O Couscous where art thou?

So many parts of Paris, so little time. Went to a sketchy bit of Paris for Couscous the other day. (Sketchy by French standards, mind you.) Last time I was in France, I kept bugging people to couscous with me, but it (almost?) never happened. So this time round, couscous was very well going to materialize in front of me.

We had it so often when I studied abroad here a while ago. But I completely drew a blank as to where some was to be obtained. So I took C-- to a part of town with more immigrants, figuring that our chances would be better there. We started walking down this one road, and kept hoping to find couscous on it until we walked to a bit of it that was pretty much deserted, and rather dark. On top of that we were hungry, and we were beginning to lose hope.

But just as we were going to call it a night and go for a greasy Chinese place, we found one! It was an Algerian restaurant. It was a neighborhood place, and a bunch of the people eating there knew the proprietor. And their mint tea was sweet and delicious and in little thimble glasses. Of course, the couscous was wonderful as well.