When in Paris, does one dare to dine at a place with Paris in the name?
One does. By this time, I was tired of crepes. I had crepe'd the fuck out. You need to understand that I was so disappointed by the quality of crepes that I found. Nutella crepes with chesnut cream? Intensely sweet enough to get you in a sugar crash. Not enough to sustain an afternoon of wandering. Buckwheat crepes with spinach and an egg yolk in the center? Not all that.
What did I start craving? I wanted a huge fucking salad. Paris Madeire it was, where I feasted on the Salade Madeire, a rather unique salad that had corn, cubes of cheese, and some creamy dressing that I'd never had before, adorned with the largest croutons I'd ever seen. I had a fruit salad for dessert, as it was only lunchtime, and there were plenty of carb-y treats to be had later.
Such as this pistachio mini-eclair, with a creamy green filling.
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