Seizieme et Quinzieme -- so nice

September 10, 2015 -- We were strolling along the avenue Mozart in the 16^th arrondissement, when I noticed that we were at the intersection with the rue Serge Prokofiev.  Mozart eclipsed Prokofiev in breadth and grandeur.  Prokofiev was even overshadowed by the prefect Claude Erignac, who had a plaza named after him in this spot that is also home to the gendarmerie (police station) for the arrondissement.

Place du Prefet Claude Erignac

The Place du Préfet Claude Erignac is a gracious yet modest Art Deco space.  Shade trees protect it from the sun, and its setback from the avenue gives it relative calm.  With the police station right there, and its location in the middle of the chic 16^th, it is a place where you might feel safe and relaxed enough to take an afternoon siesta on a bench.  One gentleman was doing just that.

I’d mentally mapped out an hour and forty minute walk for us – up to and across the Pont Mirabeau, uphill on the rues Rémusat and George Sand, right along the avenue Mozart, and back downhill on the rues de l’Assomption and Boullainvilliers to the Pont de Grenelle.  Most of this territory we’d seen before, but we’d not been over there this summer.  And some of the streets we’ve not yet explored.

There aren’t so many major attractions in the 16^th, and that’s the way this arrondissement’s residents like it.  Calm.

So who was this prefect, Claude Erignac, whose name is important enough to have a Place that overshadows Prokofiev’s street?  I consulted Wikipedia.

He was not a prefect in the mainland of France; he was prefect on the island of Corsica.  He was not from Corsica originally, but rather from Lozere, in the south of France.  He went to Corsica to take the job of prefect of the southern part of the island in 1996.  On February 6, 1998, he was assassinated.  His murderer – a Corsican nationalist -- was found guilty three times and then sentenced to life in prison.

In the summer of that year of 1998, Tom and I were given the task of chaperoning a study abroad session for some Ohio State University students in Bath, England.  The program was only six weeks long; so when it ended, we still had a month and a half before Tom had to be back on duty, teaching, in Ohio.  Why leave Europe?  We just decided, “Let’s go to France!”  

Fortunately, this apartment in Paris, which we’d just heard about in mid-February 1998 while canoeing on the Sanibel River, became magically and immediately available to us that August.

That’s how we started summering in Paris.  This is our 18^th summer here.

As we turned down the rue de l’Assomption, I thought perhaps we’d never walked on that street before.  But then I saw an unusual red brick building with white gingerbread trim, and I remembered it from one of our first summers – from one of our first walks up into the 16^th.

Sister Marie Eugenie de Jesus is a founder of the Religious Order
of the Assumption, headquartered on the rue de l'Assomption.

The rue de l’Assomption seems to be home to a number of substantial properties owned by the Roman Catholic Church.  One is named for the nun who started the religious order of the Assumption.  Her image is emblazoned on a couple of the buildings.  Such an icon. 

When the rue de l’Assomption ended, we crossed the Place du Dr. Hayem and began our way down the rue de Boulainvilliers.  We passed by the huge, round Radio France building, which is still undergoing some renovation, and by the amusingly named Café de l’Ogre.  An “ogre” is probably what some people called the Radio France building when it was first built.

We admired the Statue of Liberty again, this time from the right bank foot of the Pont de Grenelle.  I realize now that Liberty is facing west and south – she is facing in the direction of her big sister Statue of Liberty in New York.  (Paris is far north of New York City, and obviously very far east of it.)

We finished our walk with the very familiar rue Linois and avenue Emile Zola.  In the evening, we were out again on the avenue Emile Zola, making our way to dinner at l’Épopée.

That’s where Tom especially wanted to go.  

I know that my favorite restaurant this year is l’Alchimie.  I asked Tom what his favorite for this year would be.  It took him a while to decide, but then he said, “Le Pario.”  Le Pario has exceptionally inventive and delicious food, and the service is ultra-professional.  The décor is elegant, and it is a true haven with real air conditioning on a hot summer evening.  I can see why he selects it.

But we both are very fond of l’Épopée. 

Dinner began with a mis en bouche of crème fraiche, herbs, and tomato purée.  It was exceptionally good; it awakened the taste buds.

Our starter course of chicken and mushrooms in a pastry was fine.  But the main courses stole the show.  Mine was a tender piece of cod, encrusted with peppercorns and served with softly cooked, colorful veggies and a carrot purée.  Tom’s was a tasty beef filet.  We shared a dessert of profiteroles with rich, dark chocolate sauce.

Cod encrusted with peppercorns, served with veggies and pureed carrots.

