Oh my darling clementine…

Posted on 13 01pmFri, 31 Jan 2014 16:43:39 +000039 2012 by Sylvia

Grocery shopping would take me hours when we first moved to Paris. I didn’t know how to answer when asked if I wanted a yellow chicken, or a black footed one. I’d find myself completely flummoxed in the butter aisle and simply lost among the yogurts. It took an entire year for me to understand the cheeses and another year before I was ready to tackle a topinambour (Jerusalem artichoke).

Having spent nearly half of my life as a vegetarian it is ironic that I have never completely conquered the produce aisle. There are some weird insect-looking vegetables that I can’t even name and the variety of fruits has just seemed like more than I ever needed to know. But last week, while shopping at the Grande Epicerie du Bon Marché I didn’t know which tangerines to buy and I felt like an utter idiot. I don’t like feeling like an idiot, so I asked the charming gentleman who operates the scales for a bit of advice. He was my go to man for any produce question I had when we lived across the street from the Bon Marché nearly a decade ago, and he still remembers me. Mr French’s theory is that its because I may be his only French speaking customer who smiles.

Monsieur Produce recommended the Orri from Israel. Larger, and slighter paler than most of the others, it seemed as good an option as any. That night’s conversation revolved around the fruit. Dessert had not yet finished when M French suggested we do a tasting, a tangerine tasting of the 6 different varieties on the market today.

When I lived in Montreal I would wait all fall for the Moroccan tangerines to arrive, but there were none at the grocery store, so I know this list is not exhaustive. I also forgot to write down the price/kg, which is not a minor detail when the range runs from 2,95 to 8,95! But for the flavors, the results were clear;

Toi & Moi – a tad too sweet, missing a bit of acid and it was the least juicy of the bushel (or is it a bunch?)
La Violette – as fragrant as the name implied, the perfect balance of sweet and acid
La Soculente – really not bad, just a tad less flavorful than the Violette
from Corsica – another well balanced option, the acid was particularly nice
Orri – the juiciest of the lot with a solid ‘tangerine’ flavor
from Italy – too acidic, wimpy flesh and it was the only one with seeds.

The clear winner was La Violette, but I also suspect it may be the most expensive, which makes the Corsican tangerine, one of the cheapest of the lot, a better purchase for everyday. The Orri came in a close third, but we wouldn’t turn our backs on La Soculente, either.

Now I ‘m looking forward to pear season… another fruit with more varieties I have yet to master!

An interview with Fiona Shaw

Posted on 13 01pmThu, 30 Jan 2014 15:51:34 +000034 2012 by Sylvia

Last night I felt like I had been caught in a bubble of sea foam and transported into a nautical dream as I watched the enthalling Fiona Shaw perform The Rime of the Ancient Mariner at the endearingly nostalgic Bouffes du Nord theater. I was so inspired that I asked Ms Shaw for an interview.

The actress and the show’s director Phyllida Lloyd (famous for Mamma Mia!) came up with the idea to perform this poem while sitting in the director’s cluttered kitchen. They were both coming out of a very hectic period and want to work on a small little project they could perform in a home, with friends. Already famous for interpreting TS Elliot’s The Waste Land for film and stage, Ms Shaw was on familiar ground with poetry, and like The Waste Land, this project grew into something much larger than they had ever imagined. It is now a Production that demands tremendous preparation as it travels the globe.

I floated to the vibrations of Ms Shaw’s mesmerizing voice last night, with familiar verses of this long forgotten (by me) poem bringing me back to land every now and again; “water, water, everywhere… all things great and small…” reminding that we were in Paris.

Walking into Ms Shaw’s spartan dressing room, I was struck by her eyes, exuding a soft warmth you could almost touch. She is at home while far from home and is quick to welcome others into her sphere with an easy smile and firm grip. Dressed in relaxing clothes for the hours of rehearsal ahead, two pairs of canvas sneakers abandoned on the floor, she offered me a seat.

