Posts from Patrice

Le Shopping List

Patriceinparis — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 17:51:42 GMT

Sometimes I wonder if food here in France is really as expensive as it seems to be.

It could be that I just haven’t shopped enough at stores in the U.S.
Maybe I’m becoming the quirky aunt who brags about remembering yesteryear when a loaf of bread cost a nickel!

So I’ve decided to translate (into dollars) the receipt from my most recent shopping trip.

Outrageous? Or Reasonable? You decide.

Bottle of dried sage: $5.51
Log of goat cheese $2.85
1 lime: 83 cents
Bag of spinach leaves: $1.48
Half-pound of green pea pods $3.70
1-pound pork roast $8.33
Two pieces of chicken breast $8.67
1 large sweet potato $2
Small box of brown sugar $3.23
1 fresh endive 41 cents
1 box containing 2 oven-ready chocolate moelleux (individual cakes with a molten chocolate center) $5.95
1 liter bio skim milk $2.47
6 ounce bag tortilla chips $2.35

So, what's the PNN verdict? Is Paris tres chere? Oui or non?

An Extra Hour

Patriceinparis — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 20:40:12 GMT

Even though I remembered about the Paris time change last night when coming home from a fun night of Indian food and a hipster cocktail bar on what might have otherwise been the last Metro of the night, I of course forgot to reset my cellphone, my clock and my alarm before hitting the hay.

So this morning, I got up, made my French roast coffee with demi-ecreme milk, and got dressed for work. (Yes, even flashy foreign correspondent types have to work on Sundays.)

Anyway, I glanced at my Sunday paper and there it was: the ever so helpful time clock logo reminding me that the day would be 25 hours long... not the usual 24. Yay! Manna from Heaven!

I had another entire hour I hadn't been expecting.But what to do? Should I sleep? Should I cook?

I decided instead to hop on a rental bike and ride nearly all the way to work (this is from the 17th arrondissement through Porte Maillot and into the suburbs) but adding a stop I had never made before: at a weekly fruit and vegetable market that I had always wanted to investigate, but never found the time.

And what a great day it was. Skies like out of a painting by Rene Magritte and almost no traffic on those annoying roundabouts, because the French were either still in church or still at lunch.

I made it to the market at les Sablons and was not disappointed: row after row of autumn veggies bursting with color. Table after table of freshly cut and fragrant flowers. Umbrellas protecting a rainbow display of alleged cashmere sweaters. Turkish rugs. Crystal vases. Oysters!

In the end I decided to buy only things that were orange, a color of the season. I picked up the ripest persimmon i could find (note to self: not a good eat-at-your-desk item!); I asked a vendor to cut off a three-inch thick slice of a mysterious pumpkinlike squash which will end up being roasted in my tiny Parisian oven; I got a handful of clemetines, with a few leaves still clinging to their stems.

Finally, I bought a hunk of something I saw an older French dude buy: Wild boar pate. I'm not kidding, and no it wasn't orange. Expensive, yes. Tasty? Incredibly so. Fat laden: Don't even ask. But hey, I had just biked to get there so I let myself justify the added globules.

Then I peddled off to work, stopping briefly at an adorable boulangerie for a skinny baguette to go with the piggy pate.

So, what did you do with your extra hour?

Autumn in Paris. Sigh.

Patriceinparis — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 10:55:38 GMT

Change is good they say, so why am I freezing? Could it be because I haven't yet had time to ferret through my tiny Parisian closet to find where I put last year's warm wool beret and chic burgundy leather gloves?

Or that the wardrobe in my cave-like Parisian bedroom is bulging with lineny summer clothes that I'd like to move somewhere, but don't actually have a somewhere to move them too?

Or is it that my mind just refuses to accepot what's staring me in the face? That these crisp sunny mornings are about to give way to six months of grey skies, biting rain and wet feet?

Buck up, I tell myself. At least it's not Chicago and six months of snow.

Anyone else out there having the "Uh oh. here comes winter" blues?

Any solutions for embracing the wonders of fall without worrying about Old Man Winter?

Getting a red-hot Eiffel

Patriceinparis — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 12:29:52 GMT

Sometimes the wacky bi-country life I lead blends and meshes and comes together in one big happy event.

This is one of those times, altho it's not without controversy.

The French Republic has, amazingly, agreed to light up the icon of all of France, the venerable Tour Eiffel, in the colors of the Turkish flag starting this week.

My friends at the French Foreign Ministry tell me confidentially that this was indeed a controversial thing: Not only has the tower... THE symbol of Paris ,... never been lit in the colors of another country, (they did do an European-Union blue when France held the EU presidency a year ago) but this time the colors are not even those of an EU member country.