Cool, early autumn air greeted us as we left the restaurant.  This year, I am enjoying September in Paris more than ever.  That’s because we’re in the 15^th, living among Parisians, in a very civilized fashion.  We’re here in this sunny, familiar apartment, in a good old building where we know the neighbors, and they are nice.

Back in Little Teheran Again

September 9, 2015 – Last Friday evening, we invited our friends Ron and Elisabeth from the 6^th arrondissement and Jim and Maddy from Sanibel (who are staying in the 6^th arrondissement) over to our place for a glass of champagne, then the six of us walked around the corner to dine at Le Café Du Commerce.  The conversation was lively and we had a good time.  The four of them had arrived together in a taxi, and they left together in an Uber car.  Their Uber experience was a good one, and the cost was less than half the taxi fare.

The metro would have been even less, but for anyone with mobility issues, it is nearly impossible.  The metro involves taking lots of stairs and walking some distance.

The firehouse (caserne de pompiers) at 6 Place Violet, as seen through the Parc Violet on the rue de l'Eglise.
This building had been the home of the entrepreneur and developer of the Beaugrenelle quarter.  It was built in the
Neo-Palladian style in 1824, and is now on the national historic register.

Jim and Maddy had lived in Iran for a few years in the 1970s just before the revolution because Jim was employed by a big accounting firm that sent him there.  The experience of living there was good for them, but the experience of having to leave under the circumstances at the time was harrowing. 

They were interested in what I’d written about “Little Teheran” here in the 15^th , so I let them know that after our positive experience of dining at Guylas on the rue des Entrepreneurs, I’d made a Lafourchette.com reservation for Perchiana, on the rue Mademoiselle, last night.  They decided that they’d like to join us, so they made a Lafourchette.com reservation, too.

Perchiana was very small, so much so that we said “bonsoir” to others who entered.  This included a couple of mature men who sat in a corner nearby, and a young man who sat at a table right next to Tom and me.

Inevitably, at the end of the dinner, we all were involved in a conversation.  The two mature men – one middle aged, one older – were originally from Teheran, and the young man’s parents were from there as well.  The young man mostly listened, interjecting comments only a couple times as he ate his dinner and charged his cell phone. 

The mature men, however, really wanted to talk – especially when they realized Jim and Maddy had lived in Iran.  We spoke in French and sometimes in English.  Most of the exchange was between Jim and the middle-aged man who, I believe, said he had a family in the U.S. and had received his Ph.D. in the U.S.  Both of the men had been professors; the older one had been at the university in Teheran.

At some point well into our conversation, the middle-aged Iranian man was very complimentary of the Obama administration’s negotiation of the nuclear deal with Iran.  Tom and I said, “Thank you!” quite emphatically to the man, and then we both turned immediately to Jim and said, “Sorry Jim.”  If we hadn’t done that, I think the Iranian men would have assumed we all supported President Obama on this issue, when in reality only half of us did (just like the U.S. voting population). 

The men repeatedly said that there is a lot of pro-American sentiment in Iran; several times they jokingly referred to Iran as the 53^rd state of the U.S.  (I guess 51 and 52 must be Puerto Rico and the U.S. Virgin Islands?)

The food we were served was good, but the starter courses were awkwardly served with no rice;  both of them were sauces.  On the main plates, the grilled brochettes were very similar to what we’d had at Guylas.  We should have asked for all the dishes to be brought to the table all together.  Jim said the separate starter-main course arrangement just doesn’t make sense with Persian food.

At the end of that fascinating dinner, we all said goodbye to each other, and Tom and I walked with Jim and Maddy to the bus stop nearby.  They had arrived by bus, as well; they’d discovered that the number 70 bus goes right from the Place Saint Sulpice in the 6th  to the street in front of Perchiana in the 15th.  How convenient!

Now that was a bonne soirrée!

Imagine that, in Paris

A favorite Art Nouveau building at the corner of the avenue
Felix Faure and the Place Etienne Pernet.

September 8, 2015 – To be able to stay through the month of September in this apartment in the 15^th arrondissement is a blessing, for many reasons.  The sunlight that floods the double living-room as the sun sits lower in the sky, the coolness of the air sifting through the slightly open windows, the re-opening of some favorite neighborhood spots, following weeks of vacation closings  -- these are some of my favorite things about September here.

And now, we can add Maria to the list.  Maria normally cleans this apartment every Monday, ten months out of the year.  But she goes home to Portugal for the months of July and August, so we’d never met her.  Now she’s back, and we’re still here.  We met her for the first time when she arrived at the door late yesterday morning.

We clicked.  Tom and I liked her, and she seemed to like us, instantly.  Our French was perfectly adequate for communicating with her, and her French was very easy for us to understand – unlike the other Maria, the guardienne, who is a lovely person also from Portugal; but Maria the guardienne has a thick accent combined with little enunciation.  We love Maria the guardienne, but it is harder for us to converse with her.