I explained that I would be asking her how Paris stimulated her 5 senses, starting with my personal interpretation of touch; her favorite thing to do. “Perform” she replied before I had even finished my sentence. I suspect that this is what she loves to do where ever she lands, but in Paris she particularly loves the audience and how they are so attuned to the performance, even able to respond to the comic moments the horrific Greek tragedy, Medea. And one of the highlights of her entire career, for reasons she can not even identify today, was performing Richard II at Bobigny.

Her favorite flavour? While the reply took a little longer, she is very confident that it is the wine.

Discussing her vision of Paris, the actress closed her eyes, sat straight up and took us both to the Ile Saint Louis where the streets show visitors the Paris of another era with time worn paving stones scrubbed smooth.

Not far away, standing on the Pont Neuf, the fragrance of the Seine is her Paris, with the same smells that the nun’s would breath in centuries ago, as they passed by the Conciergerie. It is the smell of history and it is the history of this place that makes the city work for Ms Shaw.

The sound of Paris is the sound of the pavement, the low layers of cars whisking by, heels clacking, feet scuffling. And it is the church bells on Sunday, a different sound than the sound of church bells in her native Ireland, a blue sound that rings through the uniquely blue skies of Paris.

CALL THE THEATER AND MENTION FINDING NOON FOR 18€ TICKETS INSTEAD OF 24€ – 01 46 07 34 50

PERFORMANCES THIS WEEKEND ONLY!!!

http://www.bouffesdunord.com/en/season/51b84af1cb302/the-rime-of-the-ancient-mariner

Just in time for Valentine’s…

Posted on 13 01pmMon, 27 Jan 2014 17:19:22 +000022 2012 by Sylvia

Last weekend M French and I exercised his Christmas present, an annual pass to the Grand Palais and the exhibitions of the Réunion des Muséees Nationaus to walk past all the Parisians standing in the cold and waiting up to 2.5 hours to the jewels of Cartier.

Entering the opulent hall, a jewel-toned kaleidescope projected on the ceiling nearly took our breath away. Which was a pretty impressive feat given the astonishing jewels that sparkled as far as our eyes could see. You’d think that an exhibition dedicated to jewels wouldn’t interest a man, but a certain maharajah was one of the jewelry house’s biggest clients and they certainly mastered the art of pleasing men, creating an entire series of magical clocks that hide the mechanics in the most mysterious and elegant way. I still don’t understand how they do it, and I read the explanation twice, in both French and English! There were gorgeous pieces, astounding stones and lots of history with the tiaras and parures of women like Wallace-Simpson, Princess Grace and Elizabeth Taylor. A dress woven in gold and silver threads, illustrations from BonTon fashion magazine and the chronology of the displays put everything in the context of the fashion of the time.

And then there were the tiaras. Simply stunning.

More on the exhibition and how to get (highly recommended) tadvance tickets… click here

For more tiaras and jewels, visit my Facebook page

in the mood…

Posted on 13 01pmWed, 22 Jan 2014 22:11:45 +000045 2012 by Sylvia

My couch faces a series of 3 French windows, running the three metres from floor to ceiling. The night sky hides the chapel beyond, I see only the silhouette of a larger than life winged angel blowing her trumpet to the glory of god.

With Mr French at business dinner and Em fast asleep after a ight spent cramming for her Spanish class, the house is quiet. I can hear the cat padding down the hall, full drops of rain hitting the zinc on our balcony and the Louche Life.

The Louche Life is a free online radio station started by my very own Beast Cadet, the woman who referred me to Tempo Doeloe and who once spent an entire month with me in Paris taste testing every chocolate shop in the city. The sacrifice she made for our friendship still boggles my mind.

For years now, Madame BC has been sending me playlists, compilations she created for me to write by, dine by and live by and now those mixes are available to the world. Her music selection is (and I quote her station) “Eclectic & urbane: sparkling jazz vocals and R&B gems of all eras spiced w/instrumentals & offbeat/off genre surprises. Sinuous vamps that grab & pull, swinging voices, hypnotic polyrhythms, soulful performances – come slip into the groove!”

