Paris Journal 2011 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com

Photos and thoughts about Paris

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Patricia S. asks if we find the French to be arrogant. It is a question we’re asked not infrequently. Let me start by saying we’re in Paris, not just France. Just like in big world-class cities anywhere, like New York, there is some arrogance that goes with the territory. The people make the city, and the city is great, so therefore . . . . . That said, I must say that we find Parisians to be warm and friendly, and they treat us very well. In all these 14 summers here, we’ve had only a very few encounters with surly, rude people, and the only two I can remember at the moment were waiters who’d been in the job too long – they were burned out. Then there are a couple times when people tried to short-change us, and we called them on it. And once Tom had his arm broken by a pickpocket whom we caught in the act. I don’t think those times count at all – that’s not arrogance, it is criminality. The other disclaimer I’d put on my claim that Parisians are warm, friendly people is that we aren’t trying to do business here. I have heard business people say that it is difficult doing business with the French, and that may well be true. But I’ve also seen some indications that that has changed somewhat over the past decade, as the French business people have become more self-aware in the global marketplace. Part of the reason we’re treated well is that we’ve learned the etiquette that goes with this territory, and we learned it early on. Just as we study restaurant operations, we study human behavior. This is one of the things Tom and I love to talk about with each other. Sometimes it is a great source of entertainment and amusement for us. The sense of courtesy among the French is very strong. Good manners are important. Now I bring up another question: Are Americans arrogant? We’ve spent so much time in Paris now, over the years, that I can see American tourists as the Parisians see them. Many, if not most, American tourists are just fine, and I believe Parisians like them a lot. But there are Americans who embarrass us. Sometimes it is just because they don’t know the etiquette. They walk into a place and just say what they are looking for or what they want without saying “bonjour” first. Big error. Then there are the ones who speak very loudly at the French, thinking that if they speak loudly, perhaps the French will understand their English. And of course there are the ones who think this is like Disneyland or something, where all the staff are supposed to be catering to the needs of tourists. They don’t seem to realize that this is a real city with real people with lots of kinds of business to conduct, and tourism isn’t the primary one. The overly casual dress of some American tourists used to bother me a bit, but now it seems like lots of people, even Parisians, dress very casually even when dining at nice restaurants. So I give up on that one. Overall, however, I find the preponderance of evidence supports the contention that Parisians admire America, and Americans love Paris. How’s that for an answer? They love American music; we hear it played on restaurant sound systems much of the time. They love a lot of our commercial operations; we see Starbucks, McDonalds, and American retail chain stores thriving here. They love our movies, even more than French movies. They love our movie and rock stars. They love hamburgers American-style, much more than the way they used to serve them, bun-less, here. Nowadays, many Parisians love to try to speak English, American-style. They want to practice it on you at every opportunity. I don’t think this is so true outside of Paris, however. Most of them love the Clintons and the Obamas, too – especially Hillary and Michele. So there you have it. In my opinion, they aren’t arrogant and they don’t hate Americans. Au contraire. We walked deeply into the 7^th arrondissement, turning back when we reached the elegant Place du Palais Bourbon, one of our favorite places in all of Paris, where the National Assembly and lovely residential buildings surround a big, square parvis. By the time we were walking down the avenue Rapp, we were very hungry. Then we saw two restaurants that interested us. One was a large Indian place called New Jawad, and the other was an Italian trattoria, Dell Angelo. After some discussion, we decided to go to the Italian place. The server who greeted us was as nice as can be, and he let us pick whatever table we wanted. It was a beautiful, warm evening, so we selected one near the open front façade. Tom ordered the excellent veal scallopini al limoni with a side of homemade tagliatelle pasta, and I ordered a special of the day, tortelloni aux cepes – stuffed tortellini with mushrooms in a delicious cream sauce. The restaurant started filling up with French families. There was one single American young lady, who spoke French well, who stopped to examine the menu out on the sidewalk. She was lovely, dressed in a white sundress and carrying her shopping bags. She was a fake blonde, but she had a very good, expensive hair color treatment. One of the servers saw her and was delighted to welcome her into the restaurant. She sat near us. Her manners were impeccable. The service she received was impeccable, too. The dinner was very filling, so I did not order dessert, intending to just have a bite of Tom’s chocolate cake. The server was so disappointed when I didn’t want dessert; he was then delighted when Tom asked for two spoons, instead of just one. When the dessert arrived, there were two, not just one, slices of dark, rich flourless chocolate cake in a pool of crème anglaise with a drizzle of chocolate sauce. It was a chocoholic’s version of heaven. I ate my share. Yumm. Tom tipped the server in addition to the tip included in the tab. (This small, extra tip is called a pour boire.) So it was good that we had such a long walk. At home, we enjoyed the clean apartment and another day well spent. I began reading a novel about a woman who inherits a house in the south of France. Sign my guestbook. View my guestbook. Join me on Facebook. Note: For addresses & phone numbers of restaurants in this journal, click here.

Saturday, August 20, 2011 More Big Cats Two of my favorite door knockers on the rue de Grenelle are deteriorating, I’m sad to say. These are unique in that the lion’s faces are wood, individually hand-carved, but the paws and lower part of the mane are brass or bronze. That’s easier to see now in the one below, because a piece is missing. The heavenly gateau au chocolat at Trattoria Dell Angelo, 6 avenue Rapp, in the 7^th arrondissement. One of our favorite French apartment buildings is this Art Nouveau edifice at 29 avenue Rapp. ← Previous Next →