Real Life: Running a pub in Paris

It’s easy to feel lonely or priced out of the fun in a big city, but Ben Humphrey has created an affordable bar in Paris where everyone is welcome. It’s a dream come true for him…

It’s February 2023, and a long- time owner of a Scottish pub in the Marais in Paris, who I know from a previous period when I lived in the Bastille, rings me to say he wants to sell. Despite running a mortgage company in the UK, my wife Sophie and I own a flat in the 11th arrondissement, and I have always wanted to own a bar, so we agree a price and instruct solicitors to proceed. However, the timing isn’t great as baby Hector is due in August 2023, so it’s all systems go to complete in May. Deadlines slip as we finalise papers, various important parties go on holiday (solicitors included), and then we hit a late but crucial roadblock in that, since Brexit was fully implemented, non-EU nationals are not allowed to wholly own a French company with a licence VI (alcohol). So after discussions with my good friend and neighbour in the Bastille, Pierre Gay, he becomes a shareholder. Pierre is perhaps the only French national I have ever met who not only loves cricket, but knows as much about it as I do. We met watching a test match in another bar in the 11th arrondissement, about 2km from my apartment, only to discover on walking home that we were actually neighbours in the same apartment block.

In the meantime, I had the difficult task of carrying out beer tastings at local breweries in preparation for my new role as pub owner. On the recommendation of a good friend in eastern Paris, I meet Antoine from a local family-run brewery in the excellently named Noisy-le- Grand. Although he’s initially sceptical that we are indeed buying a bar and not just trying to cadge free beer (my French is A-level standard at best, interspersed with Parisian slang), the tastings start to flow once I produce the acte de vente, and we bond over our love of (his) beer and the old white Renault 4 delivery van on the factory drive. I had previously lived in France with an identical car and we share pictures of our travels around the l’Hexagone in our ‘4Ls’.

The Brasserie now supplies us with a fantastic range of delicious beers and IPAs. We tasted a fair few wines as well, and where possible use family- run and biodynamic vineyards as our main suppliers. Hector arrives on 27 August, nine days late. Meanwhile, my wife Sophie and I order artwork from eBay and antiques sites to complement the artefacts we’ve already acquired from brocante explorations around the French capital. Back in Paris, manager Ella (Paris born and bred, but in fact of Australian heritage) is working flat out on the full and much- needed – redecoration with another Hector, a painter and decorator I know in Paris.

The purchase of The Pub will complete on 5 September. Hector (my son, not the builder) is now eight days old and enjoying life in Twickenham. Deliveries of wine and beer arrive for the opening night – Friday 8 September – the date the Rugby World Cup is due to start. Friends and regulars from Paris and London are looking forward to it and another local ami, Darren, who I’ve known for years (we’re both from Portsmouth, but met in Paris), posts social media updates. My dear mother-in-law arrives in Twickenham to help with our newly born son, and I drive over to Paris for the final set-up, 36 hours before we open, with some boxes of crisps to introduce to the French. Despite phoning UK and French authorities en route, I can’t find a way to both sell the crisps and pay the import duties. Fortunately, we know a lot of expats in Paris and as we don’t serve food yet decide to give them out free to hungry drinkers.

Opening day sees a 38-degree heatwave, or canicule. France vs New Zealand starts at 7pm, and all is well. I’m booked on the 1pm shuttle home. Working until 1am this morning, all the redecoration is finished and we decide the team can hang the pictures tomorrow, while Pierre will design and write up our new menu board on the wall. As I’m pondering the quickest route to Calais, an early phone call from manager Ella reveals the air conditioning is broken, dead in fact. I can’t believe we didn’t test it, so I go and rent a large temporary unit from a shop handily on my street and drive over to the bar.

Another phone call – the beer taps don’t fit the brewery barrels we are using. I call the brewery – they have three taps left but can’t deliver, so I do a u-turn and drive to Noisy-le- Grand. It’s roasting by now and the car starts to splutter in the Paris traffic – which I ignore.

Finally at the bar, three hours later than hoped and while the artisans are doing final fixing, I try the TV to decide on French or English commentary for tonight’s big game. But there’s no signal. With five hours till opening and seven hours till the game starts, the new cable provider’s wifi is down in the area. I call the previous owner and he pops down to log into his SFR account for the weekend and lends me his iPad to transmit the rugby.

I phone my wife to let her know I’m going to be late home. I welcome the new customers and leave The Pub at 5pm, only to realise that my car has been in the livraisons (delivery) space, hazards on, since midday. Bless the Paris police for not towing me. Perhaps the administration isn’t worth the fine, or perhaps they saw the chaos in The Pub and took pity on me.

Leaving Paris and crawling around the Stade de France, I break down, and pull into the emergency bay – passing police point at my engine and move me on. I limp to Aubervilliers with a hissing and spitting engine, which takes two hours; my phone has died and my wife and baby are expecting me home in an hour.
It’s 6pm and only one garage is open. It’s about to close, but fortunately I have a case of beers from The Pub and bribe the mechanic to have a look at the engine. There’s a lot of shrugging and he says he is unsure as the engine is on the opposite side to usual (I don’t know if he is joking or not). But he says I can leave it on their forecourt for the weekend, so I head into town on the train to buy a much-needed fresh new t-shirt and shorts.

At 8pm I walk into The Pub much to the bemusement of friends and clients. It’s a buzzing night. France beat New Zealand, all the new and old regulars love our vibe and the craft beers, Pierre is artfully still writing the wine list on the wall during the match, and La Marseillaise rings around the small bar and the square outside. I am stressed but happy we made it, and I’m grateful my wife and mother- in-law are safe and sound at home with Hector.

I phone my mechanic friend who says it’s 50/50 to get the car home, but if I wait until the temperature is below 25 degrees (around midnight) and fill it with Evian (not Perrier, he says, knowing my total lack of car knowledge), if I make it 20 miles, I’ll make it home. Since the opening weekend, The Pub has happily been thriving despite difficult economic times. Ella and Pierre play host to French and expat regulars, and put on open-mic nights for musicians, as well as running bilingual quizzes.

Darren hosts a football night for a fun group of Brazilians who have made it their home to watch their Rio team, Fluminense, and we count authors, actresses, film directors, soldiers and, of course, cricketers, among our diverse clientele. If you’re a regular, you’ll get your own glass, printed cushion, or bar mat with your name or face on. We’re now gearing up for the Olympics – to welcome the world to a space that is neither a Parisian café nor an Irish or British pub. We have hosted the Rugby World Cup crowds for six weeks, accordion soirées, and a plane-load of thirsty Geordies on their way to see Newcastle play PSG. We now also stock a range of 0% beers for those who have given up or are cutting down on alcohol.

I love Paris, but it is easy to feel lonely or priced out of the fun, like any big city. We offer a relaxed friendly space with affordable drinks, a home for expats, locals, students and travellers – and we hope to be here for many years to come.

thepubparis.com

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