As I sat down to start this post, the first thing that popped into my mind is: What isn’t there to write about Parisian breakfasts? That is, I think it will be quite difficult to narrow down into mere words the utter bliss of starting off your day so perfectly. While in Paris, I would begin my mornings waking up and thinking, Today I won’t have a big breakfast. I’ll take it easy this morning and save room for lunch. Lunch being a meal I usually only felt peckish for, if I ate at all (mainly because I ate enough to feed a small army for breakfast, but that’s beside the point).
There were a few favourite spots we came across while traversing the city, mainly Le Liège right outside of Liège métro station on Rue d’Amsterdam, right there on the corner. The waitstaff were very friendly and pretended not to notice my lack of Parisian accent, the awkwardly articulated French (unlike so many other Parisians who will haughtily announce, Je ne comprends pas… Yeah, right. Vous me comprenez) while I listed off what I wanted for breakfast: some days eggs folded over chunks of cheese and topped with fresh prosciutto; a soft, buttery croissant; a steaming fresh baguettes; and freshly pressed orange juice, while other days a veggie cheese sandwich on thickly sliced bread with a side salad drizzled in balsamic vinaigrette and freshly pressed pineapple juice was the choice. But always, always, always accompanied with chocolat chaud. Hot cocoa actually was the epitome of my mornings. I felt impaired to tour about if I hadn’t yet had my morning hot chocolate. It’s truly one of the most amazing things I have ever tasted, and I was in withdrawal (and still am) every day since I’ve returned back to Canada at the end of October. I had bought the French processed cocoa powder at a market while I was there and brought it home with me along with whatever other foods I could cram into my suitcase. and it tastes nearly as divine. I mean, as wonderful as it can without fresh French milk. Now I’m hoarding it in the corner of the kitchen cupboard until I feel I deserve a ration.
This is what my mornings consisted of, even in other little cafés around the hotel by Liège station, out by the Place de la Concorde (a little food truck selling sandwiches and hot drinks), or the Jardin du Luxembourg (Le Cercle Luxembourg). I tried to fill my mornings with as much eggs, bread, hot cocoa, and cheese as humanly possible. Really, it’s not so different from my life in Toronto, just about a billion times more flavourful.
If there is one place I can recommend traveling to, even if only for its breakfast: go to Paris and fill your mornings with amazing food. I promise you, you won’t regret it.