Thursday Sept. 13
Food tour with Wendy Lyn of The Paris Kitchen.
Freeeezing cold...my cute outfit is not appropriate for this temperature.
Got a great background on how the marketplaces came to be in Paris. She's full of really cool knowledge and obviously passionate about what she does.
First stop: Eric Kayser Artisan Boulanger
A good baguette and a bad baguette/order it "bien cuit" for well done like the French like it
Recipe idea: roast a chestnut pumpkin with salted butter, sage, walnuts, and add a dollop of creme fraiche
Oysters in France: sizes run from 0-7, we tried size 3 which was good/from Normandy--tasted like the ocean. Claires are vessels used to rinse oysters so they're not so salty.
Raw oysters=alive oysters! Never thought of that...but stopped thinking about it before I ate them.
MOF: Meilleur Ouvrier de France = best craftsmen in France (baker, chef, cheesemonger, butchers, and more)
There are 6 ways to age cheese and this Fromogerie has 6 caves under the sidewalk on which we stand to age the cheeses he sources from farms across France and other neighboring countries. Fascinating!!
Pecorino is to Italy what Machego is to Spain what Tomme de Brebis is to France
Dinner:
Our final reservation was at Pamela Popo -- what a name for a French restaurant. A tiny spot with FANTASTIC music--old soul and R&B...I could have listened all night. They had an old vintage Miss Pacman stand up game (Miss Pacman is one of my favorites!!) which I thoroughly enjoyed. Again, run by a very handsome Frenchman who unfortunately spent most of his time outside smoking on the sidewalk. This was the first time I looked at a menu and had not a clue what to do. From what I could decipher they were serving foam and puree. I joked that they got a Vitamix and decided to open a restaurant. We just took the proprietor's advice on what he loved on the menu and that was a good call. Although there was some sort of liquified vegetable in each dish, they were delicious. There was a table of about 8 girls in their early to mid-twenties celebrating something...we think maybe a pregnancy, although everyone toasted with champagne. We were wiped out and this was the perfect last supper.
~Not up for finding her French one-night-stand, Christine retired for the evening while I took one more spin around our Latin Quarter block. I wanted to soak in the energy of this incredible city. I don't know when I'll be back again, but I will be back.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Paris day 2
Wednesday Sept. 12
I woke early, threw on some clothes and departed to get a jump on the crowds at Notre Dame. The air was misty and cool--perfect walking weather after a night of indulgence. 170 years it took to build this gothic masterpiece. There were throngs of school groups (one of my favorite ways to watch a true city experience--through the children that are growing up there who know little of the rest of the world). I love stained glass and Notre Dame was a treat in that department. I sat for a while and reflected on the people who find such great comfort in their faith. Being raised in the Catholic faith this was very familiar to me. Christianity is so huge in our world and the overwhelming presence of centuries of this faith when I travel in Europe is compelling.
We enjoyed lunch at a steak frites place that was really unique. After waiting a while in the doorway with several men with jowls that could rival any drooly dog, a little table was pulled out and Christine slithered into the booth as the table was swiftly being shoved back in front of her. I took a seat on the other side (besides jiggly old men there were some really beautiful specimens and it only seemed right that the single girl should have the view). Feeling a bit squirmy still from the previous night's indulgences, I ordered a little hair of the dog (hold the jowls)--what they refer to in France as "whiskey Coke." A bottle of Coke and a glass of whiskey over ice--mix as you see fit. I love that style of cocktail presentation. The "house mother" I called her, the lead lady in charge, looked just like Olympia Dukakis. The waitresses all wore black dresses with white collars around their necks and white aprons around their waists. No menus. I ordered my steak medium, she scratched something on the paper table cloth, and a few minutes later I was presented with a small salad. Soon after that, a plate with sliced steak covered in a parsley mustard sauce and good 'ol french fries. A hungover girl's dream.
There was a woman stuffed next to Christine on the bench that stood close to six feet tall, had floofy blonde hair, and was all gussied up, brooch and all. Her lipstick was drawn a little outside the line of her lips and it seemed to me her face was getting oilier by the minute. Eavesdropping on her conversation with her friend, which was partly in english (I missed understanding what my neighbors were talking about on this trip. i had to make up stories in my head.), it seemed as though she was a real estate agent, and a successful one at that. But she was not going to pay for lukewarm meat, even if she did make a sizable income (her words). When it came time for us to leave, I pulled the table out for my friend and my empty Coke bottle tipped over. "Huh! American." What?! How DARE you call me an American?! Wait--I am an American. What that had to do with my lovely manners but somewhat shaky table moving skills, I don't know. It was a rich experience, nonetheless.
