One thing is certain: you don’t go to Café de Flore – that fabled literary institution in the heart of Saint-Germain-des-Pres – for the service. If you are famous or exceedingly elegant or demonstrably rich (preferably all three), the waiters will smile and welcome you and the bejewelled pooch you produce from your handbag as if you were a member of their extended family. If, however, you fall into the category of regular human, as I do, you may well experience some of the most apathetic or even openly hostile service of your life. This is all part of the Flore’s charm. Sink into a cosy red banquette, guided by one of the roaming staff (God help the tourist who deigns to seat themself), and wait for the menu.

Skip the croissants, the exorbitant freshly squeezed juice, the baguette with jam. You will be ordering, first of all, a café crème — that maligned beverage which depending on where you dine can set you back the equivalent of about $15 Australian dollars. Here, for the relative bargain of 5 euro 70, the coffee and the frothed milk are served separately in charming little white and green jugs, allowing you to personalise the ratio of coffee to milk when you dispense them into the charming little white and green cup. (You may be heartened to know that a penniless young Hemingway would write all morning amid the mirrors and pungent Gauloises smoke fuelled by a single café crème.)

Mercifully, you’re not quite so strapped for cash and can stretch to the omelette. And thank God, for herein lies happiness. But which omelette should you choose? You will see the option to order one with ham, cheese, ham and cheese, or fine herbs. Clap eyes on your waiter, pumping your fists covertly beneath the mahogany table for courage, and ask if it would be possible to order the omelette with ham, cheese and herbs.

If you get the really bad-tempered man, whose scowl is so entrenched it has carved deep lines across his face, he will spit ‘non!’ at you in French, exhale audibly in disgust, and may well – depending on the alignment of the moon and stars – huff off noisily to the kitchen before you’ve had the chance to order at all.

Do not be deterred! The other staff are attuned to this man’s rages, and will sweep over and take your order after an appropriate pause. When your omelette arrives, heavenly and melting, with a hit of freshness from those aromatic herbs, cut into it and watch the Emmental ooze out. Then tuck in before the thing cools down, remembering to intersperse your bites with sips of that exemplary café crème. When you have finished eating (with any luck you have rationed your coffee so that it lasts into this final phase), slip that notebook or novel – or, if you must, guidebook – from your bag, settle back for half an hour or so and soak up the Deco surrounds.

And there you have it: the ideal start to your perfect Parisian day.

xo

PHOTOGRAPHY – Korian Strakosch