So now I invite you to slip into the groove, for a very diverse mix of music to ease your day.

http://www.live365.com/stations/adafelice

This morning’s cuppa

Posted on 13 01pmMon, 20 Jan 2014 18:31:56 +000056 2012 by Sylvia

Earl Grey is my favorite tea. It has been my favorite tea since I first tasted it, so long ago that I can’t even remember when. When I went through my purist Chinese tea and scorned any other flavored teas, I still loved a good Earl Grey.

Its the bergamot flavoring that I really love. What’s a bergamot? Its an orange! A tiny little orange from Southern Italy and it taste very much like a lemon. They don’t use the acid fruit of the citrus, but the fragrant oil that is in the skin.

A few years ago, while shopping at my local market, I came across a black slate sign with “bergamot” scrawled across in chalk. Without hesitating, I scooped a few of them and put them in my bag to see what I could do with a bergamot of my own.

Not much, it turns out. I have never learned how to make anything extraordinary with this fruit, except a nice, hot, fragrant drink the French call an Infusion. I boil water, pour it over the rind and let it steep for a few minutes before adding a bit of honey. A lovely, relaxing drink I look forward to every January.

Working in Paris

Posted on 13 01pmWed, 15 Jan 2014 15:20:13 +000013 2012 by Sylvia

Yesterday I turned to a colleague and asked, “May I please take a picture of your dick?”

“Of course!” she replied enthusiastically.

In the US, that question would generally be answered by a resounding slap, either of the wrists or of the papers hitting your desk as a bailiff serves you with a lawsuit. In the oh-so-very French office I visited last week not a single eyebrow hair was raised over my perverse curiosity.

It is not usually a subject that amuses me, but, in this office, I was surrounded by genitalia. The dick in question had an affectionate little note calling my co-work a little whore, too. Illustrated on desk tops, the back of chairs, and serving as screensavers, this week I was surrounded by dicks, reminding me

that I am not Dorothy and I am most definitely not in Kansas.

Every day co-workers yell at each other, usually screaming across the open space. Sometimes it is a joke. Usually it is a not. And the language they use is far from professional. Arguments often end with one loudly referring to the other as a connasse, or a pute. Imagine a co-worker calling you a whore? I can’t wait to see how I react the day it happens to me.

Having immigrated to this country, I tried very hard not to judge and accept cultural differences for what they are. But it is very difficult for me to imagine that my educated, ambitious female colleagues are really ok with the locker room behavior that goes on in the work place. On the other hand, I think every abusive argument I have witnessed has been started by a woman, and before they dish it out, they must know how it is going to end.

Yesterday, two women were moving a bench and the receptionist stopped them in horror, commandeering the first man to pass their way and insisting that he assist in the manual labor. Is all the vulgarity the flip side of the chivalry? We know from history that the knights were not immune to lewd jokes and crude behavior. Is it possible to consistently expect different behavior from one gender in the social realm and then be treated like complete equals in the professional realm?

As soon as I have the answers to these questions, I’ll let you know. Don’t hold your breath, though. What are your thoughts on men opening doors and pouring your wine, yet acting like cads in the office place?

NYE in Amsterdam

Posted on 13 01pmFri, 10 Jan 2014 15:57:05 +000005 2012 by Sylvia

When we checked into our hotel, the bell boy showed the girls their room, announcing that they had the most requested room in the entire establishment. Not being a particularly generous person, I was having none of that and much to their dismay, insisted on a swap. It was a lovely room, but the real appeal was the 180° view of the rooftops of Amsterdam and the Rijksmusem. We unpacked, happy with our good fortune and headed out to explore the city.

Then, we did it. For the first time in our lives together, Mr French and I went out for NYE. We didn’t go out with high hopes expecting an extraordinary meal that would promise a better evening than usual. We have a lot of fun when we go out, anyway and we know the NYE’s drill; exorbitantly priced, very average meals, incredibly lousy service.

With that in mind, we were in an unfamiliar city, in a foreign country. We’d had several warnings that the Dutch go a bit wild with fireworks on the 31st. And I mean several, as in every Dutch person we met, from our taxi driver to sales staff, to online advisors and waiters, told us to stay inside. So I did what I always do when I don’t know what to do. In a panic, I made reservations at the restaurant in our hotel. A Japanese fusion place that gets good reviews.

