Apologies, for some reason I thought I had already posted this… like a month ago. Eh, la bas, c’est la vie.
I still wanted something from Chez Alain Miam Miam. The fact that the whole of yesterday I was thinking about the crepes meant I would absolutely regret it if I didn’t try to get one before heading home on the Eurostar.
In order to try and faciliate this, I showered the night before. Has all my clothing ready, and packed everything else. So when I woke up, I could check out from the hostel ASAP,
I jumped in a taxi on Sunday morning and headed to the market. I got there before it opened so I did that most Parisian of things.
Coffee and croissant while sitting in front of a cafe and watching the world go by…
8:30 AM rolls around, and well yeah, chef Alain’s hot plate for making crepes isn’t working. He’s taken the thing apart with wires everywhere.
“maybe 10, maybe 30 minutes” he says, while staring at the plate.
I can still do this… my departure time is not until 10:43 AM
With not much else to do (read: eat) at this stage. I take the opportunity to walk around the market and the surrounding areas to take some pictures.
After, what seems like an eternity, I return back to Chez Alain… and there are two people in front of me. Correction: There’s a family of three, and one guy in front of me.
At this point, there’s nothing I can do but queue. And I get to witness Alain’s fantastic customer service. He chats with the parents, coos at the baby in her stroller, all the while keeping an eye on the crepe, and sandwich he’s making with them.
And getting the rest of the stall ready for service.
I wait, and I wait, and I take pictures, and I wait some more. More people have arrived behind me. One lady (I’m assuming from Hong Kong), has a magazine with an article about him, with a picture of one of his sandwiches.
And without missing a beat, he looks at the picture, knows what article she has, who wrote it, and who took the picture.
Somehow, in between all his seamless chatter with customers, he’s taken my order, a crepe filled with Nutella.
And he’s cooking it. The smell of warmed Nutella fills the air. And I’m drooling.
Before I know it, I’m in possession of a freshly cooked crepe with lava-like Nutella.
I don’t care, and I start munching on it, getting chocolate all over my face and beard. I’m like a kid again. A kid with first, and possibly second degree burns in his mouth.
A kid who has 30 or so minutes to get on the Eurostar to get home.
I’ve booked an Uber to pick me up from the market while finishing off my crepe. He arrives on time, I jump in. He mentions the destination, and I agree.
What happens next actually impressed me. I realise he’s said “Gare de Lyon”, a station in totally in the wrong direction. And somehow I have a conversation saying that’s the wrong station, and I need to go to Gare du Nord.
…all in French.
Except it’s not. There’s a queue stretching further than I can see. And I have to go through passport screening…. twice???!!!
I’ll admit, I’m a little panicked at this point. However, I managed to get on the Eurostar with all of 5 minutes left before departure.
Was the crepe worth the worry (second-degree burns)? Oh hell yeah.