Paris Journal 2012 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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“Buy me!” It seemed to scream, “Buy me, you Buckeye you!” It was shiny and new, Scarlet and Gray, Buckeye colors. It was just the right size, with just the right finish. Relatively speaking, its price was right. I needed this kind of pan for cooking our little brunches. I put it in my shopping basket. The basket also contained a holder for number 4 paper-cone coffee filters, so we can make filtered drip coffee again. Tom read that the filter removes impurities in the coffee. Sounds right to me. Also, the Nespresso capsules we’ve been using are not environmentally correct even if they can now be recycled, and they’re relatively expensive for daily use. Plus, I think that Tom just likes to know that a greater quantity of coffee is close at hand, at the ready. I can only handle one cup of the caffeinated brew a day, so quantity doesn’t impress me as much. And then there were the glasses. I had selected four 36-centiliter “multipurpose” glasses at 2 euros apiece. These are replacements for glasses our granddaughters broke when they stayed in the apartment in July. I was in Monoprix, on the rue de Rennes, not far from the boulevard Saint Germain and the historic Saint Germain des Prés church, at about 3PM. Always a busy store, Monoprix was especially full of frantic shoppers yesterday because it is back-to-school week. The back-to-school supplies section was near the kitchen supply section, so I could feel the stress of mothers shopping with their kids radiating toward me. I scooted over to the shampoo section, a little farther from the mad back-to-school section. There I found the perfect shampoo for the calcium-loaded Paris water: Garnier, in chamomile for blondes. Even though I was in the less crowded sections, the occasional Parisian wanted to dart past me at the speed of light. I headed for the lines at the cash registers. The lines were long, but not too long. I selected a shorter one, but of course a statuesque middle-aged bespectacled woman a few people ahead of me was trying to use coupons that would not scan. The manager had to be found. I was not in a hurry, but I did want to leave that hectic place. The fact that so many people were shopping in Monoprix was a sign that I’d come to the right place. But it was nuts. Two American girls who were about 14 or 15 years old got in line behind me. They were buying school supplies, so I guess their folks have jobs in Paris. Lucky girls. Monoprix conveniently sells the newspaper Le Parisien at the cash register. I put one with my items on the conveyer belt, knowing that Tom would appreciate having the paper and that I could perhaps weave it around the glasses to protect them. But I didn’t have a chance to do that, because the American girls were pushing me onward, almost literally. I just gingerly placed everything in my shopping bag and promised myself that I wouldn’t crash it into anything. Up the escalator I rose, and exited that mad Monoprix. The traffic on the rue de Rennes – a major thoroughfare – could not compare to the madness in that store. I walked toward home, and only paused at a park bench on the Place Saint Sulpice to take a photo of a camera crew setting up equipment for a movie shoot in front of the massive church. What a tedious process making a movie is! Many hours will probably be spent on this shoot, which may amount to only 3 minutes in the movie. Ron and Elisabeth recently went to see our movie star neighbor’s latest movie. The movie star (who remains unnamed in this journal, for her privacy) has two small children, and a third is very much on the way. She and her producer husband live on the fifth floor of this circa 1640 walk-up, and the little ones are often reluctant to climb the steps. The little girl, in particular, seems to want to go back out to play. But the movie star has mountains of patience with her kids; she never scolds them, and seems always to be gentle and encouraging. Right now, she’s humming a nice tune for them as they slowly make their way up the stairs outside our door. I love listening to her voice. She has one of those faces that’s easy to disguise; all she has to do is look plain, and wear funky, nerdy glasses with ordinary jeans and t-shirts. She seems to be trying to correct whatever was done to the color of her hair in the latest movie that she made. A few days ago, she was blonde, but too much of a monotone blonde. Yesterday, her hair had more of a reddish hint. She does have help sometimes, in the form of a nanny. But often, it is she herself who’s bringing