eating here

Recent victories: Conducting an entire tampon-buying transaction in French. Figuring out how to use the washing machine in this apartment sans tidal wave of sudsy liquid. Finding amazing vintage literally a block away. Timing this vacation perfectly for "first Sunday free admission" at the Louvre.

Recent failures: This salad.

Note to self: The Louvre is wonderful; its food is not. In fact, this salad made me so angry because it broke my streak of awesome meals here. Also, it was €12,80 (with the bottled water), and only the chicken (and the water) was decent. Grrr.

But other than today's lunch failure, dining in Paris has been beyond incredible. To keep from going broke and gaining a bazillion pounds here, my strategy has been to eat one nicer, destination-type meal each day, and then outside of that, eat cheese at the apartment or pick up a small snack somewhere. I've also been trying to have my more expensive meals at lunch, when menu prices tend to be more affordable. (You know what's great? How responsible that just sounded. When the truth is I've just spent all of my money on shopping, so basically I can't eat more than one nice meal a day. Which is maybe what I suspect the French Paradox really is: French women don't get fat because they spend all their money on amazing clothes and therefore have no money to eat. Which works out because then they look good in said clothing. OK, I'll stop now.)

So where have I been eating (when I'm not longingly caressing everything in Zadig & Voltaire or going crazy over the cat print lingerie at Princesse Tam Tam -- this exists and it is my destiny -- or wandering through the antique stalls at Village Saint Paul)?

Last Tuesday's lunch destination was Le Baratin (which I previously wrote about). Wednesday brought me to Le Severo, a ridiculously awesome 14th arrondissement steakhouse run by a man who used to be a butcher. I had the best boudin noir of my life there:

I was tempted to order seconds, but instead ended up having a medium-rare hamburger steak (I really think the theme of this trip is "stuff your face with weird meat parts") and frites. And then I walked off all of that meat by visiting some dead people and climbing a ridiculous amount of stairs. So naturally, I got hungry again and went to Jacques Genin for mille feuille:

Side note: Clearly this was not gluten-free. But I've been picking and choosing my battles. Been good for the most part (no daily trip to the patisserie or boulangerie, which has required so much willpower), but I have been been sampling a bit here and there. (And dealing with the consequences. But look at that mille feuille: Totally worth it. Oh, and the toilet paper here in this apartment is pink with flowers. It's very pleasant.)

On Thursday, I had lunch at Guy Savoy because I wanted to splurge and experience the whole Michelin three-star thing. This was mind-blowing and will be a future post all on its own. (You just have to remind me, though -- because I know I say "future post" a lot, and that pretty much turns into "never post." And the photos from this meal were just too gorgeous not to share.)

That night I broke my one-decadent-meal-a-day rule and went to another steakhouse with Derrick and Brooke. Where I proceeded to eat this entire thing all by myself:

Meat marathon, anyone? (And remember how I used to be vegetarian? This is kind of embarrassing. I've barely eaten anything green on this trip. Just a lot of flesh. Wait -- if I'm eating flesh and hanging out with dead people a lot, does this mean I'm a zombie?!)

Then Friday's meal was the plum brandy night at Aux Petits Oignons (and I'm reading that post and thinking that maybe I should never ever have plum brandy and be anywhere near a computer).

Which brings me to yesterday's eating adventures and this wonderful find:

Breizh Café, a.k.a. where you can find the perfect crepe, an extensive cider list and a very, very cute server. (Oh, did I just say that?) I was planning to order only a savory crepe ...

... but the sweet ones looked so good.

I couldn't resist. But can you blame me? (Especially since the cute server taught me how to ask for the crepe in French. Le sigh.)

zombie runners

Some thoughts on running a half marathon as a zombie prom queen:

As evidenced above, only those who are certifiably nuts will wake up at 3:30 a.m. to voluntarily plaster their faces with a thick green paste called "Rotting Flesh" to take their running group's team theme to a whole new level. Everyone else will just wear a crown.

Standing on the side of the road pre-race, simultaneously squirting and smearing your running buddy (a.k.a. the zombie prom king) with fake blood is strangely satisfying.

It is possible to be too bloody to wear your Garmin. This is OK; as a zombie prom queen, you are already wearing a gut-spattered corsage on your wrist anyway. Just remind yourself to quit checking it -- fake roses don't keep track of splits.

Doing shots of Johnny Walker Black out of an Ironman-branded gel holder at the starting line (yes, before the sun even comes up) really warms you up for a race.

Chasing your non-zombie running friends while yelling "Braaaaaaaaiiiiiiins!" makes for a good show. And there's nothing like getting other people to laugh in the middle of a half marathon.

Johnny Walker Black will result in a pit-stop. Be grateful that said race is in wine country during harvest, so port-a-potties for vineyard workers are abundant. Be even more grateful when, by sheer luck, you find one that has just been cleaned and has no line outside.

A tiara is tough to wear while running, but is surprisingly light and easy to carry by hand -- sort of like a relay baton, only with more bling. And maybe also a few drops of blood.

Despite the fact that you did not train for this race, you are wearing a ridiculous outfit, your rotting nose is sweating off, you have a good buzz for the first four miles and you have to make two bathroom stops (one for yourself, one for the king), it is still possible to finish in a respectable 2:06:04.

The only bummer: We didn't win the costume contest. That went to the crazies who ran as Curious George and the Man with the Yellow Hat.