parisian pleasures

As I'm sitting on the train in Paris behind a poet who is writing about a love lost, I can't help but peek between the seats in front of me.  His words remind me of one of my favorite dark poems by Verlaine, a 19^th century symbolist poet. 

During our recent trip, I spent Sunday like most Parisians do, at the Jardin du Luxembourg, putting my feet up in the sun and people watching. My favorite corner away from the senate building and the marble statues of former queens, is on the quiet side by the statue of Verlaine. He struggled to get to know himself, much like I did and speaks beautifully of that exploratory journey of self-realization, including its darkest melancholic moments in this poem:

“Il pleure dans mon coeur

Comme il pleut sur la ville;

Quelle est cette langueur

Qui pénètre mon coeur ?

Ô bruit doux de la pluie

Par terre et sur les toits !

Pour un coeur qui s'ennuie,

Ô le chant de la pluie !

Il pleure sans raison

Dans ce coeur qui s'écoeure.

Quoi ! nulle trahison ?...

Ce deuil est sans raison.

C'est bien la pire peine

De ne savoir pourquoi

Sans amour et sans haine

Mon coeur a tant de peine!”

It weeps in my heart

like it rains on the town.

What is this languor

that penetrates my heart?

Oh the soft sound of the rain

on the ground and on the roofs!

For a heart in pain

oh the song of the rain!

It weeps without reason

in this disheartened heart.

What! No betrayal?

This grief has no cause.

And nothing is worse pain

than not knowing why,

without love or hatred,

my heart has so much pain.

Our visit to the jardin last Sunday was neither painful nor rainy. The sun inspired us to stop at the marché bio (organic farmer's market) on blvd. Raspail and pick up some cheese and fruit to head to the park. Sadly we had forgotten to get wine and the shops were not open. Quelle horreur! So we made the most of it and gleefully spread out the baguette, artisanal foie gras, Brie de Meaux, Crottin d'affiné, Tomme de Brebis, and Roquefort cheeses next to the gorgeous sweet small fraises (strawberries) and fragrant myrtilles (blueberries). The charentais melon looked beautiful but would have to wait until after the impomptu picnic when we would have a knife. It didn't take long before we were greeted by the park police with “la pelouse est interdite”. 

I have to admit while I had not forgotten the incident with the same message years ago when my sister and nephews sat on the lawn with me, I feigned innocence and quickly apologized before taking to our chairs near the Verlaine statue for the rest of the picnic. In the southern most corner of the park, there is permission to use one long patch of lawn.  The rest, including the large circle around Verlaine’s statue, is forbidden.  I might have to make the same “mistake” again next time I visit the park but won't forget the wine to go with the picnic!

My weekend in Paris always has a juxtaposition of simple pleasures one day followed by decadently rich culinary meals the next. Steps away from our rented apartment on rue du Dragon in Saint-Germain-de-Prés, opposite the direction of touristy hot spots of Café Floré and Aux Deux Magots, where the literary greats and poets used to hang out and drink the infamous green halucinatory absinthe, is my favorite last stop in Paris.  In a little square with no corners called La Place Recamier, Chef Gerard Idoux makes the most decadent fluffy soufflés at La Cigale Recamier. Some favorite savory (salés) and sweet (sucrés) dishes include:

- Soufflé farine de blé noir et champignons des bois (buckwheat with wild mushrooms)
- Soufflé foie gras figues (foie gras with figs)
- Soufflé chèvre au thym (goat cheese and thyme)
- Soufflé fromage (cheese)
- Soufflé aux figues fraiches (fresh figues)
- Soufflé caramel à la fleur de sel (caramel with salt)
- Soufflé Grand Marnier [Note: A bottle of Grand Marnier is served alongside this delicate flavored soufflé sucré. Don't try to take the cork out of the bottle... the cork has holes like a fine salt shaker for drizzling just the right amount without flooding the dessert.]

Suffice it to say the salade verte served with the soufflé is obligatory. On many other occasions I've had the caviar d'aubergine with the dorade or agneau dishes and you can tell that the soufflés are only one of the specialties that draw older local regulars such as politicians to the restaurant.  Order from the regular menu or the daily specials on the blackboard presented tableside and you can’t go wrong with any of your choices.  Recamier has a chef who knows how to prepare great food without pretense.

Suddenly as I take a spoonful of the delicate soufflé on this rainy final eve in Paris, I find myself forgetting Verlaine's heartfelt pain and hear songs of joy inside my head with every melting bite.  The only weeping in my heart is from the thought that I need to wait until my next trip to savor these flavors again.

an ode to foie

Foie gras has yet to be banned in California.  That means as of today it's not.  And it also means chefs are preparing more dishes with it to make a statement.  Many chefs are willing to stand up for what they believe.  And so are the people supporting them. 

