Friday@Flore

SMILE everybody, it’s a snow day!!!

These photos were taken over the weekend, when it really was snowing outside and blustery and beautiful. Today we’re back to DIOR grey skies with sub zero temperatures.

Loving the gloves. All that slush and nasty wet stuff on the ground means most parisiennes are wearing practical shoes. Does not happen often folks, so to lighten the moment, fun little touches like these gloves are being slipped on.

Sitting in the Flore enjoying a “noisette” that I dosed with a healthy serving of Mr French’s chocolat chaud, I noticed a lot of gorgeous handbags. I don’t know if this is because all the black coats guaranteed we’d see the bags, or if it is because everyone is desperate for a splash of fashion, which is not easy when bundled up like the Michelin Man.

 

And just like the crowd leaving the Chanel Haute Couture show, St Germain’s golden youth was getting their fur on. Even the boys.

 

 

 

 

 

I loved this lady’s snow day attire, a splash of instant sunshine. I am sure that she has read the poem, “When I’m an old lady I’ll wear purple.” She may have even scoffed at the thought of ever being an old lady herself, despite already being old enough to be my grand mother.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

People were staying close together, supporting each other when the going got difficult and generating some mutual warmth. It was a loverly day for a stroll.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I had to stand out in the cold much longer than usual to get these shots, as more people than usual stayed inside. But looking at them now I feel like maybe I need to be thinking about the roll of fur trim in my wardrobe. And I’m going continue wearing that chunky wool scarf that M just knit for me me last week, it is more in than I ever imagined!

Inès sez…

Confession time… don’t you love confessions? They’re so dramatic, n’est-ce pas? Especially as the confessor beats around the bush, writing in circles and dragging it out in an attempt to create tension for the dramatic unveiling when she announces that has a crush. A girl crush. I chose the word confession because it is no secret among friends and family that I absolutely adore, respect and admire Inès de la Fressange. I think she’s elegant, cool and terminally chic.

Despite my advanced age, I dream of being Inès some day when I grow up, but I can’t: too short, too wide and and then there’s that whole mistake about being born in to a family without a de…. attached to their name. But I try!!! Really, I do.

In case you don’t know who Inès is, she is a model who was once Karl Lagerfeld’s muse, then married a fantastic man she was very much in love with, had two gorgeous daughters and started a career as a designer in her own right. There were bumps along the way; a falling out with Lagerfeld, the death of her husband and the end of her fashion line. But she gets back up and starts over again each and every time, which is what I admire
most about this lady In her most recent incarnation Inès is the spokesperson for Roger Vivier shoes and the author/illustrator of La Parisienne, a book that imparts the secrets of Parisienne style, teaching a girl like me (or you) how to be chic. Like a Parisienne. Like her!

Clearly I am not the only one who dreams of having a smidgen of the de la Fressange style, because the book sold well and after the book there were agendas in which Inès shares her favorite tips on style and lifestyle. Her gems always seem to strike me as good ideas, sometimes funny, usually relevant, so I thought I’d share them here with you, a multi cultural blend of Inès’ thoughts and the thoughts they inspire inspire in me…
There is a thought a week in each agenda, as well as an entire book on her thoughts, so this is not an article, it’ll be a regular little pow-wow over here at FindingNoon. I warned you it was something of an obsession!!!!

Inès sez…
To deal with the extra weight gained over the holidays…

go to the gym! JK!!! No, she’s way to kind to say something like that.That was the pragmatic little yank in me who fininshed off her sentence before reading it through.

What she really advises is to wear an over sized sweater with straight legged pants. And she adds that its ok to leave the pants unbuttoned if you’ve really gone to town on the foie gras (not joking, she says that) during the festivities.

I love that she recommends pants, not leggings and not skinny jeans, because even if she can pull them off, they’re really not flattering on your average full grown female. I mean, they look fantastic on my 15 year old, but you know, she’s… Fifteen!!!!

Oops. Just read the next line of her notes, and yup, she does say to go to the gym, only she puts it more kindly….. Reminding you to keep your resolution to go to the gym, the one she is absolutely confident you’ve already made because, well, you know, she believes we’ve all got our inner chic going on.

Off for a run folks…. and while I’m out there, tell me, how do you deal with your winter fat?

Chanel Haute Couture

scroll down for English

Paris Fashion Week est de retour, mais c’est trompeur, car il ne s’agit pas d’une semaine, mais de plusieures, enchaînées dans les grandes villes du monde. Tout de suite après une semaine pour les hommes, c’est au tour de la haute couture.

Haute Couture appartient à un tout autre univers que le prêt-à-porter que j’ai suivi en septembre. Même les journalistes arrivent avec un sac Birkin suspendu sur le coude,  les gardes du corps n’ouvrent pas la porte à n’importe qui sans invitation officielle et ceux qui arrivent en retard restent les bienvenus. C’est le monde des VIPs !

N’etant pas une fashionista confirmée, je suis condamnée à rester dehors avec les autres ; journalistes, bloggeurs et designers en germe. À l’intérieur il y a les privilegés, le monde de la mode et des belles. Très, très belles, comme Inès de la Fressange qui tweetait des photos des ensembles richement élégants qui passaient devant ses yeux. Et quelle chance, elle a twitter la robe de mes rêves (1000 mercis Inès !!!)

