Sienna Millet: So where are we actually going for lunch?

Paris Stilton: The Attendant, it’s an old abandoned male public toilet that’s been converted into a cafe.

Sienna Millet: OMG that is disgusting, are you serious? Is it clean? I bet it’s a total dump.

Paris Stilton: hahahaha dump, get it, hahahahha.

Sienna Millet: I actually can’t believe you’re taking me to a toilet.  I’m really pissed off.

Paris Stilton: hahahaha pissed off hahaha.

Sienna Millet: No seriously, can’t we go somewhere nice instead?

Paris Stilton: you mean “in lieu” hahahahaha.

And that is how one fuming Sienna Millet and one highly amused Paris Stilton became the ladies who lunch…in the mens.

The Attendant was built as a public urinal in 1890 and left abandoned for more than 50 years after it was shut down in the 1960s. Earlier this year, after a serious revamp, and an even more serious sanitisation, the space opened its doors to the public once again.  The beautifully ornate iron lace entrance has been left intact, as have the original porcelain urinals which have been turned into individual eating spaces – but luckily these days the only thing flowing in this well-lit den off Foley Street is some seriously good coffee.

The fare is fit for an English country picnic – a trendy, organic, fair trade, sustainable country picnic – complete with hearty soups, stews, and cheese and pickle, and corned beef filled sourdough sandwiches.

While Sienna chowed down a deliciously homely chili con carne-esque bean stew, and I ploughed through my very tasty ploughmans sandwich with its fat chunks of smokey vintage cheddar, generously spread with a nostalgic piccalilli and topped with some young greens leaves, I decided I love this place.

I love it because of its honesty, I love it because of its moreish food, I love it because of the handsome clientele and the effusive staff, and I love it because I love history and while I eat my moreish food and smile at the handsome clientele, I thoroughly enjoy imagining the impressive tackles, and ancient sword fights that took place where my Nike Air Max 90 now dangle.

Incidentally, the slightly salty, chewy sweet chocolate caramel brownie by Bittersweet Bakers, that I had to accompany my macchiato (fair trade and sustainable coffee with organic milk from a tiny farm in Somerset where the cows are happy) was unequivocally the best I have ever eaten.

Quirky setting, delicious food, great coffee, mouthwatering brownies, and the endless puns. Who knew lunching in little boys room could be so much fun?  If I lived in London, I would most definitely be a regular. Wink wink nudge nudge.

Just don’t go if you really do need to go… ironically, they have no toilet.

xoxo

Paris Stilton

And then there was the bikram yoga phase.  On the way home from my first intensely sweaty bikram yoga class with 30 budgie-smuggler wearing men in the Marais one Saturday morning,  I stumbled across Victor Silveira selling his indescribably mouthwatering warm little pastéis de nata (Portugese custard tarts).  Needless to say, the pastéis de nata phase has lasted…sadly the bikram phase did not. My short shorts sit in my wardrobe gathering dust along with my swimming cap and broken ipod, but Victor and I have become the best of friends.

Victor’s intimate little corner store Comme à Lisbonne (‘Like in Lisbon’) is the perfect place to rest tired feet after a hard day shopping in gay Marais – a little marble counter, a phenomenal custard tart, a suave Portugese man in a grandpa hat and a damn good espresso to boot.

The tart was phenomenal, ethereal, ambrosial et al – warm unctuous custard, decadently viscous and caramelised to perfection, in a light buttery flakey shell that left crumbs all over my lap – there was certainly nothing vanilla about this tart.  And then there’s the optional cinnamon that Victor sprinkles on top with a knowing smile – make sure you get it, it adds that extra je ne sais quoi t0 this already luscious little treat.  I went to Lisbon a few years ago, I had a sangria (or four) on the way up to Castelo de Sao Jorge, I scoured the Avenida da Liberdade for the perfect peri-peri chicken (I found it at Nandos) and I sampled my fair share of pastéis de nata (and we all know that I would have sampled enough to make an informed comparison) and I’m going to put it out there, these are the best I’ve had. Anywhere. Ever.

Victor has also stocked up on other Portugese delicacies including the organic Salmarim salt from Castro Marim, teas from Gorreana – the only existing tea plantation in Europe, a selection of honey, jam and olive oil, and, most importantly, parcels upon parcels of Tricana conserved fish straight out of the Conserveira de Lisboa.  When in Lisbon I made the pilgrimage to the famous Conserveira de Lisboa, a veritable Lisbon institution since 1933, where a nonna still sits all day long wrapping each colourful tin of high quality conserved fish by hand.

The ever-smiling Victor is proud to bring a slice of Portugal to Paris, and so he should be, its not Comme à Lisbonne – it’s much, much better.

xoxo

Paris Stilton