Aside from the obvious reasons – the charm of the pedestrian market street, the restaurants, people watching, famous bakeries, fromageries and attractive yuppies – rue Montorgueil holds particular significance to my Parisian identity. I’m not the only one, it would seem. Nichole stays in the neighborhood each time her work and/or need to restock her butter supply brings her back to Paris, Amy use to host pastry smackdowns in her Montorgueil digs, and David knows it’s the spot for cheese. It’s central, lively and evidently the stage for spontaneous capoeira performances. It’s where I’ve caught up with friends or made new ones over drinks, had the best piece of cheesecake and pretended to enjoy pork for the sake of impressing a boy (not my finest moment). But most importantly, it was the fortuitous backdrop to my first date in Paris.
It’s strange how our memories of a specific place change form over time and with experience. Each time I pass Les Petits Carreaux restaurant, I try to mentally reenact my first meal with Mr. C, often with great difficulty. The restaurant looks smaller than I recall, less appealing. The street itself has taken on new perspective…
