First Foreign Correspondent

We may have left Paris, but we still get updates from time to time thanks to our eyes and ears on the ground, Héloise. She recently emailed this shot of the fallout from Nuit Blanche, which Boston clearly needs to get going.

Yes, that's an old school Citroën delivery van sitting in a fountain at the Parc de Belleville. It's surrounded by streetlights, and it's about to be overrun by Tilal, who's breaching the fountain defenses. Thanks, Héloise, for reminding us of all that there is to miss about Paris - public art, parks, and thoughtful friends.

Concert #3

Soon after we first arrived in Paris, the "sweet" sounds of my clarinet reverberated through the courtyard as I tried to get back in the habit of practicing daily. To my knowledge, no neighbor ever complained - but I did get lots of invitations to play with people the neighbors knew. Héloise, for instance, connected me with her pharmacist, Catherine, who was looking for a clarinetist with whom she could play through a collection Yiddish folk music. We got together a half-dozen times over the course of the year and ultimately decided to repay Héloise's social networking prowess with an informal concert for her, her kids, and Catherine's parents. It turned out that the concert took place during Dimi's visit, so she attended as well.

As was my habit, I recorded the concert - but unfortunately I botched the recording, such that only one and a half tracks exist. Here they are:

Luckily, Dimi took charge of the Flip Video camera during the concert, and there are lots of clips to give you a better sense of what (and how) we played. Also there's lots of footage of the kids, who were (as always) unbearably adorable, even when they got a little tired of the whole concert thing.

This is just me warming up, but I include it because, at the end, Catherine says either "He is very handsome" or "He is very good." Either way, it's all good.

Mehdi and Nahel watch attentively while Héloise prepares her iPhone for recording. Tilal dances like no one's watching, and Catherine's parents listen respectfully.

A rare, full track. We could have rehearsed more, but that would have taken all the spontaneity out of the concert. After the hesitant beginning, we make it through the whole thing unscathed and rather spiritedly.

I love the way Catherine celebrates at the end of this one.

Dimi got all meta, filming Mehdi filming us.

Nahel gives new meaning to "interpretive lap dance."

More meta filmmaking. An almost complete "track."

Drama! Tilal knocks all my music off the music stand, then cries about it.

After struggling to find the pages I needed to continue, all is resolved and we pick up where we left off.

The kids were getting bored, thus all the ambient noise and the sterner-than-usual looks from Catherine's parents. Dimi also apparently discovered a new camera angle.

The finale of our Yiddish repertoire was a canon without a satisfactory end, but we made do anyway.

Encore! An Irish folk song. I don't know why, but whatever.

The end! (This post is dedicated to Catherine, who's waited way too long to hear herself play, and to my grandfather, who eats this stuff up.)

Musée National Eugène Delacroix

After the disappointment of having to pay for a museum on what should have been a typical First Free Sunday (see also: Château de Vincennes), we sought vindication in the form of another museum visit, this time to the Musée National Eugène Delacroix.

Occupying the former apartment and atelier of the über-Romantic painter, the (smallish) museum showcases many of the famous artist's lesser-known works, as well as a number of sketches and personal items collected during Delacroix's voyage to North Africa. The only major works on hand was an early draft of The Death of Sardanapalus, and completely missing were any references to a work we'd learned about through the "Jeunes ont la parole" program - The Women of Algiers (in their Apartment) - or my personal favorite work in the entire Louvre - Liberty Leading the People.

We were in and out in under an hour, but that shouldn't diminish the importance of the museum's collection. If you love any of the works above, the Musée National Eugène Delacroix offers many equally delightful gems. And even if you find the museum itself disappointing, at the very least the garden separating apartment from atelier provides a fantastic refuge for the weary First Free Sunday aficionado.

Skype and Family

One forehead wrinkle for each question

I'm in Israel right now! It's all thanks to Birthright Israel Foundation, which pays to send hundreds of Jewish youths to the motherland every year. In 11 days, my tour will take me to most of the major historical, religious, cultural, and political sites in the country. This stint on the other side of the pond has brought back some of the challenges that we faced during our first weeks in France. What will I eat? Will I make friends? How will I communicate with loved ones back home?

With France already under my belt, I can answer all of these questions with ease. I will eat everything anyone puts in front of me. I will make some friends, but not too many (especially since I'll have Robert with me). And I will communicate via Skype, the free internet-phone and video-conferencing software that everyone should know about.

There's not too much to explain - you download the software, set up an account, find your peeps online, and press "call." Skype is how we were able to check in with people back home throughout the year, including at Thanksgiving, when we said hi to my entire extended family.



I don't have a phone in Israel, so if I want to call home, it'll have to be with Skype. And that's fine by me.

