rodeo dog

Another find at Musée Carnavalet was this charming chair with a...

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 06:18:26 -0500

Another find at Musée Carnavalet was this charming chair with a delightful scene of a monkey pushing a cat into a fire. Or protecting it from the fire? Or having a romantic cuddle by the fire? You be the judge.

"Rodeo dog? Huh? Are you into rodeos?" No.

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 06:03:00 -0500

rodeo dog (idiom/family slang, origin 1992)

1. (v) to agree, unwittingly, to engage in an unplanned activity and/or favor; usually perpetuated by a person for whom you have affection.

2. (n) An act or procedure which achieves an end by mildly deceptive means, but with no malicious intent.

3. example: You are invited out to lunch by your favorite aunt & somehow on the way there you find yourself spending 2 hours at Chico’s while she tries things on. In this case, you have been “rodeo dogged.” Someone else in your family may point this out to you by exclaiming “Rodeo dog!”

4. history of origins: step-father of blog author used to call dog Tyler over offering him a treat, and then would flip him on his back, holding the pup’s legs together rodeo-style and yell Rodeo Dog. The dog would get a treat, but would get a bit embarrassed in the process, if you believe dogs can be embarrassed.

Vicarious Experience Project: #3

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 07:41:35 -0500

My dearest sister-in-law Carmel Lachel assigns:

Musee Carnavelet. I’ve never been and would love to go. I’ve heard it’s an off the beaten path history museum of the city.

You heard right. Wholly dedicated to the history of Paris, Musée Carnavalet (formerly Hôtel Carnavalet) was built in 1548, and named for one of its first owners (the widow Kernevenoy, which was Frenchified into “Carnavalet”), it was more recently and famously occupied by Madame de Sévigne, if you count recently as 1696. With a collection of hundreds of thousands of objects, the museum has a mixed-bag feel, and exists somewhere between history museum and curiosity cabinet. Including such varied finds as the Dauphin’s bedroom slippers, gargoyles from Pont Neuf, and neolithic era canoes, there is plenty to see to give you a comprehensive (if not wildly varied) view of Paris.

The general collection is free: helpful and generous for a collection you could return to many times and still see something new. The special exhibitions are reasonably priced at 5€, which we went for to see Révolution Française, Trésors Cachés. My friend André sprung for my ticket, which led the ticket lady to suggest something along the lines of “he’s only paying now because he wants to give you a ride later.” Scandaleux! Fortunately, my dignity and marriage is worth more than 5€. For the record, André replied with a gentlemanly “Je ne le crois pas, madame!”

We started in the special exhibition, which offered a comprehensive collection of documents, artifacts, paintings and prints following the French Revolution. As my Québécois companion told me, the text was generously left-leaning. I, however, was rendered almost illiterate by the French-only text and was pleased when I could pick out a few words or details. Left with my 1st-grade-level French and 4th-grade-level knowledge of the French Revolution, I focused on the objects themselves. I was most taken with the prints, a beautiful mix of etchings, engravings and aquatints. I was surprised to see such phenomenally detailed, labor-intensive work, clashing with my idea of an era of upheaval. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, as there was of course a very different method and standard for disseminating media then. But you know, these kids today with the youtubes and the twitterz and the faceplaces just don’t make minutely detailed portraits of their celebrity revolutionists like they used to.

One factoid learned was that the revolutionaries implemented a new calendar (calendrier républicain), revealing the thorough optimism and idealism of the moment that with these new structures in place, they could wipe the slate clean of the ancien régime. One of the most engaging installations in the exhibition was an illustrated portfolio of female allegories representing each month, with beautiful names like Vendémiaire, Pluviôse and Floréal. With a 10 day week and a 10 hour day, it would seem it was a bit too much change for the French, and it only lasted 12 years before Napoleon abolished it in 1806. If not, today would be Nonidi, the 19th of Frimare in the year CCXVII.

After carefully viewing each object in the special exhibition, we moved onto the rest of the museum, quickly realizing that it was much larger than we had originally thought. The museum is generally organized by centuries, with the largest focus on the 17th and 18th centuries. This means lots of gilding, paneling and other hyper-decorative trappings, which was great for me. While the consummate scholar André was carefully regarding all of the paintings and labels, I was swooning over the wallpaper and decorative molding.

In general, some of the decorations in the rooms outshone the quality of the paintings, which were sometimes adorably amateur. It’s understandable that in a smallish city museum devoted to history, the art is not Louvre caliber, but I think it adds to the charm of the museum and lends a completeness to its historical mission. Carnavalet is also rich in to-scale models. Models are so delightful! Tiny cities! So petite! Also, educational! For example, we learned that Île de la Cité used to be smaller, that the bridges over the Seine used to have row houses on them, and that all buildings used to be made of wood and cardboard. Right, guys?

I conservatively estimate there were about a gazillion portrait busts.

