That's pretty exciting. A guy I knew from DE (John) actually lives in Paris at the moment. So I officially know someone in my age range who lives in Paris! Woo hoo!
Anywho last night John and I went to le Refuge des Fondues, an extraordinarily funny restaurant that also has delicious food! Obviously it's a fondue restaurant but it's a fondue restaurant with a bit of fun.
First of all the place is always packed. We had to wait outside until 2 spots opened up. It's funny, the waiter comes and out of the restaurant and he basically screams COMBIEN (how many). My guess is if you don't respond quick enough he won't let you in. The girls in front of me (Americans) had said they made a reservation before and he wouldn't let them in, so they were going to try again. It's a bit of a Seinfeldian Soup Nazi right in the heart of Montmartre. When you finally are allowed to enter, you go through a door whose handle is a golden baby bottle...perplexing, yes, but this has a lot to do with the prior mentioned "fun" of the restaurant. You are ordered to the back of the restaurant by the Fondue Nazi, as I will now call him. The restaurant is about the size of a small class room, maybe 12 ft x 20 ft (maybe). Two long tables are along each wall with barely enough space for one small person to fit down the aisle between them. Everyone in the restaurant huddles together at the table as they hope to avoid the one man who seems to always be walking back and forth down the aisle yelling Chaud! (Hot!). The walls are made of wood, but graffitti commemorating the people who have been there before covers the walls to the point where it no longer appears to be made of anything other than scribbled letters. It's so loud you can barely hear yourself think. As I go to the back of the restaurant, cleverly avoiding being burnt by the Chaud man, I meet the cross eyed bartender, who begins to mumble to me in what I believe is French. I respond with the affirmative "ouais" and begin to understand him a bit more clearly. Although I am still not quite sure I believe he has told me that I was A)pretty B)this was my first time there and C)I should be careful not to drink too much wine or he might have said I should drink a lot of wine...I'm still not quite sure. Next thing I know, the Fondue Nazi winks at me and beckons me with a slightly creepy come hither look that only old French men have perfected.
So I shyly approach and all of a sudden I am climbing over the table, stepping on it and posing for a picture taken by the nice Texan man next to me. Once I sit the table is quickly pushed towards me and Voila I am in my spot.
Like all French waiters he comes to the table and asks us what we want. But unlike most restaurants there is NO menu. I begin to panic thinking "Oh lord, we made it in, but can we stay, the Fondue Nazi will definitely kick us out for such impertinence" but luckily John saves the day and orders the savoyarde (cheese fondue) as he had been here before and knew the expectations.
As we sit there, we are given a lovely kir as a welcome (my first kir in Paris!) and some lovely hors d'oeuvres (sausages, cheese cubes,
pickles, olives). The kir fills my mouth with delicious merriment... although they did add an orange which I felt brought down it's usual impeccable flavor.
The Fondue Nazi asks if we would prefer le vin rouge ou blanc, and I order a rouge. Next thing you know he brings us two baby's bottles
filled to the top with wine. Possibly the best way to drink ever, I may have to start up a new fad in the USA. After two sucks of my baby's bottle, the Chaud Man comes by and plops some delicious crusty french bread down on the table and the wonderful savoyarde. The fondue pot steams the general area and my stomach delights at the wonderful aroma of delicious french cheese (not the stinky variety). Of course, my fondue fork and I puncture a piece of crusty bread and dip it in the soupy fondue. MMMM Parfait! This is the perfect way to begin my time in Paris. John and I stopped all conversation at this moment and focused on what's important, the fondue. So as I am dipping my bread, John loses a piece in the fondue and I look over and he's kissing the girl next to him. Apparently it is tradition that when you lose something in the fondue you must bestow a kiss on the person to your left or right. Lucky for the girl next to me (or perhaps unlucky for her)
I only lost my bread once.
At some point, perhaps 30 mins into the fondue, I get that feeling in my stomach that says if you eat one more bite I will explode. This is also the point where my whole entire face begins to leak. Of course, at this moment, my body has chosen to express that it has a cold. Luckily we are done, but I turn into gross disgusting monster who cannot control her leaky nose or her sneezing. I not only use my napkin but I also use up John's napkin. Then I attempt to escape to the bathroom without mounting the table, but Fondue Nazi gives me the evil eye and I awkwardly climb over the table with his help. Once in the bathroom (relatively clean by Paris standards) I steal about 25 squares of toilet paper, in hopes that it will help me survive the rest of the night. Boy was I wrong. Not only have I used up all the toilet paper I have to go back to the bathroom twice and take at least 15 sheets of napkins as the toilet paper was just not strong enough to hold up to my blossoming cold. At the end of the night it's just the American girls next to us, the Fondue Nazi, Chaud Man and John and me. We leave the restaurant with rather full bellies and grab the metro to Odeon with the American girls to enjoy a drink at the 10 bar.
Rather uneventful at the 10 bar, other than the fact that I stayed out past the metro and had to walk home. Lucky for me, the walk took me about 10 mins.
I love my location.
That's about all for my adventures so far, I will try and put up some pictures from the experience with the trottinette or get Raphy to help me reenact.
