Odds and Ends

If I had a windfall of cash, or in general was just extremely wealthy, I would definitely camp out at the Four Seasons Hotel on George V for a while.  It is one of the most opulent, breath-taking, and simply luxurious hotels I've stepped into.  And yes, I had the big stroller which the doorman had to help me get inside while I pretended like I totally could afford a 44 euro hamburger at the cafe.

Hello gorgeous lobby

That's right, 37 euros for a club sandwich.

Even better news is that I now know where the toilets are located on the lobby level.  Never underestimate the importance of knowing where a quality restroom can be found in any city.


Besides the Four Seasons bathroom, here are some other things I've recently come across that seemed noteworthy:

This is a photo of the fanciest-looking dance shoe store ever.  But you have to appreciate Paris for being serious about ballet shoes - those neat stacks in the back are all ballet slippers.  While I snapped this photo, a woman was hard at work scrubbing the hard-wood floors.  It looked like a designer boutique - which maybe it is! - yet it only sells dance shoes.

For the truly gastronomically-committed, you can in fact spend 150 euros for the jar on the far left of this photo - morels in truffle juice.  The other jars and cans in this photo go for 50-90 euros a piece.

I just liked this mosaic of chubby naked babies. They kinda look like Baby Oil though not as cute.

One excellent benefit to wandering the streets of Paris is stumbling upon one of the weekly outdoor marches.  I ended up at the one on Avenue de President Wilson which not only sold fruit, veggies, cheese, bread, fish, and meat, but flowers, carpets, clothing, soap, jewelry, and more. Also a foie gras stand. And a stand dedicated only to sea salt.

And finally - Laduree!  I made it to the mecca of macarons. While in line with all the other tourists, Baby Oil decided it was time for lunch. So I'm feeding him vegetables from a jar while waiting to buy myself fancy cookies, and everyone else in line thought this was pretty funny.  I placed my order and the girl asked if she could give the baby a cookie.  And this is when you know the macaron monster has taken over - I said, oh sure, totally give my baby a macaron (he's basically never had sugar), thinking to myself, "I will grab it from him when she's not looking so I'll get a free macaron!!" 

And then I got distracted with getting the ones I actually ordered, forgot that the baby had a cookie, looked over and saw this:

Pleased as punch.  I took the smushed and soggy cookie away but even I could not bring myself to eat the remains.  Very, very sad.  The flavors I went with were chocolate, coffee and licorice (Baby Oil had vanilla).  All were very good. Licorice was a little bland.  Coffee was not as good as the one at Sadaharu Aoki.  But overall, excellent.  I later read that pistachio is supposed to be the best so I think I must return...

PS It's been pointed out that I never explained why I call my husband Mr. Oil and my child Baby Oil.  Mr. Oil works in energy, specifically on oil and gas.  And then Baby Oil was just funny.  Plus, my sister came up with them. 

L'Ascenseur

Part Un - in which pronunciation is hard

L'ascenseur means the elevator.  But to me, it has also come to symbolize just how challenging French pronunciation can be. Behold the following conversation:

Me: How do you say that?
Mr. Oil: L'ascenseur
Me: Right. L'ah-sen-sore.
Mr. Oil: No. L'ascenseur.
Me: That's what I said. L'ah-sahn-sore.
Mr. Oil: No. L'ascenseur. L'ascenseur. Just say what I'm saying.
Me: I am saying what you're saying. Duh. L'ah-sone-sar.
Mr. Oil: No! L'ascenseur. L'ah-sahn-suhr.
Me: OMG! That is what I have said a thousand times! L'ah-sahn-sore!
Mr. Oil: Suhr.
Me: Sore
Mr. Oil: Suhr.
Me: Seriously this is annoying. L'ah-sahn-suhr.
Mr. Oil: You did it!

We then proceeded to walk down the streets of Paris for a good several minutes saying nothing but:

"L'ascenseur?"
"Oui, l'ascenseur."
"L'ascenseur?"
"L'ascenseur."
"L'ascenseur."

And don't even get me started on the night when I asked for help learning to pronounce "un".

Part Deux - in which things in France are small

Have I mentioned that the elevator in our building is the smallest elevator I have ever seen? 

You can smush an adult in with the stroller.