I woke early, threw on some clothes and departed to get a jump on the crowds at Notre Dame. The air was misty and cool--perfect walking weather after a night of indulgence. 170 years it took to build this gothic masterpiece. There were throngs of school groups (one of my favorite ways to watch a true city experience--through the children that are growing up there who know little of the rest of the world). I love stained glass and Notre Dame was a treat in that department. I sat for a while and reflected on the people who find such great comfort in their faith. Being raised in the Catholic faith this was very familiar to me. Christianity is so huge in our world and the overwhelming presence of centuries of this faith when I travel in Europe is compelling.
We enjoyed lunch at a steak frites place that was really unique. After waiting a while in the doorway with several men with jowls that could rival any drooly dog, a little table was pulled out and Christine slithered into the booth as the table was swiftly being shoved back in front of her. I took a seat on the other side (besides jiggly old men there were some really beautiful specimens and it only seemed right that the single girl should have the view). Feeling a bit squirmy still from the previous night's indulgences, I ordered a little hair of the dog (hold the jowls)--what they refer to in France as "whiskey Coke." A bottle of Coke and a glass of whiskey over ice--mix as you see fit. I love that style of cocktail presentation. The "house mother" I called her, the lead lady in charge, looked just like Olympia Dukakis. The waitresses all wore black dresses with white collars around their necks and white aprons around their waists. No menus. I ordered my steak medium, she scratched something on the paper table cloth, and a few minutes later I was presented with a small salad. Soon after that, a plate with sliced steak covered in a parsley mustard sauce and good 'ol french fries. A hungover girl's dream.
There was a woman stuffed next to Christine on the bench that stood close to six feet tall, had floofy blonde hair, and was all gussied up, brooch and all. Her lipstick was drawn a little outside the line of her lips and it seemed to me her face was getting oilier by the minute. Eavesdropping on her conversation with her friend, which was partly in english (I missed understanding what my neighbors were talking about on this trip. i had to make up stories in my head.), it seemed as though she was a real estate agent, and a successful one at that. But she was not going to pay for lukewarm meat, even if she did make a sizable income (her words). When it came time for us to leave, I pulled the table out for my friend and my empty Coke bottle tipped over. "Huh! American." What?! How DARE you call me an American?! Wait--I am an American. What that had to do with my lovely manners but somewhat shaky table moving skills, I don't know. It was a rich experience, nonetheless.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Paris: day 1
Tuesday 9/11 12:45pm
Nice is conjested. Pretty to walk through the streets—felt a
little like the charming parts of NYC. Pieces of old injected with new. And a
beach city always has something different compared to other cities. There are a
lot of satellite dishes in France. And in the cities McDonalds, Starbucks, even saw a Pizza Hut last
night.
6:15pm
We arrived in the train station in Paris after experiencing our first food car on the train. That was a fun and vibrant little space amongst the cars of silence (and the occasional crying baby that seems to follow us on each train). It was simple to find the taxi line and be on our way to our hotel. I noticed as soon as I stepped out into the sunshine my energy lifted. I was in Paris!! I pulled out my camera and started looking for photo ops. Our hotel, Acte V, is on the edge of the Latin Quarter and the neighborhood is great. Our room is tiny, of course, but not as small as the room at the beach. We had read about a wonderful restaurant from a well-known chef that didn't take reservations in a different part of town so decided to jump right in to the Metro system to get there rather early in hopes of getting a table. Camera around my neck, a map in each hand, I didn't care if I looked like a tourist. After all, I AM a tourist! We have found the Metro system here in Paris to be so easy to navigate and it is so efficient! We enjoyed a delicious meal, lots of vin rouge, and a fun Parisian scene. We ended the evening in the same fashion as Ernest Hemingway and Pablo Picaso often did, at Les Deux Magots for a nightcap. Enough fun to ensure I was going to have a foggy morning the next day.
Monday: time to relax
Monday, Sept. 10 2:00pm
Nicoise salad and chardonnay at the beach club—oh my.
Anchovies and all. This is one of my favorite things. Have been lounging in the
sun, reading, resting. Christine is studying back in the hotel lobby. I woke
today at 8, then again at 9, and finally at 10—now that is vacation. Strolling
down the promenade we stopped for cappuccino. What do these French women do
with all these baguettes?? For real—its not a cliché. Baguettes are constantly
sold in this country. Are they always just munching on bread? Do they keep it
to serve with dinner? The French obviously do not have our fear of carbs. Hard
to find an egg or some yogurt for breakfast—all pastries. But French women
don’t get fat—there’s a book about it! Moderation, I suppose, but all this
white flour! I just adore the pace here. I’ve thought of Harry very often and
how he would do with it…he doesn’t much like to wait. Ahhh…next to finish my lunch
then for a swim in that glorious blue water.
