Autumn leafs

Slick with rain.

A culinary weekend

Saturday night was a five-course Mexican fiesta, cheffed up by Sylvia of Chez-Lionel & Sylvia. Chips and guacamole, baked cheese and chorizo soup, tamales and tortillas, chicken mole and refried beans, Corona and Desperado… olé! (And oh my!)



The table dressing was adorable, the dogs were well-behaved and everyone was very kind about my bastardized French.

Sunday afternoon was a totally different scene. Out in the 20th arrondisement, Rachel played host to a muesli-tasting party. Cranking away on a cookbook for this “healthy” subject, she needed to test her homemade granola recipes. For me, it was all about the spicy ginger plum, yum.



And bookending the weekend was dinner at Café Moderné Friday night with Dad and Lo and Sunday night dinner at Louis Vins with Bruce and Meghan. While Friday was the last binge of Dad’s visit, I didn’t let it stop me from indulging with Bruce and Meghan last night: goat cheese salad, grilled tuna and buttery mashed potatoes, tarte tatin, plus these cute little shooters of lentil soup.

I would say the detox began today, but I have one more big dinner one the horizon: La Fidelité tomorrow night with Melissa. Yay!

Restaurants of the week, part I

Café Panique: 12 rue des Messageries, 10eme
Went with: Dad and Lois on a Monday night (A great option if you’re ever looking for a restaurant that’s open on Mondays.)
Had: The fantastic three-course 35 Euros prix-fixe menu. It started with an amuse-bouche of lobster tartar, topped with foie gras. Then I had a beautiful sablé of goat cheese, cherry tomatoes and arugula; progressed to magret de canard with spinach and parsnips and finished big with a crazy caramel crème brulee. Wow.
Impressions: I would definitely go back. The proprietor, Odile Guyader, is a genuine and warm presence—very attentive without being cloying or pushy. The rotating art is really cool, as are the mismatched chairs that make the converted textile fabric factory feel homey and charming. I don’t know if it’s because it was a Monday night or if it’s the vibe the small restaurant cultivates, but it was super discreet but friendly—a great mix of people, atmosphere and food.

La Grille: 80, rue du Faubourg Poissoniere, 10eme
Went with: Dad and Lois on a Tuesday night
Had: More Bordeaux and bread. A salad of mixed greens and roqueforte. And one of the house specialties: a brochette of scallops cooked to perfection, drenched in butter. There was also a communal plate of this beautiful potato and onion gratin, and we helped Lo with her flan—a giant portion of delicious eggy custard.
Impressions: I wanted to sample a range of restaurants with Dad and Lo and going to La Grille definitely fit that bill. This place is super old-school. You walk in, and it’s like being in your grandma’s house. The front room is just a reception area with a spiral staircase going to some unknown world upstairs. The back room only has nine tables and you’re all crammed in together, under the slightly disconcerting (don’t think about the hygiene) clutter of knickknacks. Husband and wife team Yves and Geneviève are as classically French as the food and décor, making the whole experience unforgettable.

Itinéraires: 5 rue de Pontoise, 5eme
Went with: Dad and Lois on a Wednesday night (see a trend here?)
Had: Thinly sliced salmon, topped with a lemon vodka sorbet, sprinkled with dill; and… I know this is crazy but I can’t remember what I ate. Dad had risotto, dyed black with squid ink, and topped with fresh seafood. Lois had roasted chicken and leeks. I know I had fish, and I know I loved it. But I can’t for the life of me remember the dish. C’est bizarre.
Impressions: I had wanted to go to Itinéraires since I read about it last summer and, after a year-and-a-half of anticipation, it didn’t disappoint. This was probably the most “happening” (e.g. chicest and most bustling) restaurant we went to. The décor was simple but refined; the service, a titch more absent than normal in a French restaurant. But it’s definitely a restaurant that’s worth going back to again and again.

A good piece of advice

Sometimes I really want to throw in the French towel. It’s been nearly eight months that I’ve been living here, trying to develop some proficiency with the language. And yet I still feel clumsy and tongue-tied. In fact, more often than not, I feel I’ve regressed. It’s like I’m never going to learn the language; I’ll never be able to say what I want, how I want, when I need to.

