When I came to Paris a decade ago, a friend said, “Make sure you live near a Monoprix,” and I’ve been glad ever since that I took her advice. But now we’re moving — this Thursday (yikes!) — and while we love our new apartment, I realized we took it without scouting for that landmark. (We’re not moving far – we’ll be just a 10- minute walk from our old store — but when you’re as spoiled as I am, you want those eggs as close as the corner.) Happily, we just discovered there was no need to fret – a spanking new Monoprix opened a hop, skip and jump from our soon-to-be digs and it’s a pretty swell one at that.
On the ground floor there’s the drugstore, upstairs are the clothes and mini hardware, kitchen gear and office supplies shops, and downstairs is the grocery. My husband, Michael, and I took a spin around all three floors yesterday, and when we went down the escalator to the supermarket and were greeted by this view
Michael exclaimed, “I love the French! It’s perfect that the first thing you see is wine.” It’s equally perfect that just beyond there’s plenty of butter, sugar, flour and eggs.
How nice to know that future cookie-crises can be averted. Now if only my oven would arrive …