I'd rather be...

...playing along the canal.

Picnicking in science's shadow...

...drinking with all the bobos...

...waiting for pizza delivery—miam!

Early morning velib rides were always bliss.

And don't forget the indie movies at mk2.

Maybe next time, I'll strap it on and do some sculling.

My Vegan Mondays

Thank you, friends and readers for keeping me going with these Vegan Mondays. Admittedly, I lapse some weeks when a good occasion calls for it (I'm talking to you, Balthazar). But I keep going with them because of the feedback and encouragement I've gotten from you, so thank you! Merci!

Morning
Green tea
Green juice (this has become one of my favorite things in the world!)
Half a grapefruit

Afternoon
Soba noodles with edamame and peanuts and spicy tofu with spinach and red pepper (both made by yours truly; my first time cooking with tofu, believe it or not)
Chips (Ugh! Disgusting. But I was in a meeting and I was starving so I ate chips)
And almonds

Evening
Asparagus, potatoes and sweet and sour eggplant
Too much prosecco

There’s nothing like this in Paris

Burgers as big as your head. Literally.

When I saw the $42 cheeseburger on the menu of M. Wells, the much ballyhooed restaurant in Queens that’s set in an old diner, I couldn’t imagine why it cost so much. Until I saw Chef Hugue Dufour spearing the patty that could feed four with a steak knife and adding a stack of onion rings to it. This place is no ordinary restaurant.

But there are French touches. The chef is from Montreal and has imported some Gallic ways and ingredients.
Oysters with a coffee sabayon, tuna tartare covered in mustard seed, and escargots and bone marrow. I tried them all and now add oysters to my list of “didn’t know I liked it” list. Bone marrow? Non.



Alas, we didn’t order the burger, but my gentleman friends, Bennie and Kev, did order the ribs for two and there was nothing subtle about that dish either. I think I was so mesmerized by the platter of meat and frites delivered to our table that I forgot to take a “before” photo, but caught the impressive “after” evidence.

And after my relatively modest meal of crab bread pudding, it was time for “my” course: dessert. Bennie insisted on the banana cream pie.

I rallied for the $16 Paris Brest.

Was it as good as Philippe Conticini’s masterpiece, the best brest in Paris?

No. But it was a beautiful taste of Paris. In a crazy New York setting.

Weekend dreaming

What I'm excited for this summer...

Bike riding along the Hudson... New York Philharmonic in Central Park... outdoor movies... beach time... reading... ICE CREAM (Amorino just opened here in New York!)... rooftop cocktails... dating... PS 1 SUNDAYS... Alexander McQueen at The Met... picnics, picnics, picnics... Governors Island... lazy mornings spent reading at home or in a cafe... FRECKLES... sundresses... spontaneous road trips... the Union Square GREENMARKET and cheffing up my loot... feeling grass between my toes... a new chapter... Connecticut... GIN & TONICS... crossword puzzle success... urban strolls... lobster rolls... YOGA... Sandy Hook... wedges... breakfast club... more green juices... the ever-elusive flat abs... fresh berries... bright colors... nostalgic music... RED SOX... more reading... planning trips to San Francisco and PARIS...

Et toi??

Things Matter in Paris

The way things look…

The way they taste…


They way they’re presented…



All the little details…



Just being in Paris is luxury.

Manhattan and Midnight in Paris

I’ve been feeling the pull and split of New York and Paris a lot again lately. How is it possible to love two so radically different cities so much? To want to be in both cities, and not give either up?

But since I am in New York, I’ve been dying to get a hit of Paris through Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris—I just haven’t had the time yet. Hopefully this week. In the meantime, I watched Manhattan on DVD. Somehow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. And, wow, what a love letter to New York. Just what I needed to see right now. Reassurance that this city is amazing and I am so lucky to be here and that, oui, I am still in love. And I don't care what anyone says, Woody Allen just cracks me up.

Empty cafe terraces

There's something so lovely...

...inviting...

sad...

...and romantic about them.

N'est-ce pas?

And, it's off

I just emailed my manuscript off to my editor. 55,000 words on New York and Paris, macarons and cupcakes, croissants and muffins, Pierre Hermé and Ladurée, friends and family, Velibs and more Velibs, French toast and le pain perdu, ecstasy and depression, Milo and my treehouse...

I am happy, relieved, and sort of in awe that, oui, that was my life. Two sublime (though sometimes difficult and maddening) years in Paris.

Thank you ALL for your support, insights and camaraderie—you are part of the story! Thank you, merci from the bottom of my grateful heart. Let the transatlantic adventures continue! xo