Ah, un foodie!

So yeah - we squeezed every drop out of the some 36 lucid hours we have in Paris. It's now 10:30PM, and rather than navigate the insanely unpredictable subways to a completely new airport (Orly), we have commissioned the front desk at our hotel to have a cab waiting for us at 8AM (our flight leaves for Madrid at 10:30, and I'm hoping we're comfortably early).

We likely could have figured out either the bus system or the water taxi system up the Seine, but I rather felt like walking the city to get the feel of it. We returned from Angelina around 2ish, and decided to lazily make our way towards the Eiffel Tower while we did some shopping. Hit up a couple of French boutiques and department stores as we made our way up Rue du Rivoli and Boulevard Saint Germaine. Eventually we made it to the Eiffel Tower - took a few pictures, then walked to the Arc de Triumphe. Snapped a few more photos of that, then had to high tail it back towards the center of town to make our 6:30 dinner reservation at Joel Robuchon's L'Atelier.

My aunt kicks off the meal by ordering what our waiter refers to as "American Champagne" (Diet Coke). I then attempt to ask for a wine list, but he misunderstands me and brings me a glass of water.

At this point I'm getting annoyed with the place, but the food looks amazing, and our fellow guests around me are pretty nice. I hit it off with the guy next to me, who is from L.A.

The waiter at length explains the daily specials, etc, of which I understand about half. While my aunt proceeds to order the daily chicken special (w/ baby chantrelles), I decide it's time to REPRESENT.

Tasting menu? Why yes, please. And can I speak with your chef so that I can plan a pairing with each course? "Ah, un foodie" - responds my waiter.

Our service dramatically improved.

While I would say this was my first impression of the stereotypical snooty Parisian experience, I will say that once you actually show a genuine interest in what they are doing, they quickly warm up to you. By the end of the meal, and several hundred Euro in wine and caviar later, we were hitting it off swell.

I was probably too drunk to recognize whether or not they were shining me on, but the food was good enough that I didn't care =)

Walked the 1 or 2 miles back towards our hotel, but decided one last time to attempt Maison Berthillion, an ice cream place that Kyra highly recommended. Alas, both nights we attempted to go there, it was too late. BUT, there are a few cafes a couple of blocks away from the creamery that do have their ice cream, so we managed to score some there. Deanna had the mandarin orange, I had the salted caramel. Tres Bien!

So, my only regrets are at this point that I simply don't have the time or the stamina approaching midnight of our last day in Paris to see all the sights that I would love to photograph at night. Alas, there is just that much more to do next time.