I was just daydreaming about Paris this morning, bemoaning the fact that I will not get there this year (Okay, I went twice last year, so I shouldn't really complain), and I was waxing wistful about Le Grand Epicerie, across the street from Le Bon Marché. Glorious cheeses and caviar and breads and wines; blackfoot chickens and ducks and entrecote; and the little kiosk where a woman hand slices Iberico ham. Fifty dollars a pound and worth every sou. And the Champagne bar. And the groceries, where one can buy intensely chocolate pots de créme right next to plain yogurt, and organic eggs with yolks so orange, they border on red. I'm in New York, and there is nothing here that compares.
Boo. I want to go back there now.