Lights illuminate the iconic Eiffel Tower in Paris, France, as the sun begins to set on the French capital. Click the icon in the lower righthand corner of the player to expand the video.
As the Eiffel Tower stood in the background and the sun set on the French capital, a talented food service worker made our evening that much sweeter.
In the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, he held court like a Parisian royal of yesteryear.
It was Christmastime on the Continent, and my family and I were backpacking across much of Western Europe. We were halfway into a week-long trek that took us through seven countries, including stops in major metros like Amsterdam, Brussels, and Luxembourg City. Paris was our final continental destination prior to making the short air hop over to London.
After a day touring essential landmarks such as the Louvre, Notre-Dame Cathedral, and the Arc de Triomphe, we arrived at the Eiffel Tower hungry and dead on our feet. It was late in the afternoon, and we hadn’t found the time to eat since early that morning. Half-gawking at the sky-scraping monument that serves as the de facto symbol of France’s capital and largest city, we began searching for food.
Skirting the perimeter of the tower’s base, we happened across a small, lively crowd gathered around a nondescript stand. The sign out front was simple and straightforward: “Crepes, 2 euros.” We elected to get in line. It turned out to be one of the best decisions we made during the trip.
I am a firm believer that, at any given moment, the extraordinary is somewhere close by. It’s up to us to see through the mundane and to look past the societal guidelines that attempt to dictate normal from special. If you can see the world in such a way, your appreciation for beauty and excellence will expand exponentially.
In a city renowned for its great art and fine food, the theatrical young man behind the stand’s counter was a culinary revelation in his own right. Even from the back of the line, the flair with which he made crepes was a show that made his food well worth the wait; the dramatic way that he mixed the batter and poured it with a flourish into his crepe pan delighted even the youngest of his patrons.
His selection of fillings for the crepes was much like his sign: completely uncomplicated. You could choose to have chocolate Nutella spread and add some sliced bananas if you wanted to go all out. As the line filed forward, we watched him take each order. He handled the jar of Nutella and the bananas with a deft hand akin to a Las Vegas blackjack dealer.
Once each crepe was done, he showered it with powdered sugar, placed it in a wrapper, and handed it off to the next fortunate soul in a long succession. His satisfaction rate was both apparent and astonishing; every customer leaving his stand – either verbally or through gesture – was unable to contain how much they loved his crepes. Framed by the Eiffel Tower’s Christmas décor, youngsters probably thought he was Ol’ Saint Nick himself.
Once we made it to the front of the line, I ordered three crepes. We stood and watched him work, now enjoying a front row view as the young man turned fast food into wonderful artistry. When he was done, he looked me in the eye as he handed off his latest creations.
I have eaten in some of the finest restaurants, staffed with maître d’s, sommeliers, and chefs trained at the best culinary institutes on the planet. I have never seen a look like the one he gave me. His expression told me that he didn’t just hope we would like his food; he knew – like a prince is unequivocally certain his destiny is the throne – that we would enjoy his gift to the world.
For all the impossible buildup, his crepes, ideally balanced between filling and pancake and removed from the pan at the moment of perfection, didn’t disappoint. We ate them ravenously while still taking the time to appreciate the gastronomic genius of the man working behind the ordinary-looking food stand counter. Feeling revived, we strolled across the Seine River to the Trocadéro Gardens, taking in one of the world’s most famous viewpoints as the vanishing sun cast its final rays over the Eiffel Tower and greater Paris.
The lingering taste of the best French pancake I have ever had made the moment that much sweeter. Isn’t that the function of great art?
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