Seattle to Paris

Good Eatin'

Note:  Typepad keeps messing up the formatting on my posts, so please excuse the wonky line spacing. I've been messing with this for far longer than I wanted to today, so I'll just publish and fix later. Grrrrr.

Today I thought I'd share some restaurant experiences.  Since arriving in Paris, we've eaten out far more than we ever used to.  For us, that means thatwe go out for a sit down dinner about every two weeks, and eat takeout once or twice a week.  I love to get dressed up to go out for a nice meal, but I also really enjoy cooking at home. There is the health factor, but there is also the enjoyment derived from trying out new ingredients and recipes.  Also, there are so many eateries in Paris that is very hard to make a choice.  For the most part, I've been happy with our choices.  

Le Reconfort

37 Rue de Poitou 75003

I love this place. Ian made a reservation for us to celebrate a belated Valentine's day the Saturday after I arrived.  The vibe is very hip/chic and the service friendly but not overly so.  The decor is a combination of old, dark wood and modern furniture and lighting. We started off with a Kir Royale made with cherry syrup instead of the usual cassis. It was delicious.  I have been trying to find the syrup ever since but haven't succeeded. Kir Royales are my go to aperitif now since martinis are prohibitively expensive and not very common here.

As an appetizer, I had some sort of molded tower comprised of spicy eggplant and chopped up seared tuna steak. It was vaguely Provençal.  I had been expecting raw tuna, but this was quite good - the highlight of my meal. I always like the appetizer course the best because the flavors are bolder and there is less of the dish so I don't get tired of it. Ian had fois fras. Please don't send PETA after us.  For the main course, I had taglietelle with, again, fois gras and Ian had pork with cherry sauce. I found my dish a bit bland and there was too much of it. However, Ian's was delicious.  We shared a bottle of wine but did not have coffee or dessert.

  

Verdict:  Quiet, romantic - it's a keeper.

Breizh Café 

109 Rue Vieille du Temple 75003

http://www.breizhcafe.com/

We tried out this crêperie last night to celebrate Ian's return from Denver. Most crêperies in Paris seem to be either very casual, very touristy, or both.  CB has branches in Brittany, Paris, and Tokyo.  The owner is supposedly influenced by Japanese culture and cuisin, but I didn't really get this, other than the way our dessert was presented. This place is fairly well known and well reviewed.  Here are my two cents.

We had originally planned to go to a different restaurant but it turned out to be closed.  When we got to Breizh Café, it was packed, so we repaired to a dive bar down the sreet to wait. It was an instant flashback to our younger days in San Francisco when we used to start evenings at Dalva with drinks, followed by crêpes at Ti Couz , followed by more drinks. Ah youth!

After an apertif of hard cider topped off with cassis  (meh), we both chose crêpes made with ham, egg and cheese.  My crêpe was far too heavy for me, but the oysters at the next table looked really good.  The service was friendly but a bit rushed, so I felt pressure to make up my mind quickly.  Next time we go, I'll probably only have oysters and a salad so that I can fully enjoy dessert.  The dessert, pictured below on the left, was a sweet crêpe cut up to resemble maki.  The filling was chocolate mousse and the accompanying sauce was salted caramel.  Food Porn!!!

Photo: Breizh Café

Verdict:  I thought that the meal was delicious, but I would not characterize it as "La Crêpe Autrement", which is the restaurant's tagline.  The menu really not seem like a departure from traditional Breton fare, which is not to say that it wasn't delicious.  I'd come back here, but with a reservation, and I'd order with care to avoid a food coma afterwards.  

Slow News Day

I started a post last night about the Russian costume exhibit at the Pierre Bergé - Yves St. Laurent Foundation, but my browser crapped out so I lost it. When I have more time, I'll write about it.  

Lately, I've noticed this little sticker affixed to mopeds around town:

I am not sure why, but when I take B. out in the morning, he always gravitates towards parked mopeds to poop.  He scoots his rear end as close to the vehicle as possible before doing his business.  I always pick up after him, but I'm still afraid that the moped owner will come up while he's in mid-act.  That would be awkward.  I don't think that he is the only dog to do this since there is a always a lot of poop in between parked mopeds.  Most people aren't very good at picking up after their dogs unless there are a lot of people around to catch them not doing it.