After our cheerful meeting, we left

Maria the cleaner to her work.  We went for a walk.

Tom needed more coffee, so we decided to check out the brasserie called Les Trois Garcons on the Place du Comtat Venaissin, near the park behind the Saint John the Baptist of Grenelle church.  For us, the weather was a bit too chilly for sitting outside for coffee, so the server motioned for us to sit either at the bar or on a cozy weathered-leather loveseat sitting by an equally weathered leather chair and coffee table in a front corner window.

The interior of Au Trois Garcons

We chose the loveseat.  I ordered Marco Polo tea, and Tom had an espresso. We talked and watched the server make his preparations for the lunch crowd, which would begin to arrive in about an hour.  We admired all the old wood paneling, the zinc bar, the ceramic mosaic tiled floor, and the old-fashioned, simple bentwood brasserie chairs.   The tables were the classic bistro squares, with heavy, black, ornate cast iron pedestals.

The music on the sound system was funky rhythm and blues – American, of course.  We felt at home.  I noticed, on one of the blackboards stashed behind the leather armchair next to me, that aile de raie is on the menu at the Trois Garcons.  We’ll have to dine there sometime so I can check that out.

We paid our tab, said good day, and began a leisurely stroll up the rue de Javel and the rue de l’Eglise.  This year, I am coming to a deeper appreciation of the rue de l’Eglise.  

Yesterday, we were captivated by a modern single-family house that has been constructed on a small lot at the corner of the rue de l’Eglise and the impasse de l’Eglise. 

Modern single-family townhome on the rue de l'Eglise.

It is brick, with a slate mansard and some large windows.  It is built in a lean-to style right up against an older and taller apartment building on the rue de l’Eglise.  On the impasse side, the house has a small walled-in garden shaded by a couple of trees.

I could imagine a Parisian who was absolutely frustrated and fed up with syndic boards (like coop boards or condo associations) but who was also determined to live in central Paris, who desperately searched and searched for a small lot in a residential area with all the amenities that Parisians require – I could imagine that Parisian finally finding this spot, hiring the architect, and pressing through all the hassles of building with steely determination.  And finally, I can imagine that Parisian’s joy at this final product, this inviting home of one’s own.

A little farther down the street we saw another modern building, this one several stories high, with a sleek modern façade and overlapping, alternating, undulating balconies.  One corner of the building was wrapped by floor-to-ceiling windows.  I could imagine that this was a location of one of the many former factories in the 15^th arrondissement – one of many that were demolished to make way for apartment buildings from the 1920s to the present.

At the rue Saint Charles and the rue

Le Bon Panneton bakery at the rues de l'Eglise and Saint Charles.

de l’Eglise we encountered a sizable bakery that was obviously far better than average.  I could tell by the people lined up inside, intently waiting to purchase their carbs.  I could also tell by the gorgeous creations on display in its front window, on the rue Saint Charles side.  And I could tell by the brilliant blue paint and sparkling windows forming its façade.  This must be one of that neighborhood’s important landmarks.

We turned up the rue Saint Charles, passing by the sprawling Zola Color hardware and housewares store, and continued on to Beaugrenelle.  Tom was ready for lunch, and we wanted to try Eclectic again.  It is an ultra-modern brasserie facing the riverfront at Beaugrenelle on the rue Linois.

Soon we had a table near the window, with a view of the terrace and riverfront and brilliant blue sky.  Funky American music played on the sound sytem.  The server showed us the prix fixe menu, which would

have been tempting if that were to be our main meal of the day, but we had plans for La Table d’Hubert in the evening.

So Tom selected crab spring roll, and I chose a croque madame at Eclectic.  The server asked me if I wanted fries or a salad with my croque. I really didn’t want either, but since he implied that this came with the croque, I asked Tom if he wanted fries.  He certainly did – I could tell by the expression of craving on his face.  So I said, “frites, s’il vous plait.”

Salmon and vegetables aumoniere (above, and below) at La Table d'Hubert

What a good choice that was.  The fries were superb – cooked in truffle oil, thin, hot and crispy on the outside.  Oooh la la.

The croque was impressive, too.  Instead of being made with ordinary bread, it was almost like a pastry, pressed together with the ham and cheese in the middle and a fried egg on top.  Tom’s spring rolls were a little less impressive, but at that point, we didn’t care.  Lunch was good, and scenic.

When we’d finished, we thought it was time to return to the

apartment.  Maria would have completed her work and be gone.  We look forward to her next visit, next Monday.