Part Trois - in which we discover that I have a long way to go when it comes to understanding French

At the bookstore, I decided to purchase two French books for Baby Oil as Mr. Oil has taken to reading to him in French at bedtime.  The salesguy asked me a question which I thought meant, "Would you like a bag?" I politely replied, "Oh, oui, merci beaucoup."  At which point he began to gift-wrap the books. And I was too embarrassed to tell him that I don't need books for my own kid gift-wrapped. When Mr. Oil came home from work, I said, "Look, I got you a present and its even wrapped."  I'm an accidentally awesome wife!

L'amour

Have you ever seen something beautiful and just fallen in love? This happened to me earlier this week as I walked by the Galerie du Marais and saw the work of Antoinette Nicolini. I even bought the overpriced exhibition catalog (I'm fairly certain that with no prices advertised for the paintings, I cannot afford one).  They are just the sort of paintings that I really could look at for hours. Lots of love here.  (Seriously, you didn't read the title of this entry and think this was going to be mushy, right? Surely you know me a little.)

Of course, later the same day I found a different kind of love, one you will be less surprised to hear about coming from me. That's right, it was something delicious.  First of all, I have a new favorite French word - sucreterie - which basically means sweet shop.  And isn't this just the happiest looking place in the world?

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  All of this love happened during a day in which I walked from Place des Vosges all the way back to our apartment - a little more than 3 miles.  It was a beautiful day and I had nothing else to do, so why not walk? (Warning: the previous statement is a lie - what actually happened was that I was too stubborn and/or too lazy to figure out where the bus stop was in order to get home. So I just kept walking.)

I also decided that if I was going to walk such a long way, it was completely legit to eat sweets for lunch. First, I had a macaron from a new place, Pain de Sucre.  I went with the menthe fraiche avec chocolat - though I think they should rename it menthe fraiche avec chocolat surprise because the only chocolate is actually a little disc of chocolate hidden in the middle of the cookie.  They certainly take the idea of fresh mint seriously - it was good but I sometimes felt like I was eating an actual mint leaf. So if you want to convince yourself that a macaron is actually good for you, this might be one way to go.

Then I found a wonderful store called La Pistacherie.  As you may guess, they sell a lot of things involving pistachios. I don't actually like pistachios but I went in because it looked cute.  And that is when I saw this:

These are ice creams.  More like an ice cream center surrounded by a gelatinous sugary coating much like mochi.  Ignoring the fact that it was 55 degrees and raining, I thought ice cream sounded delightful.  I went with mango and it was a solid choice.  It seemed very French that instead of just handing you this ball of deliciousness, they actually cut it into bite-sized pieces and arm you with a toothpick and napkin.

Yum. I did pick up a few more treats on the way home - two different caramels from the candy store shown above (the second photo is their heavenly-looking caramel station, where they must have 15 varieties of caramel).  I went with salted caramel and caramel with fig. 

And because I feel that I owe it to those of you who read this blog to have more to say on the topic of les macarons, I also picked up a few more flavors from Pierre Herme.  Rose, chocolat, and asperge verte et huile des noisettes.  Rose was very...floral. Asperge verte was...weird. I didn't finish it. Chocolat was awesome. 

You may also notice on the right-hand side of my blog I have added a list titled "Les Macarons".  These are links to places where I have sampled their offerings, and some commentary (eg, don't bother going to Delmontel because they are really not that good).

Speaking of love, Baby Oil has developed an irrational and bizarre but clearly abiding love for one of the end tables in our apartment. Seriously. Every time I leave him alone for two minutes, I look over and he is basically making out with the table leg.  See below.  He also loves nectarines. See below.

 
What can I say. Everyone finds something to love in Paris.

Trash and Treasures

Flea markets have never been my thing.  I am the first to admit that I am a bit of a snob when it comes to shopping - I'm a Nordstrom's girl, what can I say.  But the flea market at St. Ouen (also known as Marche aux Puces) was listed in our guidebook as one of the top 30 must-see sights in all of France.  And once we made it through the throngs of hawkers selling knock-off Louis Vuitton and Nikes, we were thrilled to have made the trek there.

It's really not a flea market.  Primarily, it is the world's largest antique market.  In my mind, you can find anything you want there.  Furniture from the age of Louis XVI? Check.  18th century chandeliers? Check.

Beautiful Louis Vuitton steamer trunks for 10,000 euros? Check.