On another note, I made a really delicious and healthy dessert last night with some crappy plums from the supermarket. They never really softened, but were starting to turn bad.  I didn't want to waste.  Add a pat of butter (you don't need too much to get a good flavor), and some honey or other sweetener if desired.  Simmer in a saucepan until softened and slightly caramelized.

Serve with fat free plain yogurt if you're feeling virtuous, or with vanilla ice cream if not.  I think that this compote would also taste good with roasted pork, or as a filling for puff pastry with custard on the bottom and topped with an apricot glaze (now we're talking).  I don't think that this is a super original idea or anything, but I was surprised at how tasty it was.

And finally, a gratuitous B. photo:

Up to no good with an evil glint in his eye

Quality

The other day, I went to Montmartre to go shopping at the Marché St. Pierre and Tissus Reine.  These two places come up whenever the topic of fabric shopping in Paris is discussed. I was not super-impressed, but I'll discuss that experience in a separate post.  

One of the items on my shopping list was some elbow patches for Ian's gray cashmere sweater.  He must have secret razor blades in his elbows because he systematically destroys every sweater he owns. In the past I've cut out and sewn on patches of Ultrasuede. I had no idea what would be available in France, but I was pleasantly surprised to find these suede patches in many colors:

Compare and contrast to what you would find at Jo-Ann Fabrics and Crap.

I particularly like the way that the needle holes are already punched into the suede. They weren't cheap (7.5 EUR), of course. I have seen a lot of evidence that people repair and refurbish their clothing more here. Grocery stores carry a variety of reconditioning products for clothes (such as dyes to put the color back into faded denim), dry cleaners seem to offer more extensive repair services than they do in the US, and there are many more shoe-repair shops.

Clothing here is expensive.  I haven't clothing shopped very much since I've been here, but it definitely seems like there are fewer bargains and you get what you pay for. It's true that stores like H&M are popular, but in general, I think people spend money differently, and don't treat clothes shopping as a leisure activity. Also, less storage space means fewer clothes. I myself tend to wear the same thing over and over, so there is more wear and tear on each item, hence the need to repair. That said, I really miss the bounty of Costco with its mountains of cheap but good quality underwear and socks!

Easter

Yesterday was Easter Sunday.  I actually had been dreading it quite a bit.  For some reason, the holiday always makes me blue and homesick. On Christmas and Thanksgiving, I'm fine being away from family. In fact, I am grateful if I don't have to travel and we can just spend it relaxing. However, Easter always sneaks up and gets me.  Also, for some reason, I was convinced that everything would be closed over the weekend and that Paris would be completely deserted come Sunday.  In fear, I stockpiled food and wine starting on Thursday. I felt more and more foolish as the weekend progressed and it was business as usual. There were lots of cafes open, but the most surprising thing is that the garbage trucks were making their usual Sunday rounds.   I would think that the garbage collectors would be the first to get a day off on Easter, but I guess that's not the case.

I had planned to go out with my walking group (laugh if you must), but when I woke up, I really wasn't motivated to move from the comfortable bed, let alone walk for three hours with people I don't know very well.  I lazed around the house for a while and then ate an extra late and large breakfast  - coffee, toast, butter,an egg, salmon rillettes, low fat cheese, and pain au chocolat.  Ok - I'm ashamed just typing all of that but I was actually pretty hungry since I hadn't eaten very much the night before.  Afterward, I took B. for a long walk.  Guilt over the breakfast did play a part in it, but also, it was a beautiful day, and it seemed unfair to keep the dog inside while I lazed around watching TV.  

Frequently, when I'm taking my daily walk with B., I just wander, keeping my eye on the time so that I don't tire him out.   Walking in Paris is a constant source of wonder and frustration.  I'll be walking along a normal street, gray and dirty, when all of a sudden I'll come across an incredibly beautiful and unexpected passage, garden, or square.  But then when I go back to try to find these places again, I can't. It's as though I imagined the whole thing.  Invariably, someone always asks me for directions, and I never know where I am.  I guess I should be happy that I look like I fit in, but in reality I think it's because I have a dog with me.

