Paris Journal 2009 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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Frenzied Parisians have
returned in full force after vacations.
We made a short trip to Monoprix to buy things like laundry detergent
that one cannot get at the market.
What a madhouse! We had to rest up after that
chaotic episode. Then it was time to
go for the evening walk, and so we went to the lovely Luxembourg Gardens
where I took many photos. Tom wanted
to see Val de Grace -- the most beautiful military hospital on the planet, I
think. So we headed for the avenue de
l’Observatoire. There at the corner
overlooking the Luxembourg Gardens is a gorgeous Haussmannian building that
we decided has the best apartment, way up in the turret on the corner, with a
great view of the gardens. After wandering down the avenue
and admiring Val de Grace, we ambled through that neighborhood a little
before deciding that it would be a good idea to walk back up through the park
before closing time. Before going out to eat, we
stopped back in the apartment and called l’Espadon Bleu to make a
reservation. The man on the other end
of the phone told Tom that l’Espadon Bleu no longer exists. He did not, however, seem interested in
attracting Tom to whatever restaurant he apparently works for now, which is
now in l’Espadon Bleu’s location, even using their old phone number. I was just way too curious
about this so we had to walk by there on our way. We talked about where to go to dinner, and
decided to try one of Jacques Cagna’s other restaurants, Rotisserie d’en
Face. Going up the rue Gregoire de
Tours after crossing the boulevard St. Germain, we tried to avoid the
aggressive maitre d’s who stand out on the sidewalk and try to talk you into
their restaurants. I always tell them,
in French, that we already have a reservation somewhere. They assume everyone walking up the street
is an English-speaking tourist, and that annoys me somewhat, and must surely
annoy Parisians somewhat. When we rounded the corner from
rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts onto the rue Grands Augustins, we hated what we
saw. A modern, disgustingly
super-trendy restaurant had taken the place of l’Espadon Bleu. The new proprietors had covered over all
the old wooden beams including the ones that separated the two dining rooms
with flat drywall. Ugly big modern
paintings hang on the walls. The menu
does include travers de porc, which
is good, but the servers all looked more interested in strutting around and
preening than they were interested in serving or making anyone feel welcome. The worst is the new name of
the place: KGB. Who in their right mind would name a
restaurant the KGB? What happened to Julien
Logereau, Jacques Cagna’s wonderful nephew who ran l’Espadon Bleu? Sigh. We were a little shaken at this
sight, and went to Rotisserie d’en Face.
We didn’t have a reservation, and were given a table inches away from
the kitchen door. We left. We looked at the other two
restaurants on the rue Christine, but Tom said he is just tired of being
crowded into these little tables that are jammed too close to other little
tables. We walked on up the narrow rue
de Nevers to the Seine, not really knowing what we were doing. Then we realized how close we were to Le
Caveau du Palais, on the Ile de la Cité.
Tom wanted to go there. I was a
bit concerned that without a reservation and on a Saturday night, we would
not be able to get in. But we went
anyway. Tom greeted la patronne when we arrived and
explained that we didn’t have a reservation.
She recognized us, which didn’t surprise me at all; Americans who
knowingly order, eat, and love Andouillette are rare. She wanted very much to find a table for
us. She puzzled for a moment, then
directed a server to take us upstairs.
I had no idea there was an upstairs. But up we went, on a narrow
spiral staircase, to a dining room with a low ceiling and architectural
details that seem to date back to the 16th century, I swear. We were seated at a generous
table for two in a nook under a stairway supported by ancient beams on one
side, and a low, arched window on the other side that gave us a great view of
the goings on in the Place Dauphine. This included children playing,
a dog being walked, one very funny little collie playing hide and seek with
the kids and the other dog, a game of boules, a group of three young adults
sharing a bottle of wine, and various other things. Later on, the family with three
adults and three kids came into the restaurant, and were initially seated at
a big table in our low-ceilinged upstairs dining room. The server scolded the children when they
went to one of the low-arched windows to peer out at the park where they’d
been playing. The family didn’t settle
into the table. Instead, someone somehow found
a way to seat them on the terrace, which was great because then the kids
could continue to frolic in the park while the adults lingered over dinner. Through the open windows, we heard
music as the light faded: a wandering
vocalist and guitarist performing popular American songs, with a little
British music thrown in (like the Beatle’s “Yesterday”). He was very good. I would have thought he was a native
speaker of English, except when it came to pronouncing words like
“down.” Words like town, down, how,
now, brown, cow, and brow are very difficult for the French to pronounce
correctly when they try to speak English.