Hermes Birkin bags? Check. Modern furniture? Check. Old books? Check. Asian art and furniture? Check. A large collection of old barometers? Check.

Antique clothing (please ask Mr. Oil to explain his theory about the antique midget clothing - I remain unconvinced)? Check. Art? Check. Picasso lithographs? Check.  Aisle after aisles, street after street of stalls containing everything from the old to the new to the beautiful to the weird.  Old animal skulls for 50 euros? Check.  Carousel animals? Check.

Antique swords and guns? Check.  Totally awesome French salesman at the pen collector stall? Check.

This is definitely on our must-return list - and not only because despite all we saw, a significant portion of stalls were closed for the August holiday season.  Any of you coming to visit, we will likely suggest you come here. (Bill and Eric, we have decided you must come visit because we believe you would particularly love this place.) 

Just in case you are thinking that my life in Paris is really all pastry and flowers, please keep in mind that our belongings that we shipped have yet to arrive. They left our house in the US on June 24.  We were informed today that, "well, monsieur, it is August, and there are not so many people working at the customs office, so we will just have to wait." 

The Wonders of Chirashi

It is possible that you are beginning to think that all I am doing in France is eating.  It is also possible that this is true.

I've been eating sushi for a long time now and I'm used to ordering my salmon & avocado roll, spicy tuna roll, and so on.  On occasion, we'll go all out and order nigiri.  And of course, there was the magical night we experienced the delectable and unforgettable Sushi Taro prix fixe menu.  I still dream about that fatty toro...

In any event, I have been pleased to discover that sushi has hit Paris in a major way. In our neighborhood, there are easily as many sushi restaurants as boulangeries.  Two on our block, in fact, including the one I blogged about a couple weeks ago.  Our first week here, Mr. Oil came home from work and told me about something called chirashi.  And my life has yet to recover.

Basically, chirashi is a bowl of delicious sushi rice topped with a gorgeous thick cover of sashimi.  After Mr. Oil experienced chirashi with his colleagues, he wouldn't stop talking about it.  And once I got over being annoyed that he goes out to lunch every day while I eat three mirabelles and a piece of bread while hanging out with Baby Oil, I realized - wait a second. I am going about this all wrong. I can go to lunch too.

Last week I was walking home from a playdate in Neuilly (about a 40 minute walk) and passed a very nice looking Japanese restaurant.  Baby Oil was asleep in the stroller, I was armed with my Kindle, and I decided to take myself to lunch - if only to finally understand this chirashi business.  And while I felt a mite self-conscious among all the French lunch-eaters chatting away, once that sushi arrived I simply did not care.

The best-tasting rice I've ever had, and some of the most melt-in-your-mouth salmon I've experienced.  And it is big. And if you're dining with others, you don't even have to share (I know some of you out there secretly hate sharing sushi - and yes, I know who you are).   I don't know whether the sushi joints I've frequented in the US serve this and I've just missed it on the menu, but it has revolutionized my sushi experience.  In fact, we went to sushi again this weekend so we could finally have chirashi together.  Each with our own bowl, of course. 

Since I'm already dedicating this post to food, I'll just mention the excellent foul (prononunced "fool") we ate tonight - and the even more excellent fact that it came from a can.  Mr. Oil and I ate a lot of foul when we were in Israel a few years ago but we never saw it that often in the US. Last weekend at the Marche des Enfant Rouges, I saw cans of foul for sale at the Lebanese stand and I figured, how bad can it be? (Answer: yes, sometimes I really am that dumb - or as I like to think, optimistic.)  So we heated up the foul in a pot today, with Mr. Oil making skeptical grimaces as I added lemon juice, salt, and a little olive oil.  Scooping it on top of fresh hummous from the Lebanese restaurant up the block, we tentatively dug in - and were certainly rewarded for our faith in canned goods!

Finally, on the food front,  a brief homage to Picard.  A brilliant business model, this store consists only of frozen food.  Literally.  Freezer cases of frozen meat, frozen fish, frozen pizza, frozen Thai food, frozen Chinese food, frozen Indian food, frozen vegetables, frozen soup, frozen sushi, frozen individual-sized meals, frozen quiche, frozen seafood, frozen pastries, and yes even ice cream. Picard is the tired cook's dream (or the non-cook's dream, or the tired mom's dream, or maybe just my dream).

