Yet another blog about food

Dear Mother,

Like Dad, I seem to be writing mostly about meals, but sometimes meals are the day's highlight, a time to slow down, converse, reflect, laugh and enjoy good food.  Last night (Monday) was our traditional end-of-volunteer-service celebratory meal for Janice, even though we just got here.  Janie will be returning to Florida for her final doctoral seminar next Monday, and so we won't see her again this summer.  The usual "final" celebratory meal was therefore moved up, and the Bloughs decided also to use it as their 40th anniversary celebration.

As in past years, we returned to Porte Dorée which has a fine restaurant that is very reasonably priced.  All meals are the same price, so we had about 12 choices of entrées (appetizers), another dozen or so choices for plats (main courses), and another 10-12 choices for desserts.  Decisions, decisions.

I started with a cold fish terrine, layers of white fish and salmon, with a delicious tomato-basil coulis.

Janie had a bowl of seafood (crayfish, scallops, shrimps, clams, etc.) done in garlic butter.

Janice's appetizer was a meal in itself, with a bit of duck confit, foie gras (liver), dried prosciutto

Neal was persuaded by the owner/host that duck foie gras and its fat are both excellent for cholesterol watchers. Little persuasion was required.

Then we proceeded to our main courses, but I only remembered to take one photo.  (Not pictured, alas:  I had duck steak, which is duck breast sliced the long way, and Janice had loup, fish.)  The Bloughs had duck confit, that lovely leg of duck slowly cooked at a low temperature while submerged in duck fat.  It is then stored for several months, completely submerged in duck fat, which makes the otherwise tough leg meat ever so unbelievably tender.  The duck fat melts at room temperature, so it does not clot when consumed but is more like olive oil.  The greens are Swiss chard, both the green leaves and white stems.

For dessert, several of us had crêpes flambées, which were made close to our table--a great show. 

Profiteroles with three kinds of ice cream and an unbelievably dark, rich chocolate sauce, one of the establishment's specialties.

One final food-related photo.  During my meandering in the afternoon, I happened upon an interesting sign on a lamp post, listing some of the world's more famous vegetarians.

This afternoon I am going to visit Michel, the conductor of Friday's Pierre de la Rue concert.  Then I have no plans other than further meandering, camera in hand.  I also have to plan supper.  Tomorrow (Wed.) I will go with Neal to the seminary at Vaux for my third annual day of shooting for their archives.  We will get back by about 8:30, in time for the final meeting of the English class and its annual party.

All for now, with love from us both,
Evan

Mothers Day in Paris

Dear Mother,

Yesterday was Mothers Day in France, so it is about two weeks later than in Canada (somehow, I managed to miss both of them . . . can this be my Mothers Day card for you?)  We celebrated by taking an all-afternoon walk in the 13th arrondissement, a quiet residential/hospital area which almost never sees tourists.  Janice purchased a book on private gardens created in the city by individual apartment dwellers or by groups of people interested in transforming dismal tiny areas into spaces covered with green.  So she had located some on maps that interested her.

We started out by taking the usual métro (c. €1.12/ride).  The underground is shaped much like the tube in London, with rounded sides which are slowly being refurbished throughout Paris in white tile.

More and more stations have signs predicting when the next two trains will arrive.  The signs also remind us of the final destination for trains using this platform (Etoile) and the local time. 

The blue signs with white lettering (other than "sortie", exit) identify the station in which we are standing, something we check faithfully before getting off a train.  The large bill boards are always colourful, artistic and engaging, even if I have absolutely no interest in seeing that particular exhibit, movie or product.  The two off-yellow signs below the Daumesnil sign give a subway map for all of Paris and possibly a local street map orienting us for when we emerge from the underground.  

The trains are generally well cleaned and have something coating the surfaces which makes removing graffiti possible.  The seats are generally hard, and the those by each doorway can be raised or lowered, depending on how crowded the train becomes.  I am impressed by how orderly everything is and by how generous people tend to be, though young people are not likely to offer a seat to elderly people the way they do in Vancouver.

Our train crossed the river Siene by bridge rather than tunnel, so I quickly pointed and shot on automatic.  You can see that the sky was perfectly blue--and we really, really need rain.

We got off one stop before Place d'Italie and started walking, looking for a place to have a nice little Mothers Day lunch.  After looking for more than 20 minutes and finding absolutely nothing open, I muttered something about our surely being the only two souls in all of Paris unable to find a restaurant on a Mothers Day.  The area had been transformed into many horrid impersonal apartment towers for untold thousands of people, but nothing was open--not a grocery store, bar, shop or café.  It is likely a section catering to less wealthy Parisians, so it is frankly good not to spend all of my time downtown where all the wealth is localized.  We finally found a promising street and a single grill that was offering a Mothers Day special, so we got a nice table just inside, where the floor-to-ceiling glass doors were open to the warm afternoon air.  After the meal, our waitress offered to take our photo and gave the mother of the family some long stemmed red roses.

