global warming, ravens and crows

It is strangely warm here. And we're getting a weird amount of clear sky days. I am sure it has to do with climate change but I'm inclined to like it.  I have not been wearing an extra layer under my down coat.  I have been going commando.

But the other day I heard a crow and I automatically zipped up my coat. Even though it was almost 60°. (Like a sweltering summer for my nephew.) 
See the crows are the mascots of winter.  The black, menacing, overlords of the neverending gray of winter. (permagray soup anyone?).  Everyone is rushing around trying to get in and out of the metro or in a building or somewhere NOT outside. The only distinguishable noise is the sound of the crows.  They are like Edgar Allen Poe's poem The Raven.
Quoth the Crows of Paris:   The sun?  "Nevermore"

So climate change? I'll take it.


Too bad it's not the
The Black Crowes

Going downstairs

 

Going downstairs after another 3 hour dinner. 

no elevator

6 floors.

So fresh and so clean, clean...

 

Laundry/Shower Room

And in Frantasyland we have super clean clothes because our "normal" wash cycle takes 83 minutes. 
And our apartments always smell fresh because we clothesline dry in our magical Room of Requirement (the 2 1/2 square ft of undedicated space in between the dresser and our bed). 

The important stars

You might remember this guy

Car tires used to be white!

His name is Bibendum.  (Possibly the worst name ever.)

He is the mascot of the French tire company Michelin

If you know fine restaurants.  You will know that Michelin is also the name of the holy bible of French fine dining.  A very big thing that grew out of a very small guide for travelers over 100 years ago.

 

Getting a Michelin Star is not such a simple thing. (There are only 3 to get).  Michelin is said to have a very small team of critics who are advised to not even tell their families what they do.  They work for 18 months, repeatedly visiting restaurants throughout France (and now other countries) and rate them based on quality, service, ambience, originality and consistency.  Chefs wait years to get 1 star.  And a 3rd star holds the promise of a 60% increase in business.

You might have just said "Who cares about fancy restaurants and expensive food?"
You should.  At least once. 
Once put your fancy adventure shoes, and have 4 people watch over your meal. 
Start with the amuse bouche (am-uze beu-oosh. "amuse mouth"). 3 small spoons that can only be described as flavor and texture "parties in your mouth".
Then the entrée (ahn-tray), The plat (plah) and Dessert (dehs-zehr) all delicately designed to marry and evolve one to the next.
Then Mignardises (miñ-yar-deez) the unexpected small chocolates and bite size sweets to finish your meal, and coffee, if you drink it.  
You should plan on 2 hours for a lunch. And you should go for lunch since it is less expensive and if you are taking 2 hours for lunch, you are most likely on vacation anyway. 


Dining at a starred restaurant in France is expensive.  But this is your French experience.  And you will not regret it.


A Michelin 1-star lunch. (my apologies for the Iquality of these photos)

Party. in. your. mouth.

Entrée: Veal Tartare with baby greens on a bed of mille feuille with citrus foam, and tomato sorbet.

Plat: Rognons de lapin, polenta, lima beans. 

Dessert: Panna Cotta, champagne granita, fresh berries and gold leaf.

SURPRISE! I don't even know where to start.*

After dessert, dessert?  Raspberry tuiles, Chocolate pops filled with Passion Fruit liquer, Green apple mini pastry

Coffee

*It is common in very nice restaurants that they have many cheeses.  During the cheese section of the meal, they wheel over a large wooden cart of those cheeses and serve you your choice.  
That thing.  The Housemade Candy cart? That is a first.  Suckers, Chocolate Suckers, Marshmallow, Mini Candied Apples, Sugared Macadamia Nuts, Sugared Pistachios, Homemade Sorbets & Ice Cream Cones, Macarons, Caramel Popcorn, Large Gel Dots,  Chocolate Bars in White, Milk or Dark, etc. 
I know because I asked, 
about all of it.
And they will just keep putting everything you ask for on a little mini plate. 

Did you say tomato?

Since I know you have been dying to know, this is how my miracle is doing. 

 

In the end, I just dumped all the seeds that I tried to sprout into a planter and I am pretty sure they ALL sprouted.
But I kept them alive!  

Do you have a significant other that does things that make you go hmmm (i.e. idiocy)? Mine tries to cut tomatoes with a non serrated knife.
Why don't you just smash them into the cutting board and then rip them apart with with your fingers. 

In other tomato news, I had one of these the other day

Delightful.  And completely worth 1€50
And I stumbled on this website: seedsavers 
 
I wish my seeds would make fruit.

More perfect Paris

A Haute Couture exhibit sign and skateboarder on the backside of the Hôtel de Ville.

During Roland Garros (French Open) the city puts up a big screen in front for people to watch and some courts for people to play. Notre Dame de Paris is directly behind and you can see the corner of the Hôtel de Ville de Paris on the left.

Long hot sun going down.  Little boy taking advantage of the empty street.

Square full of restaurants with highly sought-after patio seating, en terasse (tear-asse)

I love ice cream.  And I will show you the best places if you let me.

