Feeling the Love

Do Parisians like Americans?  Well, we're feeling the love here in Paris.

Maria the house cleaner was so happy to see us on Monday.  She not only gave us the two kisses, but also hugged us each enthusiastically.  She said we are good friends who only see each other once a year.  (That's because she goes on a couple months' vacation to see family in Portugal, and she leaves soon after the time we arrive.)  We kidded around about the miracle of a new vacuum cleaner appearing in the apartment this year.

Maria the guardienne (concierge) also bestowed kisses and bear hugs upon us.  We laughed, we joked, we asked about each others' families.  We talked about local real estate, and we all expressed our affection for this building in particular.

At AMALivre publisher/bookstore
near the Square Dupleix,
a tote bag is given if you buy books
in their American collection.

So far, three of the neighbors in the building have seen us.  Each one has been more than civil, more than cordial, more than merely friendly.  They've been friendly and enthusiastically welcoming, wishing us a delightful summer in Paris.  We're certainly not transient AirBnB people; we've been coming here since 1998, staying two or three months each year in the same apartment building.  I guess we're part of the family now.

At each of the restaurants we've dined in so far this Parisian summer, we've been not only recognized but also warmly greeted, emphatically welcomed, and served with gentle care.

Last night's restaurant is my favorite in Paris:  l'Alchimie.  Chef Eric Rogoff and his wife greeted us like long lost friends at the door and let us choose our table.  The blackboard was presented, with Madame Rogoff's meticulously neat, lovely handwritten deliciously descriptive words about gastronomic possibilities for the evening.

We selected the foie gras (always served in some creative fashion by Chef Eric -- this time, Asian style) and a shrimp and veggie tart for starter courses.  Then we each had a perfect sole meunière, which was served in the required pool of clarified butter, but with a broccoli flan instead of potatoes.  Delicious!

Sole Meunière at l'Alchimie, served with broccoli flan

For dessert, Tom indulged in a strawberry macaroon.  Strawberries are in season, of course, and French strawberries are the best (although the Belgians might disagree).

Strawberry macaroon at l'Alchimie.

We felt great when we left the restaurant and made the short walk home.  Before dinner, we walked up to the Champ de Mars so that Tom could see the Eiffel Tower up close for the first time this summer.  I'd seen it on my early morning walk the other day, while Tom was sleeping in, recovering from jet lag.

The big picnic/party on the Champ was in full swing.  Tourists and locals were scattered and lounging all over the lawn, mostly on blankets or tablecloths spread out on the battered grass.  The illegal vendors of Eiffel Tower trinkets had, for the most part, switched over to illegal selling of wine and beer.  It is illegal to consume alcoholic beverages in this park, but from what I can see, that law is never enforced.  Well, maybe it is if someone gets into a fight or something, but the scene is almost always convivial and harmless.

We enjoyed looking at the flowerbeds.  So many talented gardeners are employed by the City of Paris!  Their work is appreciated by us.  Tom found a blooming mimosa tree, which reminded him in a good way about his childhood, so he posed under it for a photo.  Doesn't he look pleased to be there?

Tom is happy beneath a blooming mimosa tree, just like the ones in Gaffney, SC, where he grew up.

I took another solo walk this morning, up to the Champ via the Square Dupleix, crossing over to the rue de Grenelle in the 7th arrondissement, and down the rue Cler, a pedestrianized market street.

In the Square Dupleix was the familiar, colorful June/July sight of the Gontelli's mini circus tent.  The little circus is closed now for a couple days, but soon will re-open with the bargain admission price of 5 euros per kid (and adult).

The Gontelli's little circus tent, set up by the playground in the Square Dupleix.

It was so early that the fruit and vegetable vendors on the rue Cler were still setting up, and delivery trucks were partially filling the brick pavement while their drivers toiled away at the task of unloading.  In another hour, they'd be gone.

Passing La Terasse brasserie at the corner across from the Ècole Militaire, I saw businessmen doing business over coffee, next to tables of early-rising tourists staring into coffee cups as they munched on croissants.  This is torture to someone who has not yet had coffee and is nearing the end of her daily 12 hour fast, but I'll survive.

This sign in the Square Dupleix is one of many in Paris
parks that are part of a war against rats.  The sign asks
park users to take particular care with disposing of their trash
at the park.