Saturday night, for example, I was at a dinner party with nine French people. I couldn’t understand the conversation for most of the night. And when I tried to participate in the conversation (don’t laugh), I couldn’t find the right words or form the right thoughts.

And on Sunday, I attended a conversational French class but was so frustrated by my inability to understand the others foreigners’ accents and articulate my own thoughts in French that I left early. To have dinner with my American friends.

It makes me wonder why I devote so much time to studying when nothing seems to stick. It’s like my brain has holes in it and all the French leaks out. I know that’s defeatist thinking, just as I know I have indeed picked up some French while living here, but still—I wonder what the point is sometimes.

So I was a little heartened by Josephine’s support during our lesson this morning. She reassured me that I am making progress and that sometimes you do have to step back in order to move forward. But the most encouraging thing she said was to focus on talking about what I love. For example, at my next dinner party, I should talk about visiting towns like Nantes and Biarritz and French food and restaurants. She said that when you talk about things you love, this little “internal motor” makes us process things quicker. Speaking becomes easier. It’s good advice. I’m going to become the American who’s obsessed with food and travel.

Weather check: it was fun while it lasted

I just want to pause and admire this photo; the warmth and beauty in which it was taken.

Because the forecast for the next week is rainy and cold. Merde.

French word of the day: puissant

Def: powerful

I like the way this word sounds, and I like its meaning.

Blink and it's over

The only bummer about having visitors (aside from the extra sheets and towels to wash) is the crushing silence that follows when they’re gone.

Papa and Lo flew back to the states today, leaving me a few pounds chubbier but sated with enough love to last until my visit home in December.

Their first visit to Paris was all I was hoping it would be for them. While I was at work during the days, they explored the streets, shops and landmarks, duly smitten with the architecture, people and way of life.

At night, our eating extravaganza continued: chevre chaud salads, steak tartare, grilled daurade, frites, flan and a fantastic dinner at Café Modern. These photos don’t do the pumpkin soup, autumn veggie tarte or cabillaud justice.



One night I came home to an early birthday celebration—an unexpected and sweet surprise, complete with wine, flowers and a delicious mocha cake. (Eating extravaganza, I tell you!)


On Friday, I took the day off and we trained out to Versailles. Despite the crowds and raw air, it was enchanting. The palace and grounds are as stunning and opulent as you’ve heard, as grand and dumbfounding as you’d expect.




But I never expected the relatively egalitarian estate of Marie-Antoinette, where she kept gardens and farm animals.



It’s like a strange little Disney town nowadays, complete with chickens, ponies, sheep, cows…

…pigs, like this enormous French oinker about to get head-butted by a goat…

and the cutest bunnies, all standing guard outside their huts.

This London plane tree was a beauty.

But I love cypress trees.

And I love my Papa Bear.

Tears Like Diamonds

Passion Pit is my new Cut Copy. Totally obsessed. I mean with lyrics like that? Tears Like Diamonds? Come on.

Unabated absurdity

I still haven’t received the business cards I ordered in July. July!

My U.S. check that I deposited on September 24 still has not appeared in my French HSBC account. Of course it cleared from my U.S. account three weeks ago. My bank rep’s response? "I am taking care of your request. Our international department is investigating on your matter. Please be advised that I will get back to you as soon as possible." Really reassuring.

Still no word or test results from my vet.

And still no official acknowledgment from anyone in Payroll or Human Resources about the gross oversight regarding my salary.

It’s not me, right? This is totally absurd.

The pedaling continues

I’ve been biking to work on the Velibs again. I forgot how much I love it.

Franglais

My colleagues are really wonderful. I can be the sole American in a meeting of 14 people, and they'll switch to English to ensure I understand. So I feel badly saying anything bad about their English skills. They're quite stellar. But every once in awhile, someone says something that just makes me giggle. Like today—a very high-up said:

"It can sparkle some other ideas."

Tee hee.

