The last day in any city is always a challenge for me. Even though my train to Amsterdam wasn’t until Sunday morning, I was already worried about packing and making my way to Gare du Nord in a timely manner.
I didn’t get an especially early start to the day and was in a bit of a tizzy after I’d called several restaurants on Friday night trying to book for Saturday – “Non, complet” I heard again and again… Would my last night in Paris be spent at Pizza Hut..?
At around noon, I was going to take the metro to the northern part of Canal St. Martin and stroll back toward home. However, the weather was cold and very rainy – a walk along a canal just didn’t sound appealing… So, I stopped in at Jacques Genin again (did I already mention I had their caramels the other day? I quite liked them – but Hooker’s Sweet Treats in SF remain my favorite. Though I suppose it’s a bit of an apples-and-oranges comparison. But I digress…) and picked up a pastry to go… Oh boy, it was delicious.
Once home, I decided to start packing. Everything fit, despite my purchase of several unwieldy books. And I was able to reserve for dinner at Café des Musées – dieu merci!
The restaurant is a bustling little place in the center of the Marais. I was seated next to the door and watched as the maitre d’ repeatedly advised hungry patrons that yes, he could seat them – but they must leave in one hour to make way for those who’d had the foresight to reserve. Most accepted his ultimatum, realizing they had little choice at 8PM on a Saturday.
I could also see into the tiny kitchen as the chef worked carefully and calmly, turning out plate after plate while barely breaking a sweat. Meanwhile the waiters were piling empty plates and glasses into the dumbwaiter (I know, right?) and sending them off to somewhere…
For starters, I had a plate of luscious house-smoked salmon, along with some slabs of toast and crème fraîche. Simple and satisfying. My plat was an echine de porc with scalloped potatoes. Oh man – really, really good. The pork was ribboned with delicious fat. Honestly, I don’t know what it is about French pork – ordinarily, I don’t care for fatty meat unless it’s been cooked for hours and rendered into submission. But the fat on the meat here is never gristly or chewy or rubbery – just tender and yummy. I ate every bite…
For dessert, a baba au rhum. And I finally discovered – I think I just don’t care for baba au rhum in general. It’s like stale bread soaked in rum – which seems like it should be great, but I am never wowed by it. This particular version seemed perfectly well-prepared, but I think I’m not a good judge.
Stopped off at one of the gay bars in the Marais on my way home for a last beer. Ran into Sam, a Turkish-German fellow (yes, he’s beautiful, obviously) I’d met earlier in the week. Hung out for a bit with him and his friends, then bade them farewell and headed back to Rue de la Corderie.
Up early, made breakfast, met my taxi downstairs for a quick ride to Gare du Nord. Next stop: Amsterdam.
It's a Complete Outrage 
Reading your post makes me yearn for Paris…thank you for sharing.