Last month I got lost in Paris. It began with a chance meeting with a guy named Gregory. Inherent coolness radiated from his being into handwritten recommendations. The next day, I was off to le 10ème to connect at an actual unnamed cafe. I never made it (although I did see Gregory again). Instead, after hours of wandering and google-mapping failure, I surrendered to hunger – and a pizza.

Through the lense of my iPhone I noticed Piccoli Cugini…

…and selected a seat outside. Immediately, I felt the energy of the waiter. Starving, I understood his French, but couldn’t muster a quick enough response as to why I was a party of one. He pulled up a chair and ordered a pizza for two. Wine and cheers later, I walked out with a few new pals and a reason to write this post. If you go to Paris and you are hungry, get yourself over to Piccoli Cugini.

Daily notes in my bobo à raconter reveal that on this day of pizza and Parisian perfection, I felt like life stopped everywhere else and only Paris existed. C’est vrai.

Image Credits: Jenny Graham