, or at least kept us unaware of how cold it truly was. So Sunday we took it down a notch, slept in, rendez-vous at Sugarplum Cake Shop – a really cute café near Cardinal Lemoine whose playlist I really regret not inquiring about. I was, however, able to recognize bands like The Kooks and Washed Out – the makings of a great coffeehouse playlist, obviously. I was totally un-European and ordered a hot chocolate. I will admit, I don’t like coffee. I can drink it if it’s got buckets of milk and sugar mixed in, otherwise, I can’t get it down me. The taste is just not for me I suppose. I have, in fact, admitted this to French people (one of whom was my boyfriend) and they didn’t shun me, but I do try to keep it on the DL when I’m in Paris. Who the hell goes to a Parisian café and orders a hot chocolate?? Me, apparently.
Pascal, her roommate (whose name I have forgotten – sorry if you’re reading this, which you’re most likely not), and Juan joined us. The plan was to do homework. We told stories of drunken nights along the Seine and failed attempts of getting into fancy clubs. Then three hours had passed, no homework had been done, and we were all getting a bit peckish. We packed up our stuff and headed to the Marché Franprix down the street to pick up a few ingredients for our Sunday night dinner, which German had kindly offered to cook. German is quite the cook – if you’re reading this, I want you to make me your potato curry again when you come to Paris next summer. We headed back to Pascal’s apartment carrying bags of pasta, a block of cheese, a small box of ham bits, a bottle of milk, and three baguettes. For good measure.
Just casually passing by the Pantheon on our way home.
German effortlessly whipped up an absolutely delicious meal for the five of us. In true Rosie fashion, I went back for seconds before I had even finished what was already on my plate. I was completely stuffed halfway through my second helping, but feeling guilty, I slowly shoveled in the rest and washed it down with a mouthful of Orangina, the good stuff!
Three pieces of bread for Rosie!
We spent the next couple of hours passing around Pascal’s laptop and showing each other good music. Good music, pasta, bread, friends, Paris – what else do you need?
Juan about to try some type of Swedish food that comes out of a tube (Pascal and her roommate are Swedish).
At least we can walk off that meal! Wait, that only works if you’re climbing the stairs.