Oh yeah, weve been looking at art, too. While some of you may be surprised to hear that we will forego the Louvre, we did spend an afternoon with the Impressionists at the Musee dOrsay, a beautiful museum on the Seine in a converted train station. Loads of famous paintings, with many a Monet, Manet, Sissily, Toulouse-Latrec, Van Gogh, and on and on.
It was very nice, we enjoyed it, but to be honest my stamina for classic works of art has grown short. I far prefer poking around in the small galleries, looking at modern French paintings. They just have more to say to me.
We will go to the Picasso museum on Sunday, because its free then.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Michael and Julia; Robert et Louise
Our friend Judi suggested we hook up with some friends of hers while we are here, and though hesitant for some reason to do so, thinking we wouldnt want to be a burden, we were very glad we did.
Last night, we met up with them at a bar, Stollys Pub, owned by their friend Oliver. Hes English and shes American, qnd theyve both been in France for years. After chatting with them and their friends over a few cocktqils (a gin and tonic, a cuba libre, and a Heinekin) we headed down the street to a tiny restaurant that Michael promised to be an authentic, French country restaurant short on frills and big on food.
It would not disappoint: This was the eating experience Id hoped to have here.
Robert et Louise is a tiny room hidden away in the Marais arrondissement, a narrow space with a handful of tables packed tightly together. When we arrived slightly late for our reservation, the owner or manager told Michael that yes, he did see that we had a reservation, and yes, we would be waiting. So we got an aperitif, a kier I think he called it, and waited only a short while. We squeezed into a tqble by the door qnd put the ordering into Ms hands.
To start, we were brought crusty bread, of course; a bottle of red wine ("cheap as chips but very nice to drink," said M); and the appetizers (here, entrees). These were outstanding, all of them. First came a trio of gambas, large shrimps served whole after simmering in some sort of broth. Im not a big fan; but these were outstanding. Next came a pork pate of some kind, coarse shredded meat served cold in a small pot, marinated in something very mild, creamy and delicious beyond expectation. Then: blood sausage. 2 of them. Black colored things bulging oily from the casings, ominous looking but tasty as could possibly be. Cathy dug in and enjoyed them nearly as much as I did. They were fine grained, not too salty, and had a texture unlike any sausage Ive had. Outstanding, especially dabbed into a small pile of mustard scooped from a clay pot on the table with a tiny wooden spoon.
And, more wine, always more wine.
Our main courses came, and man did we eat. Before we came down, M made sure we ate red meat. Hah! The first dish was a steak for two, carved right off a side of beef hanging in the rear of the room. Cooked to med rare perfection, this thing was perfectly crisp on the outside and perfectly red on the inside. I cant recall eating a better straight-up steak. It was brought to us sliced on a large cutting board, and we transferrred it to smaller cutting boards to eat from.
Next came duck confit, tender and juicy to running like duck really should be. Fantastic, served with sauteed potatoes that were ordinary in the best way. This more than made up for the duck we tried to get the previous night--I know they gave me steak, insisted on it, and if anything this duck proved me right.
Lastly, lamb. A great little (well, not so little) fillet seared just right and served up tender as possible on another cutting board. This food was so simple and so good that it belied all Ive heard and read about the overdoing of sauce and other things in French cooking.
We talked and talked about everything from politics (ugh) to cycling to football to travel to our own life stories, some of which were far more interesting than others. Two words: Uncle Ringo. Well leave it at that for now.
Lastly, with no room whatsoever for dessert, M ordered a few digestifs to end things. These are mighty little drinks purported to help you digest your meal. With the alcohol content involved, Ive no doubt the breaking down of food was sped up. One was pear flavored (Cathy thought the pear floating in the bottle was a baby chicken--it wasnt, but she declined to join us anyway). One was some berry-based concoction, and one was dark and more like brandy. All were firewater, hot on the tongue and in the throat, but subsiding quickly from fire to pleasant glow.
We rolled ourselves out of thereabout 1am, after a fairly lenghty discourse with the proprietor about various types of cigarettes and the settling of the USA, assisted and translated by Michael. An incredibly pleasant and memorable experience.
Today theres a World Cup qualifying match that we may meet them for, but Cathy woke up with a fever this morning, so well have to wait and see.
Last night, we met up with them at a bar, Stollys Pub, owned by their friend Oliver. Hes English and shes American, qnd theyve both been in France for years. After chatting with them and their friends over a few cocktqils (a gin and tonic, a cuba libre, and a Heinekin) we headed down the street to a tiny restaurant that Michael promised to be an authentic, French country restaurant short on frills and big on food.