Souvenirs I

It's not the prettiest thing we brought back from France, nor is it one that we'll keep for all that long. But in terms of utility, it ranks up there with cocoa from La Bonbonnière and pullovers from Galeries Lafayette:

Yup, it's a poop bag. We only saw two poop bag dispensers in 9 months, and both were in rich suburbs of Paris. The bag above (and the other 10 that we took as "souvenirs") comes from Sceaux, where we visited the lovely park and said goodbye to Damien. It reads, "A small, daily gesture . . . a big gesture for the environment and for other people. Thank you."

The other bags we saw - but didn't take (stupid, stupid, stupid) - were in Versailles.

I want to criticize Paris for not offering poop-bag dispensers, but I know they don't have the spare cash that Versailles and Sceaux have. So here's a cost-effective idea: after having already coordinated bike-sharing, and now car-sharing, would it really be so difficult for the City of Paris to promote poop-bag sharing? People with extra, appropriately-sized plastic bags could bring them to drop-off points, where dog owners could pick them up, and use them to pick up after their dogs. Simple! Safe! Socialism! Petition your arrondissement council today!

A Taste of Home

Straddling two cultures, leaving one kind of culture shock for another, sometimes the best way to feel at home is to eat like you did at home. While we were in Paris, this meant home-made bagels and tacos, granola bars, banana cakes, mac'n'cheese, baked French toast, and especially cookies. Back in Somerville, this means reproducing some of our favorite dishes from the past year, and making as many French-flavored recipes as possible.

We started with a palate cleanser we enjoyed at Hidden Kitchen, adapted to suit our tastes:

That's farmers market-fresh strawberries and mint from our own garden over home-made strawberry sorbet over limoncello jello. We served it as a dessert, and will definitely make it again - maybe adapting it differently to be peach sorbet over raspberry liqueur jello, or kiwi sorbet over orange vodka jello . . .

Our next flurry of cooking and baking took inspiration from one of our favorite Parisian food bloggers, Clothilde Dusoulier. Her blog and eponymous cookbook, Chocolate and Zucchini, provide English-language recipes that cover a wide range of French cuisine, both traditional and modern.

Here are some of the things we made:

"Papillote de bar aux asperges" - "Papillote" is the technique of cooking something wrapped up in wax paper; we substituted turnips for bar fish.

"Chicken and cashew mini-quiches" - so many substitutions in this one, they don't deserve their name. Basically it's flour, milk, and egg, with whatever else you want to throw in, cooked in muffin tins. Perfect for an appetizer or brunch, and crust-less, so not terribly time-intensive.

"Zucchini carpaccio with raspberry vinegar" - didn't have raspberry vinegar so we had to improvise a little, but it tasted as pretty as it looks.

"Bulgur-stuffed round zucchini" - again, lots of substitutions, but you get the idea. Adjectives we'd use to describe this dish include "filling," "healthy," "seasonal," and "Halloween-y."

Not pictured: super tasty gougères (cheese puffs) that we've now made a few times, all thanks to Chocolate and Zucchini.

One of the souvenirs we picked up months before leaving Paris was a cookbook called Rilletes à la folie. Rillettes are usually meat-based salads, kind of like tuna fish, but made with goose and duck and pork. We were almost never without rillettes in our fridge, since they're perfect for a snack, a picnic dish, an apéro or something to go along with a meal. The cookbook we found provides recipes not only for the meat-based rillettes, but also for veggie and dessert options. 


Craving rillettes a few weeks after we moved back, we started out trying to make a strawberry-lavender-cheese version, but realized we didn't have the right cheese, and turned it into a sorbet instead. Influenced by Dimi's spice-inspired approach to food, we topped the sorbet with espresso sugar-encrusted banana and served the ensemble in shot glasses, for something different.

Turns out that it's hard to miss Paris too much when the scent of French cooking fills your apartment a few nights a week. Come on over, we'll treat you to something fabulous!

Photo Challenge #7

We can't send you Parisian prizes anymore, but we can still test your knowledge of the city. And to make it interesting, if you guess right, we'll send you the address of one of the most interesting views of the city.

All you have to do is tell us 1) the name of the square and 2) what recent film features this square prominently*.

*This is exactly the kind of trivia you'd get on a walking tour with us - and knowing that probably makes you grateful you didn't visit!

Farewell to Damien

Our plan for our last few days in Paris went like this: say goodbye to friends, check out a few new places, and tire out Panda so she sleeps on the plane and doesn't relapse into separation anxiety. (Final grades for each component of this plan: A, A, and F, respectively.) In an attempt to kill three birds with one RER ride, on Monday, May 31, we headed about 15 minutes south of Paris and met Damien at the Parc de Sceaux.

