More on Guilo Guilo

If lunch at Le Grand Vefour was my best dining experience yet, dinner at Guilo Guilo was not far behind.



This itty-bitty, black-lacquered gem of a Japanese restaurant up on Montmartre’s hill doesn’t have the history, beauty or poshness of Le Grand Vefour. But it’s such a non-Parisian joint. It was such a fun experience. I loved everything about it, from the care and attention to all the little details…


...to dining with new girls...

...to indulging in eight courses of deliciousness.

Just a wee start up: smoked tofu with a peanut sauce and an edible fleur.

(Beautiful, no?)

A delightful assortment of amuse bouches. Fresh, fun, dee-lish.


To go with these delicate creations, I had prune liqueur, which was really light and fruity and went down really easily.

Next came a yummy, creamy broccoli soup with tamago (Japanese omelet) and taro chip.

One piece of tuna sushi topped with a mushroom puree.

And then my least favorite of the lot: skate that was a little too difficult to eat (served with the bones), atop a paste-y puree.

Sixth course: honestly, I can’t even remember! I think it was a flash-fried root veg of some sort. In any case, it was tasty.

Then came a simple and modest rice soup. (Are you getting full yet?)

And au final, dessert. My experience is that dessert isn’t usually a standout at Japanese restaurants, but this final course was every bit as delicious as all the savory plates.

There was a dollop of chocolate mousse with banana cream. Two bites of apple tatin caramelized heaven adorned with a matcha financier. And a gelatinized orange, which I thought would be the low point of the plate, but there was something about the unusual texture and thick flavor that was amazing.

It was a true adventure in eating. Surprising, delightful and delicious. A perfect little Parisian memory, filed away to keep me happy.

My Vegan Mondays

Truthfully, I haven’t been doing so well with Vegan Mondays. The challenge and extra effort of finding meals without dairy has gotten tough. And the past two weeks, I’ve dined with colleagues. Not seeing anything vegan on the menu, and not wanting to make a big spectacle, I’ve gone vegetarian for the meal (sorta).

But happily, this week, I went to the Sunday marché. I shopped and cooked properly. Today, was a return to Vegan Monday.

Morning
Wheat toast with peanut butter (the very last of my jar)
Apple

Afternoon
Lentil and sweet potato salad
Banana
Handful of peanuts
And a few Haribo gummies. I know these have gelatin and, therefore, disgusting as it is, they have animal by-products.

Evening
Roasted butternut squash and Brussels sprouts over mache
Dried apple

French phrase of the day: L'appétit vient en mageant

Def, literal: Appetite comes with eating

Def, familiar: The more you have, the more you want.

Amen.

American speak

There’s Bagels & Brownies in the 6eme, and Twinkie right around the corner from me. But nothing speaks to the Frenchies' weird and un-ironic obsession with American food culture like the name of this cafe:

Ladies who blog

In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a growing phenomenon here in Paris.

The female expat blogger.

I Heart Paris, Prete Moi Paris, Posted in Paris...

So much love for Paris!

Even those who live in other fabulous cities—Carol, Candice, Andi—can’t help but blog about Paris.

Some bloggers are cheeky. Irreverent. Self-deprecating & modest. Just plain hip.

Some came for Love.

Some love the cocktails. The sweets. Just eating in general.

There’s the lovely Alien Parisienne, the hilarious American Mom in Paris and… Just Another American in Paris.

Some help us discover Paris, know Paris better, live in Paris—if only for a few weeks.

Every month that I'm here, I'm more and more aware of this growing phenomenon. Sometimes it makes me self-conscious. That I'm just another Anglochick blogging in Paris, gushing about its views and pastries and gardens and fashion and exhibitions and quirky customs and—gasp!—don't you just love Paris?! (I do.)

But then I've been having the chance to meet more of these women—last night, grace à the efforts of Andi & Erica (merci, mademoiselles!)—and it makes me feel happy and a little bit proud and quite connected. Which is no small feat in Paris.

Karl, but more Yves

If you haven’t read A Beautiful Fall, you must. It’s Alicia Drake’s parallel biographies of Karl Lagerfeld and Yves Saint Laurent, and it’s super.

If you haven’t seen L’Amour Fou, well, that’s okay. I saw the documentary about YSL and Pierre Bergé the other night with Marga and, aside from being blown away by the duo’s homes and art collections, the doc was a little boring.

I missed the YSL retrospective at the Petit Palais this summer. Or, more accurately, the one time I motivated to go, the line snaking around the building deterred me from going in.

But Karl’s Parcours de Travail exhibition at the Maison Européene de la Photographie—I checked that one off my list last Sunday. He’s definitely a talented photographer, more than I ever would have given him credit for. But very fashiony and nothing that really moved me.

But now I am super keen to get to the Fondation Pierre Bergé-Yves Saint Laurent. A David Hockney exhibition opens next week and, already, I’m in love with the vibrant colors.

(I’m also super keen on the grey YSL Roady bag. But it’s more likely that I’ll get to the Fondation than I’ll get the bag.)

Daily life in Paris

I normally feel worlds apart from my colleagues. Different countries, different lives. Different experiences, different perceptions. But then every once in awhile there’s an actual exchange—a lunch, a party, a meeting, a conversation—where you realize, oui, nous sommes tout le meme. We are all the same, no matter how we dress, how we ad-dress each other, how we work (or don’t) together. We’re all the same… but different. At the end of the day, everyone in this silly little world—English, French, German, Canadian, whatever—is pretty much the same. We all just want to be recognized and appreciated. For who we are.

The little things I love

The way the cafes stack their chairs at the start and end of the day.