It would not disappoint: This was the eating experience Id hoped to have here.
Robert et Louise is a tiny room hidden away in the Marais arrondissement, a narrow space with a handful of tables packed tightly together. When we arrived slightly late for our reservation, the owner or manager told Michael that yes, he did see that we had a reservation, and yes, we would be waiting. So we got an aperitif, a kier I think he called it, and waited only a short while. We squeezed into a tqble by the door qnd put the ordering into Ms hands.
To start, we were brought crusty bread, of course; a bottle of red wine ("cheap as chips but very nice to drink," said M); and the appetizers (here, entrees). These were outstanding, all of them. First came a trio of gambas, large shrimps served whole after simmering in some sort of broth. Im not a big fan; but these were outstanding. Next came a pork pate of some kind, coarse shredded meat served cold in a small pot, marinated in something very mild, creamy and delicious beyond expectation. Then: blood sausage. 2 of them. Black colored things bulging oily from the casings, ominous looking but tasty as could possibly be. Cathy dug in and enjoyed them nearly as much as I did. They were fine grained, not too salty, and had a texture unlike any sausage Ive had. Outstanding, especially dabbed into a small pile of mustard scooped from a clay pot on the table with a tiny wooden spoon.
And, more wine, always more wine.
Our main courses came, and man did we eat. Before we came down, M made sure we ate red meat. Hah! The first dish was a steak for two, carved right off a side of beef hanging in the rear of the room. Cooked to med rare perfection, this thing was perfectly crisp on the outside and perfectly red on the inside. I cant recall eating a better straight-up steak. It was brought to us sliced on a large cutting board, and we transferrred it to smaller cutting boards to eat from.
Next came duck confit, tender and juicy to running like duck really should be. Fantastic, served with sauteed potatoes that were ordinary in the best way. This more than made up for the duck we tried to get the previous night--I know they gave me steak, insisted on it, and if anything this duck proved me right.
Lastly, lamb. A great little (well, not so little) fillet seared just right and served up tender as possible on another cutting board. This food was so simple and so good that it belied all Ive heard and read about the overdoing of sauce and other things in French cooking.
We talked and talked about everything from politics (ugh) to cycling to football to travel to our own life stories, some of which were far more interesting than others. Two words: Uncle Ringo. Well leave it at that for now.
Lastly, with no room whatsoever for dessert, M ordered a few digestifs to end things. These are mighty little drinks purported to help you digest your meal. With the alcohol content involved, Ive no doubt the breaking down of food was sped up. One was pear flavored (Cathy thought the pear floating in the bottle was a baby chicken--it wasnt, but she declined to join us anyway). One was some berry-based concoction, and one was dark and more like brandy. All were firewater, hot on the tongue and in the throat, but subsiding quickly from fire to pleasant glow.
We rolled ourselves out of thereabout 1am, after a fairly lenghty discourse with the proprietor about various types of cigarettes and the settling of the USA, assisted and translated by Michael. An incredibly pleasant and memorable experience.
Today theres a World Cup qualifying match that we may meet them for, but Cathy woke up with a fever this morning, so well have to wait and see.
Caveaux de Hachette
After dinner on our second night in town, I brought Cathy home and went in search of jazz. I found it at the Caveaux de Hauchette, a cavernous basement club in the Latin Quarter.
Hal Singer was playing, and though I know Iùve heard the name I cant tell youi ,uch about hi, beyond thzt hes quite old and, Id bet, played a mean sax in his day. He was still good, playing as he was with the house band, bass, piano, and drums, for a set of standards that was entirely passable.
Not the most exciting show ever, to be sure, but it was great to sit in a Paris basement club and listen to this music adn watch these people dance. Stupendous danders, twirling and jitterbugging their way into puddles of sweaty joy.
For the music, Ill keep looking.
Hal Singer was playing, and though I know Iùve heard the name I cant tell youi ,uch about hi, beyond thzt hes quite old and, Id bet, played a mean sax in his day. He was still good, playing as he was with the house band, bass, piano, and drums, for a set of standards that was entirely passable.
Not the most exciting show ever, to be sure, but it was great to sit in a Paris basement club and listen to this music adn watch these people dance. Stupendous danders, twirling and jitterbugging their way into puddles of sweaty joy.
For the music, Ill keep looking.
Paris!
OK, so before I begin, the keyboard Im using has a few quirks that Im having trouble with, and I may well run out of ti,me before I get a good edit in. The q and a are switched, as are the w and z, so consider them interchangeable, as are the cmma and the m. Weirtd how much thats hampering my efforts. No apostrophes, either.
