Around the world, Sunday is viewed as the day of rest, unwinding from the week before and preparing for the week ahead. A day to stroll the streets among friends, popping in and out of boutiques before settling in for a sumptuous three-course meal… oh, wait, this is Paris, where NOTHING is open on the holy day.

Calmed by our lulling cruise on the Seine River, we had a plan: hop on the Métro to the 3rd arrondissement, arrive at 404, and indulge in exotic North African dishes and desserts. Well, it was open, and a serene setting emanated through the front door, but it might as well have been shuttered—they were booked solid. Cursing the patrons who would be enjoying my couscous, we pushed on into the biting Paris night.

After many hurried steps, exasperated sighs, and heated snips, we threw up our hands and huffed our way into La Guirlande. I braced myself for another smirking maitre’d ejecting us back onto the streets. Luckily for our throbbing soles and weary faces, the woman greeted us with a soft smile, leading us up a few steps to a table for four.

My mother couldn’t have said it better: "We’re definitely going to need more than one bottle." The first bottle of red on its way, I was able to scan the menu, and there they were, the Parisian staples: cod, duck, and lamb. The tagine de canard aux épices et citron confit seemed the perfect balance, not too light, not too heavy.

Finally glancing at my surroundings, I suddenly felt the need to don a bonnet and hoop skirt. The brick-red carpet, demur lighting, and peach-pink tablecloths exuded pure elegance. Continuing the old-school vide, our waitress, the definition of classy in her perfectly coiffed hairdo and Chanel jacket, responded quickly and graciously to our every need. The snooty American WASP draped with pearls only completed the atmosphere.

The duck arrived, and though I was a bit disappointed at the small portion, the flavorful, fresh vegetables and light citron sauce erased any thoughts of regret. I then finished off my sister’s rice side sprinkled with dots of fruit and nuts, all the while sipping glass after glass of a classic French red. Sundays are indeed made for relaxing.