In the evening, we had that nice half-hour walk down to La Table d’Hubert along the leafy avenue Felix Faure.  After we were seated at our usual table in the front window, I noticed that a movie crew was working across the street.  Red-and-white plastic tape blocked off a number of parking and delivery spaces in front of and near the Mozart bakery across the street.  A little later, more tape was stretched out to block the parking and delivery spaces in front of La Table

d’Hubert.    We have no idea what is being filmed and we don’t care because we see this sort of thing so often.  But I can imagine that it irritates some in the neighborhood, to lose those parking spaces.

Dinner began with Hubert bringing us complimentary kir and homemade cheese/charcuterie crisps/biscuits.  We followed this with a shared starter of charcuterie and homemade fig preserves.  Hubert’s charcuterie is high-quality stuff, and the preserves were delicious.

We each ordered the plat du jour, called salmon en papillote, but I would have called it an aumoniere.  Details.  The aumoniere was made of aluminum foil, and with a bit more work, could have been formed into one of those aluminum foil swans that some fancy U.S. restaurants know how to make for holding your leftovers.

We imagined teaching a class in leftover containers to Parisian restaurant proprietors.  We’d start by having them each make an aluminum foil swan, just to break the ice.

While we waited for the main course, we watched Hubert debone another dorade royale for another older lady, just as we’d done last week.  We listened to a diverse group of six people from heaven-knows-where, who were chatting non-stop in non-native English at a table near us.  We once again enjoyed the fine American jazz that Hubert plays on the restaurant’s sound system.

Dinner arrived at the table.  The salmon and vegetables in the aumoniere were hot and steamy, and were bathed in a flavorful herb-and-butter sauce.  The green salad was a strange garniture for this dish – rice would have made more sense.  But the aumoniere was so wonderful that I didn’t give the garniture much thought.

Hubert got confused and brought us the wrong dessert – a white chocolate tarte, when we’d ordered a chocolate-and-caramel tart.  He realized his error and then insisted that we have both – one on the house.

We could hardly believe the bill when it arrived.  With the Lafourchette discount, the total was only 22.50 for this dinner for two!  And it was delicious, through and through.  Imagine that, in Paris.

Diving for dinners

September 7, 2015 -- Dumpster diving for food –we’ve seen it on a number of occasions in recent years, but we hadn’t seen it this year in Paris, until we were on our way home from a few hours of walking in the afternoon yesterday.  Near the Cuban Embassy and the Place Dupleix, we saw a man sorting through the green poubelles in an orderly fashion, slowly filling his large fabric shopping bag.  He wanted the food others had rejected.

Yesterday was a beautiful day to walk in Paris.

In a way, this is a long-observed tradition in France.  The very origin of classic French foods like andouillette, tete de veau, kidneys, livers, pig’s feet, etc., is the fact that the poorer people got the unwanted parts of the animals, the parts that were left over after the richer people got the steaks, roasts and chops. 

French people are clever and talented when it comes to food.  Long ago, they learned to use the less desirable parts of the animals to make classic comfort foods.  They used the rejects to make wonderful dishes.

We discussed this over dinner, as Tom dined on fine lamb chops and I was very pleased to have an excellent tete et lange de veau (calf’s head and tongue) at Pere Claude.  It was a fine Sunday dinner over which we talked about dumpster diving and other matters.  Tom told me about the textbook chapter he just finished writing; I told Tom what I’d learned about a new French regulation dealing with food waste.

In May, the French national assembly passed a law to forbid supermarkets from deliberately ruining food that it puts out in dumpsters.  Some supermarkets were evidently pouring bleach on this food so that the dumpster divers could not use it.  Ostensibly, the supermarkets were preventing people from being poisoned by spoiled food; but one could also argue that the supermarkets were preventing poor people from getting free food, forcing them to buy food instead – or go hungry.

Bridal photo shoot on the rue de l'Universite.

Those supermarkets made hungry people feel like they were wrong to want this food.  Now, we thought, the tables have been turned; the national assembly made it clear that those supermarkets were in the wrong.

Now the supermarkets larger than 400 square meters could not legally destroy unsold food; instead, these businesses must have a contract with a charity to give the food away.  They must try to give the food away in an orderly fashion.  I believe this is commonly done by U.S. supermarkets.

Unfortunately, on August 15, the new law was scrapped due to a technicality since it was passed as an amendment to another law.  Still, some major supermarket chains vow that they will sign contracts with charities voluntarily.  And there is a new law that may be introduced in the French parliament.

Besides the charities, there is a “foraging movement” in France.  Activists wear gloves to retrieve food from dumpsters, then sort it and give it to people who need it.  Some of these activists are worried that people will think a new law is a “silver bullet” for solving the problem of supermarket food waste.  They see a bigger problem involving overproduction and distribution.

