Waiting for Paris

We're at it again.

2005-05-02T15:15:00.000-05:00

Check it out, y'all. We're headin' to Italy! And in three weeks, no less!

Eating Paris - Taillevent

2004-10-22T22:25:00.000-05:00

We took the advice of one of our guidebooks, which states that no matter where you eat in Paris, you must allow yourself a single “break the bank” meal at one of the finer haute cuisine restaurants in the city. After doing a little research, we had decided that this meal was to be at Taillevent in the 8th arrondisement.

Taillevent is widely regarded as a “temple of gastronomy” and is ranked by most sources as either the best restaurant in Paris, or tied for best restaurant with a handful of others. We anticipated this meal to be the culinary high point of our Paris trip. Good or bad, outstanding or not, it will have been an accomplishment to eat there.

First, though, we needed reservations. Understanding that the owner prefers to retain a population of 60% French each evening, and not wanting to stumble our way through the reservation process in our broken language, we asked the owner of the apartment that we were renting, Eric, to make the reservation for us, as he was fluent in French. Without hesitation, he soon emailed us and said that we had reservations at Taillevent for 8pm on Friday, October 22.

This evening, after a taxi ride at breakneck speeds through Paris to the 8th arrondisement, we arrived, more than a little late, at the door to Taillevent. Immediately, the establishment’s reputation for service was apparent. We were greeted at the door, and I noticed that one of the gentlemen had a small sheet in his hand, upon which was written the reservations for that evening. They had been waiting for us.

We were shown to our table and given our menus. Immediately, the owner, Monsieur Vrinat, came over, and recognizing us as Americans, offered to translate the entire menu for us and to answer any questions we may have had. He was extremely patient, going through each item and offering to begin again at the top of the menu. As we often do when we want to try a variety of the kitchen’s offerings, we decided to have the tasting menu. We ordered a bottle of wine, which was decanted at our tableside by candle.

The courses:

- Crème de tourteau rafraichie a la coriander -

- Epeautre du pays de Sault en risotto -

- Rouget barbet poele -

- Agneau roti au piment d’Espelette -

- Chevre frais -

- Saint Honore a l’ananas, glace citronnelle -

- Croquant au chocolat et noisettes grilles -

I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that I no longer have recollection of each individual dish that was served, other than to say that they were all outstanding. From a food perspective, however, I can honestly say that, while the food at Taillevent was excellent, it is likely matched elsewhere in the city of Paris and for less euro. That being said, I would also submit that Taillevent is unlikely to be surpassed in terms of service and attention to detail.

One would think that, being one of the most highly regarded, historically significant culinary institutions in Paris, the staff at Taillevent would be, to some degree, snobby, stuffy, or overly formal (and arguably, rightfully so). We were very pleased to see that this was not the case at all. From the moment we crossed the threshold into the foyer, our well-being was completely in capable hands. The sommelier, when I had specified how much we had wanted to spend on a bottle of wine, was gracious and accommodating in his suggestion even though our budget precluded the majority of the cellar’s selections. Our bread plates never remained empty for longer than thirty seconds, our napkins were carefully refolded each time one of us would leave the table, and the waitstaff who served us were all personable and appeared to genuinely love what they did.

At the end of the evening, M. Vrinat attended to us and asked us how everything was. We told him that it was one of the best meals we had ever had, and we requested a copy of the menu as a keepsake. Imagine our surprise when M. Vrinat presented my wife not with a copy, but with an actual service menu, which he had personally autographed.

In summary, while there are other places in Paris where you could find food of equal caliber, as far as service is concerned, Taillevent is flawless and definitely recommended for a special occasion (such as being in Paris).

You Gotta Have Art

2004-10-20T16:34:00.000-05:00

Let me be the first to say this – the Louvre has too much art. Way, way, way too much art. Too much art to really appreciate in a single visit, much less even an entire week’s worth of visits if you were to do that. So, that being said, we ended up viewing a small portion of the museum’s 30,000 exhibits and still had a fun time of it. Disclaimer – I know absolutely nothing about art – didn’t study it in engineering school, didn’t study it in law school. So, in a way, I missed a whole lot when we visited the Louvre, but I wouldn’t know it anyway. Here’s a guy wrestling a lion, there’s a woman missing her arms. Hey, Mona Lisa, I know you! Plus more oil paintings than you can shake a stick at. Shake, shake, shake.

30,000 is a huge number of pieces, and my first impression upon entering the Louvre is that they’ve managed to stuff art EVERYWHERE. Large sculptures sitting in small rooms off of main rooms containing even more sculptures, small sculptures sitting in glass cases by the dozens, big paintings taking up entire walls, and small paintings taking up smaller walls.

It’s enough art to knock you out. Literally.

Additionally, there are non-sculpture, non-painting exhibits, such as the apartments of Napoleon Bonaparte (which I have bastardized as “Napoleon Bonapartment” several times already) which show the opulence of the era. Lots of gold. Lots of velvet couches. Pictures are available, but we’ll save the bandwidth for now, so you’ll just have to wait to see them.

Just as interesting as the artwork is the variety of people that you see in the Louvre. First, you have, of course, the huge tour groups which you just have to spend all of your time maneuvering around – French tours, English tours, Japanese tours. You can spot them by the tour guide with the funny brightly colored stick/umbrella/sign. Then you have the tourists who want to see absolutely everything, and who run (literally run) up to a painting, snap a photo, then run off to the next exhibit. Tires me just to watch them.

Then there are the SERIOUS ART STUDENTS, sitting on the floor with notepads, listening to their teacher talk about the guy wrestling a lion and taking many, many notes.

Oh, did I mention the Louvre spans about a half of a mile? With three floors?

The guidebooks are all correct, though, in that if you don’t want to wait in line to get into the Louvre, it’s best to enter the reception area (which is more like Grand Central Station than a “reception” area) from the underground entrance from the Metro. When we left through the main surface entrance by the Pyramid, there was a huge line waiting to get in. By contrast, we just got off the Metro, walked into the lobby and bought tickets using the ticket machine. No lines, no waiting.

