Birthday boy dines well

Passing by palm trees on our way home last night.

Tom's belated birthday dinner was at Le Poulpry last night.  This elegant restaurant is situated in a 300-year-old former stately home that is now the headquarters of the Ecole Polytechnique (Polytechnic school), and is only a block and a half south of the Musee D'Orsay -- a special place for a special occasion.  I found the establishment on Lafourchette.com in a special promotion of elegant restaurants.

The courtyard at 12 rue de Poitiers, home of Le Poulpry and the Ecole Polytechnique,
also called La Maison des Polytechniciens.

The place is perfect.  The tables were arranged with plenty of space in between -- rare for a Paris restaurant.  The decor was elegant yet simple and honest, not fussy.  The service was professional and engaging, yet not intrusive.  The food was divine.

To enter the restaurant, you climb these stairs.

Our reservation time, at the restaurant's opening hour of 7:30PM, was early by Paris standards.  That allowed me to photograph the dining room before it filled with people.

We'd walked only a few blocks in the summer heat and then taken a taxi the rest of the way.  All taxis in Paris seem to be air conditioned now.  That certainly was not true 21 years ago, when we started summering in this city.  Yes, this is our 22nd summer in Paris.  Time flies.

Customized Limoges plates feature images of the Polytechnique's original uniforms.

Our server spoke French and English equally well.  He correctly assumed that we were American; usually, folks here think we are German or English or Canadian people who speak French  -- unless they know English so well that they can discern the various accents. I answered, "Floride."  Later, I asked him what part of France he was from, and he answered, "Paris," but said he'd spent a long time in Hong Kong.  That's where he learned his British English.  He'd also spent time in Cambodia.

We shared a starter course of foie gras and peach chutney.  Then we each had fish main courses -- John Dory for Tom, and drum fish for me.  Mine came with flavorful chanterelle mushrooms in a rich, creamy sauce.  Tom's fish came with a light beurre blanc sauce and unusual vegetables, including miniature eggplants.  Tom ordered a cafe gourmand for dessert.  Everything was delicious and beautiful.

The foie gras with peach chutney.

The John Dory, or St. Peter's fish.

The maigre, or drum fish, with a rich mushroom sauce and risotto.

The repast took a full two hours, so the air had cooled just slightly when we left the restaurant.  We walked home slowly, through the 7th along its charming "spine," the rue St. Dominique, and then across the Champ de Mars, through the Village Suisse antique zone, and down our lovely rue du Commerce, home again in the 15th.

Tom explores the courtyard a little more before we leave.

It took a while for us to cool down in the apartment.  Today, tomorrow, and Friday will be even hotter, so we will probably forgo restaurants until Saturday.  To me, it is torture to sit in a hot restaurant for a period of time, feeling trapped.

Instead, we will have picnic-like suppers, with all kinds of interesting little things to eat.  This, the apero dinatoire, is the way to go during a heat wave.

The apartment is not air conditioned.  So, one of us gets up at about 4AM, when the city air has finally cooled to about 70 degrees F, to open the windows.   We go back to sleep.  I get up and close the apartment up at 7AM, when the risen sun begins to cook the city.  Awnings down, sheer drapes drawn, and fans running, we work at the computers.  At 3PM, we'd normally quit working and start walking, but not during the heat wave.  3PM is going to be siesta time for the next four days.

So I did my walking early yesterday and today.  Yesterday, I walked to the rue St. Charles, and continued up and down the full length of its open-air food market (Tuesdays and Fridays).  Today, I did the same at the market on Boulevard de Grenelle (Wednesdays and Sundays).  I walked some other shopping streets as well.  But shopping?   No.  It was too early in the day for that.

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.

Victory followed by a peaceful morning

July 11, 2018 -- The street market under the elevated tracks on the Boulevard de Grenelle was strangely uncrowded at 8:45AM.  Several of the vendor stalls were empty or still being set up.  The flow of shoppers was thin.  Why, I wondered?  This isn't August yet.  Of course, this is a holiday week -- Bastille Day is Saturday.  Then I suddenly remembered -- last night, France beat Belgium in the World Cup.  People celebrated long and hard last night, and were a bit late starting up at the market today.

A Japanese-garden-style walkway in the garden at the
Musée du Quai Branly.

We had the front and back windows open last night, as the three of us sat around talking after a casual dinner at home.  We could hear crowds of people sporadically cheering in cafés all around.  Tom pulled out his laptop and followed the blow-by-blow coverage of the game.  After each cheer, he told Dan and me what had just happened.

Then there was an explosive cheer and we learned that France won.  Now they'll face off with either England or Croatia on Sunday in Moscow.

France won the World Cup (in Paris!) in 1998, the first summer we spent here.  It was a memorable time.

We are not sports fans, but we do follow the Tour de France on TV.  I think the real reason that I watch the Tour is to see the scenery, particularly the helicopter videos of charming villages, chateaux, churches, mountains, rivers, lakes and forests.  This year's race started with views of the Atlantic coastline.  That was cool.

As I started my walk today, I noticed yet another competitor to Velib, in addition to Gobee.bike and Mobike (see yesterday's blog entry):  Donkey Republic.

I noted that Donkey Republic's slogan is in English:  Increase your bikeprint in the world.  English is everywhere.

Donkey Republic is one of several bike sharing services in Paris.

We recently met neighbors who are renting an apartment on the third floor.  They are Vickie and Raymond, from Shanghai.  They speak little French.  They rely on their English while they're living here in Paris.  We hear English spoken more and more, even here in this less touristy part of central Paris.

But to hear it spoken in our building by people other than us is unusual.

I saw many signs in English as I walked this morning.  I think it is official now:  English is a second language in Paris.

