L'ARGENT FAIT LE BONHEUR

I was quite disappointed when I went to the bank to exchange my francs for some dollars in preparation for my first trip to the USA: the images on the coveted billet vert turned out to be unexciting and confusing since all denominations were of identical size and, well, color. To top it off, the texture of the paper reminded me of Monopoly money and the $20 Jackson had none of the lovely crackling sound produced by a crisp 100F Corneille.

I felt the same way when the euro, la monnaie unique, was put into circulation through most of Europe on January 1st, 2002. I thought the new banknotes lacked personality and, again, seemed to be printed on "funny money" paper. It immediately made me nostalgic for the francs I grew up with, so I took the métro to La Bourse and did some lèche-vitrine on rue Vivienne in the 2nd arrondissement, where numismates congregate; I purchased six old bills that circulated in the early Sixties.

Those were the years where I stored the little money I had in my tirelire: not a pink ceramic pig that would have a fateful encounter with a hammer someday but a metal tree log with a lever to allow the coin to drop into the cylindrical container. Simultaneously, a metal chouette would come out from the side of the trunk. Oh, joy! I would regularly empty my piggy bank so that I could drop the coins into it again and watch the bird appear with each falling pièce. So, yes, I did feel that money brought me happiness; and yes, I was easily entertained…

Obviously, I prized coins more than billets. Besides, the 5F and 10F coins that my grandmothers would give me –in reward for my good grades– were made of real silver! Overall, these were interesting times moneywise: January 1960 marked the introduction of the nouveau franc which was worth 100 anciens francs. Old habits die hard: a couple of generations never got used to it and continued to talk in old francs for the rest of their lives. My porte-monnaie held new centimes, old francs (which were now worth 1 centime), and even older francs that had been minted during the Vichy government: the leftover coins from the Occupation displayed Famille-Travail-Patrie on the tail side instead of Liberté-Egalité-Fraternité. It took several years for the old coins and bills to be retired. From her portefeuille, my mother could pull out either the 1000 (old) Francs Richelieu, or the updated 10 Nouveaux Francs Richelieu, or the 10 Francs Voltaire.

The Voltaire note has always been my favorite probably because I used it the most; perhaps also because I particularly enjoyed Voltaire's sense of irony and his fight against intolerance . That particular bill was part of a series called Créateurs et Scientifiques célébres; all the new notes printed between 1959 and 1964 featured famous French writers. I can’t say that I fingered too many 500F Molière but my first allowance consisted of a 100F Corneille: of course, I recall that one with special fondness. What’s in your wallet nowadays? Like me, you probably carry mostly plastic. But if you are a nostalgic French person or a curious American, feast your eyes on the colorful banknotes below: as a bonus, I’ve paired each writer with one of their quotes.

Victor Hugo, 5 NF

Mieux vaudrait encore un enfer intelligent qu’un paradis bête
An intelligent hell would be better than a stupid paradise

Voltaire, 10 F

J’ai décidé d’être heureux parce que c’est bon pour la santé
I have chosen to be happy because it’s good for my health

Racine, 50 F

Il n’est point de secrets que le temps ne révèle
There are no secrets that time doesn’t reveal

Corneille, 100 F

La façon de donner vaut mieux que ce qu’on donne
The manner of giving is worth more than the gift

Molière, 500 NF

Il n’y a point de pire sourds que ceux qui ne veulent pas entendre
There is no worse deaf man than the one who doesn’t want to hear

Vocabulary:
L'argent fait le bonheur: money brings happiness
Le billet vert: the greenback (lit. green bill)
La monnaie unique: common currency
Le lèche-vitrine: window shopping
Le numismate: numismatist; coin, medal, and banknote collector
La tirelire: piggy bank
La chouette: owl
Le billet: bill or banknote (in the context of money)
La pièce: coin (in the context of money)
Les anciens francs: pre-1960 currency
Les nouveaux francs: post-1960 currency
Le porte-monnaie: coin purse
Le centime: worth one-hundredth of one franc
Travail-Famille-Patrie: Work-Family-Fatherland
Le portefeuille: wallet

 
The opening photograph of this post is my own; the photos of the individual bills come from World Banknotes and Coins.

LES ASPERGES

It was the best of both worlds. Growing up near Paris offered me access to Culture-with-a-capital-C but spending my school vacations at my grandparents’ farm outside of Gourdon gave me more than a passing acquaintance with the pain and pleasure of agriCulture. Raising animals and growing food is hard work but, as an eight-year-old kid from the big city, my tasks were a lot of fun. I helped feed the rabbits and there always was a new fluffle of lapereaux waiting for me; of course, the babies received extra attention. I was less interested in the ducks and chickens but preparing la pâtée was extremely enjoyable: squishing small boiled potatoes between my fingers and mixing the flesh with grains de maïs probably triggered the primal instinct of kneading bread, or maybe it was just the delight of being allowed –even encouraged– to do something messy! I also practiced my sleuthing talents by hunting for hidden nests: Grandma always knew when one of her hens made a habit of jumping over the fence of the poulailler and laid her eggs in a secret location. I spent hours trimming haricots verts, shelling petits pois, peeling pommes de terre. But my favorite vegetable was also the most seasonal and regal one: l’asperge.