the kids home, stashing the stroller in the storage closet off of the courtyard, encouraging the tots up the stairs, carrying a big armload of stuff, all the while being about 8 months pregnant. This is why the young must have the kids. I had arrived home from Monoprix and said, “I’m home from the battlefield, and I have the spoils of war in this bag.” I enjoyed showing my finds to Tom. When Tom and I went out shopping together a bit later in the afternoon, after 4PM, we encountered no kids at the Marché Saint Germain. Serge the butcher of renown was on duty, and he seemed to like filling Tom’s order. The caviste was open this time, so I bought two bottles of wine from him. He’s movie-star handsome, and he plays superb jazz softly on the stereo in his shop, which opens onto the indoor market as well as the street. He stocks both affordable wines as well as some extraordinarily expensive wines – about what you’d expect in this chic-but-varied neighborhood. We’d never seen the fromagerie as busy as it was yesterday. But we eventually were able to buy some aged Salers cheese, fresh milk, and exquisite French butter. The central area of the indoor market was made-over last year, and this year that cheerful space is occupied by a couple vendors selling homemade soups in charming jars, foie gras, organic honey, and lots of kinds of fruit preserves. Tom bought some special strawberry jam that has a very high percentage of fruit content. Since the baguettes at the bakery in the Marché are not the best, we decided to try the bakery at the corner of rue Mabillon and rue Guisarde. But it was still closed! I’m afraid now that it has gone out of business. That’s a shame, because it was one of the places where we’ve found fresh baguettes on Sundays in the past. So we walked over to the other side of the Marché block, to the Gerard Mulot bakery on the rue Lobineau. No luck – it was closed, too! We settled on the Brioche Doré counter just inside the main entrance of the shopping mall part of the Marché, on the rue Clement. There Tom bought a baguette, but it was not any better than the so-so baguettes at the bakery in the indoor food marketplace part of the Marché. Finding a good bakery that’s open shouldn’t be this difficult anywhere in Paris. This is where I begin to miss the 15th arrondissement. But we will keep trying. There is always Poilane, on the rue du Cherche Midi, but it and Paul in the Carrefour de Buci are a little too far to be described as “convenient.” Next, I think I will try the other side of the Place Saint Sulpice, near where Sue O. will be staying. I need to know more about the details of what shops live on those streets to the west anyway. Tom rightfully points out that with the slight inconvenience comes peace and quiet. This street and the ones right around it are much quieter than the corner of the rue du Commerce where we were for the previous two months. Now we are reaping the benefits of the shopping in circles of yesterday. Tom just gave me a little treat: a small square of toast, topped by a bit of aged Salers cheese, a small morsel of country terrine on top of that, and a half teaspoonful of delightful, special strawberry preserves at the peak. Delicious! At dinnertime, we walked up to the P’tit Fernand on the rue Lobineau. We were early enough to get a table for two in this small, deep and very narrow restaurant. The server kindly brought us a mis en bouche of French radishes and saucisson sec, just like at Chez Fernand but the sausisson sec at the P’tit Fernand is of an even higher quality. We each had a main course and dessert. Mine main course was a juicy veal chop, accompanied by puréed potatoes that were a bit better than those of Chez Fernand. I gave half of the potatoes to Tom. He ordered the salmon, which came with sautéed vegetables that looked great. Unfortunately, Tom won’t eat bell peppers or leeks. I took one of the leek slices away from him. Yumm. Tom ordered the profiteroles for dessert. They arrived in a generous pool of chocolate sauce. I ordered a heavenly flourless chocolate cake that was surrounded by a pool of both dark chocolate and caramel sauce. Dessert does not get any better than this! |
Thursday, September 6, 2012
The
back of the long, deep and narrow restaurant, Le P’tit
Fernand, with its interesting light sconces made
from bottles.
Veal
chop at Le P’tit Fernand, above, and poached salmon, below.
Profiteroles
with ice cream, whipped cream, and lots of chocolate sauce, above. Flourless chocolate cake with chocolate and
caramel sauces, below. Le P’tit Fernand.
A
film crew sets up equipment on the steps of the great church of Saint Sulpice. |
