Unicorn Day

Drama at the Wine Bar

Amazingly, my to do list in Paris is getting checked off more smoothly and efficiently than I thought possible. In just a few days I have knocked out some of the most problematic issues troubling me.

First, I have been locked out of my online banking account for some time. I can still go to an ATM and get money, but have no way of knowing what my balance is. Kind of reminds me of college. So frustrating, as you all know what I went through with all the “codes secret” nonsense to get the darn thing open in the first place. Well, the problem has been that the only way currently to get your code secret, is to have it texted to you via a French mobile number— which I did not have. When I opened the account this was a problem, but they were willing to mail it to me, which, though inconvenient, worked. No longer. You absolutely have to have a French number to get the secret code and this is super important as they change it every six months. Ugh. So my mission has been to get a French mobile number and then to go to the bank and get them to send the new secret code to my French number. Ok then—Game on Société Génerale!

Day one in Paris, I go to Orange determined to get a French mobile phone number and like clockwork, the ever-present French roadblocks are up. Do you have your passport? Do you have proof of your accommodations? Do you have insurance? Do you have a bank account? Over-confident and under-prepared, I was sadly lacking in all of the above. I was brusquely told to gather and print all of these documents or forget ever getting a mobile number. Truly, I was super annoyed and slightly depressed. I didn’t think I really had it in me to fight this fight.

So, I went back to the apartment. Made some snacks. Took a nap on the sofa and at 3:30pm I felt fortified enough to give it another go. Having learned my lesson the first go round—I wisely chose a different Orange store and was prepared with at least some of what I thought I needed. I have a passport, so that was easy. I printed a copy of our lease-which by the by, does not have my name on it unfortunately. However, we do have homeowner’s insurance, which does have my name on it, so I optimistically carried it with me as well.

Luckily, I chose the Orange store over by the Sorbonne—hoping they were used to dealing with flaky students. I was immediately greeted by a very kind man who listened to my whole story of why I needed a French mobile number—to access my bank account and to make dinner reservations in France—impossible without a French number. Mohammed, my salesman at Orange, was more than sympathetic, and agreed that the French live by the mobile phone, and without it one is definitely marginalized. He could not have been more helpful. He let my homeowner’s insurance be an acceptable document, overlooked that fact that my name was not on the lease and confirmed my bank account. In 20 minutes—Yours Truly got a new phone number! And the even better news is that it is on my American phone! I bought the new Iphone 15 and it holds two e-sim cards internally, allowing you to have two phone numbers active on your phone at any time—loving modern technology! Also, the phone service is so reasonable—it is only $10.99 a month— and I get data and international calling. Winner!

My new best friend Mohammed at Orange!

Well, after that I marched over to the nearest Société Génerale and announced to all present that I had a mobile phone and wanted my “code secret” stat! Of course that was just too much good fortune to even hope for and they promptly gave the ever popular shoulder shrug and a cavalier, “C’est impossible”. I was informed that I needed to return to the original branch where the bank account was opened and communicate the amazing news of my new French mobile number directly, and only, to them. Mais oui. Why would an international bank the size of SG actually allow you to stop in anywhere to access your account? Of course you would have to return to the point of origin because that is so convenient for everyone, as no one ever moves or changes locations. Ugh, Ugh, Ugh.

Remaining resolute however, I took the metro across town, back over to the 15th and walked to the SG where I opened the account in the first place. Then, my luck back in play, I met another nice man, who not only added my new French mobile number to my account, but helped me upload and navigate the app so I can see my bank account online! He even let me choose my own new “code secret” so maybe I can remember it for the future. Winner again!!

After the bank win, I ran home with a little pep in my step, to meet the Orange technician-Kevin—who scarily, I actually have stored in my contacts from when he uncovered the scandal in the basement involving the 4th floor internet thieves. Kevin came because our house phone wasn’t working which is also tied to the internet, which had been going in and out intermittently. First thing he does is reset the “box” —the thing that houses the internet service, telephone service and whatever else. After resetting the box however, there is still no phone and now NO internet. I am pretty mad at Kevin, and he knows it. He is desperately trying to make things right, but tells me I am going to have take the whole box thing into the Orange store and get another. I was so mad! Hauling the internet box to Orange and trying to explain why I need another and then having to reinstall it myself was not how I want to spend a day in Paris. In a last desperate move to appease me, he calls some Orange help line and they do some testing— and voilà! They were able to fix the phone remotely and restore the internet connection. I was overjoyed! It was a trifecta of a day, a unicorn day! This never happens in Paris and certainly not to me!