In fact, the red and white design is taken from the flag of a country that France OPPOSES joining the EU at all!

DeGaulle must be riolling in his grave.. and you know Sarkozy must be averting his gaze with every limousine ride up the Champs Elysee.

This was done to honor the Saison de la Turquie, a months-long cultural exchange program between France and Turkey. So I hope people honor the idea of it and dont get too bent out of shape. We shall see!

I mean, would the US Capitol ever be done up in say, the flag of North Korea? Maybe that's an extreme example, but didnt people object when the Empire State Building was lit in red for the 60th anniversary of the People's Republic of China? Capitalism and Communism blending in a remarkable way.

Offensive? Or a step forward?

Seeing Redhead?

Patriceinparis — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 20:50:54 GMT

After reading this interesting post by a guy explaining the attraction to women with red hair, I figured I'd weigh in with my own tale of the tresses.

Like many of us, I did something drastic after a breakup. Got the short pixie cut to show my independence.

But that wasn't all: I went red. Not carrot red, nor strawberry blonde. More of a sassy auburny red. And I loved it. It worked with my already exitign freckles, and blue-green eyes, and interestingly, with a lot of my wardrobe.

But it wasn't like I hadn't always wanted to do it: I just needed the courage.

Of course I had the greatest hairdresser in the world at the time (three cheers for Tammy!), but she moved to Phoenix and others just haven't matched up since.

Lately I've been dying my own. I don't get as good a result, but it sure is a whole lot cheaper than a Paris salon and I don't have to speak French (or Turkish) to anyone in order to cover those roots.

Now it's funny though how other cultures see red hair.

Here in France, it can have a sort of sexy streetwalker appeal, depending on whether one is dolled up in knee-high patent leather boots.

In Turkey, everyone thinks I am German because they have seen a lot of hipsters from Berlin with blazing curls or spiky dos. (And I wonder if they saw Franka Potente in the movie "Run Lola Run.")

One aspect I DON'T like about being a redhead? The frat boys who ask whether "the carpet matches the curtains."

Fat chance they'll find out with a line like that!

Another reds out there? How about wanna be reds? Let's hear from you!

Coconut Is The New Pomegranate

Patriceinparis — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 06:23:42 GMT

Suddenly, it's everywhere, from regular groceries to celebrity magazines. And here on PNN (see EmilyRo's newest post!).

The Coconut.

But I just had to share this photo and tell about a recent coconut-water tasting I attended at a vineyard in Northern California.

Meet Rochelle, a Yale grad, published book author, and independent businesswoman who on top of all that writes about American life for Japanese publications.

This time around, her assignment was to tell readers in Japan all about the new celebrity craze for coconut milk, or coconut water, you name it. And because she knew I'd be visiting from Paris this month, she brought along her research to a wine-tasting picnic/jazz concert we attended in the Sonoma Valley.

She supplied the long-stemmed and pretty blue glassware. The first thing she poured was a chilled coconut water, sold by the liter in grocery stores. She had read that Gwyneth Paltrow had used it to help her lose her baby weight and I've even read about people like Nicole Ritchie being spotted sipping such nectar.

So taste we did... this "water" was light, cool and refreshing and I could see myself enjoying it on a warm late-summer day. I don't recall the calorie count, but it did not taste sweet, nor artificially enhanced. I'd give it a thumbs up.

But then Rochelle produced the piece de resistance: a fresh, shelled young coconut.
It's the one she is holding in this photo. It came with a straw sticking out of it and despite the bird flu risks we passed it around the table and each took a slurp.

This was real coconut "milk," and it tasted delicious! Thicker than the water, and much more flavorful. Again, no calorie count, but I didn't care at this point.

The only downside for having one of these as a snack would be the oddness of carrying it around as you did your daily errands ... but hey... could a coconut husk become the new Starbucks carryout cup??

Ooh there's a thought: How long before we see a coconut latte on the menu?

What Are You Wearing to Bed Tonight?

Patriceinparis — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 06:54:20 GMT

Because this is what I am wearing: my favorite cotton classic pajamas.

The fabric is smooth and comfy and the design is loads of fun: the (hypothetical) men in my life.

All the types are represented: the mama's boy, the artist, the wolf, even the jerk!

Of course we all want the romantic dont we?

With these jammies, I can have my pick, every night of the week.

So, who's wearing what (if anything!) to bed tonight????

A $450 cotton bra?