Springtime at marché d'Aligre: asparagus and morels.

My grandfather had set up a couple of banks of asparagus plants along one of his vineyards, the one closest to the house and to his vegetable garden. At that time, I only knew asparagus to be white and spotting them required a good eye; it was a little bit like sleuthing for stray hen nests. Asparagus grows quite fast and you want to harvest them as quickly as possible so they don’t get too fibrous and tough: in season, I would check the banks morning and afternoon. I looked for the purplish-white tips barely emerging out of the mounted dirt; then, I would poke the gouge into the sandy dirt, aiming to section the base of the spear and lift it out in one swift movement. Grandpa had woven a special basket to collect asparagus, a long and shallow one, but still based on the same design as all the wicker baskets he made. Asparagus was the most prized vegetable on the farm, the one that grandma would can and serve on special occasions.

Organized display of white and green asparagus

I discovered green asparagus after moving to California. It was a very easy transition. The San Joaquin Valley of California is a top producer: the légume royal is abundant and cheap. The flavor is a bit more herbaceous than the white one but I like that and I love that the stalks do not need to be peeled! I enjoy the versatility of green asparagus: I boil it or steam it, of course, but I also roast the spears with truffle oil, lemon zest and grated parmesan; I use them in stir-fry, risotto, or pasta dishes; they are magnificent with Hollandaise sauce; and when visuals matter, the bright green spears strike a nice contrast on white plates…

The yearly Asparagus Festival in Payrignac

Payrignac, “my” little village of 700 souls, is the home of several asparagus growers. As luck would have it, a few of our spring trips back home coincided with the Asparagus Festival. Along with fresh asparagus sales –white and green–, it’s also the sought-after venue for a giant asparagus omelet prepared by the local restaurant: free samples! We won’t be there this year and, as an avid mushroom hunter, I’ll miss the opportunity to forage for wild morels as well: they are a perfect foil for asparagus. Fresh is always best but trust me: of all dried mushrooms, morels are the one that rehydrates the best due to their sponge-like structure. My recipe for Asparagus with Morel Cream combines two of the most special ingredients to usher the Spring season. Enjoy!

Asparagus with Morel Cream
Asperges à la crème de morilles
Serves 4

½ oz dried morels
20 green asparagus
2 shallots, peeled and thinly sliced
2 tbsp butter
1/2 cup whipping cream
Salt and pepper

Soak dried morels in warm water for an hour. Lift the mushrooms out of the water, leaving all grit behind, and drain them on a paper towel. Cook the asparagus in salted boiling water for 7-8 minutes. Transfer them to a pot of ice cold water. When they are cold, drain on paper towels. In a skillet over medium-low heat, melt 1 tbsp of butter; sweat the shallots for a couple of minutes; add the morels and cook 5 minutes. Pour the cream into the pan and reduce until the sauce coats a wooden spoon. Add salt and pepper to taste. Melt the remaining butter in a frying pan and warm up the asparagus. Set 5 asparagus each on 4 warmed plates and top with morels and cream sauce.

Note: this side dish pairs very well with poached eggs, a grilled veal chop or turkey cutlets.

Vocabulary
Le lapereau: baby rabbit
La pâtée: a food mixture for farm animals
Le grain de maïs: kernel corn
Le poulailler: chicken coop
Le haricot vert: green bean
Le petit pois: pea
La pomme de terre: potato
L’asperge (f): asparagus
La gouge: a special tool to harvest white asparagus with a long handle and a half tunnel-shaped metal end.
Le légume royal: royal vegetable

BOUILLON CHARTIER

Confession time: I love Parisian brasseries. Not so much because of the food they serve: although I have been pleasantly surprised at times, dishes can be a bit pedestrian. But those venerable restaurants exude history and personality. To have a meal in a traditional brasserie is to be transported in time: Belle Epoque, Art Nouveau, Art Deco… pick your favorite era. I often dine alone when I am traveling and I refuse to surrender to room service: a brasserie is always warm and welcoming of solo diners. There is an element of predictability in the menu: you can be pretty sure the steak-frites and choucroute garnie will be decent, if not very enjoyable. Service is fast and efficient: watching the waiters clad in in their traditional uniform of black pants, white shirts, black vests and white aprons is akin to attending a well-rehearsed ballet at Opéra Garnier. And, of course, the décor provides endless amazement, inspiration, and surprises: I captured the perfect shot for the cover of my book while dining at Brasserie Julien!