So far, so good

The weather? Beautiful. Blue skies, sunny days and vibrant foliage.

The perfect conditions in which to stroll along the Seine, through the Luxembourg Gardens, Saint-Germain, Ile-Saint-Louis, et al.



Papa and Lois arrived Sunday afternoon and it’s been a wonderful leisurely week ever since.

I took Monday off to stroll the city with them. Then, back to work (which hasn’t been all bad this week).



But at the end of each day, it’s so nice to have someone to go home to. And it’s so nice to have dinner companions. Mon dieu—we are not joking around.

Café Panique, La Grill and Itineraires so far. Each meal has been three courses of heaven.

I’ve refrained from taking too many photos but these shots from Café Panique ought to give you a flavor of the decadence that’s put before us each night.







The forecast for the rest of the week calls for more of the same: perfect weather, wonderful company and relentless eating. Perfect.

Fresh from the marché

Have you ever seen hydrangeas so enormous?

French word of the day: pilons

Def: drumsticks

This we learned after dad ordered une salade poulet that came was delivered with chunky drumsticks. It was the one word in the description that we didn’t know until we looked up after dinner.

Another French word: Sablé

Def: sand

But when it comes to divine French cooking, it’s a crispy, crumbly cookie. Either of the savory variety, like in the goat cheese, cherry tomato and argula tart Lo and I both had as an appetizer at Café Panique, or a sweet sablé, like the chocolate mousse deliciousness that dad had for dessert.

Tonight, new vocab through food, I’m sure!

Fall fashion trends

Saturday afternoon, I did what all French women do: I went shopping. And I got into it! (Without actually buying anything.) Beyond the already exhausted distressed jeans, boyfriend jackets and over-the-knee boots, here are a few fashion trends I noticed:

• Grey and navy: Together, everywhere.

• Leopard print: Ditto. Shoes, scarves, sweaters, handbags…

• Cropped sweaters: One of the less heralded 80s trends (which reminds me, I tried on a sweater with shoulder pads. Shoulder pads.).

• Flats: Boots, ballerinas and oxfords. (Au revoir haute talons?? Jamais!)

• Chunky knits with layers of semi-transparent tees: Knit vests and sweaters that look like your mom made you; sexy transparent tees that the French excel at.

• Black leather: Leggings, shorts and jackets. Wear with leopard print at your own risk.

Weather check: beautiful bonus

Beautiful. The weather is just beautiful. Yesterday, to show Dad and Lo around the Ile-Saint Louis and Left Bank, I donned my sunscreen and sunglasses and enjoyed not having my shoulders hunched against the wind.

This morning, I hopped on a Velib to bicycle to work for the first time in weeks.

The forecast for the whole week is the same sunny and 60ish prescription.

Quel chance for papa!

My street, rainy night

It wasn’t all bad, though

Absurdities aside, there were many pleasant surprises and moments and some good fun this past week.

I took my last cooking course, which took me to a Parisian suburb for the first time, for the article I’m writing. Now I just have to write the article.

The sugar detox made a huge difference. Friends, I had one-third of a chocolate bar, mon strawberry Coeur, and five pineapple rings in 12 days. This is unheard of. And I can feel it. My energy is more consistent and, yes, my stomach is flatter (not firmer though. Sigh.)

However, I received a two-pound box of Neuhaus chocolates as a thank you for devoting my summer to the pitch. A very sweet gesture. I had them in the apartment for 48 hours before I broke into them. And let’s just say the detox is over.

I’m sleeping again. After those weeks of stress, interrupted sleep and insomnia, I can’t even tell you how good it feels to sleep for seven hours.

I’ve been studying a lot of French. I’m trying to consciously carve time out of a couple days a week to study and do homework. I really want to get better at the language.

I went bowling with Jo. Totally random. Sort of lame. But still, fun. Met a few people and did something different.

I discovered a new bar with Jo and Michael. Hallelujah! Chez Jeanette. Not only is it super cute and filled with French hipsters, but it’s a seven-minute walk (past all the hookers on rue Saint Denis) from my treehouse.

