In which there is an overdose of mashed potato

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When I think of my trip to Paris last week, I think of mashed potatoes. Although this was far from my intention, I ended up eating them every day of the three days I was there. I never even especially associate France with mashed potatoes – or pommes de terre purée if you will – but for some reason they kept following me around. Honestly, it was like something from Bodger and Badger.

The first night I had steak – which came with mashed potatoes. That was fine; they were creamy and delicious and went well with the green peppercorn sauce. The next day, they showed up with my duck parmentier. A little repetitive, but again, delicious and again, a good accompaniment. It was on the third day, however, when I specifically ordered a dish that was supposed to contain lentils in order to vary the meat and potatoes routine but a plate of ham topped with yet more mashed potatoes appeared, that I started to think there was a French conspiracy going on. I was so desperate for some roughage that I was resorting to stealing wisps of rocket from B’s plate. Luckily she took pity on me and graciously shared her salad.

Aside from the overdose of potatoes, Paris was lovely. It was bitterly cold, so there was a lot of chatting in cafes over coffee and hot chocolate in order to warm up, but that’s not a bad thing.

As well as drinking coffee, we also took in some new areas of Paris I’d not visited before.  One of these was the Marais, which is full of medieval-esque buildings, cute boutiques and smart restaurants, and random graffiti such as this.

"I dream of the day when the horses have learnt to cry". Nope, I have no idea what this means either.

We also wandered along the Parisian canals which gently wind their way north, punctuating our strolls with more detours into cafes and shops.

I ate the most delicious chocolate & almond pain, and drank good Bordeaux red, and introduced the girls to the delights of the pudding iles flottantes. Most importantly I got to set the world to rights with B and Steph, which will keep us going until the next German/English/Canadian hook up.

You’ll be pleased to know that S has now forgiven me for yet again abandoning him for a holiday, partly aided by the fact that I bought him a tube of his favourite French toothpaste Tonigencyl, as well as two bottles of vin mousseux I found room for in my suitcase. Alcohol and lemon flavoured toothpaste is evidently the way to my man’s heart.

So a short trip but very, very sweet.

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Spring seems to have forgotten us and winter has temporarily returned: it’s bitingly icy and the few daffodils that have emerged are regretting this decision. But it’s Friday, we’re off to see friends in Oxfordshire tomorrow, and there are back episodes of Skins to be watched tonight. Happy weekend everyone!

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5 responses »

  1. Aw. I miss Paris. I miss the food and the boulangeries and the wine and the seemingly run down but chic all the same houses and streets. And I miss running around Paris with friends.
    Paris is, I think, best enjoyed with friends.
    Glad you had an amazing time.

  2. Pingback: In which both goodbyes and hellos are said | Postcards from the Edge (of the West Country)

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