We started by sharing a lovely dish of diced avocado and diced salmon, which we spread on bread.  It was perfect for the warm day.

I had wanted the Mothers Day special (duck breast) but was surprised to learn that it was only for mothers!  Other people had to order from the carte, or pay half again as much (forget it).  Hopefully, fathers will get their turn soon.  So I "settled" for some lamb chops done with a nice sauce and some rosemary, along with cooked potatoes which were then roasted in butter/oil.  You can see the token veggies!

Meanwhile, the much honoured mother got the duck breast special, all of which was remarkably similar to what I had, except for the meat and price.

"The view from our table was nice, and traffic was quiet.  Another couple came for lunch at about 1:45, but otherwise, the place was essentially deserted.  A few people walked by after a late church service, mainly Africans dressed to the nines.

I wanted to look at the inside of an interesting parish church, but there seemed to be a baptism underway in the afternoon, so I quietly left.

By early midafternoon, the local Sunday market had closed and city crews were cleaning up.  I followed the little green truck which used water pressure to clean the sidewalks of debris and sticky juices.  Large trucks then came to pick up empty cartons and debris.

As we descended the little hill, we caught a glimpse of the Panthéon, and also got a glimpse of the above-ground subway train track we had just used.

I entered one parish church, but people were talking quietly and I did not want to disturb, so I just took a picture with the little camera on the sly from the back of a side aisle.

I did like the stained glass in the door window.

One small intriguing street had some cleverly spray-painted art on plaster walls.  Jeff seems to be a local artist, working by commission.  I noticed that graffiti taggers left his work alone, which was nice.

I will let Janice write about plants and parks, but I enjoy seeing trees form tunnels of light.

I will soon head downtown for more photos, destination unknown . . . I simply cannot make up my mind.  So I will just see what happens.  On the way, I usually stop at the local bakery to get a sandwich, which they heat in the oven for another 3-4 minutes, toasting the baguette and melting the cheese.  That will keep me going for another six hours.

So, until next time, love from us both,
Evan

A concert of music by Pierre de la Rue in Paris

Dear Mother,

Friday was our crashing day (when jetlag hit the hardest) but we made it.  Janice worked in the library all day, except for a little gardening in the late afternoon.  I went downtown to visit a church, but was rather discouraged because the church was neither all that interesting nor did they let me use my tripod.  The official lady asked whether I had permission from City Hall, and of course I did not.  I will have to look into this, but hear that other photo amateurs have only needed to show that their tripod's feet were made of rubber.  I suspect she was either super strict or having a bad day.  But I used the "opportunity" to learn how to use the bean bag as a tripod.  Janice helped me sew a little bean bag for my camera about 40 years ago and I have used it only occasionally, resting the camera on it so that it is less likely to move during time exposures.  It works, though not without fail and it is not handy.  I have to find a chair, railing, wall or pillar for resting the bean bag.  I also shot, hand-held, as I have done for years, but one always get far superior results by using a tripod and slower ISO and shutter speeds.

Anyway, I eventually wended my way back to St Maurice and made supper (pork chops).  This shot shows a typical evening meal for us in the kitchen.

The table is next to the west wall and right below a lovely double window which looks out on a tall tree.  There is a yellow oilcloth on the table, which is useful considering how many guests come and go.  We lug our ancient (1988) portable shortwave radio to Paris annually to listen to Radio Classic FM for music and news.  The creative table mats show the métro system for all of Paris.  I study this at every meal when thinking about what to visit next.  The little cutting board of long standing is useful for cheeses.  We are enjoying two goat cheeses brought to us by Yves from the Touraine.  The one shaped originally as a pyramid was more dry and flavourful, and the smaller darker log was very mild, almost sweet (within that category of goat cheeses).  The Bonne Maman jam jar is present every meal; we also get this in Vancouver but at four times the cost.  The little dish of apricots is lasting nicely, but I forget if they were from southern Spain or northern Africa.  We drink ordinary tap water with no ill effects.  Our plates have lovely pork chops which were completely trimmed of fat by the butcher and they had beautiful colour.  The long flat green beans are my favourite bean.  I can enjoy them without any butter, oil or salt, they are so favourful if done just right.  The lettuce is utterly crisp and fresh, this is an excellent time of the year for a wide variety of lettuces grown outside.  Not pictured to my left would be the special cutting board for the omnipresent baguette.  By the time we finish one of these loaves, I have to dunk the bread in my morning tea.  I find they become tough within about three hours.  Janice, having low blood pressure, can add salt to my saltless cooking.

 I then headed off for a concert at the Eglise Notre-Dame des Blancs Manteaux in the 4th district.  The concert was to begin at 8:30 p.m., which is unusually late for Canadian cities, but there was no intermission so we were out by 9:45, which was perfect.  This former Augustinian ("white robes") church is tucked away on the right bank in the old district, so tucked away that it is difficult to get a decent photo of the Baroque facade.  If you click on the photo, you just might be able to see the lutenist waiting to get in the door on the right. 

