5: La Petit Rose des Sables
My new favorite restaurant in Paris!?
In the words of my eccentric art history professor this morning, French people don’t eat. They “appreciate.” I feel like that may have come directly from the Emily in Paris writer’s desk, but it’s also one of those stereotypes that might be a stereotype for a reason. Being a curious wannabe Frog, I investigate.
This came up in my “Impressionism to Post-Impression” course at the NYU Paris on the topic of Haussmannization. Oh, if I could have a dollar for every time I have talked about this dreaded man and his drudging of Paris under Napoleon’s grip. It’s funny learning about Georges-Eugene from a school standpoint because, in my previous visits to Paris, I only connotated the man’s name with “pretty buildings.”
Naturally, learning about 19th-century Paris also conjures the spirit of another French icon, Charles Baudelaire. His concept of the flâneur, the art of aimlessly walking with all of these new pretty Haussman buildings to gaze up at, reconstructed French culture as we know it and gave the writers at Netflix a show to make. People here enjoy leisure time and stop to smell the roses, rotisserie chicken, and many, many cigarettes.
So what does this all have to do with whatever “La Petit Rose des Sables” is? While I try to make time for some flâneuring here and there, most of the time I am on the street, I am extending my legs as far and fast as my body will take me to optimize my ever-decreasing “get to school time.” Every morning, this is when my American comes out, and I utterly cannot conceive why people would walk so damn slowly and look up all of the time. Hey, I’m walkin’ here!
Regardless, perched towards the end of Rue de Lancry is a little restaurant that has caught my eye since the moment I saw her. Apparently my neighborhood culinary scene (according to my host mom Mina) underwent a whole lotta gentrification over the past 20 years. Joints with names like “Three Brothers” and “The Box” serve expensive artisan tarts and vegan boxed lunches. All things I love, no doubt, but it does not quite scratch the itch of the French dining experience. Is it all too much to ask to appreciate and taste too?
There’s nothing like having a visitor in town to make you step up your tour guide game. Niche vintage shops, house parties, sunny days - only the best for Ms. Annabelle Pollack. That’s exactly why I (accidentally) took her to my new favorite restaurant in my neighborhood and perhaps the entire city.
Initially, we set out to try this spot TonTon Veg that I’ve flâneured by, only to learn that it is misleadingly a burger joint. Next, we sat down at Habille - it always seemed chic from the outside, right? You walk into what you think would be a doctor’s office waiting room. Silence deadens the air, a little shuffling to bring out basic food, and they even hand you a magazine of their clothing line (food menu printed on the back page). Thankfully, we worked up the courage to awkwardly exit the establishment - giving half smiles and mouthing “sorry.”
That place…. What’s the name of it again? I only knew Rose Sables by the Stella Artois sign sticking out the storefront - as I demarcated it in my running Notes app list of places I must try.
Patience is the first step to a stellar Petit Rose des Sables experience. There are three (maybe sometimes four? according to Yelp research) two-top tables in the entire restaurant. All waited on and cooked for my one woman, Mammie. Whatever image you conjure hearing the name Mammie is likely close to the truth (photo included, just so you can double-check yourself). These factors make for a long wait, well worth it.
The second step is alcohol. You must be a drinker, or at least pretend. After finally secure your spot, you receive a celebratory glass of housemade sangria as soon as your butt hits the chair. Annabelle and I ordered wine along with our dinner, redefining what I knew before as a “full glass.” Then, the dinner is followed by two warm shots of ginger-instilled rum, served alongside a piece of candied ginger (how did she KNOW!).
Speaking to your dinner date means speaking to the entire restaurant. Thankfully, the copious amount of beverages allows you loosen up enough. You have to be open to this experience, the Petit Rose des Sables experience. And, be sure to spill all of your tea on the sidewalk outside because as soon as you enter, you are in Chez Mammie, and she is part of the conversation.
A Photo Narrative
If you can’t tell by our faces in all of these pictures, this experience was about more than just the food. I appreciated this dinner with my whole heart because of my guest, my chef, and the unexpectedness of it all—the glory of the city, the holes in the wall. The human connection through food. More than many of the other gentrified spots can say for themselves.
Mammie served guests from 19hr to midnight (we were her last customers). After a recent fall, she lost a few teeth and finds it hard to stand for too long, but she still finds Petit Rose her reason to smile. She waited with us outside for our Ubers, told us life anecdotes, and I even got to dust off my French - my confidence bolstered by good food and warm rum.
The kicker of this is the whole dinner - sangria, charcuterie, wine, mains, desserts, candies, rum, tea, hats, scarves, and a selfie with Mammie - came out to be 23 euros for each of us. I don’t know what it will take to keep Mammie here, but I’ll do it. With the impending Haussmanian Gen Z gentrification of the 10th arrondissement, some old-fashioned Charles Baudelaire appreciation for the small and slow will keep this city’s charm alive.
If you are in Paris, go here!!!
xoxo,
Chloé
We are going next time!! 😍💕
Hopefully I’ll be back soon and I’ll go! Thanks for sharing this experience-I feel in a way like I’ve already been..