As I wrote earlier this week, eating in Paris is not, for my family, a happy feast of escargot and steak frites. But it’s not all vegetable sushi and Italian take-out, oh no.
When I think of eating in Paris, I don’t dream (as my children do) of nutella crepes and ice cream from Amorino. My mouth waters for a more savory, spicy, vinegary meal. I wait in line for it. I submit to the typical Parisien bureaucracy and love of paperwork by ordering inside, obtaining a precious ticket, and collecting the food outside. I brace myself and summon my best, most curt French to respond to the
surly busy Parisien staff.
I consent to eating it standing up, outside, with oil dripping down my hands. And then I tuck in to this:
Falafel. Falafel with broiled eggplant, pickled cabbage, sour pickles, hot peppers, hummus, and yogurt, stuffed into a pita. It’s my favorite food in all of Paris.