Midnight in Paris

Le Chef and I went to see this last night at the UGC Opéra. The movie let out at midnight. In Paris. Unfortunately we were not whisked away by Lost Generation writers with bathtub gin splashing out of martini glasses in a 1920's taxi, but it was still pretty cool.

Did anyone else who saw this think that it resembled You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger perhaps a little too closely? You've got the struggling American novelist in a major European city; his unsupportive, blonde significant other who spends too much time with her mother; the mysterious, utterly sexy darker girl. At first he's just drawn to the mystery girl, they're both already taken, but then she leaves her lover and he leaves the blonde shrew, but then it doesn't really work out between them either. Oh Woody, I'm reading all kinds of Mia/Soon Yi symbolism into this.

Instead of someone reading the future in this one, the protagonist travels back to a past full of cameos from Salvador Dalì (Adrien Brody in top form) to Djuna Barnes to Picasso. I giggled at Corey Stoll's deadpan speeches as Hemingway. The Sun Also Rises sounds slightly out of place at a flapper party. Kathy Bates' interpretation of Gertrude Stein made her seem a lot more down to earth and less self-important than she does in some of her writing (but I just think it's rude to write someone else's autobiography).

It's a fun romp with the feel-good message that every era has its value, an it sure makes the 1920's social circuit in Paris look like a heck of a lot of fun.

P.S. Le Chef and I had a lot of fun picking out some of our favorite spots during the opening shots of the city. Also, keep an eye out for Carla Bruni!

Norman fait des vidéos

How do you know when you're really getting proficient in a language? When you get the jokes.

And this guy is hilarious.

Marc Chagall and the Bible

This is a beautiful exhibition. If you're in Paris, you should go.

Chagall et la Bible - Musee d'art et d'histoire du Judaisme (Hôtel de Saint-Aignan, 71, rue du Temple). Until June 5th.

Chagall was a Jewish Russian artist who spent much of his early career in France, got trapped back in Russia for the first World War, emigrated to the States for the Second, and finally settled in France afterward. He is famous for painting the ceiling of the Opéra Garnier. After the war he was invited and accepted commissions to design the stained-glass windows at not only a synagogue but also a Catholic church in Berlin. The exhibit is prints from his illustrated Bible.

Wallabies à Paris

Voilà le Jardin des Plantes (57 rue Cuvier 75005 Paris), which has been hiding a few blocks away from my Wednesday lunch spot for the past 8 months! It took some Canadian evangelicals (don't ask) to get me over there. La menagerie also features a "petit panda" which is red and has a tail (?) as well as two ostriches, lions, flamingos, some bears and who knows what else. It was closing when we got there, but I'll definitely have to go back!

P.S. This is also where every man in Paris goes to jog, as it turns out.

Crème Glacée

On Tuesday a friend and I had our histoire du livre exam followed by a disastrous dinner at CROUS (student cafeterias throughout the city where you can get a wholesome meal for 3 euros - here's a link). To make it up to ourselves, we decided to get ice cream! Because we were at St. Michel where many of the restaurants are overpriced and/or of dubious quality, we decided to go with Amorino, a chain of gelato shops where the vendeur or vendeuse will shape your scoop into a flower. It's also novel for France because you get to pick as many flavors as you want, even for the small size. We took our frosty treats two blocks down to the river and sat on the quai watching the bateaux mouches go by and reminiscing.

Here is a list of some of my favorite ice cream places in Paris, in no particular order:

Berthillon - Yes, it can cost you about a day's salary (who am I kidding, what do I know about salaries?) for two itty bitty scoops, but I'll be damned if there's a richer chocolate ice cream out there. Their white chocolate and caramel are also too exquisite! Don't even get me started on the sorbets -- sanguine or framboise, anyone?
Original location: 29-31 rue Saint Louis en l'Ile 75004 Paris; available at many other restaurants and cafés.