In general, my favorite parts of the musée were the reconstructed, fully decorated rooms, including Proust’s study, a G. Fouquet jewelry store designed by Alphonse Mucha, and the ballroom from Hôtel de Wendel. Not being an archivist, I simply don’t have the same emotional response when inspecting items shelved and labeled under glass as I do when walking into a total space, even if it may be somehow inauthentic as a recreation. In a sense, any object in the hands of a curator presents a skewed version of history, colored by the opinions of the collection and its neighboring objects. As I’m no purist, I enjoy entering an environment that takes me completely into a historical re-imagining, and allows a more creative and visceral response. Here ends My Historical Installation Manifesto. (Jacob tells me that the museum and this kind of historical display are both inventions of the nineteenth century. Thanks, nineteenth century!)

Thanks to Carmel for the recommendation! Musée Carnavalet was a pleasure to visit, and I will certainly return whenever my life in Paris needs a little more gilding. (Or models!)

The Great Parent Visit of '09

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 08:24:00 -0500

Maman Mary and dear beau-père Mike had the honor of being our first overseas visitors, spending 5 days running around Paris with us. Well, not so much running, but strolling, taxiing, hobbling and rolling. We had a wonderful time, and did a lot of the touristy things we haven’t done yet, ate more rich food than is sensible, and learned to relax and to try not to be uptight faux Parisians. (NOTE: If your parents have any capacity to embarrass you on your home turf, multiply that by 500, and that is their embarrassment capacity in a foreign country. We tried to make them talk quietly at first and follow our perceived expatriate rules, but eventually gave up and laughed a lot.) Overall, it was a delightful visit that soothed homesickness and gave us the chance to see a lot of Paris.

LESSONS LEARNED:

Mike can adapt to whatever. We’ve been spending the last two months under the modus operandi of keeping our heads down, learning French, and not offending the locals. Mike uses the opposite tack, of injecting himself in any situation without fear, requesting “parlez-vous anglais?” and not worrying at all about a few uptight Parisians. In the few days he was here, he became a regular at a local café that he visited twice daily, and he bought exactly the thing he was looking for at two pharmacies (that may not sound like a big deal, but it’s something I’ve yet to do, and continue to be terrified of the formidable dames de la pharmacie) and he had probably wandered into more shops and restaurants in our neighborhood than I ever have. Lesson to me: be not afraid, be not very afraid.

Paris is not a disabled-friendly city. With two knee surgeries in the past few years, the amount of time that Mom can walk around is certainly finite. We managed to do well, but it was striking how wide the gap is between American and French standards of accessibility. I couldn’t even find a list of metro stops with elevators, and taxis were surprisingly difficult to come by. Bathrooms, of course, are always “just down those stairs.” Fortunately, the Louvre and Musée d’Orsay offered wheelchairs, but it was still incredibly time-consuming and complicated to find your way around the museum with such limitations. You often had to go to the “C” elevator to go one floor up then take the “F” elevator to go two floors down, and roll circuitously halfway across the museum to get to a point that was only 15 feet away. One strange benefit of low mobility occurred as we were rolling by the Mona Lisa. The guard whispered “there is a special way for you,” and ushered us past the barrier that over a hundred people were standing behind. So, Mom and I got to see la Joconde from only a few feet away. Amazing. Also, embarrassing, knowing a large group of annoyed tourists were staring at our backsides.

SIGHTS SEEN:

Notre-Dame on Île de la Cité & Île Saint-Louis: Exploring the tiny island of Île Saint-Louis in the middle of the Seine was Mike’s best idea for a touring destination. We walked all over, going in and out of the adorable shops, and we left with some spectacularly stinky cheeses and lovely rosé champagne.

< Fromage at La Ferme Saint-Aubin, Mom on Pont Île Saint-Louis, Chocolat Noir at Berthillion >

Jardin des Tuileries & Place de la Concorde: An accidental visit while trying to find the well-hidden entrance to the Concorde metro stop, we enjoyed strolling around in the Sunday evening crowds by La Grande Roue and the lumières de Noël. It was quite chilly, but I suppose that made it feel more like the holidays.

< La Tour Eiffel, La Grande Roue, Place de la Concorde >

Rue Montorgueil: Another unintended visit when we were too tardy for our lunch reservation elsewhere, but it’s certainly one of my favorite streets in Paris. It will definitely be on all future tours. Mike embraced his tourist status and took photos of everything, while Mom and I strolled on the beautiful marble mosaic sidewalks and pretended we didn’t know him.

< boulangerie, rain, and épicerie on rue Montorgueil >

Opéra Bastille: For our fanciest adventure, we went to see Strauss’s Salomé at the modern opera house. It was a good one to experience as my first opera, with its wild and passionate arias and its spare and dramatic sets. Also: mild necrophilia, implied incest and brief nudity! Salomé! Decadent indeed.
Le Louvre & Musée d’Orsay: Very fortunately, both museums offer free wheelchairs, which was the only way we could enable Mom to see so much. Much art was seen. Jake played the role of tour guide, and delivered illuminating and customized lectures throughout. Mom especially enjoyed the gilded rooms in each, which softened the blow of us canceling the Versailles trip.

