Paris Journal 2014 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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Juliet was absolutely correct when she said “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” And yet it is also true that a flower that smells much sweeter could be called a “rose,” but that doesn’t make it a rose. So it is with my husband, Tom; in conversation, I often refer to him as “a writer,” but he is much more than that. Some people with Ph.D.s insist on using the perhaps-pompous title of “Dr.” Tom does not insist on that, although he has a Ph.D. from a fine university. He says he prefers the title of “professor,” not “doctor.” It is true; he is a natural-born teacher. It annoys me when people who know that Tom is a retired professor seem to be surprised that he has a Ph.D. OF COURSE he has a Ph.D.!!! Then there are those people who call themselves “professor” who do not, in my mind, really have that rank. They can call themselves roses, but they really aren’t that sweet. Having worked in a real university environment (one that has the tenure system, has academic freedom, and conducts real research), I say a true “professor” is someone with a doctorate degree who goes through the tenure system. Hopefully, they reach the rank of “full professor” after the arduous work of publishing and teaching as an assistant professor and then an associate professor. An alternative: people who are appointed to the academic position of professor (or associate professor) because of their notable achievements in their field in the non-academic world. Examples would be talented artists, designers, or musicians who are sought-after by universities who want their talents in the faculty ranks. Those people may not have doctorates, but they have proven equivalent credentials, and they are generally in tenure-track or tenured positions. But other than those cases, people who teach as “adjunct professors” or “lecturers” who don’t have a doctorate and who aren’t in the tenure system can’t be accurately called “professors,” in my opinion. Similarly, when I use the term “literary critic,” I mean someone who has academic credentials like those of a professor who writes literary criticism. I like to be accurate. But I recently discovered I’d been erroneously referring to an individual as a “literary critic” when that person is really just a freelance writer whose niche or specialty is art and literature. As far as I can tell, he does not even have a bachelor’s degree; he only “studied” at a decent school. He sometimes teaches college courses; but that doesn’t make him a professor, either. Sorry for the inaccuracy. The reason this matters to me is that, having worked in the university and research institute environment for years, I know what these real McCoys go through, and don’t like to see the pretenders pretending. It’s mighty hard to become a real professor. Back to my sweeter-than-a-rose husband, Professor Tom: he wanted to dine at La Boussole last night. At only 20 minutes before the dinner hour, I made a reservation via LaFourchette.com. A “boussole” is a compass, and the compass rose is called a “rose des vents” in French. “Rose of the winds,” how romantic! As I wrote on September 11 last year, “La Boussole specializes in world cuisine, with a French twist. It harkens back to the old spice trade among peoples in Asia, Northeast Africa, and Europe.” Ah yes, let’s bring the world together in la cuisine. As we dined, I was surprised that the resto filled up mostly with French people in this ultra-touristy area just north of Saint Sulpice. La Boussole turned out to be a good place to escape being overwhelmed by Americans, although I’m sure there were a few in that dining room. We were amused by a jovial group of Bavarian women on the other side of the room. We shared an appetizer of the day, a petit chausson d’aubergine, tomates et mozzarella au curry et grains de carvis. This tasty little dish with eggplant, tomato, and mozzarella came in a light, nicely seasoned creamy sauce with a sprinkling of caraway seeds. Tom rewarded himself for a long, hard day of work, and for having sent another completed chapter off to the publisher, by ordering a big cheeseburger, replete with potatoes, salad, and Thousand Island dressing. I kid you not. And he loved it; he said it was exactly what he wanted. “The best burger I’ve had in Paris,” he said.
I ordered the sea bass filet and smashed potatoes (below). The sea bass came in a little pool of clarified butter, topped with a Mediterranean smattering of sautéed olives, onions, tomatos, garlic, etc. The dish gave me that wonderful restorative feeling that the combination of fish, butter, and potatoes can give. Aaaahhhh.
Dessert was a duo – two different flavors of crème brûlée: light, sweet, good little endings to a productive day.
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Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Petit chausson d’aubergine, tomates et mozzarella au curry et grains de carvis, a special of the day featured on the blackboard
(l’ardoise) at La Boussole.
La Boussole is in a charming old building with warped beam
ceilings at 12 rue Guisarde.
A chocolate cougar sculpture in the window of a chocolate
shop on the Place Saint Sulpice. (The
shop had a reflective façade, so you see my black shoes and pants legs below
the cat’s tail; pants by Chico’s Zenergy, shoes by Aerosoles.)
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An
adorable outdoor café called Les Marionnettes near the puppet theater in the
Luxembourg Gardens.
