Come Over for Dinner

Putting on a dinner party seems daunting, but it gets a whole lot easier when you have the helpful french merchants to help you plan it. We decided we would have a dinner, and that I would cook. We had had people over on previous occasions, but not at the current 17th arrondissement apartment. Because the Marais apartment is used primarily as a vacation rental, it isn't set up all that well to cook. But the place we're in now has someone living in it full time and so there were actually lots of pots and pans and utensils.

Ultimately, this meant instead of roast chicken from the butcher I was going to make a real dinner. Cook, in fact.

I decided to make magret de canard aux peches -- duck breast with peaches. Now Paul always gets nervous when I make something for guests that he hasn't seen me make before, (I think I'm a pretty good cook, he is occasionally skeptical). But I have made this before, it was just a long time ago, and in my own kitchen with a gas stove and an oven I knew well.

First stop was the butcher. Going to the butcher here is actually a pleasure, rather than a chore. You tell the butcher what you want, and then you can ask for little tips. How long should I cook it? Do you think it's better to put it in the oven or in a pan on the stovetop? And the butcher is always happy to oblige. 14 minutes he said. 7 minutes each side -- whether in the pan or under the broiler. It's my choice, he said -- no difference. That alone would have been helpful. Then, I asked him what he though I should serve as a side dish. I said I had planned to serve it with peaches and he said are you going to use butter to cook them? Of course, I said (although last time I think I cooked them in some of the duck fat). Well, he said, then you don't need anything else. Another side dish would be too much. The peaches were sufficient.

And then, the ultimate. He prepped the breasts for me. I was a bit concerned at first, because it was a straight butcher and not a bird butcher. So he didn't specialize in duck breast, but more in beef and porck. Thus, the duck came prepackaged. But he took them out of the package, cut off the excess fat while leaving plenty to cook with, then scored the fat twice and showed me how to slice it when it was ready. I was just so pleased that he'd done all the hard work. In the end, all I had to do was get it cooked -- whether in the oven or in the pan. My choice, of course.

(A side note here. Those of you who have had roast duck, perhaps in a Chinese restaurant, know there is very little meat. The difference between a magret and a fillet -- both are breast meat -- is that magret comes from ducks fattened to make foie gras. Thus, the breast is very large -- the size of a good-sized chicken breast, in fact, and very meaty. Duck is more like red meat than like poultry.)

The we went to the wine store. I told the owner what I was serving, and asked him to recommend a wine. He asked if I wanted a red and I said yes. Not too expensive, I added. He scanned his reds, thought a minute, then picked out a E4.50 wine and said "This one." He never tried to upsell me, or convince me to get something I didn't want. I asked him for something and he gave it to me. It's a neat trick, isn't it, to actually get what you want. Then I asked him if the E20 Champagne was any good. It was a few euros below all the others, and I was trying for something good but again, not too expensive. Oh yes, he said. That one is excellent. Again, no effort to make me feel cheap, or feel bad that I wasn't going for a big-name Champagne.

So far, the hardest part of the dinner was done. All the figuring out of stuff. I added some very nice cheese, including a Normandy Livarot made with Calvados, some great bread from the now-open bakery across the street (and it was still warm when we bought it!!) and knew we'd have a dessert from one of our guests. That's the other thing I've learned in France. I used to try to do all of it myself, and now, when someone asks if they can bring something, I let them. Usually a dessert, because that always seems like such a hassle.

In the end, we had a lovely meal, with very good company. We had two bottles of Champagne and three and a half bottles of red. We had a view of the Eiffel Tower through our floor-to-ceiling windows, one of our guests brought a marvelous Bourdeaux which we had with the cheese course, and we oohed and aahed over the darling tarts brought for dessert. (the lemon tart with lime shavings was amazingly good).

Life here can be incredibly civilized. I know in my heart it's impossible to duplicate this sort of thing in California, and believe me, I've tried. It just goes against everything in American culture. We don't want to linger over dinner, talk about non-work topics with our friends, invite interesting people over and see what happens. We don't want to drink too much wine, or drive too far to get where we're going, or interrupt our TV schedules.