< Mom documents the self-crowning of Napoleon, peeking to view the grand hall at Musée d’Orsay, Apollo Gallery at the Louvre >

FOOD EATEN:

Bofinger: Chosen for the convenience of late-night, post-Opéra dinner, the food was very Alsatian…lots of sauerkraut and pork. The food was decent, and had a lovely dining room, but certainly overpriced and over salted. I did have my first experience of persistence leading to triumph with a maître’d…he tried to seat us on the 2nd floor which I knew wasn’t as pretty as the Grande Salle, and although he said there was no table available, after I insisted (three times) that we had specifically requested the main room with our reservation, a table miraculously appeared. Victoire!
Berthillion: OMG you guys, the best ice cream ever. I scream, you scream, etc. We sat in their tearoom on Île Saint-Louis, sampling the pistache, Gianduja à l’orange and chocolat noir glaces, along with mint tea and financier cake. Perfection.
Bistrot Paul Bert: My second trip was as lovely as the first. Jake won the entrée prize with a terrine à campagne, Mom won the plat prize with a perfect filet au poivre, and I won the dessert prize with soufflé à Grand Marnier. Mike got the fromage course, so he’s a winner in general.

< St. Jacques, fromage course, salade with poached egg at Bistrot Paul Bert >

L’Epigramme: My favorite meal of the visit, no contest. I highly recommend this place, but go very hungry and be prepared to eat salads for the next few days…it is super-rich cuisine. I went adventurous with pig’s ear on a vegetable terrine and was the opposite of sorry. Tender, flavorful and surprising. The server/owner was delightful, and when I asked what poêlé meant (pan-fried) he went on to translate the entire chalkboard menu for us, without sighing or rolling his eyes once.  Bonus!

< oreille de porc, terrine, pigeonneau at L’Epigramme >

L’Épicerie: Our back-up restaurant when we missed our reservations at La Boulangerie. Generous, well-constructed salads and traditional bistro fare…delightful.
Restaurant Chartier: An excellent stand-by in our quartier, traditional French fare in a beautiful nineteenth-century dining hall. Quick but gruff service and cheap prices only add to its charm. Mom had her escargot fix and with the rowdy crowds, we didn’t have to shush her once.
Restaurant du Musée d’Orsay: Mom and I are suckers for museum cafés, a long tradition for the matriarchs of our family. This one is not to be missed, not neccesarily for the food (which is decent and appropriately french, but nothing to write home about) but for the perfect atmosphere. Softly clinking glasses, a grande salle gilded to the hilt, and a lovely view of Paris through the ceiling-high windows make the meal very worthwhile.
Notre Appartment: We enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner with the parents, roommate Jess and buddy Andrew, with a lovely turkey from our local butcher. When Jess ordered the turkey, the butcher brought out a 20lb, 100€ monster and when her eyes widened, he said “Quoi? C’est une dinde american!” She instead requested a dinde française, a sweet little 9 1/2 pounder which cooked in only 1 1/2 hours, compliments of our crazy french oven. Thank god for meat thermometers, or Thanksgiving would have been ruined. Jess made perfect aligot (garlicky cheesy mashed potatoes), Jake made walnut green beans, and I made fennel salad, sausage stuffing and pumpkin pie. Andrew brought a beautiful and delicious strawberry tart. A wonderful meal.

< escargot at Restaurant Chartier, Restaurant du Musée d’Orsay, our dinde française >

Julhès: Our favorite neighborhood boulangerie provided breakfast most days. I introduced the family to pain suisse, the decadent custard-filled cousin of pain au chocolate. We learned that there’s a few seats hidden in the back for café, but be prepared for ultra-brusque service.
Pâtisserie Storher: An imperative stop on rue Montorgueil, it’s the oldest continuously running pâtisserie in Paris and maybe in the world. Founded by the former pastry chef of Versailles, it’s been in the same storefront since 1730, predating the birth of the USA by 46 years. And yes, the bonbons and pastries show their experience.

Thanks to Mom and Mike for visiting, and for showing us such a wonderful and adventurous time.

Comic Sans, Notre Dame? Really? That is so not goth.

Wed, 02 Dec 2009 12:55:35 -0500

Comic Sans, Notre Dame? Really? That is so not goth.

Vicarious Experience Project: #2

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 06:32:56 -0500

For my second Vicarious Experience assignment, I have a second try at a friend’s demoralizing experience at the Arc de Triomphe. From Shawnee Barton:

When I was in high school I took a European tour with some classmates and a snooty AP English teacher. In Paris, our bus stopped near the Arc de Triomphe. We were supposed to go look at the Arc, but I went to Häagen-Dazs instead (this was back when HD was really special-before it was available in any ol’ grocery store). Back at the bus I found my enraged teacher waiting for me. He was so mad that he grabbed my cone out of my hand and slammed it down on the bus floor. It hit with a thud and splattered everywhere. To this day, that is one of my favorite stories, I’d like an illustration to go with it. So, can you try to get me a photo of the Arc with Häagen-Dazs in it too?

