Paris Journal 2012 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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Schools re-open this week. While the first day of classes is today, I think, at most schools, yesterday must have been some kind of registration day or something that required students to be present. When Tom and I went out to go to the nearest grocery to this apartment, the Franprix at the corner of the rue Cassette and the rue de Rennes, we passed by a school on the rue Marie-Pape Carpantier that had unleashed a mob of big teenagers onto the streets. A few groups of those kids were in Franprix. We went to this grocery with high hopes of finding it completely renovated, but it was only slightly improved. The aisles still were too narrow and the place felt too claustrophobic, especially with Parisians scurrying about, in a hurry now with the rentrée. We already miss our beautiful new Franprix on the rue de Lourmel in the 15th. But this Franprix on rue de Rennes is the only grocery store near enough to make it practical for us to take the shopping trolley (or caddy, as the one in this apartment is labeled). When you need bottled water, you need wheels. Refusing to be rushed, we took our time to find the things we needed. I even managed to find a good deal on a pair of slippers! But with shampoo, no luck. I’ll have to go to Monoprix, farther up the rue de Rennes, for a better selection. Like most women who have long hair, I’m picky about shampoo. I even used my new Paris shopping bag in addition to our trolley. Now, we have what’s necessary to have guests over for drinks. One of Tom’s former colleagues is coming over with her friend this evening. After drinks and snacks here, we’ll dine at La Petite Chaise, one of two contenders for the designation “oldest restaurant in Paris.” It is only a pleasant, 10-minute walk from the apartment, on the rue de Grenelle, across from the rue de la Chaise. Earlier in the day, I’d checked out the G20 supermarket on the rue Jean Bart, just off of the rue de Vaugirard. This grocery, and the Carrefour Express at the corner of those same streets, are a bit farther away from the apartment than the Franprix, but they are more up-to-date and more sane – no rowdy teenagers, and not so many frenzied Parisians. In the evening, we donned our new jackets and strolled down the rue de Férou toward the Luxembourg Gardens. More tourists are appearing on the rue de Férou now that the Rimbaud poem “The Drunken Ship” has been installed on the wall of the former seminary there. The wall and its attached buildings are now part of the Ministry of Finance. At the gate to the park, we noticed that we were entering just 30 minutes before the park would close. The closing time changes with time of year. Now it is 7:30PM. We had plenty of time to walk through the full length of this glorious park that the French Senate owns and graciously allows the people to use. After exiting the southern end of the Luxembourg Gardens, we entered the Marco Polo gardens (also often called the Square de l’Observatoire) just to the south of there, and strolled on through to the southern end of those, where the fabulous fountain of the Four Corners of the Earth splashes effusively. Leaving all gardens behind us, we crossed over to the beginning of the boulevard du Montparnasse. We were thinking about the Corsican restaurant, L’Abri Cotier. When we arrived at its door, just before the rue Paul Sejourne, we saw that we were one day early. The resto reopens after its vacation today. No problem. We had plenty of restaurants to choose from on this famous boulevard. We decided upon Chez Fernand, which is owned by a friend of the guys who own Le P’tit Fernand up by the Marché Saint Germain. We were shown to an excellent table for two just inside the front window, in the corner. We were given shiny new, freshly printed and laminated menus; the server also brought the blackboard listing the day’s specials to our table. I selected one of the specials, a swordfish steak served with mashed potatoes and green olive oil. Tom selected another special, the filet mignon de porc. The server then presented a mis en bouche: a little cup of those mild, oblong French radishes, and another cup of slices of saucisson sec, a dried cured sausage similar to summer sausage. I love those radishes, and so I ate almost every one of them. The server seated an Australian couple from Melbourne at the table next to us. They were so closeby that when the man said to his wife that the steak d’espadon was a chicken steak, I couldn’t help myself. I said to them that it was actually swordfish. They were grateful for the help, and so asked us several more questions during the course of deciding and ordering. The server was most grateful for our help. He sounded as if he were in pain when he tried to speak English, making squeaking sounds as if the words were contents under pressure. He was so happy that we spoke French! Tom’s pork was excellent; it was accompanied by homemade tagliatelle pasta, and a superb, mild old-fashioned grainy mustard sauce. In addition, the server brought him a tiny pot of hot Dijon mustard because, as we know, some like it hot. My fish was overcooked; that’s probably partly my fault for not saying how I like my swordfish. The potatoes were mashed, not puréed, but that’s okay. Altogether, my main course was far too copious; this restaurant is not guilty of small servings. Au contraire. Tom was ready for dessert, so he ordered the dessert of the day, which was called something strange like a bouchon, but it really was a moelleaux au chocolat with a scoop of top-quality caramel ice cream on top. It was warm, rich and absolutely wonderful. I had a few little bites. We said our goodbyes and thank you’s to the server and the head waiter. Service at Chez Fernand is lovely – just right: not intrusive, but attentive, prompt, polite, and friendly. The walk home through the dark streets was magical. I can see why Serge Caillaud said that this neighborhood bewitched him. |
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Walking
up the rue de Férou toward the Saint Sulpice church, a poem by Rimbaud now graces the wall on
the left. The poem, 100 lines long,
consists of 25 alexandrine quatrains, requiring a wall as big as this one.
The
fountain in Place Saint Sulpice. |