And it's a shame.

In any case, life is different here -- even cooking dinner for friends -- for both good and ill. And as reluctant as I am to leave, I think I'd like to do it before my current love affair with Paris comes to an end; before we have our first inevitable fight.

Random Paris Thoughts

I have all these ideas when I'm walking around, and of course when I sit down to write I can't think of anything (except to brag about my new iPod!)

So, here goes: A random collection of things I've been thinking about the last week or so.

The bananas in Hong Kong were the best I've ever eaten. ... Food prices in Paris seem higher, but upon weight conversions, etc., really aren't any worse than Ralph's. ... The Fran Prix in the Marais is markedly more expensive than the Monoprix in the 17th, which seems slightly counter-intuitive. ... At the Paris Plage festival, there was a big old jungle-gym type thing that was incredibly dangerous to my American eyes, and all Paul and I could think of was: The insurance for that thing must be really high! ... The best thing about the Marais, to me, is that we are half a block from one of the best bakeries in Paris, and get to enjoy fresh and still-warm baguettes daily. ... I found a butcher at the Bastille market who sells the most amazing roast chicken I've ever eaten. ... I am realizing that all I have to say is about food. ... I love having fresh flowers in the apartment, but all the florists are still closed for the summer. ... Speaking of closed, doesn't it seem a bit odd that a shop that specializes in ice cream would be closed for the month of August? ... We had dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, right at the base of the Eiffel Tower. I never get tired of going there. ... I find my French has come back rather well, but I can't grasp certain vocabulary words that used to come easily (like puree for mashed potatoes -- but maybe it was the wine) ... Everyone raves about the efficient Metro system here, but it is the bus system that is the real star of public transportation. You get a mini sight-seeing tour with every trip. ... It's amazing to see the population of a neighborhood triple as summer comes to an end.

Summertime, and the Living is Easy

It's a funny thing about memory. While I enjoyed my time in Paris, I'm not sure I ever decided, consciously, "I don't want to leave Paris." I guess I always imagined I would, in the beginning, and then it turned into a sort of resignation. "I've been here seven years now, probably just going to stay."

In any case, I found myself thinking this morning, while walking through the Marais, "I don't want to leave Paris." We have had a perfect confluence of events here. Empty streets, beautiful weather (today is especially gorgeous) good times, good food, ultimate relaxation.

When you are on vacation, it's easy to forget what December is like -- short and dark days -- and to ignore the daily indignities that go with city living.

We are all too aware that our remaining time is short, and I'm not exactly in a panic, but I certainly am reluctant to get back to reality -- whatever that entails.

One thing is sure: We will do this again.

Something for Nothing

Since we arrived, some people have been offering free 10-minute massages on the Pont St. Louis. It seems to be a crazy concept: A visitor sits on a little canvas stool and someone gives them a quickie 10-minute body massage. After walking by a half dozen times, I decided to give it a go.

It wasn't a hot day, so that wasn't an issue. And it wasn't a weekend day, so there wasn't a big crowd. I just sat in the chair and the woman got ready for my massage. It's free, she said. And we don't do your front and you must leave your clothes on. (As if ... I'm sitting on a public bridge!)

And then she proceeded to knead my neck and shoulders, then my back, then my arms and legs. I was totally blissed out, as you can tell from the photo.

I tipped her E1.50 (which is what happened to be in my wallet) and she asked me to sign a petition asking (the city?) permission to conduct this public service in the winter, in the Metro. And presumably not on the train itself .

What better publicity than a free trial of something like this? I think perhaps it was organized by a massage school in town, although I'm not certain. They gave me a slip of paper with an email address, presumably to make a paying appointment. They also had the url of a youtube video.
The blurb with the video says:

Un super concept de Convivialité Citoyenne et Job de complément pour Etudiants, Chômeurs, Retraités. Formation rapide et gratuite, y compris à distance.