Amorino - Gelato from an international chain. It's less expensive than Berthillon at 3,50 for a small coppa or cornetto. Amorino's great when you want some creamy goodness that's less familiar than the ubiquitous Haagen-Daz and cheaper than Berthillon. And, did I mention the flowers? They also tend to hire cute vendeurs, especially at the one by Bastille.
Address: 4 rue de la Roquette 75011 Paris, other locations throughout the city and Europe.


Le Bac à Glaces - At this tiny little shop in the 7th arrondissement, a scoop of one of their finely crafted ice creams or sorbets will set you back 3,50 (for much higher quality stuff than Amorino's). Yesterday's parfum du jour was pain d'epices with real bits of gingerbread inside! There's a little park full of joyous Parisian children and their stylish mothers right next door. Settle yourself on a bench for some of the cutest people watching in Paris!
Address: 109 rue du Bac 75009 Paris

Martine Lambert - Le Chef is responsible for introducing me to both Martine and Le Bac. This one's a bit pricier but also very, very good. Plus it's on one of those cute little pedestrian shopping streets.
Address: 39 rue Cler 75007 Paris

Pays de la Loire: Land of Chateaux

I am behind, but I'll try to catch up a bit today. Last weekend EDUCO took us to Pays de la Loire to visit two chateaux - Chambord (above) and le Chateau de Blois. Since it takes decades to build one of these things, each chateau exhibits multiple architectural styles as well as the symbols (logos?) of multiple sovereigns.

Fireplace at Blois: King Salamander, Queen Ermine (François I, Anne de Bretagne)

Chambord was built as a hunting lodge in the middle of a park the size of Paris. While it is architecturally striking, it's mostly empty these days. Blois, on the other hand, remains richly decorated with paintings and furniture relating to some of the intrigues that took place at the chateau.

Above, the king's bedchamber, where Henri III had the duc de Guise assassinated after inviting him in for a private audience. According to popular legend, he died at the foot of the bed. The painting on the right depicts the scene.

Throne

Staircase at Blois, design attributed to Da Vinci; EDUCOers

Royal Seal, Ceiling of Catherine de Medici's office.

Another scandal: Henri II arranged the royal emblem so that the "H" (Henri) and "C" arranged to form the shape of a "D", for Diane de Poitiers, his mistress, who coincidentally was also 20 years older than him.

Though it was pretty spare inside, Chambord offered some great views:

Shakespeare & Co.

I've been putting off writing about Shakespeare and Co. until I could write something other than the standard touristy rave reviews. I'm not sure I can now, but in the name of naming something beautiful here everyday, today I'll try.

The store, which is not the same one that belonged to Sylvia Beach (publisher of Ulysses and sneaky, Nazi-evading bookstore relocator), is located between Notre Dame and the Place St. Michel on the Seine. The outside is painted green and yellow and on the shutters is a testament. Written in white on a black background (like the specials at a restaurant) in all caps, is a brief explanation of the store as told by George Whitman, the owner. The building is ancient. It used to house monks in the middle ages. Since 1951, the floors have groaned good-naturedly under two levels of floor-to-ceiling books in English. The left-hand side as you enter is the Antiquarium - first editions, signed copies, lots of leather, and that smell that every bibliophile loves. The right hand side is the merchandise - Julia Child is on permanent rotation, along with whatever new chick lit is set in Paris as well as French literature in translation. That is good business. Beyond that the store's "Poets' Corner" easily beats the poetry selection at your local Borders, and all the best contemporary writers are on their shelves.

The real power of the store is its cultural currency. It is a touchstone for lovers of the Beat Generation (of which Mr. Whitman was definitely a part). It carries on, quietly, its stalwartly bohemian tradition of allowing young writers, travelers, and book lovers to stay in the store in exchange for work. A few hours of shelving books earns you the right to sleep among them on couches on the second floor, a place where most tourists rarely venture. The store is thus staffed by shifting set of anglophone bibliophiles, some are hipsters and some just really really love reading. Joining the ranks of the "tumbleweeds," as they are called, is no easy feat, since English-speakers from New York to Cape Town dream of staying in this little Utopia. Those who are really serious about working at the shop get vetted by Sylvia. She can often be seen gliding between the shelves followed by a black dog. Sylvia is beautiful.

