May 13, 2009 - Getting Lost

I know we all hate getting lost....at least us men. But getting lost in Paris is a different thing.....or is it? It's been one week now, and we've crawled over most of our neighborhood. We've found the local shops for bread, meat, vegetables, dairy, and wine. The locals even know us and as much as we want to learn how to speak French, they want to speak English....so it is a learning experience for all of us. Ever go into a butcher's shop and try to figure out how to ask for bacon? Good thing we asked for stewing veal [in french of course]...because it seems that the French stew their veal with bacon also...except it's not called bacon but we all knew what we wanted. The butcher even told me how long to cook the veal [like I really needed his help....but appreciated the assistance]. Today, I bought some chopped meat, not exactly how you ask for it in France.

It got a little confusing. I was also buying lamb chops. The butcher wanted to cut off some of the length of the long bone. He wanted to know if I wanted the bones but I was also asking for chop meat....we almost got chopped bones. But we learned how to ask for chopped meat, and how to ask for slices of meat as well as chops of meat [a la lamb].

My point is, we know our neighborhood even though it's only been a week, so taking little zigs and zags should not present a problem. Today was one of those days where the French don't go to work....or at least the people in our local food shops. CLOSED. So we just made a right turn and walked south, away from the Seine. We made it to the pool that I will be swimming in later this week....at least I know we can find it again but then we made the turn onto Rue Mouffetarde.

Rue Mouffetarde is a street that the locals know. Many small markets. Wine, cheese, meat, fish, vegetables, flowers, hardware, clothes, and, of course, the myriad restaurants. Katherine had been reading up on this area so she knew some of the places we should walk by. I stopped at the first Asian market I saw and bought a samosa....hot and tangy and lovely. We meandered through more markets and I saw another Asian market. Bought two egg rolls except they weren't but what they were, were lovely, fresh, crisp shrimp and pork rolls.

Katherine found a hardware store [bricolage, en francais] and bought a bread basket and for me, a spatter screen...which I used later that evening to prepare the dinner. And then we made a turn to go home.....and got lost.

We got lost in an area of our neighborhood that we didn't even know existed. No tourists, lots of local shops, and lots of local restaurants. We passed a Chinese restaurant, packed with people for lunch. It's on our list for tomorrow. I don't want to cook tomorrow and their cooking looked just fine....or at least the people in the restaurant thought so.

It took us a while to make our back home. Somehow, it didn't make a difference that we were lost in our own neighborhood. We expect to get lost here often.......

May 12, 2009 - Terroir or Not Terroir

I'm not a big believer in the variations of wine versus location....at least when the explanation is the terroir. I mean, how different can my lot of land be when your lot is adjacent to it? How different was the microclime as the say en francais? Sure, you may have a better wine master. And you might have been more selective in culling your grapes and choosing which grapes to squeeze. But really, my one square acre sharing an entire side with another acre, how different can my terroir be?

Well, I know I've only been in Paris less than one week and I have been to my local fruit and veg shop twice. I've cooked several meals using the fresh veggies that I've purchased from them.....so what can I say??? Let me explain. First, the vegetables looked weird. Potatoes and carrots that were still covered in dirt. Celery that had more leaves on top than celery on bottom [or at least it looked that way]. Tomatoes that were glowing and onions that screamed pungency. So what?

I made my first soup last night. It was a chicken soup. I used left over chicken from dinner and the bones and leftovers. I made it like I've made a hundred chicken soups. After boiling the bones, stripping off the meat, and adding a bouillon cube, it was time to add the veggies. I chopped the top of the celery off, diced a bunch of the leaves and threw them into the pot. Then I took a few stalks and chopped and threw them in. The onions didn't let me down....as my tears back up this statement. The carrots peeled just like carrots. But after a few hours of slow cooking, it was time to taste the concoction.

I can't describe it. We've all had chicken soup before but this was the first time that the vegetables screamed 'I am more important that the chicken!!!". We've never had carrots or celery that, in our taste world, now define what celery and carrots should....must taste like.

So does the terroir make a difference? I am still not sure about the wine but the French vegetables just blow the US veggies away [ organic et al] I know, it's just a chicken soup but we are sold on the French veggies. I made out first tuna fish salad....with diced celery....incroyable. Can't wait to make my first stew.

I know this blog is short and sweet and probably about nothing important. But you just have to eat the French veggies to understand the impact it made on Katherine and me.

