A beautiful day in the neighborhood

The popular market under the Grenelle tracks begins here, at the Avenue de la Motte Picquet,
and goes on for several blocks.  It operates on Wednesdays and Sundays until about 1PM.

July 30, 2018 -- A tiny, triangular "square" near us is dedicated to Emile Zola (1840-1902), the French journalist, writer, activist.  On one side of the monument in this square is a quotation from Zola which is so appropriate these days that I want to share its translation with you:

The truth is on the march and nothing will stop it.  Whoever suffers for truth and justice becomes august and sacred. There is justice only in the truth. There is happiness only in justice.  Emile Zola

The square -- called the Place Alfred-Dreyfus -- used to be an unusable, dirty, neglected space that collected litter.  Then it was made into a simple, elegant, yet humble spot that Zola would appreciate.  You can find it where the Avenue Emile Zola, Rue du Théatre, and Rue Violet meet, in the upper part of the 15th arrondissement.

The reverse side of the monument has a round metal portrait of Zola. Someone had defaced it with a bit of white paint, which they used to draw a Hitler-like mustache on top of Zola's mustache.  What a jerk, I thought, who would deface Zola's image like that.  Tom said, "What an ignorant jerk."  The jerk obviously knows nothing about Emile Zola.  I found the blotch so offensive that I touched up this photo to erase it.  I hope the Paris park maintenance people take that offensive Hitler mustache off of Emile Zola's image very soon.

The whole monument looks like it has been scrubbed clean here and there, as if other graffiti/vandalism has been removed in the past.

Earlier in this walk we saw and heard beautiful signs of life.  There was a gorgeous cat lounging in the shade on the passage way called the Villa de Grenelle.  These days, it is rare to see a cat on the loose in Paris.  I hope that she does not wander far.

There was a talented violin player playing classical pieces under the railroad bridge that crosses over the Ile aux Cygnes.  He played the Marseillaise and parts of Vivaldi's Four Seasons -- both difficult pieces.  I think he was a professional, and he seemed to be practicing as well as performing.  He repeated certain phrases from the Four Seasons over and over, to perfect them.  I thoroughly enjoyed his music as we sat on a nearby park bench.

At last, I walked over and placed three or four euros on his violin case.  He said, "Merci, madame.  Bonne soirée!" in a deep, resonant, baritone voice and in the perfect, clear French that well-educated people speak.

When we reached the Pont de Bir Hakeim, we were stunned to see about six different wedding couples being photographed there.  This is a popular place for such photos, but we've never seen so many couples there at once.  They appeared not to know each other, and altogether they were an ethnically diverse bunch of young people.

The Villa de Grenelle.

We finally saw Philippe on that walk, too.  He is a poor old guy who used to sit on the sidewalk by the door of the bakery that we go to most often.  Philippe is good-natured, and likes to talk.  We would chat with him often, and we'd buy him occasional pizza slices from the bakery.  But until this walk, we had not seen him this summer.

But there he was the other evening; these days he is in a fine looking wheelchair, and he isn't sitting on the pavement, begging, anymore.  He sat in his wheelchair across from the bakery, just to be out, taking the evening air.  His attire was casual and stylish -- like an ensemble from the Levi Strauss catalog, the Gap store up the street, or Old Navy.  Someone has set him up with more social and health care services, it seems.

I'm not surprised.  It was always clear to us that people in the neighborhood care for Philippe.

Autumn has arrived in Paris.

  (Click here for previous day's journal entry.)

Autumn has arrived in Paris.  After working at the computers, while the sun shone in the late afternoon, we went for a walk.  I thought we’d go to the Allée des Cygnes because rush hour was just starting, and that’s a nice place to go to escape the automobile traffic.

But as we approached the Seine on the rue Linois, the wind picked up.  That wind was chilly, and Tom did not have a jacket.  He shivered.  I suggested we enter the Beaugrenelle mall and do the rest of our walking there.  So we walked through the entire thing, on every level, and then walked through the second floor wing that lead back toward the Place Charles Michels.