Yesterday I woke up to a facebook post by my favorite ice cream shop about their fresh batch of foie gras ice cream sandwiches.  I had a busy day and by the time I got around to thinking about going, a new post about chocolate covered ice cream pies came out, leading me to think they had ran out.  When I called the phone rang and rang and no-one answered but that only made me think they were swamped by foie-hungry customers.  I made a mad dash to the store, all along thinking most likely I could come home empty handed.  The two girls in line in front of me took their time tasting practically every flavor before buying one scoop to share.  I was trying to be patient so I kept on a smile but could tell my weight was shifting from leg to leg which meant the guy behind the counter could see my shoulders shift.  Smile, I told myself.  Worse comes to worse just buy a pint of another favorite flavor, like chocolate sea salt.  But that wasn't consoling enough.  No other flavor would have the same meaning.

Before he had finished serving the two girls, the guy nods at me with a "How are you doing?" comment.  Perhaps it was his way of saying that he's been watching my shoulder shifting and I should be more patient.  I smiled again and said, "Do you have any of those sandwiches you posted on FB about?"  I had to be careful what I say for several reasons.  Fearing the girls could overhear me and buy the last ice cream sandwich before I could get to it would make me feel stupid to let them in on the secret.  Saying the word foie gras could raise many ears.  I felt safe about the people behind me.  After all, it was my turn after the girls would leave and I had first dibs in whatever I could buy.  But those words that bring so much instant pleasure to my mind are to be used carefully in public these days.

When I hear the word foie gras there are so many memories imprinted in my taste buds that come up.  There's the foie gras soufflés I eat in Paris every time, melting in my mouth.  Then I think of the salade gourmandise with a huge piece of foie gras on top of the haricots verts.  How about the Tournedos Rossini we made a few years ago with the perfectly seared filet mignon placed on top of a grilled buttery brioche, topped with truffles, foie gras, and bordelaise sauce?  Many trips to Paris farmers markets and even stops in Pays Landais at a corner butcher store to pick up jars of the delectable creamy mad tasting liver, cross my mind as I go through my memories.  Yes, the rich creamy delicate flavor of pure delicious goose liver, drives me mad. The one preparation that stands out the most is the perfectly seared piece served at a tapas bar in San Sebastian where they simply refer to foie gras as "foie".

But I'm not in Spain nor France right now and I've read about protests outside places in California serving foie gras. Last month a special multi-course foie gras dinner I attended was only announced to regular customers through Facebook and the door read "restaurant closed for private event tonight."   So I say the words "those sandwiches" as a code between me and the guy at the ice cream shop to let him know that I am in the know about the proper protocol.  His busy face changed to one with a mischievous wide grin of kinship and he matched my smile, "Yes, we do."  Finally,  I could truly be patient.  The anxiety of not knowing whether I would return home empty handed was over.  When the girls were done he asked how many I wanted and his face quickly shifted to a frown when I said "Six."  Oh no, I thought!  I was too greedy.  I should have only asked for two.  He's thinking I should be fair to all the people calling in and asking him to put some aside for them which he can't.  I should just take what I need.  How do I tell him about my need to have as much foie gras ice cream sandwiches as possible?  Do I start by telling him about how my love affair with foie started one gras at a time?  Do I beg?  Do I demand?  Or do I just take what he gives me and learn to be content, although just like my lack of patience, I knew contentment was another virtue I lacked.

I should have been patient because the frown followed with "Let me check the freezer.  We might not have that many left."  He quickly came back with "I only have five" to which I said, "I'll take them please."  Phew!  One short of the six sandwiches I needed but I now held what I had been craving.  It was a bittersweet victory as I drove home all along feeling guilty that I deprived another person in my shoes from tasting any.  But it was more sweet that anything else when I took my first bite of the ice cream nestled in its gingery cookie.  I could taste all my previous memorable experiences in one bite.

Bravo to foie gras ice cream.  Hopefully this will not be the dernière fois that chefs and artisans make their best foie.

tradition! la tradition!

As a certain milestone birthday approached last year, I reflected on the fact that I had promised myself I would move to Paris by then if I were to remain single. I had been tired of dealing with the ups and downs of dating and this move would have been my consolation prize. Four years ago I had perfected my "rrrrr's" and had my beret and luggage tags that read "Paris" ready. As luck would have it, it was then that I met my love, got married and we put the move on hold until our retirement. This means that until that day arrives, I will miss Paris, most of all the baguettes.