Montmartre and the steps of Sacre Coeur.

 

Perfect

The commentary at lunch today:


"Paris just gives you the finger, regularly.  And you can't plan anything, because Paris just gives you the finger on that, too.
And then at some point you when you've finally given up trying to do or organize anything at all in your life without trying 6 times, some bizarre occurance of random events happens and you have a moment. Like right now - the weather is sunny, the restaurant wasn't full, the food is actually really good and you are off work this week and came over to my house and we decided to go to lunch."


"I have also likened Paris to an abusive boyfriend.  You talk to people who have lived here and they talk like battered wives.  They feel that by leaving they have lost, given up.  They got beat down." 
"How can there only be 5 sunny days in the span of 6 months?"
"How can the assistant not do her work and be so bitchy and still have a job?"
"Why don't the banks want my money?  And why do I have to have a meet and greet to PAY them to hold my money AND make interest?"
"And yet on one day, you happen to be out and around in the city and the sun comes out; its blue skies, people are nice. And you happened to have shaved your legs. And you dared to put on a sundress.  And for some reason everyone meets together for a drink in the evening and you look around and it is the most beautifully stunning city in the world. So perfect, you feel like you are in a dream. 

And you can't even remember those gray, angry, miserable days existed. They didn't happen.
And that is why you stay.

HoliMays

The English word for vacation is holiday.
And the month of May is like pre-summer holiday.  3 of the 4 weeks have jours ferié.  That means May 1, 6, 8, 9, 19 & 20 are all off.  And the French generally fait le pont (fay leu pohn make the bridge). 
So the 8 & 9, add the pont and you have a 5 day weekend. 
Nothing happens in Paris in May.  Much like July & August.  But unlike July & August, May usually has good weather.  Sadly - May has forced le sigh out of my mouth more than once.  See this

Awful.

Date à l'amèricaine

It was impromptu date night last night.  So we went to see this guy

Pita's are in the range of fast food/street food.  They are what I used to eat in the wee hours of the morning after dancing for hours. So I have good memories of pita's.

There is lettuce, tomato and onion underneath that pile of meat.  And Samourai sauce - it is like spicy fry sauce. (Shout out to my Utah homies)
In Belgium the pitas are served in a tortilla and the fries are inside.  It is GOOD.  Go big or go home, I say.  If you are going to give yourself clogged arteries and a heart attack, you should have a great big one.

And my 2nd favorite part

I love nickel machines, quarter machines, penny machines.  I think it is my inner gambler. 
But gambling is just silly.  Why would you even play a game that you could lose? So maybe it is more my inner need for instant gratification.

And then date night finished with this

I was craving a little James Bond after discussing the series ad nauseum the weekend before.  I was looking for Casino Royale and assumed it would be in the suggestions section of Skyfall.  But no, by French logic (I'd love to see the algorithm for that) RAMBO is the closest thing to Daniel Craig in a tuxedo. 

Le sigh

The French might be the kings of exagerrated non-verbal signs.  They don't like giving praise - it should be understood that if no C'est de la merde was uttered, that what you have done is good. Or if things go the other direction, they just might force out Le sigh.

You should hear this rush of air being forced out of almost-pouted lips, saturated with eye-rolling disgust. It is impressive how they are able to fit so much irritation into one exhale.

But adding irritation to already irritating situations had to stop.  Must get Frog to poop outside of the pond.
I had heard it a hundred times, didn't quite remember to catch it in the act. 
So this is the first time I could consciously point it out.  We were at an airport, our flights had been canceled, thus causing a serious problem for us to catch our connecting flight, to get to our hotel that was already paid for, and pick up our rental car to drive across Costa Rica to pick up my dear old dad and stepmom, with whom we were sharing a car to get to my sister's wedding.
But this was not why Le Sigh came out. No.  I hear the wind in my ear, only to turn in the direction of my Cheri to see him looking across airport check-in hall  at a woman with a small dog... in a wheel chair.  It looked something like this

This was the scene that was so irritating that he forced Le Sigh out. 
Yes, what could possibly be more irritating than being late for my sister's wedding, leaving my dad waiting for us for 4 hours at the airport only to take a Costa Rican bus across the mountains, and us losing money vacation time.  Apparently a dog in a wheelchair.



On a more awesome note, I realized I have begun doing Le Sigh. 
I suppose it shouldn't be much of a surprise, when I first got here and we had arguments, I spoke in French.  It may have been the awkward Belgian French that the French French deem as coming out of the mouth of a Spanish Cow, but still, I could be clearly understood. So it shouldn't really be surprising that I would take a step forward towards Frenchness in order to be understood. 
Yes, now everyone will completely understand me when I am so disdainfully full of disgust at a situation that  I must lazily roll my eyes and force all the air out of my half-puckered lips. 

my Gardienne

A green envelope and a postcard slipped under my door?  This is a good mail day.  