Dans les tweets j’ai remarqué des plumes. Beaucoup de plumes, ce qui ne m’etonne pas vraiement. Je les ai vu pour les fêtes chez Zara et H&M, sans parler de Brunello Cucinelli qui ornes des simples chemises en plume de boa. Soit j’ai une obsession ornithologique, soit les plumes sont ‘in’ !

 

 

 

 

La fourrure est à la mode aussi. Pas forcement sur scène, mais sur chaqu’une des spectateurs. Chapeaux, manteaux, gants, bottes, tout le monde était à poil !!!

 

Its Paris Fashion Week, yet again. That’s a lie, folks. There isn’t a fashion week. There are several weeks, one blending into the other in all of the major cities across the globe. This week’s fashion week is Haute Couture (last week it was men’s fashion).

Haute Couture serves a different clientele, so it brings in a different crowd. Even the journalists for these shows are toting Birkins, the guards don’t let in wanna bes like me without an invitation just because we look particularly deserving, and late comers are allowed entrance, this is haute couture after all, and everyone is a VIP!

My dream dress...

I stood outside with fashion journalists, bloggers and someday designers while the affluent and influential, the stylish and the gorgeous folk, people like Inès de la Fressange sat inside, tweeting each outfit, including my dream dress(es) and showing us what was coming “in”.

As people came out of the show they were happy and smiling and I even heard one American repeat the word “gorgeous” several times. This is extremely enthousiastic compared to anything I witnessed while stalking the prête à porter scene.

From the tweets, I saw feathers, lots of feathers. Which isn’t exactly a shock. I saw them on dresses at H&M and Zara this holiday season and Brunello Cucinelli has been using them as shirt collars for a year or two now. But this is Karl, so its official, they’re in.

Another ‘in’ is fur. It wasn’t in the show, but it was on pretty much everyone who attended the show. From hats to muffs, trimming coats, shoes and gloves, the fur was flying!!!

 

 

+ d’images….

 

Frenchie

There is a very popular local restaurant called Frenchie. Google it and it comes up in both French and Anglo press. One of the English language foodie sites even has a post entitled, Five Great Frenchie Substitutes. I’d heard wonderful things about what comes out of the kitchen and I was hoping to try it one day, but reservations are incredibly hard to come by (hence the need for a list of substitutions). Since Mr French is often out of town and we work late during the week, I rarely get to try places on the other side of town, or anywhere that requires any kind of advance preparation. Reservations are reserved for things like birthdays and three star restaurants.

There are so many great restaurants in Paris, that I’ve never felt deprived, but I am a curious girl and when the opportunity to dine there came up, I didn’t want to say no.

The restaurant is cute, with brick exposed walls and only about 20 place settings. Our reservation was for 19h, a bit early for Paris and I’d had to skip lunch to ensure I’d have an appetite.

It seemed like everyone had a 19h reservation, because a flood of people arrived at once. I was seated next to the toilette and every time someone went in my chair back would take a healthy blow, shoving me into the table’s edge. The waitress spoke perfect French and English, and was very nice about serving in either, or and both. We ordered at the same time as the other tables, were served at the same time as the other tables and were required to leave before 21H30. As a local girl, I found this military precision rather odd and it left me ill at ease through out the meal. There was none of the hustle and bustle of a local bistrot, and with everyone doing approximately the same thing at about the same time, I kind of felt like I was in a school cafeteria.

But I was there to eat and I was not disappointed by what was on my plate. Without taking notes, I remember having enjoyed some excellent smoked sea scallops on sautéed mushrooms with a meyer lemon cream. For the main dish there was a perfectly prepared piece of sea beam and dessert was a blood orange sorbet with slices of fruit and bits of cake. All of this accompanied by a glass of a simply delicious white wine from Greece.

The food was remarkably good. It was light and original; with flavours in foam, lovely textures and the best basic ingredients. And the wine, well after ten years here, I appreciate the opportunity to try non-French wines, this one was well worth being adventurous. I found the portions ridiculously small and as I did a bit of research this evening I found that I am not the only one. The Figaroscope review has a similar complaint, but argues their case with considerably more force.

I love a great meal, but after last night I realized how much I also appreciate a good scene, either fun and lively, or plush and romantic, depending on the soirée. Frenchie is neither and given the rhythm of the orderly service, the tiny portions and the great lengths it takes to get a table, well, I’d probably call a handful of other restaurants first; 21, Racines, Pinxos, La Table d’Aki come to mind.

FRENCHIE

Paris on a snowy day

vf disponible (et plus tôt drole) en bas de la page

M French was feeling rather romantic, this weekend, playing hookie from the Dali exhibition at the Centre Pompidou and inviting me on a long walk through a snowy Paris.

Obviously, I started at the Flore, where it was easy to get a prime seat, with every table left open for the brave, or the truly addicted (smokers), who all seemed to have stayed in bed. St Sulpice wasn’t far, the lions slumbering peacefully, not at all bothered by the cold.