So, on a lovely fall afternoon, I took the 2 line to metro stop Charles de Gaulle Étoile. The train was bizarrely crowded for mid-afternoon, and after the stifling car and the endless tunnels to reach the appropriate sortie for the arc, I stumbled into the daylight, and directly into a crowd watching breakdancers. Because the exit from the metro is the best place for breakdancing.

After orienting myself, I headed east on the Champs-Elysées towards the nearest Häagen-Dazs I had found on the interwebs. I passed by all of the fancy stores (Louis Vuitton looked extra-special fancy, I had a sudden urge for beautiful luggage despite not really being into that kind of thing) and then arrived at the decidedly less fancy location of Häagen-Dazs after about a kilometer.

You can still see the Arc from the Häagen-Dazs, so figuring this must be the place (or the next best thing) I bought my cone. Single scoop belgian chocolate…even though it was an ice cream store, the lady still gave me the stink-eye, because it was clearly the time for afternoon coffee in France, not ice cream. Au revoir, lady, and back up the street with my ice cream. I felt a little out of place looking in the windows of the most decadent stores in Paris, while chomping on a drippy ice cream cone on a Thursday fall afternoon, but in the best kind of way. I felt committed to owning the act, and accepted my status as an american wearing comfortable shoes, eating ice cream, and definitely not pretending I could afford anything on this street other than a snack.

I got a few pictures of the union of the ice cream and the arc, and learned that if you feel embarrassed looking like a tourist taking pictures, don’t try to take a picture of your ice cream cone in one outstretched hand, while holding your camera in the other hand. You will look like a weirdo, and people will look at you like this:

But at this point, I felt like Shawnee was right there with me, so I snapped a few pics of the arc and the ice cream, most of which I had consumed by the time I got up to the monument. It was delicious.

I hung around watching tourists for a bit, and offered to take a photo of a Spanish couple, and was about to do the same for an American family, but then the father starting screaming at his 5 year old because she hiding her face in her mom’s coat, and decided that no one would want to remember that moment and walked away. Walking seemed like a good idea, so I kept at it, and walked the 5 kilometers home.

I mostly took Boulevard Haussmann home, which was fun, because I got to see all of the Christmas display windows at the fancier department stores, which is one of my major guilty pleasures. Between Printemps and Galeries Lafayette, Printemps was the clear winner. Galeries Lafayette stuck to pretty traditional holiday gift themes (teddy bears, candy, boooo-ring) with what I think was an unintentional creepiness, like a gingerbread man seemingly humping a mannequins leg.

I probably would have been more impressed if I hadn’t seen Printemps amazing marionette displays first, which were over the top, well designed and joyful.

Overall, a delightful afternoon walk with no snooty AP english teachers to ruin it.

Vicarious Experience Project: #1

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 16:05:00 -0500

For my inaugural vicarious experience assignment, I went with the first assigner, Stacy Miller who requested:

“Visit a Paris farmers market to find some kind of vegetable or fruit you’ve never eaten before.”

I took Jake along with me to Marché Anvers, a market near Montmartre open only on Fridays (conveniently for late-risers) from 3-8. The market is an ideal size, not so small that you have to take whatever mealy apples you’re faced with, but not so large as to be overwhelmed with choice and then finding yourself walking away empty-handed.

The most eye-grabbing displays were the fishmongers, who had giant oysters, spiky sea urchins (how do you eat those?), giant prawns and more creatures beyond my capacity for identification. We walked up and down the corridor twice to scope out which vendors had the best stuff and (more importantly) would be patient with our bumbling french.

With the task of finding produce I’ve never eaten, we chose romanesco, an insane-looking vegetable that I’d seen before, but never actually had. As wikipedia tells us:

Romanesco broccoli or Roman Cauliflower is an edible flower of the species Brassica oleracea and a variant form of cauliflower. Romanesco broccoli was first documented in Italy (as broccolo romanesco) in the sixteenth century. It is sometimes called broccoflower, but that name is also applied to green-curded cauliflower cultivars. It is also known as coral broccoli. It is rich in vitamin C, fiber, and carotenoids.
The vegetable resembles a cauliflower, but is of a light green color and the inflorescence (the bud) has an approximate self-similar character, with the branched meristems making a logarithmic spiral. The broccoli’s shape could be described as fractal; each bud is composed of a series of smaller buds, all arranged in yet another logarithmic spiral.

