I don’t think I know enough about the historic camps of Café de Flore and Les Deux Magots on Saint-Germain des Prés in Paris. Both were frequented by the literary and intellectual sets of their time.
I don’t remember when I bought the mug from Café de Flore. Let’s imagine it was around twenty years ago, after they both succumbed to tourism. I can’t say why I chose one over the other.
A carpenter broke the mug in my NYC apartment. The marriage that inhabited that space was also broken.
I bought my mom a rather chic keychain from Café de Flore last week. I was in Paris for mother’s day, but knew I would see her this week. It tracks with the bobbles and wearables that I often buy for her. I can tell she liked it — lacquered green and plated gold — and I implored her to use it rather than display it. I told her what I know of the two establishments — their historic turfs — just so she would not think I picked up her mother’s day gift in any old restaurant gift shop. This is not Cracker Barrel, mom.
The Emporio Armani Caffè now sits across the street from the corner of these two heralded locales. And no one seemed to know that Bruno Latour works at Sciences Po … or was the confusion that I might expect him to be in his office?