May 10, 2009 —Sunday Afternoon

Getting back to my apartment after my run, it was time to learn some more french, or take a shower, or make breakfast. The shower took precedence but Katherine's moan for food reminded me that we had bought some of those really fresh baguettes from a boulangerie the day before but didn't eat. We split the baguette with a cup of hot Earl Grey tea. Tres bon. But what to do now?

We had been shopping at our local Monoprix [a large multi-story department store that sells fresh food and veg] but decided to find one of those discount stores either ALDI or LIDL. Neither had a store close to us but there was a LIDL about 2.8 km north of us near the Gare du Nord. So since Katherine hadn't exercised today, we decided to walk.

We took the direct path; north on rue St. Jacques which passes over the Petite Pont and is directly in front of Notre Dame. The street is straight but the name changes several times. We passed the George Pompidou Museum, the Saint Martin pedestrian shopping area, and ultimately found ourselves lost in front of La Gare de L'Est. We had come too far north and missed rue Sebastopol. A brief look at the map and two left turns and voila...back on track.

LIDL however was closed and we decided that it was too far away for any real shopping anyway. Walking back we decided to get a sandwich, but where? I was looking for a piscine to do my daily mile swim. I knew there was one in Les Halles so that's where we would find sandwiches. Within another mile we were there....a huge pedestrian area, hundreds of shops, restaurants and tourists. But first we had to find the swimming pool. Beautiful, 50m pool with 12 swimming lanes but alas, no 3 month membership; only a 10 pack for 28 euro....still not bad.

Then we started looking for sandwiches but decided to walk the rest of the way home instead. What a walk. We were only about a mile away, slightly lost, when Katherine said we should find the Louvre. Two quick blocks and two quick turns and there was the Louvre. Even better, the Louvre has a pedestrian walkway, right through its center. Passing through the Louvre arches we came out onto the Seine and the Francois Mitterand pedestrian bridge over the Seine. It was loaded with people of all ages; some sitting on the bridge's wooden planks, some on its benches, some eating food from their own houses, some eating those baguettes we didn't get, some smoking cigarettes, some drinking wine, some hugging, some kissing, everybody, however, soaking up the surroundings.

Getting to the other side, there was a photo shoot. A Japanese woman all decked out in a wild kimono-like dress. We're sure this picture will end up in some high end fashion mag. But hunger made us push on quickly. We passed several of the restaurants on our list of "must eat here". And they menu showed them not to be very expensive. We took a "short cut" which brought us around the back to rue St. Michel. We stopped into a Basque sausage shop, giving out samples of course. That decided it for us....Basque sausage, a baguette, and a beer. That would be our snack for today. And as I opened the beers in our apartment, cut the sausage and cheese, Katherine set the table with some bread and mustard. C'est magnifique.

But now, after relaxing for about 3 hours, it's time for me to make the dinner. Some fresh veggies we bought at the open market and some d'agneau that we got at our local boucherie. A bottle of the local chardonnay that we got for a pittance and can't get in the States for any price and that's our dinner.

May 10, 2009 — Sunday Morning

The morning started out just like any other morning. A cup of tea for Katherine and a demi-tasse of espresso for me. The terrace door was opened and the cool morning air and church bell chimes rushed into the living room. Blue skies with sheets of uniform clouds was also typical. And so it was time for me to take my morning run.

I decided to run north on rue de la Harpe and take a right turn down an alley and a left onto rue St. Jacques towards the Seine. I climbed down the stairs and onto the south quay and ran east, passing the Notre Dame Cathedral that stood on the other side of the river. I passed several bridal parties, all dressed in their tuxes and wedding dresses, waiting to take their wedding pictures under the Pont de l'Archeveche with Notre Dame in the background. The bells of Notre Dame were blaring, announcing the commencement of the morning service. But enough sight and sound seeing, I have to finish my run.

So pounding down the quay, I passed the Institut du Monde Arabe and their outdoor sculpture garden that spread out onto the banks of the Seine. Then I passed the restaurant and bar barges, all closed but still inviting. I made it to the Boulevard Périphérique, the Paris ring road, and decided to turn around.

It seemed strange today. I was but one of only a handful of runners; no bikers. And as I continued my return, there seemed to be more families pushing prams and couples taking pictures; no dock workers or office folks. The cement factories that dotted this side of the Seine were silent. I quickly ran by them and as I returned to the barges, they were bustling with activity. I don't know where all the people came from, but they were filling all the barges and sitting down for the brunch.

