Every person who has been to Paris has had “that Paris moment.”
Whether you like Paris or not, there is always that (at least) one moment, one memory, that you will always look back on with fondness and wish that you could be swept back to France, if only to relive that single instant.
Come on, you know what I’m talking about.
Although, I must admit, Paris is not my favorite city in the universe, I am lucky enough to have a few of “that Paris moment”s myself.
A favorite “Paris moment” came when, one evening, after exploring the unnerving catacombs, my friend (and Paris tour guide) Noemie, led my boyfriend and I to the Louvre. With the museum already closed, we wandered beneath the cloudy July sky and through the nearby gardens, me hugging a sweater that I bought the day before not anticipating the chilly and uncooperative French weather.
Across the street from the pyramids was a Ferris wheel, reaching far above the trees. We headed towards it, noticing a carnival of sorts. Without hesitation, we paid the six euros to ride the Ferris wheel. By the time we reached the top, we could see every archetypal Parisian monument. To the left, the Notre Dame. The right, the Sacre Coeur. Look behind you, it’s the Eiffel Tower. What’s that, oh, the Pompidou Centre.
view of the carnival from the Ferris wheel
Afterwards, we ate wonderfully saccharine and delicate crepes filled with crème de marrons (chestnut cream). With the filling spilling onto our hands and clothes and stopping every few seconds to wipe our faces, we meandered through the carnival, watching families dole out money to their children, watching kids with BB guns shooting at rubber duckies hoping to win the oversized Homer Simpson doll, watching teens brave nausea-inducing rides that I would never dare to go on.
By the time we reached the end of the carnival, we lingered for a while, debating whether to turn around and retrace our steps, or to continue on to the next important Parisian sight, museum, neighborhood. We left, deciding that those past few moments of people watching, with good friends and good food, couldn’t be recreated.
The second “Paris moment” was actually comprised of many moments. A moment that didn’t have any specific time or place attached to it. A more ubiquitous moment that I could count on each day. A reason to get up in the morning.
What do each of those moments have in common that makes them so special?
A Monaco.
Now, many of you may know that I do not like beer. I do not drink beer willingly.
Well, I am a changed person.
Let me explain.
In any café in Paris, you can find a Monaco. A Monaco is comprised of two (delicious) ingredients: a cheap pale lager on tap and grenadine syrup.
Every afternoon and evening, we would stop in a café, sitting at a table outside, watching Parisians and tourists navigate the winding streets, with a cold, dark pink Monaco in our hands. That first sip tasting of bitter hops, while finishing with a sweet strawberry flavor.
When I return to Paris, I promise that within the first ten minutes of my arrival, you will find me at the nearest café by my hotel, drinking myself into a pleasurable Monaco coma.
In the meantime, I’ve discovered the way to drink these without the airfare to Paris.
First, pour a shot of grenadine syrup into the bottom of a glass. Then, fill the glass with chilled beer. I use Kronenbourg 1664, since that was what the Parisians tended to use, but I think that any pale lager should do the trick. It’s important to pour the grenadine in first, so that it mixes with the beer.
After that, there is nothing left to do than enjoy.
a Monaco in all of its glory
So, who wants to come over and drink Monacos?