Patriceinparis — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 19:07:47 GMT

That's NOT a typo: $450 for a cotton bra. But oh, it's hand-made to fit your measurements by a delighful young Frenchwoman named Louise whose shop is in my neighborhood in Paris.

No, I didn't order one. It's Sears for me all the way.

But here's her Web site in case you want to browse.

These are clearly not your Panty Quotidiennes!

Do they "fit" anyone's bottom line?

How Cute Is This?

Patriceinparis — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 19:44:10 GMT

Ok, so it's silly season in the global media world, also known as the dog days of the news cycle.

That's why i find myself at 10 p.m. in the Paris newsroom of a major global daily looking at pictures like this from the Web Site of the London Telegraph.

The caption says it was taken at a tiger zoo in Thailand.

The tiger, herself raised on milk from pigs, is now breastfeeding piglets!

My favorite part are the little tiger-striped jammies someone made for the piglets.

Anyone else resorting to such silliness these days? Or am I the only one with a case of August whimsy?

My Blueberry Nights

Patriceinparis — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 20:21:19 GMT

A PNN pal just asked me what I've been cooking in Paris recently. Well this picture provides a clue: Blueberries!

I live near a great bio (biologique, or organic) market that opens every Saturday with tables heaving with lucious ripe and natural produce of every imaginable shape and flavor... and some you could never imagine!

But since it's August, I went looking this weekend for someone I've come to call The Blueberry Guy.

He is only there in August. And he only sells one thing. Blueberries.

Fresh, deep blue berries. Nothing else. Not even jam.

Just blueberries from his organic farm in southwestern France.

So, this being the organic market, prices are sky high. No 99 cents a quart here. Nope.

I bought two cups' worth for 8 euros. Yes folks, that's 12 dollars U.S.

I splurged, but it has become an August ritual for me.

So what did I do with my precious baubles?

I went to a grocery store and bought what I thought was going to be a normal pie crust (yes, I cheated!) and went home and baked a sort-of tart/pie/cobbler thingie.

I have one of those marvelous French ceramic deep-dish pie plates, so I lined it with the pre-made dough, added the cleaned berries, some sugar and lemon juice, pats of French butter and sprinkles of cinnamon. Then I folded over the edged of the crust so they met in the center, with just enough overlap to let some steam escape.

Into my mini oven and voila. Pie. Sort of.

Well, the crust was NOT great... I don't know if I shouold have used the flaky pastry type of crust instead, as this one was a little more suited to a savory dish. But once cooled, I sliced it open and yum.

With a piece for breakfast and a piece for dessert, this only lasted three days.

So this Saturday I'll be out at the market again, searching for The Blueberry Guy.

Vacation countdown!

Patriceinparis — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 19:21:23 GMT

So where do people like me who live in exotic places like Paris and Istanbul go for our vacations?

Why, the exotic state of.... IOWA!

Well, once every few years, we have to make the pilgrimmage back to the homeland to see the siblings, nieces and nephews, etc. etc. plus all of our dear friends who put up with our ranting emails full of odd foreign language keyboard characters and other annoyances.

So next month, it's All Aboard: we're flying from Istanbul and Paris and taking Amtrak from the Midwest trhough the plains, across the rockies and into San Francisco for a few days of relaxation among the vineyards. (You didn't really think that after more than three years in France that we'd take a wine-free holiday now did you?)

But considering that I haven't been in the U.S. of A. since some guy named Bush was stealing dangling chads, I need some advice.

Where should we go and what should we do? What do things cost these days? A movie? A deep-dish Chicago Pizza? A ballgame? A bus ride?

And what should I bring people as souvenirs for the people i'll be staying with?

Yes I was already taken aback when I read th efine print that American Airlines serves no food on our 4 hour flight from California to Illinois, but I was thrilled to see that there's no smoking car on Amtrak!

Advice ladies?

Whirling like a Dervish?

Patriceinparis — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 20:41:46 GMT

Sometimes we feel like our heads are literally spinning: all those work, family and mental commitments!

Well those of us in Paris got to see some real live whirling dervishes recently at the opening of a nine-month-long cultural festival that is bringing turkish cultural to France. Who could wish for a better backdrop than the Eiffel Tower!

Dervishes take their whirling VERY seriously. It does put them into a sort of trance. As for me, I think it would make me ill: I don't even like Tilt-a-Whirls.

But the Turkish fest in Paris has lots of other things to offer. Free concerts. Nice tea. Strong coffee.

The other day I went to a Turkish cafe they have built in the famous Tuileries gardens near the Louvre. One of the waitresses brought out huge boxes full of MAVI BONCUK. That's the Turkish name for the evil eye.