The Louvre and dinner at Au Gourmand de L'Ile.

2004-10-20T09:50:00.000-05:00

We managed to get an earlier start today than we did yesterday, when we woke up at 1 pm. Ah, the joys of jet lag.

Today we're going to hit the Louvre, but first we're going to find a web cafe where we might check mail and update the blog. If we're lucky, they'll have WiFi access so we can upload some pictures from the laptop, too.

2:08 p.m.

Yay! We found an internet cafe, and after a little bit of hassle in figuring out how to post pictures to the blog, we got through it.

Then came the one mistake we've made thus far in our Parisian vacation: since neither of us had yet eaten, and since it was nearly noon, we decided to eat crêpes for lunch. The mistake we made was assuming we could each eat a whole crêpe. Needless to say, we were completely wrong, and even now, two hours later, I'm still stuffed.

At this moment I am sitting in the Louvre, having just jostled my way to the front of the crowd to see the Mona Lisa. It was lovely, but the stampede really kind of detracted from it. Or rather, the herd-like atmosphere around the painting made it virtually impossible to fully appreciate it.

The funny thing about visiting the Louvre is that I find myself more taken with the beauty of the architecture here than the paintings and sculptures it houses. It really is a sight to behold.

5:38 p.m

Well, we have "done" the Louvre in as much as two people can "do" this gargantuan museum in the course of four hours. We've seen so much, and yet we've barely seen a fraction of all of the works here. Aside from La Jaconde, we saw Winged Victory, about a million paintings of the French and Italian masters, a good number of which I recognized (although not to the extent that I could tell you who painted them or what they were called), countless sculptures, and the Napoleon Apartments in the northern wing. The Napoleon Apartments were both beautiful and excessively opulent, as you'd expect.

One thing I learned about myself in viewing all of these priceless works of art is that I am definitely more of a sculpture girl rather than a paintings girl. I know that's a terribly facile thing to say, but time and time again I found myself awed by the many sculptures. The paintings were gorgeous, to be sure, and I treasure the little thrill that comes from actually recognizing a piece, but on the whole they just didn't move me as much. I'm sure if I had been an art history major I'd be singing a different tune.

Derek and I are both feeling art-ed out, and just as we left the Louvre the skies opened, so I think we'll head back to the apartment to dry out and rest up before venutring out for dinner. Tonight we'll make our third attempt at eating at Au Gourmand de l'Ile, a bistro that we've read some really great things about. It was closed on Monday and Tuesday, so hopefully tonight we'll get our shot.

11:29 p.m.
Wednesday night dinner: Au Gourmand de L'Ile

Derek had:
- Duck foie gras
- Rabbit roasted with mushrooms
- Pears stewed in red wine

Jennifer had:
- Mussels in a herbed butter sauce
- Seared hallibut served with a pike mousse
- Profiteroles

Dinner, Tuesday Night

2004-10-19T22:22:00.000-05:00

Where: Les Fous d'en Face (The fools across the way).

Derek had:
- Onion soup
- Roasted duck
- Cheese plate

Jennifer had:
- Shirred eggs, which I had never had before. They were sort of like poached eggs, served in a ramekin with a vinegary sauce and toast strips on the side. They were delicious.
- Roasted bass with couscous. Simple, elegant, and really tasty.
- Chocolate torte

The highlight of our meal wasn't our meal though (although it was definitely outstanding). Rather, shortly after we ordered a family of four was seated next to us. It quickly became obvious that they were vacationing from London. They slogged their way through the all-French menu, and while they did a better job than we did without the help of a menu dictionary (which we had), they still had some difficulty. The young daughter offered to go back to the room to get their dictionary, so Derek offered them the use of ours.

We got to chatting, first about the menu, and then about lots of other things. They were a delightful family: Steve and Alice and their two kids, Edward and Amelia, were vacationing in Paris for four days. During the course of our respective meals we talked about so much, from The Office to the differences between the British and American educational systems to our shared disgust with with the leaders of both of our countries. They really were lovely people, and I have to say that their two kids were absolutely charming and extremely well-behaved. I hope the rest of their holiday was terrific.

Fauchon, the Champs-Elysées, and the Arc de Triomphe

2004-10-19T16:37:00.000-05:00

Today we started later than I wanted, but in the end it was probably better that we rested. Our first stop was to Place de la Madeline, where we found Fauchon, a gourmet shop that makes Williams-Sonoma and Dean & Deluca look like your local Acme market. They have all sorts of delights for the palate in there: dozens of kinds of foie gras, pâtés, fruit preserves, honeys from all over France, seasonings from all over the globe, and more mustards than I ever knew existed. I mean, before today the mustards of my world have pretty much fallen into one of two categories: yellow and dijon. I must have counted at least a half dozen different kinds on the shelves -- herbes de provence mustard, mushroom mustard, truffle mustard, curry mustard... it was amazing. I have no doubt that we will be dropping some serious coin in that shop before our vacation is over.

I also had my first Parisian café au lait this morning, and y'all, I have to say: if American coffee tasted like this, I would drink it every waking moment. Holy cow.

Later in the day we walked up the entire Champs-Elysées, Paris's busiest street, and we started at the Place de la Concorde. The Champs-Elysées has a beautiful, tree-lined garden path for pedestrians that stretches about halfway up the Champs. The last half is filled with huge stores -- Louis Vuitton, Sephora, and even a few American retailers like Gap and Nike. Our merchant of choice, however, was definitely Parisian: Ladurée, the legendary pastry house and tea salon. There we paused to share a fantastic citron macaron (worthy of its own entry and explanation).

The garden path along the Champs-Elysées

The Champs-Elysées

The many delights of Ladurée

We took the underground tunnel to the Arc de Triomphe, which was awe-inspiring (the Arc, not the tunnel. The tunnel was rather ordinary). The Arc de Triomphe sits at the center of an enormous traffic circle, which is formed by something like twelve streets coming together. This is called L'Étoile, or The Star, because when viewed from above it looks just like that. The traffic around the Arc is positively terrifying, and to attempt to cross it on foot would certainly be lethal. Which is why the city very kindly installed a tunnel that goes under L'Étoile to the Arc, lest insane Parisian drivers make pâté of the tourists.