That morning, the fireworks began. Dutch taking advantage of the nation-wide 24 hour moratorium on randomly blowing things started lighting firecrackers randomly throughout the day, explosions like gun fire accompanying our adventures as Em and I jumped like giddy foals at each large “boom”.

Before dinner, the girls headed back to Paris to celebrate with their friends (gotta love high speed train travel) and we went to the Double Tree Inn on the port. Being the international traveler that he is, Mr French was certain they’d have a roof top bar with a decent view of the pyrotechnics going on at 17h. He was right (kind of gives you an idea of why I love the guy).

The fireworks were amateur but beautiful, and fun, and for the first time in decades I didn’t get a sick feeling in my stomach thinking about all the money the government was burning up in smoke for 15 minutes of glory, instead of using it to feed someone. As we strolled back to our hotel for dinner, there were people shooting off fireworks at every square, bridge and (no longer) quiet canal. I jumped at every blast, sending Mr French into hysterical giggles.

We dressed for dinner (I wore Le Smoking) and headed down to a surprisingly delightful dinner at Izakaya. While I am sure that the service was slower than usual, the rest was perfectly prepared and absolutely delicious. The bar was crowded with hip men of every age with high hopes of getting “lucky” with their dates (also of every age), all of the ladies wearing tight black skirts with a serious dose of sequins. At midnight the dj (yup, Izakaya has a dj, and its not just for NYE) led the count down and there was lots of kissing.

Suddenly an idea popped into my head, undoubtedly inspired about the fireworks popping outside. I grabbed Mr French by the hand and pushed him to elevator as he tried to figure out what bee had stung me. Rushing out the doors and into our room, we were greeted by a marvelous display of fireworks going off in every direction. Like the proverbial kids in the candy shop, we opend the windows and stood there, ignorant of the cold air and complete mesmerized by the red, blues, greens and golds exploding in every direction. We ran from window to window until we were too exhausted for anymore. Curling up under the think down comforter, we feel asleep dreaming of our 2014, which had gotten off to spectacular start.

Amsterdam for dinner

Posted on 13 01pmWed, 08 Jan 2014 12:37:28 +000028 2012 by Sylvia

As much as we enjoyed our lunches in Amsterdam, dinners were the real treat. On our first night we had no plans. The girls nearly fell over from the shock of it. Being somewhat obsessed with food, I tend to make reservations when we travel. But, I had no idea where our wanderings were going to take us that first night, so I had left it up to kismet. The word kismet comes from the Turkish language and the first fantastic looking place we passed that night was from the Bosphorus. I had forgotten that Amsterdam is full of some excellent Turkish places, and started getting excited when Mr French reminded me we’d just had some pannekoeken, those traditional Dutch pancakes (if you want to try some, the best come from the Pannekoekenpavijoen de Carrosel).

5 minutes later we were in front of Balti House Indian restaurant. E and Em wanted to go in. I wanted to go in. Mr French decided we’d had enough time to digest and a split second later, we were going in. The place was full of friendly chatter from neighbors enjoying piping hot dishes. Em nearly swooned from all the tempting aromas passing by our table as we waited for our meal. When it arrived, each dish was light and flavorful and the best Indian we’d had in ages.

The second night was my big night, my reason d’être for this trip. Decades ago friends from Montréal had given us this address and it was one of my all time favorite meals, ever. Now, I hadn’t been back in nearly a decade, and had a serious craving for the spicy, flavorful dishes at Indonesian Tempo Doeloe. I was so excited I emailed my friend from Montréal. “Watch out,” she replied back, “Anthony Bourdain featured it on his show.” Having been warned, I wasn’t entirely shocked to see that they had added a few extra tables since my last visit and the place was overcrowded. Almost, but not quite, uncomfortably so.

