So. Mr Djokovic came so close to the much-hyped 'Nole Slam' in getting to the final of this year's Roland Garros.... but the party was put to an abrupt end by Mr Nadal. A sad end to a memorable tournament; unforgettable because I was lucky enough to be there this year.
Seriously, why didn't I do this before? This shit was cray...
Day One was a Sunday (which was actually the second day of the tournament), when most of the city shuts down, so we enjoyed the afternoon with an extremely leisurely (and at times exhaustive) stroll from our hotel in Opera down to the Arc du Triomphe, via the Champs Elysees, Laduree and Pierre Herme.
Owing to Paris' (and the whole of France's, for that matter) progressive/annoying attitude to Sunday trading hours, very few shops were open.
I would have killed for a peek inside this gem:
It's the standalone store for the famed Marseille mustard brand Maille, which was founded way back in 1720. Looking through the window, they had these devices which looked like beer engines lined up on the counter. This shop is definitely one for next time also...
Dinner was equally tricky, because not only are the shops shut on a Sunday, so too are the restaurants! I managed to find this spot though, called Drouant, via the internet (having creatively entered 'restaurants that open on Sunday in Paris' into Google'), which was a stroke of luck because not only did it turn out to serve amazing food, but it was located literally five minutes from our hotel.
Bread: good. Very crusty. Quintessentially French.
Perhaps there was a little too much of the 'pepper crust' (I spent a great deal of time digging peppercorn shrapnel out of my teeth), but it was the largest steak I have ever tackled; about the size of a large fist. Well cooked too. Okay 'fries', but they weren't fries were they? They were chips. Chunky, albeit dry, chips. Served in a pan. The French may do steak well, but let's leave the chips to the Brits, eh? Merci.
I loved the idea of serving the 'fries' and sauce in mini-pans though.
The line "melt in the mouth" is so played-out. But this literally... melted in the mouth!
And to finish? A quartet of desserts. Chocolate obviously. Get ready for some disgusting food porn:
Seriously, why didn't I do this before? This shit was cray...
Day One was a Sunday (which was actually the second day of the tournament), when most of the city shuts down, so we enjoyed the afternoon with an extremely leisurely (and at times exhaustive) stroll from our hotel in Opera down to the Arc du Triomphe, via the Champs Elysees, Laduree and Pierre Herme.
Mental note: must stay at this hotel (below) next time!
Owing to Paris' (and the whole of France's, for that matter) progressive/annoying attitude to Sunday trading hours, very few shops were open.
I would have killed for a peek inside this gem:
It's the standalone store for the famed Marseille mustard brand Maille, which was founded way back in 1720. Looking through the window, they had these devices which looked like beer engines lined up on the counter. This shop is definitely one for next time also...
Dinner was equally tricky, because not only are the shops shut on a Sunday, so too are the restaurants! I managed to find this spot though, called Drouant, via the internet (having creatively entered 'restaurants that open on Sunday in Paris' into Google'), which was a stroke of luck because not only did it turn out to serve amazing food, but it was located literally five minutes from our hotel.
Bread: good. Very crusty. Quintessentially French.
I predictably went for the pepper-crusted beef filet, homemade French fries and salad. Hey, it's steak frites. When in France...
Perhaps there was a little too much of the 'pepper crust' (I spent a great deal of time digging peppercorn shrapnel out of my teeth), but it was the largest steak I have ever tackled; about the size of a large fist. Well cooked too. Okay 'fries', but they weren't fries were they? They were chips. Chunky, albeit dry, chips. Served in a pan. The French may do steak well, but let's leave the chips to the Brits, eh? Merci.
I loved the idea of serving the 'fries' and sauce in mini-pans though.
My friend ordered the suckling lamb shoulder confit. As Rachel Zoe would say (if she ate): "I. Die."
The line "melt in the mouth" is so played-out. But this literally... melted in the mouth!
And to finish? A quartet of desserts. Chocolate obviously. Get ready for some disgusting food porn:
Now go and wash yourself.
The perfect fuel for a busy Day Two at Roland Garros.
Coming soon...