In a way, they’re right.  According to government estimates,  most of the food wasted in France (67%) is thrown out by consumers.  Only 15 percent of it comes from restaurants and 11 percent from stores.  The cost of all this wasted food?  20 billion euros.

The Champ de Mars.

After the passage of the French law in May, one of its champions proceeded to then pressure the European parliament to adopt a resolution that would be similar.  This champion’s name is Arash Derambarsh.

Derambarsh was born in Paris, but his parents were Iranians who fled from the revolution. For some reason, they went back to Iran a few months after his birth in 1979, so he lived in Iran until 1983.  He considers himself to be franco-persian, but he is of French nationality.  His dad, a filmmaker, and his uncle, a cartoonist, encouraged Derambarsh’s interest in politics and social justice.  So he became a lawyer, and he has been one of those people who put on gloves, dove the dumpsters or foraged in the poubelles, and gave the food to the poor.  The illegality of this act is what propelled Derambarsh to work towards changing the law.

I wish him well in his efforts to help feed the world.  But in addition to endeavors by champions like Derambarsh, we must work to reduce the amount of food wasted in our homes.  If the statistics in the U.S. are anything like the ones in France, an enormous amount of food is being wasted at home and abroad.

Think about it every time you go to the grocery.

Sources:

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/may/22/france-to-force-big-supermarkets-to-give-away-unsold-food-to-charity

http://www.lemonde.fr/societe/article/2015/04/06/arash-derambarsh-l-hyperactiviste-contre-le-gaspillage-alimentaire_4610510_3224.html

http://www.foodnavigator.com/Policy/France-s-food-waste-law-scrapped-on-a-technicality 

Just say "NON" to Gaspillage

September 6, 2015 -- “Gaspillage” --  To an Anglophone, it’s a word that sounds like some form of severe indigestion.  In reality, it is the French word for “waste,” and it is particularly being used these days to discuss the problem of food waste.  Two kinds of food waste concern restaurants and their customers.

Some of the eclectic decor at l'Alchimie.

First, there are the products that have not been served and must be thrown out, as required by regulations, from the kitchen.

Second, there is the food left on the plate.  That’s today’s topic.

In 2009, a “gastronomie collective” called Mille et un Repas (A Thousand and One Meals) began its “Zero Gaspil” campaign.  This affected mainly school cafeterias, as far as I’ve been able to discern.  First, the cafeterias eliminated the classic cafeteria lines, and replaced them with “islands” like the salad bars we’re familiar with – except that some islands have hot food, and some have cold food like salads, gazpacho, fruit, breads and pastries.

Then the kids were taught to take only what they were pretty sure they’d eat.  The kids even clear their own plates and stack them in the trays that go into the dishwashers!  These simple steps reduced the average food waste from 167 grams per plate to 10 grams per plate!

For other kinds of food operations, some working groups were formed in 2013 to develop a “covenant” against food waste.  The main objective of the covenant is to halve the amount of food waste in France by 2025.

Following the success of Mille et un Repas and the forming of the covenant, commercial restaurants are now just beginning to embrace the idea of reducing food waste with the support of the UMIH Restauration – the main association of restaurateurs in France.  UMIH stands for Union des Métiers et des Industries de l’Hôtellerie, but I think it is more of a professional association than what we think of as a "union," as in "labor union."  The organization is for people who run restaurants, hotels, night clubs, and cafes.

In July, UMIH announced that it is engaging in a campaign to promote the use of doggy bags to address the problem of food waste.  Not having a word for such an item, the French are using the English "doggy bag." We’ll see how effective the UMIH effort is.  I’m a little dubious, because so far it seems that UMIH’s main activity has been to sign a contract with a company called TakeAway, which then sells expensive boxes and bags to the restaurants, for use in packing up customers’ leftovers.

While hundreds of restaurants throughout France have signed up to be TakeAway clients, only one restaurant in Paris has done so, according to the TakeAway web site.  I think it would be better to have an all-out publicity campaign to promote doggy bags nationally.

A friend of mine was under the impression that it is illegal for restaurants to give doggy bags in France.  My research indicates that it is illegal, perhaps, for restaurants to give away leftover food from the kitchen.  But according to UMIH, the restaurant’s responsibility for the food ends from the time the meal is delivered to the customer’s table.  From that point on, the restaurant is not responsible for the conditions in which the meal is stored and consumed.

So, our use of our ZipLoc bags is perfectly legitimate, even if it may be unconventional.  But it would be better if the restaurant would provide containers.  These don’t have to be the expensive, fancy ones that TakeAway sells.  The kind used by the ubiquitous Chinese takeouts (and by the Stephane Martin restaurant) – a recyclable plastic dish sealed with cellophane film on top – is ideal.  The newer paperboard boxes used by some American restaurants are also fine.  But polystyrene (“Styrofoam”) is to be avoided, for environmental reasons (petroleum product, difficult to recycle, bad for landfills).