In this case, these were boxes full of colorful, hand-blown glass beads.

All the women at the cafe, plus any guys who were interested, got to sit down on little stools and fluffy cushions to fashion our own necklaces and bracelets out of these beads.

I found this at least as relaxing as spinning on my heels for hours on end. And I ended up with a lovely blue and white necklace and a pink and green bracelet!

Thanks Turkey!

Morning glory

Patriceinparis — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 14:04:19 GMT

I first noticed it this weekend as I sat outside savoring my home-made fresh-vanilla-bean latte on the terrace under a Parisian sky.

My Morning Glories were in bloom!

I have an emotional attachment to these viney flowers: My mom, who died when I was 9, had planted them to climb a trellis next to the porch swing at our Iowa home. I grew up loving these flowers and their spectacular blue shade and to this day they are a symbol of her spirit.

So when I saw the seed packet months ago at a local shop in the Place de Clichy, I snapped them up, sprinkled them around and waited.

The blooms were a thrilling surprise and just made my day.

I also like this painting, called Woman with Morning Glories in Her Hair, by the French artist,

Jules Joseph Lefebvre (1836–1911).

So I decided to learn more about the flowers and share here what Wikipedia has to say!

(By the way, does anyone who was around in the 1960's remember chewing on these seeds for a little buzz? Two of my co-workers both claim this effect....)

From Wikipedia: Habit

The flower usually lasts for a single morning and dies in the afternoon. On a cloudy day, the flower may last until night. New flowers bloom each day. The flowers usually start to fade a couple of hours before the petals start showing visible curling. They prefer full sun throughout the day and mesic soils. Some morning glories, such as Ipomoea muricata, are night blooming flowers.

In some places such as Australian bushland, morning glories develop thick roots and tend to grow in dense thickets. They can quickly spread by way of long creeping stems. By crowding out, blanketing and smothering other plants, morning glory has turned into a serious invasive weed problem.

[edit] Cultivation

In cultivation, most are treated as perennial plants in frost-free areas and as annual plants in colder climates, but some species tolerate winter cold. There are some species which are strictly annual (eg. I. nil), producing many seeds, and some perennial species (eg. I. indica) which are propagated by cuttings. Some moonflowers, which flower at night, are also in the morning glory family.

Because of their fast growth, twining habit, attractive flowers, and tolerance for poor, dry soils, some morning glories are excellent vines for creating summer shade on building walls when trellised, thus keeping the building cooler and reducing heating and cooling costs.

Popular varieties in contemporary western cultivation include "Sunspots", "Heavenly Blue", the moonflower, the cypress vine, and the cardinal climber. The cypress vine is a hybrid, with the cardinal climber as one parent.

[edit] History

Ipomoea purpurea in Loganville, Georgia

Morning glory was first known in China for its medicinal uses, due to the laxative properties of its seeds. It was introduced to the Japanese in the 9th century, and they were first to cultivate it as an ornament. A rare brownish-coloured variant known as Danjuro is very popular. During the Edo Period, it became a very popular ornamental flower. Aztec priests in Mexico were also known to use the plant's hallucinogenic properties. (see Rivea corymbosa).

Ancient Mesoamerican civilizations used the morning glory species Ipomoea alba to convert the latex from the Castilla elastica tree and also the guayule plant to produce bouncing rubber balls. The sulfur in the morning glory's juice served to vulcanize the rubber, a process pre-dating Charles Goodyear's discovery by at least 3,000 years.^[1]

[edit] Culinary uses

Ipomoea aquatica, known as water spinach, water morning-glory, water convolvulus, Ong-Choy, Kang-kung, or swamp cabbage, is popularly used as a green vegetable especially in East and Southeast Asian cuisines. It is a Federal Noxious Weed, however, and technically it is illegal to grow, import, possess, or sell within the USA. See: USDA weed factsheet. As of 2005, the state of Texas has acknowledged that water spinach is a highly prized vegetable in many cultures and has allowed water spinach to be grown for personal consumption. This is in part because water spinach is known to have been grown in Texas for more than fifteen years and has not yet escaped cultivation.^[2] The fact that it goes by so many names means that it easily slips through import inspections, and it is often available in Asian or specialty produce markets

What's for dinner in Paris

Patriceinparis — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 11:01:05 GMT

Here's where i'll be heading tonight on by Velib rental bike to meet Sarah, a friend who hails from Omaha. At least this place is open: must be the Anglo influence!

(And thanks to Alexander Lobrano for the review!)