To me a baguette is not just a piece of bread. It is a symbol of tradition. Living in a society that went from buying Wonder Bread to Organic Spelt and Flaxseed bread from fancy bakeries, I admire the simplicity and continuity of buying the day's baguette fresh from the boulangerie each day on the way home for dinner. In Paris, I witnessed the sight of business men and women in their suits after the day's hard work followed by a cocktail and cigarette at a café heading home with two things in hand: a briefcase and a baguette. You rarely see this in the metro because the baguette is bought from your local boulanger right near home. And its always bare with just a 2-inch square piece of paper wrapped around its middle.

It is this very simple square piece of paper that got my husband in trouble during our honeymoon in Paris. We love riding the metro and getting around the city. The gypsies hop on the train with their accordian and sing a song, collect some change, and hop off at the next stop to catch the next car or train. It is so romantic to watch the Parisians kiss without oblivion. To stamp this trip to Paris as our "honeymoon" and make it stand out from the rest, we made it a point to find an amourous couple in the metro and each time kiss like them. At times to maintain stability this required holding the handrails. Afterwards we'd run back to our little apartment on rue du Dragon to wash our dirty hands. Our apartment was directly across from Boulangerie La Boule Miche and every day we asked for our "une baguette tradition, s'il vous plait!" A "baguette tradition" differs from the typical white French bread ("baguette ordinaire") we think of simply as a baguette. It is made by hand using a higher quality wheat flour with yeast and salt, sans additives, just like in the old days.

One particular afternoon, we stepped out of the metro stop and the sight of delicate pastries called us into a different patisserie/boulangerie. In addition to some lovely treats, I had a baguette in hand as we walked out. Hot from the oven, it was ready for a bite. I held out the baguette to my husband in a "you go first" gesture, waiting for his mouth to encircle the bread for his taste. Instead in painstaikingly slow motion I saw his hands, the ones that had touched what seemed like all the handrails in the metro, envelope the bare naked baguette above and below mine which was over the square piece of paper. He was looking for a firmer grip before his bite. Arrrghhh... he had ruined my hot fresh baguette with metro germs!!! In not so slow motion, my hand which never parted the baguette fiercely yanked it out his and I started to hit him over and over again on the shoulder with it yelling obscenities in French about his filthy metro hands. This passionate moment of baguette-beating rage was not a typical Parisian scene and luckily did not ruin our honeymoon although we re-enact it on every subsequent trip to Paris just for laughs. Who knew a new tradition could be born out of the "baguette tradition"?

suggestion:

Don't beat your husband with a baguette. Instead buy two and eat one fresh and hot on the way home.

where to find:

For the best baguette tradition, no doubt go to Paris and try a different boulangerie until you arrive at your personal favorite. In the Bay Area, the closest I've gotten to a baguette that reminds me in flavor of my Parisian favorite is from Brickmaiden Breads made with Sel de Guérande from France. A baguette costs $4.00. Brickmaiden does not have a retail location but can be found at the Sunday Marin Farmer's Market. The Marin Farmers Market takes place in the parking lot behind the Marin Civic Center on Sunday mornings 8 a.m. - 1 p.m. year round.

paulette macarons

Anyone who’s been to Paris has surely paid well over 5,00 € for a macaroon from the famed Ladurée shops on avenue des Champs Elysées or rue Royale. Theirs is the most delightful Parisian almond-based treat made to perfection.

Last time I checked airfares to Paris had dropped but adding up the airfare and macaroon price would make this one very pricey treat. In comes Paulette to the rescue. Located in Hayes Valley, Paulette Macarons is one of the latest additions to the row of shops, cafés, and restaurants in this trendy hip San Francisco neighborhood. While there is one less “o” in the name than one would expect, it is made up by the “oh” one exclaims with the first bite of macaron… moist, fresh, delicate, and balanced. My absolute favorite is carribean chocolate but with flavors like rose, salted caramel, lemon, Sicilian pistachio, violet cassis, Madagascar vanilla, and several others you can’t go wrong.

The atmosphere is modern with limited seating in the shop. The macaroon counter is sleek and sparse. Check out the steel large pieces in the shop which are actual airplane parts that have been turned into objects of art. My box of 12 macarons for $19 also looked like a piece of art. And a bargain compared to Ladurée.

A note from their website:
“After purchase we recommend keeping Paulette macarons in the refrigerator; let them come to room temperature before serving—about 10 minutes. For best degustation, our macarons should be consumed within 3 days.”

suggestions:

If you opt to hop on that plane over to Paris, stop in at Ladurée for lunch and do not skip the dessert. To find the shop locations, visit their website and don't forget to bring some back for me.

where to find:
Click on shop for information on where to find Paulette Macarons. Happy Shopping!