Actually there seemed to be all kinds of wild beasts out enjoying a little frolick.

We ended our walk Chez Janou, a charming little provencale restaurant with a sunny cuisine that was perfect on a cold winter’s day.

M French m’a invité sur une petite balade romantique, et frigorifiée sous la neige à Paris. Bien évidement, j’ai commencé au Flore où les places étaient plus tôt faciles à trouver, sans trop de compétition pour une vue sur mer. Les fumeurs sont restés au lit. Pas loin, à St Sulpice les lions dormaient, aussi, mais pas les tourists, ni les cyclists!!!

 

En fait, il y avait pas mal de bêtes sauvages à Paris. 

On a terminé notre balade Chez Janou, un petit restaurant provençal avec un charme chalereux, parfait pour une journée hivernale.


 

 

 

 

Parisiennes are fashion

This Sunday, I headed out my front door, skating across ice capped puddles to see the Impressionism and Fashion exhibition at the Musée d’Orsay. I haven’t seen a lot if expos this year, but I was determined to see this one before its Jan 20 closing.

When I go to a show, its for the art, however as I stroll through room after room, I am also very aware of the curation of the exhibit; what works were chosen? Why? How are they displayed and what story do they tell when presented like this? Have I learned something new about a well known work of art? An artist? A genre? And of course, I hope to learn all of this without taking time to read the explanations, which is incredibly unreasonable and some what lazy of me.

My laziness was richly rewarded by the international team of curators for this event. The show begins with a display of newpaper pages from the 1850’s, announcing the opening of the Galeries du Louvre department store and displaying fashion pages. You then enter a long, narrow hall featuring glass encased ready to wear dresses. There are photos of fashionable Parisians along one walls and paintings on the other, but mostly, you’re shopping. This strategy does a fantastic job of putting Impressionism into the context of its era.

Turn the corner and there is a remarkable quote on the wall,  “La Parisienne n’est pas á la mode, elle est la mode” by A Houssaye and you’re soon in a ball room, chairs lining the walls, each seat labeled with the name of a particular Madame: Monet, Manet, Whistler, all present while larger than life masterpieces of formal ball scenes take center stage.

The next room is a day salon, where the curators flaunt an unbreakable rule and covers the walls with patterned wall paper. In theory this should conflict with the paintings, causing a visual cacophony in reality it enriches the theme of the show, while casting a soft rosy light, perfect for viewing the art. The clothing on display has become haute couture, more finished in rich fabrics that tend to reflect the wardrobes in the artwork.

Many of the painting on display are already part of our visial vocabulary, but seeing it displayed like this forces one to stop and look again. Take notice of Cezanne’s brush stroke, admire Renoir’s use of pink to create a mood and appreciate the stylistic bridge between realism and impressionism in the work of Fantin-Latour.

As you digest all this and prepare for end of the show, there is suddenly grass below your feet and bird song in the air. Parisian park benches line the walls as sumptuously
dressed women with parasols stand tall in oil on canvas. You’re in a French garden. Like the masterpieces that surround you, the show has succeeded in transporting you to another place and time. A masterpiece.

*Parisans are not fashionable, they are fashion.

Lapland, bits and bobs

vf en bas

We were in Finland for exactly 5 days, so how is it that I have a month’s worth of blog posts I share on the subject? I am thinking maybe I need to learn to edit a bit, so here is a collection of oh-so-amazing moments I had to share, but since they don’t involve the excitement and literary thrill that accompanies the potential loss of life in a renegade dog sled, I’m tossing them into a melt pot of moments.

Back to the dog sledding – Mr French LOVED it. But really, really got a thrill James Bond-ing it through extreme conditions. He loved it so much that we all went back and did it again, this time under even more extreme conditions as the snow blew in horizontally, creating a feel of total adventure.

And more snow mobiles – This had been my favorite activity of the trip so I was very luck that after our night chasing the Aura Borealis we had an afternoon trip that had been booked by our travel agent before our arrival. Only 8 hours separated the night ride from our day trip, so we felt kind of silly heading back up to the ski station and even considered canceling. That would have been a mistake, a very big mistake, as this was the most beautiful excursion of our entire trip. The clouds had cleared, and although the sun never rises, there is light. The trees were coated in powder sugar snow, particles of it blowing through the air sparkling like diamond dust against a pink tinted sky. Despite the cumbersome snow suits and roaring engines, I felt like a princess in a fairy tale.

Our ride followed the same trail as the night before, but this time, instead of amazing us with the Aura Borealis, Sami stunned us by pointing out the sunset and the sunrise. The sky was pink in and rosy to the east and orange and burning to the west, we were seeing both at the same time and it was quite literally breath taking.

Because the snow mobiling takes off from the ski station, this is also the day we got to explore Saari the grocery store, exercise out souvenir shopping demons and discover a gastro-pub.