From 7 rue du Faubourg Montmartre, enter the stone courtyard to reach the revolving door entrance to Bouillon Chartier. 

Many brasseries offer service continu, which means that you can pretty much order coffee, wine, or food from 7 am to midnight. The “fancier” ones may not offer breakfast but will stay open quite late, so you can still enjoy a leisurely dinner after the theater. On the other hand, if you landed in Paris at 10 am after a very long flight and you are fighting jet lag, you probably just want to get a decent meal on the early side.

Old-fashioned wood chairs and tables, basic tabletop and glassware, real fabric tablecloth topped with disposable white paper.

The evening of our arrival in Paris last month, Rick and I dined at Chartier. They don’t take reservations but they serve food non-stop from 11:30 am to midnight. We showed up at 6:30 pm (how un-French of us) and were seated immediately. One doesn’t go to Chartier for a gastronomic experience: since its very beginnings in 1896, the goal of Bouillon Chartier has been to provide a decent meal at a reasonable price and they continue to deliver on that promise. One could even argue that bouillon was the original fast –and cheap– food. Check out the menu: where else in Paris can you get a bowl of soup for 1 euro?

Consommé au vermicelle (broth with vermicelli) for 1 euro! A bottle of red wine for 13 euros! 

A hundred years ago, the typical Chartier customer was a Parisian worker; on that night last February, half of the dining room seemed to be filled with tourists. I didn’t mind. The food was satisfying and inexpensive. The atmosphere was lively and unpretentious. The Belle Epoque décor was simple yet gorgeous. Good times. I’ll let the photos speak for themselves…

The dining room: chandeliers, mirrors, and painting by Germont.

In the old days, "regulars" would keep their cloth napkins in their own numbered drawers. Not quite sure about the numbering logic there...

We were seated next to a bank of napkin drawers. I was very tempted to open one of them. Should have... Brass racks above the tables allow patrons to stow purses and coats.

Yes, there is a mezzanine! Brasserie waiters always look so sharp in their black and white uniforms.

Rick ordered escargots for his first course but I don't believe he used the snail tongs. Maybe he was afraid of flinging the shells across the dining room like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman?

My frisée aux lardons was copious and satisfying. 

L'addition, s'il vous plaît! Scribbled on the paper tablecloth. Two first courses, two mains, one shared dessert, wine, and coffee for 42.20 euros. That's hard to beat in Paris! 

On the way out, there is a gift shop where you can purchase mugs, dishtowels, playing cards. magnets, or a "Cuvée Chartier" bottle of wine.

Does this look like the lines at Disneyland? When we left around 8:30 pm, there were a lot of people waiting to get in. Chartier doesn't take reservations and it's a popular place: go early or go late. Or just wait: worthwhile experience, if you ask me.

Vocabulary
Le steak-frites: steak and French fries
La choucroute garnie: sauerkraut garnished with an assortment of pig meat products
Le service continu: non-stop service
Le bouillon: broth
L'addition: the ticket
S'il vous plaît: please

TURNING A PAGE

My friends and customers are always envious when I tell them I fly to France an average of four times a year. They probably imagine that I spend my time sitting in a bistro chair, sampling macarons, visiting world-class museums, strolling the streets of old villages in the countryside, enjoying superlative meals accompanied by excellent –and inexpensive– French wines, and collecting a bunch of moments parfaits along the way.

Well, there is some of that.

There is also something else: many expatriates easily eschew touristic activities in favor of just hanging out with family. Over the past few years, most of my trips have followed the same pattern: a few days in Paris attending trade shows and exploring a random neighborhood, followed by ten days (or more) around Gourdon to reconnect with my roots and visit relatives.

I expected our latest February sojourn to unfold in a similar fashion but everything felt a bit different from the get-go, just as if we were wandering in a parallel universe. Our arrival coincided with a rare snowstorm over Paris. The views of the tarmac at CDG1 are never spectacular but it felt like we were landing on some desolate planet: white skies merging into white grounds dotted with an occasional gray concrete building. It was beautiful and ghostly at the same time.

Otherworldly CDG airport in February 2018

It was still snowing when Rick and I boarded our train at Austerlitz station. We continued to travel through white-and-gray landscapes. An hour and a half into our journey, I heard a loud sharp noise unlike anything I had heard before. The train continued on to Chateauroux where it stopped for over an hour. Apparently, a very large chunk of ice had come loose from under the locomotive and hit a couple of windows on the last two wagons; they had to be uncoupled from the rest of the train and their passengers accommodated into the remaining cars. Onward to snow-covered Limoges, Brive, and Souillac. There were still a few patches on the ground when we arrived in Gourdon. As my aunt was driving us home, I filled my eyes with a sumptuous winter sunset: a brilliant red disk dropping behind black tree limbs tickling a clear blue sky.