The need to reduce food waste is obviously an environmental concern.  But there is also a socioeconomic angle here.  Food is becoming scarcer, and so food prices have risen just about everywhere.  Now there is a flood of refugees entering Europe.  As one Syrian refugee recently said in Hungary, “We don’t want to stay in Hungary.  It is a poor country.  They cannot even afford to give us any food.”  (Related:  See my entries for July 25 and 26, with photos of Syria and information about the Maison des Journalistes and exiled photojournalist Muzaffar Salman, a Syrian refugee in Paris.)

The refugees are rightfully interested in going to the places where there is more hope of someday finding a job.  They want to go to countries like Germany, Britain, and France.   How will these countries be able to feed them all?  Eliminating or greatly reducing food waste in these wealthier places is a good place to start.

Rib steak with emulsion savora, servd with hash browned potatoes.

We did our part to reduce food waste last night at l’Alchimie, on the rue Letellier.  

Our starter course, which we shared, was a delicious slice of foie gras with a layer of fig confiture in the middle, and a layer of wine jelly on the top edge. There was no waste there; not one bit.

Tom had a rib steak .  It was topped with a bright yellow “emulsion savora.”

According to SimplyGourmand.com, “The recipe of Savora dates back to 1899. The French are partial to this unique condiment, made of mustard seeds, cinnamon, Cayenne pepper, nutmeg, curcuma, cloves, celery, garlic, tarragon, vinegar and a touch of honey.”  So it is basically a spicy honey mustard.

Bar aux poivrons, ecrasee de charlotte a tapenade.

Tom ate most of the steak and all of the emulsion savora.  The leftover steak he put into the ZipLoc bag, which will serve him well for lunch today.  Likewise, my bass was large enough that I put some of it, along with the olive-potato mix, into the bag.  That’s my lunch.

For dessert, we shared a moelleaux au chocolat, and I swear that Chef Eric upgraded the type of chocolate since the last time we had this dish.  It was wonderfully deep and rich – as rich as the moelleaux at Stephane Martin’s – but less expensive.

Chef Eric was still doing all the serving himself.  We wonder who he has working in the kitchen whom he trusts so well.  A man who looked like he was from Pakistan or Bangladesh had entered the restaurant ahead of us, and he went directly back to the kitchen.  Could it be him?  Whoever is back there, stays there.  We will have to ask Eric about it next time we dine at l’Alchimie.  We’d love to meet the alchemist’s apprentice!

Moelleux au chocolat.

And there will certainly be a next time, and a time after that, etc.  Right now, l’Alchimie is still my favorite restaurant in Paris.

Through the eyes of Sophia

September 5, 2015 -- Nathaniel and Sophia Hawthorne visited Paris for a week to ten days in early January 1858.  They stayed at the grand Hotel du Louvre.

I've read and transcribed hundreds of Sophia's letters, and was curious to know if she wrote any during her time in the City of Light.  Sophia is a master of description, and she had an artist's eye.  I was itching to know what she thought.

Right bank of the Seine, as seen from the Left Bank at the water's edge, looking at a photography exposition on the flood wall.
(Panoramic view made possible by Microsoft Image Composite Editor - ICE.)

In the transcripts and annotations that Tom and I worked on decades ago, I found a note that indicated the presence of a letter from Sophia to William Henry Channing on about January 8, 1858, in the collections of the Maine Historical Society.  We had not yet obtained a copy of that letter.

So I wrote to the Maine Historical Society (MHS) a couple weeks ago, sent them a check, and now I have a PDF copy of that letter.  The MHS thought the letter was written to William Ellery Channing, but in its text, Sophia wrote:  "I thank you very much dear Mr. Channing, for your kind letter in reply to mine.  I rejoice that you are in a pleasanter  house and that the Hope St. Society is so agreeable to you." 

I did the research.  William Henry Channing (1810-1884) became the minister of the Hope Street Unitarian Chapel in Liverpool, England, in 1857.  So our notes were correct; the letter is written to him.

The letter is incomplete.  Its salutation and beginning are missing.  But the letter does contain this, about Paris, as seen through the eyes of Sophia Hawthorne:

The Englishman said it was very unusual; but that he had told him we were going to Rome immediately, and that we were a party of six, and that there was nothing contraband in our multitude of trunks.  The Frenchman looked benign upon us, and said, as he gently closed the carpet bag – “Voilà, Madame – nous ne sommes pas si mechants, nous les Francais, comme vous voyez –“  Our luggage had been registered to Paris, and so we had no trouble about it from the time we left London.  On our triumphant return from this dreaded expedition we walked out and saw the Place de la Concorde and the Seine, but it was too late to do more.

