20/02/25 08:40

Café de Flore.  Boulevard Saint Germain.  I know there are plenty of people that were expecting a video of this place.  To those, I apologise.  I have issues with confidence, as well as privacy.  So, I apologise.  You won’t be getting much of that from me.  Maybe in the future I’ll try and sort something out, but for now, it’s a no.  This place was the one where philosophy sat, chatted and worked in the days of Sartre and de Beauvoir.  Now, it’s the tourists.  And residents.

I was greeted at the door and swiftly sat at the table closest to the entrance to the inside inside of the café.  Remember, it’s only actually a café.  I am, essentially outside but still inside.  Philosophically and literally speaking.  I shall venture into the inner sanctum before I leave.  I’ll try and snap some photos.  And not just of the table setting.

My neighbour is having a fruit salad and a tea.  The lady on the equivalent seat on the opposite side of the door had a coffee, left her money on the table and went.  Other tables are having the hot chocolate and croissant.  Or French onion soup.  Me?  I’m old fashioned.  Tea and toast.  Except the Échiré butter was straight from the fridge.  And the bread was brioche that wasn’t accommodating.  It really wasn’t pretty.  But it gives me something to write about.

I just saw my serveur bisous some customers outside outside.  It was a simple gesture and yet so touching.  I don’t know if he knew them personally, but the sentiment involved was truly touching.  The staff here are the typical Parisian kind.  White shirt, black neck adornment (in this case it was a bowtie), black waistcoat and black trousers.  All finished with a long, white apron.  Please don’t think they’re rude.  They’re not.  They’re attentive.  They leave you alone until you want them or need them.  They greet customers in the same way they greet their colleagues, delivery drivers and florist.  Is this just here?  Is this because of the history of the venue?  It has to be a no.  This, at least for me in all the years of my Parisian visits, is how it has been.  Only once, in a restaurant in rue Montorgueil has it been different.  It was Nev and mine’s second time to this restaurant and in fairness, they were a lot busier than previously.  It’s no excuse and he wasn’t rude, just not the usual quality we are used to. 

This is definitely a place that tourists come to but is it solely reliant on them?  It’s not even 9 o’clock yet, so I can’t fully tell.  But it is very heavily stacked with English speaking people from all around the globe.  I hear French voices from some customers but I cannot locate the nuances in their accents to be able to place their origins.  That’s not to conclude that non-Parisians can’t live in Paris.

I’ve peered around the corner at the inside inside of the café and I’ve seen red bench seating.  Almost like a 1950’s American diner, sans the white piping.  Would the big names have sat there?  Side by side à la terrace or next to one another?  How famous were these people at the time?  Were the famously historical places famous or historical at that time?  This is certainly a place I could write in.  I’m on my third page already.  But this is “creative” non-fiction.  I’m not researching anything.  This small table is just large enough for my notebook, tea cup, tea pot and hot water jug.  And yet, I could just as easily find myself in a patisserie with tables and do the same.  Maybe with less distractions.  And bigger tables.  And more Parisians. 

I should’ve worn my jacket!