~~Oh, how I wish I could understand what this table of
people sitting next to me is talking about. They’ve been sitting there for at
least an hour. Looks like they’ve been smoking Marlboros and have done a couple
shots.
~ Bon Jovi I’ll Be
There For You at the Aeva Beach Club after a swim~
I bobbed around for a while and did a little more reading
before Christine arrived and told me she was heading to Nice in the car. After
enjoying an afternoon glass of bubbly as my room was being leaned I took
advantage of the giant soaking tub and took a bath. None of our hotels have had
washcloths—I guess the French don’t scrub. I’m going to have to visit the
Korean spa when I get back to get the full body exfoliation. Christine returned
a bit frustrated with driving in Nice so we decided to take the bus to dinner.
I wanted to explore Cagnes Sur Mer-the village and castle atop the hill
overlooking our resort town and the sea but I could tell Christine was craving
the city and, feeling a bit like I jipped her out of Nice, I decided to let it
go, imagining all of the wonderful architecture and treasures I would find in
Paris. That’s the thing with these trips—you can’t do it all. I’ve just been
really conscious to look around me and soak it in. It has been so nice to have
a companion on this trip—someone to laugh with, but compromise is required and
that’s okay.
After returning the rental car we just missed our train to
Paris but we quickly rebooked, leaving time for a cappuccino. We’re not enroute
to our final 3 nights in Paris. I’ve got to pick up one of those cheapy little
suitcases to handle my overflow. My suitcase is getting a little out of
control.
~Just passed Canne. Wow. Gorgeous. Truly the oceanfront
estates on the cliff, the yacht anchored out front and 2 sailboats dotting the
expanse of flat, blue sea. Just stunning.
Sunday: one of my favorite days
Sunday Sept. 9
Sitting inside bustling café after walking through market at
Isle Sur La Sorgue—wonderful!! Bought lots of stuff—so full of character.
Always the challenge to find authentic French merchandise. No ‘Made in China’
or ‘Made in India.’ Talk to the person at the booth. First the nougat maker. He
was an adorable gray haired man with glasses who made me try probably 6
varieties of nougat. I bought a bunch to bring home. “The greatest nougat in
the world!” And a linen table runner from a cool woman probably about my age
who sews them all. She gave me great washing instructions.
Sat for a while in that fantastic bistro and had cappuccinos
and a mimosa—which they did not understand. I had to say “champagne with a
little splash of orange juice” then I enjoyed watching the waitress explain it
to the oh-so-gorgeous young man behind the bar. At one point one of the male
waiters passed my waitress and gave her an affectionate little slap on her rear
which I found totally endearing. Moments like that help me to place myself
right. there. Are they lovers? What
happens in this café after hours? Do they sip appertifs and laugh? Do they
stroll back to his flat and stay up all night? Do they part ways for now
because this is only a budding romance? We sat for a long time in this place
tucked in the winding streets of this dreamy riverfront town. It’s definitely a
“is this place for real?” spot in the world.
We stopped by one more stand and bought some olives,
ratatouille tapenade, some sundried tomatoes, and a baguette to snack on as we
made our way to the coast. No way could we have done all this driving without
the iphone. We passed more villages perched on distant hillsides, more industrial
hubs, and then, like any roadtrip to the beach, it started to feel a little
saltier. The first glimpse of the Mediterranean Sea, captured in a picture
through our windshield. Cagnes Sur Mer very much resembles Ft. Lauderdale. The
wide walking/biking path following the shore, a busy street, then the
water-facing cafes, shops, and hotels. Christine was exhausted from the early
morning and the drive so while she caught a nap I crossed the street and pulled
up a cushy chair at the beach club associated with our hotel and enjoyed a
delicious margareeeta (as pronounced by the gentlemen taking care of me)!
Perpared and served by some beautifully tanned, blue-eyed Frenchman. Yes, I
have noticed the men here in France more than the women, but don’t misunderstand.
I appreciate beautiful people of all sexes. I expect to be in awe of the French
females once I hit Paris.
We enjoyed a simple dinner of starters on the upstairs
terrace of our hotel restaurant and retired to the room where I fell asleep to
Christine booking our train to Paris and a documentary on American hip hop
artists on the TV.
