JMalrix

Evenin’ Goofies,

It’s me again. The brave, beautiful, ever-loving, and all-around good person, JMalrix.
I’m coming at y’all live and hot—literally—from Bistro Régent near Bastille Square here in Paris.
Now, where I am right this second doesn’t matter nearly as much as the wild, slightly ridiculous journey of how I got here. You see, I was walking around Paris in the dead heat of summer, and I had a massive hankering for authentic Boeuf Bourguignon.
Every local I talked to kept telling me, “But it’s the middle of summer!”
And look, of course I knew that. I was out there sweating through my shirt just like everybody else. I could feel the summer heat. But JMalrix didn’t care about the temperature—JMalrix needed classic French Boeuf Bourguignon.
Y’all, this wasn’t just a random food craving. This was for Mama Malrix.
As many of you know, it’s around the time of Mama Malrix’s birthday, and yours truly is still navigating the waves of grief. As a way to honor her memory, I’ve made a promise to myself to celebrate her birthday every year by going somewhere I know she would have loved during her life, and doing something special in her honor.
This year, I was in Paris. I knew in my soul she would have adored this city. And I knew she would have wanted me to sit down and enjoy a rich, classic bowl of Boeuf Bourguignon.
So, I got myself together, gathered up some highly recommended spots, and marched over to La Place Royale determined to get my meal. I sat down, placed my order with complete confidence, and watched the waiter look at me as if an alien creature had suddenly sprouted out of my forehead.
He stared at me and deadpanned: “Mais… it is the middle of summer. We do not serve heavy winter stew in summer.”
That’s when I realized my dream of summer beef stew was officially crushed.
Thankfully, I’m coming back to Paris in the winter, so I’m not too worried about it—I will get my Boeuf Bourguignon eventually.
Instead, I pivoted like a seasoned traveler and walked over to Bistro Régent for some steak frites. And let me tell y’all… it is absolutely delicious.

I definitely inherited Mama Malrix’s appetite—meaning I can’t eat a huge amount in one sitting—but you better believe I left room for dessert. I’m about to crush a crème brûlée in her honor.
Mama Malrix’s memory lives on in every trip I take, every meal I enjoy, and every story I share with y’all.

So raise a glass, say a little Joyeux Anniversaire to Mama Malrix up in heaven, and know that I love every single one of you goofies to the end of the world.
Until next time, eat the steak, order the dessert, and brush your teeth.

In all my glorious (and commemorative) goofiness,

JMalrix