The igloos – We were at this particularly hotel in this particular part of the of world because they had igloos where guests could stay the night. Unfortunately 2012 has been a particularly warm winter in Lapland, keeping temperatures well about the -15 mark and they need -20, or lower to build the advertised igloos, ice chapel and ice bar. Alot of people had booked these lodgings and had had to be housed else where throughout their stay. As fate would have it, I had balked at the idea of spending the night in my ski gear and gorging myself on chocolate as the hotel recommends to keep warm (weird but, true, I willing deprived myself of the perfect excuse

Checking out

to stuff my face with chocolate) and instead I had reserved a night in the fog-free glass igloos, hoping to increase our chances of seeing the Aura Borealis. It was a snow night, but sleeping under the winter sky in a comfortably heated room was a magical experience that we all adored, even with the Northern Lights out.

We adored everything about this trip; from the stoïc Laplanders to the extreme beauty of this remote outpost at the end of the world.

On était en Laponie pour cinq jours, mais je pourrais en parler tout le mois ! Je pense qu’il est temps de retourner à Paris, alors voici les restes qui sont trop importantes de laisser en Finland pour la prochaine bloggeuse de vous en parler.

Aux traîneaux de chiens : M. French a adoooooré. Il avait la sensation d’être James Bond à la chasse de M. Snow, alors on était obligé d’y retourner, mais cette fois-ci la neige soufflait à l’horizontal et c’était un autre style d’aventure. Moins vite et plus dans les elements. On a adoré quand même, mais franchement, je préfère le motoneige…

Motoneiges II : Comme j’ai adoré cette activité, j’étais contente que notre agent de voyage nous avait réservé un après midi en motoneige avant notre arrivée. Il n’y avait qu’un écart de 8 heures entre notre aventure Aurore Boréale et notre visite en “jour” alors on se sentait un peu ridicule et on avait joué avec l’idée d’annuler. Ç’aura été une grosse bêtise. C’était la plus belle journée de notre séjour. Les nuages étaient partis et si le soleil ne se lève jamais, il a quand même de la lumière. Les arbres étaient couverts de sucre poudré, des particules de neige flottaient dans l’air une vraie fantasie ; les paillettes dans l’air sur un fond de ciel rose. Malgré mon combi de ski à la bibendum, j’avais la sensation d’être une princesse dans un conte de fées.

Notre balade suivaient le même chemin que la veille, mais sur la colline, les Aurore Boréales étant un effet de nuit, ils n’étaient pas en éventualité, mais chose complètement inattendu, on témoignait le lever et le coucher du soleil simultané. Vers l’est, un ciel rosé et à l’ouest un ciel barbe à papa rose. Une vision époustouflante.

Les igloos – J’ai choisi notre hôtel parce qu’ils ont des igloos pour ceux qui voulaient une expérience originale. Malheureusement il a fait trop beau en 2012 et avec des températures au-dessus de -15 et plusieurs jours de -20 pour construire les igloos, chapelle de glace et bar de glace. Il y avait beaucoup de gens qui avaient réservé ces igloos et ils devaient être logé dans d’autre hôtels de la région. Heureusement pour nous, j’avais trop peur du froid et j’avais réservé une nuit dans les igloos chauffé avec des vitres antibrouillard dans l’espoir de voir des Aurore Boréale. Il neigeait, mais dormir sur la belle étoile en hiver dans une pièce bien au chaud est un moment magique qu’on a adoré.

En fait, on a tout adoré, de la disposition particulière des finlandais à la beauté extrème de cette endroit féerique au but du monde.

HOTEL / Kakslauttanen / Saariselka, FInland / +3358166671000 / http://www.kakslauttanen.fi/fr/

Thrilled to see the sun, at last. Enfin, le soleil !!!!

Vrroommm!!!!!

vf en bas….

I spent five years of my life in Montréal and each year there would be snow mobile related deaths, mostly because a bunch of drunken yahoos had done something stupid. It didn’t inspire me. But its “the thing to do” in Lapland, so we signed up for a night ride to “chase” the Aura Borealis.

Our guide was Sami, one of the silent, rather expressionless Finns we’d gotten used to spending time with. He picked us up at our hotel, saying “chasing Aura tour?” We hailed him with an enthusiastic “Yes!!!” He nodded, then guided us to the SUV with hand signals. At the ski center he had a memorized speech, telling us the safety rules and he didn’t even crack a smile when he made the joke, “Yes, because we have a lot of traffic here.”

To drive a snow mobile in Finland, you must have a valid driver’s license. Mr French’s offspring are adults, but they’re Parisians and have never had the need for a license, which meant that I would be driving a snow mobile. Given my track record with adventure travel (hospitals have been involved) we were all somewhat nervous about this minor detail, but hopefully optimistic since I’d had my fill of misadventure with the renegade dog sled the day before.

Kitted up, we were soon off. It was breathtaking riding through the deserted forest, across frozen swamp land and up winding hills. The sky was black, but there was enough ambient light to see all around and it felt like we had reached the end of the world. At the hill top, Sami cut his engine and said, “Break”. We got off our bikes and and then he motioned to towards the sky and said drily, “and this is what visitors call the Aura Borealis.”

