August in Bagatelle
Paris in August has this particular charm: the streets empty, silence becomes a soft substance, and usually bustling places are enveloped in an almost aristocratic calm. That day, at the Jardins de Bagatelle, everything seemed suspended. There were three of them, close friends, strolling among the irises and rose gardens, in the paths with their romantic landscapes.
Under the century-old trees, high heels are quickly abandoned in the grass, sunglasses slide off heads, and the carelessly placed shawl becomes an invitation to stretch out for a few moments. No flashy picnic here, elegance is understated. A woven basket opens to reveal a few select treats: ripe fruit, homemade cookies, and, above all, a bottle of black tea.Trifle, cold brewed.
Summer in the city
From the first sips, the journey begins. The strawberry evokes Provençal markets, where stalls overflow with red fruits still warm from the sun. The fig, fleshy and sweet, awakens childhood memories spent in shady orchards. The apricot, with its golden accents, recalls Sunday tarts, warmed on windowsills. And the vanilla, sweet and enveloping, whispers the discreet luxury of a suspended moment, far from everything...
And yet, they are indeed in Paris. Their hushed laughter escapes in light swirls as they savor, from fine crystal cups, an iced tea with amber highlights. The heat is gentle, caressing, just right. Time stretches. The rosebushes quiver under a warm breeze. There's no hurry. Everything is there. The South, right in the west of Paris.
A promise of summer, all year round
In every sip of Bagatelle, the very soul of summer unfolds: bright, sweet, and lazy. It's a tea to be savored in the summer, but it also whispers to winter with promises of renewed warmth. Wrapped in a mohair blanket, facing the rain drumming on the windows, one cup is all it takes for the sun to reappear, like a tender memory that warms the soul.