L'Arc de Triomphe

The Arc was just stunning, but the part I was really looking forward to was the view from the top, and to get there you have to climb the stairs. All 280-some-odd of them, up a narrow spiral staircase. And that, my dear friends and family, was EXHAUSTING. We started out strong, but by step 89 or so we were definitely feeling the burn. And by step 189 we were ready for it all to be over. Mercifully we did eventually reach the top, or at least the large room at the top of the Arc, and the brilliant custodians of the Arc had the foresight to place plenty of long, cushioned benches to provide all the weary stair-climbers som much-needed rest. It was pretty funny seeing so many people trying so hard to hide their windedness.

The endless spiral staircase inside L'Arc

Before we went outside we took a moment to take in the exhibit that graced the room. There were pictures celebrating the liberation of Paris, all of which were taken by men and women who were right in the thick of all the action. From there we headed to the observation deck of L'Arc, and the view was, as promised, just breathtaking. Unfortunately, the camera battery crapped out after just a few pictures, although to be fair the last time we charged it (God bless rechargable batteries!) was before leaving, so I have no room to complain.

View from the top of the Arc

We're now headed home to rest a bit, and then we'll try to eat the bistro that was closed last night.

Eating Paris – La Taverne du Sergent Recruteur

2004-10-18T22:50:00.000-05:00

After having received the keys to the apartment and napping for a couple of hours, the effects of the shared ham and cheese crepe that we had eaten from the street vendor had subsided. Hungry and excited at the prospect of our first night out in Paris, we walked to Ile St. Louis with the expectation of eating at Au Gourmand de L’Ile. After trekking across the bridge to the island, however, we realized, in consulting the guidebook for the street number, that Au Gourmand de L’Ile is closed on Mondays.

We began wandering the streets of Ile St. Louis and happened upon an attractive row of bistros. Examining each restaurant’s posted offerings, we met a man smoking a cigarette outside of La Taverne du Sergent Recruteur who, as luck would have it, had also ventured out onto the island to eat at Au Gourmand de L’Ile, found it closed, and was now eating here. He smiled as he took a drag on his cigarette, “It’s pretty good in here.” We did not need any further encouragement.

The hostess, a pretty woman in red, greeted us warmly and immediately showed us to a table. Recognizing us as Americans, she presented the menus and explained, in English, that our only responsibility was to select our main entrees. I chose the boeuf bourguignon, and Jennifer went with the entrecote frites (steak and fries) accompanied by a béarnaise sauce.

As Jennifer stepped away from the table, one of the waiters arrived with a basket of saucisson and a second basket filled with various items of farm fresh produce, in addition to freshly sliced bread. In an interesting and amusing turn, he then presented me with a wooden cutting board and a knife. The waiter also set down a plate of thick country pate and a bowl of cornichons. Jennifer came back.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a basket of sausages. I think we can have as much as we want.”

And with that, I proceeded to slice samples off of each of the more than six types of saucisson, and through trial and error we discovered which casings were edible and which were not. Along the way, the hostess presented us with a bottle of the house red wine, telling us that we could have all the wine we wanted, as it was included in the price of the meal.

After having our fill of saucisson, and not even taking of the basket of vegetables, the waiter removed the baskets and a small tureen of autumn vegetable soup was brought to the table. The soup was a simple puree of mixed vegetables and stock, thick and hearty. It is very good that we were very hungry.

After the empty soup tureen was cleared from the table, we had some time to take in our surroundings. The bistro draws inspiration from a rustic medieval tavern, soft light adorning walls made from rough stone, curved archways, and a suit of armor overlooking the bar by the front door. Diners sat at heavy tables made from dark wood, with parties ranging from intimate couples to boisterous crowds of eight or more.

Our entrees soon arrived. The boeuf bourguignon presented itself beautifully – a single steak, stewed until was tender enough to cut with a fork, set in a pool of sauce of deep burgundy wine. Accompanied by tender sautéed green beans and some of the most wonderful potatoes I have ever had, the beef proved to be exactly the kind of entrée that I would have wanted as my first meal in Paris.

Jennifer’s entrecote, a hand-sized portion of grilled steak paired with fried potato wedges, was launched into the realm of phenomenal by the small cup of béarnaise sauce that came with it. Having always known béarnaise sauce as a rich accompaniment that was poured over steak, being faced with the true item in Paris was a different experience altogether. This béarnaise, rather than resembling a sauce, was more like mayonnaise – thick, specked with tarragon, and spread luxuriously across each bite of steak just before eating.

The next course was our introduction to a standard part of Parisian bistro fare – the cheese course. The hostess brought a plate of assorted cheeses to our table, consisting of six different pieces of camembert, brie, and bleu cheese. Just as we did with the saucisson, we worked our way around the plate, rotating and slicing and sampling each cheese with the remainder of the bread. When we had had our fill of the cheese course, the hostess returned with our menus so that we could make our dessert selections.

I chose the selection of chocolate and coconut ice cream, and Jennifer selected the crème caramel. The ice cream, which was exceptional, was surpassed by the crème caramel, which consisted of a creamy custard covering a layer of deeply caramelized sugar. When mixed together, the combination of flavors was astounding.

La Taverne du Sergent Recruteur, fortunately, turned out to be a very good random pick for us. Between the friendly reception, the copious amount of hearty food, and the wonderful feeling of having finally arrived in Paris, the bistro will always be a warm memory of the start of an amazing journey.

The worst thing. And the fun that followed.

2004-10-18T12:40:00.000-05:00

The worst thing, the absolute worst thing, about traveling to someplace new, especially to somewhere you're excited to be, is not the trip itself, or customs, or any of that stuff. It's the period of time between when you get your bags and when you actually start looking around. That's the intollerable part.

Classic example: we waited for what seemed like forever for our Air France shuttle, which would take us into town. We saw about four dozen Air France buses, but none of these was the one we needed. It finally arrived, but then it took ages to get out of the airport (several stops besides ours) and even after that we had to slog through horrific traffic. The one really pleasant part of all that was seeing our first surise in Paris. Very beautiful.

