10 am Every morning should start like this. Halloumi and jammy eggs gave me a real pep in my step and were the main culprits to blame in my balcony pants-free morning dance. A true Happy Meal, if you will. The truth is I actually made more than one egg but they might have been overcooked so let’s move on. Cooking in Mexico City has seriously warped my relationship to time and temperature thus my standard method of soft boiling eggs at home is a 20 min end-to-end adventure.
Happy Meal above. Dancing to « Oh Boy » off my bedroom balcony a block from Gare du Nord, below.
I had no clear idea of how I wanted to spend my Sunday other than grabbing a new Lithium battery for my film camera, apologizing to my new friends at Sur Mer for having a lover’s quarrel at their calm afternoon bar, and letting the city tell me what’s up. I wasn’t clear on what the appropriate outfit for all of that was, but the shoulder pad body suit makes me feel powerful and soft at the same time and a few hours later I’m here to report I don’t regret it.
1:13pm Wandering around Oberkampf around the same time that I realize I haven’t had any caffeine yet. I had planned on working my way back over to Bonjour Jacob once my camera was brought back to life; although that cafe brings out every insecurity i’ve got, I figured what better place to take photos of the pretty scary people. But alas, my feet wanted to keep moving and I’m glad I listened because I stumbled right. into. a cafe I’ve been meaning to check out: Fauna. The Scandinavian vibes of this little spot calmed any desire for control and planning of my day.
I peak my head out the window in search of an open table en terrace but am quickly distracted by a man and his green felt tip pen sketching the exterior of the shops across the way. My mental script prepared should he notice my staring « En fait c’est parce que j’aimerais trop pouvoir faire des croquis comme ca » !
Maybe that’s how I want to spend my day. Trying to draw and taking photos and creating imaginary scenarios with strangers.
My brain’s ability to create imaginary scenarios might be anxiety, but it might just be that I have a very rich inner world and not enough practice using it in a creative way. For example, today is a Sunday and I’m wearing a shoulder-padded blazer body suit tucked into high waisted trouser jeans. As soon as I slide my butt and my curls into the made-for-an-infant terrace sized seat, I start imagining the scenarios. In my mind these Loewe sunglass- oversized cardigan-ballet flat wearing cool girls already had something to say. Now, it isn’t that I am dead set on believing the worst in people nor that I believe I am always the topic of discussion, but you can feel people’s eyes on you and you can feel an energy shift.
Waiting for my beverage, I really took a good stare at the ballet flats. They weren’t just any ballet flats, they were sparkly, mesh ballet flats. Now to each their own trend but was I really even for a split second living in some imaginary world where I gave a shit what somebody wearing sparkly ballet flats thinks about me?
Fauna, 12 rue Oberkampf, is known for its cinnamon twist buns but the Cardamom boy at the counter was the desired object of my affection. I had never tried a cardamom roll before and I think I liked it? It is a weirdly addicting flavor and the cardamom was certainly cardamomming. Back at home my brain is like the Protein Police, constantly on the lookout for options with egg or meat or something that will keep me full for longer. Longevity versus present moments of pleasure could be an entirely separate post itself, especially in Paris. While the glycemic control is nice, it doesn’t leave a lot if room for exploration, nor surprise nor delight.
3 pm The promise of a sexy Vintage Polo bucket bag in the window tempted me and I popped into EREM. Fun fact: window shopping in French is to faire du lèche-vitrine, or, window licking. Once inside a black lacey corset top distracted me from the original mission, but 80 percent humidity and my bodysuit had other plans.
I asked the curly haired, good energied shop assistant if I could see the black Alma bag in the window. Though a classic, we both agreed « ça me va pas » / it doesn’t go with me. I like that way of thinking about it. Not that it isn’t for me or doesn’t look good on me. But rather an accompaniment of sorts. How freeing.
From the get go, I trusted said curley haired shop woman. She was making comments that only someone who understands people and bodies and essences could make. «C’est trip rigide » or « il y a pas assez de movement », she’d comment as I tried on different but incorrect purses. Having spent the better part of this year learning about Kibbe philosophy, my essence, and what the yin and yang of my body calls for —I could’t agree more. Curly haired shop woman must have known this as she slyly walked over a puffy Lanvin sugar bag in a stunning shade of brown.