< our pretty pretty romanesco. >

So, it’s one of the few foods you can eat that is visibly fractal. Neat! We also bought breakfast radishes, a soft-ball sized melon (“ah, c’est super, bon choix!” said the vendor) and a chunk of cantal entre-doux. Well, we meant to buy just a bit of cantal, but Jake impulsively asked for a demi-kilo, which is over a pound. So, it was a big chunk of cheese. Still getting used to metrics…

< everything we got from Marché Anvers, technically all new things since I’ve had radishes, but not breakfast radishes, and melon, but not this kind of petite melon, and cantal but not entre-doux cantal… >

I’ve always loved my trips to farmer’s markets, but they’re a bit more intimidating in France…there’s of course the language thing, but there’s also other rules and anxieties. For example, depending who your vendor is, it’s polite to refrain to touching anything and certainly not a good idea to rifle though the vegetables to find the one you want. At some grocers on the street, I’ve seen signs on every section of produce instructing “NE TOUCHEZ PAS!” So, of course, when I asked for my romanesco, I wasn’t sure what to do, since there was no way he could reach it from where he was, but made no moves to grab one and I certainly didn’t want to commit any farmer’s market sins. Eventually, he said “Alors? Donnez-moi” and I was allowed to choose my own. Now that I’ve crossed that barrier, next time perhaps I’ll be brave enough to order something from the fishmonger.

I later blanched the romansco and served it with a warm olive-caper vinaigrette, which was tasty with the nutty flavor of the romanesco… stronger than cauliflower, but more subtle than broccoli, and overall, a nicer texture than both. We served the radishes as Julia Child recommended: raw, with butter and salt. Cantal is still being eaten a week later, but made for a great quiche a few days ago. And yes, the melon was super.

Rainy but nice November...

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 06:19:18 -0500

Food eaten:
Ate out a lot more in the last couple weeks…had an amazing meal at Les Enfants Perdu: prawns with sweet pesto and some kind of bizarre perfect succulent green that melted into drops when eating, le bar (a mediterranean fish) with a broiled zucchini melange. L’Original thai with Jennifer & Miklos, couscous with Jess, Jake & Esther at Marché des Enfants Rouge, kurdish sandwiches from around the corner, macarons from Pierre Hermé (oh, my…SO PERFECT), the best falafel sandwich EVER (according to both myself and Lenny Kravitz) from l’As du Falafel. Two lovely dinners at Andre, Jennifer, Miklos and Mario’s place, and requisite pizzas, quiches and cheese overload at home.

< Ispahan macaron at Pierre Hermé, Les Gambas at Les Enfants Perdu >

Places gone:
Louvre with Jake on a Wednesday night (discount!) Fun to be in the museum at night, though it was crowded in the popular sections. Saw the Rivalités à Venise exhibition (Rivals in Rennaisance Venice) which had great paintings, but was a little too crowded to actually see the paintings from good vantage points. Saw a fraction of the rest of the museum before they started ushering people out at 9:45.

Musée d’Orsay with Caroline and Tyson, well-matched gallery-goers in terms of speed. We saw the whole thing by 1 pm…thought the Art Nouveau show was poorly curated, cramming way too much into way too small spaces, grouped on dubious themes with uneven quality between the objects. They also painted the walls for that section an eye-blistering purple and green…I get it, art nouveau is vibrant and overwhelming, but yikes. No thank you. Of course, the rest of the collection was lovely, I especially liked the dioramas and it was great to see Courbet’s Burial at Ornans in person. That is an amazing and big painting. Also loved the gilded room on one of the upper floors, after the restrained style of the rest of the building, it’s a delightful shock to walk into a room totally composed of gold and crystal.

Action Ecole Cinema to see Vertigo with Miklos and Jennifer…french subtitles are very distracting, I’m always trying to compare how the english is being translated totally differently, then I’m like, oh. Time to watch the moving images now.

Musée du Cinema with Esther, Jake & Jess for an exhibition on magic lanterns, intricate projectors popular in the 19th century for showing simple hand-painted animations and visual effects. Amazing machines, the film illustrations themselves ranged from intricate and educational to crude and creepy. Flying skulls! Porno! Magic lanterns!

Marché Anvers, more on that later, as it was one of my Vicarious Experiment Project assignments.

< gilded room at Musée d’Orsay, Musée du Cinema, Marché Anvers >

The Vicarious Experience Project

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 09:52:48 -0500

Ever had someone visit your city, town or hamlet and realize it had been forever since you went to the zoo, museum or orchard? Often (if not always) our choices of destinations are influenced by the network of people around us, leading us to new places as well as shaping our memory and experience of that place. With this in mind, I have an art project and tourist experiment that I need your help with.

What I need from you:
Assignments. Tell me a place in Paris you’d like me to go. Historical site, garden, restaurant, market, whatever. Creative assignments are a-ok. Simply assign me a destination, and tell me why you chose it.
(The fine print: I will try to do all the assignments! Those that are free or cheap will naturally be moved to the top of the pile. The reasoning behind your choice will be very interesting and helpful to me, but please don’t feel you have to write an essay.)

