There isn't a text that I need to add here. At the Jardin du Luxembourg the bright sun coaxes me out, the light wind reminds me that it is December. Still, tell that to the children, and those used to a pause on a park chair, or to the flowers that refuse to give up for the year. Tell them, go ahead, tell them that the season calls for different behavior. If you give us the light and the bright sky, we will come out and stand or sit facing the rays. And the children will run around us. This is the way one should regard Paris. Children playing around all of us. For a day one can believe that this still is a Paris for everyone. For a day. In the public space of a park. Wistful sigh...
le jardin
little girl with sucker
man reading paper next to blooming flowers
winter blooms
smiling at the boat and the ducks
the boat and the ducks
dad, showing the world (in photography) to the daughters in pink
facing the light
from Paris: it was the brest that did him in; for me it was the French coq
Saturday evening started in a tame mode. We went out for an aperitif. Twice the dense fumes of smokers drove my companion, “Ed,” out. At the third place we stayed.
My ruby drink set fire to the table. My French scarf warmed my body. A French man sat across from us at the café. He mumbled something. I mumbled back. Ho hum. Time to move on.
aperitif
At the quintessential Parisian bistro at a late late hour, I got fired up. The man at the table next to ours ordered a cheese tray. He took a portion. And another. And another. And still another. Doesn’t he know the unspoken rules of cheese conduct? I am in a tizzy. Oh, but then I notice that he is Italian. There is something in his manner. I know, it is unfair. Still, I am forgiving.
Ed stays calm at this point. He eats at a snails pace. Actually he eats snails (I say it was the fault of those snails).
les escargots
Me, I am ready for some French coq au vin. I haven’t had it for decades! Piping hot, with four soft, boiled, round potatoes at the side.
coq au vin
But then comes the brest. Paris brest. Puffed up in the oven, smothered with caramel cream, the size of a dinner plate!
paris brest
I eat it, Ed finishes it. Cognac aux pruneaux is surreptitiously poured into my coffee by the waiter. The rest is a blurr.
That’s it, Ed tells me the next day. I cannot take this pace every day.
Today, he stays in the hotel, resting. Me, I’m ready to go. One coq and a brest? What’s the big deal? I set off for the local Café.
reading the Café's own cookbook
Nina-
ReplyDeleteWhat a chuckle I had over your companion needing to rest! Having accompanied you to Paris, I know first-hand your boundless energy in that beautiful, wonderful city and the challenge of keeping up with your pace. I am savoring each moment and picture that you share with us back here in the wintery midwest. Have an pastry, au lait, and chocolate for me! Love Diane
Again, I feel that I am in Paris with you. Your writing and photography is just outstanding. I want to travel with you. I can keep up, I assure you!
ReplyDeleteYour Fried
Bert (California)
I cannot take this pace every day. Imagine someone being in Europe with Nina and saynig that.
ReplyDeleteNow listen here. I think people just sleep too much when they visit Paris. For instance, it’s 2:30 am as I type this. Why is everyone sleeping? Fools.
ReplyDelete[This evening, on a densely populated block on the left bank, we witnessed an out of control motorcyclist veering onto the sidewalk. The driver eventually crashed into several of those postcard stands they have outside shops. I think the damages were limited to the ruined postcards. You gotta see stuff before you get run down by some motorcyclist who can’t tell a sidewalk from a street.]
Diane and Jeremy, you kept up alright. And you had no trouble with the meals. We even sat down for full-scale lunches. Diane, remember the mussels and fries off the Brittany coast? Jeremy, how about those crepes served by the ever-friendly waiter? Ed thinks we’re eating too much and I haven’t even introduced him to the concept of le long lunch. He is a food wimp.
I'm a tiny bit embarrassed to admit that I don't know the unspoken rules of cheese conduct, either. But I have the feeling that if I keep reading here, eventually they will be made clear, and I'll be spared from making serious gaffes with the cheese course.
ReplyDeleteNina, I think you've identified a crucial requirement for picking travel companions: food attitude compatibility. My husband is an ideal companion for me because we are both adventuresome with the eats. My ex? He was definitely a food wimp. Good riddance!
Nina - I do remember the wonderful mussels and tarte tatin on the Brittany Coast and all the fish perfectly prepared and different wines for each course, and of course, the cheese platters! And I brought home a sweet berry wine (currant, I think) that you said I could cook with but it was too wonderful; we drank it, savoring each sip with a bit of chocolate. Yes, I can keep up with you eating anyway, but sleeping I can't do without, even in Paris! D
ReplyDeleteOh! Those adorable little pink coats! Even the children are chic.
ReplyDeleteNina, bring me home a pink coat from Paris. I don't care what it costs. Whatever the price -- I'll pay it!
ReplyDelete