Winter sunset at the farm

The main item on our agenda was to empty out my grandparents’ old house and prep it for renovation. We knew it would be a formidable endeavor: having experienced two world wars, that generation never threw anything away. The house is actually quite small in its current state and hasn’t been regularly occupied for the past twenty years. In my youth, the furnishings were a bit spartan; each object had its place and purpose. After my grandmother passed away, “the farm” gradually became a storage venue more than a truly functional home. While it provided adequate accommodations for a two-week vacation, it was now a mere shell of its old self, no longer imbued with charm, warmth, or soul. Except in my memories.

By the time we were done, we had made fifteen trips to the déchetterie and filled the neighborhood dumpsters with two dozen grands sacs poubelle. We emptied several cupboards, armoires, two attics, and one toolshed; I sifted through just about everything, not wanting to discard anything important. Not necessarily valuable, but meaningful to me. Grandpa’s pipes, still displayed on a horseshoe. Grandma’s scarf, the one she wore to go to Mass. A heavy cotton sheet embroidered with their initials in red thread, part of her trousseau. The wooden high chair that had been used by my dad and his siblings, by myself and my sister, and by my nephews: three generations of French derrières! Lots of letters, lots of Christmas cards, lots of photographs.

An empty attic

One of these photos is introducing the post. I think my grandfather took the picture in 1927. It used to sit on the chest of drawers in the small upstairs bedroom where I stayed. It shows my great-grandparents, pépé Basile and mémé Françonnette who inherited the house from her sister. Sitting between them is my uncle René. Françonnette is looking straight at me; rosary in hand, she seems to tell me it’s now my turn to take care of her house. Normally, I would have been elated to see this photo again after some twenty years but the moment was bittersweet: René died the day before the photo resurfaced. Odd timing; sadness; a sense of finality. People, their homes, their things.

I took one last glance through the bedroom window and closed the wood shutters. I walked down the old staircase, registering the distinct “note” of each step and committing the whole song to memory. I stared at the blackened walk-in fireplace where I had spent countless hours, book in hand. I rubbed my fingers over “1940 Lagarde” handwritten in the concrete threshold by the mason who had last remodeled the house during the war.  I locked the door and walked away, unable to hold back my tears. I turned around and found myself contemplating this familiar house as if I was viewing it for the last time. In a way, I was.

Vocabulary
Le wagon: railroad car
La déchetterie: the dump
Grand: large
Le sac poubelle: garbage bag
Le derrière: butt

Through the bedroom window

PARIS SOUS LA NEIGE

One rarely thinks of Paris as a Winter Wonderland and yet… We landed on a snowy Tuesday morning and headed down South on a snowy Friday morning. In between, we spent our time doing what we usually do: walking in the streets, strolling on the quays, enjoying the parks… and making frequent stops in the covered passages and in cafés to warm up. This photo essay showcases many familiar locations. You'll see that Paris sous la neige looks quite different from Paris sous la pluie! Last week, for just a few days, Paris was the City of White.

Who wants to go for a ride?

Buses were rare but one can always count on the métro. The trick is to figure out the name of the station...

Mairie of the 3rd arrondissement. The duck was indecisive. Fearing cold water, perhaps?

Square du Temple, 3rd arrondissement

I thought the Père Lachaise cemetery would provide some interesting photo opportunities but it was closed because of the snow. We walked along the perimeter wall.

Life goes on and so does this outdoor market in the 20th arrondissement.

Passage de l'Ancre, 3rd arrondissement

Rue Montorgeuil, 2nd arrondissement

Luckily, Palais Royal was open.

Gardens at Palais Royal 

I never get tired of the symmetry at Palais Royal.

In the Tuileries gardens, these birds might be cold but not hungry!

The Tuileries gardens are dotted with statues. I'll call this one The Juggler.

The Louvre and Pont Royal from Quai Voltaire on the Left Bank

Only a few bouquinistes were brave enough to open their green stalls.

Around the equestrian statue of Henri IV on Pont Neuf, the snow "almost" hides the visual assault of a plethora of love locks.

Snow-covered vegetation outlines the triangular tip of a still flooded Square du Vert-Galant.

A truly "wooly" mammoth guards the Galerie de Paléontologie on rue Buffon.

A heavily blanketed Jardin des Plantes

Viaduc d'Austerlitz and houseboats from Pont d'Austerlitz

One of the hotels on Cité Bergère in the 9th arrondissement

Place de la République

Cold and snowy on rue du Temple

Daybreak on rue du Vertbois

Gardens of the Hôtel de Soubise, Archives Nationales de Paris

Square St Gilles at Hôtel du Grand Veneur

Place des Vosges, stunning in all seasons

Ephemeral statue at Hôtel de Sully

Square Jean XXIII, behind Notre-Dame-de-Paris

Looking toward Quai de Montebello

A snow angel behind Notre-Dame; seems appropriate.

