my Paris

People who know me and are themselves planning a trip to Paris tend to ask me -- what should I do that's a must? That's not in the guidebooks? I always tell them -- everyone discovers their own Paris. I can tell you where you'll find the award winning baguette, where you will reliably find the most wonderful lunch, which corner of the park brings tears to my eyes for its beauty, but at the end of the day, what you will love best is that you will discover your own favorite bakery, your own spot that you will remember for the rest of your life. Just keep your heart open and explore the possibilities.

Parisian moments that are forever in my mind. My first trip, when I was seven: we were traveling to New York for my father's job and here we were in Paris. My parents took me to the Invalides square and bought me a pistachio ice cream cone. And with my soon to be husband, much later: I caught a cold just before arriving here. Still, we went out to dinner at a place that looked out at Notre Dame. I doubt either of us will forget that view from that table. With my daughters, on their first trip, eating pastries from LeNotre bakery on a street bench. With Diane, overnighting in her little apartment in the Marais. With Basia, watching two women take in the Lilies at the Orangerie. With Ed, on his first trip with me, where he had sprained his ankle just before coming here, listening to the click of heels on the sidewalk outside our hotel room. Me, alone, looking for socks for my sons-in-law for a Christmas present. My mind is littered with such images. My Paris. 

This particular trip was flipped at the last minute and it morphed from being a solo, with a black eye in Albi  (in between plates of confit and cassoulet and foie gras), to being one of discovery with two friends suddenly at my side. But now I am alone again and I have only this one idea: that I contemplate life through the prism of my walks here. No socks to buy, no foods to eat anymore, no exploratory walks. No museums, no trips out of the city (though I am tempted!). Just walk, look and think.

I start the day with breakfast at my lovely little hotel. It just makes sense to do this. I can read, listen, eat. I know a place that has bigger and arguably better croissants and certainly better views, but still, the hotel makes this meal very comfortable, so that I don't want to budge (just yet). The foods I need for a good start to the day are here. I settle in and eat.

There isn't a whole lot of rhyme or reason to my Paris walks today, except that they are rather... predictable. I spend quite a while in the Luxembourg Gardens.

(the Montparnasse Tower, from where I started this Paris adventure on Tuesday...)

(Oh, what pressure this grandmother must feel when she offers to take her grandchild out for a walk! Will I look good? Is my face at its best? Poor woman...)

Mornings in the park are special: empty chairs, a slower pace, quiet. By afternoon, the space around the pond will be packed. Both times are fun to see -- the quiet and the friendly chaos.

Moving away from the pond, to the distant corners of the park.

Alright, I'm out now. There is a children's clothing store near the south west corner of the park, so I look in. I would never do this with friends. I spend too much time on considering what, if anything I should buy. Waste of everyone's time. Though not my own. I like thinking things through in this way.

(I didn't buy this shirt or sweater for any number of reasons. But I like the way they look together!) 

The store, in addition to being close to the park, is also close to a bunch of schools. I have always described the kids that I see here as as high school kids, but today I asked the sales clerk -- how come I'm seeing so many pupils out on the street here? I thought schools were closed for two weeks. They are closed, she tells me. These are college kids. The universities aren't closed. Ohhhhhh! No wonder they look so confident and, well, so intentional! 

(Solo walks always lead me to notice mirrors in shop windows!)

At lunchtime (speaking of intentional!), I find myself at the entrance to Cafe Varenne. My beloved Cafe Varenne! With the perfect waiters and the excellent home cooked foods, and the fantastic old Parisian vibe, with modern twists in both what is served and who is there to eat it.

As always, even though it looks crazy crowded, somehow a waiter finds me a spot and it is perfect.  Front row seat to watching waiters expertly stride by with loaded trays.

(home made Gravlax on lentils, with a salad)

(creme brûlée, in honor of Ed's great desire to produce a similar dessert for us on our anniversary... the thought was definitely there!)