Backtracking Saturday's happenings
Today was spent sleeping in. We ate and shopped around
touristy but breathtaking Gordes. I had that perfect hmmmm going—café aulait,
bruschetta, rose, croissant, and more café aulait. Christine has been loving
being my chauffer in the Luberon and I’ve enjoyed taking in the scenery with
her behind the wheel. Couldn’t get the ipod working so we’ve been at the mercy
of French radio. Our favorite soundtracks have been Bossa Nova/Austin Powers
style spy movie music. WE got lost for a good bit and had to cougle back for
probably close to an hour. Rick Steves assured us we’d get lost although I feel
the signage has been mostly great in Provence.
“Par moments je me
figurais quinne de ces etoiles, ayant perdu sa route, etait venue se poser sur
mon epaule pour dormir…”
Written on the wall of the restaurant we went to…still
waiting to translate it.
~Interruption! Tuna carpaccio with saffron honey,
pistachios, and spinach…divine…
So we finally made it to the Julien Bridge—the Roman ruin
site that Christine really wanted to see. And so glad. This bridge started
being built BC and was finished shortly AD. That is OLD. And I could feel that
energy. It was thick—and rich and beautiful. White rock had been beaten smooth
and slick from centuries of water and wind and abrasion (I relearned this
through my kids’ science lessons). I tried to climb in to the little alcove
that was designed for high waters to pass through (it’s totally dry underneath
now) but I couldn’t make it. The sun was setting, I was barefoot, gripping the
stone that was laid by Romans over 2000 years ago. It was very cool.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Saturday: differences and similarities
Saturday, Sept. 8 1:40pm
Late start today--slept in because we were up till 2:00am. I drank too much wine. Strolled around the little town and discovered a castle at the top of the village. Not much happening here at all. Several locals walking around with books and seemed to be gathering near the welcome center--can't quite figure out what for. But curious to know how these people spend their days. Obviously no communting to an office job. How are the bills paid here? Running their business, maybe they have a farm or a trade? It's definitely got be thinking about "going to work" and "life's work." I don't think the folks in this small village think about being on or off duty. They live to work and work to live but in a more balanced, healthy way than we talk about in the US.
Several handsome young men sitting around tables at the restaurant below our room socializing. Some casually bring in supplies. The pace is so different. So peaceful.
Later that afternoon...
~Japanese tourists in Gordes--they don't pretend to be anything but what they are.
9:23 pm
Enjoyed a couple beers at the little hotel bar with Vincent (the B&B owner? manager?) who was all bunged up because the power kept going out. Orange pants tonight, cobalt blue last night. Trying to make small talk and run the restaurant and flirt and get us drunk "on the house!"
Wandering around tonight I spotted a black cat snoozing in a window along one of the narrow cobblestone streets. I got closer to try to get the kittie's attention and noticed inside were 3 boys, probably around my kids' age. One with a growing-in mohawk, shirtless with a big belly. Two were playing video games on the tv--Xbox, I believe, and the other was playing on a laptop at the table. Looked a lot like the kids back home, which was interesting to see way out here. Made me relax a little about the pressure and judgements I put on myself as a mom. Screens are nearly everywhere.
Late start today--slept in because we were up till 2:00am. I drank too much wine. Strolled around the little town and discovered a castle at the top of the village. Not much happening here at all. Several locals walking around with books and seemed to be gathering near the welcome center--can't quite figure out what for. But curious to know how these people spend their days. Obviously no communting to an office job. How are the bills paid here? Running their business, maybe they have a farm or a trade? It's definitely got be thinking about "going to work" and "life's work." I don't think the folks in this small village think about being on or off duty. They live to work and work to live but in a more balanced, healthy way than we talk about in the US.
Several handsome young men sitting around tables at the restaurant below our room socializing. Some casually bring in supplies. The pace is so different. So peaceful.
Later that afternoon...
~Japanese tourists in Gordes--they don't pretend to be anything but what they are.
9:23 pm
Enjoyed a couple beers at the little hotel bar with Vincent (the B&B owner? manager?) who was all bunged up because the power kept going out. Orange pants tonight, cobalt blue last night. Trying to make small talk and run the restaurant and flirt and get us drunk "on the house!"
Wandering around tonight I spotted a black cat snoozing in a window along one of the narrow cobblestone streets. I got closer to try to get the kittie's attention and noticed inside were 3 boys, probably around my kids' age. One with a growing-in mohawk, shirtless with a big belly. Two were playing video games on the tv--Xbox, I believe, and the other was playing on a laptop at the table. Looked a lot like the kids back home, which was interesting to see way out here. Made me relax a little about the pressure and judgements I put on myself as a mom. Screens are nearly everywhere.
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