Chez Mes Sœurs
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On spring’s first attempt at a warm Saturday, this cafe along the road leading straight into the gargoyle line formation of L’Eglise de Notre Dame’s entrance was absolutely filled. Groups ordered, couples sat, and many scanned the QR code blocks on the outdoor seating while others braved the wood display that was both holding physical versions of the menus and holding on for dear life. There’s a gold undertone that permeates the space in the form of the pastry case’s trays as well as the light fixtures and wall sconces. It might have been bustling because of the numerous clientele after 17:00 on a weekend, but the cafe matched this energy. The range of menu formats keep going, from mini easel to any shape of chalk-marker board and even a Carte des boissons right above the tea tins and Nespresso espresso machine. The wall furthest from the ordering counter supports floating black shelves, holding bright books in vertical and horizontal stacks along with teddy bears and bunches of what look to be faux gardenias and peonies. But wait, the display doesn’t end there. Molded to it too is a set of aged, ivory dressers that spans its length. Even there pages, peonies, and petite plants populate. Then glass shelves crop up in a recessed space. Into its adjacent right angle, there’s more black shelving, more books, more flower bunches…it remains invitational, with many places to sit, while also invoking the eager excitement of a child with a story to tell. What you’re filtrating through when you get comfy in a window seat or out on the street—in my case, a chance to breath with the street accordionist’s repeated pressure on the air valve—is the assiduous anecdote of Anne-Sophie, Anne-Claire, and Annabelle.
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Drink: Strawberry Latte
The description: “café, lait chaud, chantilly, purée de fruits rouges et fraises fraîches.” I did check (after my Columbus Café error) that there was coffee in it. The lady at the register wasn’t sure either. That made me feel better about the clarification. In any case, the drink came out on a strangely heavy plate, a warped and flattened piece of gold, with a tablespoon deeply buried beneath whipped cream. Something about all strawberry things in this country seems to require a topping of a particular mix of yellow, pink, green nonpareils. It’s happened before. The drink itself is ridiculously interesting. I don’t make a habit of mixing coffee and fruit, but here the drink is like sitting down to a decadent strawberry shortcake and a café viennois. In this series of events, the fusion of these two things is the drink. Eventually, you are left with a strawberry-coffee soup. Nothing wrong with that. The flavors don’t turn or depress. And, I have a recommendation: scoop out the grit. Never thought I’d say that…but the strawberry seeds from the fresh puree are too beautiful to leave behind.