Damien lives in Antony, so the Parc de Sceaux is "his" park just like the Parc des Buttes Chaumont is "our" park. It's always fun hanging out with Damien, but it was especially nice also having a guide to what turned out to be a much larger space than we expected. Originally the grounds of the Château de Sceaux constructed by Jean-Baptiste Colbert (great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather of Stephen), the park includes a rose garden, a number of grand canals with fountains, a reconstructed château that houses the Île-de-France museum, fancy outbuildings, playgrounds, a sports complex, and lots of shaded paths.

Despite all this baroque beauty, we will always remember the Parc de Sceaux for the exciting discovery we made there: the park has not one, but TWO - count them - TWO off-leash dog areas.

This is clearly only possible because it's outside of Paris, and because the community of Sceaux is the 44th wealthiest in France. Paris can't even conceive of dedicating greenspace to dogs, even though it'd go a long way towards getting people to use leashes and ramasser. The off-leash areas were especially amazing because they were in wooded areas, rather than within gravel or dirt enclosures, so they seemed remarkably and sustainably clean. Needless to say, Panda was jumping for joy. Literally.

At the end of the day, we were sad to have to say goodbye to Damien, but happy to have discovered the Parc de Sceaux. We'll have to include a special appendix in our "Year in the Herbe" coffee-table book for superior and dog-friendly greenspaces outside the city.

Sans-Papiers Under Pressure

Expats tend to get a big kick out of comparing the US and France, pointing out as many differences as possible (and we're no exceptions). But sometimes it's the similarities that are most jarring.

All the debate and tension over Arizona's new immigration law reminds me of something I saw right after my pilgrimage to Lully's grave. Leaving the Notre-Dame-des-Victoires church through a side door, I unexpectedly found myself in the courtyard of the Mairie of the 2nd arrondissement. There, I was confronted with a stark reminder of the stories behind immigration, and the often tragic implications of deportation: Carole Achache's exhibition "Cent papiers" may have only run from April 19 to May 6, but its message was timeless.

To illustrate the complexity of the sans-papiers situation, Achache photographed the hands of immigrants alongside the reams of documentation they need to complete in order to become legal - thus the "cent papiers" (100 papers) pun that gives the exhibition its title.

Beneath the photographs, we read the following captions:

"Her father was arrested in the métro station at Gare d'Austerlitz. He's been imprisoned in a detention center for five days. She's three years old. (top left)

Fled a country in civil war with her eight-year-old daughter. Legalized entry and political exile refused. (top right)

He has lived in France since 1989. He works and pays taxes. He has never been granted legal status. He came for his son, who will soon be 18. (bottom left) 

There, she worked starting at age ten. She lost two fingers doing that work. Here, she continues to be exploited even though she's still a minor." (bottom right)

There were 48 of these pictures with captions, and the ensemble quietly radiated both strength and desperation.

The text below the pictures reads:

"All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and in rights, except the others. They came to France because they wanted to live normally. They were hungry, or they fled wars. Others came to be with a spouse. They arrived in the country of Voltaire. They came to work, and to pay taxes.

Are they pests? Are there two kinds of humans? The first kind to which we belong by randomly being born into a certain nationality, giving us all the rights normally accorded to human beings? And the second kind, foreigners, whom, we decide, do not merit certain rights?

 Who are we to judge others, condemning them for having become sans-papiers?"

I appreciated Achache's photographs and her text. But I would have done something slightly different to point out the inherently fallacious nature of the entire sans-papier/illegal immigration issue. I would have included pictures of sans-papiers who are at little-to-no-risk of being arrested and deported. And the first photograph I would have shown?

Yeah, that's right. Remember when I lost my passport? And then got a new one? Once I had a new passport, even with my old passport in my possession, the titre de séjour I had worked so hard to acquire became obsolete. That meant that from April 21 through June 2, I was in the country illegally. And we knew tons of other Americans who were every bit as much sans-papiers as the people Achache photographed. At least the French are somewhat self-conscious about the basic issue at hand, given Sarkozy's attempt to launch a debate on national identity before the recent regional elections. In the US, we're a little more shy to admit that it's about race and class, not whether you have papers or entered the country "legally." As the controversial new law in Arizona brings this uncomfortable truth to the fore, we need more Carole Achaches to teach us about dignity, respect, and listening before judging.

