Research, write, pamper, repeat

Now that the soldes are just about over, study breaks must be of the non-sartorial variety. What with the euro, full-priced is not so much an option, plus how many Petit Bateau t-shirts should one person with free laundry down the hall own?

So, after a heck of a week of BNF, with a whole series of beautiful Jewesses living in an anachronistic amalgam of biblical times, medieval Spain, and nineteenth century France all blending into one, I decided that I would take some time off today to have a pain au chocolat and read (another 19th C Juive, alas, but not far enough into the novel yet to learn if she's belle) in the most amazing place in the world, then to buy groceries, and to meander around some shrines to Frenchwoman skincare. In reverse order...

Unable to get myself to follow Glowing Gwyneth's lead and buy a skincare product whose purpose I could not ascertain, but intrigued and at any rate looking for something less cakey to deal with the undereye circles that come from having to contend with heaping stacks of interchangeable belle-Juive tales, and looking for a fun way to incorporate sunscreen into my routine in the season when the sun isn't reminder enough to take heed of the fact that pallor and skin cancer both run in my family, I ended up with La Roche-Posay sunscreen/foundation gunk, in a color that the pharmacist assured me would be paler than pale. (I was embarrassed to ask this of someone dealing with The Medical, but this is the only way you can see the tester, and the place was not exactly overrun.) And, at least in the so-so light of my dorm room, this stuff is kind of amazing, airbrushing in real life.

Groceries! I went to the touristy Rue Cler, because it happens to be near the bakery to end all bakeries, and because tourist demand is what keeps fromageries thriving. Bethmale vache, Chabichou de Poitou, and there's a slight chance I'll eat 9 euros worth of (not even that expensive) cheese in the course of the day, but whatever it takes to get this chapter done...

OK, so, the best place in the world. This would be the Boulanger des Invalides Jocteur. I would continue to return there even if it were overrun by Jew-baiting fashion designers, but fortunately, that's not so much the clientele. They are, instead, a mix of beautiful Frenchwomen of all ages one cannot look away from; their scarf-arrangement-champion boyfriends or husbands; tourists who've accidentally stumbled upon what they think will be on every street-corner but no such luck; and these tiny, adorable, impeccably-behaved children, who don't know how lucky they are. (When I was your age, little child wrapped up in a scarf like a present, my after-school treat was a NutRageous.) All are served by a staff of strapping young men whose combination of hunkiness and ability to produce the most stellar baked goods in all of Paris if not the world makes them not detract from the overall atmosphere. Au Bonheur des Dames, indeed.

The atmosphere is one that, though pretty, is not precious, stuffy, or otherwise off-putting, the way salons-de-thé tend to be. Because it isn't really a salon-de-thé, but more of a regular bakery that happens to have tables. Accordingly, the prices are dangerously reasonable. Slightly higher to-stay than to-go, one could nevertheless, on a grad student budget, spend an entire afternoon there, chain-eating berry tarts, eclairs, pains au chocolat...

While I will admit to having gone yesterday as well - to show the place to a fellow female and fruit-tart-appreciating grad student after we'd put in some serious hours at the BNF - I kind of had to return today, because yesterday's strawberry-raspberry tart and Mariage Frères earl gray tea, though impeccable, had me craving my "usual" - a croissant or pain au chocolat and a café crème. The place was packed, and where I was sitting was sort of hidden by the line of to-go customers. By the time I was served, there was some kind of problem with the coffee set-up, so tea it was. It was still an exquisite experience. After my pain au chocolat, I had to decide what would come next. I opted for "next" to be bread and a dessert for later. "Bread," such a pedestrian word, so inadequate to describe the pain au figues, shaped like a fig, that I purchased (and, having just tried it, will purchase again - sort of like a dream version of a cinnamon-raisin bagel). Dessert will be a lemon tart. (Is it dessert hour yet?) So fine, I live in a cell of sorts, but I will probably never eat this well again in my life and I intend to enjoy that aspect of Paris to the fullest.