I walked by the Longines equestrian event site, temporarily set up at the Ècole Militaire end of the Champ de Mars.  I think this is the last day of that event.  As soon as the temporary bleachers, dozens of tents, fences, and horse trailers disappear, the City of Paris will begin preparations on the Champ for the fantastic Bastille day fireworks and concert production.  I can't wait; I adore that spectacle.

On the way home, I decided to try the Ernest & Valentin bakery for the first time because I like the looks of their country breads.  I selected a partial loaf of the Charenton 7 grain bread.  As I carried it home, I could feel some heat still emanating from the bread.

Somehow I managed not to eat it until I was home, showered, dressed for the day, and at the end of the 12 hour fast.  I'm ready for more of Paris now!

There's something about Paris

September 19, 2015 -- Even when we’re holed up all day, working at our computers, there’s something about being in Paris that is special.  Certainly we feel that something when we break out in the evening to walk and dine.  But we feel it even when we’re at home in the apartment, with the screen in front of us looking pretty much the same as it would look no matter where we could be – provided there’s an internet connection available.

Le Blavet is a river in France.

Maybe it is the light flowing through the balcony doors, even on a cloudy day.  Or maybe it is the sight of the geraniums through the sheer curtains.  Or maybe it is that view over the higgledy-piggledy rooftops – especially when I open those sheer curtains in the dining room.

I look down from the balcony and I see shops with everything we need for daily living and more.  I know I don’t need a car to run the daily errands. 

When the cashier at the grocery shows that he knows us, we feel just as much at home as we do in our small town back in Florida.  We feel that way even though we don’t know anywhere near as many people in Paris as we know in Florida. 

That’s by design.  We like the seclusion we enjoy in the big city.  People leave us alone, yet we know they’re out there.  Parisians care; they’re good people, with generous hearts and spirits.  When we’re out and about, we can rely on Parisians to be polite, except for the occasional odd duck, of course.  But the odd ducks seem to be amusing, somehow.

I love to see Parisians lined up out on the sidewalk, waiting their turns at the butcher’s counter so they can buy one of those heavenly-smelling roasted chickens on Saturday or Sunday.  Roasted chicken, leg of lamb, roasted potatoes – all steaming and waiting for the customers who are not steaming, but waiting patiently.

The blackboard in Le Blavet in July.

I love that “bonjour madame” that I hear as soon as I walk through the door of the wine shop or the fromagerie.  I love that exchange of merci-au revoir-bonne journée as I leave the shops.

I love the professional poise and decorum of the servers in the restaurants.  It is always a jolt when I hear a bubbly, “Hello, I’m Jennifer and I’ll be your server today” when we return to the U.S. and its plethora of casual dining spots.

Many Parisians – but not all of them – still have that casual elegance that seems to come so naturally to them.  Oh the scarves – even the men wear them well.

Parisians have an understated warmth, a hospitality, that is not unique to Paris.  I felt an abundance of that warm hospitality when we were in Rome, for example.

I remember a very rainy evening in Rome when we ducked under an awning over a shop’s entrance, just to wait for the rain to lighten up before we continued.

 

The shopkeeper came out with a worried look on her face.  I thought she was shooing us away, so, with disappointment on my face, I turned to leave.  She stopped us.  No, she was inviting us to come in to her warm, dry shop, even though we were dripping.  She was kind to strangers.

Last night it was raining as we walked to dinner at Le Blavet.  What would normally be a 20-minute stroll was a 15-minute brisk walk, because in the cold rain, one doesn’t stroll.  So we arrived at the restaurant 5 minutes early.

Decor at Le Blavet is a little stark.

We could see that the staff was still sitting around having after-dinner cigarettes inside, because it wasn’t quite opening time.  We stayed out under the awning, respecting their time and space.

When I thought it was 7:30 (but it was really 7:28), I turned around to open the door.  It was locked!  I was mildly shocked.

After a minute, the host came over to the door and looked at me like I was a bad child because it was a minute or two early.  There was no concern for customers waiting in the cold rain; customers who’d walked through the rain to get there.  He unlocked the door.  I didn’t forget that look on his face because it was not normal; that isn’t how Parisians normally behave.

Nevertheless, we were polite, saying “bonjour,” “merci,” “ça va,” as we entered and placed our dripping umbrellas in the proper receptacle.  We settled into our regular table in the front window.  I just wish the restaurant didn’t have bright klieg lights in that front window!  That light is too harsh for a romantic dinner.