This morning, Friday, we went to the Gallery of the Louvre, directly opposite this Hôtel, where we wandered till after three o’clk through the gorgeous halls of Egyptian and Grecian art – and the hall of Apollo to the paintings.  How superb!

I have not yet begun upon the drawings – which I intend to explore tomorrow.  We had to come out to dine, and then we walked through the Place du Carousel and the Arc de triomphe – out to the Seine.  The sun was setting in a Rosy glow, changing the whole façade of the Tuilleries and of the Louvre into pink topaz, and the beautiful arches of the bridges were so reflected in the calm water that the answering arches made lovely globes – softened by evening haze into dreams.  The stately palaces on one side and the lofty stone buildings on the other, with the far vistas at each extremity of the view made a scene I have never before beheld.

In the east court of the Tuilleries, the Imperial Guard in blue, turquoise blue; with helmets bright as gold were exercising – and the Emperor was within the Palace.

Thank you, dear Sophia.

And happy birthday, dear Dad.

A visit to Little Teheran

September 4, 2015 -- Paris has a small but noticeable population of people who originated in Iran.  The first big wave of these Persian immigrants occurred in the early 20^th century.  These generally were students whose way was paid by the Persian government.  In the 1930s, the Persian government established a competitive exam to decide who would receive these scholarships.  The students were required to live in dormitories, in part so that they could be watched by agents from the Iranian Embassy.  Students, as we all know, can be rebellious.

The Pahlavi government was overthrown, and after the 1979 revolution in Iran, one of these Iranians formerly educated in France became that country’s new prime minister.  His name was Mehdi Bazargan (1908-1995).

The Germinal brasserie on the avenue Emile Zola.

Bazargan had studied engineering at the grand École Central des Arts et Manufactures in Paris.  After his studies, he served in the French army, fighting against Nazi Germany.  Then he returned to Teheran to head up the first engineering department at the university there.  Later, he was the first Iranian to run the National Iranian Oil Company.

Politically, he was a co-founder of the Liberation Movement in Iran in the early 1960s.  He professed to accept Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi as the head of state; nevertheless, he was a political prisoner from time to time, under the Pahlavi government.  His house was firebombed in 1978, during the Pahlavi reign.

After Bazargan was appointed Prime Minister of Iran, he was one of the more democratic and liberal leaders of the revolutionary government, and so he clashed with the more extremist religious leaders.  His term as prime minister didn’t last long.  He resigned in November 1979 after the takeover of the U.S. Embassy and the hostage-taking.  His resignation was a protest against the hostage taking, and an admission that the Iranian government was unable to free the hostages.

Still, Bazargan continued a career in Iranian politics, although he became increasingly frustrated.  He tried to run for president in 1985, but the so-called “Council of Guardians” refused to allow it.

Among Muslim scholars, Bazargan is respected.  He is known for his work in human thermodynamics.  In prison, he wrote Love and Worship:  Human Thermodynamics, published in 1956.  According to Wikipedia, in this book he attempts “to show that religion and worship are a byproduct of evolution, as explained in English naturalist Charles Darwin's 1859 Origin of Species, and that the true laws of society are based on the laws of thermodynamics.”

Later in life, Bazargan developed a heart problem.  He was on his way to the United States for heart surgery when he collapsed in an airport in Switzerland.  He died there in January 1995.

We never knew anyone from Iran who was like Bazargan, but we did know Reza, the Iranian plumber whose shop was just a quarter block away from us on the rue du Theatre.  I think Reza would have been at least ten years younger than Bazargan, and Reza, too, was imprisoned for political reasons during the Pahlavi years.  We always suspected that Reza was much more than a plumber when he was in Iran; he may have been one of those Iranian students who, like Bazargan, was trained as an engineer in Paris.

Reza and his two gorgeous Persian cats retired and moved away from the neighborhood a few years ago.  We miss seeing him and the cats in the shop window as we pass by, on the way to the grocery.  Reza liked Tom and considered him to be, like Reza himself, a stylish and cool guy – just because he wore a blazer to dinner in the evening.  I think Reza also liked the way we listened to him, and accepted his advice without question – on plumbing matters.

Reza never did seem to hang out at the Iranian restaurants and shops in the area.  We did, however, frequently see him drinking on the terrace of Lola, a brasserie on the avenue Emile Zola and the rue du Theatre.