“Don’t let me down” sounded like “Don’t let me done” when this singer
sang those lyrics by John Lennon. When I heard a pause in the
music, I went down the spiral staircase to give the wandering musician some
change. There, in one of the open
doors, the head waiter was summoning the musician by rudely snapping a napkin
toward him while calling him over. I inserted myself in the
doorway, too, and gave the musician 2.50 euros while the head waiter scolded
him for not asking permission to play to his diners first. Still, the musician turned to say “merci”
to me, and I went back up the stairs as the scolding continued. I thought that would be the end
of the music, but something must have changed because he played and sang a
couple more songs before moving around to the other restaurants on the Place
Dauphine. Unlike some of the street
entertainers who look like they’ve been scraped up off the sidewalk
somewhere, this guy was a tall, bespectacled, neat, clean looking
professional; he looked like a music teacher from one of the local high
schools. Dinner was very fine. We shared a starter of Burgundy escargots,
then each of us had the braised beef with carrots in a dark, rich beef stock
made with red wine and wonderful seasonings.
The dish was served in a dark, covered pot, and the meat fell apart
with the touch of the fork. Absolutely
delicious. We asked for a side order of
potatoes, because the dish doesn’t include potatoes (even though it
should). The server was concerned
because evidently the restaurant is running low on potatoes. But he said he’d bring us one order, and
that was all we needed. Later, I made a special point
of thanking him for the potatoes after I said how superb the braised beef
was. He was a bit officious, but a
good waiter, working hard, running up and down that spiral staircase, beads of
sweat all over his forehead. Even
though the service is always included in the check, we gave him some extra
euros. Place Dauphine is beautiful at
night. It has the old gas lamps, which
have evidently been converted to a soft golden electric light. At night, the ancient Place Dauphine is a
magical place. You can imagine what it
looked like hundreds of years ago. The best part of yesterday was
yet to come, after dinner. On the way
home along the rue Dauphine, we passed the entrance to the Hotel d’Aubusson. Then we were next to the window looking
into the hotel’s Café Laurent,
where a jazz band was playing right before our eyes. The band was Christian Brenner’s. He had a special female guest vocalist,
whose name I will try to find. The trio normally includes
drummer Olivier Robin, bass player Laurent Fradelizi, and Christian on
piano. They played great American jazz
standards that we love, written by great Americans like Irving Berlin. We did not hear one French song, even
though the entire band with vocalist was French. We found two perfect seats at
the front corner of the bar, where Tom could observe the talented
drummer. We had a marvelous time,
which was marred only a tiny bit by four young, selfish, noisy, chatty-kathy
American 20-something-year-old women who were interested only in themselves,
not the music. The music was very, very
fine. We’ll go back later this week. The Hotel, by the way, is in a
17th century stately home.
Its rates: Classic Room 305 € Superior Room 365 € Grand Luxe Room 450 € Junior Suite 535 € Duplex / Loft 480 € Extra Bed 75 € Breakfast 25 € Transfers starting at 110 € Internet special: book 6 nights and pay for 5! This
offer is subject to availability Wow. Well, it is a pretty swishy place. The reception rooms have antique Aubusson
tapestries on the walls. The stone
floor that we admired in the Café is original, with all of its patina
intact. The Café, by the way, serves
only drinks. No food whatsoever. After the second set, we said
our merci’s and au revoirs to the bartenders and to
Christian. You’d think the streets
would be quiet as midnight approaches.
But not in this part of the 6th. Here, we had to work our way around clumps
of noisy, drunk, young smokers on the sidewalk. I don’t see how anyone can live in this
part of town. It was midnight by the time we
arrived home in our super-quiet neighborhood south of Saint Sulpice. We slept very well indeed. |
Sunday, September 6, 2009
We
think this would be the best apartment in Paris, looking over the Luxembourg
Gardens. Below is the front door to
the building.
Kiosque
where toys are sold in the Luxembourg Gardens.
Kids
can rent small sailboats to float in the pool of water in the Luxembourg
Gardens.
Looking
at Val de Grace down the rue du Val de Grace.
One
of two fountains at the Italian-inspired Place Alphonse Laveran, across from
Val de Grace. |