What’s in it for you:
You will certainly get a postcard from the assigned place. These experiences will be cataloged and expanded upon in artworks, so you’ll be immortalized as a muse if you’re into that kind of thing. Also, the warm and fuzzy feeling of helping out a struggling artist, vicariously visiting Paris, and my undying thanks…

The art theory part:
My artwork has been largely themed on collections, desire and accumulation; in the recent past this has centered on objects, and now I’m considering how experiences play into the idea of collecting. How and why do we collect and manifest our experiences? Do we do it for ourselves, or for other people? An experience is a nebulous and malleable concept, influenced by many variables. I plan to investigate in an autobiographical manner how these adventures are shaped by my network of people.

I look forward to your ideas and motivation. I plan to post updates about the project here and on a Facebook group, where you’re welcome to post assignments. If you post an assignment here in the comments, be sure to tell me who you are! Of course, you can e-mail me as well…thanks for collaborating with me!

Le Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 08:14:38 -0400

On Sunday, Jake and me headed over to the world’s biggest flea market, Le Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen. Once you get past the outer layer of knock-off purses, bedazzled jeans and bongs, you reach a precious nougat center where the actual market lives…picturesque stands with everything from six foot wide crystal chandeliers to bins of broken watch pieces. There are several markets within the overall market (Rue des Rosiers, Le Marché Malassis, Vernaison, Marché Dauphine and Marché Biron) each with a different flavor and (it would seem) price point.

Every store is quite arranged, to different effects: some are so crammed with junk it’s impossible to see a wall or a floor, while others are arranged like art installations, using their stock to create an environment and mood. We’ll be headed back soon with a map in hand…it’s a lovely place to wander, and an easy place to get lost.

Oh, right...blog.

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 05:56:00 -0400

Destinations accomplished:
Marché aux Fleurs et aux Oiseaux, right behind Notre Dame. Usually a flower market, on Sundays it’s also a bird market. The sound of all of the birds is amazing. Another highlight: G. Detou, a precious store off Rue Montogreil that sells beautiful teas, chocolates, baking supplies and gourmet foods (or as they call it in france, “food.”) I bought some amazing pickles, as well as “chunks noir” to make brownies, apparently a very difficult ingredient to find in Paris.

Walks taken:
After the bird market, took a leisurely Sunday walk from Notre Dame to home, via the Memorial de la Déportation, Ile Saint-Louis and the Marais. A beautiful fall afternoon, lots of street musicians and strolling families. Everybody is just a bit quieter on Sunday, it’s nice.

Classes taken:
French at Alliance Française. I’m 2 weeks into my month of classes, and am at the point where I know I’m learning, but have learned just enough to know I know very little. Right?

Food made or eaten:
African-spiced chicken, fennel quiche by Jess, red beans & rice by Jake, sweet potato salad, brownies, pizza by me, innumerable jambon and camembert sandwiches. Vietnamese at Rouleau de Printemps, Indian at a place on Passage Brady that I can’t remember the name of.

Expanding my internet empire...

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 14:11:50 -0400

I launched a new graphic design portfolio this week, under the name Rodeo Dog Design. I went with the interweb trend of a single page site, and learned a lot about CSS and lightbox in the process. Check it out! Hire me! Love me!

On French parenting:

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 15:04:00 -0400

Upon hearing a child screaming bloody murder outside our door, I checked the peephole to make sure he was ok…seemed his parents were using our hallway as time out, and he was showing his displeasure by kicking and hitting the door and screaming. He kicked the doormat a foot over, and while still in full tantrum mode, put it back where it belonged. Outraged vocalization is one thing, but a french child knows that everything belongs in its own place.

After a few minutes, his father opened the door, the screaming immediately ceased, and papa said “Êtes-vous prêt à arrêter?” “Are you ready to stop?” It would seem he was.

Bistrot Paul Bert is my new boyfriend.

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 11:11:00 -0400

Best meal in Paris so far, no contest. This is going to be a long post in a series of food posts because, come on, food is the tops.

For our new friend Kate’s birthday, we had planned to go to La Boulangerie, one of Jess’ favorite restaurants. Strangely, they never seemed answer the phone for reservations so we took a chance and just showed up…it was just a Tuesday after all. When we got there, there was a sign on the door that they would be closed for a “période indéterminé.” Merde! There was some kind of flood and no electricity, and although the owner kindly spoke to us briefly, he could make no recommendations for the neighborhood. So.

Jess suggested Bistrot Paul Bert, and we headed south. 25 minutes later with sore feet (heels in Paris are always a mistake. Always.) we arrived to be told, non mademoiselles, the restaurant is full. As the wise David Leibovitz tells us, what he really meant was “Convince me/We have enough Americans in here/Come up with a better story.” In her very best French (despite the waiter condecending to speak English) Jess told the waiter: it’s our friends birthday! the restaurant flooded! no electricity! we walked from Belleville!” There was a curt nod from the older man behind the counter, clearly the decider, and we were seated with no delay. Jess is a hero. There was champagne.

