You emerge from the fashion floor of Le Bon Marché with a half dozen shopping bags, a beaten down credit card and a giddy thrill pulsing inside you (those Joseph leather leggings are going to look excellent with that Isabel Marant quilted jacket.) But before you float out onto the glistening streets of Paris in search of lunch, I absolutely insist you stop in at La Grande Epicerie—the astonishing foodhall in the building opposite. Begin downstairs in the vaults of La Cave, a treasure trove of vintage champagnes, first growth Bordeaux and rare white and red Burgundies. The 2011 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti calls to you but thankfully you’re all outta cash. (If you haven’t done so already, now is a good time to check out my previous posts on Paris – find the makings of My Perfect Day here, here, and oh yes – here.)
Thus inspired, ascend the escalator to the main foodhall and make a beeline for la boucherie. The famous Bresse chickens with their orange flesh and feathered heads are a sight to behold (K and I roasted one of these bad boys for Christmas lunch on our honeymoon and it was delicious.) If you weren’t already ravenous I’d advise you to swing past the nearby boulangerie to drool over their pistachio-studded madeleines and delicate brioche scrolls. But it is well and truly time for lunch.
Head for Sèvres-Babylone and catch the metro to Palais Royal-Museé Du Louvre. You will be dining in the arcades of the museum’s Richelieu wing at Le Café Marly—one of the Costes brothers’ très chic Parisian eateries and a place so naturally endowed with good looks I’m surprised it hasn’t been signed by IMG models. Regardless of the weather (I’ve eaten outside here in minus two and loved every freezing minute), it is imperative you find yourself a table on the glorious arched terrace. In all honesty, you didn’t come to Le Café Marly for the food—which is decent without being fabulous. You came for the splendid view over the Louvre’s Pyramid, the vaulted stone archways and the thrill of eavesdropping on that cigar-chomping Russian oil baron and his gazelle-limbed girlfriend at the next table over.
Feeling parched and have caught the eye of the willowy hostess? Don’t bother attempting to place a drink order; she is there solely to seat guests while looking hot and will fix you with a withering glare before sailing off down the corridor in her nine inch heels. Instead, wait for a dapper young man—one of those inimitable models-slash-DJs-slash-waiters the Costes brothers seem to breed like racehorses—to glide over to your table with a menu. If value for money is an issue, abandon ship quick smart. At Le Café Marly the coffee is expensive, the alcohol pricey and the food… Well it’s not exactly a bargain. What you are paying for is the experience. As long as you dine outside, order carefully and be sure to stash your phone and soak up the surrounds, I guarantee you won’t regret lunching here.
So what to order? After your demanding morning hitting the shops, you’ll want to begin with an espresso in a stylish monogrammed cup. Unless you are battling emphysema, I advise you to punctuate your coffee with a few languid puffs on a cigarette. (I quit smoking a decade ago and so did K more or less, but Le Café Marly truly is one of the finest places to smoke that we have found in the world.) With the sunshine illuminating those historic arches, a Campari soda on the way—a brave choice in winter but a beverage that speaks to the vibe of the place—and the makings of a new wardrobe from Bon Marche tucked snugly beneath the table, it is physically impossible to feel anything other than supremely contented.
Food-wise, I suggest you steer clear of the classic French options such as steak with béarnaise sauce (save this for somewhere such as La Rotonde that is famous for it) and opt instead for the tasty club sandwich. I’m not usually one to dine on ubiquitous international fare when I’m visiting a country—especially one with such brilliant food as France—but at Le Café Marly this sandwich is especially good. With the perfect ratio of tender chicken breast and smoky bacon to crisp lettuce and tomato, it is satisfying without being overly heavy. Scattered with crisp potato chips and accompanied by a sauce of your choosing, it may just be the ideal casual lunch in Paris.
Before finishing up at Le Café Marly, I always ensure to walk through the café’s clubby wooden interior to the ladies’ toilet. I do this in part to brush my fringe in the well-lit mirror (if you know me you’ll know that I’m obsessed with keeping my fringe straight and am not afraid to whip out a brush in the most public of circumstances) and in part because the bathrooms here are really rather nice—far nicer than the Louvre’s. But mostly I do it to perve on the stylish French couples snuggling in the corner, their flawlessly dishevelled heads pressed together and bottles of 2006 Dom Pérignon chilling in their respective ice buckets.
Alright, friends—it’s time to see some art!
I won’t waste your time by describing the long queue snaking inside the pyramid of the Louvre, or the tiresome process of buying a ticket once you are inside. Suffice to say that you need one and it will take time to procure it. Let’s skip straight to the Richlieu wing, where you have already checked your shopping bags like a pro and are ascending the escalator to the Cour Marly—a lofty glass-ceilinged courtyard and quite sincerely one of my favourite places on earth.
It is difficult to describe the majesty of this French sculpture garden with its two famous Marly horses, which were completed in 1745 by Guillaume Coustou. The symmetry of the space, the pale stone illuminated by natural light from many floors above and punctuated by thriving potted trees… It is a peaceful and deeply restorative place, a haven for the spirit and somewhere I have spent countless blissful hours either sitting in silence or writing in my notebook.
My advice? Ditch the crowds surrounding the Mona Lisa—I genuinely cannot figure out why this is the world’s most famous painting—and spend your time in the Cour Marly instead. Your soul will thank you for it. 🙂
xo
PHOTOGRAPHY – Korian Strakosch
Paris, second home to toute la monde
Chandra Bose
And to yours truly! I swear I was meant to be born Parisian – Parisian blood flows through my veins. 🙂