There are two phrases in French: "manger pour vivre" and "vivre pour manger" meaning "eat to live" and "live to eat." The French do both.Geoff and I both had some homework to do, so we decided to leave for class early and get some lunch while we did our homework. We found a café near school and took a table outside.
The cafés in Paris have several things in common. First, out front they all seem to have petit round tables packed together under an awning. You don't wait for a table; you simply sit down. Usually there's a menu lying on a nearby table, which it's tacitly understood you will grab and decide what you want by the time the waiter comes. If you ask for a menu, you throw off his whole rhythm. And I say his, because there are very few waitresses in Paris cafés.
Anyway, there's no need to look at the menu because aside from slight variations in the prices, the menus are identical. You can get a croissant of varying quality but only if it's French breakfast time. You can always get espressos (one of the cheapest drinks) usually for about two euros and hot chocolate (chocolat chaud) for three to four. If you don't ask for petit chocolat, you automatically get the grand for an extra euro.
From morning to night, you can have omelettes with jambon ou fromage ou mixte. Then there's the croque monseiur - a French equivalent to grilled cheese - and croque madame with the added ham. Usually there are at least one or two salads on the list. And there's almost always French onion soup - usually for about 7-10 euros. If you're an American sucker craving a coke, you'll pay at least 4 euros for it. If you're French, you'll probably get a decent glass of wine for the same price. Although nothing is cheap, the prices always (yes, always unless stated otherwise) conveniently include the tax (a whopping 20%) and the tip (15%). Most people seem to leave a little extra for the waiter - around 5% - but it is definitely not necessary.
The café bill is handled much differently than a restaurant bill. In a restaurant, they will never bring you the bill until you ask for it. Well maybe not never, I presume once they start cleaning up for the night they would bring it, but I'm not actually sure. In a café, the bill is always delivered with the food. You're really supposed to only order once. If you do order after food has arrived, they take back the bill and bring you a new one with your new total. Also, it seems to be assumed that you will have the correct change for your bill. The waiter rarely returns to settle the bill. When we're out of coins, we usually wind up settling at the bar.
On this café trip, I got an omelet fromage and Geoff a croque monsieur. It occurred to me that all the menu items basically included some combination of cheese, eggs, bread and ham. I wasn't sure if it was just us but we seemed to be eating a lot of bread in Paris. I also had decided to try out my new way of ordering a carafe of water so that we didn't have to pay for bottled water every time we sat down. We did our homework together and I scolded Geoff for doing his wrong which he finally corrected. We were right around the corner from class so at about a quarter to four, we paid our bill.
At class, my teacher arrived wearing a very stylish tan wool jacket which obviously the female Japanese student in class fancied. She asked if she could take her picture, which our teacher responded to by blushing and posing. This started a picture taking session of the whole class by the only two students (both Japanese) who apparently had cameras with them at the time. Then we got down to business. One of the students had brought in a French book and read a short paragraph. I didn't understand a word at first, but since I was sitting next to him, I could read over his shoulder. That helped a lot. Obviously my reading comprehension was much better than oral. Hopefully I would learn in time - I wanted so badly to speak and understand.
After class, I decided to go the supermarket to stock up on some things. There are a ton of little food shops and little outdoor and covered markets happening on each day in our neighborhood and the surrounding area. But there's really only one supermarket nearby - Champion. This seems to be the place where local Parisians stock up on some basics like bottled water (mostly French), canned goods, and toilet paper. For some reason the toilet paper is mostly pink and comes in teeny rolls so you have to change the roll constantly. Clearly we're using more than we're supposed to. Maybe if we had one of those historic bidets, we wouldn't need so much.
The supermarket is midsize - much smaller than an American suburban supermarket but larger than the typical Gourmet Garage in New York. It has all sorts of delicious yogurts. Even the Dannon yogurt here is amazing - thick and creamy with actual real pieces of fruit in it. The French company is definitely keeping the best for themselves. There's also a great selection of butters, fantastic packaged hams (this is no Oscar Meyer), gourmet cookies, and fresh fruits and vegetables. Since all the labels of course were in French, we often bought something not quite knowing what it was. For example, Geoff had bought flour and used it several times before he realized it was corn flour. On this particular night, I bought what looked like chicken breasts, not knowing the label had said "dinde" meaning turkey.
At home, I grated up some old baguettes, and Geoff dipped and fried the turkey cutlets. He also made some homemade viniagrette for a salad, and fried these thin slices of potatoes in a pan so they got crispy like potato chips. It really was the first balanced home cooked meal we had in our new apartment, and it was fantastic.
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