Hidden Kitchen

After a restaurant has been gushed over in the New York Times, on various foodie blogs, and by a random friend-of-a-friend who happens to be in Paris and comes over for dinner, it's perfectly reasonable to want to go to there with every fiber of your being. This was the case with Hidden Kitchen, which isn't really a restaurant at all - it's a private supper club run by two twenty-something Americans in Paris. Thanks to all the buzz, its existence isn't so hidden anymore. But the address has been kept a careful secret, and it's so hard to get reservations that Hidden Kitchen has remained mysterious and tantalizing. Somehow we managed to score three spots for Saturday, May 22 (one extra for Dimi), and the 10-course tasting menu did not disappoint.

That front door grille is all we can show you of the exterior of the apartment building in which you'd find Hidden Kitchen. Isn't it pretty? What we can tell you is that the supper club is located in the 1st arrondissement, and that we were stunned to learn that such a centrally-located apartment could fit such a long dining table in its salon.

Upon arrival, Laura (one half of the HK team) handed us champagne flutes, each with a single, submerged lychee infusing the apéritif with the flavor of fresh fruit. We chatted with the other diners - 16 in all, most American, a few Italian, a few French. Then, it was time to sit down for our amuse-bouche.

Braden, the chef, came out to introduce each course, and luckily I took notes as this one wasn't on the printed menu (which you'll see below). We started with this black pepper cracker topped with green apple and watercress, served beside chilled watercress and nutmeg soup. This resembled one of our amuse-bouches at Le Cinq back in February, and portended great things for the rest of the meal.

Next, spring vegetables, poached quail egg and Green Goddess dressing, presented niftily in a rye butter cookie over a spicy fava bean base. We were also served our first wine pairing, a 2008 Domaine de Villargeau, Coteaux du Giennois. If you notice the picture quality degrading gradually through the end of the post, it's because of rapidly fading exterior light, and rapidly increasing intoxication on my part. I'm such a lightweight. Professional pictures of all these dishes can be found here.

This homemade semoulina linguini with radish leaf pesto, pickled white asparagus, and ricotta salata unleashed a fiery debate on the best way to make your own pasta. The Italians had a few things to say about that. But no one debated the excellent taste and presentation of this dish. We were impressed that - in what turned out to be a tiny kitchen, and with only one server helping - they were able to prepare and plate a dish like this such that it arrived hot. Wine pairing: 2007 Domaine de la Pépière, Muscadet Sèvre et Maine.

Behold the beauty of this salmon with hibiscus bay leaf sauce and fingerling potatoes. Too bad the low light prevents us from appreciating the rich color of the sauce, and the way it complemented the salmon's pink hues. Wine pairing: 2010 Château de Roquefort, Côtes de Provence.

For a palate cleanser between the "entrées" and the "plats," we were offered lime sorbet over bourbon jello (!!) with a sprig of mint. They call this the "Mint Julep Cleanser,"and you can find the recipe on Hidden Kitchen's blog.

Braised artichokes with chicken liver mousse ravioli, fennel sautéed in a white wine sauce, and preserved lemon coulis - how many elements can you incorporate in one dish? We love our raviolis, though, so we certainly weren't complaining. Wine pairing: 2009 Domaine Chaume-Arnaud, Marselan.

Meat-time: Cumin encrusted flank steak with skillet polenta and smoked eggplant. Another interesting plating, the meat was perfectly cooked (read: on the rare side of medium-rare), and who doesn't like smoked eggplant? (Actually, I would be shocked if anyone has even heard of smoked eggplant.) That garnish on top is deep-fried eggplant skin - very clever, not to mention striking. Wine pairing: 2008 Clos de l'Anhel, Corbières.

If this were a regular meal and not a tasting menu, the white bean, dill, and beet salad seen here would be a side to the flank steak, but we're glad we got to appreciate it on its own. Braden used bucca soison, a distant cousin of Lima beans, and roasted them in garlic and thyme.

Finally, we made it to dessert. This strawberry shiso sorbet with a puff pastry and rhubarb was the perfect, super sweet complement to a remarkably light meal (considering the number of courses). Wine pairing: 2008 Château Pierre-Bise, Carbenet d'Anjou.

And of course no French meal would be complete without coffee - which in this case arrived with a distinctly American twist: glazed doughnuts.

Towards the end of the meal, Braden and Laura let loose their French bulldog, Tati (named for the discount clothing store), whose presence only underscored the curious nature of the evening - we were served dinner in someone's home, at a big table with a bunch of brand new friends...


. . . which isn't to say there weren't a few formal notes to the evening. At the beginning, we were provided with simple but elegant menus as a souvenir of the evening. And at the end, along with coffee and doughnuts came a request for a "donation" to cover the cost of the meal. Hey, whatever it takes to keep this thing going.


Over the course of the evening, we figured out the reason why the only thing Hidden Kitchen has been able to keep secret is its address: there's no hiding the satisfaction and enthusiasm of people who have just eaten one of the best meals of their lives.