Same same but different Saturdays

It’s Saturday again.

If we were home in Sydney, the routine would look something like this- the Hungry One might wake up early and go for a surf and a coffee with some friends. I would very contentedly totter downstairs, collect the Sydney Morning Herald and make myself a pot of Earl Grey tea and take them both back up to bed.

On his return we might wander to Dank St Waterloo for lunch and do some shopping, meet some friends, spend the afternoon cooking or go out that night.

As we have no friends here, no surf to be seen and no English language newspapers, Saturdays are looking a little different. But never fear, children of structure that we are, two Saturdays in and already have a routine.

We sleep in a little and then meander over to the Moufftard. Breakfast is three crepes that are shared- a jambon, fromage and oeff, oozy with cheese and light on the quality of the ham- then a banane nutella and then to finish, further up the hill we collect a sucre citron. Lemon and sugar always was my favourite.

Then it’s a wander through the markets- what looks good today? There’s the two chocolatiers right next to each other, one has concentrated on chocolate fish for Easter, the other has chosen an alternate route with enormous chocolate turtles. There’s the five fromageries and the two wine stores offering tastings opposite each other.

We ponder what we’ll buy and decide that it’s nearly lunch time. There’s a place half way up the hill that we chose on uor irst week because there were chairs outside in the sun. A steak tartare, frites and a charcouterie plate later, with a Leffe for the Hungry One and a glass of thin, cheap Bordeaux for me and it’s happy days.

A week later we’re back. The steak tartare is the best we’ve found anywhere- it’s not a puddle of pureed protein, rather it’s got distinctive pieces of meat, a generous sprinkling of diced tarragon, decent mustard and little nibs of raw onion through it. It comes in a manly sized mound that’s perfect to share. Then it’s the charcuterie plate, where it’s a good thing that there’s a wooden platter to hold it up because it needs all the strength it can find to hold up its mass. There’s duck pate, a pork terrine, jamon serrano and thick cut leg ham. There’s some onion jam and some cornichons and a bottomless basket of baguette. One glass of wine becomes two, then there’s the option of the cheese plate or a slice of home made tart- either strawberry or apple with a crème patisserie base.

Then it’s a wander through the Moufftard, picking up something from the boucherie for dinner, a baguette just in case hunger strikes, a café éclair, just because I love them so and some salad leaves that will probably sit in the fridge uneaten.

Our biggest concern once we’ve got back to the apartment is whether we’ve bought enough red wine for the rest of the weekend.

Saturdays here- same same, but different.
But still very very good.

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