Dedicated piano player on Pont St-Louis, the bridge between Ile de la Cité and Ile St-Louis.

Quai Bourbon at the western tip of Ile St-Louis

A THOUSAND CREPES

La Chandeleur was just a few days ago and Mardi Gras is coming up next week. With apologies to Carl Sagan, it’s fair to say that the French consume “billions and billions” of crêpes: in Brittany alone, they have been common fare since the 13th century. Savory galettes can make a complete meal; sweet crêpes de froment are served as a dessert or as a snack.

Matcha mille crêpes at Megu

I was in New York during Restaurant Week in 2011 and treated myself to Megu, a Japanese restaurant near the United Nations. For dessert, I chose the Matcha Mille Crêpes, an ethereal green tea flavored cake, a tower of crêpes layered with pastry cream. A year later at Le Colonial, the very same cake was listed on the menu and delicious memories flooded my mind. Miam miam! I found out these Mille Crêpes were the specialty of Lady M, an upscale pastry shop on the East Side.

Mille crêpes at Le Colonial

Another year, another trip, another slice of cake: having lunch with a supplier in the Plaza Hotel Food Hall, I spotted a Lady M boutique and couldn’t resist the green beauty. I was hooked. Although I don’t particularly enjoy baking, I really had to try to make this at home. An internet search revealed several recipes and it didn’t look too difficile. Mille crêpes, like mille-feuilles, is a misnomer: you will not need to make one thousand crêpes, only twenty, which is pretty much what a standard batch of batter will yield.

Assembling my mille crêpes praliné

Many variations are possible, either by adding a flavor to the crêpe batter or to the pastry cream. I had brought back a few bars of Pralinoise that I incorporated to make a delicious praliné cream. The assembly is a bit time-consuming but doesn’t require any particular skill. And it’s surprisingly easy to slice. This video will show you a few tricks. 

Half of my mille crêpes cake

I won’t be in my own kitchen on Mardi Gras so a mille crêpe is not in the cards this year. The appeal of individual crêpes lies in giving everyone the opportunity to choose their favorite fillings but the mille crêpes cake will elicit oohs and aahs from everybody at the dinner table. Next time, I’m trying François Payard’s recipe.

Vocabulary
La Chandeleur: a pagan then religious celebration that takes place on Feb.  2nd
La galette: a buckwheat crêpe, for savory fillings
La crêpe de froment: a wheat crêpe, for sweet fillings
Miam miam: yum yum
Difficile: difficult
Le mille-feuille: a pastry known as a Napoleon, made with thin layers of puff pastry
La Pralinoise: a hazelnut chocolate bar made by Poulain

Lady M's mille crêpes at the Plaza Hotel Food Hall

Mille Crêpes with Green Tea Cream
Gâteau de crêpes au thé vert
by Francois Payard

Chocolate Crêpes
2 cups plus 2 tablespoons (220g) all-purpose flour
1/3 cup (30g) Dutch-processed cocoa powder
1/2 cup (100g) sugar
Pinch of salt
8 large eggs
2 cups plus 1 tablespoon (500g) whole milk
Grated zest of 2 oranges
10 tablespoons (5 oz. or 150g) unsalted butter, browned
1 cup (250g) heavy cream
Vegetable oil, for the pan

Green Tea Pastry Cream
2 cups plus 1 tablespoon (500 g) whole milk
2 teaspoons (10g) powdered green tea
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons (120g) sugar
5 tablespoons (40g) cornstarch
6 large egg yolks
4 tablespoons (2oz.; 60g) unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1 cup (250g) heavy cream

Make the crêpes: Combine the flour, cocoa powder, sugar, and salt in a large mixing bowl. In another bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, and orange zest. Incorporate them gradually into the dry ingredients, whisking constantly with one hand as you pour them with the other. Doing this slowly will prevent lumps from forming. Whisk in the butter, then the cream. Strain the batter over a bowl to make sure that it is smooth, then whisk it again so that it is thoroughly combined. Cover the batter, and refrigerate for at least 2 hours or overnight.

Whisk the batter well. Place a small crêpe pan or nonstick skillet (about 8 inches in diameter) over medium heat. Pour about 2 teaspoons vegetable oil in the pan to grease it. Once it is hot, use a 1/4 cup measuring cup or a small ladle to pour a little less than 1/4 cup of batter in the pan. There should be just enough batter in the pan to coat the bottom in a thin layer. Tilt the pan in a circular motion so that the batter is evenly spread in the pan.

After about 2 minutes, the edges of the crêpe should start firming up. Use a spatula to lift a side of the crêpe and flip it over. Cook on the other side for about 1 minute, then remove the crêpe to a plate. Repeat the process until all of the batter is used, piling the crêpes one on top of the other as they are cooked. If the crêpes start to stick to the pan, add a little more oil. Cover the stack of crêpes with plastic wrap, and refrigerate until cool, up to 1 day.

