Reviewing the Republican Guard from Fouquet's Glassed-In Terrace (Paris) by Savvy Mom Ruth Paget

Reviewing the Republican Guard from Fouquet’s Glassed-in Terrace (Paris) by Savvy Mom Ruth Paget

When I first moved to France, I lived outside of Nantes, the capital of Brittany, with my husband’s family.  After my honeymoon, I began looking for a job and learned how to do French-language cover letters (handwritten) and resumes.

I was finally invited in to do skills testing and do interviews in Paris after six months of looking for a job.  After discovering that the French keyboard is different from the English one for skills testing, I walked down Avenue George V to assuage my wounds. 

I knew I was going to have to practice typing for a few hours a day to get my French typing speed increased to the same speed as my English one.

I sat in the glassed-in terrace at Fouquet’s and ordered a French grilled cheese sandwich, which comes with ham called a croque monsieur – “die mister” sandwich.  They are delicious, but you cannot eat too many.

If you add an over-easy egg to a croque monsieur sandwich and béchamel sauce, you get a “croque madame” sandwich – “die lady” sandwich.  These are delicious, too, but you cannot eat too many either.

Both of these sandwiches feature bread that has been fried on both sides with butter giving the sandwich a crunchy bite despite béchamel sauce on the croque madame, for example.

As I was eating, I heard a rhythmic “clip, clop” outside and turned my head around to see the mounted Garde Républicaine with horses and soldiers dressed in black and red uniforms go by. 

The mounted horsemen surrounded the Socialist President of France François Mitterand and Tunisian President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali, who rode in a gold and black carriage down Avenue George V to the Champs-Elysées.

From my privileged seat on Fouquet’s glassed-in terrace, I felt as if I were being personally welcomed to France by President Mitterand as I ate a “croque monsieur” sandwich and drank an Orangina, a lightly carbonated French orange soda.

I liked Fouquet’s and ordered a café crème, not a cappuccino, but a coffee with about 1/3 cup of warm cream added to it. The French do not really want to admit that they make this item, because it is so fattening. 

I ate food like this in Paris during the winter at bistros, when it rains and is generally crappy weather to warm me up for Métro rides home to the 10^th arrondisement when I finally found a job.  (The French have great umbrellas due to their winter rainstorms; most will not bend in the wind.)

By Ruth Paget, author of Eating Soup with Chopsticks and Marrying France

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