Not on the crowded streets…….
Being focused on getting my pictures and immediate thoughts down on “paper”, I notably left out some of my more subtle, if not cogent, reflections on my Paris trip in Wednesday’s post. There is so much to try to remember. Sometimes it takes more than a day to recollect and process, especially when there is jet lag involved.
Yesterday morning I found my heart aching more than just a little to go back —- and walk and enjoy. Let me tell you …….
One of the things I most like to do in cities is to get off the beaten path – to explore the back scene and try and feel the essence that is the city beyond the obvious. All places have the profile they want to expose, where they market themselves with their most obvious personality – not necessarily their best personality (kind of like Times Square) – like on the Rue de Rivoli, where you find all the vendors of cheap souvenirs. Well, I don’t want any Eiffel Tower key chains, I want something else. I find a great deal of intelligence and emotional content beyond these places – in the more hidden spots and in the products they love and they so obviously lovingly make. This is where you can peak in and pick up more of the real essence of a place, I feel. Like in the photo above, I got an intense feeling of hominess and something cozy and real here, sensing more of what it is really like to live in Paris. Believe me, I did not get to really explore the back scene in this short of time, but I did get some little inklings of it, and this made me want to go back again, for more……..
I found this “speaks to me” feeling in the Luxembourg section as well, something very settled and cozy and comforting. People, families, were out and about in droves – it was Easter Monday and a lot of people were off – in their own neighborhood, sunning themselves, in spite of having coats and hats on – chairs all around expressly for this purpose – now that’s a neighborhood I can identify with!
We stayed at a lovely hotel, and I would be remiss in not highlighting this – Le Bristol on rue du Faubourg Saint Honore. Ryan, my executive travel agent, of course found it. (Let’s just say, when he’s not paying, he does an amazing job at learning about the best places to stay.) Ryan has an uncanny sense about finding what’s nice, great and visually amazing – so far ahead of his years, that he continually astounds me, but I digress. Anyway, he does know a lot and, in fact has been to Paris 4 times himself. We landed what I consider to be a relatively good deal through American Express. I’m not advertising for them, just reporting. Anyway, this location was great for us on this particular trip as we wanted a central location from which to venture but one a little away from the Champs Elysees hub-bub.
Let me just say that they do an amazing job at this hotel. Its presence is pretty grand and elegant – usually not what I would gravitate toward, yet its demeanor and staff couldn’t have been more helpful, welcoming and gracious. In addition to Phar-oun, we befriended several of the staff, in the lobby and in the dining salons. The staff in the salon, where we had breakfast and tea, could not have been nicer or more engaging. Our room was lovely and spacious and the bathroom very large for European standards. Very charming and comfortable. We were treated quite royally, I’d say. Absolutely no complaints – au contraire. I would stay here again in a minute and perhaps overall, this was the best hotel experience I have ever had.
In spite of the elegant ambience and what I would consider to be a pretty adult environment, there was an Easter Egg Hunt in the lobby (normally out in the garden, but it was too cold) and Phar-oun apparently had a very fun day with the kids, as he slept the entire next day on the counter of the Business Center section. 
I consider the gesture of the Easter Egg Hunt quite commendable considering the overall nature of this hotel.
I have to return to the subject of pastry and bread. I have told you that it is unfathomable to me that Parisians eat the way they do and are not a little or even, grossly overweight. I did a substantial amount of observing at breakfast and at tea of what people were eating – and they were eating – bread and pastries! Maybe they skip lunch? Maybe they skip tea? Maybe they skip dinner? Maybe that is their only meal of the day? Anyway,,,,,,,
One of my favorite times of day is breakfast. Each morning, while we drank our American coffee with milk and tried to get our brains working, Jonathan, the charming and most friendly manager of the dining room seemed perplexed when we turned down the basket of pastries (except the first day right after we got off the plane). Regardless of this apparently misguided decision, we were served a plate with three petite baguettes – the texture, color and flavor of which were indeed perfection. Also on our table each morning was a selection of French confitures and French butter.
Let’s take a moment to discuss French butter.