Frenchie: A Terrific Modern Bistro

Though the name, Frenchie, is cloying without being cute and also perpetuates some much loved but completely daft idea the French have that English speakers refer to them as Frenchies, this vest-pocket bistro in the Sentier, or old Paris garment district, is a delightful spot with really excellent food. Gregory Marchand, the Nantes born chef-owner, works in a tiny kitchen in the back of a exposed stone and red-brick dining room that could easily be found in Nolita (NYC) or Shoreditch (London), and the vibe is similarly Anglo-American, which makes sense, because Greg mostly recently did a stint at Danny Meyer's sublime Gramercy Tavern and worked at Jamie Oliver's 15 before that.

The short market menu offers two starters, two mains, a cheese plate and two desserts, and it changes often, which is a good thing, since this place has already acquired a dedicated crowd of young regulars. Waiting for Nadine to arrive, I drank a glass of very good Bossard Muscadet and studied the wine list, which is impressive, including Pic Saint Loup de Mas Foulaquier, a lovely Spanish Rueda, several outstanding cotes du Rhone.

Though the smoked trout with green, purple and wild asparagus sounded good, it was a cool, wet May night, so we both began with an excellent cream of celery soup that was laddled over croutons, a slice of foie gras and a coddled egg to create comfort food at its very best. Next, some of the best brandade de morue (flaked salt cod with potatoes and garlic), I've ever had. Marchard's version was wonderfully creamy, and came with vivid swirls of red pepper puree and parsley jus, both of which flattered the cod. The other main course was a paleron de boeuf, or braised beef, with carrots, and it looked quite tasty on our neighbor's table, too.

I ordered the cheese plate--a nice chevre and a slice of Tomme with a small salad and a dab of honey, to finish off our Rueda, one of my favorite everyday white wines, and Nadine succumbed to the chocolate tart, which was also excellent and came with raspberry puree.

Because the atmosphere's so cosy and the food's so good, Frenchie is exactly the type of happy, homey restaurant you'd love to claim as your neighborhood hang-out. It also offers an interesting snap shot of Paris dining in 2009 because it's main references are two countries that were once derided for their mediocre, even ghastly food--the United States and the United Kingdom--but which have now developed distinctive cuisine du marche styles of their own.

It's telling, too, that this Spring's two best new Paris restaurants--Frenchie and Yam'Tcha (see my previous posting)--have young chefs who returned home after cooking abroad (Adeline Grattard of Yam'Tcha worked in Hong Kong for several years), and that Battersea, Boston, and Bangkok are as likely to be a source of inspiration for ambitious young French chefs today as Bordeaux or Blois.

Frenchie, 5 rue du Nil, 2nd, Tel. 01-40-39-96-19. Metro: Sentier

Yam'Tcha, 4 rue Sauval, 1^st, Tel. 01-40-26-08-07. Metro: Louvre-Rivoli

Peace and Quiet in Paris

Patriceinparis — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 22:20:23 GMT

Can you imagine going to your local Walgreens and being greeted with a sign that says they are on vacation for, oh, the next six weeks?

Or that you can't make a doctor, dentist, or even haircut appointment, because of course, this is France and they are all about to take a MONTH off?

YES, SILLY SEASON IS STARTING ALREADY IN PARIS.

Normally businesses didnt used to start to close up shop until Áugust 1st, but whether it's the financial crisis or just the itch to skip this grey-sky town, shops are already starting to roll up the carpet in my neighborhood.

Take my Cambodian drug store owners down the road. This is where I buy my cards to recharge my French cell phone. I went there last week and there, on the front door, was a paper taped at an imperfect slant, as if someone were in a real hurry: FERME or closed, for vacation. The nice English-Chinese-and French-speaking family of four are proably in Hong Kong seeing friends as I write this.

Half a block away, my local gyros restaurant had a similar note: closed until Sept. 3rd. These guys are taking six weeks off to go hang on the beach in Southern Turkey.

Yesterday was my marketing day, so I rounded up lots of fruits and veggies and crossed the Blvd. des Batignolles to go to my favorite Moroccan chicken seller. This guy has a spit-roaster full of golden hens, spiced with some secret mix from the Mahgreb of cumin and cinnamon and secrets he won't divulge.

But no: Ferme, ferme, ferme. He's on some lounge chair in Fez, no doubt, watching suntanned beauties in the pool.

So while I am tempted to curse and complain about the French and the fact they aren't always there for me when I need them, I realized that not one of these businesses is actually run by a French person: these are all immigrants, living the French dream of a month off in the summer. These people came here from all corners of the work, they all work long hours and this may be their only chance to see their homeland or their loved ones all year.

So Bonnes Vacances I say. I can wait until September for my next Moroccan chicken.