Good Friends, Good Food

It's been forever since the last confluence of our favorite events: friends visiting + a meal so excellent we couldn't not tell you about it. But finally, that moment is here!

Yes! Gladis (left) and Becky (middle) are here! Amazingness was in the air at La Bouche, as well as on our table. Here's the menu:

We ended up getting at least one of everything.


As you can tell, after the mango, vollaile (game turkey) and white asparagus amuse-bouche (top left), the sliced beef tongue with warm leeks and peanut vinaigrette (top right), the fish rillettes and algae tartine (bottom left), and the lamb+blini hamburger with caramelized turnip (bottom right), it just got too dark to take pictures. But the desserts were also incredible (creative, tasty, beautiful), and we were so glad to have Gladis and Becky visiting we mostly forgot to take out the camera. Nothing wrong with that.

Since this meal (Thursday night) we've had a delicious picnic in the park, famous falafel, and a quasi-personalized meal at a local table de hôte. Don't worry - we'll tell you about all that in good time.

Musée Cernuschi

We're getting pretty predictable. Blah blah blah free museum blah blah blah - even Andrea quipped, "If there's anything I've learned from your blog, it's that you and Maggie are free museum day whores." Well, Andrea, do we have a surprise for you! Here's a post about a museum that's free all the time: the Musée Cernuschi.

Situated in a former hôtel particulier (private mansion) just off the Parc Monceau, the museum houses the incredible collection of Chinese and other Asian art amassed by Henri Cernuschi, a 19th-century banker.

Screens, statues large and small, lots of Buddhas, terra cotta warriors, awesome temporary exhibitions, this museum pretty much has it all. Did I mention the Buddhas? And of course the building itself is gorgeous/epic. Bonus: The Musée Cernuschi is right down the street from the Musée Nissim Camondo, so you can make an afternoon of it.

BnF Richelieu

I've been doing a lot of work recently at yet another branch of the Bibliothèque Nationale, this one right across the street from the Département de la Musique. The complex (which technically includes Musique) is called "BnF Richelieu" after the Rue de Richelieu that runs along the western side of the main building, which is composed of several adjacent, former private mansions. You know it's an important historical building because there's a "Histoire de Paris" marker out front:

That's right, one of Stephen Colbert's ancestors started ye olde Publick Royal Library in 1692. In fact this complex of mansions - which was progressively updated and reconstructed - remained the National Library's main branch until the opening of the Tolbiac site in 1995. The building's shell - both from the street and within the courtyards - looks mainly as it did in the 18th century.

The inside, on the other hand, is a fascinating mish-mash of architecture styles, owing to the many remodels the library underwent over the years.


That last room on the right is the Galerie Mazarine, an original 17th-century room with temporary walls, ceiling lighting, and furniture - it's housing the Département des Arts du Spectacle (where I've been working) through 2014 while another part of the building is renovated yet again. (Not pictured: the epic reading rooms called Salle Ovale and Salle Labrouste.)

In case you're following my sporadic research updates, I've been working at Richelieu because the Département des Arts du Spectacle contains literature on French dance and theater history. I'm reading up on the Ballets Suédois, a group of (you guessed it) Swedish performers who dazzled Paris with a series of provocative, modernist, total-art events. Apparently some guy had nothing better to do in the early 20th century than spend all his time collecting 800,000 pieces of press documents, programs, and other literature on all the performance arts. He donated everything to the BN, and I'm currently the beneficiary. (Thank you, Auguste Rondel!)

If you're not a researcher and happen to walk by the Richelieu complex, you might miss the purpose of this fairly vanilla, non-descript building. That's why the library has built a subtle, delicate reminder into a gate on the Rue des Petits-Champs, just outside the southern courtyard.

Now you know what to look for, should you ever come visit!

Release Party

For all those who couldn't make it to the concert on Sunday, Noël, Jake, and I are pleased to present a complete recording. Everything is available for free, high-quality download from a nifty music-hosting site (thanks for the tip, Margaret!) - click "download" on the player below to get the whole album at once, or click "Pour le plaisir de jouer" to get individual tracks.

Enjoy, and let us know what you think!

Book Report #3

I just finished a really bloody, creepy detective novel. It wouldn't have made me quite so nervous if it didn't take place in our neighborhood.

Written in the late-1970s, Babel-ville follows a schizophrenic serial killer as he tries to eliminate the members of an all-female, neo-Saint-Simonian sect operating in Belleville. As is usual for this kind of book, the plot - the mystery - is actually the least interesting aspect, while the psychological side is fascinating. You start out feeling bad for the killer, seeing as how he's just trying to find his "missing" wife, but by the end you mostly just feel revulsion. I'm actually glad I couldn't understand a lot of the more graphic vocabulary, although my imagination probably made up for it.

What I did enjoy were Bialot's descriptions of Belleville in the 1970s, the snapshots into the lives of its residents (not unlike our own), and the unabashed, parodic treatment of the kinds of culture clashes a place like Belleville inspires. The impassioned interactions between the story's detective protagonists and the immigrants/descendants of immigrants they meet during their investigation may have been dramatized for literary purposes, but the ignorance and fear coming from both sides feels authentic enough.

The book's title draws attention to Belleville's multi-linguistic, multicultural demographics. I can't find anything on the etymology of the portmanteau "Babel-Ville," but it's clear that the neighborhood's inhabitants have embraced the notion.

Now if only France would follow. Just after finishing Babel-ville, I read a great article in the NYT about French conservatives' inability to cope with the fact that most French-speakers don't live in France, don't subscribe to French nationalist mythologies about a glorious past stretching back to Rome, don't practice Catholicism, and don't appreciate being told what to wear (but that's another issue for another time). Bad news for French conservatives: the article ultimately reinforces the possibility that Belleville's demographics, while not "typical" of Paris past-and-present, are increasingly typical of the city's future.

Guest Post: Andrea

After our weekend jaunt to Warsaw, we asked Andrea to take a stab at describing one of our favorite parts of the visit:

"Louis and I may have logged hours of silent and not-so-silent reading time in our shared offices and library corners over the course of our graduate careers, but Maggie and I share something more special. We are from Wisconsin. I won't speak for her, but I find it incredibly appropriate, then, that one of the establishments we had the most fun exploring together in Warsaw was a Polish culinary institution with a name to make our heartstrings sing: the milk bar (bar mleczny).

Before Wisconsinites get all teary-eyed thinking about a heaven with phosphates, frozen custard, cheese curds fresh and fried, and 400 year-old cheddar served to you by happy and generous bartenders in an alternate reality, I should make clear that the milk bar is about more than dairy. In fact, the "milk" in its name is there to distract us from what isn't there: meat.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, because the milk bar has a rich and complex history, like everything in the world. Milk bars are -- to my knowledge -- a Polish institution. (Honestly, I've heard tell that there's something in Australia with the same name. Different goods.) Milk bars serve warm food for very low prices, mostly around lunch time, which begins at 12 and extends to 6 pm. They are, no question, a Cold War product - one that the word on the street tells me had its origins in the early 60s, though I bet no one has done real research on that yet. A bit like a cafeteria or a fast food restaurant, the government set up milk bars to serve workers whose places of employment didn't have the notorious stołówka (cafeteria, for real this time). Ugh, more context, Andrea? Yes: stołówkas can be the pride of an institution. They serve home-cooked three course meals, often brought to your (sometimes linen-decked!) table by servers. And so, workers need not forgo the most substantial meal of the day just because of the demands of the 20th/21st century workday.

The milk bar is literally the poor-mans version of a stołówka. No service, no meat. These two features are, of course, linked, though in post-socialist transition, milk bars generally have added the various pork staples to their menus, since meat is no longer scarcer than cigarettes. Many staples from the meatless days remain fixtures: vats of mushrooom, tomato, and sorrel soup (poured over pasta or potatoes, sometimes with a hardboiled egg), and an assortment of starches that makes carbo-loading a must. Crepes! Pierogi! Potatoes! Cheese-filled croquettes!


Even more so than the offerings of the milk bar, the experience of eating there is unique. The three of us hit up two milk bars: the Family Milk Bar on Nowy Świat and the Barbican Milk Bar in the Old Town. The later is rumored to be the "oldest", though while we were loitering around being taken in by its extensive ceramics, an elderly Polish woman told me that this was the cheapest place -- with the exception of some other cheaper ones. It's clear that the superlative may not really mean much. Still, the proprietors of the charming Barbican place certainly cultivate a homey feel that lures in tourists. For what it's worth, it's also incredibly comforting in the winter when the bitter cold feels aggressive. On the other hand, the Family Milk Bar is one of the few reasonably priced eateries on one of Warsaw's poshest streets, so one eats among families out for the day, homeless, and many students. It's one of the few places in Warsaw where I can count on running into familiar faces. It's here to serve: lots of tables and no frills (also, when we were there: no napkins).

Family Milk Bar menu

What happens at a milk bar? You enter and spend 5 minutes reflecting on a giant menu, scoping today's availability, indicated by prices scrawled along the side of the items. Then begins the queuing. First, you wait to place your order, keeping in mind that they may run out of your preferred lunch options in the 3 minutes this takes. The cashier hands you a receipt with your order illegibly scrawled on it. Be proud that you've paid at most $5 for a soup + main dish + salad. Now stand in line again! This time you're waiting in front of a little window, through which you hand over your receipt to the kitchen managers. Some food you get the moment you pass off your order (soups, veggies, and salads just sit around in pots and pans). Other food (pierogi! sausage!) is freshly prepared.

Left: Barbican Milk Bar; Right: Family Milk Bar

All this time, you've been people watching in order to secure a table. Once you've juggled the many small plates of food to your little table, it's time to dig in! The grease washes over your tongue and you marvel at just how! delicious! potatoes can be."

Concert Announcement

In case you're in Paris and haven't heard, Louis is performing in a concert tomorrow (April 25) with famed composer/pianist Noël Lee and up-and-coming cellist Jacob Saunders. Here's the program:

Beethoven - Trio for Clarinet, Cello, and Piano in B-flat Major, Op. 11, 1st Movement

Noël Lee - Interstices for Clarinet and Piano

Debussy - Nocturne for Cello and Piano

Debussy - Première Rapsodie for Clarinet and Piano

(Intermission)

Brahms - Trio for Clarinet, Cello, and Piano in A minor, Op. 114

Here's a free sample (the first movement of the Brahms), to get you hooked:

Finally, here are the deets:

Where: Rendez-vous d'Ailleurs, 109 Rue des Haies, 75020 Paris (Métro Avron or Maraichers)
When: 5 PM
Concert Length: approximately 1.5 hours
Cost: 15 euros (full), 12 euros (reduced)
Fun Level: High

Hope to see you there!

Action!

A few weeks ago, before the park was truly bursting with the colors of spring, we happened upon a film set. It was a good 8 minutes before we figured out exactly what the film crew was filming. Was she a famous actress? Was it a movie scene? A TV show? Alas, we were witness to nothing more than a yogurt commercial. My excellent sleuthing skills tell me that it was a commercial for none other than Taillefine (literally, slender waist) brand yogurt, which would explain why they chose an extremely skinny model and did everything they could to accentuate her thinness (including pulling her shirt extra tight with a clip and smoothing it between every take).

From our observations, the commercial consisted of the young woman in purple walking through a park - past the teenagers making out and some dudes playing Frisbee (not pictured) - all the while enjoying her first spoonful of yogurt.

When she reaches the end of the bench, she has a realization (or a heart attack) and gets a very surprised look on her face.

At last, she falls to the ground, out of sight. Except she wasn't out of our sight, and we had the pleasure of seeing her (over and over again) get rid of the spoonful of yogurt she had eaten just moments before. Hey, she's got to keep a slender waist, right? 

Vanvas Returns

Way back in December, I noticed that graffiti artists had chosen a new medium for their work: delivery vans and trucks. Since then, I've only grown more impressed with the "vanvas" pieces I've seen on the street. There's something about all that pristine space - and maybe the increased visibility/mobility of the vehicle - that inspires invention and fine workmanship. And as far as I can tell, other graffitists seem to refrain from covering over another's vanvas, suggesting that this might constitute enduring art.

There's abstract expressionism:

More traditional work in the "tag" genre:

And searing commentaries on authenticity, luxury, and consumer culture:

As you can tell, I'm a big fan.

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Update, 10 minutes later: Maggie has pointed out that there's a post by one of the Paris bloggers we check regularly which explains this phenomenon as an exchange between market traders and graffiti artists. I'm not entirely sure that covers all the vanvas I've seen, but it's persuasive enough, and Adam's post is much better written. Finding his post makes me feel like I was hip to vanvas when it was still underground!

We're Back!

Our cruise ended on Sunday and we were supposed to fly back Sunday night/Monday morning, but like so many other travelers over the last week, the ash cloud prevented our transatlantic return trip.

We were a lot luckier than most of the thousands upon thousands of stranded folks, since our flights to and from Florida took us through Philadelphia, which is roughly where my mom lives. So from Sunday through Tuesday, we were "stranded" at her house, which was much nicer than any airport or hotel. Our second stroke of luck came around 11 PM on Monday night, when the last-call-to-USAirways-before-bedtime yielded two seats on a flight out of Charlotte for the next day. It was a gamble - we could have arrived at Charlotte only to find our flight to Paris canceled - but we had to take it.

And our gamble paid off! Insert huge sigh of relief here. With only six weeks left until we return Stateside for good, every day counts!

PS - Several people asked us to try to take a picture of the volcanic ash as we flew by. I'm pretty sure that even if the plane were to fly anywhere near the ash (which it wouldn't), the stuff wouldn't be visible. But my understanding is that it does contribute to incredibly beautiful, extremely red sunrises and sunsets, and we did catch a sunrise just before landing in Paris, so I'll let you decide for yourself how much ash was in the air.

Musée Gustave Moreau

On the first Sunday in March, we took advantage of the fact that state-run museums were free to go to one neither have us had visited before: the Musée Gustave Moreau.

Known for his fantastic - in the "fantasy" sense of the word - paintings, Moreau may have been the first artist to leave his home and personal collection to the state, and this museum opened to the public shortly after his death in 1898.

The museum's walls assault visitors with clutter and rapidly shifting subject matter, but overall you get a good sense of what the space must have felt like when it was still Moreau's atelier. There are laminated guides that label all of the paintings and describe a few of them, which was helpful.


Best part of the museum: the awesome spiral staircase linking the third- and fourth-floor studios:

Zoom in on these paintings, and you'll get a sense for the amazing intricacy of Moreau's work. Plus, you'll realize that he defined "tripping" 70 years before the advent of LSD.

The temporary exhibition during our visit revealed an interesting aspect of Moreau's creative process: his use of clay sculptures to model the figures in his paintings. Part of the exhibit involved x-ray images of several of the few remaining sculptures, placed behind the sculptures themselves, which were usually right next to the relevant paintings.

The art portion of the museum is concentrated on the uppermost two floors, where Moreau had his studios. Below the studios, Moreau created his own "museum" focusing on his family, and today you can visit Moreau's apartments. Surprise, surprise: the walls here are jam-packed with portraits, the tables with knick-knacks, the rooms with period furniture. It only takes about 5 minutes to move through the rooms, but those 5 minutes were pretty overwhelming.

The museum is open every day but Tuesday, 10 AM through 5:15 PM. It's a wild ride, and we recommend it.

Paradise Lost

A week-long Caribbean cruise with the fam: gorgeous weather, copious amounts of food, relaxation central. We're so relaxed we can't even be bothered to fully describe the experience in words. Here's hoping that some pictures do the trick.


Thanks, Poppop.