On that note, I'm off to dream about what I might eat tomorrow...I think we need new cheese...mmm.

Le Grand Magasin

Today was the day of Le Grand Magasin - the department store.  Paris does not mess around when it comes to department stores.  There are three primary grand magasins - Bon Marche, Printemps, and Galerie Lafayette.  All are ridiculous in their own special way.

We started off at Le Bon Marche, which is over in the 7th.  Our nominal objective was to look for an outfit for Baby Oil to wear to Uncle Oil's wedding next month.  Mission impossible, as it turns out.   The baby clothes section was full of baby Burberry, baby Dior, and the like.  Not exactly our speed.  After striking out there, we thought we would check out the "clothes for the weekend" section.  Strike two - unless you want to pay 130 euros (roughly $170) for a shirt.

And then we found ourselves at the topmost level, which is a throwback to department stores of bygone days.  Ribbons, string, fabric, buttons - anything you would need to sew or repair your own clothes or even make your own curtains.  For instance:

Accepting the truth that we will never purchase anything other than a button or perhaps a lovely tassel at a Parisian department store, we set off for Galerie Lafayette.  Where I discovered another important aspect of Le Grand Magasin - the food.  These department stores have at least one cafe or restaurant on every level of the store.  Of course, if you want to wear any of the clothes, you can never eat a meal - but for those of us mere humans who simply want to take in the scene, and pay through the nose for a cappuccino, it is pretty great.

Galerie Lafayette takes it one step further with the food court to end all food courts.  Have you ever seen a department store with produce like this?

Which brings me to my continuing lessons in macarons.  Conveniently, both Sadaharu Aoki and Pierre Herme have locations within the store.  At Sadaharu Aoki, I tried the coffee-flavored macaron and at Pierre Herme I went with reglisse et violette - which is turns out is licorice and violet.  Both were delicious.  I'm definitely looking forward to sampling more flavors - both have traditional chocolate, caramel, vanilla as well as more unique flavors like wasabi (Aoki) and olive oil & mandarin (Herme).  Yum.  The other chocolates and patisseries at Aoki looked amazing as well:

Paris department stores are also, of course, not simply located in large commercial buildings. Oh no.  All of them are in gorgeous old buildings - Printemps has a gorgeous exterior:

while Galerie Lafayette boasts an incredible interior:

Suffice to say, Paris takes window shopping to the next level. Please note that I am not including the photo Mr. Oil took, which is of a large advertisement featuring a virtually naked woman on the side of Galerie Lafayette.

And finally, I would just like to take a minute to discuss the conspiracy against baby boy dress clothes.  This city is filled with adorable, lovely, and not so-expensive-that-you-just-have-to-laugh baby girl dresses.  But try finding one wedding-appropriate outfit for a 7 month old boy.  Even baby Gucci had nothing to offer (aside from a 165 euro romper that reads: "Baby's First Gucci). 

Finally we spied a small store across the street that featured formal event attire for baby boys and girls.  And as much as my mother-in-law has asked that Baby Oil wear something blue, we simply cannot bring ourselves to put him in this:

The non-blue options were yet more absurd and I don't even have a photo of the one that looked like the puffy pirate shirt from that Seinfeld episode. Here's another winner:

Baby Oil of course slept through most of our shopping trip for him so he doesn't know that we either a) don't love him enough to buy baby Gucci or b) love him too much to make him look like a sissy.

Exploration, Iron Death Grip, and Understanding Macarons

Baby Oil and I had a big first today - we took the bus without Mr. Oil.  And we even took the bus home again.  I had decided that I wanted to see the Jardin du Luxembourg.  Which it turns out is pretty far from where we live. 

The bus is completely fantastic for the stroller-wielding crowd.  There is even a special place reserved for a stroller - with a sign that says "This place is reserved for my stroller, thank you."  When we got on the bus, a gentleman sitting in the stroller area even got up without being asked to let the stroller take its rightful place.  

