M and I fancy ourselves hip to the coffee scene. Side note: I don’t drink coffee. I’ve never been able to palete the stuff, all inky and bitter. It’s peculiar then, that I average 5 cups of strong black tea a day, hold the sugar and milk, s’il vous plait. C’est un mystère.
Long story short, M’s love – actually let’s call it a passion- for coffee has lead us on a year long tour of the best coffee shops New England has to offer. Naturally, we made a priority of hunting down the first few establishments to make it to Paris in its “coffee revolution”, as M refers to it. We were searching for the cool and the crafty. Those with artisan beans, resplendent glass coffee maker thingies (which M knows all the names of, that fancy guy) and a well-tiled floor.
Well, ask Paris and you shall receive. We listened to the summer of love next to hanging bananas at coolest, teeniest Boot Café. We sipped beet juice and discovered the world’s best iced tea (thé vert with ginger, lime, and mint) at Blackburn. We read the world news with Bruce Lee, over crunchy avocado toast (with more ginger, chives, poached egg and paprika) and smooth yogurt (topped liberally with housemade granola, diced pears, and apricot compote) at Fragments, blues rock record spinning. There was a refreshing and beautiful bowl of greek yogurt, cold brew and beakers of cold water alongside some friendly fellow tourists, honeymooning across Europe at Cotume Café. An early morning at Strada gifted us with quiet, excellent caffeination.
The best thing about Parisian coffee shops? Your cup is your rent check, and as long as you’ve got something to sip, you’re welcome to stay. Relax, recharge, enjoy. C’est la vie Parisienne…