Shrimp ravioli came in a buttery sauce with a parmesan crisp on top.

The chef did a wonderful job, and he’s the reason we love Le Blavet.  One of our starter courses, a foie gras entier with a roasted apple on a slice of spice bread, was scrumptious – almost as good as the last time we dined at Le Blavet.  The other starter, a shrimp ravioli, was very good, but the buttery sauce needed seasoning.  Fortunately there was salt and pepper on the table.  That isn’t always the case; often some restaurants’ staff believe that salt and pepper aren’t needed because their food is perfectly seasoned – as it should be.  In those places, you must ask for the salt and pepper if you want it.

A wonderful foie gras starter course.

Tom and I managed to have “surf and turf” by sharing our main courses – sole meuniere and a beef filet with foie gras on top, a couple of steamed potatoes and some scalloped potatoes.  All of it was excellent, but copious.  We used two ZipLoc bags to carry leftovers home.  Mort au gaspillage!

(We just had a little of the leftover foie gras on small toast slices for today’s lunch, with a few fresh raspberries from the Dia grocery on the side.)

Le Blavet structures its menu so you have three courses each.  Fortunately, the desserts we selected were light – one thin crepe with a few delicious cooked apple slices and a light caramel sauce, with a very small scoop of ice cream.  Very good, and manageable.

Other diners didn’t arrive until we were almost finished with dinner.  We were surprised the restaurant didn’t have more customers, because the food is so very good.  But we suspect the weak business is because of the restaurant’s copious 3-course menus.  The menus are reasonably priced, one at 26 euros for three courses, and one at 34 euros.  However, nobody enjoys wasting food.

We had a pleasant chat with an Asian-American family just before we left.  The daughter has recently started a job in Paris, and her parents are visiting.  We complimented the daughter on her choice of living in the 15^th arrondissement.

Sole meuniere.

We walked home alongside the Place du Commerce park, the heart of the Grenelle neighborhood, and enjoyed the smell of fresh rain on the chestnut trees, filtered light and laughter from the Commerce Café across the way.  

There’s something about Paris.

Bistrot or brasserie?

Last Monday, we’d stopped for tea and coffee in the late morning at a brasserie that we’d been admiring.  We enjoyed our break there, and I noticed one of my favorite dishes, aile de raie (skate) on the blackboard.  We decided to go there for dinner sometime this week.

Last night was the night.  We arrived at Les Trois Garçons brasserie at 7:30PM and were given a table in the middle of the dining room.  The only people out on the terrace were smokers; it was a cool, damp evening.

Les Trois Garçons, on Place du Comtat Venaissin

Soon after we arrived, the place began filling up with locals – mostly families.  That’s always a good sign.  Most people ordered one of the steaks – I think there were three choices.  Some had fries, some had puréed potatoes.

That’s probably what we should have ordered.  Instead, we had a mixed bag.

Tom ordered a country terrine as a starter; it was delicious.  I ordered a burratta, and it was too much cheese and too little else.

Napkins in cubbyholes at Les Trois Garçons.

For the main course, Tom ordered pork medallions stuffed with foie gras – very good! And very small.  I had a mullet that was supposed to be done in meunière fashion (the skate was no longer on the menu).  There was nothing meunière about it, although the fish was very good.  The overcooked veggies that came with it were not, however.

We shared the tart of the day – a fig tart flavored with anise and served on a sablé crust.  Yummy!  And attractive.

The price for this brasserie dinner?  75 euros (no discount).  That was too much for what it was.  I will say that the food came out of the kitchen quickly at Les Trois Garçons; for those in a hurry, this might matter.

Compare this brasserie dinner to the dinner we had at the bistrot, Le Blavet, the night before.  You can see the photos of the food on yesterday’s posting.

For the same price – 75 euros with no discount – we each had three courses, plus a mis en bouche.

For a starter, I had a beautiful tartelette aux tomates cerises, oignons confits, sardines grillée.   Tom’s starter was some foie gras entier (i.e., not a paté) that melted in the mouth, served with a roasted apple slice on spice bread with a fruity sauce.  Delicious, and beautiful.

Wallace fountain next to Les Trois Garçons.