Sunrise in Paris

Anyway, we arrived at the apartment a full hour after we had said we'd meet Eric, the owner of the apartment. We eventually figured out which building was ours, but of course, no Eric. In my terrible French I asked a woman if this was building no. 61, and she confirmed it was. She sort of knew who Eric was, inasmuch as she had an apartment in the same building. Thankfully she took pity on us, and offered the use of her telephone to ring him.

I have no doubt that her part of the conversation went something like, "Mr. Guillouard? I have two pathetic Americans who are here for you." Heh.

Nevertheless, Eric showed up promptly, let us store our bags, and then we agreed to meet again at 2, the check-in time.

Our first stop was Notre Dame, which was maybe a two-minute walk away from the flat. Seriously. You walk out of the front door, turn left, walk twenty paces, and turn left again, and you're facing the Pont D'Arcole, which leads you right in front of Notre Dame, whose proud towers rise above the buildings in the foreground. We did a brief tour of Notre Dame (we're saving the tour of the bell tower until later), and in a lovely bit of serendipity, we arrived just as the noon mass had begun.

For as long as I live, I will never, ever forget the moment I stood at the back of the cathedral, listening to the priest offer songs of thanksgiving in French, and when I was struck with the realization that I was in Notre Dame. Notre Dame! I was there! Right there! My heart nearly popped out of my chest, and I might have gotten a little weepy.

Exterior front of Notre Dame. They're building a big cross in front of Notre Dame, so I don't know if I'll be able to get a picture of the entire building. Hmph.

Detail of some of the figures that decorate the front of Notre Dame

Detail of a votive candle in Notre Dame

A sculpture backlit by the marvelous stained glass windows of Notre Dame

No sleep 'till Paris

2004-10-18T06:47:00.000-05:00

11:17 p.m. EST / 5:17 p.m. Paris

The $8.00 satin sleepmask from Bath & Body Works, the nifty free earplugs from Air France, and all the desire and determination I have to beat (or at least minimize) the inevitable jet leg are proving utterly worthless.

I counted backwards from 1000 -- a favorite trick of mine when I have insomnia that works 90% of the time. I did calculations in my head, because math will almost always put me to sleep faster than anything. I sang the entire score of Chicago (also in my head. Fellow passengers: you're welcome!)

Still no good. Still awake.

Next up: DaVinci Code on audio book. I should have picked something duller.

1:47 a.m. EST / 7:47 a.m. Paris

We've begun our final descent. My numerous attempts at sleep were essentially unsuccessful, sadly. Which is weird, because I've been able to sleep on planes before with little trouble. And then the one time I actually need to sleep on the plane it just doesn't happen. Oh well.

P.S. We're traveling at 600 mph and it's -61F outside. How amazing is that?

Eating Paris - A Prefatory Comment

2004-10-18T01:45:00.000-05:00
Let me tell you about the food in Paris.

We have a steadily growing number of scribbled notes about the meals that we have enjoyed here in Paris, and over the next few entries you will read more detailed accounts of the things that I have stuffed into my maw over this past week. But, you deserve a summary.

In Paris, even the street food is amazing. Our very first Parisian food experience was the purchase of a ham and cheese crêpe from a vendor, whom we found crammed between two souvenir stands near Notre Dame.

What we know as crêpe are not crêpe. This stuff was amazing. A doughy round of crêpe, filled with ham and swiss cheese, carefully folded into a little cone shape and slid into a wax paper holder. Biting into one is like biting into a soft flour tortilla, with better quality ham than you’ve ever tasted and a truckload of melted cheese along for the ride.

As expected, bread and pastries absolutely rule here. The croissants in our little Marais neighborhood patisserie are worlds better than the ones that we picked up at the more popular bakery near the tourist trap of Notre Dame. All of the pigeons in Paris are very plump, not surprisingly.

There is very little in the way of printed menus. Since a lot of the cuisine is based on what is fresh at the market that day, many of the bistros that we have visited have their menus written in chalk on a board. You sit down, they show you the board, you pick a first, second, and third course, and they take the board away.

Other thoughts:

- I have never seen porcini mushrooms the size of portobellos before.

- Artisanal cheeses, which are treated like gold and priced accordingly in the United States, are sold for very little here, because they are expected parts of the standard French meal.

- Wine is much less expensive in Paris.

- Dining is more enjoyable when the menu is prix fixe and the tip is included in the total bill (service compris). No math is required to eat in Paris.

- Once we return home, I will never again be able to purchase wine or cheese without feeling as if I am being overcharged.

Big Ol' Jet Airliner

2004-10-17T20:01:00.000-05:00
After packing, cleaning, driving to the airport, and enduring a horrendous wait to get through security, I finally feel like we’re on vacation.

Only a few hundred miles out of Philadelphia, and with five hours, eleven minutes, and some thousands of miles to go until our arrival in Paris, Air France has already prejudiced me against domestic air travel.

Shortly after settling into our seats, we were presented with a small courtesy package, free of charge, which included a sleep mask, ear plugs, headphones, and mints. Then, they handed out something that I haven’t seen in a long time – a menu. Coq au Vin beats peanuts and trail mix anyday.

Air France features video monitors built into the seatbacks, offering on-demand movies, games, and flight information telling you where the flight is in relation to your departure and arrival cities, how fast the plane is moving, and how many miles and minutes you have left until arrival.

Tonight, we were served Coq au Vin, Salad Nicoise, a wedge of Camembert, bread, lemon cake, vanilla pudding, spring water, and complementary red wine.

I can now attest to the fact that red wine makes turbulence tolerable. Oh, and hey, they gave us trail mix, too!

On the plane

2004-10-17T17:47:00.000-05:00
6:47p.m. EST / 12:47 a.m. Paris
They're counting the number of passengers right now, just to make sure everyone's here. The announcement was first made in French, and I will totally cop to getting a little giddy when I heard it.

Of course, I didn't understand a word past "Madames et Messieurs," but I was thrilled just the same.