Then we arrived at the Jardin du Luxembourg. I don't know whether its because it was 9:30 in the morning, or because its August, but it did not feel like we were in a city of 11.8 million people and 29 gajillion tourists.  Calm and quiet, populated only by joggers, a few other strollers, and about 35 policemen, it was perfect.  I am getting spoiled by the plethora of gorgeous parks, since we live across the street from this:

And a 15 minute walk from this:

But there is something special and regal about the Jardin du Luxembourg. Perhaps because it was originally begun by a queen (Marie de Medici).  I love that there are chairs laid out all around the flower beds, because the French understand that you will want to sit and enjoy the beautiful, perfectly manicured flowers.

After strolling and relaxing in the garden, we went to explore the 6th arrondissement (where the Jardin is located). Of course when I say "we", I mean Baby Oil and me, which really is just me, but it makes it sounds less like I'm wandering around Paris by myself when you realize that in fact that I am changing diapers in the Jardin du Luxembourg and feeding the baby a bottle in Da Rosa epicerie. 

As I've mentioned, I have a goal of visiting at least some of the places mentioned in David Lebovitz's book, "The Sweet Life in Paris."  A number of them are not far from the Jardin though sadly the first two were closed - one for August vacation and the other because many small French stores seem to only be open at random times and days.  I did spy a really fantastic-looking candle store that even smelled fantastic.

The blocks of color you see inside are all candles.

We did make it to Da Rosa, which is actually a restaurant as well as a little store.  I spent more than I care to share buying the fancy jam and chocolate-covered almonds that David Lebovitz recommends.  Note - he did NOT mention that the almonds are spicy and not really that chocolate-y.  I like my chocolate to taste like chocolate, not like spicy almonds.  So XX euros later, I was a little disappointed (I'm X-ing out the amount because I really don't want Mr. Oil to know how much they cost!).  That expensive jam better be good.

However, the two best parts of my morning were yet to come.  The first was, after opening the euro faucet at Da Rosa, I decided "why not?" and ventured into my first Parisian chocolate store.  I know, we've been here over two weeks and we haven't had any chocolate.  Madness.  The store is Weiss and I don't think I could have made a better choice.  Everything looked amazing.  I purchased one chocolate bar - dark chocolate with coffee - which we just sampled after dinner with our new French friends Helene and Arnaud.  But the real winner was the macaron.

I've heard and read and even tried macarons.  I've never understood the fuss.  It's a cookie, right?  Sort of a fussy, girly, French cookie.  The few I've had have been very sweet - really too sweet - and I have a sweet tooth.  After today, though, I can say without hesitation that I finally understand macarons.  I just had one (listen, I'm doing a lot of eating, and I'm still pretending like I'm actually trying to lose the rest of my pregnancy weight) so I went with the dark chocolate orange flavor.  Oh my.  It was incredible.  The flavors were wonderful and just the right intensity without being too rich or too sweet.  I think I'm going to have try more.  I did ask the shop girl which flavor she would recommend, but since I don't know the word for recommend, I said which would she prefer.  To which she gave me a look that said, "you're an idiot" and replied that what she prefers might not be what I prefer so she can't answer.  I then asked which was the most popular, and judging by the length of time she spent talking (since I didn't actually understand), I'm guessing it was every flavor.

Second best part of the day was this:

If you can't tell from the poor-quality photo taken with my phone, it is a store that sells only umbrellas and what look like parasols.  The sign says it has been there since 1834.  Now, 1834 is a year in which I can imagine women would need or want to go to the umbrella store to pick up a new parasol for a carriage ride with a dashing suitor.  The fact that the store is still around - just one of the many things I'm finding to love about Paris.

Quick other notes:

• You know you are in a good-looking country when even your cleaning lady is tall, thin, blond, and better-dressed than you. 
• I finally made it to Androuet, the fromagerie up the street I have been wanting to try.  Arnaud (our French dinner guest) gave the brie I bought there the two thumbs up - I think he was actually surprised (dare I hope, impressed?) that an American would serve such a good cheese! When in doubt, go for the brie plus fort  (the stronger brie).
• Iron Death Grip - I put it in the title and then almost forgot.  This is a total parenting aside, but Baby Oil has developed what Mr. Oil and I call the Iron Death Grip.  Not surprisingly, this is when he holds on to something so tightly that his little knuckles turn white with exertion and you really better hope that its not your hair, your jewelry, your nose, your ear, your skin, or anything else you care about.  Iron Death Grip is also often seen with his bottle, which he is learning to hold - mostly because he holds on so tightly I have no choice but to let him try.  See below: