Walking home from a great dinner at "La Fidelité" (12, rue de la Fidélité, 10th, 01.47.70.19.34, email contact@lafidelite.com, www.lafidelite.com) with my dear friend Al Stewart, we passed a hip looking and hopping café/bar in the up-and-coming 10th arrondissement named "Les Parigots" (5, rue du Château). Al was quick to tell me what the name meant, since I hadn't ever heard the phrase.

Surprised that he was so more 'up' on things as a part-time resident of Paris than me, the 'old timer,' in his usual joking manner, said, "You know, it's not just good looks up here," while framing his face with his two hands. Yeah, yeah, yeah...I'd heard that a million times before, but it's true -- he was right on.

His explanation is exactly what I discovered with a quick online search. "Un Parigot" (male) or "une Parigotte" (female) are what "country bumpkins" call Parisians. It's a bit old-fashioned and definitely pejorative, since people in the provinces aren't very fond of Parisians. They consider them pretentious, if not down right dull and unpleasant.

The other thing I learned was that not only is Paris known as the "City of Light," it's also known as "Paname." If you say "J'habite à Paname," it means "I live in Paris" and it's really hip for a foreigner to say that to friends. One could also say "J'aime Paname" ("I love Paris") or "On est bien à Paname" ("life is great in Paris"). It's slang, but it's not at all rude. It's cool.

Although I never heard it, there's a little ditty that takes in these two concepts:

"Parisiens, têtes de chien! Parigots, têtes de veaux! Paname et les Parigots!"

In other words: "Parisians, dogheads! Parigots, calfheads! Paris and Parisiens!"

This morning I received an email from another very dear friend, Marcia Mazria, with whom I will visit when in Los Angeles in less than two weeks, reporting on a new café in my own neighborhood I didn't know anything about. There was an article in the New York Times about it -- yet the news hadn't yet reached me even though I likely pass it very often.

Not to be outdone, I made an immediate detour to check it out. It's called "Merce and the Muse" (1, bis rue Dupuis, 09.53.14.53.04, www.merceandthemuse.com) and was reported to be "a new entrant that just might be a game changer, right in the center of the throbbing Marais district."

The article made it sound really great..."the feel of a Brooklyn cafe, complete with the latest high-tech Italian equipment"..."vintage furniture picked up at marchés aux puces"..."each cup of coffee takes a good five minutes to produce — which gives visitors time to enjoy homemade specialties ranging from elaborate salads to cakes and biscuits."

So, you're going to love what I learned as I waited...not the promised five minutes for that cup of coffee, but almost 10 minutes, while the young woman serving worked about as slowly as anyone could and was chatting with a young guy to whom I'm sure she was attracted! While all that was going on, the scene wasn't passing the 'so what test.'

There were women, no men, sitting on all that old flea market furniture -- benches and chairs -- trying to balance glass plates of food on their laps since there aren't any tables at which to sit. The food looked fresh and tasty, I must admit, but it had come from big open bowls on the counter and the choice was limited. Upstairs a kitchen took up almost the entire space and there was no seating.

All while the coffee was being made and served in a tall glass as if it were cold coffee, that couldn't be held because it was hot, I learned from the conversation between the server and the young fellow that the journalist who penned the New York Times article was a friend who had done them a great deed by writing such beautiful prose about their new little café! And weren't they lucky -- "we expect to be swamped!," she exclaimed!

I joined the group sitting on the benches still balancing their plates on their laps with my tall glass of coffee that was too hot to hold and opened my iPad to check new emails. When I spotted their WiFi network, I asked for the password, only to be told that they "don't offer it until after 3 p.m."

Imagine my surprise. Does that mean they don't want people hanging around for hours over one cup of coffee while working online? No problem, since there's nowhere to sit and not much reason to be there.

So, once again I learned never to believe anything you read!