Marie et Cie: Paris in My Backyard

I've been inside Marie et Cie, the coffee shop and gift store off Colfax Avenue, countless times since I moved into the neighborhood. It's only natural that I write about it. Upon arriving at my current residence, my roommate and I took a walk every weekend to discover local shops and shortcuts by foot. We had just returned from a hiking expedition in the Middle East and no destination seemed too far or dangerous. When we passed the Starbucks on Laurel Canyon Boulevard and Riverside Drive, we decided to walk just a little further. We didn't have gym memberships and this was our exercise. We turned down Riverside and walked until we hit Colfax. There we found Marie et Cie, with a marquee reading "Your Neighborhood Parisian Getaway." 

The building is small and surrounded by a square parking lot. The few times I drove here, usually dragging a laptop or heavy books, I parked on the street. The parking lot is not conducive to exiting briskly or easily. There are under a dozen neatly-packed spaces. One-third of the building houses the coffee shop: a long hallway full of chandeliers,  Eiffel tower paintings, and a piano. The seating varies in material, height, and age. Many of the chairs patrons sit on are for sale. Velour chairs with high backs, wooden tables, metal chairs with flowered cushions tied to the backs; these are a few of the seats you can choose to drink your coffee on. A sprawl of tables circles from the back of the coffee shop to the end of the parking lot. Outside, business meetings take place, teenagers from the local high schools gather to study for exams, and couples leisurely play a game of chess. Inside, a flat-screen TV displays the current headlines from New York Times and baristas in black ensembles replace coffee carafes. Standing at the register, a green bumper sticker adhered on the back wall catches my eye, directly in my line of view: "Friends Don't Let Friends Drink Starbucks." The logo has a skeleton.

While Starbucks is evil here, Paris is a godsend. The shop, accessible through the café, is a series of rooms full of Parisian décor, small gifts, and clocks. A plethora of clocks. The first room is an olfactive sanctuary of incense, candles, and perfumes. Items that arouse the senses and remind me of sitting in the balcony of an opera or ballet. These items share a room with a small selection of books and greeting cards. There are some unique oddities: Dr. Seuss wall decals and a vintage Coca-Cola coat hanger. This room is the most accessible. The second room is a square of picture frames: round, gold, rectangular, silver, pocket-sized and gigantic. There are wall clocks, clicking in unison, and modern human sculptures. The back room is filled with kitchen and bar accessories: art deco decanters, tea sets, drink trays. There is a modern illustration of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's, strategically displayed parallel to a collection of whiskey glasses. One whiskey decanter is $149, reduced from $159. "Crystal," it reads under the hand-written price tag, telling the customer its material worth.

The last rooms of the store feel like a European art gallery or a neighbor's fancy living room. I don't feel comfortable touching anything, and I might still feel uneasy, even if I owned these eccentric possessions. There are only a few customers browsing the store; the majority of the business stems from coffee and food sales. The shop owner is on the phone with his mother, speaking in French.

What once seemed like a simple, small neighborhood coffee shop is different every time I enter. There is a case of twelve flavors of gelato, which is popular with mothers and babysitters who are accompanied by small toddlers. This month, there are a couple of seasonal flavors: pumpkin and egg nog. Like its rival, Starbucks, the café offers to-go sandwiches and lunch items. There is a ham and cheese sandwich in a plastic container, affixed with a sticker displaying the store's logo and an Eiffel tower. There are spinach patties and meatballs. There are vegetarian balls. My purpose for coming here, usually, is to procure a cup of strong French roast coffee. But coffee seems to be an after-thought in this expansive furniture and gift store; a happy accident.

A European couple is playing a board game next to me, casually smoking cigarettes between turns. A young woman with long, flowing hair and bangs stops in front of them.

"Excuse me, can I borrow a cigarette?" she says.

The woman hands her a cigarette and she retreats to a table with a friend. They gossip and trade plans for the weekend.

A man with headphones on is deep in thought on his laptop, appearing to be working on a project. He doesn't notice the pairs of people that take up the seats around him, talking animatedly.

If the owners of Marie et Cie aimed to capture the sense of community and relaxation in Paris and bring it to Valley Village, they have succeeded. All without the pressure to conjugate French verbs.