There are three legendary cafés in the 6ème whose memories are truly Proustian, Sartean, Hemingwayesque and so on. The general consensus is that Café Flore and Les Deux Magots are only good for a demi during a literary bar crawl, but that Brasserie Lipp is a still-majestic, if touristy landmark. The art nouveau tiles, mosaic and mirrors are the real thing, as are the imperious waiters; the menu of choucroute, herring Bismarck and stuffed pig’s trotters is momentously good, and the millefeuille is a celebrity in its own right. Talking of A-list, B-list and so on, it’s not usual to get a ground-floor table unless you’re a somebody; and the usual form is to turn up and wait half an hour for a table.