France Voila travel and French tourism, canal cruisers, boating on the canal du Midi

Expecting to have to elbow my way into the crowd to the spot of grass I had located to sit on, I told my family to stick with me. Miracles of miracles, a path easily opened, people even shifted to accommodate my daughter stretching out on the grass, and even offered cookies to munch on. Because of my misjudgment of the proper departure time, none of us had eaten- a cardinal sin while in France for sure. I set off- feeling a bit like the lioness; the hunter providing for her family. My goal: hotdogs. I’d spotted them on our way to the green!

I reached my goal quickly, only to discover I’d been foiled. There was a line, at least 20 people long waiting as a couple, cooking on a hibachi, roasted French sausages…. As they were removed, they were placed into a half of the small Parisian style baguette and handed over for the purchaser to apply ketchup and mustard. “Five euros, please, thank you!” I had to be able to do better than this! This is Paris! Culinary capital of the world, even cafes provide fresh, gourmet meals. The challenge was out to find food before the descending sun lit up the Eiffel Tower to the golden glow we’d seen on so many postcards.

Two blocks further along, I now felt like more like a salmon swimming upstream. The human river from the nearby Metro was steady. I would never have success on this route. I’d better go to a secondary route. I quickly turned down a wide boulevard in the 7th lined with restaurants. Still, no take out in sight, just full tables, harried waiters and diners apparently unconcerned with missing the sunset behind the Eiffel Tower. Ah…up ahead, a pizza restaurant, they almost always do take out.

Arriving, I am pleased to see full tables and a small crowd waiting to order. The restaurant staff seems annoyed at all the business. I enjoy watching the staff look exasperated as they attempt to accommodate more diners as they arrive without reservations on July 14th of all nights! Tension is rising, as the sun is beginning to descend. I realize that a young man in front of me is trying to place an order for 7 pizzas!

Pizzas are flowing into the small, wood-fired oven eight at a time. They bubble away atop their ultra thin crust for just 3-5 minutes before being removed with the long paddle. Each time the paddle is used, Mr. Pizza-Maker must bend down so the owner- an older man, has room to maneuver. I can’t help thinking it looks like a ballet, orchestrated to look easy, with dancers that can’t pull it off.

Whew! The friends requiring the 7 pizzas don’t believe they’ll be done in time and force their friend, now at the front of the line, to pull out. Two others at the front leave too- I guess they are going for the hibachi style hotdogs. Surely, there is no other restaurant where they will be served in time. Ahh…. Mr. Pizza-Maker is taking take out orders again. The hostess is panicking, giving the owner and other waiters tongue lashings in Italian. I’m sure her frustration is because she can’t imagine being stupid enough to want food on Bastille Day before a fireworks show without a reservation. The owner is calmly opening the oven every few minutes to rotate the dishes and remove cooked pizzas as new orders are added. The smell is wonderful.

Mr. Italian Pizza-Maker is smiling as this all goes on around him. He is now grouping take out orders- "Vous? Vous voulez 4 fromage, Marguerite et Alsacien? Vous? 4 fromage, Alsacien.” He’s quick, with an Italian accent in both French and English. You can tell he is having fun. The oven is at capacity every minute, his hands flying spreading ingredients from stainless steel bowls onto the fresh rolled crusts on the flour covered marble counter. He’s even adding up the orders and giving them to us hungry customers as order numbers so there will be more room at the counter. Wow! Calm power under pressure.

My pizzas arrive and I’m out the door…. I see the group of seven stepping out of a mini-market down the street with some pieces of fruit and cheese. I feel the superior hunter. Quickly now, I head back to the Champs de Mars, taking side streets to avoid some of the crowd. As I arrive, nearly everyone who passes asks if I brought the pizza for them. “No,” I smile, “Not unless you have a better seat.” Apparently, I’m not the only one who sacrificed a sit down dinner for a piece of this evening in Paris with their best 100,000 friends.

Back with my family, we tear the pizzas with our hands - they don’t cut them here. Any French person would have brought silverware and napkins, after all. We also whip out the $1.50 bottle of sparkling raspberry wine and the glasses we did remember to bring along. I do have my priorities! My daughter sips Evian flavored with raspberry syrup that for the life of me I can’t figure out why it isn’t marketed in the states. I immediately regret not bring multiple bottles of wine to share with those around us. It would have been more fun.

Just as the pizzas disappeared, and the bottle of wine was waning, the Eiffel Tower turned gold. The look on my daughter’s face alone made the trip worthwhile…. She really believes it is gold….