A week ago, as we sat at a table by the window at Stephane Martin’s restaurant on the rue des Entrepreneurs, I took notice of a Persian restaurant across the street.  Its sharp, new black awning had crisp cursive lettering in shiny metallic gold, announcing the name of the establishment:  Guylas.  I saw a number of people entering the place, including a few in traditional Persian garb (headscarves, but no niqabs, burkas, or veils).  The windows were sparkling clean, and revealed interesting dark-blue or purple upholstery within.  I made a mental note to check it out when I was at my computer.

We’ve noticed, through the years, that there is a cluster of Persian businesses in that pocket of the neighborhood, mostly on the rue des Entrepreneurs, but also including a few scattered places only a block or two away – such as a new Persian place on the avenue Emile Zola that is trying to look like a member of the Relais de l’Entrecote steakhouse chain.

When we walk by the pseudo-Relais de l’Entrecote resto (named the Relais du Quinzieme) in the evenings, the place looks fairly deserted – not too promising.  But this other new place, Guylas, looks promising.

I checked Yelp, Facebook, Google, and TripAdvisor.  The reviews for Guylas are quite good. Several reviewers claim that Guylas is the best Iranian restaurant in Paris.

The dining room at Guylas.

The food descriptions were interesting – grilled meats, special rice, special sauces, and rose and pistachio flavored ice cream.  Since it is a sizable restaurant and since we dine a little early by Parisian standards, I thought we could risk going there without a reservation.  Last night was the first night for which we had no reservations. 

So after a long day of work at the computers, with one outing in the afternoon for groceries, bakery bread, and a few other odd items, we walked down the busy rue du Commerce, skirting the park at the Place du Commerce, and taking a shortcut through a particularly attractive 1930’s cluster of apartment buildings, to then cross the rue des Entrepreneurs and enter Guylas.

The music played on the restaurant’s sound system was traditional Persian fare, and that was good, except we wished it had been more instrumental and less vocal. 

The server, a very competent young Persian woman, seated us at the far end of the restaurant, away from the chilly drafts of the front door.  I was comfortable on the plush blue-velvet banquette, and Tom was seated in one of the substantial blue velvet-upholstered chairs.  The sponge-painted deep blue walls boasted only a few, well-chosen paintings.

We selected the assortment of brochettes for two people, so that we could sample a variety of the grilled meats.  What arrived at the table was a platter of offerings that would have easily served a family of four.  Thank goodness Tom had a ZipLoc bag in his pocket.

The dinner was fine – all high-quality ingredients served in a refined and comfortable ambiance.  The desserts included that special rose and pistachio ice cream, as well as a slice of delicate, multi-layered cake.

Assorted brochettes for two people at Guylas.

We enjoyed chatting with the server at the end of our visit.   We talked about the various products that Iran is known for – including tea and carpets.  We confessed that we especially like the carpets.  She said she is from Teheran, and that she has worked as a carpet weaver.  Tom said he thought it might be very tranquil, satisfying work.  She said it was, but that it was hard – her shoulders and back would ache at the end of the day, and the lint dust gave her a persistent cough.  She must have worked for one of the large, urban operations – which is where some of the most refined rugs are made.

We left the restaurant, and the neighborhood known as “Little Teheran” (Petit Téhéran), and made the short walk home.  In case you want to visit Little Teheran, here’s a list of addresses:

Saffron and basmati rice, with onions and roasted
tomato.  This I mixed up and added a little butter and the red spice
blend that was in a little pot on the table.  Then the grilled meat 
goes on top.  Our server said I "mixed it well, like an Iranian."

Eskan – grocery – 62 bis, rue des Entrepreneurs (especially known for pastries)

Sepide – grocery – 62 ter, rue des Entrepreneurs

Bazartache – grocery – 72 rue des Entrepreneurs

Koukou – restaurant – 59 ter, rue des Entrepreneurs

Cheminee – restaurant – 60 bis, rue des Entrepreneurs

Mazeh – restaurant – 65 rue des Entrepreneurs

Guylas – restaurant – 68 rue des Entrepreneurs

Perchiana – restaurant – 7 rue Mademoiselle

Relais du 15eme « Iran Cera » -- restaurant – 78 avenue Emile Zola

On the web site Iran Beyond the News , the proprietor of Mazeh, Mr. Tavassoli, is reported to have said that he selected the 15^th arrondissement for his restaurant because “He followed the Iranian community who had settled in the high towers of the Beaugrenelle district [known as the Front de Seine]. Iranians had bought estates there with the money from the oil shock of 1973. The district was thus the first point where Iranians landed in Paris after the 1979 revolution.”  Mr. Tavassoli also says the Iranian population in Paris is too small to sustain the Iranian businesses there; he says, fortunately, “the French love our gastronomy, our warmth and hospitality.”

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.)