I caught a glimpse under the arch of one of the bridges of the two towers and steeple of the Cathedral. The bells were silent this time but in the distance you could hear the bells from other churches. The bridal parties were gone, only to be replaced by tourists or maybe just families with cameras? Back up the stairs and onto Quai de Montebello, I was in the final kilometer of my run. Montebello was unusually quiet; it was easy to cross. No cars, no velos, no buses. Back onto rue St. Jacques, equally quiet, jaywalking across the street was no problem.

My run was just about over but it seemed different. Ah yes. Today was dimanche. Or was it the third day of the long holiday weekend? Whatever, I'll find out next week when I redo my run.

July 19, 2009 – Le Lapin – The Cooking

I don’t like rabbit. That is to say, I’ve never really eaten rabbit. Sure, Katherine eats rabbit. She eats anything; but my tastes of her rabbit have been very limited; the cursory forkful followed by a large gulp of whatever liquid was at hand. So it was with trepidation that I was looking forward to Pierre’s lapin dinner. That was the good news.

The bad news, which I forgot, was that Pierre prefers to butcher his own rabbit. So upon our 6pm arrival [for an 8pm dinner], I was informed that before we could cook the rabbit, I had to butcher my rabbit! Pierre explained to me that if the butcher cut the rabbit, there are little bones and bone fragments that get broken off and lodge into the meat. And actually, having prepared my own rabbit and afterwards, seeing how the butcher cuts up a rabbit, I can see why little bone fragments get into the meat; butchers just use a meat cleaver to quarter the rabbit and crack the bones…not us…read on.

So I put on my apron, knocked back a shot of whisky [it’s a gourmet French cook thing], was given a knife that could slice through iron, and, oh yes, my own rabbit. Pierre showed me what to do using his rabbit and I dutifully followed. Unfortunately, the first thing was to separate the head from the body. I told Pierre that maybe I should have another shot…he understood. While knocking back the shot, he decapitated my bunny. After that, I was good. It was basically like quartering a skinny chicken except that after the legs were removed, we filleted the body. It was a surgical experience.

Then it was simple. Braise the bunny with garlic and olive oil. Add loads of mustard ancienne [coarse deli mustard to the NY folks], a cup or two of Pierre’s homemade wine vinegar [he makes everything himself, vinegar, wine, cider, etc.] and a slow boil for 90 minutes or so. And that was it. The easy part was done. The hard part, me getting this lapin down my throat, was next.

But the wine started flowing and the aromas starting rising. Pierre showed us the entrée [which in France, is what is should be, the first course]. It was a homemade pumpkin soup that needed a little more time chilling. Not a problem, more wine and time for Pierre to make an apple tart for dessert. As the pictures show, it was an artistic accomplishment. After the pie was in the oven, we began dinner.

The soup was marvelous but the rabbit was next. It smelled great but it was rabbit. One bite into it and I knew I had been wasting all those years passing up bunny. I even asked for seconds. And true to French form, Pierre followed the main course with a green salad [and homemade dressing, of course] which was followed by cheese which was followed by the apple tart.

You would think that the coffee would be the final touch but no…..no dinner at Pierre’s house is complete without fine Cuban cigar or pipe! That’s Wendy and me knocking back a stogie [and me turning green]. But the highlight was Pierre’s antique pipe. It’s an ivory pipe shaped like a woman’s leg; fill the thigh with tobacco and suck on her toes. It’s over a hundred years old!

And that, my friends, is how you cook and eat a rabbit dinner.

July 19, 2009 - Le Lapin - The Shopping

Pierre is a wonderful, gentle person. He looks, to some, like Mark Twain with his wiry gray hair and unkempt mustache. To me, he looks like a cross between Mark Twain and Albert Einstein. It’s hard to gauge his age. He could be a few years younger or older than me but he has a joie de vivre and twinkle in his eye that make him ageless.

We both love wine and cooking. He speaks less English than I speak French (although he is incredibly cultured and worked for the house of Dior in New York City, so he knows more than he lets on…). The good news is we seem to be able to communicate on several levels. Today he took Katherine and me around our local open market, Marche Maubert. He has a few favorite vendors for meat, fish, vegetables, and fruit. He introduced us to each vendor. He bought a ton of stuff for the rabbit dinner that he is going to make for us. He says the only way I can learn to cook rabbit is to be his sous-chef. But when he bought the rabbit [two of them], he asked for a pair of lapin! Not deux, I asked? Nope, pair is just fine.

