Deep in the sloth

Only seven days left and finally I've run out of that constant feeling of must do and gone straight into whatever I want, which is shopping and eating. This morning I combined both of these things at La Grande Epicerie, where at least I managed to resist the pina coladas in a bag. This seems to be a big thing, these cocktails in bags. I don't know what the story is.

Then there's what I like to call the insane jam aisle. This country is a fan of its jams like none I have ever seen. Personally I'm partial to either a fig jam or the framboise, which is a pretty name for raspberries but sounds like a liqueur. "Time to get looped on framboise!" I say to my croissant and butter every morning, and together we titter like schoolgirls, right before we check the size of our hips.

After shopping I had lunch at Cuisine de Bar, which is small, airy, and unfussy, with a vibe that reminds me a little of of Savoy in New York. The only things on the menu are open-faced sandwiches (tartines), served on the famous Poîlane bread and grilled in big ovens while you wait. I had a glass of wine, a small salad, the ham & cheese for'bon, and a cup of coffee for 15€. Could you do that at Savoy? Pas du tout! Just ask my father.

I was reading Evelyn Waugh's Scoop while I ate, which I do not recommend if you are worried about staying classy. I laughed out loud in my horsey American way at least three times, and then had to stare out the window in a faux-solemn manner in order to put the lid back on. It's like trying to shove a pig in a sack, being American over here. There's almost no way to win.