I have set my watch to Parisian time, and I'm bustin' out my new eyeshades as soon as we take off. Both of these things I learned from an anti-jetlag site that I looked up this morning. I'll let you know in eight hours if the suggestions worked out very well.

Good Morning

2004-10-17T06:48:00.000-05:00
It's a little past 7:30am, which is early for us to be up on a Sunday. After a solid eight and a half hours of sleep, I'm not sure when the next block of sleep will come, because Paris is six hours ahead of Eastern Standard. In practical terms, that means that when we touch down at 8:25am Paris time on Monday, it will still be 2:30am by my watch.

Option one would be to sleep when we settle into our apartment in the Marais, but then naps would turn into full blown sleep and then we'll wake up and it will be past midnight local time. Funny to think that if we did that, we could still find a full blown dinner somewhere nearby.

Option two is to stay up until everyone else in France goes to sleep, which, given the level of excitement and adrenaline in my veins, is probably the more practical alternative. Full blown dinner still on the agenda.

Even though our flight isn't until 7:15 tonight, we're still planning on heading into Philadelphia early so that we can catch some food before getting to the airport. I was tempted to grab a cheesesteak as my last American meal before Paris, but decided to give our digestive systems a reprieve and instead we are going to Tria. Tria is a little wine bar downtown that offers small plates, cheeses, wines, and beer. Their menu format is admirable - a clipboard with five sheets on it, each one dedicated to either food, cheese, wine, or beer, with appropriately understandable category descriptions such as "stinky", "zippy", and "funky".

Time to pack. Gotta go!

Anticipation.

2004-10-12T11:10:00.000-05:00
Five days and counting! I’m terribly excited just to write those words, but the truth is that I keep forgetting that oh yeah, on SUNDAY we are flying to Paris. I can’t help but wonder if that’s some sort of self-preservational bit on my part, because if I really stopped to think about this trip coming up, I would be absolutely useless at work. I wouldn’t be able to sit still, I wouldn’t get any work done at all. It would be a mess. So instead I force that bit of knowledge and anticipation back down and focus on the mundane. For now.

It’s been an interesting five months since we bought the tickets and our hazy plans of “going to France sometime this year” crystallized in a spectacularly rapid fashion. I lost my grandfather. I turned thirty. I had friends and family visit throughout the summer. I trimmed a lot of the excess baggage from my life, which wasn’t easy but I am so much happier for it, and my sole regret is that I didn’t do it sooner. I’ve made an amazing new friend. I celebrated eight unbelievably happy years with Derek, and while we are in Paris we will pass the eleventh anniversary of when he first wrote me.

I’ve been obsessively checking the Paris 10-day forecast, which right now is predicting light rain for most of the week, but I really don’t care. Even if there’s a torrential downpour for every single moment that I breathe Parisian air, it won’t matter to me, because I will never forget that I am in one of the most beautiful, magical cities in the world with the man I love, and life just doesn’t get any better than that, folks.

In a Paris State of Mind

2004-10-09T19:17:00.000-05:00
I really thought that I would have slipped into vacation mind sometime this coming Thursday or Friday. Turns out, I was wrong, because it started yesterday when work ended. The only problem is, we've still got another week of work to get through. So, what's there to talk about since last time? Hmmm.

First, I have to give credit to Google's translation service, it makes reading restaurant reviews on French websites much easier. I have a little mental list of spots that I'd like to hit, although I readily admit that we will, from time to time, probably just be impulsive after reviewing a menu posted outside of a restaurant.

We've upgraded our digital camera from our old clunky 2 megapixel Kodak to a shiny new 4 megapixel Canon Elph. When we are in Paris, I specifically wanted to get as much detail as possible into our photos, so I am setting our camera to large file sizes and no compression. More megapixels, though, also means larger file sizes and thus our 128Mb Compactflash card would have been quite cramped when combined with the 4 megapixel camera.

So, off onto the information superhighway went I, and I found a killer deal on a 1 gigabyte Compactflash card. Sticking it into the digital camera, it turns out we'll be able to fit 491 pictures before needing to dump to the laptop. Funny thing is, when we put the same CF card into our old 2 megapixel camera, the readout indicates that we can store 8,500 shots.

I exchanged some dollars for euro with a coworker who recently returned from Normandy, at a better exchange rate than that which is offered at the local travel services office. I had no idea that the euro coin came in eight denominations.

Oh, and I bought a plug adapter.

Eight days left to go!

Odd Little Parisian Fact #2

2004-09-19T20:24:00.000-05:00
The catacombs of Paris, which house the skeletal remains of some 7 million people that were relocated in 1786, consist of a series of networked tunnels that run underneath the city. Although tours of the catacombs are available, the majority of the tunnel network is off-limits to the public and, for all official purposes, closed. The notion of an underground network of tunnels made from skulls and bones is not the odd little Parisian fact for today, although I admit that it could and very well should be.

Catacombs

No, the odd little Parisian fact is that earlier this month, the police discovered a fully operational movie theater and restaurant in a previously uncharted cavern in the catacombs. It even had telephone service. The next day, when the police went to try to see where the electrical and phone wires led to, both lines had been cut, and a note was left that stated, simply:

"Do not try to find us."

The link to the full news article can be found here. Credit to Jason Stone for the initial heads-up on this story, and for enduring my persistent emails to the tune of "Will my ATM card work in Paris?"

Borders Customer of the Month

2004-09-17T14:51:00.000-05:00
I have way too many guidebooks for this trip. I'm about to buy a few more.

It all started with the Frommers Paris 2004 guide. Frommers has always been our mainstay, and the Frommers series has dutifully gotten us through Italy, New Orleans, San Francisco, and a few other places and has never led us astray. In fact, when we were in Italy, Frommers guided us to some really out of the way restaurants where no english was spoken and we managed to get some really good meals just by pointing and gesturing.

The second book, Routard: Paris, was recommended to me by a French coworker who told me that it was the guidebook that everyone in France uses when they visit Paris. Good enough for me. Even though it was out of print, I was able to score a copy from Amazon. Even though Routard is very thorough, it is almost too thorough; the entire book is presented in 10 point font and it reads like a novel. Very informative, but you have to dig, dig, dig.