Make the Pastry Cream: Line a shallow pan, such as a 9-inch square cake pan or a small rimmed baking sheet, with plastic wrap. Bring the milk to a boil in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Whisk in the green tea powder.

Meanwhile, combine the sugar and cornstarch in a medium bowl, and whisk in the yolks. Continue whisking until the yolks turn a very pale yellow. Slowly pour a fourth of the milk into the yolk mixture, whisking constantly to keep the yolks from curdling. Once the milk is well incorporated, return the mixture to the saucepan over medium heat, and cook, whisking constantly and scraping the bottom and sides of the pot with the whisk to prevent lumps from forming, until it becomes very thick and bubbles start popping from the center of the pan for at least 20 seconds. You need to bring it to a boil so that the cornstarch gets activated.

Remove from the heat and whisk in the butter. Pour the pastry cream into the prepared pan and cover it with plastic wrap to prevent a skin from forming. Let it cool to room temperature, and then refrigerate it until it is completely cool, up to 1 day ahead.

Whip the heavy cream at medium speed in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment until it holds soft peaks. Whisk the pastry cream to a creamy texture, then gently fold in the whipped cream with a spatula.

Assemble the Cake: Place one of the cooled crepes on a serving platter. With a small offset spatula, spread a very thin layer (about 1/16 inch) of the green tea pastry cream over the crepe, going all the way to the edges. Place another crepe on top and repeat the process until the cake is 2 to 3 inches tall. Refrigerate for about 1 hour before serving, up to 6 hours ahead, so that the cake has time to set.

Makes one 8-inch cake; serves 8

ROGER L'ANTIQUAIRE

Three years ago, after checking out the latest trends at the Colette concept store in the 1st arrondissement, I walked toward Palais Royal and found myself in front of église Saint Roch. Throngs of teenagers were sitting on the steps, enjoying a sunny day while chatting and eating Japanese fast food. I turned into rue Saint Roch and couldn’t miss the smallest antique shop in Paris. I had heard of Rarissime but never visited before. It seemed to be carved inside the church. 

Rarissime. A rare find indeed.

It was closed for lunch. So, I walked to rue Ste-Anne, devoured a very satisfying yuzu éclair at Aki Boulanger and returned to Rarissime a while later.

Antique decanters and, perhaps, a Quimper bowl.

As I walked in I couldn’t believe how tiny this place was: the depth of the shop from the façade couldn’t be more than ten feet. Apparently, it used to be a place where people would buy religious trinkets. Roger rented the space from the city of Paris and agreed to renovate the shop.

The stone staircase!

He even built an impressive stone spiral staircase: the steps above the second level served as display areas for Roger’s finds. He told me that he shopped at vide-greniers and estate sales; he stored his treasures at his home outside of Paris. 

Second floor at Rarissime

Roger’s selection looked eclectic enough until a gentleman stopped by to pick up a carton of six eggs. Roger said he brought them from his village every week and he had many regular customers. Old objects and fresh eggs: an unusual combination to be sure. I perused a whole folder of vintage photographs and told Roger I would visit him again on a future trip. When I returned eighteen months later, the shop was fermée and the windows were empty. I inquired about Roger at the hotel across the street and was told by the receptionist that he had finally retired to his village. It made me happy, and sad at the same time.

Empty windows. Where is Roger?

Last September, I headed out to église Saint Roch again: I just had to find out whether the teeny, tiny store had welcomed a new tenant and it had. It’s now the home of Brigitte Tanaka, a collaboration between a French and a Japanese designer. 

Brigitte Tanaka: French and Japanese, old and contemporary.

It was closed for lunch. So, we walked to rue Ste-Anne. I’ll miss Roger.

Farewell, Roger!

Vocabulary
L’église: church
Le vide-grenier: garage sale
Fermé: closed

COOKING WITH BOCUSE

Full disclosure: I did not actually cook in Paul Bocuse’s kitchen; that would have truly been a Moment Parfait. But I did find myself in his immediate vicinity at SIRHA in Lyon some fifteen years ago. Attending that trade show brought me pretty close to foodie heaven not just because of the fantastic products I discovered but because I also had the opportunity to observe talented chefs pushing the envelope in food prep, execution, and presentation. Buyers at food shows move at a very slow pace: we are continuously stopping to shake hands with vendors, watch videos showcasing pots, pans, or knives, and sample food bites (I know, you all want my job right now.) I was leisurely walking the aisles of the show when traffic came to a standstill. I figured there was a compelling demo a few booths ahead. I then realized the source of attention was actually in the aisle. Initially, I only caught a quick glimpse of a white toque towering over the crowd; a short while later, I found myself just a few feet away from Monsieur Paul. Sporting his tall chef’s hat, he was also dressed in his “frog coat” adorned with the blue, white, and red striped collar that can only be worn by recipients of the Meilleur Ouvrier de France* award. He was escorted by a small entourage and I assume he was making his way to the Bocuse d’Or competition**, an international event that started in 1987, long before Iron Chef and Chopped became popular TV entertainment.

