Paris Journal 2012 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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New York is ahead of Paris right now, in this race to produce a new edition of one of Tom’s books, so we’re sticking close to home during the days in order to get work done, but we did go out to dine en famille at the neighborhood brasserie, Le Commerce Café, last night. Dan and the girls arrived at the apartment at about 7:30, and after we played around a little, teaching them some basic rudiments on Tom’s drum pad, we strolled down to the Café. A couple of the servers were there to greet us at the door, but we were temporarily waylaid by Reza, the neighborhood Persian-Parisian plumber whom we’ve known for years now, who wanted to tell us how he thought this café and one up on the avenue Émile Zola were the best in the neighborhood. I think Reza’s enthusiasm may have been enhanced by a couple beers. Anyway, he was being very friendly, and so was Charles, our server, as we settled into a big round high-top table near the back of the dining room. Charles wheeled the blackboard listing the daily specials over to us right away. The girls once again selected the kids’ menu, with chopped steak, fries, and cokes, and we adults selected more adult items, like confit de canard for Dan, a cantal burger for Tom, and roasted chicken from the daily specials blackboard for me. Dan didn’t realize that the confit de canard is always the leg of the duck. I explained that the duck breast is magret de canard. While he looked a little disappointed when I told him this, when the confit arrived and he started eating it, he really seemed to enjoy it. My chicken came with tasty sautéed potatoes that were in a pool of savory juice from the roasting process. Instead of the girolles (chanterelles) advertised on the blackboard, the garniture was diced turnips, I believe, that had been stewed in the juice of the chicken – they were delicious! But then, I’m a fan of turnips . . . . Tom was pleased with his cheeseburger topped with good cantal, and the girls liked their chopped steak and fries. In fact, Sarah absolutely cleaned her plate, in record time. The thick, hand-cut, superb steak fries at this café are something to appreciate in this world of way too many pre-cut, frozen fries. The girls were great last night; they really wanted to learn a little French, and they successfully ordered their own desserts, in French, which pleased Charles immensely. In fact, the girls’ pronunciation was quite clear, better than their dad’s. I had to repeat Dan’s order to Charles, but the girls made themselves well understood as they said “fraise melba, s’il vous plait,” and “tarte aux fraises, s’il vous plait.” The word Dan had trouble with was chocolat, as he ordered nougat and chocolate ice cream scoops. Something as simple as not getting the long “o” sound in the first syllable of chocolat can make it difficult for a French person to understand you. When it came time to pay the check, I had an epiphany: we really need to carry a pen with us when we go out to eat! Especially in places like this café where there are few or no tourists, practically everyone has a chip-and-pin credit card, with which no signature is needed. With the chipless card like ours, however, a signature is required. But the servers, who often pride themselves on not needing to write down orders (they memorize them instead), frequently do not have pens on their persons. Now that I’m carrying the camera bag with me, we decided to always have a pen, or stylo, in it. It’s a simple solution to a mildly awkward situation. Charles was nice about it, however, as he went in search of a stylo last night. When he returned with it, he saw that Tom was leaving him a pour boire (small tip, in addition to the service charge [tip] that is always built into the menu prices in France), and he smiled and said “merci, c’est gentil.” The desserts were especially good at the café last night. Mine, a moelleaux au chocolat, arrived later than the others. Sarah was concerned about this delay, but I explained that mine had to be baked, and the others were all cold desserts – no baking required. She was satisfied with that. And it was so true. Mine had that nice, warm dark chocolate center, and was topped with a very pleasant little scoop of black raspberry ice cream. Sarah was especially excited about her towering fraise melba, and the tartes aux fraises that Tom and Olivia ordered were very pretty. I was a bit late in starting on this journal this morning, because during the night I received an email from a friend back in the states with the subject line, “what to do about this?” It was a forwarded message that had some ridiculous fabrication about how the President-elect supposedly said something in 2008 about why he does not respect the American flag. Totally preposterous. It all started because some idiots were too simplistic to understand that a piece written by political columnist John Semmens was satire. Anyway, I did the research on it this morning. The Snopes.com article that debunks this fabrication is located at http://www.snopes.com/politics/obama/stance.asp, if you are interested. I had to find this and send it back to my friend in the New York state, so he can now send it to whomever sent him that ridiculous email. Before Dan and the girls arrived at the apartment yesterday evening, Tom and I did manage to make a quick trip down the street to the Dia discount grocery, which we now call “Diabolique.” We go there, despite its deficiencies, because it is so close, and many items there are bargains. The proximity is important when you don’t drive a car, and you’re relying on one of those shopping trolleys (large canvas bag on wheels). When we need to buy heavier, liquid items like juice, Badoit sparkling water, milk, laundry detergent, etc., proximity and the trolley are essential. The young man who is usually our cashier this summer is new to the place this year; he is very sweet. He decided that he would use us now as an opportunity to practice his English. Yesterday, he asked us if we were English. We explained that no, we are from the United States – specifically, Florida. Floride, it always seems to spark a twinkle in the eye of a Parisian. He made a great effort to tell us our total amount in English. “Thirty-six euros,” he struggled to pronounce. I rewarded him by saying, “that is VERY good!” He glowed with pride. So cute! We just about never see any other English speakers in Diabolique, so we are probably a rare opportunity for this young man. While our natural inclination is just to speak French, we may have to make an exception in order to accommodate him and his desire to practice his foreign language skills. Happy to oblige. One American living in Paris who has always struggled with the French language is David Lebovitz, a former chef who moved here ten years ago. I thank Jim H. for sending this piece by Lebovitz to me; I would have missed it, because I’m not a Fox News fan. While it is naturally overly simplistic (since it is from Fox News), the piece by Levovitz is somewhat humorous. One of his assertions with which I agree is that “French people appreciate American culture more than people think,” although I’d probably change that from “French people” to “Parisians.” What he writes about hamburgers in Paris is absolutely true. What he writes about saying goodbye when leaving a shop is also true. But when he says that you should say hello to everyone when you enter a doctor’s office waiting room is probably not true. At least, that wasn’t the case when Tom visited a urologist on the avenue Montaigne some years ago. Maybe it is just urology patients who’d rather be invisible . . . . I have no idea what he’s talking about when he recommends visiting wine bars in neighborhoods. We don’t have wine bars around here! Those must be in the 11th arrondissement, where Lebovitz lives. And it is a gross and unfair generalization to say that brasseries “are all pretty much terrible right now.” Maybe they are in the 11th. At least Lebovitz admits that the “15th has some interesting places.” Getting out of the single arrondissement areas is sort of a good idea; I would limit that recommendation to the first through the sixth, however. And I would quickly add that there are good places in the first sixth arrondissements. There are more good places elsewhere, however, and fewer bad tourist traps elsewhere. The 7th is a different sort of arrondissement altogether, because of its many important government properties, the high real estate values, and the lower number of commercial properties. What Lebovitz says about the French not knowing their cheeses is rubbish. I think they are just being modest when they give him their own assessments of their level of cheese edification. Lebovitz’s finale, the illogic of the unsolicited gift notification, is a gem. That is so French! |
Thursday, August 2, 2012
My
favorite one of the many new public art panels alongside the Jardin Nicole de Hautecloque.
Aging
white Persian cat in the window of Reza the plumber’s shop.
Ysmailoff oriental rug shop at the Village Suisse on the avenue de la Motte Picquet.
Moelleaux au chocolat at the Commerce Café.
Tartes
aux fraises.
Fraise melba, about to be consumed !
A
proud resident of the Champ de Mars. |