We have a Gardien.
A gardien lives in one of the apartments in your building (usually by the entry) and they take care of the building and the inhabitants.  They make sure the hallways and entry are clean, they take care of your plants while you are on your 4 week holiday (if you ask nicely), and they receive and deliver the mail throughout the building. Which is good because deliveries sometimes happen between "9h and 13h", AND the package must be "opened and checked" for damage in front of the delivery guy and then signed for. 
Because no one actually works right?  And if they do, I am sure it is entirely acceptable to stay home every couple of months because you have to "receive" a package being delivered, right?

But if your building has a Gardien, they might be able stick around and "receive" your package.

Or give you the good gossip and goings-on, because they know everyone's business.
Or maybe tell you the secrets to getting things done in the building. 

OR you might just like having a gardien because without saying one nasty word, she helped you clean up after the incontinent 17-year-old dog you were dog-sitting unceremoniously lost control of his bladder on the carpet in front of the LAST door to the street on the first day you met.

Sundays are for...

Manifestation (man eef esta sion  political demonstration) 

 Today it was the gays.  For the rights to legal marriage and adoption.


Among the funny signs:

You make homos and we make you heteros

God loves the gays, it's just his fan club that didn't get the message

Bread Snob

Feeling long-winded this morning, friends, so you've been warned. 

I went to Seattle to visit my sister and her husband "B".  (Funny -everyone is a "B")
Anyway, she called me a food snob.
Which might not be completely unexpected thing to become if you live in Frantasyland.
And she says it like it is a bad thing. 


So here is my bread snobism of the day

Pavé Tradition: Traditional paving stone

This is my bread from yesterday.
You can't imagine the smell.  Well, maybe you can.  Did you have a breadmaker in your house when you were young?  Do you remember that smell?

We have all those bakeries around us.  The smell is awesome.
And, since I don't plan around the bakers, I feel like I win the jackpot if I happen to hit the boulangerie at the right time of day to get bread just out of the oven.   
Tradition is my favorite.  They won't slice it for you if it is warm, soo you have to rip off the end.
Because you can't just leave warm bread alone.

Galette de rois

'tis the French season of the 3 kings.

'tis the season to stick the youngest person under the table to shout out who gets the next piece of galette (or in our case - the next piece of couronne des rois briochée).

'tis the season to eat a soft sweet bread covered in rock sugar and apricot glaze with a mini porcelain something (baby jesus? brief case?  sportsman?) baked inside that someone will crack their teeth on... and then get to wear the revered, golden paper crown.

I think the game is fixed.   

New neighbors

and sometimes

neighbors, boooo.

I like...

stone stairs so old they are sloped from years of use.

Guess what we got?!

It is not a dog.  Not a mini hold-in-your-hand-and/or-purse-style-Paris Hilton or Parisian-accessory dog.  I've seen that - like this girl in Italy in 2007 with not 1 but 3 accessory dogs.

No we did not get a dog.
WE got a mini-bus!AND a book store.
Should we talk about why this is exciting?

1.  The mini-bus is adorable.

We have yet to figure out it's purpose, it seems to zig-zag around our quartier back and forth along the streets, taking little old ladies for a 10 minute ride up the street, only to come back down the next and drop them off a block away at their old lady friend's apartments.  BUT the mini bus is electric and makes no noise.  And it is the size of a ..mini-bus. And good thing we have a small bus to transport us, otherwise we would have to walk a whole 7 minutes to get public transport!


2.  And then there is the book store.

The bookstore is good for multiple reasons, but mainly
    a.  Proof that people can read things that don't come through their electronic device, AND
    b.  the fact that it is across from the local college (middle school) and is still standing (with no grafitti, key marks, etc.) after 6 months is clear proof of civilization/a miracle.

See our neighborhood is made up of Arab immigrants, Africans, French Starter Families (1-2 kids), and Single, White Young Professionals.  Who sometimes seem uncivilized by their:

•      Total inability to walk 5 steps and throw their wrappers/food/packaging of any kind in the trash
•      Local hooligans inability to not tag or key things in the middle of the night. And of course the classic, 
•      I am French and therefore cannot pick up after my dog AND must take particular delight in the fact it is  going to ruin some tall/unobservant person's 300 euro shoes.

But we have a bookstore
with books and big clean glass windows
AND an electric mini-bus!
so we MUST be moving along the evolutional chain. 

More miscellaneous meat products...

Friday night's apéro (short for aperitive: drinks & appetizers before dinner) - turned into dinner aperatoire - which means we stayed longer and they kept bringing apetizers

which meant the arrival of the heavies ...

(cue villanous music) duh duh duh

... miscellaneous meat products

surrounded by andouille

b's good friend who refuses to eat any cheese because it smells too strong - eats these meat products. 
I can't explain that one.

Sundays are for...

 early morning hikes

Taking your sword to the Boulanger...

... for some grand cakes.

Picking up some fish at the Poissonnière for Sunday lunch.

 ... and no meal is complete without some cheese from the Fromager.

And, if you happen to be a guest, you better stop by the Fleuriste to pick up something for your hosts.