There’s a charming little street in Paris’ 9th arrondissement that suddenly springs to life at dusk. Rue des Martyrs is surprisingly neighborly and a little more jam-packed with hedonism than most, and at day’s end, it simply glows with wine shops, fish stands, and sidewalk rotisseries that seem nearly hidden in daylight.
Beginning at the bottom, right around 6 pm, the subtle, enticing aromas of freshly baked baguettes waft down the hill, beckoning you upward. Little by little, lights plink on and the sidewalk becomes increasingly speckled with curious visitors and lucky residents. Continuing north, the anticipation builds, and the faint sights, sounds and smells become more apparent. At this point, resistance is futile.
Paper sacks crinkling while being filled with ripe pears & wild mushrooms; ice crunching as freshly caught fish are whisked away to be weighed & wrapped; people discussing, tasting, and choosing, which cheese, how much caviar, and with what wine; the rotisserie humming and slowly spinning golden-brown chickens dripping succulent juices upon heaps of roasting potatoes brilliantly placed underneath, while simultaneously releasing the single most pleasurable of all the dinner smells. My god! The only question on everyone’s mind is what’s for dinner. Even if you had other thoughts on the way over to Martyrs, the deliciousness of this rue is utterly hypnotic. All thoughts are consumed with consuming. And with the variety and abundance on Martyrs, a feast can literally & easily be made within a few blocks.
This self-indulgent pleasure was mine for an entire week of evenings, strolling up the rue from the subway to my hotel. Imagine the constant state of pleasure of her residents -- they are welcomed home like this every evening.