Inside Brasserie de l'Est. Look at the miniature train at the top of the photo and the marquise showing through the window. Photo credit for this picture and the top one: Brasserie de l'Est.

Since I didn’t have private transportation (nor the budget!) to head out of Lyon and experience Bocuse’s celebrated restaurant in Collonges, I thought the next best thing would be to have dinner at one of his brasseries in the city. As luck would have it, Brasserie de l’Est was a mere fifteen-minute walk from my hotel. I loved the location –an old gare– and the décor: a stunning iron-and-glass marquise above the entrance, an open kitchen, a miniature train circulating on miniature tracks above the dining room. I remember being so impressed with the simple salade gourmande: lovely bouquets of mâche dressed in an olive oil vinaigrette with shallots, tender coeurs d’artichauts, perfectly cooked haricots verts, topped with a buttery slice of duck foie gras.

My first cookbook!

As soon as I flew back to California, I had to recreate that perfect salad and add it to my repertoire. The recipe was not listed in Paul Bocuse In Your Kitchen, the very first cookbook I bought after moving to the US but, by then, I was able to execute a satisfactory rendition. The funny thing is that I grew up around women who routinely produced 4-course meals twice a day but I didn’t actually start cooking until I left France. Chef Paul, Chef Jacques (Pépin), and Julia (Child) became my teachers through their books and their TV shows. Soupe à l’Oignon, Sole Meunière, Coq au Vin, Boeuf Bourguignon, Mousse au Chocolat: I had savored all those dishes throughout my childhood but these iconic figures are the ones who really taught me how to cook. Paul Bocuse just passed away last week. He was a giant, the pope of French cuisine. His lessons and his passion will always stay with me. Come to think about it: his French Onion Soup sounds simply perfect right now.

Onion soup: a staple of French cuisine

Paul Bocuse’s French Onion Soup
Soupe à l’oignon de Paul Bocuse

2 tbsp butter
4 medium onions, peeled and sliced
2 tbsp flour
6 cups beef bouillon or water
½ an 8-ounce loaf of French bread, cut in half lengthwise
2 cups freshly grated Swiss cheese
2 tbsp butter (for layering)
Pepper
2 tbsp breadcrumbs

Melt 2 tbsp butter in a large saucepan, add the onions, and brown slightly. Stir in the flour and when it begins to color add the bouillon or water, stirring constantly. Cook over moderate heat uncovered for 15 minutes. Toast the bread under the broiler, then cut into thick slices. Preheat the oven to 400ºF. In a soup tureen that you can put in the oven, place a third of the bread, sprinkle with a quarter of the cheese, 2 tsp of softened butter, and a little pepper. Make three layers in this way, then pour the soup into the tureen, sprinkle with the breadcrumb and the remaining cheese, and place in the oven for 20 minutes or until the cheese and breadcrumbs have browned. Serve immediately. Serves 4.

Vocabulary
La toque: tall (and stiff) chef’s hat
La gare: train station
La marquise: in this context, a glass and iron porch above an entrance
La mâche: lamb’s lettuce
Le coeur d’artichaut: artichoke heart
Le haricot vert: slender green bean
La soupe à l’oignon: French onion soup
La sole meunière: sole with a butter lemon sauce
Le coq au vin: rooster in red wine
Le boeuf bourguignon: beef stew in red wine
La mousse au chocolat: chocolate mousse

*Meilleur Ouvrier de France: for some insight on what is involved to get this culinary award, watch the trailer to The Kings of Pastry, an entertaining and fascinating documentary.

** Bocuse d'Or: watch highlights of the 2017 competition. The US team took Gold for the first time!

METRO ENTRANCES, ICONIC OR NOT

The first time I took the métro, I didn’t pay attention to the entrance. I’m pretty sure I was holding my mother’s hand and she told me to watch my steps when we walked down into the bowels of the earth. As I related in one of the “moments” in my book, I mostly remember the poinçonneur punching a hole in our tickets and the pile of confetti at his feet. So, no; sorry to disappoint. This is not a story about my falling in love with Art Nouveau when I was six years old. I’m not even sure I appreciated the beauty of the métro when I was a student and used it every single day. At that time, it was just a transit option, a convenient way to get from Point A to Point B –unless there was une grève, of course. With a one hour commute and classes starting at 8 AM sharp, I didn’t have the luxury of spending an extra five minutes to decide whether I really liked Guimard’s “style nouille.”  