The food. Holy Jesus. Premier:

Kate and I had salad de feuilles, racines et tomates du jardin. No hyperbole: the most perfectly balanced and delicious salad I have ever had. There were these tiny croutons that were little explosions of roasty olive oil flavor, toasted pine nuts and wafer thin root vegetables…so perfect. Jess had the tartare du thon à la japonaise, which I assume was delicious, but I was too taken with my salad to convince her to give me a bite. Jake had tartine de rouget de roche à la tapanade, red mullet with tapenade, a tasty salty treat.

Then our main course arrived. Jake’s lapin à la moutarde et à l’estragon arrived plated and lovely, but the ladies of the table all received empty plates instead of the èpaule d’agneau rôtïe aux petits legumes we had ordered. We were momentarily confused, until a enormous beautiful copper pot was deposited on our table. With a bon appetit, the waiter was gone, and we were left to discover that the pot was filled with about 10 pounds of lamb shoulder and petite legumes. Oh, if they only had doggie bags in France.

Amazingly, we were still able to eat dessert. Jess and I had the figues rötis au miel, glace vanille maison, Kate got an insane looking and intense tasting pannacotta au kiwi, and Jake went with the fromage, which was serve-yourself-style on an immense block of wood.

The meal ended with calvados, champagne, and happy sighs. I guess I’d recommend the place. If you’re into that kind of thing.

Nuit Blanche

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 07:03:00 -0400

Annually, Nuit Blanche (white night or sleepless night) is held in Paris and other cities around the world, an all-night art festival with installations and performances available 7pm-7am all over the city. Being arty-types, we planned on seeing as much of it as possible…it didn’t really work out that way, but we had a good night.

1. Wine & cheese at Château Focillion (home of Andre, Jennifer, Miklos & Mario), group exodus to Métro Alésia.

2. Attempt to see giant discoball installation (La Maîtresse de la Tour Eiffel) in Jardin du Luxembourg. So did everybody else in Paris, and we abandoned the mission very quickly. We reached the edges of the gates, but I started to have inauguration flashbacks, and we got the hell out of there.

3. New plan: drinking. We headed for the Seine, wandering through crowds of the art-crazed youths. There was a small band in a park near the Sorbonne playing the Ghostbusters theme, and I would question why, but it was clear that the crowd LOVED IT. After stopping at un petit magasin on Rue Saint-Jacques for drinks-to-go, we found a spot on the left bank of the Seine. As Miklos said, it was an ok spot, but the view kind of sucked.

French kids are ROWDY. We wondered how often people fall into the Seine each year, especially as two young ladies near us seemed to spend most of the evening hanging their heads over the edge, ready to evacuate regrettable drinks. Ah, Paris. So romantic.

4. At around 1:30, we all went on our separate ways (I think primarily to seek out bathrooms.) Team Tiny Stables (that’s us) decided to try to see at least one art installation on the way home. The queue at Notre Dame seemed to be moving quickly, so we went to see Cristaux by Sylvie Fleury. It was amazing to be in the cathedral at 2am, and the crystals gave the gothic spaces an even more otherworldly sensibility, though it skewed towards alien rather than godly. After the boisterous crowd outside, it was a soothing and strangely instantaneous transition to respectful silence.

5. After finding the most blessed public toilette ever near Pont Notre Dame, we began our leisurely walk home, passing a projection by Igor Stravinsky on the way home. I’m not sure if I was necessarily into the projection itself, but I liked the overall scene it created, with clusters of people watching in this dark, graffitied courtyard.

6. Night completed with nutella crepe at 2:45am, and bed at 3. So, not totally a “sleepless night” but a pretty good one.

This week in flânerie...

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 16:13:00 -0400

You guys, blogging is so haaaard. But as Vill (continually) points out, I’m not allowed to complain so long as I’m living in Paris, so here’s my continued list of activities.

Walks taken:
Sunset walk to Sacre Coeur with unwelcome attempted bracelet application by awful scammer guys. Ne me touche pas! Leisurely walk to Les Halles and back on Sunday afternoon, via rue Poissonière/rue des Petits Carreaux/rue Montorgueil (do all the roads have to change names every block? Seriously.) This route is closed to car traffic on Sundays, and plan was immediately hatched to have brunch there next weekend.

< Sacre Coeur / view from Sacre Coeur / rue Foyatier, aka alternative steps down from Sacre Coeur. That fitness-crazy guy on the right was running up and down them, clapping and yelling. Whatever it takes, dude. >

< best restaurant sign ever on rue Montorgueil / la Case de Cousin Paul (a sweet little shop in Montmartre that I had read about months ago, and then happened across on our walk. Sometimes the internet is true!) / Velib bikes on rue de Turbigo >

Meals had:
A fennel and potato gratin by me, bean et lardon soup by me, vegetable galette by Jess, pizzas by me. We’re learning how to live without a Kitchen Aid. I know, unthinkable. An astounding amount of Indian food at La Reine du Kashmir on Passage Brady, Paris’ Petite Bombay. And it goes without saying, so much baguette and camembert. So much. And Jess is keeping us supplied with interesting alcohols…as I type I’m sipping un apéritif à Base de vin et de noix, which is a walnut-infused brandy. Want to know more? Read her review.

