The first love is never forgotten. Nothing more true: my heart remained there, a Paris, enclosed between the elegance of the boulevards and the magic of the Seine. And every now and then there is something that makes me go back to my cold Parisian months, when without even an inch of free skin I would dive into the streets of the city, right where I am fallen in love.
Today it is a film, or rather, a scene from a film. Woody Allen, Midnight in Paris: Hemingway sips wine and talks about his book, Zelda Fitzgerald orders a bourbon at the bar while the protagonist of the film is gaping, and I actually more than him. Because that place that the director has chosen to describe one Paris of artists that no longer exists, that place exists, and as a good romantic I left one of the many pieces of my heart there.
Polidor, in Latin neighborhood, is a fascinating place full of history. The typical Parisian bistro from the end of the 800th century which has become impenetrable by a spell: here time does not flow and has stopped in those days when artists, writers and painters sat at his tables discussing their lives.
Small and elegant, with a wide choice of French wines and a respectable menu (with choices at 24 or 35 euros excluding drinks or dishes from 11 18 to EUR), Polidor is a place of art where you go to enjoy the atmosphere and pretend to be a penniless artist in search of success in a turn-of-the-century Paris.
