Allison Zinder's Paris on the Edge

Allison Zinder's Paris on the Edge

Lessons in Savoir-Vivre – Part 6

The Last Chapter

Allison's avatar
Allison
Feb 28, 2025
∙ Paid

Note: This is Part 6 of a previously published story.

Read Part 5 Here

This month is the last chapter of “Lessons in Savoir-Vivre.” Thanks for reading!

While a new story is in development, next month my paid subscribers will receive a little gift to thank you for your support. Don’t miss out!

Allison Zinder's Paris on the Edge is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.


Milena pushed open the glass door of a small restaurant in the rue de Belleville and we entered, taking in the appetizing umami aromas of stir-fried noodles and steaming wonton soup. She ordered a galette. Unlike the French version, a crêpe made with buckwheat flour and stuffed with savory ingredients like ham and stringy melted cheese, this Chinese version was a puffy flatbread called mai bing.

Eating mai bing on the go in Belleville.

As I took a mouthful of the crispy exterior, morsels of steaming ground pork and bitter mustard greens tumbled out. I took bite after bite of the chewy dough to prevent the long ribbons of greens from falling to the ground, and before we made it up to the place Fréhel, I’d already wolfed down the entire galette. It gave us some courage.

https://www.parisladouce.com/2019/01/paris-rendez-vous-langle-des-rues-de.html
Place Fréhel, photo courtesy Paris La Douce.

While we walked, Milena told me about her ex-boyfriend, and the trips they’d taken through Europe. At nineteen, they’d traveled together to Portugal. Impressed by her freedom, I realized that at 19, I’d mostly just felt a crushing shame around relationships with men. Personal sovereignty had felt elusive as I struggled to escape my adolescent confusion and to create what the French call un jardin secret – a secret garden. Or in other words, my own life.

But by the time I arrived in Paris, I had no reason to not do exactly as I pleased. And hadn’t I done that so far anyway? I’d met Malik and Henri in improbable ways, and ever heedless of danger, I’d trusted them, and followed where they wanted to take me – but only because those places sounded fun.

One evening, again headed for Julie and Nico’s in Ménilmontant, I was leading us down the hill, finally having gotten the hang of our regular path. Milena and I were chatting breezily, arm in arm, as we turned from the rue Sorbier onto the busier rue de Ménilmontant. We passed the café on the corner, and Milena’s face suddenly darkened. She firmly tugged on our linked arms and pulled us across the street.

Keep reading with a 7-day free trial

Subscribe to Allison Zinder's Paris on the Edge to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.

Already a paid subscriber? Sign in
© 2025 Allison
Privacy ∙ Terms ∙ Collection notice
Start your SubstackGet the app
Substack is the home for great culture