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the *real* paris end of melbourne

July 26, 2009

Anyone know where I can lay my hands on a raclette grill? I’m still revelling in last night’s heart-attack-on-a-plate (aka raclette, pomme de terre, jambon, saucisson, plus de raclette, plus chacuterie) served up by one of my past English language students. Sadly all my private language students are now ‘past’, thanks to the GFC and resultant wrong-headed cost-cutting decisions on the part of certain global companies. I miss it, but fortunately most of my students stay in touch and from time to time I get to sample French hospitality here in hokey ole Melbourne town. I reciprocate with scones or put Marco to work on the barbie. I’ve learned some surprising things about Melbourne from my students – mostly relating to cheese.  And after three years of tutoring English to French engineers and their spouses I can state with some certainty that St Kilda is the place du jour to live. Elwood and Albert Park are second best, mostly on account of their proximity to St Kilda. Forget Collins St. Parisian expats in Melbourne don’t know where it is.


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