The best sandwich place in Paris is called Cosi. Actually, the best sandwich place in the world is most likely still Cosi. An awesome little joint that also happens to be right downstairs from where I stay (which is also where I used to live back in student days). They serve outstanding combinations of fresh ingredients stuffed in a kind of pizza bread, made in their own oven right in front of you. If you decide to eat it on the spot, a charming room upstairs will enhance your gustative experience with tasty local arts on display and Italian opera in the background.
Cosi is the only sandwich joint where you would consider bringing a romantic date.

But Paris, and in particular my local dwelling of predilection, the Latin Quarter, is just so filled with sandwich places that you could easily go a whole year eating all your lunches out and never at the same place (without spending astronomical amounts).

Yesterday, I spotted a new sandwich place down the street and can only venture that it is somewhat of a franchise (albeit a rather small one), from that “made in the same marketing mold”-look that seemed to run through the whole decoration (signs, furniture etc).

Nil’s, the Scandinavian Sandwich, offers, you guessed it, “Scandinavian Sandwiches”, Danish to be more precise.

You might be wondering what a Danish sandwich is made of and whether it really deserves its own dedicated eatery. I was. So I went in and asked the ostensibly not-Danish clerk if I could have one. All the sandwiches had nice little labels in front of them, informing you on their nom-de-sandwich (scandinavian-sounding words that made the place look like the culinary equivalent to an Ikea catalog) along with the main exotic ingredients they contained.

As you would expect (or not), fish was heavily represented, but not the only option, far from it, and not the strangest one.
Since they were straight out of baby-seal-mayonaise on rye, I had to settle for their very special: “Smoked Lapon Reindeer with Potatoes on Polar Bread” (see picture above).

The skinny?
it’s not half-bad, although honestly, reindeer won’t be replacing bacon or ham any day soon… but it sure makes for great sandwich descriptions…

PS: Selina, if you are reading this: I’m just kidding of course, the meat-looking ingredient you see above is just a strikingly similar meat substitute that they make in Denmark using only free-range cruelty-free organic polar tofu.

Update: Regarding Cosi, Scott (who was also a big Cosi fan, back when we were neighbours both living upstairs from that place) once told me he had run into a “Cosi” in NYC that looked strikingly similar to the one we both knew in Paris and that seemed to be part of a franchise. Drew (the owner) confirmed that indeed Cosi was now a franchise in the US… though he was not really involved (except I guess, for selling the rights), and if I remember correctly, Scott was not all that impressed by the US version.
Incidentally, here is the address of the one and only French one: 54, rue de Seine (VIe arrondissement), at the corner of rue de Buci… Enjoy!

The only downside to my tiny studio under the roof is that I got to go two floors down in the morning to get my shower in my cousin’s apartment.

The upside, which entirely makes up for it, is that I have direct roof access (just got to step outside my window).

Hanging on the roofs seems to be one of my favorite activities when in Paris…

Unlike Tokyo or SF, European cities like Paris offer lotsa possibilities when you get on the roof of an old building: you can pretty much make your way around the whole block and sometimes farther if you are feeling very adventurous (and discreet, as, needless to say, the local police does not see these urban acrobatics with a keen eye).

Of course, the times where you end up doing some climbing around are usually the times were you probably should not be doing it (like, after coming back with some friends from a night out drinking), but catching a summer sunrise on the roof in Paris is definitely film material.

Remember, that homeless painter I mentioned in one of my entries, last summer?

He used to sleep on or under his own canvases under Sarah’s window in Paris. Any cynical mind might have quickly pointed he was shooting for the Jean-Michel Basquiat theme. Whether wittingly or not. It had definitely not escaped the notice of hordes of bobos who now inhabits this neo-trendy chic neighbourhood: every other day, you could see neatly dressed young chaps congressing with the artist around a bottle of wine or a flask of whisky.

When I popped by in September, he was nowhere to be seen in the street and we simply assumed he’d been set-up in a fancy loft by one of his protector and on his way to become world-famous.

That was somewhat accurate, as it turns out he was the object of a few articles and documentaries on French TV around this time and even got an article in the Independent (free transcription here).

I learnt about all this in the last issue of Technikart my roommate brought home. But the article also mentioned that Joseph had recently died in a Paris hospital (possibly some liver disease or something else related to his insanely high daily consumption of alcohol)…

I bet all the two-bit modern-art snobs who rushed on the “down-and-out genius” wagon as soon as they smelled the possibility to cash in are jubilant: with our modern-time Basquiat dead, the legend is likely to thrive and the prices of all these paintings they traded for bottle of cheap whisky will soar to high heaven, at least for as long as the media hype lasts.

R.I.P. Mr. Joseph the Painter

One of the most popular show in France is Les Guignols de l’Info (“News Puppets”)…
Continue reading