Roughly translated, and my French friends will be sure to correct me if I err: A super idea of of citizen friendliness and a side-job for students, the unemployed and retired people. A quick, free course is available, and can be taken by correspondence.

What a way to de-stress from the rigors of city life!

If You Wish Hard Enough ...

You may recall my iPod has been relegated to an iPaperweight. Big red X of death and all.

Well, I got an extremely pleasant surprise (OK, a really exciting surprise) when my sister- and brother-in-law arrived in Paris over the weekend and gave me a shiny new iPod for my birthday. Seems they read my sad blog entry and thought of the perfect gift.

Honestly, it's too much. I hadn't wished for a new one -- it's an extravagance right now -- and figured I'd just use my old one on batteries once I got home. Having said that, of course, I can also say: "I love it and am thrilled to have received it!"

It's a shiny silver iPod Classic with 120GB of space. More than I can listen to in a month. And so now I will sync from my laptop, maybe put on some photos, download a movie or two ... and I'll be good to go.

Maybe You Can Go Home Again

We are settling in so nicely here in Paris that I almost don't feel as if I'm away. Obviously I don't have my apartment and my things, but I do have Paris, and that turns out to have been mine all along.

I am surprised at how easily I fell back into the rhythm of daily life here and accepted all the little differences that occur to distinguish life here from life in California.

I know, too, that if I stay long enough I will find the daily annoyances that used to drive me crazy and will, again. But for now, I am reveling in it. Someone forces me off the sidewalk? Quelle suprise! No bakery open in the 17th for blocks and blocks? Of course, it's August. It helps that I do not have to work, nor navigate my way to and from anywhere on a regular basis. I can simply enjoy the city on my terms, and I have been doing that.

Earlier in the week we went to the Parc Monceau so Paul could run. It was my first time there, even though I'd known of it forever. But it's not in "my" neighborhood, so I never really had cause to visit. It's lovely there, and I was surprised by all the hustle and bustle. We were there late morning, around 11 I'd guess, and there had to be 30 joggers out, crowding the path around the park. I felt like I'd stumbled into a race.

There were kids visiting, too, from whatever daycare/daycamp/dayschool. I love watching little kids on excursions here. They hold hands in pairs or trios and have name tags pinned to their shirts. Then they snake around on their way to getting where they're going (in this case, it was the duck pond.)

I can't -- and won't -- compare living here to living in Long Beach. It's not a fair comparison as each has its own charms. While I'd love a local park in Long Beach where there are no homeless people taking up all the benches, I'd also love a beach in Paris that wasn't man-made and planted along the Seine.

You take what you can get wherever you are, I think. And right now, I'm taking all I can from Paris.

Hanging Around

When we said were going to hang out in Paris, we really meant it. If we do any true, touristic sightseeing, it will probably be accidental, or maybe out of a sense of obligation near the end of our stay. As in: I always did want to see the Chateau at Fontainebleu.

For now, we're just taking in the sights around us, and, as usual, I marvel at all the things there are to see. (And, within the next few days, I hope to post some photos on flickr)

We are in the Marais, always chock-full of people and interesting shops. Walking over to the Bastille area today I passed a man singing opera in the arcades of the Place to Vosges, very near to the fancy Pavillon des Reines hotel. (video to come)

The last several days there have been rock concerts at the Hotel de Ville. There is always something going on at Paris Plage, along the quay. We found free massages offered by massage students on the bridge between the Ile St Louis and the Ile de la Cite.

Of course, this is summer, but that doesn't always mean there are more things around. In fact, because a good number of locals get out of town, it often means there are less. The outdoor markets, for example, are sparsely populated by merchants and there are no weekend markets that feature, say, arts and crafts or brocante.

Still, it's a feast for the eyes, and I love just walking down the streets, looking at different neighborhoods and hanging out.

Maybe we'll take a boat ride one day, and manage to hang out and sight-see in one fell swoop.