I am distraught that Yelp took away my previous attempt at reviewing this lovely little cafe. I love Yelp, and possess an affinity for Les Temps des Cerises perhaps unmatched. I can't think of a more lovely little Parisian outing. My attempt at describing this outing, in a more diplomatic manner is as follows, hopefully to the delight of my good friends at Yelp.
At Les Temps des Cerises, we ate tartare and poached salmon. Some beets. We ate frittes and drank wine. We smoked Camel Bleus and Leine and I met a cute redhead and her beautiful French boyfriend. She was from Ireland and had been living in Paris for years. And then there was Thibaut, a lanky long-haired artist in a dingy blazer. A white t-shirt underneath.
Cigarettes could make anyone friends, but especially my Leine. So social, so sexy and naïve. The young couple and Thibaut chastised her at the Les Temps de Cerises bar for leaving her purse outside. The space inside is intimate and candle-lit. Luckily no one had taken her purse. I was relieved and surprisingly not upset with Leine at all.
When Leine smiled and thanked them, they insisted on leaving Les Temps, our perfect little attraction, for Thibaut's flat.
He lived in the attic of a small building. He told us he was once in prison and showed us his paintings. When I asked what got him arrested, he grew tacit and retreated into a solemn place, no longer with us, so I apologized and let it go.
Leine drank something at Les Temps des Cerises that made her sick. The Irish girl told Thibaut to get us water and we poured it over Leine's head. They called us a cab and we got to our room safely, me half-carrying Leine up wooden spiral stairs. Three stories.
In the morning, Leine didn't remember much after dinner. The fish and the frittes. I asked her about Thibaut's paintings and described them to be sloppy acrylic things of yellow and ochre. I asked her about the absinthe we drank at Les Temps, the wonderful glasses of wine. She smiled and we were both glad she was okay, that she had her passport and purse. I was falling for her hard and I realized then that I'd already failed her in a big way. I was drunk wondering how we'd ended up in Thibaut's bell tower apartment, how romantic the night had been, shrouded in smoke and thrift store paintings, cheap acrylic coloring our first night together in Paris caked, thick with opaque trouble. Thibaut free from jail, looking for a connection. We'd given him one. "I don't even have a headache," young Leine said, so much more resilient than I. Such a strong creature, all of them. More fit. Perfect companions, a perfect Parisian outing. read more