We Ate Everything: On Food and Memory in Paris

As I emerged from the Metro steps at Boulevard Saint Michel, I was not prepared to be cast so intimately into Paris: stone buildings are softened with curves, fountains call for your stray fingers, and people everywhere, eating. I was swallowed up by the smell of butter, smoke and dirt as we darted with luggage in hand to the Crêperie Des Arts. Our bodies brushed against other bodies, passing cafe tables, tourists, and trees just opening for spring. We hurried. We were hungry. Continue reading