Paris Hearts US?

Based on our experiences this year, there's no anti-Americanism here. There's opposition to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, sure, as well as other complaints about the US government and US politicians. But we've never told anyone we're Americans and received a negative response. Maybe people are just being polite. But we're pretty sure the city's pro-Americanism runs deep.

Deep underground, that is. Consider the décor for the Cadet metro station.

Never mind that the 13-star flag hasn't been in use since 1795, and that the sentiment here has more to do with the links between the American and French revolutions than with current political or social amity. Whatever - we know this flag proves that Paris hearts the United States. Yet another reason why we heart Paris.

Best. Day. Ever.

Let's just get it out of the way: Ravel is my favorite composer. Daphnis and Chloé might be the only piece of music that can make me swoon. In college, I did my junior-year independent work on Ravel's opera-ballet, L'Enfant et les Sortilèges, and my man Maurice (the myth, the legend) will likely play an outsized role in my dissertation. I love, looove, luurrrrve Ravel. All of this makes Ravel's house, "Le Belvédere," my Graceland.

The only problem is that unlike Elvis's abode, you can't get to Ravel's house using public transportation. That's why, despite multiple attempts at planning some combination of métro, train, bus, and hitchhiking, I only finally made it to Le Belvédere two weeks ago, thanks to Damien and his car.

Ravel purchased his home in Montfort-L'Amaury in 1921 after receiving an inheritance from his uncle. According to our guide, who doubles as the museum's curator and caretaker, Ravel chose this specific house for the majestic view from its porch.

Ravel chose wisely. And not just in terms of the view. He also filled the house with strange and wonderful things. Here, the curator describes a cabinet full of plateware.

Damien: And this silverware?
Curator: So the silverware - the spoons, the silver on the bottom there - were gifts of Ida Rubinstein, the dancer, for whom Ravel wrote Boléro.
Me: She was a great patron, too.
Curator: Yes, a great patron - she gave lots of money. And at one point she dated a Guinness - you know, the beer - so, lots of money there, too.

Furniture, dishes, toys, paintings, even wall stenciling - all bear witness to the lovable and inscrutable eccentricity that was Ravel's.

There's the escargot that flips over to become an ashtray . . .

. . . the miniature porcelain canapé presented as a gift by Germaine Tailleferre, and the foot-cushion under his desk . . .

. . . and an incredible quantity of other knick-knacks, many of them purposefully gaudy.

And that's just the stuff in his study. The rest of the house is equally wacky and delightful.

I wish I could spend a month just creating an inventory of all the items in all the rooms of Ravel's house - that's how weird and fantastic everything seems. I mean, the guy had a secret passageway built behind his sitting room. He was an early adopter of taking showers. He bought a woman-shaped bell made out of ceramic but painted to look like metal, so that when you ring it, expecting a satisfying peal of sound, you instead hear a dull thud. WTF!!!

As much as I loved the house and the accompanying garden, which also manifests Ravel's eclecticism, one part of our tour stands out as the obvious highlight of the day, and perhaps of this entire year.

I played Ravel's piano. Here's how it happened.

When we first walked in, the curator took one look at my camera and said, "You know, photography is forbidden." I replied, "Oh, I didn't realize that. I was just hoping that, since I'm writing a dissertation that's partly about Ravel, I might be able to take some pictures - you know, for research purposes." She said, "You know what? I'm tired of this being forbidden and that being forbidden. Take all the pictures you like. What else is that you have there?" She was looking at the book of Ravel's piano music I had brought with me. "It's Le Tombeau de Couperin. I was kind of hoping that I might be able to play it on his piano." (If I've learned anything in Paris, it's that it never hurts to ask, and you should never feel bad when your request is met with rejection.) She responded, "Of course! So what if the Mayor doesn't want anyone touching the piano - it's there to be played, isn't it?" Damien and I agreed wholeheartedly.

And so it was that I came to butcher Ravel on his very own piano. I started with the first part of the Prélude from Le Tombeau de Couperin.

Giving up on a challenging movement I hadn't practiced in around 10 months, I apologized for playing so poorly, telling the curator I was "ashamed." But she told me I needn't  be ashamed, saying "Well, Ravel couldn't play his own pieces either, so there you go."

Next, I played all the way through an easier movement, the Menuet, from the same piece.

At the end of this one, you can here the curator cackling, "Oh boy, he's happy now!" I sure was. And I can't wait to go back for more. Surely, that house is full of mysteries that remain unsolved. Ravel wouldn't have had it any other way.

