Paris Journal 2015 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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At mid-day on Sunday, I thought we should have a roasted chicken on hand for salads and sandwiches, at least for the early part of the week. I could roast one myself; there is a workable rotisserie in the oven in the apartment’s small kitchen. But I discovered a butcher’s stall in the Wednesday/Sunday market that has roasted chickens for just 7 euros each. At that price, it is hardly worth the bother and the mess of roasting one myself. Buying one does mean a 20 minute walk in each direction, but that’s okay. The nearer butcher’s stall is more expensive; but if I go the one that is beyond the rue Violet on the boulevard de Grenelle, I save money and I have a pleasant walk. To avoid a couple busy or confusing intersections, I walked up to the rue Fondary and then the rue Violet, which still looks the way that the rue du Commerce looked before it was spiffed up. To walk there feels like taking a step back in time, when the 15th was a quiet, working class neighborhood. Now it is increasingly chic and trendy – at least the northern part of it is. When I reached the chosen butcher’s stall, it was only 11:20AM, and so there was a line of people waiting. I took my place in line, and enjoyed watching the people and transactions. The butcher was a little brusque and officious with the customers in line in front of me. When it was my turn, I put on my very best French manners in greeting him and asking if, please, could I have one 7-euro roasted chicken? He selected one, showed it to me, I approved, and he put in it a paper sack for me. He was very nice in thanking me, and I wondered why he treated me more graciously than the others. It must be all those niceties, like saying bonjour, and s’il vous plait, and monsieur. Have I become more French than some of the French? Or was he just being extra nice to the foreign lady? I think that some of the customers were trying to negotiate a better price with the butcher. Come on, I thought; his price is extremely reasonable, compared to what I’ve seen in many butcher’s shops! Why bicker? Back at the apartment, I put some dark meat from the chicken into a salad composed of romaine lettuce, tomatoes, and vinaigrette (raspberry vinegar, olive oil, Corsican honey, freshly ground black pepper, and salt from the Camargue). Tom generally opts for ham sandwiches at lunchtime; he makes them with Harry’s American Bread (“industrial” white bread a couple notches up from Wonder Bread). At least he uses French cheese (Emmental, Comté, or Cantal). Rain began to fall. I turned on the TV and watched La Course, the women’s bicycle race that takes place in Paris just before the men’s Tour de France enters the city for its last stage. La Course is 89 kilometers long, and it is run by the Tour de France organization. The rain made the pavers on the Champs Élysées very dangerous. Many of the women crashed and fell. I felt guilty for having wished for rain for the plants on the apartment’s balcony. I believe this is only the second year of existence for La Course. A Dutch rider has won each time so far. Almost all the teams had riders who didn’t finish, due to all the crashes and falls. One Spanish team had no riders who finished. One American team, Optum P/B Kelly Benefit, had only one rider (out of six) who finished. The other American team, United Health Care, managed to have four out of six riders finish. Having seen the numerous disastrous falls experienced by the La Course riders, Tour de France officials decided to freeze the overall times for all the male riders in the Tour de France. This would reduce risk-taking since the only thing up for grabs would be who would win the day’s stage of the tour; nobody would be able to improve his overall time. The rain had let up and the oily slicks had mostly washed away by the time the men of the Tour de France reached the Champs Élysées. It was time to go to dinner before the stage was over, but when we arrived at the restaurant, the TV in the bar was on and we saw the final moments of the race. No surprises of course; Britain’s Christopher Froome won the Tour. We were at Le Cap, one of two restaurants on the gracious square that is home to the town hall of the 15th arrondissement. The other restaurant isn’t rated so well; but I was impressed with Le Cap’s ratings and reviews on Lafourchette.com (no discount offered this time). Le Cap was fun. The décor is fresh and modern, with a touch of the exotic (faux leopard skin pillows on the banquettes, lap-robe size blankets hanging over the backs of chairs, a big glassed-in terrace, and décor that hinted at seaside get-aways). We shared an order of six escargots to start; they came in the shells, and were expertly done – tender, with just the right amount of garlic, herbs, and butter. My main course was barbequed ribs, which were surprisingly lean yet fork-tender. They came with a basket of excellent sautéed potatoes, which I pretty much turned over to Tom after I had a few bites. He needed them. Tom had a starter course as his main course: the beef carpaccio. That was followed by the café gourmand: an espresso and a plate of assorted mini-desserts. I ordered the baba au rhum. At Le Cap, the baba is made with a small round of homemade pound cake which is lighter and more rustic than most. The rum was Saint James, which is now my favorite of the Martinique rums. (I wonder what Randy Wayne White, author and rum expert, thinks of Martinique rums?) Service was casual but orderly and absolutely professional. The place filled up with mostly local diners. There were a few tables with tourists who must have been referred by local hotels. The relatively young servers had no trouble communicating in English with the tourists (both Americans and Asians). We enjoyed Le Cap very much. We were fortunate to have a table with some space around it; many other tables were packed in tightly, with just an inch and a half or so in between. Getting around the tables to go to the restroom, or to leave, is tricky. We concluded that this is a good place for Sunday dinner. The seafood looks great, and that’s what we’ll try next time. |
Monday, July 27, 2015
The
mairie,
or town hall, for the 15th arrondissement, on the rue Peclet.
Lean
barbequed ribs and sautéed potatoes.
Beef
carpaccio with shavings of Parmesan.
A
Custode earthenware sculpture made in Nevers in the 18th Century, on display at the Musée de Sevres.
Weird
sculpture made by an artist who was born in the 1970s, on display at the Musée de Sevres. |
