Passing in front of its famous door, we always wonder since when it has not been pushed open by a Parisian.
This is the whole Procopius paradox.
Him like the Eiffel Tower, like the Olympics.
A capital pride without a place to climb and stick to it.
Although Le Procope belongs to the ten restaurants that have made the gastronomic legend of the great city, the locals shun it, snub it, abandon it to tourists.
Is Voltaire’s fault?
Rousseau's fault?
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The facade of Procope.
Simon Detraz
Surely, because if you didn't know it yet (the level is falling!), the address, from its facade to the paneling of its ceilings, never ceases to recall the original grand café, which emerged from the Grand Siècle with the Lights that turn the cup and our great philosophers to already remake the world a little above the saucer.
With Procopius, obviously, you never really know if you find yourself in a restaurant or in history class.
No wonder that in the long run we prefer to abandon it to our Odeon of yesterday and today, somewhere...
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