Shout Out: A Taste of Garlic

Back in late April, we were honored to be reviewed by another blogger, and it's high time we returned the favor. Keith Eckstein runs a website called "A Taste of Garlic," which is devoted to reviewing any and all English-language blogs dedicated to life in France. Considering the ambitious task he's set for himself (there are easily thousands of such blogs), Keith does a remarkably thorough job distilling the essence of each blog he showcases. In our case (click to read Keith's review), he quickly caught on to our obsession with fine French cuisine, our penchant for navel-gazing, our love of bike culture, and our Panda-centric, dog's-eye-view of the city.

Is this meta or what?

Thanks, Keith, for the kind words and for the wonderful publicity. When we're back in the States, we'll be checking in with you to get our English-language fix of French living!

Le Chapeau Melon

With raving reviews from any number of food magazines, blogs, and guide books, we still don't know why it took us so long to make it to a restaurant located about 500 yards from our apartment. Worse, we pass it four times a day on our way to and from the park with Panda. Worst, its founder is one of the co-founders of a neighborhood favorite, Le Baratin. What is wrong with us???

So what's our excuse for avoiding Le Chapeau Melon? Certainly we can't blame the charming exterior and cozy interior, nor the wine bar/table d'hôte concept we love so much. (They carry only organic wines. Highly-regarded organic wines. Too bad we still know next-to-nothing about wine.)


Clearly we have no excuse. Especially since this place makes us look more attractive than any other restaurant we've been to this year. But I digress.

Here's how the menu works: Wednesdays and Sundays, you can order à la carte from a smallish but excellent menu. All other nights that the restaurant's open, they offer a fixed four-course meal for €32.50, with cheese and/or dessert another €6. One slightly weird thing is that they charge a €8.50 "corking fee" if you buy a bottle of wine with your meal. (On the other hand, if you patronize Le Chapeau Melon as a wine store rather than a restaurant, you're charged no such fee.) But they have some sub-€10 wines, so even if you're watching your wallet, the cost isn't prohibitive.

On to the food. The night we were there, the menu included green apple over hearts of salmon in a soy sauce and olive oil base; vitello tonnato, which is cold, thinly sliced veal under a mayonnaise and tuna sauce; cream of mussel and saffron; and cannette rouennaise with celery purée, carrots à l'orange, and sautéed asparagus. They certainly get points for quantity and diversity of protein, and for some creative pairings.

The salmon/green apple dish was fantastic. Sweet and savory competed for attention with every bite. Plus, just look at the presentation: this is dynamic, even architecturally inspired food. 10 points, Le Chapeau Melon.

Annnnd we're taking those 10 points away. Seriously, no amount of photo editing can mask the sheer ugliness of this presentation. Even the (possibly unintentional?) happy face formed by those capers and that olive oil only made the veal look like it might just be trying to eat us. Plus, while it didn't taste bad, we wonder whether vitello tonnato might be an acquired taste.

Ok, that's a little better. And clearly my food photography is to blame for at least part of the unsightliness of this food. But imagine the great leap in beauty that could be accomplished just be throwing a sprig of something green and fresh on top of that saffron-y, creamy concoction. Also, it was a little salty. But mussels are always awesome, and I sopped up the last of this soup like it was my job.

And the restaurant gets its 10 points back with the final dish. Just like the first dish, we have all kinds of colors, textures, and tastes. The celery purée was delightful (we can't wait to get back to our food processor so we can try this at home) and the carrot à l'orange showed just how clever the chef could be. Cannette rouennaise indicates that we were served young female duck that had been raised in Normandy (see also canard de rouen). Considering the rather small portion, it might have been nice to have something a little less fatty (that whole bottom layer was basically inedible), but the meat was cooked just right, and for once there was no sauce to mask the taste of meat - instead, we could choose whether to combine the duck with one (or several) of the vegetables for each bite.

So there you have it: mixed results that fly in the face of all that hype. Considering the price (and the fact that the menu doesn't include dessert - what were they thinking!!??) we'll probably go back to passing this place on our way to Kiwizine, which is right next door, and rightfully still our favorite restaurant in Belleville.

Fête de Départ/Nos Voisins Formidables

Plus qu'un coucher de soleil sur la Seine, plus que le parfum des potagers dans le Parc des Buttes Chaumont, plus que tout autre aspect de la vie quotidienne à Paris, si une chose nous manquera lorsqu'on revient aux Etats-Unis, ce sera le chaleureux amitié de nos voisins, dont quelques sont devenus des plus proches amis.

Comme si nos voisins voulaient nous faire repenser notre décision à rentrer, hier après-midi ils nous ont fait une grande fête de départ. La fête, qui prenait la forme d'un pot géant (d'après les apéros géants qui agaçent tellement les gouvernements des villes françaises), convenait parfaitement à la symmetrie de notre séjour, Maggie et moi ayant fait la connaissance de nos voisins à un premier pot en septembre.