When I first got here, I frequently got very lost and so tended to be cautious in picking my trajectory.  Now that I have a more or less working GPS system on my phone, I'm not as worried.  If I'm not feeling adventurous,we walk across the Centre Pompidou to Les Halles, where there's some grass for B. to sniff and explore. Today, we went further afield. We walked down St. Martin towards Opera, and then cut across the Rue Richelieu towards the general vicinity of the Seine, near the Louvre and the Palais Royale. Eventually, I got to Place Collette, where an the Pachelbel Canon was being played in honor of Easter. I know it's  incredibly overplayed to the point of being trite but it's still a beautiful composition. Between the music, the beautiful weather, and my surroundings, that moment felt like a gift.  One of my favorite aspects of living here is the value that people place on making things beautiful, like this glass sculpture around the metro entrance at Place Colette:

Place Colette, Paris. Photo: Felber

After all of that, I came back to the apartment, took a nap (lazy!), and made dinner.  I had decided that a homemade hamburger and salad would be my Easter dinner. I know, it's a bit déclassé, but i was not about to cook a gigot d'agneau with potatoes au gratin for just me. OK, I did flirt with the idea of the potatoes but the lamb was out of the question... Also, I'm working with what basically amounts to a toaster oven here!  I bought the smallest amount of meat possible but it was still too much.  At that point, I did feel a little bit blue because Ian wasn't there to share the meal with me.

Ooh-la-la

Oooh-la-la!  The phrase evokes images of naughty red and black lingerie,  Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge, or maybe even the first bite of a particularly delectable mille-feuille.  In other words, it's a campy expression of surprised pleasure with sexual overtones.  

As  Cole Porter put it:

Say you're fond of fancy things

Diamond clips and emerald rings

And you want your man to come through

Give him the ooh-la-la

When your car is asked to stop

By a handsome traffic cop

'Less you want a ticket or two

Give him the ooh-la-la

When Americans make fun of the French, they often say the phrase in a falsetto. I have never really heard "ooh-la-la" used this way in France, although it may well be.  I do hear French people saying something that sounds more like "ho-lah-lah", and it seems to have a completely different connotation; it's an expression of unfavorable judgment or annoyance.  In extreme cases, the first beginning of the "ho" is pronounced like the end of "Bach", or the beginning of "Challah" or "Chanukkah". The more drawn out and guttural the "ho", the greater the disapprobation intended by the speaker.

Here are some situations which might provoke an O.L.L.: 

• Stepping in dog shit.
• Witnessing a clueless American bagging and tossing said dog shit instead of leaving it on the sidewalk.
• Walking behind a gaggle of teenage girls taking up the whole sidewalk and then stopping suddenly. The cuter the girls, the more mild the O.L.L.
• Participating in a discussion of someone's drunken behavior at a party.
• Interacting with the personnel at the Orange customer service desk.
• Not being able to get the bartender's attention.
• Reacting to the high price of yogurt at Monoprix.

Of course, I have my own personal experience being the subject of an O.L.L. The first time I took the metro by myself, I did not realize that I had to turn the handle of the car door in order to open it.  As the train stopped at the platform, I stood like an idiot in front of it for a few minutes, wondering why it didn't open. Then, the it dawned on me that there was a handle but I wasn't sure which way it should turn.  I wrestled with the door like a dork for a moment or two, then managed to open it and get myself halfway through the door only to get stuck as it was closing back up. I had HUGE bruises up and down my leg for about a week afterwards. Of course, no one helped me.  There was dead silence in the car as the occupants watched me yank myself out of the doors, and then came a loud and  exasperated O.L.L. from the other end of the car. 

The experience of being a foreigner is disconcerting sometimes but enlightening overall. I know that I sometimes display the same behavior here that would annoy me to no end if I saw someone else doing it on my own turf.  On the one hand, I hope that I have more empathy next time I'm in NY or SF and a large family of tourists is blocking the sidewalk. On the other, GET OUT OF MY WAY, F***ERS!