My main course -- slices of duck breast in a powerful sweet-and-sour sauce served with rich scalloped potatoes, and roasted apple and prune, with a homemade olive-and-anchovy flavored cracker -- was a beautiful and sensuous creation.  There was a plethora of rich flavors on that plate.

Tom had a true sole meunière, although I thought it should have had some of the butter sauce with it on the plate.  Nevertheless, it was delicious.  Really delicious.  And Tom did a great job of de-boning it.

Tom had a fandarole of several small desserts, and I had a homemade apple pie (tarte tatin).  I will say that the fig tart at Les Trois Garcons was superior to these desserts at Le Blavet. But dessert is not the most important course, in my opinion.

Needless to say, I had to use a ZipLoc back to surreptitiously take some of the food home from Le Blavet.

There was no comparison between Le Blavet, the bistrot, and LesTrois Garçons, the brasserie, for 75 euros.  This is not unusual.  The bistrot is better value almost every time.  That’s why we’ve only gone to brasseries a very few times this summer.

Vive le bistrot!

Excellent fig tart at Les Trois Garçons.

Dear Reader

September 12, 2015 -- In the same way that I disapprove of the news media reporting too much on themselves, I also don’t want this journal to call attention to itself.  Nevertheless, today I’m going to reach out to Paris Journal readers in Venezuela, Indonesia, and Thailand.  A little later, I’ll get to those readers in France, too.

A Wallace fountain in the square in front of the town hall for
the 15th arrondissement.

Blogger.com keeps statistics on the pageviews by country.  That’s how I know this Paris Journal has readers in Venezuela, Indonesia, and Thailand.  I also know that the Journal has readers in Ireland and Mexico, but I think I know who they are:  my friends Carolyn S. and Debby H. W.

So, if you don’t mind my asking, dear readers in Venezuala, Indonesia, and Thailand, what do you like about this Paris Journal?  What don’t you like about it?  How did you learn of its existence?  Why do you read it?  Or do you just look at the photographs?

You can send me a message at barbarajoycooley@facebook.com .  I’d love to hear from you.

I’m not surprised at all that the Paris Journal receives plenty of pageviews from France.  But I am surprised at the number.  I can only guess that some of these are from restaurant owners or managers in Paris.  Since I write about Paris restaurants, photograph their food and dining rooms, am a senior contributor on TripAdvisor, and have achieved “gastronome” status on lafourchette.com (simply by dining out so frequently using the lafourchette.com reservation service), a few of them might be curious to see what I have to say, or show, in the Journal.

Today, social service and other associations have an information fair on the square in front of the 15th's town hall.
This is an annual event that happens every September.

So for those Parisian restaurateurs, I have a special contribution today: an explanation for why Tom and I prefer the menu in French to the menu in English.

English is a tricky language.  Translating a French menu (carte) into English requires not only a thorough knowledge of the English language, but also a knowledge of cuisine and how we English speakers communicate about it. 

The mis en bouche given to us at Le Blavet, where we dined last night.

Translations by those who aren’t up to the task can result in some amusing bloopers (mistakes).  Sometimes, these bloopers are far more than amusing.  They can be outrageously funny, just as funny surely as some of the mistakes that Tom and I make in French.

Richard Lederer, author of The Bride of Anguished English, has collected a sampling of some of these menu bloopers for one chapter of his book.  If you don’t understand why some of these are funny, then please write to me (email address above) and ask; I will explain what's wrong and funny for each and any one of them.  Here goes:

Whores Dover

Gritty Balloons in Soup

Barely Soup

Fisherman’s Crap Soup

Limpid Red Beet Soup with Cheesy Dumplings in the Form of a Finger

Soap of the Day

Salad

Salad, a Firm’s Own Make

Groin Salad

Meat

Buff Steak

Warm Little Dogs

Calf Pluck

Roast Beast

Sir Loin Steak

Gut Casserole

Hambugger

Dreaded Veel Cutlets

Pork with Fresh Garbage

Boiled Sheep

Sour Pig’s Fore Shamk

Special Big Leg

Meat Dumping

Beef Rashers Beaten Up in the Country People’s Fashion

Tortilla Topped with Chili, Melted Cheese, Sour Cream, and Glaucoma

Live Wurst

Seafood

Muscles in Sailor’s Sauce

Drunken Prawns in Spit

Shrimp in a Casket

Dead Shrimp on Warm Vegetables

Sea Blubber in a Spicy Sauce

Desserts

Pie Tongue

Honey Do

Tart of the House

Chocolate Mouse Tort

Finest Moldy Cheese

Strawberry Crap

Lady’s Finger

Chocolate Sand Cookies

Pustache Ice Cream

Fire Pudding with Hard Sauce

Rice Kooky

Beverages

White Whine

Cock and Tail

Fried Milk

Turkey Coffee

Lemon Jews

Garlic Coffee

Floating Iceberg

Special Cocktails for Women with Nuts

By now, I hope all the journal readers who are native speakers of English are in stitches.  Tom and I enjoyed reading excerpts of Lederer’s book so much that we’ve ordered a hardcover copy for our home.  We’ll put it in the guest bathroom or bedroom for our visitors’ enjoyment.

Tartelette aux tomates cerises, oignons confits, sardines grillee, 

There are additional reasons why we want the French menu, and not the English translation, when we dine in Paris restaurants.  The main reason is that it is less confusing for us; we are accustomed to the menu in French, when it comes to French cuisine.  There are many dishes I know well only by their French names, and I must think hard or do research to decide what these would be called in English.  This is particularly true for fish, since species vary from one part of the globe to the other; there sometimes aren’t exact translations to American English.

Some of the English menus in Parisian restaurants are accurate enough, but they still do not convey the magic of French cuisine; the English words do not sound right, they just don’t feel right.  As Tom explains it occasionally, when he asks for the French menu instead of the English one that’s been given to him, “Le goût est mieux en français”  (the taste is better in French).

Foie gras entier on spice bread with a roasted apple.

On a very few sad occasions, we have noticed that the English menu at certain unnamed restaurants did not list the best specials, or the better values, at all.  This is a blatant attempt to fleece the tourists, and we do not approve.  Fortunately, this only happens rarely.  [I think I have never seen this done in Florida, but the only foreign language menus I’ve seen there are in Spanish, and I don’t read Spanish very well.  Most Spanish-speaking tourists in Florida are those from Latin America, and they tend to visit the east coast (Miami) area, not so much the Gulf coast, where we live.]

Le Blavet's superb magret de canard with sweet and sour sauce, roasted apples, and scalloped potatoes.
The pointy cracker in the middle is flavored with tapenade (olives) and anchovy paste.

We do have plenty of French Canadian tourists in Florida during the winter (peak season), but they are very accustomed to having to read English, and so menus translated into French are rare in Florida.

When we dine out in Paris with friends who do not speak French, I’m happy to explain the menu to them.  Usually we will ask for English menus for our non-French speaking friends, but we stick with the French menus for ourselves.  And I still need to explain the menu to our friends, because important aspects of some dishes can be omitted, improperly translated, or not really translated at all.

Sole meuniere at Le Blavet, on the rue Lourmel.  Our dinner there last night was superb, and reasonably priced.

The best solution, in my opinion, is to offer French menus to English speakers, and forget about translating menus into English.  English speakers will understand far more than you think; we already know about cassoulet and bouillabaisse, for example.  Much wonderful French cuisine and language has worked its way into our culture through the centuries.  And there is no need to translate “tarte” into “pie.”  English speakers know what “fromage” is.  They often know far more French than they realize.

(Remember when George W. Bush said, “The French have no word for ‘entrepreneur’”?)

I think it is better for a French restaurant to offer no printed menu translation to English.  Instead, have a server available who can answer some questions in English.  The blackboard listing daily specials, which is almost never translated into English, will still need some interpretation.  Some of that is needed because European handwriting is very different from American handwriting, and to the uninitiated, those handwritten blackboards can be difficult to read. 

In Parisian restaurants where we are known, we have been asked, from time to time, to translate a particularly difficult word for the benefit of a table of English speakers.  For example, Chef Eric at l’Alchimie recently asked us to translate “pintade” when he was trying to explain his menu to a young American couple.

“Guinea fowl,” we cheerfully answered.  But realizing that this translation wasn’t enough, I quickly added, “It is like especially delicious chicken.”  This was necessary because many Americans still won’t know what “guinea fowl” is.   So a strict translation would not have been adequate; a bit of an explanation was needed.  We really don’t mind being asked to do this at all.

We aren’t just translating words; we’re translating culture and art.