Page 110 of One Week in Paris
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FINALLY… AFTER WHAT SEEMS LIKE the longest walk of my life, we enter the Bercy village, and I’m completely awestruck. It’s like we’ve stepped into another time — the 1800s, to be precise. The beautiful courtyard is lined with old row stone houses with pretty terraces. Quite a few people are milling about. I pull out my phone and snap a few pics of the houses and their rustic wooden doors, some painted red. I also take a shoe selfie of my Doc Martens against the cobblestone walkway. This is so steampunk — my ex-boyfriend would love this.
“We’re here,” he says.
“I love it,” I tell him. “Are we going to go eat and do a little shopping?”
He smiles. “Yep. I made reservations at one of the restaurants.” He digs out a piece of paper from his pocket. “But I don’t think we’ll have time for shopping. I have something else planned.”
I smirk. “Yes, the surprise,” I say, excited.
“It’s probably best if we don’t shop anyway since we’re both broke,” he jokes.
“True.”
The Frogat Bercy has a very industrial feel — steel hanging lights, stone walls, and steel pipes running across opened ceilings. Five huge antique copper beer vats sit at the center of it all.
It is unlike any restaurant I’ve ever been to. My jaw is on the floor as Mélanie, our hostess, leads us to our table. I smile at Oscar as we sit down. Mélanie hands us our menus. I study the people around us — cool, young hipsters. We fit right in with our black clothing. Oscar’s even wearing his dorky hipster glasses. I tease him about them, but I secretly love them.
“Nice place,” I tell him. “You did good, buddy.”
“I thought you’d like it. I know you don’t drink beer, but still.”
“My ex, Steve, would love this place. He was totally into all that steampunk stuff.”
He laughs. “So a total nerd, right?”
“Yeah, but super sweet.”
“So is that how girls are doing it these days?” he teases. “Talking about exes when they’re on dates?”
I smile playfully at him. “Oh, are we on a date?”
He grins. “I’d like to think so. I’m definitely getting lucky later.”
I shoot him a wink. “We’ll see about that.”
We both order Moscow Mules and they come in cool copper cups. I’ve never had one, but Oscar insists that I’ll love it. When I venture a first sip, my throat stings and a small cough escapes me. “Wow, spicy… but I like it.”
“It’s the ginger beer,” he tells me. “Take little sips.”
I go for a chicken sandwich with fries, and Oscar orders the ribs and sweet potato fries. Greasy and rich food — not usually my fare, but once in a while, I love to indulge.
I enjoy every single bite, and the conversation flows smoothly, all conflicts and hurt feelings forgotten. I’m still dying to know where we’re going.
With full stomachsand hearts full of laughs, we make our way to our well-anticipated destination. We walk hand-in-hand again, and Oscar pulls to a stop in front of a stone archway with an imposing wrought iron gate.
I look up at a wine-red facade with gold lettering and a sculpture of a waiter wearing a green vest and holding a tray. He’s a centaur — half man, half horse. Weird as fuck.
“We’re here,” Oscar announces with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on his face.
Les Pavillons de Bercy, the sign at the top reads. I study the subheads underneath, all in fancy gold font.
Théâtre du Merveilleux,
Musée des Arts Forains.
Les Salons Vénitiens
