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.

A Morning with Leslie and Ilona

Back in the day during Dimi's visit, we managed to get together with one of Dimi's best friends, Leslie, who happened to be on an art tour in France with her friend, Ilona. You've already heard about our out-of-this-world lunch at Fish La Boissonnerie, but before lunch was even the hint of a rumble in our bellies, we started our day by visiting the Musée de l'Orangerie.

Located at the far end of the Tuileries from the Louvre, the Musée de l'Orangerie (as its name suggests) originally sheltered the Emperor's orange grove, starting in 1852. By 1870, apparently disdainful of the health benefits of oranges the Third Republic used the building as storage, a test-taking facility, a barracks, a venue for sports and music and political rallies and industrial trade shows and dog shows and flower shows, not to mention a paintings exhibition hall. Finally, in 1921, the building was given to the Beaux-Arts administration, who turned it into a modern art museum.


The building's transformation into an art museum took place with a particular work in mind: Claude Monet had just donated his epic Nymphéas (Waterlillies) series to his country, and asked only that a space be designed to accommodate the uniquely proportioned paintings. Housed in two specially-designed elliptical-shaped rooms that feature skylights covered in diaphanous materials to facilitate the gentle dispersion of natural light, Nymphéas was and remains the main event of the Musée de l'Orangerie. It's easy to see why.

Besides Nymphéas, the museum's permanent collection (donated by the widow of the influential modern art collector Paul Guillaume) includes pieces by Renoir, Manet, Cézanne, Sisley, Derain, Matisse, Picasso, Soutine, Utrillo, and Modigliani. There are quite a few portraits, and it is all extremely good stuff.

(You will get so many brownie points if you can name the artists and piece titles of these four paintings. Mo, good luck.)

The collection supplements what you'll find in the Musée d'Orsay and the Centre Pompidou, and for the lover of fin-de-siècle and early-twentieth-century art, the Musée de l'Orangerie is a must-see.

The museum is also a must-see for the lover of Paris city walls, as a fragment of the 16th-century enceinte that protected west end of the Louvre-and-Tuileries complex was unearthed during recent renovations and left visible for museum-goers. 

So cool!

Vélib' is Everywhere

Just when you thought you'd seen everything, Vélib' now has bikes in the Seine. Kind of.

On our bateau mouche, no one else seemed particularly taken aback by Vélib's presence, so I looked like a total weirdo jumping up to snap a few pictures as the boat sped by.

Maybe JCDecaux's next troubled business venture can be a boat-sharing program on the Seine. I'd sign up.

Express Yourself

Remember that photo challenge from way back featuring the head of Karl Marx? It represented the tip of the iceberg in terms of the hottest street art trend in Paris: stenciled texts and images on the pavement and on walls.

Often it's about spreading ambiguous slogans, like these two found on the Rue du Faubourg du Temple just after the May 1st festivities. If you have any idea what they mean, let me know.


There's no ambiguity in the following stencil portraits. On the left, a psychadelically framed Salvador Dali is captioned as saying, "The word 'graffiti' must remain a shitty word, an insult to the spiritually constipated." In the center - well, did they really need to identify Beethoven? I mean, come on! And on the right, Konny Steding is a street artist who seems to specialize in stencil.


Finally, stencil art can get political, re-purposeful, and philosophical. Gaza was a hot topic long before Israeli commandos zip-lined onto Turkish boats in June. This color wheel covers a sewer grate, and the tag on the right reads, "Sometimes I tell myself that in creating man, God overestimated his abilities, just a little."


This is all well and good, but I'm still convinced that the best street art is that which aspires to sincere expression, rather than "art." We stumbled across this exemplar in our very own courtyard.

Street stencil artists, rejoice. The future is in good hands.

Flying the Colors

There's no reason why we can't be both patriotic and Francophilic (that's not a disease, just in case you were wondering). So here's our attempt at an abstract American flag photo collage.







I never was very good at collage. It would have been so much easier to just save this post for today. Oh well - Happy 4th of July!