And then I sip a noisette coffee and I walk the long blocks home.

Dinner? At La Maison du Jardin. A 9-min walk from my hotel in a very pleasant direction. Funny I should say that, because on this trip alone, I passed La Maison maybe a dozen times and I never noticed it. And indeed, for tonight, I was all set to try Flocon -- a place that has many many fans among those who study the food scene in Paris. But, Flocon is a 20 minute walk. Each way. I'm embarrassed to say that in the end, I wiggled out of my reservation there and looked around for something closer.  Hence  La Maison du Jardin.

First the upshot: was it good and would I go back. And the answer is yes to both, but with a strong caveat: I would eat there if I wanted to eat well, and spend reasonably, and not walk far. I feel about it like I feel about so many places in the city and indeed, about so many places I travel to: yes, loved it, but next time, all things being equal, I'd like to try something new. 

Is it me??

Let's deconstruct the evening, because it had some real highlights: The curried shrimp in an avocado sauce were lovely. Spices done just right.

For a second course, I had what up to now, few restaurants here have offered -- a lamb pastille on a bed of eggplant. A speciality of Morocco and Algeria, it's s well cooked lamb meat wrapped in a filo-like pastry. It's so good to see these influences on the kitchens here! This one was expertly prepared, though my recollection of spices used for this in Morocco is that I could lose myself in their headiness. I did not lose myself in the spices here, though again, the dish was really well executed.

The problem came with the dessert. I was aiming for light. Of the choices, Ile Flottante was the obvious candidate. And the island part of this "egg whites are floating on creme Anglaise" was large, and after five bites (which put me not even one third of the way through it) I had had my fill. I ate it all, but it was, in fact, a struggle.

Why eat it all, you ask? Well, here comes another interesting part of the evening: I was seated next to an American couple from Austin Texas. She spoke French very well, but she didn't use it in the restaurant and so I got curious.  Though not enough to interrupt in their intimate conversation.

I sat there reading my book about the south of France policeman, who was just discovering another body under a pile of logs, while his sweetie boarded the train to Paris to investigate the shenanigans taking place between some Ukrainian dudes and Russians.  And then the woman spoke to me (in the most polite and unobtrusive way possible), asking me about the pastille dish, possibly because her husband is a restaurant owner in Texas and so they tend to have a higher than usual interest in food prep.

From that point on we talked. And they were lovely. And I am always so amazed how many lovely people cross your path when you travel. You notice them so much more when you are alone. Like with photography, you dont do as much of reaching out when you are concentrating on others at your side: partners, grandkids, friends. When alone, you take note.

So why am I only moderate on the restaurant? The food was great, I met some lovely people... What is wrong with me??

Well, it was the atmosphere. This restaurant had white tablecloths and had a serious, quiet atmosphere to it that I think was daunting. Eventually, as it filled, you would notice it less, but still, you would not ever in a million years want to bring a child there who was not well trained in using a lowest possible decibel of a restaurant voice. 

It's a very tiny place and the two women who were the servers were earnest about their job and indeed, they did their job well. But it is the severity in the atmosphere that made me think that you're not likely to see many young people there. My feeling is that that crowd prefers places where you can explode into a laughter and no one will look up at you in disbelief. It's just my sense of where France is heading in terms of its food scene, but I bet I'm right. And I'll say this: Cafe Varenne is very old fashioned in so many ways. But those waiters can crack a smile! And I do too, right back at them. At La Maison, I'm glad I brought my book to read for the first minutes, before the Texans spoke to me. Otherwise, I would have been a little mortified that I was breathing too loudly.

Still, I would go back! (Maybe.) I don't mind reading my book! Quiet is good! And the food was carefully prepared. None of this reheated in a microwave nonsense. And, importantly, within a ten minute radius of my hotel. So, it checks off a bunch of very important boxes.

And I am tired now and not fully packed and I have a flight tomorrow. Good night Paris! Good night friends everywhere.