Enough with the prose, I wanted pictures! So, I picked up the DK Eyewitness Travel Guide: Paris. DK puts out some nicely presented material, with full color illustrations of the primary tourist sites and recommended walking routes. Thanks to the DK guide, I now know what Parisian telephones, ATMs, ambulances, cops, and firemen look like.

Somewhere along the way, I also ended up with Paris by Bistro, which contains mini-reviews of bistros across Paris, organized by arrondisement. The stack grows larger.

I also picked up the Marling Menu Master for France. This is a small, thin booklet that you can carry in your pocket, and it serves a mini-dictionary for menu items. It is very thorough, starting with appetizers and going all the way through to desserts. It also contains descriptions of the various classic french preparations. It is also handy because I can avoid the embarassment of accidentally ordering a boiled calf's head.

I opted not to buy Cheeses of France. Even though it has pictures of virtually every variety of cheese that I am likely to come across while at the Parisian markets, many, if not all, of the cheeses that are profiled in the book are in very limited production, some of them only made by one or two farmers once or twice a year.

What's left? I need a phrasebook, so I can actually have some useful French on hand, instead of things that I make up on the spot, like:

"Je voudrais un tasse de beurre, s'il vous plait" and

"Est ce que poulet mort?"

Staying and eating cheap (but well)

2004-09-09T20:25:00.000-05:00
Someone on the estimable eGullet Paris forum linked to two articles that appeared in the New York Times last week. The authors' goal was to stay and eat in Paris for as little money as possible without sacrificing quality or comfort, and indeed they did so quite nicely. Even if you're not heading to Paris anytime soon, they still make for a fascinating read:

The Left Bank, for Less
Beachcombing on the Right Bank

(Since those are NYT articles, you might have to register, but I believe registration is free.)

Also, Derek and I whetted our appetites for the authentic Parisian bistro experience this past weekend by having breakfast at Balthazar in SoHo. While their brunch is a bit on the pricey side, if you get there before 10:00 a.m. on the weekends their breakfast menu is reasonable and quite delicious. Their breakfast quiche was more like an egg custard pie: silky, rich and flavorful -- far better than the scrambled-eggs-in-a-pie-shell concoction that I'm more familiar with. But the thing that was not to be missed was their bread basket, which boasted an assortment of all sorts of treats from Balthazar's bakery. Brioche that was light and cakey, a marvelously dense raisin and walnut bread, a sticky bun that had a sturdy crust on the outside but was melt-in-your-mouth on the inside. And, needless to say, terrific coffee. Anyway, should you find yourself in New York on a quiet weekend morning, searching for an alternative to the standard eggs and sausage, hie thee to Spring and Broadway. You won't regret it.

Living vicariously

2004-08-16T18:54:00.000-05:00
Eliza is a dear friend of mine (and a marvelous writer) who just got back from cavorting about Europe with her sister for two weeks. She kept a paper journal of her experiences, which she is steadily converting into really fun postings on her site. Obviously, the entries about Paris were the most interesting to me, but I'm looking forward to hearing about all the other places she's traveled, too. The first Paris entry can be found here.

Note to my parents and anyone else who doesn't read personal sites on a regular basis: Subsequent entries can be reached by clicking the "next" arrow at the bottom of the page.

Odd little Parisian fact #1

2004-08-03T11:12:00.000-05:00
(What I hope will be a recurring series on WFP)

Did you know that musicians who wish to busk in the endless passageways of the Paris Metro network must first audition for a permit? It's true. There's a guy whose job is to listen to musicians and select which ones are good enough to perform for the commuters and tourists. Only 300 musicians are selected, and auditions are held every six months. Even the ones who get their permit must reaudition twice a year to assure the officials that there isn't another performer out there who's just a little bit better.

Sidetrip - Borgata Hotel and Casino, Atlantic City

2004-07-27T14:27:00.000-05:00
While we're waiting for Paris, we went to Atlantic City.

Years ago, for as long as I can remember, our family made an annual summer trip to Atlantic City and stayed there for two or three nights. As a teenager, I looked forward to this trip and managed to have a pretty darn good time, walking up and down the boardwalk, playing skeeball, buying fudge, and enjoying summer vacation in the air conditioned comfort of a nice hotel while my parents gambled. When I got older, I was admitted into the dark, smoky recesses of the casinos and picked up roulette and some slots, and that gambling mystique carried me for a few more years.

Sometime after I graduated college, I realized that while I was growing older and evolving as a person, Atlantic City had stayed the same, and not in a good way, like the guy you knew in school who never moved out of his parents’ house and who never had the ambition to make something of himself. The boardwalk had become stagnant to me, with the same t-shirt shops, psychic palm readers, and food joints in the same locations summer after summer.

Seriously, you can only go so many times to Peanut World.

Also, as you get older, your little-kid brain that was so blissfully happy to be on vacation, on a boardwalk, in the sun turns into an adult brain that is fully cognizant of the adult things around you. The boardwalk, as it turns out, is filled with despair and desperation, people who have lost so much money that they are forced to sit around watching the ocean come in, homeless people turned bitter and belligerent from years of begging money off of desperate gamblers who deign to emerge from the casinos. The casinos themselves have become tired parodies of themselves, the equivalent of late-night commercial programming aiming to get your money out of your wallet by shouting in your face. I was so over Atlantic City. A trip to Vegas a couple of years ago only served to put the last nail into AC’s coffin in my mind.

Cue the Borgata Hotel and Casino, which opened last year and which bills itself as a "Vegas" casino in Atlantic City. Last week we spent two days at the Borgata, in celebration of J’s big 30th birthday. While technically not in Atlantic City (the Borgata is at the marina), the casino does serve to bring a badly needed shot in the arm to the AC gaming scene.

We arrived on Thursday evening at around 6:30. Thursday night is a good time to drive to Atlantic City, because you end up missing all of the weekend traffic, both on the roads and also in the hotel itself. As a result, check-in was blissfully uneventful. We asked for an upgrade and were told they did not have any, although I suspect if this were Vegas we might have lucked out. The basic room at the Borgata is large and very comfortable, with king bed, a nice couch, and a working desk with high speed internet access. The bathroom, while not as large as those in the Venetian, was still sizable, brightly lit with a shower the size of a walk-in closet, bench included.