In order to see the Aura Borealis, there must be clear skis in a land known for snow clouds. And you must just happen to be out in -25° temps at the exact moment the skies light up. Let me make that clear. You have to be outside. You will not see the Aura Borealis if you are snuggled up warmly before the fire in your cabin.

After one night in Lapland we’d realized what a challenge we had before us, so we were astounded, thrilled and completely amazed that we saw the Northern Lights on our first night out. The effect was faint, but grand, none the less. And then in an instant, it was gone. We hopped back on our bikes and followed Sami down the hill. My arms started to get tired and the snow mobile started to pull and despite an incredibly slow speed of under 20km I lost control of the machine and “SCHPLAM!!!” drove us into a tree, the right ski lodged into its truck. Misadventure #2. Wahoo!!! Fortunately I had been driving so slowly that no one was hurt, not even the mobile.

Sami returned to rescue us, his first and primary concern being our safety and well being. His only concern for the bike was to get it back down from the tree trunk and to get us back on the trail.

He's building this fire on a bed of snow!!!

Just minutes later we arrived at a teepee where Sami proceeded to create kindling for a fire he was about to build, delicately shaving fine slivers with an unwieldly axe. It was an impressive show, particularly given the lack of light, or warmth. The fire roaring and tea served, we (well, I) started prying into his life with annoying questions, like “Where do you go on holidays?” He has been to Italy, and didn’t have much to say about it, but he really lit up when he explained that he had spent the previous summer building the teepee we were standing in.

Lapland is an absolute wonderland.

J’ai passé 5 ans de ma vie à Montréal et chaque hiver, sans faute il y avait des accidents fatals avec des motoneiges. Ces décès étaient souvent liées à l’effet de l’alcool sur des vrais cons. Ce qui explique pourquoi cette activité ne m’a jamais tenté. Mais en Finland c’est juste un mode de transport et la meilleure option pour chasser les Aurore Boreal. On est parti.

Notre guide était Sami, un type du coin, donc silencieux et stoïque. Il est venu nous chercher à l’hôtel avec les trois mots, “Chasing Aura tour?” On était enthousiaste avec nos “oui!!!”s. Il a fait un signe de tête et nous a guidé vers son 4×4 avec des signes. A la station de ski il nous a fait un discours mémorisé. Il n’a même pas souri en racontant sa blague, “Eh oui, il y a beaucoup de circulation sur les routes ici.”

Les Finlandais exige un permit de conduire de toute conducteur de motoneige. Les enfants French n’en ont pas, donc je n’avais pas de choix, je devais conduire. Étant donné mon expérience en sport extrême (les hôpitaux y jouaient un rôle) on n’était pas ravi de cette situation, mais l’aventure en traîneaux de chien nous a donné un peu de confiance. Surement on n’aura pas deux mésaventures à raconter!

Bien équiper, on est parti. C’était époustouflant le sentiment de vitesse dans un forêt nocturne, à travers un marais gelé et vers une colline sur un chemin sinueux. Il faisait nuit, mais il avait assez de lumière pour voir le but du monde. En haut de la colline on est descendu des motoneiges à l’ordre de Sami. Il a fait signe vers le ciel, “et ça, c’est ce qu’on appel l’Aurore Boréal.”

Pour voir l’Aurore Boréal il faut un ciel dégagé dans un pays connu pour ses tempêtes de neige. Il faut être dehors là où il fait souvent -20 au moment précis que les lumières arrivent. Après notre première nuit en Laponie on avait compris jusqu’au quel point c’était difficile, alors, on ne venait pas de notre chance de les voir à la première sortie. C’était un petit effet, mais beau. Un moment plus tard c’était disparu. On est retourné aux motoneiges pour continuer notre parcours.

Au bout d’un quart d’heure mes bras étaient fatigués et j’avais du mal à contrôler cette lourde machine, et puis il y avait un virage et je ne voyais plus qu’un arbre devant mes yeux. J’ai eu juste le temps d’avertir Mlle French avant de nous planter dans l’arbre, un ski du motoneige bien implanté dans le tronc d’arbre. Quelques minutes plus tard Sami s’est rendu compte qu’on n’était plus derrière lui. Il est revenu avec une question sur ses lèvres, “Vous allez bien? Personne n’est blessé?” J’étais très contente de répondre que non, personne n’était blessée. Il est descendu de son engin et s’est mis à libérer mon motoneige de son arbre.

Quelques minutes plus tard on était dans un tipi est Sami était à genoux avec son hache pour préparer un feu. C’était impressionnante de voir les fines lames de bois qu’il découpait avec son énorme outil, dans un froid paralysant, sans lumière. Sans d’autre occupation je me suis mis à lui poser des questions innervants. Comme, par exemple, “Vous allez où pour vos vacances?” Il a cité un séjour en Italie, mais il s’est illuminé quand il a parlé de l’été dernière quand il a construit l’énorme tipi (5 mètres de haut) qui nous hébergeait.

La Laponie c’est vraiment un pays des merveilles

The cutest chef in Paris

ENGLISH IS BELOW IN BLACK

Normalement, je suis en Laponie avec ce blog, mais hier soir j’ai eu une petite aventure parisienne que j’aimerais partager. Mercredi soir le téléphone sonne.