To celebrate all my technology wins of the day, Les and I decide to check out this new rooftop bar on top of the venerable Tour d’Argent. If you dont know, Tour d’Argent is one of the most famous and oldest restaurants in Paris and its wine list even has its own name— The Bible. It is allegedly the biggest wine list in all of Europe—and they have their own caves underneath the building, storing thousands and thousands of bottles. Well, the rooftop was definitely not the restaurant, but it was cute and we were ready for a fabulous glass of wine, except it turns out you cannot order wine from The Bible. What?? That was the whole reason we went there. Weirdly, they only offer a few wines on the rooftop and none were interesting. The views were spectacular, but the food was also very average and very limited. I think we won’t be back.

Roof top bar at Tour d’Argent. Views were good. Wine—-meh!

On the way home, we stopped at a new little wine bar I had heard about, that is around the corner from the apartment—Augustin Marchand de Vins. Sounded cute, but not really compelling. Well you never know do you? Life is full of surprises and here is where the evening gets interesting. This place was the bomb!

We show up and a man who turns out to be the proprietor—Augustin—greets us and tells us that they are “complet” for the evening. Disappointed, I looked around a little longingly, and he suddenly relented and showed us to a tiny table with the admonition that we had to be out in an hour as he had a reservation coming in. We were elated!

We then asked to see the wine list and he laughed and said the entire place was the wine list—look around! I had noticed the bottles of wine stacked on the floor, on top of the bar counter, and along the walls, but that doesn’t usually mean you should go grab one and help yourself. But at Augustin—it does. So we moseyed around and picked out a bottle of wine (they all have the price on them in sharpie)—handy. Augustin came over with some glasses and a corkscrew and while he was opening the wine he told us that he did not have a bar license and so we had to order food to go with the wine—French law. Well, that was fine by me after the the disappointing snacks at Tour d’Argent, so we ordered a yummy squash blossom stuffed with creamy cheese and topped with caviar to start. We then ordered the special burrata dish that instead of the usual tomatoes, was topped with shaved truffles and basil leaves and surrounded by hazelnuts and flavored olive oil. Both were fabulous—just plate-licking good!!

This squash blossom stuffed with cheese was delish!

We were enjoying the wine and the food when all of a sudden, out of the tiniest kitchen you have ever seen, bursts this very dramatic woman, dressed kind of like a gypsy, and carrying what appears to be a clay sculpture — with a reclining naked man on top of it! As she delivers the clay sculpture to the table next to us, some very atmospheric opera music starts to play and with a grand flourish, she sets the sculpture down on this lazy susan-type contraption and she starts spinning it around while the music increases in tempo and volume. Then she raises her arm with a mallet in her hand and starts to bring it down as if she is going to hit the sculpture-but doesn’t. The music recedes in intensity, and she spins the lazy susan thing around again, and the music builds again, and she raises the mallet again—- and this goes on for awhile. I was goggle-eyed and dying to know what was going to happen! I only had the presence of mind to start filming it towards the end of her performance, but finally she brings the mallet down on the sculpture and smashes it all to bits! See below.

It was such a fun surprise! And the content of the sculpture was either a guinea hen or maybe a Cornish hen baked in the clay pot —smelling delicious! Augustin came over to our table and we immediately started asking questions. He told us the woman was the chef, and also an artist, and she makes one sculpture a day with the bird in it and whoever pre-orders it first gets it for that evening. It was so unexpected! Then he takes us back by the “kitchen”, which I am telling you was the size of an easy-bake oven. So tiny! And in front of the tiny kitchen is a tiny counter with one seat, and separating the seat from the kitchen is a confession screen like you have in Catholic churches— which Augustin told us in complete sincerity was for exactly that—confession. He said, “Come and tell her your sins and all will be forgiven!” It was pure theater and I loved it!

The confession screen and the tiniest kitchen ever!

It was hands down one of the most fun evenings we have had in awhile and so completely unexpected. We will definitely be back— and I want that dang bird thing too!