Dinner, at Ombra, the Borgata’s rustic Italian offering, was better than we thought it would be. Veal Saltimbocca turned out to be one of the best renditions we’ve had, and the Pasta Carbonara, made with fresh pasta manufactured on the premises, managed to be both delicate and freaking heavy at the same time. I highly recommend the gelato bar at the Metropolitan Diner.

The next morning, we checked out early due to our spa appointments. I cannot recommend early checkout strongly enough – it turns out, the Borgata will charge you a half-day’s room rate if you miss checkout and are out by 3pm, and if you’re not checked out by 3pm, you’ll get hit for another full day’s rate. We hit the spa, got the services, then managed to spend all day at the Borgata’s two-story indoor pool. Spending an entire day at a pool is something I haven’t done in probably twenty years, but which will now become a new tradition when we go on vacation.

For dinner the second night, we ate at N.O.W., which stands for Noodles of the World. Honestly, they served one of the best asian noodle soups I have had, and for an amazingly low price. This is probably the best food value in the entire hotel.

Combining all of this with the fact that birthday luck enabled us to make a profit off of the blackjack tables made it a memorable birthday weekend. I’m probably still over AC, but I have no doubt that we will be happily returning to the marina soon.

Note - the table minimums at the Borgata really aren't all that minimum. Ten dollar tables are rare, and when the action gets going, those ten dollar tables are quickly turned over to fifteen dollar tables. Check out the very nice poker room downstairs - which, oddly, is entirely nonsmoking.

Mmm. Winter in Europe.

2004-07-21T11:27:00.000-05:00
We already have our tickets, obviously, but if anyone else out there was mulling over a trip to Europe this winter, British Airways has a hell of a sale going on right now for travel starting in November.

Taillevent

2004-07-19T19:13:00.000-05:00
So since we're visiting the undisputed gastronomic capital of the world it's practically a moral imperative that we hit one of the celebrated houses of fine dining. The only problem was picking where to eat. Lasserre, L'Ambroisie, Pierre Gagnaire, La Tour d'Argent, Restaurant Plaza Athénée (Alain Ducasse) ... the list was overwhelming. And, since dinner for two at most of these places is, like, a car payment, it means that this was pretty much a once-in-a-lifetime thing. After extensive reading and weighing all the options, Derek and I decided to go for Taillevent, arguably the grande dame of Parisian haute cuisine.

Named for Taillevent (1310 - 1395), cook to the first Valois kings and author of Le Viandier, one of the oldest cookbooks in history, Taillevent remains a bastion of traditional French cuisine. It's also notoriously difficult to get a table, especially if you're an American, because while the service has a terrific reputation for being warm and friendly, the owner prefers for about 60 percent of his guests to be French. Posters on the eGullet forums had also warned that even if you call (or fax or e-mail) well in advance, the reservation process can be maddeningly Byzantine for non-French speakers. The conventional wisdom was that if you could get someone who speaks French to make your reservation for you, you could greatly increase your chances of getting a reservation.

Thankfully, I had e-mailed a few times back and forth with the owner of the apartment we're renting, and so a week ago I threw myself at his mercy and asked if he might consider making a reservation on our behalf. He graciously agreed to attempt giving them a call, and he said he'd let us know. We didn't care when the reservation was -- the experience of eating dinner there would be amazing regardless of the time or day. I didn't hear anything for several days, but then this morning I had the following e-mail waiting for me:

Jennifer, hello !

I have the pleasure to confirm you the booking of your dinner at Taillevent on October 22th 20:00. The table is booked is booked at my name.

We just shall have to confirm your coming the same day by phone: I shall take it in charge for you.

Best
Eric

We have reservations! At Taillevent! On Friday at 8:00! Holy crap!

The Coolest Thing Ever

2004-07-09T13:49:00.000-05:00
And now for something completely different.

A couple of nights ago, we found ourselves at the Rufus Wainwright/Ben Folds/Guster concert which was held at Festival Pier in Philadelphia. Having arrived early, we managed to get a spot right up front. At one point early into the concert, sometime after Rufus but before Ben Folds, we overheard the following comment from a boyish concertgoer who was absolutely front row, at the rail:

“This is the coolest thing ever!”

which then prompted the following exchange between us:

D: “Do you remember a time when we described something as the “coolest thing ever!?”

J: “Now it’s like, I refinanced my mortgage for zero points, it’s the coolest thing ever!”

D: “Or, my cholesterol dropped by 50 points! It’s the coolest thing ever!”

J: “I got 2.9% financing for my car, it’s the coolest thing ever!”

D: “I increased my 401k contribution, it’s the coolest thing ever!”

D: “I got an ‘MEETS OR EXCEEDS’ on my performance review, it’s the coolest thing ever!”

Performance reviews ought to be like that. Your rating is ‘THE COOLEST THING EVER’. On the other end of the spectrum, if you didn’t perform well for the quarter and didn’t finish your projects, your rating would be ‘LIKE, NOT EVEN’.

Next week, we will officially be Married Couple in Their 30s. It will be the coolest thing, ever.

Mmmmm....Chunnel.

2004-06-02T11:24:00.000-05:00
I don't know anything about London, but I do know that I am very much looking forward to getting there on the Eurostar.

And what, you may ask, do I know about the Eurostar train? Well, quite a bit:

It's faster than the Metroliner, by a long shot.

It's a bad idea to fly a helicopter into the Chunnel to chase the train.

You shouldn't hang off of the side of the Eurostar.
That's three more things I know about the Eurostar than what I know about London.

One thing that I learned when we took the train through Italy was that train food is universally bad. I wonder if the same holds true for Eurostar.

More details...

2004-05-20T11:42:00.000-05:00
The deposit check and signed rental agreement have been sent, so barring any other lodging intrigues, La Verrerie is ours.