– Coucou ! Je suis à Paris, ça te dit un déjeuner avec moi demain au Mandarin Oriental? Je t’invite.

– Bonjour, j’aimerais bien déjeuner avec toi. Mais, euh, c’est qui?

C’est une copine qui est journaliste à Tel Aviv et de qui je n’ai pas eu de nouvelle depuis 2 ans. Après notre déjeuner (j’en parlerais plus tard) elle m’a demandé d’être son guide pour les soldes. Fastoche, je m’y connais en shopping. Après 2 heures on a terminé sa liste.

-Tu sais, j’ai un dîner ce soir au restaurant de mon copain, tu veux venir? Tu pourras en faire un papier pour The Girls Guide to Paris.

J’étais partant. Mais je ne comprenais pas pourquoi elle était si pressée, à 18h. Elle m’a expliqué que son copain, c’est Stéphane Jego et qu’on allait passer du temps dans sa cuisine pour apprendre à faire son fameux riz au lait avant le dîner.

Pinch me I’m dreaming. Depuis 10 ans Stéphane Jego est le chef du superbe et plus vieux restaurant Basque à Paris, Chez l’Ami Jean. Dîner chez lui est un plaisir. Entrer dans sa cuisine? J’en ai jamais rêvé.

Lolo age 5, the cutest chef in Paris!!!

Pendant leur explication de leur fameux riz (recette ici) M. Jego m’a montré sa dernière création, une soupe à l’oignon, inspiré par la soupe qu’il avait fait pour ses noces, mais en version moderne, reconstruit. Une purée de la réduction d’oignon avec une croquette de la purée, une réduction du bouillon servi avec une tranche d’encornet et une feuille de moutard. Pendant la construction du plat, il m’a parlé de soirée de noces et de sa femme Sandrine. Il a évoqué le chaudron de nos grandmères avec leurs vapeurs entermêlés ; les arômes de la cuisine et nos souvenirs de jeunesse. La passion pour ce plat, pour sa cuisine et l’amour pour son restaurant étaient presque visibles.

Cette passion est évidente dans son restaurant, avec du graffiti qui représent la muraille de Berlin ou le diable porte michelin et symbolise sa liberté dans sa cuisine. Les couteaux sont fait sur mesure, il n’y a que 136 au monde. Les serviettes ce sont des torchons relookés et les cartes sont de véritables oeuvres d’art original.

Lorsqu’on admirait la salle Lolo s’est assis pour son diner. Petite blonde aux cheveux bouclés elle tourne sa tête quand son père lui sert la soupe qui n’est pas une soupe. Elle ne veut pas la déguster. Il lui rappel que c’était un plat des noces de maman et papa. On continue avec notre visite et 10 minutes plus tard je remarque que le plat est vide. Lolo félicite son père sur sa nouvelle recette et lui rappel qu’elle déteste les épinards.

Cette recherche pour l’unique, pour la qualité est dans ces plats, aussi. Et quels plat son a dégusté ! On a eu doit à un menu sur mesure, commençant par sa terrine campagne mythique qui est offert à toutes les tables. Après il y avait une soupe aux crustacés suivi par des langues d’oiseux à l’encre de seiche avec homard. En ce moment notre serveur nous apporte un bol de pâtes qui nagaient. Ce n’étaient pas des pâtes ; c’était de pibales, une spécialité gastronomique des Pays Basques et ils n’étaient pas pour manger, enfin, pas tout de suite. D’abord, la fameuse soupe à l’oignon reconstruite. Magnifique ! Surtout les croquettes, Lolo avait raison. Les pibales étaient de retour, cette fois-ci sans mouvement, une sautée parfaîtement simple dans sa perfection, de l’ail et une assaisonnement généreuse de piment d’espelette.

Maintenant, le riz au lait. Un gros bol de riz servi avec un caramel au beurre salé et des noix de pecan carmelisés. Pour se refraiîchir, on nous a offert une compote d’agrumes avec une glace au gingembre. Pas mal, mais pour moi, la pièce de resistance était le YoLoLo, un plat concu par Lolo et Yuka, une croustiant de pommes parfaitement carmelisé avec un sorbet à la vanille. Extraordinaire.

Après une verveine au comptoir (on devait cèder nos places a des rugbymen qui avait faim) on a salué le chef et on est parti, nos pieds touchaient à peine le sol.

Normally, we’re still in Lapland, but last night I had the most fabulous adventure in a Paris kitchen. So we’re changing dials for today. Wed night the phone rang.

“Sylvia, its M, I’m in Paris! Guess where I’m staying? The Mandarin Oriental! You want to have lunch tomorrow? my treat!”

I hadn’t heard from M in nearly two years, when she moved home to Israel to pursue her career as a journalist and fall in love and become a Mom. I cancelled my plans and we had a date. After lunch at Camélia (later, I promise) she asked me to take her shopping for les soldes because weirdly enough, I have the reputation of being something of a shopping expert. After a very successful two hours, M started to be in a rush.

“I’m having dinner at a friend’s restaurant, would you like to join me? You could write about it for the Girls Guide.”

