Paris Journal 2011 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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That lead photo in yesterday’s journal did not receive the appropriate amount of attention in this journal. Of all of the statues in the Luxembourg Gardens and the two gardens to the south of it, this is one of the best, in my opinion. It is called Le Jour (The Day) and was created by Jean-Joseph Perraud in 1875. This statue, unlike many, is really marble (not cast concrete). The carving – the musculature, the fabric, the composition, the sense of motion – make it wonderful. Daniel Cady Eaton, the author of Modern French Sculpture, says that “during the Second Empire no sculptor enjoyed a greater reputation” than Perraud. I can see why. He was born in the Jura, a mountainous department of France, in 1819. When he was 15, he was apprenticed to an ébéniste (a maker of fine furniture, often the elaborate wood-inlay that the French are known for) and ornemaniste (ornamental artist). The young Perraud’s talent was recognized, and he wound up studying at the École des Beaux Arts in Paris. His work won honors and awards. He worked for the Medici family in Italy for a while, then returned to France. In 1865, he became a member of the Institut de France, which ensured that he had commissions until the end of his life. Some of his most famous pieces include the Childhood of Bacchus which is now at the Louvre, and the Lyrical Drama, which decorates the exterior of the Palais Garnier, the beautiful old opera theater in Paris. He died in 1876, and is buried in the Montparnasse cemetery. After walking by Perraud’s Le Jour, we went on down to the great “Four Corners of the Earth” fountain at the end of the Marco Polo Garden, puzzling over why it isn’t operating and why so much leaf and other litter has been allowed to accumulate in its stagnant pool. I suspect the workers are making a point about budget cuts, letting this become an eyesore so that people will complain to their public officials about it. It is such a gorgeous fountain; this is a shame. After walking back up through all three parks, we decided to visit the stately semi-circular square in front of the Odéon Theatre. That space is an architectural masterpiece. “Romeo and Juliet” is being played at the theatre now; but unfortunately, it is a translation that is being performed. It just doesn’t seem that it can really be Shakespeare unless it is performed in English. On the spot, Tom translated some famous lines from the play into French, and we both could hear that it just isn’t the same; it doesn’t sound right at all. Anyway, I’m glad that the French think highly enough of Shakespeare to produce “Romeo and Juliet” in one of the National Theatres. In the book I’m reading now, the Irish author speculates about why the French frequently use English words in the names of shops. In the example she used, a laundromat in Paris is called the “Wash Shop.” She thinks the French do this as a way of adding class or status to the name of the business. Tom pointed out that we do the same thing in reverse; we use French words in the names of shops in order to make them sound classier. Isn’t that interesting? After marveling at the Odéon plaza and deciding that seeing “Romeo and Juliet” in French was probably not a good idea for us, we walked on over to the Saint Sulpice church. I noticed before we entered that in about an hour and a quarter, a concert of Mozart’s Requiem would begin there. We went inside anyway, and simply sat for a little while and listened to the orchestra receiving some verbal instructions. Then we went over to admire the Delacroix paintings near the other entrance, and exited by the table set up for concert ticket sales. We sat on a park bench out on the lovely square in front of the church and talked about where to go for dinner. After discussing several possibilities, I suggested the Café Tournon. Tom was delighted. He said, “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” The Café Tournon is turning out to be our “neighborhood pub” while we are in the 6th, but it really is not a pub or mere brasserie. It is a café, or bistro, I’d say. One of the specials of the day was a turbot meunière, which I could not resist. Another special was the onglet de boeuf, and Tom, steak-lover that he is, ordered that. We finished by sharing another daily special, a little pain perdu topped by a peach compote. It was an excellent dinner. We sat across the dining room from the door into the little kitchen. I watched the chef work. He did everything with ease, and the results were delicious. But somehow, the chef looked sad. I wonder why. Our server was not sad. He was positively ebullient. When I told him that the turbot was excellent, he launched into a little enthusiastic speech about turbot, and what is unique and interesting about it. Clearly, this server is interested in food. The server was very fay, too. That, combined with his natural ebullience, made him cute. Quite cute. The turbot was an interesting choice for a meunière treatment. Usually, as with sole meunière, the fish served this way is soft and delicate. But turbot is very firm, and has large bones. Several times, I saw our server hanging on the sill of the open window into the kitchen, watching the chef attentively as he waited for the finishing touches to be put on a dish. Then he carried the dish immediately to the proper table. No food was going to get cold under his watch! The other server also came by to ask if all was going well with our dinner, and we assured him that it was. When we left, both servers and the bartender said goodbye and thanked us. I adore all this warmth and friendliness. Coming home, we noticed that the small restaurant on the corner near the apartment was very busy. We’ll have to dine there soon. Sign
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Thursday, September 22, 2011
Le Jour, by
Jean-Joseph Perraud, 1875.
Turbot meunière,
above, and onglet de bœuf,
below, a the Café Tournon,
the place where Duke Ellington’s band made its Paris debut.
Pain perdu with peach compote and crème Anglaise.
Looking
into the dome of the Luxembourg Palace at night. |
