There are times when we simply 'luck out' with restaurants, and yesterday was such a time. We worked at the Centre all morning, and then took the afternoon off, going downtown. Ostensibly, Janice was looking for books and I wanted to shoot photos the rest of the day until I was too tired to move. Over our past four sojourns here, I have developed the habit of sensing it is time to go into Paris to shoot, walking to the métro, and then deciding where to get off when the spirit moves. True to form, we did this again, changing our minds repeatedly--several times at the very last second. We ended up on the left bank (left, as you exit Notre Dame Cathedral). I remembered there being restaurants near the bookstores by Place St-Michel, but since those establishments are primarily for tourists, we went two more stops to Odéon, emerged into the bright sunlight, and started walking. Then we inexplicably turned around and walked the other way.
We soon spotted a quaint alley, and after walking through it, found yet another lovely alley. We were now coming upon numerous little cafés, so we casually looked at what people were eating at the tables set outside on the cobblestones, examined menus, and kept thinking 'there must be something better still.' Finally, hunger started focused our attention. We decided that even though this little place didn't look like much, it was promising because the only people I could see eating inside seemed to be non-tourists (good sign), it seemed to be full (another good sign), and the only menu was in French (a most promising sign). We entered, and were ushered through the restaurant, up a floor, and to the main entry from a very nice street. As we walked through the restaurant, we quickly realized this was no ordinary establishment we had stumbled upon, and that we had entered from the back door, tourists that we are.
This website will give far better photos than mine! If you click on the tiny English flag, the site will switch to English:
www.procope.com
We were given a small table for two in what must have been the office in former days. It was a walk-through but beautifully decorated small room with full-length mirrors covering much of the wall I faced. This meant that I could see what was happening behind me. There was a table for two next to us, possibly 18 inches from ours after we moved ours a bit away. We eventually realized that the couple, possibly five years our junior, were celebrating his anniversaire (birthday). The sparkler on his dessert broke the ice (finally).
Little did we know that we had happened upon the oldest café in the world, one offering continuous service since 1686, the days of Louis XIV and 90 years before the Americans revolted. Here is a photo of the plaque on the front of the building, something we saw as we left the restaurant through the front door:
Café Procope
founded here by [the Italian]
Procopio dei Coltelli
in 1686.
The oldest café in the world and the most celebrated centre
of literary and philosophical life during the 18th and 19th centuries.
It was frequented by La Fontaine, Voltaire, the Encyclopediasts,
Benjamin Franklin, Danton, Marat,
Robespierre, Napoléon Bonaparte, Balzac, Victor Hugo,
Gambetta, Verlaine, and Anatole France.
[my rough translation]
Café Procope founded in 1686.
During the Revolution, it became Le Café Zoppi
and was the theatre for historic events.
Marat came here from the neighbourhood
and the Club des Cordeliers met here.
Word for the order to attack the Tuileries on the 20th of June and the
16th of August 1792 came from the Procope.
Herbert here smashed the marble on the desk of Voltaire during an inflamed harangue,
and here the Phrygian hat was worn for the first time.
You can just make out some books on the very slender bookcase which was one table away from us. The restaurant had bookcases throughout, featuring great authors of the 18th and 19th centuries.
Janice sat facing what appeared to be an office where waiters recorded things on the computer, collected freshly-ironed table cloths (a new one for each customer), and books, new and old.
It cannot be seen properly, but we entered the back door (next photo). The yellow ceiling (under glass) and the large yellow panel between the door and window had lengthy quotations from the Rights of Man, rights discussed over meals in this establishment before and during the French Revolution, partially drawn up here and hammered out elsewhere. The eventual document reflected some of the thinking of the colonialists' Bill of Rights, which in turn was taken from French philosophical thinking of the time.
History is great, I love it, but it was getting toward 1:45 and we were hungering after food more than philosophy or literature, so we ordered. Everything was so good. I won't give you the French, but I had a tartare of salmon with dill on a white plate bearing the restaurant's name and date of founding.
Janice enjoyed her mesclun salad with violet artichokes and slices of Parmesan shavings.