I was game. I’m always game for food, but I could not understand her rush, at 18h, we had plenty of time. My friend explained that her friend is Stéphane Jego and that she had a date to meet him before dinner to learn how to make his famous rice pudding.

Scratch that record and play that again. Stéphne Jego? He’s the chef of L’Ami Jean, a superb Basuqe restaurant that also happens to be the oldest in Paris. Eating there is a pure joy, entering his kitchen was beyond my wildest dreams.

The kitchen is teeny, but was practically empty when we arrived. Most of the staff was enjoying their dinner and the only two left in the kitchen were the pastry chef, Yuka Hayakawa and her impressively hard working assistant, Lolo, Jego’s 5 year old daughter, the cutest chef in Paris!

Jego's Onion Soup

While they explained riz au lait, Chef Jego started showing me his newest creation, a reconstructed onion soup that had been inspired by the onion soup he had made for his wife Sandrine and guests on their wedding night. The modern version had an onion purée, a soup reduction and fried onion ball, served with a slice of calamar and mustard leaves. As he pulled all the ingredients together he talked on his wedding and his wife, Sandrine. he spoke of our grandmother’s kitchens, where the vapor from their pots entwined the fragrance of cooking with our childhood memories. His passion for this dish, for cooking and his love for this restaurant were palpable in his voice.

This passion comes through in his restaurant, graffiti that represents the Berlin Wall with a Michelin devil is the symbol of his freedom in the kitchen. Custom knives, there are only 136 in the world, napkins are actually designed dishtowels and each menu is an original work of art.

As we admired the details of the dining room Lolo sat down for dinner. Bolnd with bouncing curls she pushed away the dish of onion soup, she wanted nothing to do with it. Her father reminded it her that it was the dish he’d made for her mom on their wedding day and then continued o nwith us. 10 minutes later her dish was clean and she congratulated him, at the same time reminding him that she hates spinach.

Being detailed oriented comes from his years in the kitchen where each dish must be perfect. And what dishes we tasted! Chef Jego prepared a special menu for us, beginning with the reknowned country pâté that is offered to all the diners. Then there was a seafood soup with crunchy bits of croutons and red onion followed but “bird’s tongue” pasta in squid ink with lobster. At this point our waiter brought us a bowl of squiggling pasta. But it wasn’t pasta, they were pibale, baby eels and a Basque delicacy. Only these ones were only for us to admire, at least for now. It was time for the recontructed onion soup. Lolo was right, delicious, especially the onion balls! The pibale s were back, this time totally still in a porcelaine bowl with three wooden spoons and perfectly sauteed with garlic and a healthy seasoning of Piment d’espelette.

It was a breathtaking moment during a breathtaking meal. Then came rabbit, pigeon and calf kidney with a mix of different purées and sauces all with incredible flavours and textures. I could taste the memories of my holidays in Ciboure, I was in my grandfather’s kitchen, I was traveling through the memory of my palette, just as the chef intended. Two glasses of an excellent poully fumé accompanied the meal

After all that, it was time for the rice pudding. A large bowl is served with a small bowl of caramel au beurre salé and another with carmelised pecans. There was a refreshing dessert of citrus fruit with ginger ice cream and it was all very good, but the pièce de résistance was the YoLoLo, a perfectly marmalised apple croustillant with vanilla sorbet created by Yuka and Lolo. Exceptional.

After an herbal tea at the zinc bar (we’d stayed too long and a rather serious looking rugby man had claims to our table) we rolled out the door, our feet barely touching the ground.

 

Supper time, Lapland style

When people first heard that we went to Lapland for the holidays they usually asked where Lapland is. Then they’d ask if it wasn’t just a tad cold up there and then they’d ask why anyone would choose Lapland as a holiday destination.

Now that we are back there is on question on everyone’s lips, “How was the food? What do Laplanders eat?” They are undoubtedly expecting me to reply something totally bizarre, like whale blubber or reindeer fat. And perhaps they do. But mostly the food was quite normal and utterly delicious.

Our first morning there we spent the entire walk to the dining hall asking ourselves the same question. We were greeted with pickled herring. Oh joy. There was also creamed herring and lox and several other pickled bits. The Russians in the house were thrilled. My Dad would have been clapping his hands in gastronomic joy. I was less thrilled. My French family was happy when the spotted the basket of soft boiled eggs, while I was over the moon with the plain yougurt-like cream and fresh marmalade.

Reindeer Tapas

For lunch, our hotel only offered soup with only one option each day. Once it was a rather odd; broth with hot dog slices and another day they tried to get creative with chicken in coconut milk. We were very excited the day we got to have lunch at Saariselka the neighboring ski resort where we accidental stumbled into Teerenpesa, a gastro-pub with absolutely gorgeous food. That is where I discovered the fresh trout and we tried reindeer paté.

Being the land of no sun with temps below zero for months on end, the locals are very much into fire and open flames, so grilled proteins are quite popular. The proteins may be fresh from the hunt, like elk or wild boar.  Or they may be farm raised, like the reindeer, but my favorites were the wild salmon from the Arctic Sea and the trout from the local rivers. Also from the Arctic Sea came some enormous, absolutely succulent King Crab legs that I feasted on nightly. There were potatoes with every meal with a fair variety of surprising succulent root vegetables, but green vegetables were scarce.