The place was quite literally packed, and it was a marvel to watch the staff negotiate their way through the narrow maze as they served guests, patiently explaining how the rice plate system works. Rice plates are the Indonesian equivalent of an Indian Thali platter, and very much like asian tapas. At Tempo Doeloe, a large bowl of white rice and a second bowl of yellow, coconut flavored yellow rice are served with collection of 6 ramekins on a hot plate. We chose the most elaborate rice plate, which came with 3 hot plates for the 3 of us who were sharing a meal. Each hot plate has different dishes, a mix of meats (including goat) and vegetables and the dishes get spicier and spicier as the hot plates arrive, until the final dish is too spicy even for me (I sprinkle thai bird chili peppers on my salads). I don’t remember that last ramekin being too hot to eat on our last visit. I don’t know if this is a new habit, trying to impress the likes of Anthony Bourdain.

A very happy me…

Because the food is exotic, and spicy, the staff gives excellent advice as guests place their orders. Em was given her own rice plate, with less dishes and a lot less heat. When Mr French selected a Gewurztraminer to accompany our meal, our waitress warned him that it was an extremely sweet vintage and suggested a drier one that was on the menu. A French man taking wine suggestions from a woman. An Indonesian woman who lived in Holland, no less. It was a wonder to behold, and a good thing, because the wine was absolutely perfect with our meal.

Having traveled 4.5 hours just to get there, you’ll understand that despite the filling meal, I insisted on having dessert. I had memories of eating my first jack fruit at Tempo Doeloe. Just a simple fruit, sliced and served. And that is when I discovered the second change they’ve made in the last decade; the dessert. Normally, you mess with my dessert, and I get grumpy, but here, the changes were for the better. Fresh, tropical fruit sorbets were added to the plain fruit, for refreshing, cool end to a hot meal.

ps you’ll have to forgive for the lack of photos… I was too busy eating…

Amsterdam for lunch

Posted on 13 01pmMon, 06 Jan 2014 12:55:42 +000042 2012 by Sylvia

The Dutch traveled the 7 seas, taking over the world, and yet, nobody ever talks about their cuisine. Except the French, who consider Holland the second greatest cheese producing nation on earth. I probably researched Dutch cuisine on my first trip, decades ago. I know that pea soup is one of their national dishes, pickled herring is a big deals and that pancake houses are common, even in the remote countryside. But beyond that, I remember very little and local cooking doesn’t seem to be a favorite, even among the Dutch, who spent the colonial era amassing colossal fortunes, importing spices from across the globe, making Amsterdam a feast for those craving a bit of international cuisine.

At the end of our extended weekend, Em looked at us and declared this to have been our very best trip ever, at least as far as eating out was concerned. She loved every meal. But really loved them! Ironically, we had planned very little and seemed to have stumbled upon one excellent place after another.

The Dutch often dine by candle light

For lunches, we were always lucky enough to find acosy Dutch place filled with locals enjoying their pea soup, thai or italian inspired salads and the ubiquitous bread with ham, melted cheese and eggs. In France, the last dish would be called a Croque Madame, and the Dutch version was similar, but as effusive as the Dutch are tall, with tons of cheese and eggs spilling over up to three slices, of fresh, delicious bakery bread. We had lunch at three different cafés, all within a block of each other (between our hotel and the museum district). We were all as enthusiastic as Em about our meals, if slightly less surprised to have found great food where ever we went, even if the meals would never earn international acclaim. Probably because it was something we value more; undeniable authenticity!

Our lunch joints//

Café Binnen Buiten – This place feels like a pub, decorated in dark woods and traditional wainscoting. Locals were playing a game of backgammon to our left, behind us neighbors had come in just to share a drink amongst a relaxed lunch crowd eating by candlelight. One man was so relaxed he used his fingers to wipe his bowl of potato chip dip clean!

Café Loetje -Sunlight floods in from the large glass enclosed terrasse, highlighted the artist decorated table tops of this old fashioned café. The bathroom signs are in their original stained glass, the light fixtures from another era. And while there were plenty of locals, there also seemed to be a lot of Dutch tourists having made their way, guidebook in hand.

