I had spied an artisan baker on my strolls up near their apartment, so I kickstarted my Thursdayday with an espresso and a sweet something. It’s strange, but all the espresso here seems to smell divine. (Perhaps I am just in dire and constant need of coffee...?)
I’ve hit the jackpot with this boulangerie- they have by far the cutest collection of bakers I’ve ever seen. Who knows if they can even bake? Who cares? Brushing their pain to glossy perfection before gently sliding it into the oven, it’s hard not to bat your eyelids. And yet only in Paris is there just as much chance that you’re admiring the loaf and not the baker. No wonder the women of Paris look so good so early in the day.
My espresso and what I thought was the world’s smallest muffin (about the size of my thumb squished into a patty pan) arrives. It turns out to be the world’s smallest piece of flourless cocoa-driven heaven. I get a caffeine high, a sugar hit and the best view in the quartier. All for under 2 euro. Hello new morning routine?
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