She has been running the shop since 2003. I imagine she grew up with her father in the apartment adjacent, where George used to hold tea on Sunday afternoons. I don't know if he still does it. He's at least 99 now. His daughter is only 30, but she has the old-school glamour one would expect from such an environment - ivory skin, short, wavy blond hair and a petite frame which she dresses becomingly in styles Katharine Hepburn would be at home in. She intimidates the hell out of me, I'm in awe of the poise and intelligence she projects just checking in with the cashiers or standing at the back of a reading.

Another thing that makes Shakespeare and Co. so great is their regular and varied readings. In 2009, I was lucky enough to see Jonathan Safran Foer read what would later be the first chapter of Eating Animals there, as well as the poets (and my teachers at the time) Joshua Beckman and Matthew Rohrer. Next week is Paul Harding and I'm dying to go. Men so talented I feel like I'll never be hungry again thinking about their work. Yeah, that's a weird reaction all right, but the excitement, and the motivation to read and write, the love of our language and the hope that maybe, with enough work, one day I could do something equally valuable -- even just the memory of it -- makes my stomach do somersaults. And that's the thing about Shakespeare and Co. The lush past filled with singed hair and traveling artists is just waiting to be reborn in the tumbleweed whose travel tales inspire a generation to reexamine their lives or the visiting writer who can finally wake up the muse that's been sleeping in the city for decades now. Here's to inspiration. Here's to holding out.

Real Teal

Behold the marble mantelpiece that serves as my vanity. Among the accessories, ticket stubs and assorted beauty products is a little bottle of Sephora's vernis à ongles in L15 Vintage Sweater. Joëlle gave me the little bottle for Christmas, after I had complimented her own blue-green nails earlier in the fall. Yesterday my toes were looking a little sad, but after a good scrub and some fresh paint, I'm feeling bien dans mes sandales. Here's to bold colors and exchanging small gestures!

Something Beautiful Everyday

Hi all,

I can't believe it's been over a month since my last post! I apologize, family. I know all 5 of you were waiting to hear a bit about Spring Break and see some pictures, but honestly, I just can't find it in me to write about it. (It's exam time.)

In the same vein, I've decided to whittle this project down to its original, intended aim -- recognizing some beautiful new discovery every day. I'll start with yesterday.




My ever-uplifting artist friend Linda and I were standing in line at Starbucks when she mentioned the carrot cake at Sésame. I've heard her talk about it glowingly before, and when I said, "Oh, I still need to try that" her response was, "Want to go now?" Four métro stops and a short walk along the vibrant Canal St. Martin later, we arrived at the rosy-cheeked café. This is not your mama's carrot cake! The heavenly little slices are thin, light, and whisper soft. You can also kind of see the grated carrot! Each slice is topped with a scoop of luscious cream cheese frosting which, if I'm not mistaken, contained slivered almonds. I washed mine down with a "café frappé" (ice coffee hold the ice?). Delectable.

Here's their website :)

C'est (pas trop) dure, la matinée

Meh. Mornings. Joëlle, who's up by 7 o'clock on weekdays has more reason to complain than I do, with my one 9 a.m. class and one at 10:30. Some mornings she leaves me pain au chocolat (two sticks of dark chocolate wrapped in croissant) from Dominique Saibron, a.k.a. my French Lover, officially the baker of the third-best baguette in Paris who also has locations in Tokyo. He just happens to be the corner bakery. No big deal. (He'll get his own post soon.) Anyway, pair that little roll of light flaky joy with a cup of French café out of this little wonder:

And it's already a good day.

I eat this petit dejeuner des champions at the kitchen table. Usually, I forget to turn the light on until after I've finished my coffee, so I sit in the soft light and stare out the kitchen window - the only one with a view of the sky - and look at the blue, or more often indecisive, backdrop. Cohabiting the kitchen with the coffeemaker is the yellow réfrigo.

C'est facile à faire la grasse matinée dans cet apart :)