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I like to push my limits sometimes


I learned a new thing about myself this week. Despite my eternal and unwavering love of all things spicy, I may have finally met my match: spice level 4 at Trois Fois Plus de Piment.


(For reference, the spice level goes up to 5. I’m just going to go on the record now and say that I probably won’t be attempting that any time soon…at least not yet.)


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This is the face of someone who is both very determined and somewhat apprehensive.


I figured since I had, on several occasions, devoured bowls at level 3 with little difficulty, a 4 would present a welcome, but doable, challenge. Let’s just say that although I was able to – very slowly – finish my noodles and pork, the rest of the broth remained untouched (a shame really, because even though the burning sensation lingered for what seemed like forever after each bite, the broth was just too flavorful to not keep eating. There’s a word for this kind of behavior: masochism).


Honestly, I have no shame in saying that maybe I found my limit. On the contrary, if anything it almost makes me more determined to surpass it. Mostly, I find it hilarious that this new discovery happened in Paris of all places, considering how spice-averse many people still think the city is.


You know what else helped my coming down from what I can only describe as spice nirvana? This:


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Other great discovery of the week: Glaces Bachir is literally a minute away.


Other than the fact that Paris felt more like the upper ends of Siberia this week – what with winter making a last-minute appearance to remind us that no, spring wasn’t here quite yet – , not too much to report in terms of significant events. The week was mostly spent shuttling my sister + her boyfriend around to various (mostly food-related) places, though I did extract myself from the grading and whatnot I left for the last minute (yay!) to join them on a visit to the Pompidou.


The temptation to jump into this was
An ostrich on wheels…literal nightmare fodder…


I also finally consumed something at La Fontaine de Belleville that wasn’t coffee or a sablé…


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Carrot soup is always a good idea.


I even stole a couple of bites of my sister’s (very delicious) croque-monsieur, so at least now I can say that lunch here is definitely a good idea (for those who may have been curious).


And as with most visits, when it all came to an end on Saturday, looking back on the week that was felt like staring a whirlwind in the face. But that’s just what happens when you change up an otherwise regular routine.


Speaking of which, class was back in session today. Going to have to get used to running at high energy on little sleep again. Oh and finish drafting up my first version of a bibliography for my prospectus tomorrow.


Bring it on, March. Bring. It. On.


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