The walk back to the apartment along the leafy avenue Emile Zola was pleasant enough, and Tom stopped in the bakery on the rue du Theatre to buy a baguette.

In the evening, we had another walk, down to the rue de la Convention – which is looking good these days -- and over to the rue Saint Charles, then a block south to the rue Sebastien Mercier, home of L’Ardoise du XV.

This was the second time we’d dined at L’Ardoise, although it has been in business since 2012.  The proprietors are Chef Maxime Vilatte and his wife Marie.  Chef Maxime had worked with Philippe Legendre at the Four Seasons – George V hotel, and will David Alves at La Table de Joel Robuchon.  With that solid background, he was ready for his own place.

Chef Maxime and Marie have qualified for the Maitre Restaurateur designation, and that was one of the characteristics that attracted me to the place last month.

Now I’m attracted by the inventiveness of the cuisine.  The food isn’t the same-old same-old; when you’ve been in Paris for months and think you might be tired of French food, you go to a place like L’Ardoise du XV and you change your mind.

I ordered the calamari starter and was pleasantly surprised by its spiciness.  The sauce, which was supposed to be Mediterranean, was actually a piquant curry, and the calamari was not overcooked.  The dish woke up my senses.

Calamari in curry sauce at L'Ardoise

Next came our main courses:  a volaille fermière rotie aux girolles for Tom, and a ventrèche de porc caramelisée, pommes écrassées a l’échalote et ciboulette for me.

Roasted chicken, salad, and purée of potatoes

Tom’s chicken was a tender, juicy pressée of roasted chicken – both white and dark meat – and it came with a velvety potato purée as well as the girolle mushrooms. 

My pork belly was perfectly sautéed, and the potatoes were not écrassée (smashed), they were really a fine purée with tiny bits of green onions and chives throughout.  At first I thought the meat looked like mostly fat, but that was not the case; it was a tender, juicy cut of pork.

Pork belly with purée of potatoes with green onions and chives.

Tom had the homemade millefeuille au chocolat for dessert; it was delicious.

The server was Marie, I think, and she was doing a fine job of keeping order in the dining room.  The place is neat as a pin, and perfectly organized.

In the evening, I resumed reading.  One of the tomes I’m reading now is Emile Zola’s The Ladies’ Paradise (Au Bonheur des Dames), a novel that is roughly based on the rise of the Bon Marché department store in Paris.

I'm photographing the menu posted in the window
of L'Ardoise as Tom watches.

I say “roughly” because there are many differences between the fictional character Octave Mouret and the real-life Aristide Boucicaut of Bon Marché.  In fact, I think Mouret is an amalgam of Selfridge in London and Boucicaut in Paris.  So it isn’t surprising that BBC’s adaptation of Zola’s book takes place in Britain instead of France.  I’d already finished watching BBC’s Mr. Selfridge series, and last night I started BBC’s The Paradise series, even while I’m still reading The Ladies Paradise.

Each time I’ve read a Zola book, I have complained to Tom about what I don’t like about Zola’s writing.  Zola’s style is overly flowery, and sexist.  (Last summer, I read Le Ventre de Paris (The Belly of Paris), a novel that takes place in the old market of Paris, Les Halles.)  Tom says I haven’t read Zola’s best works yet:  Germinal, and L’Assommoir.  Now I’ve downloaded an edition of the complete works of Zola on my Kindle Fire, so I’ll read those next.

I’m reading these in English, not French.  I’d read them in French, but I know that with Zola’s overly flowery prose, it would not be easy. 

I agree with Elmore Leonard, who said:  “If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.” 

Leonard also wrote a handy list of ten “commandments,” that is, things to avoid when writing.  Zola violates the last two of those “rules”: 

9.  Don’t go into great detail describing places and things.

10.  Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.

On that note, I think I’ll stop writing for today.  (Click here for previous day's journal entry.)