We spent one afternoon at a local grocery store where we picked up some reindeer flavoured potato chips and a mojito flavoured beer. Beer is popular in Lapland, getting 4 times the self space of the meats and nearly as much coverage as the entire produce section. Laplanders feed their dogs refrigerated dog foods, which amazed me. The gumball machines were filled with polished rocks and the souvenir department was stacked with rat poisons. Not sure what that was about…

And since we were out shopping we decided to look into the souvenirs. There were some really gorgeous knives (starting at 20€) and lots of reindeer skins (90€). The inventors of Angry Birds are Finnish, so there were lots of AB toys and stuff. There were also woolen mittens (8€) that looked liked they’d been designed for the three little kittens and great ski hats. There was some great Finnish design, like the Aalto vase (medium size 85€) from Ittala and lots of Marimekko textiles. There were also some weird looking dolls (12€) and odd, electric colored furs and leather goods with plenty of ethnic looking stuff that was not ethnic at all. I had not gone to Lapland for the shopping so I was not at all disappoint to return home empty handed, but well fed.

Teerenpesa / Saariselantie 5 / Saariselka, Finland

 

Quand on disait qu’on allait en Laponie nos amis nous demadaient où c’était La Laponie. Ensuite ils voulaient savoir s’il n’allait pas faire un peu froid et finalement, pourquoi des gens, qui semblaient être normals auriez envie de partir en Laponie en plein hiver.

Depuis notre retour ils ont tous la même question ; on mange quoi en Laponie ? Certainement, ils attendaient une liste d’ingrédients bizarroïdes, comme le lard de baleine ou le gras de renne.  Ils mangent ses plats, sans doute, mais moi, j’ai adoré la cuisine finlandaise.

Le premier matin on s’est pointé vers la salle à manger, la même question sur nos lèvres. En arrivant au buffet j’ai vu du hareng mariné. Chouette. Mes yeux bien ouverts par le parfum de ce plat j’ai remarqué le saumon fumé, des cornichons et plein d’autres poissons conservés. Les hôtes russes étaient aux anges. Mon père aura chanté sa joie, il adore toutes ce plats de l’Europe de l’est. Moi un peu moins. La famille French était contente du panier rempli d’oeufs à la coque et j’étais soulagée de trouver une espèce d’yogourt et un confit d’agrumes fait maison.

Au déjeuner, il y avait une soup du jour, du pain, eh ben, du pain. Une fois la recette était un peu étrange ; un bouillon avec des tranches de Knacki. Un autre jour ils ont essayé de faire gastronomique avec une soupe de poulet au lait de coco. Ce n’était pas mal, mais on était quand même très heureux de déjeuner à Saariselka, la station de ski où on a découvert un bistrot avec une cuisine gastronomique. On a dégusté la truite qui venait du coin et un pâté de rennes. Le bonheur.

La Laponie est un pays sans soleil où le thermostat reste en dessus 0 pour la majorité de l’année. Les habitants, ils aiment leur feu. Ils s’en servent pour se réchauffer et pour faire des grillades extraordinaires. Ils grillent tout qui leur passe sous la main ; le gibier comme elan ou sanglier, les poissons comme la truite ou le saumon sauvage de la mer arctique et les animaux d’élevage, comme le renne. J’ai craqué pour le King Crab, aussi de la mer arctique. Il y avait des pommes de terre et plusieurs racines, comme le panais, mais moins de légumes vertes.

Après notre déjeuner au bistrot, nous avons fait un petit détour au supermarché où on a trouvé des chips parfumé au renne fumé et une bière mojito. Ils aiment bien leur bière les Lapons, il y a avait quatre fois plus de place pour la bière que pour les viandes. Le rayon était aussi grand que le rayon primeur. La bouffe pour les chiens était au frigo, les machines pour le chewing gum étaient remplis de petits cailloux et le panneau “souvenirs” pointé vers les raticides. On n’était pas à Paris.

Puisqu’on faisait un petit shopping c’était le moment de visiter les boutiques de souvenirs. Il y avait de beaux couteaux artisanaux (à partir de 20€) et des peaux de rennes somptueux (90€). Les cerveaux derrière Angry Birds sont finlandais, donc il y avait pas mal de trucs en plastique avec leurs oiseaux fachés. Des moufles stylés (8€) en laine blanche et brodée rouge, bleu, vert pour un look chic traditionnel avec des bonnets de ski assortis. Il y avait le design finlandais, comme le vase Aalto (85€ moyen) de Ittala et beaucoup de tissu Marimekko dans toutes ses états ; cabas, tabliers, serviettes, etc. Il faut dire que les poupées étaient étranges et il y avait des fourrures en couleurs électriques, la maroquinerie et des produits ethniques sans en avoir l’air. J’étais contente de quitter la Laponie avec mes photos et de bonnes souvenirs.

Teerenpesa / Saariselantie 5 / Saariselka, Finland

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