Monday, April 21, 2008

April in Paris.

This time last year we were in Paris, celebrating my birthday and our anniversary. The weather was warm and sunny every single day, and it was one of the best vacations ever. Both of us have been several times on our own and done all the standard touristy things, so this was a great chance to just hang out and eat and shop and find the tiny little neighborhoods and pockets that you usually never have time to discover.

My rusty French got a solid workout, from the proprietors of the tiny shops we frequented near our apartment to the charming waitresses at Angelina, where we enjoyed the best hot chocolate on the entire planet. I had to visit Rose Bakery twice, having bought the cookbook the year before and fallen absolutely in love with everything about it - the piggy coffees, the housemade preserves, the heavenly scones and organic egg dishes and fresh vegetable salads that varied from day to day.

We stayed in the Marais, near the Places de Vosges, the oldest square in Paris. Our apartment was tiny, with very high ceilings, and we had an incredibly energetic couple living above us. Every night there was a new performance, complete with the banging of walls and rearranging of furniture. It was very Parisian, I suppose.

We only visited a couple of museums, including the Musée d'Orsay, which is in a beautifully restored old train station. This photo is taken looking through one of the old clocks near the top of the building:

One day we rode the train out to Vernon, where we rented bicycles and pedaled to Monet's house. The house and gardens are virtually unchanged, and everything was in bloom; I took lots of very uncreative photos like this one:

We went to Hermé and Hermès, finding treasures in both, and enjoyed our picnic on the banks of the Seine just as much as our chef's tasting dinner at L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon. Drew's not a huge fan of spending lots of money on food, but he really loved that experience. Sitting at the counter we could see every step the chefs took, moving quietly around each other in a very small space like a well-choreographed dance troupe. And each dish was an absolute surprise - unusual flavors perfectly blended and breathtakingly presented.

And we found Hemingway's old homes there (now we've been to all but his Cuban residence), wandering the streets where he lived, strolling through the Luxembourg gardens where he hung out, and eating at some of his favorite spots (like the Brasserie Lipp and la Closerie des Lilas). From one of his experiences at Lipp's:

"The beer was very cold and wonderful to drink. The pommes a l'huile were firm and marinated and the olive oil delicious. I ground black pepper over the potatoes and moistened the bread in the olive oil. After the first heavy draft of beer I drank and ate very slowly. When the pommes a l'huile were gone I ordered another serving and a cervelas. This was a sausage like a heavy, wide frankfurter split in two and covered with a special mustard sauce. I mopped up all the oil and all of the sauce with bread and drank the beer slowly until it began to lose its coldness and then I finished it and ordered a demi and watched it drawn."

I don't think it has changed at all since Hemingway's time - there is a man who stands at the door and silently determines whether or not you will enter. If he likes the looks of you, he will usher you inside to the high-ceilinged rooms filled with dark wood paneling and elegant mirrors. If he doesn't, he will gently gesture to one of the tables outside, under the wide striped awning. (Somehow we made the cut...)

Paris is such a beautiful, elegant, ancient city - I would give anything to live there at some point, just for a little while.