Comme vous voyez, il y avait beaucoup à manger, et les invités en ont apporté même plus après que cette photo a été prise. Une quiche, une tarte salée, des chips, du vin, du cidre, du coca, des cookies americains, de la bruschetta, des hors d'oeuvres, nous n'en avons pas arreté de manger pendant cinq heures. Nos voisins et amis sont arrivés et partis en vagues, et finalement le pot a compté vers une vigntaine de personnes, dont plusieurs que nous n'avions jamais rencontrées, et dont plusieurs autres que nous connaissons depuis le troisième jour de notre séjour.


Fantômette ne voulait pas laisser passer une opportunité de dire au revoir à Panda (son enemie mortelle), et non plus presque tous les enfants des batîments B et C.


Pour nous convaincre de revenir bientôt et souvent, nos voisins nous ont donné deux grands cadeaux: ils vont planter et cultiver un chêne à notre honneur, et pendant que nous attendons qu'il grandisse assez pour nous abriter quand il fait chaud, Maggie et moi dégusterons un panier plein de mets raffinés et friandises de Fauchon.

Ça va sans dire que ces cadeaux nous ont vivement touché et même éblouit tant que nous trouvions à peine les mots pour remercier tout le monde.

Et c'est pourquoi nous avons écrit ce post en français - pour mieux remercier nos voisins. En fin de compte, vous nous avez donné un cadeau plus précieux qu'on ne s'attendait: une année pleine de nouvelles expériences, de joie, de sympathie et de camaraderie. Vous serez tous les bienvenus chez nous, et nous espèrons vous revoir aussi bientôt que possible.

Field Day, or Sarkozy: The Butt of Every Joke

This morning, we checked out the exposition Nature Capitale that has covered much of the Avenue des Champs-Elysées since Saturday night (the expo ends this afternoon). Normally the only thing growing on the so-called "Avenue of Elysian Fields" is the revenue of well-known luxury brands (Louis Vuitton, Cartier, Gucci). But for this exposition, France's Jeunes Agriculteurs (a unionized version of the FFA?) laid down fields of wheat, goldenrod, and lily of the valley; planted oak and pine trees; and herded in sheep and cattle.

We were among roughly 2 million visitors to this (unfortunately temporary) display of nature's bounty and celebration of  the Journée Mondiale de la Biodiversité (International Biodiversity Day). Little did we know that out of all of those people, we would see two major French celebrities.

We know what you're thinking: "Oh my goodness! That's the mascot of La Vache Qui Rit!"

Yes, it is. But look again and you'll also see Carla Bruni-Sarkozy and Nicolas Sarkozy just behind Madame La Vache. They drew a big crowd while examining the livestock, meeting the farmers, and showing their support for French agriculture in general.

With the Arc de Triomphe as your back drop, how could this photo-op go wrong? And I was lucky enough to have a perfect view of the whole thing.

Think About It

We've always been aware of the differences between French and American concepts of "personal space," but one particular example really drives the point home. Here's something that would never fly in American public transportation:

I'm curious whether anyone can provide an example of a public transportation seating arrangement in the States that puts people in such close, face-to-face contact. (Amtrak's facing seats with tables in between the people don't count. We're talking knee-to-knee tactile communication here.)

Sure, people on the NYC subway crowd into cars and end up doing an unintentional bump-and-grind, but they're standing, and have the option of facing away from each other. On the Paris métro, if you want to sit on something other than a strapontin (foldaway seat normally placed near the doors), you've gotta get up close and personal.

Not that that's always a bad thing . . .

Final Photo Challenge (#6)

In order to win our last prize of the year, name the painting, the painter, the museum where you'll find this, and your Zodiac sign.

This time, comments will be hidden while we collect responses. You have until midnight Wednesday to submit your guess. Good luck!

Should We Stay Or Should We Go?

One sign it may be time to leave Paris: in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont today, we saw a mom encouraging her child to poop on the grass next to some bushes. She did not heed the message of the signs placed all over the city.

This is much, much more disgusting than the several times we've witnessed parents educating their children in the joys and conveniences of public urination. Just gross.

On the other hand, we've had 5 days of gorgeous weather, which is helping us remember why we fell in love with Paris in the first place. There are things you do in fine weather that beat all the museums, tea rooms, and restaurants in Paris. Yesterday, for instance, we indulged in a cherished summertime ritual: savoring a cone of Berthillon glace on the banks of the Seine.

(The Paris) Life is good. Maybe we'll stick around after all.