Café de la Place

Coffee was good. Juice not so much

The pastries are excellent (especially the lemon tart and the Parisian flan) with satisfactory service.

The juice was absolutely freshly squeezed and delicious, and the croissants were crispy. The location is fantastic, with the church directly opposite, which is very atmospheric. More importantly, the hostess who greeted me was incredibly kind and friendly. I'm so grateful for her help.

Where lovesick souls meet From the cold or the uncertainty of dating apps "I know a nice little bar," she suggested, confident in her choice Where the aftershocks are drowned Life's setbacks, sorrows, depression Winter, autumn, where the heat is summer In hearts, even on February 3rd Where babies grow up The first grenadine, "come on, it's for home" Where sometimes there's shouting, yeah, but hey, it's Paris, man, what did you think? Not a yes-man, but when you respect it becomes for life Where the customer is (almost) king, promise no cliques here, Where it's been there for a long time, decades Seemingly millennia First the dad, and then his daughter who kept the spirit Who doesn't count the hours, what do I look like from my lofty perch 39 hours I met actors, homeless people, singers, I even chatted with some fascists (but they were nice, I swear) "I know a cool little bar," I suggested to some new friends And not just because that's where I grew up

Ah, the trendy Belleville bar, the temple of self-proclaimed hipsters, where people supposedly come to experience the "authentic" soul of Paris. A kind of pilgrimage for anyone who knows how to dress up in a plaid shirt and deliver a superficially political speech. But beware, authenticity here comes at a price… and that price is condescension. You arrive, you sit down, you attempt a polite interaction to order a simple beer. The waiter, elevated to the status of a tortured poet, observes you with that distant look, a mixture of pity and annoyance, as if your desire for a basic drink were an insult to the very essence of this place. "I just wanted a beer, simple service." But no, my good man, this isn't a bar, it's a stage, and you, mere mortal, are just a background extra. And unless you proudly sport an edgy look and hold decidedly bourgeois opinions, expect to be invisible. Because, yes, for some, liberality only makes sense when it rhymes with distinction and snobbery. A place that boasts of being "open" to all, provided, of course, that you have the right appearance and the right skin color. In short, a bar for those who like to admire themselves in the mirror, but certainly not for those looking for a relaxed and friendly time. Belleville deserves better, don't you think?