Paris Journal 2012 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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When the weather is as warm as it is now, the swallows come out to play. In the evening and in the morning, they gather in gangs and fly as fast as they can, whistling a high-pitched squeaky note all the way, in sweeping circles around the tops of buildings like ours. Six floors above street level, we sit on two small metal chairs at a little table on the balcony, and these birds, the hirondelles, race by. They’re playing; they must be playing because they’re flying too fast to catch anything, and there are hardly any bugs in the city anyway, especially this high above the ground. Les hirondelles seem to be having a wonderful time. I do not know why they wait until it is warm to come out and play like this. Our evening play included walking up the chic avenue de la Motte-Picquet. I know it is chic because the newspaper Le Parisien called it a “chic avenue Parisienne” in its coverage of a shocking local news story. On the part of the avenue de la Motte-Picquet that is in the 7th arrondissement, a small jewelry shop was robbed last week. The jeweler, a specialist in gold, had been robbed before, and so was able to get a permit to carry a gun. And so he had a gun. When an armed man entered his shop last Thursday, the jeweler panicked and shot the man dead. The jeweler has now been charged with voluntary homicide. The owners of the businesses in the neighborhood are supportive of the jeweler. They taped numerous messages of support to the metal curtain that covers the front of his now-closed shop. These neighbors collected 1,000 signatures on a petition of support for the jeweler. They speak of “legitimate defense,” and the fact that they’re all fed up with robberies and burglaries. I was not aware that there were many robberies around here. After reading about the notes of support taped to the front of the shop, we decided to walk past it to take a look. It is on one of our regular routes, anyway. When we arrived there, we saw that somebody had torn off most of the notes. I did photograph one that remained, at least in part. That poor jeweler is going to have to live with the fact that he killed a man. God help him. Did having a gun keep him from being robbed? Yes. Was it worth it? You decide. We crossed the street and continued on toward another local business, the Auberge Bressane, where we’d successfully dined once earlier this month. The description of the Auberge Bressane on its French-language home page is different from the one on its English-language home page. So I will translate the French version for you here, since its claims are interesting: In the heart of the 7th arrondissement, a little provincial corner has survived all the trends. And not only that, the Auberge Bressane is the last auberge in Paris, and so merits well the designation of “historic monument.” Not far from the Auberge Bressane is the Auberge d’Chez Eux at 2 avenue Lowendal, and I’m not sure what that establishment thinks of the Bressane’s claim that it is the last remaining auberge in Paris. An interesting difference between these two “auberges” is price. For example, the veal chop at Auberge Bressane is 30 euros, and the one at Chez Eux (450 grams) is 50 euros. (We have dined at Chez Eux with our friends Arnold and Mareen in the past, and it was a very memorable and positive experience.) As we walked up the avenue to the Auberge Bressane, it was still before the opening time of 8PM, and the restaurant staff was out taking the air under the trees on the broad sidewalk. I asked for a reservation at 8PM; the bartender smiled and said “it is noted.” I do like the way French people talk. We walked up the avenue to the little triangular park with a statue of Vauban at the intersection of the boulevard de la Tour Maubourg and the rue de Grenelle. We didn’t know much about Vauban, so I pulled out the smartphone, found a free wireless signal from a nearby brasserie, and looked up Vauban on the Wikipedia Pro app. He was the foremost military engineer of his day; he died of a pulmonary embolism in 1707. After a few minutes of reading about Vauban’s accomplishments and learning that his heart is in the church at Les Invalides but the rest of his remains were scattered during the Revolution, it was time for dinner. When we returned to the Auberge, the woman who seems to be head waiter said “formidable!” when Tom told her we’d made a reservation. We were given the best table for two in the house – it was a booth that could actually accommodate four medium to small adults. One of the specialties of the Auberge is soufflé. Soufflés of several kinds are on the menu. I’d decided in advance that I must try the crab soufflé, so I only had yet to decide on a starter course. That was easy. The terrine that is made by the restaurant was an obvious choice. Tom ordered the veal chop and no starter course because he knew the chop would be substantial, and because he shared some of my terrine, which was very, very good. It came with a garnish of carmelized, candied onions, and was accompanied by a crock of cornichons (gherkins). Yummmmmm. The soufflé was delivered to the table, immediately followed by a small copper saucepan with a sauce that resembled a crab bisque. The server spooned the sauce onto the soufflé on the table before me. The soufflé was everything I’d hoped it would be. Fine, and delicious. Tom’s veal chop turned out to be not simply substantial; it was a monster! This enormous chop was also well-marbled, tender, moist, and perfectly cooked. It arrived in an oval copper pan with a dark savory sauce and a large number of peas. In addition, a sizeable salad of mixed greens was there for us to share. But there was no way to consume all of this; it was too much. We could not even begin to consider dessert, so Tom just ordered an espresso. To treat my slight stomach affliction, I’d given up drinking regular flat water, and was drinking just the bubbly stuff. The sparkling water served at the Auberge Bressane is a different kind of Badoit – instead of the regular green-bottle Badoit, this was a red-bottle Badoit that comes, as all Badoit does, from a spring at Saint Galmier. I like it better than green-bottle Badoit because it seemed to be less salty. Or maybe my tastebuds were just not sensing the salt so much last night. Anyway, the bubbly water treatment seems to be working. I feel almost normal today. Our friend, the water expert John Darmody, told us once that the bubbly water is the cleanest of all, because the germs and whatnot (les animaux miniscule!) cannot live very well with all those bubbles. John and Caroline live in Australia, but now they are in France. At the moment, they’re in Normandy, but when they return to Paris we hope to see them. They stay in Caroline’s cousin’s apartment which is located very near ours. The cousin’s apartment has the best kitchen-window view of the Eiffel Tower that you can imagine; I’m envious! When we walked past the Champ de Mars and the Eiffel Tower last night, it was sunset time, and all was bathed in a rosy light. Everything seemed to be right with the world, as we strolled hand-in-hand down the avenue de la Motte-Picquet.
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Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Glasses
arranged atop the wine cooler at the Auberge Bressanne. The
wine list is extensive; it even includes a bottle that costs 900 euros!
M.
Albert Guibaud’s certificate from the Knights of
Winetasting is one of a number of certificates on display at the
restaurant. The introduction to the
book I’m reading now (Paris in the
Twentieth Century, by Jules Verne) claims that the French are enamored of
certificates, awards, and the like.
The
crab soufflé, above, and the monster veal chop, below.
Badoit from the spring at Saint Galmier is
served at the Auberge Bressane.
The
jewelry shop that was robbed on the avenue de la Motte-Picquet
is now closed. Notes of support for
the jeweler have been mostly removed.
A
remaining note says, “Bravo . . . have courage; we support you; I am with
you.” |