OK: Paris!
We got in just fine after mostly uneventful flights and got our room in the Hotel Marignon in the Latin Quarter with no troubles. Its great for what were paying, the breakfast is free and simple, and the staff speak English and are very helpful.
This city is fantastic. Weve spent loads of time just walking and walking, seeing everything we can and jut taking it in. Its easy to see why this is the top tourist spot in the world--its easy and its beautiful and its not nearly as expensive as I expected it to be.
Our first day here we spent wandering the streets for a while, past the ginormous Cathedral de Notre Dame, along the Seine, through some lovely parks, and then back to the room for a nap. For our first dinner (yes that will be a BIG part of this blog, for obvious reasons) we made our way to Montmarte to try to find Refuge de Fondue, a place where C and her mom ate when they visited here. She found it right off, ands we descended the stairs into the din and bustle of a long narrow room with lines of tables in either side filled to bursting with people. But they did make room for us, and the waiter helped Cathy walk up onto and over the table to squeeze into a seat along the wall. I sat opposite her and we ordered the meat fondue and vin rouge for me and blanc for the lady. It was served in baby bottles, nipples and all. Everyone was drinking from them. Ridiculous and hilarious. We ended up chatting with a trio fo Italians sitting next to us (almost on top of us, or in our laps,or us in theirs; it was often tough to tell) as we ate our steak and potatoes. Ferdinando, Monica, and Franco are design journo types in twn for an exposition, and they were great fun and eager to talk and drink wine and swap some of their cheese for some of our meat.
Conversation ran through life in our respecitve homes, our work (briefly), Lance Armsrong (a true champion and victim of gossip press, to Ferd.), and many many other subjects. It was great, and we werent the only ones whothhought so. Ferd. suggested we go some other place to end the night with a bottle of Bordeaux. We accepted. However, time for us to catch the past metro (underground train) home was running short, so we settled for a middle eastern place just down the street from the restaurant. There we had a big pot of delicious mint tea and shared a big fancy genie-in-a-bottle-looking hookah pipe packed full of apple flavored tobacco. This stuff was so smooth and tasty that even Cathy liked it.
We ended the night hoping to get together again on the weekend, and I hope we do, because they were as pleasant as could be.
And indeed we ran for THE last train, and we made it, just. A great opening night.
OK: Paris!
We got in just fine after mostly uneventful flights and got our room in the Hotel Marignon in the Latin Quarter with no troubles. Its great for what were paying, the breakfast is free and simple, and the staff speak English and are very helpful.
This city is fantastic. Weve spent loads of time just walking and walking, seeing everything we can and jut taking it in. Its easy to see why this is the top tourist spot in the world--its easy and its beautiful and its not nearly as expensive as I expected it to be.
Our first day here we spent wandering the streets for a while, past the ginormous Cathedral de Notre Dame, along the Seine, through some lovely parks, and then back to the room for a nap. For our first dinner (yes that will be a BIG part of this blog, for obvious reasons) we made our way to Montmarte to try to find Refuge de Fondue, a place where C and her mom ate when they visited here. She found it right off, ands we descended the stairs into the din and bustle of a long narrow room with lines of tables in either side filled to bursting with people. But they did make room for us, and the waiter helped Cathy walk up onto and over the table to squeeze into a seat along the wall. I sat opposite her and we ordered the meat fondue and vin rouge for me and blanc for the lady. It was served in baby bottles, nipples and all. Everyone was drinking from them. Ridiculous and hilarious. We ended up chatting with a trio fo Italians sitting next to us (almost on top of us, or in our laps,or us in theirs; it was often tough to tell) as we ate our steak and potatoes. Ferdinando, Monica, and Franco are design journo types in twn for an exposition, and they were great fun and eager to talk and drink wine and swap some of their cheese for some of our meat.
Conversation ran through life in our respecitve homes, our work (briefly), Lance Armsrong (a true champion and victim of gossip press, to Ferd.), and many many other subjects. It was great, and we werent the only ones whothhought so. Ferd. suggested we go some other place to end the night with a bottle of Bordeaux. We accepted. However, time for us to catch the past metro (underground train) home was running short, so we settled for a middle eastern place just down the street from the restaurant. There we had a big pot of delicious mint tea and shared a big fancy genie-in-a-bottle-looking hookah pipe packed full of apple flavored tobacco. This stuff was so smooth and tasty that even Cathy liked it.
We ended the night hoping to get together again on the weekend, and I hope we do, because they were as pleasant as could be.
And indeed we ran for THE last train, and we made it, just. A great opening night.
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