I ended the long workweek by staying out until 3:30, dancing. After Chez Jeanette, a crew journeyed over to Social Club. A funny little place with 17-year-olds as well as us “adults.”

Just plain absurd

My company has accidentally been overpaying me since I arrived (I took a pretty significant pay cut to come here) and now that it’s come to light, I am expected to pay back many, many thousands of dollars.

My two-in-one oven/microwave is on the brink and my landlord told me to have fun with my first appliance purchase in France.

HSBC screwed up one of my deposits—though the check from my U.S. account has cleared, the money just isn’t showing up in my French account—and I literally can’t get in touch with my bank representative.

My doctor left a voicemail to make an appointment to go over some test results, and when I called to do so (admittedly, a week later), I was told she was on vacation.

I'm still waiting for the results of Milo's blood work. In the meantime, he has carved a nice little bald spot on his haunch.

When asked about the status of the business cards I ordered in July, the woman at work told me (for about the eighth week in a row), “Next week.”

As absurd as all of this stuff is, what makes it even funnier/crazier is the way that these things transpire. For all the talking that happens here, nobody in France likes to communicate. I call and email human resources and my bank representative and they just don’t respond (I seriously cannot even get my bank rep on the telephone). The French seriously have a way of ducking responsibility, confrontation and unpleasantness like nobody’s business. It’s an art. People drop major news on you like they’re relaying what they ate for lunch. Shrug of the shoulders: Eh. Pas grave. Things can be totally f’ed at the office, but everyone still takes their hour for lunch.

I could go on. There are so many other smaller, more personal absurdities that I encounter every week. Since I’m alone so much, they just swim around my head and then I start asking myself, “Am I crazy?!” and then when I realize that I’m talking to myself and think, actually, maybe I am. I don't know. I love France, I really do. But it can just be so absurd.

Merde

If the trailer can make you cry, imagine the what the movie is going to do to you?

I've heard and read the hype and especially loved the sound of the writer/director Lee Daniels. It's so exciting that movies like this are still getting made - can't wait to see it.

Weather check: standing in the window, watching the rain

A rainy Saturday. I do have some errands to do and a friend to visit. But nothing's really pressing. I will brave the rain in a bit and then look forward to retreating to my treehouse for some rest.

The good news is, the rain will have stopped by tomorrow—in time for Papa's arrival. He and Lo will get the classic Parisian weather treatment for the next week: foggy, grey skies and temperatures hanging in the 50s.

Stay the night, why don't cha?

There are so many cool hotels in Paris that sometimes I wish I didn't live here.

Bread, cheese & flowers

What more do you need?



Except pastries.

The meaty side of Paris

I think it’s important for everyone—carnivores and herbivores alike—to know where their food comes from. Beyond all the garbage that Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser have uncovered in their work, there is the simple principle of being connected to and conscious of what we’re putting in our mouths. And making the right choices based on that.

One thing I love about France is (obviously) the food. Not only the irresistible bread and pastries, sublime fruit, and rich and creamy yogurt and cheese—this stuff, I might go so far as to say has been life-changing. But beyond that, I love that they still (by and large) eat by the season, the insane variety of everything, and that you get to see is what you’re eating. Liver, brains, tongues; ducks, rabbits, wild boars; it’s all here, and it’s all for the eating.

You want to eat pig’s feet? Oh no, the ears? Here you go!




Your favorite steak frites? It arrived at the restaurant as a carcass in a truck.


Poulet roti? Duck? Rabbit? That’s right, at one time they had (ugly) feet, (cute) bills and soft fur that needed to be removed in order to look more appetizing on your plate. (Can you imagine what his hands smell like??)




It doesn’t change the taste, but sometimes it should change your mind.

French phrase of the day: je l'ai dans mon sang

Def: “The tranquil majesty of the architectural lines, the wonderful blurred winter lights, the long lines of lamps garlanding the avenues & the quays — je l’ai dans mon sang!” (‘I have it in my blood!’)
—Edith Wharton

Thank you, Tanz and Mr. B, for sharing this link.