< Fennel-Potato Gratin: prettier in real life. Next time, more fennel. / Café on Passage Brady / Jess’ galette pre-oven. >

Things learned:
A French yard sale is called Vide Grenier, which means “empty your attic.” We happened upon one around the corner from our apartment on cour des Petites Écuries.
When a street changes its name from say “rue Saint-Denis” to “rue du Faubourg Saint-Denis” it indicates the edge of the city walls before 1860. Faubourg means “suburb.” One such point is marked near our apartment by our friendly neighborhood arch, so if we lived here in 1859, we’d be in the suburbs.
Parisian neighbors are not passive aggressive. They will yell at you if they don’t like something.

< chaussures à vendre à Vide Grenier / me basking in glow of laptop & Jess looking like a crazy happy person >

< an entry a few doors down from our apartment / le Vide Grenier / our modest neighborhood arch, Porte Saint-Denis (built 1672) about 3 blocks from our place >

Maladies suffered: 3 day cold, which seemed to affect only the ladies of the household. Good news: it doesn’t seem to be H1N1, and I healed courtesy of sleeping for 3 days, which saved me the horror of trying to learn how to use my international health insurance. Onward!

Pedestrians Beware.

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 09:22:00 -0400

For the next three days, the weather will be “Mysterious Car Headed RIGHT FOR YOU Through Ominous Fog.”

Watch out, everybody!

Sticking with the list format, it works for me.

Mon, 21 Sep 2009 09:38:21 -0400

Places gone: Rougier et Plé art store, with the logic that if I have art supplies, I’ll start making things. It was nice to being in a place with totally familiar objects, and I roamed around and found all of my favorite things. Made my first solo walking venture to Canal Saint-Martin, which was a nice walk, except for the gauntlet of super aggressive dudes who hang out at the Château d’Eau metro stop. My avoidance strategy was a pretend cell phone conversation. It seemed to work.

Meals had: Argentine restaurant on rue Moufftard, with Jess, Claire, Saphir and Andrew. Saphir and Claire were lovely and patient with my attempts at their language, despite the butchering. Rue Moufftard looks like the exact stereotype of any Parisian street you’ve ever imagined. Adorable. I naturally didn’t have my camera. Jess made linguine with lardons and cream, as well as a beautiful roast chicken from our butcher. Who insists on being called Monsieur Poulet. D’accord.

Guests entertained: A housewarming party was thrown a guest list of graduate students from Michigan, Northwestern and University of Chicago, along with a few Parisians in the mix. The party quickly sorted itself into French speakers on one side, English speakers on the other, and the lucky bilingual in between. Over on side Team America we had a group therapy session for newly arrived Americans anxious about speaking French. With additional alcohol lubrication, the anxious party became more adventurous avec le parlent.

Official duties accomplished: Jacob and Jessica went to see an exhibition at Musee Cognaq-Jay (I stayed home and enjoyed our amazing tub). On Monday, they both dutifully headed off in the morning to le Bibliothèque Nationale, and now I must begin the French lessons, which I’ve been meaning to do for the last 6 months.

< rue de Paradis, graffiti on Canal Saint-Martin, former ceramic house on rue de Paradis >

Days 2 & 3 in Paris

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 16:30:00 -0400

Things done:

Visit to butcher: chose un petit lapin and watched the head get cut off and the rest competently dismembered by a young butcher, who correctly identified us as Americans, and asked “Obama, c’est meilleur que Bush, oui?” OUI.

Touristy walk: sightings of Notre Dame, Seine, Tour Saint-Jacques, etc.

< no anchors or tattoos on the Seine, Jake flummoxed by some church, and a rue >

Grocery shopping at Franprix: Mamie Nova Mandarine-Pamplemousse Rose Yogurt is my new favorite thing.

Food made and eaten: Braised Rabbit Cacciatore (by Jess), Salade Niçoise (by Me)

Drinks drank: kirs, sweet vermouth with tonic and beaucoup de vin Française.

< Jess handling the sweet vermouth >

Misspent energy: making sure we can watch American tv. France cannot keep the Daily Show from my eyes!

French-speaking triumphs: opened a French bank account with minimal English, many conversations with mildly drunk Polish plumber who has been working on our bathroom the last 3 afternoons. I successfully interpreted that he wanted an extension cord and a black marker. We also had a successful joke communication (on the 3rd try) that I shouldn’t make Jake dinner since Jake only made the plumber coffee, and not me. It was a proud moment.

New Annotated White House Flickr Feed, With Ana Marie Cox and Jason Linkins

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 15:38:00 -0400

New Annotated White House Flickr Feed, With Ana Marie Cox and Jason Linkins:

(via alexbalk)

Awl’s Annotated White House Flickr Feed is my favorite way to check in on Obama while overseas.