Before I go off, let me just say that I am appreciative of the great gift that is American ingenuity and all the amazing benefits of such and, of which we all stand and reap every single day. But, perhaps it is fair to say that there are a few things that have gone awry over the years – especially in the food chain and there have been some unintended, or, intended, consequences in the name of economies and food conglomerate profits. (I won’t go into my feelings about the Walmart model here.) This is especially apparent in the comparison of common and specialty food items in the American grocery vs the European grocery or specialty shop. The American model of food production, driven by some quasi-senseless and unemotional drive of the corporate profit model has discounted, in some cases greatly, the “value” of food – in all senses, nutrition, taste, quality, purity and sometimes even visual appeal. That is, it prizes the broadest penetration of the market with the mediocre, with an eye toward trying to convince the consumer they are getting something, well, worthwhile at best, and at the best margins they can eek out. The subsequent and resulting rebellion against this revolution, has spawned all the artisan models of great small batch cheese, butter, and specialty product making. (BTW, have you read the ingredient label on a jar of Jiff peanut butter lately, for instance? Molasses, really? Well at least it’s a natural sweetener) I LOVE that we are rebelling against supermarket foodstuffs and re-creating a market, no, feeding the market, for food that tastes like what it “is”- that novel idea for we who grew up in the 60s era of “innovation” and tv dinners, frozen dinners and that ubiquitous term – “convenience foods”, while all the while yearning for something fresh, flavorful and SANS chemicals, flavor-enhancers and preservatives! Yeah for us! We can and are learning so much from our European friends and ancestors in this regard. And, thank you to, among others, Alice Waters…….
I would feel remiss in not telling you that I did, indeed sit next to a man and his children at breakfast the other day and I overheard him re-order a bowl of “cocoa-puffs” for his child. They have Cocoa Puffs in France??? At Le Bristol? Perhaps the ship sails eastward across the pond for General Mills. All I can say is, UGH! Don’t get me wrong, I ate my fair share of Cocoa Puffs when I was a kid, but they were never present in my house when my kids were growing up. Ok, soapbox satiated, now onward.
Ok, so how could there be more difference between American butter and European, and especially French butter? All I can say is there must be some very lucky cows in France, grazing upon sweet and pure grass vs whatever suspicious abomination they might be fed here which results in the tasteless and bland flavor of the milk, butter and cheese sold in our local, and yes, even the upscale supermarkets, or should I say, grocers. And, the subsequent loving care and dedication to quality in the development of the final product must be extreme. Butter in France actually has a luscious quality and unctiousness and delicately soft yet definitive flavor, bordering on the floral. Magic, and makes you feel like it’s some extreme indulgence – and yet, it is treated like a common condiment here! In France, this is no common condiment.
Then, the confiture. Much has been written and studied about the production of French confiture – as highlighted by Christine Ferber, among others. Again, these products, totally taken for granted in America, as evidenced by the proliferation of sad American reinterpretations of jams, jellies and preserves as found in the American grocery store, laden with “icky” ingredients and diluted to the point where they barely, if at all, evoke the essence of their fruit. Why do we insist on doing this? Do we have some innate need to dumb down every product to ensure its ultimate profit margin, economies of scale and ultimate shelf life and in fact ignoring the intrinsic essence of what it is supposed to be? Ok, so I lied about having satiating my soapbox. Anyway, the French take their confiture seriously and it shows.
And, as for bread, well I definitely under-photographed and under-reported in my earlier post. Perhaps I under-photographed because I was too busy shoving it into my mouth. In addition to the mini-baguettes at Le Bristol at breakfast, we had some amazing breads – like the basket presented at L’Avenue at lunch on Saturday. L’Avenue is a pretty trendy spot – looked to me like a place to “be seen”. While I usually avoid these places, the food was actually good and the bread, great. I would have been very happy with just bread and butter – which is one of my major weaknesses in life. When it is this good, it is hard to resist, really.
Well, anyway, you get the point and the bottom line is I am trying to say that the way Europeans eat and respect food and value flavor and work ferociously to perfect ingredients and final product alike. This is one of the things I love best about visiting here. They “get it” and they are superb at it. ‘Nough said.
Well, aside from the cranky lady at Fouquet who gave me a hard time when I asked her for the vanilla caramels, I would like to say that the Parisians I encountered were all lovely and gracious, trying to help and when not fluent in English, really considerate and patient. We had a couple of great cab drivers who were anxious to chat and be helpful. Nice. No snobbery and elitism evident.
Not that I am any world traveler on any level (I’m no Anthony Bourdain), but, I am always curious to find how many young people, whom I consider to be extremely lucky to be living in such a rich environment as Paris, are all incredibly anxious to come to America and expecially New York. I did have a conversation with one young woman who was dying to come to Texas??? Ok? And one cab driver who was dying to go to Colorado. I always get a kick out of what intrigues the people whom I consider to be so lucky to have been born where they are, in the great cities of Europe. Anyway, my advice was to go to California after New York, but then, you know, I am biased.
Well, I apologize for the fact that this post doesn’t hang together too well. I am seriously having issues keeping my brain functioning. And so, I go along with my week now – it is Friday after all, and I have been home since Tuesday (really?) I will try to recollect more, and write it all down, before it recedes and I forget………
my own tabloid!