We also agreed black isn’t the best color for me. It’s like she lives inside of my tin Tok search history, or maybe she just really feels and sees each person as they walk in. Also Lenny Kravitz’s « I Belong To You » came on at the same time as I walked toward the mirror, so, you know. A real sign from above. Either way, I walked out with the purse and a new friend in curly haired shop woman, Emma. She said the next time I come she might not be here as she’s about to start her formation in energy work.
No shit.
More on Kibbe another time, I feel that understanding body types as a balance of yin ((curved, soft) and yang (angular, structured) has, out of everything, had the most positive impact on my mental health, how I feel in clothes, and honestly my eating disorder recovery at large. It focuses on your skeletal system and your flesh, ultimately evoking your full-body shape and style. It doesn’t matter how overweight or underweight you are, your kibble essence doesn’t change because your bones aren’t moving.
This image is from Gabrielle Arruda’s site. Her intro to kibble is a great place to start for those curious!
In the late afternoon I walked home to the 10th arrondissement, my home in Paris, for a much needed ripping off of the bodysuit, a stretch and a nap. I’ve been doing a lot of youtube watching of YOGA FOR FEET AND ANKLES while in Paris. As I told a friend last week,
« Paris is hard on the body, easy on the eyes ».
Nap time is a rare but coveted activity. After 2 hours of rest and tea and thinking about writing instead of writing, I knew I wanted one last walk and maybe some ice cream and a glass of wine before the day was done. After about an hour along the canal not being able to find exactly what I was looking for, trying to listen to the rest of 5 by Lenny Kravitz and checking in with my 8 year old Head of Branding, I knew it was time to turn in.
8:49 pm I’m a block away from home when I see the sign for Bhai Bhai Sweets. The owner Abdul senses my hesitation and curiosity from a mile away. He ushered me in with his kindness, starting to explain the history if his restaurant and the treats standing before me. « Since 1984 we’re here, since before you are on the earth I bet ». I’ll take the win where I can Abdul, tell me more about these treats.
Bhai Bhai is listed as Indian/Pakistani but I do want to go back and ask Abdul more questions. It seems like the sweets and the samosa chaat he *made* me get were done in a Pakistani street food style. Indian culture has been something I want to learn about more deeply for a while and for many reasons, but most recently for the Quai Branly exhibit on the History of Indian Cinema I saw last December. An incredibly curated exhibition that served as a trojan horse for storytelling of Indian government, culture and national history. That was one of the two exhibits I cried at last December. More in depth on that exhibit and my love for India in another post.
Abdul was kind enough to explain every item to me as he prepared me a little variety box of 500g. Later I saw that the description of every treat and its matching picture was outside on the window. I laughed at the incredible kindness of it all.
The box of goodies totaled out at 7 euros plus 3 additional for the samosa chaat. At first glance I felt like this presentation of samosa and I had met before. Almost a deja vu. One bite in and I realized exactly why. Back when I lived in Atlanta, a chef friend of mine showed me the wonders of Little India, a series of strip malls with Indian and Pakistani businesses along Scott Blvd/Lawrenceville Highway corridor. I think I actually still have a picture from my first time there, please hold.
There she is, in all her glory. Later this place was bought by some Indian chain and it was never the same. Previously, the owners wouldn’t even let you pay until you assured them you were satisfied with your meal. They would also let you know if what you ordered wasn’t a complete meal, which when eating in a cuisine that is a bit foreign to you, seemed like an incredible concept. I remember trying to fit the finely diced potato, onion, peas, and chickpea into the pani puri shells I was so afraid to break.
These were little moments of happiness and connection to a more global mindset which I often didn’t feel while living in Atlanta. But back to the sweet treats. In all transparency, I facetimed with a friend from college for far too long and took a bite of every one of the treats and now I’m likely in the throws of a rapid descent post sugar rush and thus rushing my writing. But the frontrunner as of now is the « Katless « which according to my research is ‘delicious juicy dessert made from milk dough, dipped in syrup and garnished with coconut flakes, cut in to slices with a colourful centre.1’
I could have had five more.
Ok, my eyes are officially twitching. Sending love from Paris and my sugar coma.
P.S. Thank you for reading and thanks for your patience as I get back to writing, find my own voice, and figure out how to share what I live, see and learn with you lot.
A très bientôt,
nmp
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