Churros

David captured this funny photo of Helen, Jen, and me happily enjoying our churros at the Sunday outdoor market at Bastille. (Emmett's in it, too, but hidden behind me in the backpack). Jen's standing at some strange angle that makes her look like a glowing giant next to two churros-munching hobbits.

Speaking of churros, this past Sunday we sadly said good-bye to the wonderful grandpère-like gentleman who makes the churros (or chichis as they're known here) at the Sunday market. Going to the market together each weekend has been one of our favorite traditions here and we've gotten to know our favorite vendors and merchants. Most first began to recognize us because of Emmett perched in his backpack.

Each Sunday morning, David invariably makes a beeline to the chichi stand the second we emerge from the metro station.


When we arrive for our 3 freshly-prepared, crunchy, hot chichis, the kind monsieur always greets us with a big smile and a friendly greeting ("Ça va?"). He and Emmett invariably have a chat as we wait for our churros to fry. I have a little trouble following some of the conversations, but Emmett seems to understand quite well. After his daughter (or granddaughter?) rolls the hot chichis in sugar and hands us our treat, le monsieur says, "Bonne dimanche!" and gives Emmett a pinch on the cheek or a pat on the head.

This past Sunday, as we waited for our chichis to finish frying, he told us that he would not be at the market for the next two weeks because of the holidays. Sadly and in my broken French, I told him that we would, in fact, be leaving for the United States next week so we wouldn't be visiting for a while. I quickly added that we hoped to be back soon, but I think he sensed our reluctance to say good-bye.

We asked if we could take a photo of him and with a big smile, he leaned over the table, gently stroked Emmett's hair and gave him a tender kiss good-bye on his cheek. It broke my heart, that unexpected display of affection from Monsieur Couteau. It captures perfectly the kind of love and warmth we've experienced from friendly strangers and residents over and over here in Paris, and I'll never forget it. I wish Emmett could remember all of this.... We'll just have to tell him these stories when he's older.