Paris Journal 2012 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
Find me on Facebook 2011
Paris Journal ← Previous Next
→ Go back to the beginning
|
On the phone, Tom the Tome arranged with his son, Dan, to meet him and our granddaughters in the Jardin des Plantes at the statue of Buffon. (I elected to stay home because I had a touch of a stomach bug.) By mistake, we had both cell phones. We’d meant for Dan to keep one the day before. So of course the statue was not where the Tome thought it was, and he had no way to call Dan. So he called me, back at the apartment. I then used various methods on the internet to figure out where the darn statue was. I succeeded, told Tom, and he advanced to the correct location. Like clockwork, Dan and the girls then appeared. They all felt like buffoons, not being able to readily find Buffon. They’d planned to visit the old zoo at this Jardin, but the zoo was going to close in 45 minutes, and was too expensive for such a short visit. So they walked over to explore the colorful and fun pedestrian street, rue Mouffetard, instead. At the end of the day, I was feeling better so I took a walk up through the Champ de Mars. Tom called me when I was almost up to the Eiffel Tower. We decided to dine at Le Café du Commerce again because that was such a success with the girls on Saturday night. I said I’d make a reservation as I walked past it on my way back to the apartment. It was 7:15 when I arrived at the restaurant to make a reservation for 8PM, and I was fortunate to be able to reserve one of the last remaining tables in this sizeable resto! On a Monday night! This place is becoming very popular. I can see why. The food is consistently very good, and there is a good “rapport prix/qualité.” With a kids’ menu, the restaurant is also family friendly. A little later, as I stood in front of the restaurant, waiting for Tom, Dan and the girls, a couple of the kitchen staff were standing out there, too, on the fairly busy sidewalk of the rue du Commerce. They must have thought everyone around them spoke French and no English, because one of them started complaining to the other about “all these white people.” I tried to look like I didn’t understand English, but I was a little amused. The evening air was warm. Finally, the weather was warm enough for me to wear a dress and not worry about having a jacket or long-sleeved shirt. When the others arrived, we all were speaking English and the one remaining kitchen staff member who was still out on the sidewalk had a look of chagrin upon hearing our Anglophone voices. I took each of the girls by the hand and we entered the restaurant, approaching the maître d’hotel stand via the long entrance hall. All three of us said, “bonjour, monsieur,” pleasing the maître d’ to pieces. The server who’d taken the reservation approached (while the maître d’ collected himself) and graciously showed us to our table. He took the girls’ order first, and brought them their steak frites dinners quickly (the kids’ steak was really a chopped steak, or lean hamburger). Dan ordered a French onion soup as a starter, while Tom and I were content to nibble on the delicious tapenade mis en bouche that had been provided to the table. As I’ve said, ordering steak in a European restaurant can be a questionable venture, but when I know and trust a restaurant, I occasionally take the risk. The server had a sparkle in his eye when he mentioned the rumsteck special, so I examined its description. It was to come with mushrooms called girolles. Mushrooms are especially good this wet summer, and I trust this restaurant, so I ordered the rumsteck (rump steak). I was not disappointed. It was lean and tender at the same time, cooked a point as I’d ordered it, had a rich brown demi-glace sauce with a generous serving of delicious girolles. The side dish of scalloped potatoes was only so-so, but since the main course was so great, I didn’t care. I just ignored the insipid potatoes. Dan ordered the braised beef (paleron), which came in a handsome cast-iron pot called a cocotte. He said the sauce was excellent. Tom had a cheese ravioli, which he especially enjoyed. The four of them shared three desserts: two lemon tarts and one mi-cuit au chocolat . . . all delicious, and very pretty. The girls had a wonderful time showing how much they appreciated their desserts. The staff at Le Café du Commerce speak only French to us, and after almost a month of listening to the rapidfire French of the Tour de France sportscasters on TV, my listening comprehension is at a peak. Earlier in the day, the salesperson at the Nicolas shop told me that the credit card machine wasn’t working and that she could only accept cash. She said this very quickly, and not in the simplest way at all. But I understood everything, and told her it was not a problem; I had the cash. The American tourist who was in the shop before me was not so calm about it. He seemed upset, and so I tried to be especially nice to the salesperson, smiling wishing her “bonne chance avec la machine,” as I said goodbye. She smiled back and said “merci beaucoup, madame.” I suppose that a nonfunctioning credit card machine is a real problem. The American tourist was about to buy a pretty nice bottle of champagne – one that came in its own gift box – and he was not thrilled about this inconvenience. I just wish he had not been so loud and agitated when he called out to his wife to wait (she was out on the sidewalk), come back, and bring the cash to him. How embarrassing. At least he was speaking French to the salesperson. If he wondered why she rang up my sale before his, it was because the salesperson wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He made her nervous. A smile and a calm demeanor go a long way. My Ohio friend Karen S., who is in Chatauqua right now, asked yesterday how we keep from gaining weight while we’re in France, eating this delicious food. My answer to her: “ . . . portions are smaller, we don't eat everything, we don't each much all day (before dinner), we walk everywhere, and we don't drive a car during the entire 3 months.” Truth is, I’m losing weight, and I do not know why. This phenomenon started slowly, back in Florida this Spring, and it is continuing slowly here in France. Perhaps it is just a “time of life” thing. Who knows. I do know that my body seems to like having a break from the strenuous routine of swimming 6,000 feet per day. (I swim 9 months of the year in Florida, but do not swim for 3 months per year while in France.) Some aches and pains are gone now, the old body having a chance to mend. And with all the rain since we arrived in France, we have not been able to take the “marathon walks” that we often have done in the past. But the weather is good now, so we will keep on truckin’.
|
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Interior
of Le Café du Commerce, as seen in the mirrored wall next to our table.
Lemon
tart, above, and mi-cuit
au chocolat, below.
Bottles
of sparkling wine in the Italian deli window on the rue Mademoiselle.
Motorcycles
in front of a Thai restaurant on the rue Mademoiselle. |