In other news, since we're in Paris for a whole week, I think we're going to take one of those days to take the EuroStar through the Chunnel for a day-trip into London. You can get a one day round-trip ticket for less than a hundred bucks a person, which is great. It's just shy of a three-hour trip, so if we left early in the morning we could be in London by 9 or 10 a.m., spend the whole day there, and then come home that evening. It's a bit overwhelming to contemplate seeing a major city like London in just a few hours, but it's right there, you know? I'd kick myself if we didn't go. After all, travel three hours in any direction from most places in America and you're still in America. Living here it's easy to forget just how big this country is.

Plus, the idea of being on a land-based vehicle that reaches speeds of up to 186 miles per hour is, you know, cool.

Got the tickets, probably got the lodging

2004-05-18T11:11:00.000-05:00
Five months seems impossibly far away. It's weird, because even though we're actively making plans and getting details nailed down, it still feels like a bit of a joke, that any minute Derek and I will look at each other and say we were just kidding. I mean, until we got tickets last week I kind of half-expected this trip not to materialize at all. And yet here we are, buying tickets and mapping out itineraries and signing rental agreements. Which brings me to the actual point of this post.

So we have (tentatively) gotten our lodging taken care of. From the beginning, we were pretty certain that if we were going to be in Paris for a week we wanted to rent an apartment instead of staying in a hotel room. Why? A few reasons:

1) Unless you're willing to spend beaucoup euros, chances are that your hotel room will be very small, and quite a few hotels have shared bathrooms. Not cool.

2) For those of you who don't know us personally, Derek and I both love to cook, and we are really excited by the prospect of availing ourselves of the legendary Parisian open-air markets. You can cook a meal in an apartment, but attempting to do so in the aforementioned tiny hotel rooms would probably irritate the hotel management. And even if we don't end up cooking, it will be good to have the basics like a fridge, a coffee maker and a toaster.

3) It's far easier to delude oneself into feeling like you're actually living in Paris when one has an apartment. I'm predicting that the experience will feel more real, somehow.

4) Renting an apartment is less expensive than staying in a hotel for a week, especially when you figure in the things that are important to us and how most apartments are significantly larger than hotel rooms.

Anyway, for the last couple of months I've been researching Parisian apartments, and let me tell you folks, I've seen them run the gamut. Everything from exquisite but laughably out of our price range to well within our range but, uh, no thanks. But the site I kept coming back to was ParisBestLodge. Thierry, the owner, manages a handful of apartments for his friends and owns five apartments himself, most of which are located in the Le Marais section of Paris. All of the comments in his guestbook were really, really positive, and they spoke highly of Thierry as a man who goes out of his way to make his guests feel welcome. Plus, as an interior designer, even his little studio apartments are nicely decorated. Thierry has been very responsive so far through e-mail, and I think he's going to be a good guy to work with.

So on Sunday afternoon/evening, we inquired about the Apartment du Temple Royal, which was hands-down my favorite out of all of his listings. It was huge, sunny, overlooked a courtyard, and had a kitchen that couldn't be beat. Thierry confirmed that it was still available, and I asked him if he had any feedback from people who had stayed in that particular apartment. He gave me the e-mail address of a man who had just stayed there last week. So I wrote to the guy, and received a letter that was glowing with praise, both for Thierry and for the apartment. That was all the confirmation we needed, so yesterday morning I e-mailed Thierry to confirm that we wanted the Temple Royal for our dates.

You know, one of my greatest weaknesses is that I fall in love too hard too quickly, and in doing so I open myself up for heartbreak. And this was no different. Thierry e-mailed me back in the early afternoon to tell me that the owner of the apartment had just yesterday rented the apartment for the week following ours, but that week overlapped our stay by three days. Sadly, since we already had our tickets adjusting our leave and departure dates wasn't an option, so no Temple Royal for us. Bah, humbug.

I shouldn't be upset by all this, especially since La Verrerie, the apartment we are renting (assuming that there are no further miscommunications between Thierry and the owner), is also lovely and is a full 200 euros per week less than Temple Royal, but still. It was disappointing, so part of me is hoping that the people who snapped it up before we could will change their plans somehow. Feh.

Anyway, enough whining. Despite the hiccup, I'm profoundly excited about everything, and I know that La Verrerie will be gorgeous. This is going to be a fabulous trip.

The Crazy Air France Sale

2004-05-17T13:36:00.000-05:00
So, last week I received the following email in my inbox at work:

PHILADELPHIA--May 12, 2004-- Air France is offering a companion sale from Philadelphia to Paris: Pay $505 for the
first ticket and the second ticket is just $5.05. Air France is running this special to celebrate its May 5 (5/05)listing on the New York Stock Exchange.
After the easy part, which was deciding that we were going, came the hard part - actually getting the tickets. The Air France website directed me to either "contact Air France or your local travel agent", and plugging in our dates of travel into the website clearly showed that the discount applied only to non-internet purchases.

I called Air France a couple of times - each time, a recorded message informed me that all operators were busy and to call back later, then the system disconnected the call.

After a couple of rounds doing this, I decided to go the other route, and contact a travel agent. I called two - the first charged a $20 service fee per ticket, and the second, on the Main Line, charged $30 per ticket. Steep prices, but I was still getting a deal.

Only problem was, neither agency knew what the hell I was talking about. I left my name and number with each, and both promised to contact Air France and get back to me.

By this time, I was getting anxious, so I decided to go full TicketMaster on Air France and redialed them repeatedly (love them office phones with LAST NUM buttons). After about fifteen minutes, I was able to get a ring, which then let me into the exhalted official hold system of Air France. After ten more minutes of Bjork-like Air France hold music, I was finally speaking with a representative, and we had tickets. October 17th at 7:15pm out of Philadelphia.

The funny part of this is that the companion ticket was $5.05, with associated taxes of $92. Still, we're getting to Paris for less than $350 per person roundtrip.

Ultimately, the one agency in the mall never called back. The second agency, the one from the Main Line, finally called a little while later. She seemed quite upset that I had sealed the deal with Air France personally while waiting for her to call. I guess she was stuck on hold as well.