So we carried all the stuff back to his 17th century apartment, just a few blocks from the market and just around the corner from our apartment. Incredible. I actually said “bordel de merde” when Pierre showed us some of the 15th, 16th, and 17th century artifacts all around his apartment. It used to be the stables, then a coal bunker, then a garage, and now, it’s his flat. He made us a coffee, showed us pictures of his lovely house in Brittany, and his boat…..he goes there often even though it takes 6 hours by car because he needs to “feel the ocean”. And then it was time for Pierre to go to work.

So we left but Pierre took us back to the market because his favorite meat guy wasn’t there earlier. And this time, his meat guy was there. Pierre got some lamb neck which he slow cooks and kisses his fingers to show me that it will taste “sublime.” Then, I step up and order a “pair” of lamb chops to which Pierre smiles, nods approvingly, and says to Katherine that I have that joie de vivre. Even the meat vendor had a laugh.

So all that’s left is my lapin-cooking lesson. Stay tuned.

July 18, 2009 - La Premier Soirée

I know the rumor is that the French are hard to get to know and the Parisians even harder to know. I’m not so sure. This is the beginning of our third month in Paris. We weren’t sure if we actually made friends with some Parisians or if they were just being nice to us. So far, everybody we’ve met, friends or strangers, have been very accommodating. They patiently wait for me to spit out my poor French and gently correct my pronunciation or grammar. Thus, it was with some trepidation that we asked some locals to dinner.

Now, Katherine, Wendy, Mike [Delphine’s boyfriend from Hawaii who knows even less French than me] and me, all speak American [yes, American, get over it]. Delphine speaks French [obviously] and her English is incredible. Pierre speaks French but has the occasional “Oh my God” outbursts. Therefore, since we are here to learn to speak French fluently, the plan was to speak as much French as possible.

Paris custom is to arrive no later than 15 minutes from the appointed time which in this case, was 8pm. The reason for this promptness is that no libation can be offered until the last guest is present. Delphine, Mike, and Pierre arrived together 5 minutes early. Being a Yank, it was hard for me to stick to the Paris custom so I asked if we should wait for Wendy. Since the champagne they brought was getting warmer and since the Paris custom is variable depending upon who’s invited and how thirsty you are…..the corked got popped immediately. I don’t really remember what time Wendy arrived but by Paris soirée time, it was one bottle of champagne late! And as I started to open a bottle of white wine, Wendy arrived with “Je suis desolée” and another bottle of champagne was popped. Now the party really got going.

I made one of my signature dishes, Veal Shank Redemption; the aromas were sensual [or at least that’s what I thought Pierre said]. Katherine made cold asparagus soup which I doctored up with pistachio oil, a gift from Wendy. If you’ve never had pistachio oil, you will just as soon as we return from Europe. It is fantastic stuff. We collaborated on a cauliflower purée and some steamed carrots and haricot verts. With two bottles of champers dead, and two white burgundies dying, it was time to begin dinner.

By the time we finished our asparagus soup, the crowd got unruly. I don’t remember which demand had the greatest urgency…bring on “la viande” or “more wine”….it was a no-brainer for me; two bottles of great red burgundy. Then we plated the veal. I never expected 3 kilograms of veal to be consumed by six people; but we did! By this time, the French was flowing as quickly as the red wine was being poured. I’m not sure if I actually understood everything that was being said [Katherine managed about 80% of it all] but apparently I held up my end of the conversation…..until.

Until I was asked by Katherine to speak my latest slang expression “bordel de merde” or “holy sh*t”. Unfortunately, these words must be uttered with the proper enunciation, alacrity and volume, which Pierre proceeded to demonstrate and then required me to repeat…several times until I got it right!

By this time, there was no doubt that the party was a success. So we finished the meal with some cheeses, black cherry jam, raisin bread and yoghurt. Oh, and another 2 or 3 bottles of red wine. And as the party was beginning to break up, we started talking about food, the local markets, and lapin [rabbit]. Katherine said she loves rabbit but that I don’t make it. Pierre asked me if I wanted to learn and I said yes; it’s easy to speak French when you’ve had a bit too much wine and even easier to agree to do something that you have no idea about. So we arranged to meet promptly at 9:30AM the next morning at our local market to pick out the ingredients for cooking on Monday. My expectation is that this next meal might make an eJ, especially since Pierre will undoubtedly conduct the entire shopping experience “en francais.” Stay tuned.

(I think this is Pierre either showing us how to suck marrow from a veal bone or showing Wendy something else......)