We ordered a half bottle of Saint-Emilion (2009) which opened up beautifully as the meal progressed. Yves tells me that he always opens his Bordeaux wine right after breakfast so that the wine is ready by supper. I think he is right--this one certainly changed as it was exposed to oxygen.
We both had lieu (fish) with a lovely crust and pesto. But my favourite part of this course is the delicacy on the left: puff pastry (I think), covered with perfectly browned onions and separately fried ripe tomatoes. The combination was so sweet, something I intend to try.
My dessert was frozen Sabayon with amaretto,
and Janice had some utterly rich chocolate cake with melted chocolate inside and a scoop of raspberry sorbet on the side.
On my (inevitable) journey to the toilettes (up another floor, down a long hallway, with doors for "citoyennes" (women citizens of the Revolution) and "citoyens" (male citizens). Sadly, I neglected to photograph the gold-painted toilet seats--a bit over the top. Along the way were a number of smaller private rooms, suitable for lengthy discussions and the making of political plots.
The upstairs also had a larger dining room with floor-to-ceiling French windows looking over the balcony and street.
This is the front, where normal folks enter. None of the balcony tables were being used, but it would be an interesting place for a leisurely repast someday.
After 'lunch', we headed off for the collection of bookstores known as Gibert Jeune,. I like to visit their history bookstore annually. This time I limited myself to one book, Les secrets des abbayes et des monastères (2013), which delves into recalcitrant monks, traffic in relics, power plays within monastic structures and the tensions between pious living and human personalities. Hardly uplifting stuff, but it interests me.
Janice went to a differet Gibert Jeune store for books that interest her, and we parted ways for the rest of the day. I walked for the next six hours, shooting whatever caught my attention. It is an interesting way to see a city because I have to slow down, not go anywhere in particular, just keep looking. I try to remember to turn and look behind me every several minutes--maybe the sun has changed, maybe something new is about to happen, maybe the scene looks better from a different angle.
The large fountain at Place St-Michel was being repaired, but this never stops buskers, mime artists and the like. This chap is dressed in a gold-painted (?) suit and mask. His trick is to appear seated but without any visible means of support such as a chair. People love it, put money into his box and then get their photo taken with him. Hours later I returned to the same spot to see him packing up. As I suspected, there is a very sturdy metal structure which goes up his pant leg somehow and bends to offer him a place to sit (one cheek only presumably). The box is heavily weighted so that it doesn't fall over, so it had to be wheeled away on a cart. He is a most pleasant fellow and pulls in more money than any other street people I have ever seen.
Students still love to sit on the large stone steps which descend from the island's main level down closer to the level of the River Seine. They like to read, chat, smoke and/or eat. Everybody can see them, yet they cannot be overheard and it is very private.
As the sun got much lower and dusk was settling in, the lighting became interesting. I wish the street lights came on sooner, but saving energy is a good thing.
On Cité, this little tourist taxi was busy. I'm not sure how much one can see from there.
As the lights came on, Gibert Jeune began looking rather more yellow, the store's signature colour.
I ambled over to see Notre Dame as the lights came on. They have erected a (temporary?) scaffolding which lets you see the building's facade from about 30 feet higher, which is a treat. The lights then come on very slowly, almost imperceptibly, starting at the top. I felt it was time to head back, so I did not stay to the end.
My favourite shot of the day shows a distant bridge's lights through the iron railing on another bridge. The railing itself was nicely lit. If I had a tripod here, I could get both in focus, but this had to be hand-held.
I slept well last night, aching feet and all. Today (Tuesday) is overcast with the possibility of showers. I think I will head back downtown after lunch (Janice just bought a fresh baguette) and see what there is to see. This evening I will go to hear Neal's lecture to some congregations interested in ecumenicism. He will be talking about the history of the Anabaptists and French Mennonites, and how they fit into the French Protestant scene. I'm looking forward to his illustrations. Plans for Wednesday remain suitably vague--Rouen? Grand Palais (for an exhibition of a Swiss painter's works)? Lunch? (a given).
With love from us both,
Evan
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