At first, as you step into the cluttered, vast space, nothing is recognizable to the uninitiated eye. Little by little, you begin to make out intimidatingly large machines and collections of tools beyond comprehension. As you learn to see the order in disorder, things come into sharp focus: tangible sculptures and beautiful objects created from pure craft, ingenuity, and talent.

What do a market gardener, an accordion player, a grumpy concierge, and a leather-clad hairdresser have in common? They all, at some point, have shared in the legendary history of the rue de Lappe in Paris’ 11th district. In the late eighties, this street was known as a cut-throat alley, but today, despite the flux of party tourists and a regular rotation of residents, what remains constant in the rue de Lappe is the spirit of the bar-owners and the one remaining Auvergnat who calls this street home.

This isn’t a story about bastards. It’s a story about tabbouleh. Well, okay - it IS a story about a band of bastards. And it’s also about a bastard tabbouleh, full of colorful tomatoes, radishes, cucumbers, parsley, arugula, and crunchy sweet pomegranate seeds. So if you’re a tabbouleh purist, then you should read no further!