Near the museum, The Corner Bakery inspired my little still life

The Corner Bakery – As small as a bread basket, this modern little bakery features freshly baked breads, a few cakes and French confiture. There are a few tables upstairs and a large common table in the basement where they feed hungry folk with light sandwiches and salads.

Amsterdam museums

Posted on 13 01amFri, 03 Jan 2014 11:42:06 +000006 2012 by Sylvia

The reason I wanted to go to Amsterdam was rather devious. 15 years ago I had an Indonesian meal there that was of my favorite meals ever, right up there with Aquapazzo in Venise and St Placide in St Malo. Home sick for anything close to resembling serious spices in Paris, I’ve been wanting to return, so badly that it had become something of a obsession with me.

There was no way I was going to tempt Mr French with a holiday based solely on the memory of a meal I had enjoyed over a decade ago; I needed to find a lure. Skimming the net, I found that the newly renovated Rjksmuseum had made it to somebody’s Top 10 museums in the world list. I had my bait! In addition to the fine art museum, there is a newly renovated contemporary art museum, a highly regarded science museum, a maritime museum, the Tropen museum on the Dutch colonies, the FOAM photography museum, Rembrandt’s house, Anne Frank’s house, a Jewish history museum and several private homes that are now open to the public. And unlike Paris, many of them stay open for New Years Day!

I booked my Indonesian restaurant, just to be sure they were open over the holidays and would have a table for us, then I cast my line and suggested we go to Amsterdam for a museum holiday. Mr French bit my squiggling worm hook, line and sinker. I booked the Sir Albert Hotel through the Splendia website, pre-purchased museum tickets, loaded up the car and we were off, the girls snoring in the back seat as we crossed borders and sped by polders. Windmills started popping up in the landscape… cyclists, grazing sheep and canals. We were in Holland!

The Dutch spent an entire decade renovating their star museum and it is beautiful, featuring a large, glass topped hall that is flooded with lone of the country’s rarest commodities; light. Just before Christmas was a terrible time to go, the place was more crowded than the Louvre in July and without the infrastructure to handle it. Even with tickets in hand, our line went outside the building and around the corner, full of people anxious to see what was new. And there was plenty to see.

Every single work of art had been moved into a new space. Only Rembrandt’s Night Watchmen had kept its original space, dominating the central hall surrounded by masterpieces. The best part of the Rjksmuseum are the descriptions. There is an interesting text for almost every piece, explaining the history of the work or giving an interesting detail about the art. You learn all kinds of random facts; foot warmers symbolised love in Vermeer’s time, a sea captain once burnt his ship so it wouldn’t be caught by the enemy and some profiteering merchants then made a fortune selling bits of burnt wood from the “ship”, swan feathers look amazing when depicted in reds, blues and greens.

The museum is huge and after several hours, the girls and I were ready for a break. We’d seen the entire 2nd floor, all of it fascinating, it slightly overwhelming, and we’d spent nearly 20 minutes just looking at the 4 Vermeers. It had been a feast for the eyes, but we were now ready to feed our tummies. Mr French could have stayed all day, but the cafeteria was overflowing and he relented when I promised we’d come back. And we did, on New Years Day, when we visited the fabulous Middle Age and Renaissance collections, as well as the disappointing modern works.

The Stedelijk, Contrmporary Art Museum was another disappointment. 20€ each for a rather small collection of minor works. I think this is quite possibly the first time I have ever given a museum a negative review. I usually just don’t mention them, but this one is on the Museumplein and it really is outrageously overpriced.

Happily, there were others that made up for it. FOAM had an excellent show that was installed by the 85 year old New Yorker William Klein, featuring the evolution of his work from the late 40’s to today. Across the street, visiting the private mansion of the Van Loon Museum gave an insider’s view on the life of the descendants of the East India Company and at the port the maritime Scheepvaart Museum shows the world how interactive displays can make any subject, even boats, come to life.

We missed the Tropen museum. I’ve been wanting to go there for 20 years, and I’ve still never made it. So happy for the excuse to go back!

Finding Noon

A life in Paris

Monthly Archives: January 2014