The only original "édicule" entrance stands at Porte Dauphine but Abbesses also features the distinctive glass roof of the end-of-the-line stations as designed by Guimard. The most common stations (over 100 of them) have molded iron railway surrounding three sides of the stairways, without a roof, as shown on the Cité station at the top of this post.

The first métro line (Porte Maillot to Porte de Vincennes) opened in 1900 and Hector Guimard had been commissioned to design the entranceways. Their purpose was mainly to prevent people from falling down a large opening in the sidewalk! But Guimard also made them beautiful and uniquely recognizable. A century later, the large majority of the métro entrances still harbor that very familiar and inviting Art Nouveau look. But time didn’t stand still: as the métro network continued to develop, new stations were added, and sometimes it made sense to locate the entrance inside an existing structure. They may not show that classic Guimard style but I like to be surprised and some of them are actually quite beautiful. Here are a few examples I photographed as I walked in the city.

The Sentier entrance above is located inside a stylish building in the old garment district.

Station Volontaires in the 15th arrondissement opened in 1910. Truly one of a kind.

Station Saint-Georges in the 9th arrondissement seems to lead to the basement of the hôtel de la marquise de Païva, built in 1840.

The original entrance to station Monge is the 5th arrondissement is located next to the arênes de Lutèce, one of the few remnants of the city in Gallo-Roman times.

Le Kiosque des noctambules was erected in 2000 on place Colette. Made of aluminum spheres and Murano glass, it is an entrance for the Palais Royal-Musée du Louvre station.

This iron gate leads to an entrance to the RER-métro at Invalides. It's located under the pont Alexandre III, at quay level, on the left bank.

Please comment and let me know which other atypical métro entrances you’ve encountered: I’ll try to take photos of them on future trips and add them to this post.

Vocabulary
Le poinçonneur: the ticket agent who punches a hole in your ticket before they had magnetic stripes or chips; he usually sat in front of the platform entrance.
La grève: a strike, aka the French national pastime… kidding, just kidding.
Le style nouille: noodle style, a somewhat pejorative way to describe Art Nouveau 

PARIS SOUS LA PLUIE

I woke up this morning to the sound of pouring rain, a welcome sound since California has been parched for too many months. I was scheduled to head out to the Bay Area for a trade show but the prospect of driving on wet roads today made me cringe for some odd reason. My mind was flooded with memories of hydroplaning on my way to San Francisco some fifteen years ago: the car spun 180º and I found myself facing incoming traffic, in the fast lane of the freeway. Not the most perfect moment, if you ask me.

Square des Peupliers in the 13th arrondissement

I decided to follow my gut and postponed my trip, which turned out to be an excellent decision: I later found out an eight-vehicle wreck blocked all lanes of the freeway and I would have been sitting in my car for a long time, with no exit path.  Instead, I lingered sous la couette for an extra half hour, listening to the gushing wind and the raindrops hitting the bedroom window. 

Rue des Iris at the Cité Florale, 13th arrondissement

Rain has become somewhat of an oddity for me; it’s the privilege of living in California. All bets are off when I go back to France: I’ve routinely purchased (and disposed of) many parapluies during my trips to Paris. It will ring a bell for those of you who have read my book!

Not a good day for the flea market at place d'Aligre in the 12th arrondissement!

February, May, July, October: for several years in a row, I just couldn’t get a break and I was getting soaked on every trip. It almost felt like payback for purging my wardrobe of manteaux and imperméables.

The pastel houses on rue Crémieux, a bit muted on a rainy day

For a photographer, rain can be a friend: even lighting, no harsh shadows, interesting reflections.

Rue Charles Baudelaire near square Trousseau in the 12th arrondissement. Sometimes, the umbrella gets in the way!

On the other hand, juggling camera and umbrella presents some challenges.

Rue Vieille-du-Temple in the 3rd arrondissement. Love the colorful umbrellas!

Sometimes, the best course of action is to find shelter in a café and rester au sec. 

Salon de thé Carette on place du Trocadéro, 16th arrondissement

Enjoy an espresso or a glass of wine. 

The slate roof of the Musée national d'Histoire naturelle, across from Gare d'Austerlitz

Or hit a museum. 

La Canopée in the 1st arrondissement. The latest addition to the Halles district.

Or check out the unusual gutter system of the Canopée des Halles. 

A Parisian dog practicing his people-watching skills

Or sit en terrasse, under the gas heaters, and watch the world go by. 

Café Marguerite on quai de Gesvres. On a clear day, the bouquinistes green stalls would be open.

Rain or shine, it’s still Paris after all.

Vocabulary

Sous la pluie: under the rain
Sous la couette: under the duvet
Le parapluie: umbrella
Le manteau: coat
L’imperméable (masc.): raincoat
Rester au sec: to stay dry
En terrace: at the terrace
Les bouquinistes: used books sellers on the quais of the Seine