After walking the length of the Grenelle market, I turned toward the Champ de Mars.  Then I crossed it and headed for my favorite garden, at the Musée du Quai Branly.

Few people were in the garden, so it was a beautiful time to take photographs.  Enjoy!

Tables with umbrellas in a secluded spot.

Rebar fashioned into a trellis.  Seats are chunks of granite, smooth and polished on top.

This structure has a vegetated roof.

The museum currently has an exhibit of the works of James Barnor, a photographer from Ghana
who also lived in London.

The calm of mid-August

August 15, 2016 -- Not long ago, my friend Jean-Paul and I talked about how we like to just walk along through the market under the tracks at the Boulevard de Grenelle.  We usually don’t buy anything; we just walk along and look at all the goods, and all the people.  We’ve never done this together, of course, but separately.  Yet we know we’ve had the same experience, at the same market.

This Wednesday- and Sunday-morning market is one of many scattered throughout Paris, each with its own designated days of the week.  Most are just two days a week, in the morning, until 1PM.  A few are allowed to be open three days per week. Most of the booths sell food – produce, meat, poultry, eggs, cheese, foie gras, etc. – but many sell flowers, watches, shoes, clothing, costume jewelry, and more.

Evening on the balcony.

Tom is usually working on his textbook projects in the morning, but yesterday he opted to join me on my morning market walk.

There were plenty of people there, but not quite the crowds we’ve seen in the past.  And of course some of the market booth spaces were empty; that happens in August, when many vendors take their vacations.

Some of the empty spaces were taken over by oriental rug and furniture vendors.  The finer oriental rugs are like magnets to us, and we resist the urge to look closer.  In recent years, the U.S. has had an embargo against the import of Iranian rugs, and of course, those are often the finest ones on display.  The embargo was lifted this past January or February, as a small part of the landmark nuclear accord with Iran.

So now we COULD buy Iranian rugs, but we just aren’t in acquisitive mode.  As soon as Persian rug dealers notice what our eyes are drawn to, and then when they speak with us and discover that we know many of the names of various designs or the tribes who made them, they zero in on us.  It is hard to extricate oneself from the figurative grip of a good rug salesperson who knows just how addictive the love of Persian rugs can be.

Langoustine starter course at Axuria, on the Avenue Felix Faure.

We did well, taking in the sights yet avoiding the grip yesterday.  When we’d completed our tour of the colorful market, we veered off to the northeast to wander through the peaceful Place Dupleix.  We were surprised to armed soldiers patrolling the far edge of the Place, and we initially assumed that this was because that spot is near the Cuban embassy. 

We entered the middle of the little park and cut through to the other side, directly in front of the Saint Léon church.  Then we saw armed soldiers at the other end of the Place.  Church services were under way.  We concluded that the soldiers were guarding someone or some people in the church, not the Cuban embassy.

Today I see on the Saint Léon web site a notice in bright red, on the home page.  Here’s a translation:

SAFETY AWARENESS!
During the state of emergency, the doors of the main entrance of the church on the Place Dupleix will be closed during the Sunday services.

The Saint Léon church construction began in 1924, and in 1926, it became a parish independent of Saint John the Baptist of Grenelle (the church that is closest to our apartment).  Much of the beautiful Art Deco mosaic tile decoration of the Saint Léon church appears to be from the 1930s. 

We walked back to the apartment to have lunch, a simple salad.  In the evening, I donned a dress, and Tom put on his blazer, then we went for a circuitous hour-long walk that closely matched our wandering through the 15^th arrondissement on our first day in Paris together, back in 1998.

We discovered a FranPrix grocery store that was actually open until 10PM on this holiday weekend Sunday night!  It is at 143 Rue de Lourmel, at the intersection with the rues des Cevennes and Tisserand.  We stopped in to buy two boxes of zippered food storage bags, which we use as our own surreptitious doggy bags.  Tom usually has one in his jacket pocket when we go out in the evening.

Escargots prepared the traditional way, at Axuria.

On that first stroll in 1998, we got lost, but ended up at La Tour Eiffel brasserie in front of the St. John the Baptist church, where we found that we were no longer lost.  This time, we stopped to dine at Axuria, on the avenue Félix Faure, where I’d reserved a table about a week ago.  We could not get lost in the 15^th if we tried now, we know it so well.

I thought that the restaurant might be crowded since there are not many fine restos open in Paris on this mid-August holiday weekend.  (Today is the Catholic Church’s Feast of the Assumption – commemorating the day at the end of her earthly life when the Virgin Mary is taken up into heaven, body and soul.) 

As it turned out, only five tables were occupied as we completed our dinner – two singles, and three couples, including us.

People don’t know what they were missing.  Dinner was delicious, and the service was friendly and professional.  We were seated at a table in the window, right on the sidewalk.  We felt blessed.

Colorful leg of lamb for Sunday dinner at Axuria.

We began with a langoustine starter course.  Three of these tiny lobster tails were wrapped in a fine layer of crispy pastry, and served with a savory aspic topped with caviar.  Tom also ordered nine escargots, served in the traditional butter-parsley-garlic way.

As we enjoyed this beginning, a man in colorful Muslim attire walked past on the sidewalk, wishing us a “bon appetit.”  Tom responded, “merci, monsieur.”

Each of us ordered the tender leg of lamb for the main course, and of course Tom had to have the restaurant’s signature soufflé Grand Marnier for dessert. 

The incomparable soufflé Grand Marnier at Axuria.

That was a wonderful dinner, worthy of the Feast of the Assumption.  Tonight we’ll be dining at a slightly less formal place, Le Cap.  But I’m fairly certain that the food there will be wonderful in Le Cap’s own way.