I sit in the courtyard of the Centre Culturel Irlandais in the 5th arrondissement of Paris, sun beaming and temperatures rising, and I wonder: “How can I possibly be equipped to discuss the food of Paris?” After spending a mere 11 weeks here, I fear I am even less knowledgeable about Parisian food than before I arrived.
Meno’s paradox states that when a person knows what they are looking for, inquiry is unnecessary, but if a person does not know what they are looking for, then inquiry is impossible. I initially thought I understood Parisian food, at least somewhat. After spending some time here however, I realise I do not. At all.
I have therefore realised that the following words are really just an ode to my Paris, not the Paris – a self-indulgent meander through the foods I have devoured, the drinks I have swilled and the places I have enjoyed them. But perhaps my Paris is better than no Paris at all!
The root of what makes Paris’s food scene so tricky to translate into a single article is in the sheer scale of its diversity. Paris is considered the most diverse city in Europe, with a sizable 23 per cent of the population migrating to Paris sometime after they’re born. As a result, what I once imagined to be a simple medley of soupe a l’oignon, croissants aux amandes and macarons is indeed this, but with so much more.
Regardless of whether it’s traditional French, Middle Eastern, Japanese, or Indian food (not an exhaustive list by any means), one quality that seeps through Paris’s core identity is its pure adoration of food. Here, the daily routine bows down to its meal times, whereas in Ireland meals are often something to be squeezed in between the “more important” matters. Though Parisians have a reputation for being impatient and, often even rude (I personally don’t think this is true), with food, they take their time. With every “bon appétit!” from breakfast to dinner, they revel in the joy they find in food.
From strolling through the glimmering aisles of the Bon Marché’s famous la Grande Épicerie, to the humble stalls of le Marché des Enfants Rouges in le Marais, I am amazed by the variety of choice available at such ease and in such close proximity. Being able to buy a truffle arancini and a tofu bento box by simply turning around is both a delight and a novelty that wouldn’t quickly fade from mind – or stomach!
Similarly, on the charming Rue Mouffetard (which is about 50 metres from where I live) a group of friends can satisfy a wide range of cravings at one of the many gloriously charming and casual take-aways. Although, it must be said that crêpes and kebabs are by far the most popular.
I had worried that as a vegetarian and dairy-avoider, France’s meat and cheese-centric diet would prove difficult, but this is not the case at all. Particular joy has been found in the falafel kebabs, especially those of the famous L’As du Fallafel, where for only €7.50 – and after an infinitely long queue – you get a homemade pitta overflowing with deep fried falafel, aubergine, shredded cabbage, tomatoes and tahini.
Walking east past the imposing Centre Pompidou towards Châtalet, you arrive at Stohrer, the oldest pâtisserie in Paris, founded by King Louis XV’s pastry chef, Nicolas Stohrer in 1730. The grandeur of its gilded walls covered in mirrors, renaissance artwork and chandeliers is reflected in the price of its pastries, which cost around €10 a pop.
These prices are in stark contrast with the rest of the boulangeries and patisseries that I generally frequent, where a croissant is usually under €1. I splurged on a tarte aux framboises at Stohrer and it really was divine, though I don’t think I would have allowed myself to think otherwise.
My time in Paris has been wonderful so far, but I often contemplate how different it would be if these were normal times, untainted by the C-word. I would probably be sipping un chocolat chaud outside Café de Flore where Simone de Beauvoir, Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus famously wrote, discussed and drank coffee.
However, the abundance of beautiful parks around Paris, such as Jardin de Luxembourg or Jardin des Tuileries, with its beautiful cherry blossoms in bloom, are all dreamy places to enjoy a coffee or take-away lunch. There’s the added bonus of observing the effortless style of the Parisians, or less enjoyably, their glaring PDA.
This evening, as I sat in the sun with a pear and roasted pineapple and basil sorbet (a mouthful in every sense of the word) from Berthillon, listening to live jazz on le Pont Saint-Louis, I realised that there is one thing that makes this city such a special place: every day is a celebration for Parisians, and food is an expression of their boundless joie de vivre.
