After reading A Moveable Feast I decided to venture to Café de Fleurs, one of the places mentioned by Hemingway. I had already done the other major ones like La Rotonde, Brasserie Lipp, etc. I met a couple friends there, we sat in a cramped booth (definitely more suited for turn-of-the century butts) against a mirrored wall. I drank in atmosphere, waiters bustling about in crisp white aprons, carrying things around on silver platters. The patronage was mostly tourists and old couples. While surveying the scene I enjoyed a decent café au lait while waiting for my food.
Finally, after a decent wait, my soupe à l’oignon arrived, piping hot. I dug in enthusiastically and burned my mouth on the melting gruyere. When I could actually taste it, I was disappointed. It was probably the most bowl of French onion I’d had in Paris. It also cost about 15 euros.

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