I was the first auditor to arrive, so I got to hear the male quartet warm up and go over some of the more difficult transitions in the music.  The singers were well-trained and their voices nicely filled the resonant sanctuary.  The conductor is an avid fan of the music of Pierre de la Rue (my hero) and has formed the Association Pierre de la Rue to perform and record his music.  The Mass they sang was one edited by Nigel Davison (I helped Nigel with some of the critical notes and recension of the sources).  It reminded me that Nigel passed away a little over a year ago, a wonderful man in Bristol, UK.  I met the conductor, Michel Sanvoisin just before the concert and arranged to get together with him the next day (but something came up, so he wasn't there).

Since I was early, I had a little time to take a few shots inside the sanctuary with my pocket camera from where I decided to sit.  It was fun watching the windows change hues as the sun slowly set during the concert.  I sat just ahead of the elevated pulpit.  There were eventually about 40 people at the concert, so it was an intimate affair, competing with many other concerts that evening, including Mozart's Requiem with 300 instrumentalists and singers.

After the concert, I slowly wandered back towards a métro stop, not much caring which one.  Night was falling and the city was clearly springing to life in ways unknown to quiet little St Maurice.  Cafés were filled, including many tables outdoors as people were enjoying the warm evening temperatures.  Small wine shops were offering patrons various vintages, even the tiny bars were bustling as locals settled in to celebrate Friday Evening, the end of the workweek for some.  Many locals living in the old part of Paris use old bikes to get around because finding parking spaces is a serious challenge, day or night.

I like the names of some of the cafés, including "The Philosophers".  You can see the metal posts which prevent cars from parking on the sidewalk (people will park anywhere possible), the awning which will protects outside tables a bit (you are allowed to smoke outside but not inside).

Some tables on smaller side streets encroach on the sidewalks so much that a couple has to walk carefully when strolling between the tables and parked cars.  I am still not comfortable having total strangers walk that close to my food, examining what I have ordered, or overhearing bits of our conversation, but it is the Parisian way of life.  Traditionally, the city's apartments were small and not adequate for entertaining, so cafés and bars were where you could meet friends casually, with far less fuss about shopping, food preparation or tidying up.  It's not cheap, but it's fun and it's Paris.

I also enjoyed some shop windows near the Marais.  One small shop had a fascinating collection of antique music instruments and music stands, and the superimposed reflections of the city caught my attention.  I held the camera against the glass, using the window as a tripod for the longer exposure.

I then tried a few more night shoots, steadying the little camera against light posts, walls--whatever I thought might work.  I got some strange looks but one simply has to keep a camera steady at all times when shooting less than 1/50 second. 

Here you can just about see that some of the poles and awnings have been erected in the open plaza in preparation for the marché (market) Saturday morning.  At about 6:00 a.m., vendors will start to arrive, setting up tables under their rented shelter, setting out all their wares.  Then they will remove their vans, and get ready for an intense morning of selling.  By 12.45 p.m. they will start to pack up, and by 1:00 they will be gone and the street crews will be sweeping and hosing everything.  By 3:00 the sidewalks will be dry and the market but a memory.  In some locations, this ancient practice has been continuous since the middle ages.

More wealthy Parisians also eat outside but in sections more isolated from pedestrians, separated by low wooden walls and flower boxes.  That would feel more like being inside while eating outside. 

I'm finishing this entry Sunday morning before we head off to the 13th district.  Apparently there are some gardens calling Janice's name.

With love from us both,
Evan

Mona Lisait (Marais, Paris)

Dear Mother,

The Mona Lisait (pronounced something like Moh-na Lee-say) is one of my favourite bookstores in Paris, one I have decided to visit annually.  We landed in Paris at about 8:30 a.m. Wednesday (May 25th), quickly cleared customs by walking rather than taking the moving stairs and moving walkways (thereby passing the other sleepy passengers) and were lucky to get an excellent taxi driver to the Centre Mennonite de Paris in St Maurice.  We immediately unpacked and then walked some 12 minutes to the market for groceries.  I wanted to stay awake as long as possible, so while Janice settled into the library, I headed for the métro and got off at St Paul (line 1).  True to form, I had neither name nor address for the bookstore but trusted my inner GPS and actually found the store at 17bis, rue Pavée (Paved Road, or road constructed of pavers or paving stones.  Many centuries ago, this was a useful distinguishing designation, but by now, all streets are paved). There are actually three locations, but this is the one I prefer.

Mona Lisait seems to be built within a former carriage entryway which reached into an inner courtyard.  The old paving stones (cobblestones), once trod by horses and workers, now form the store's unusual and very uneven floor.  The former inner courtyard is now partially filled with a new building which has two upper floors, one for books and the top for posters and reproductions of paintings.  I enjoy the incongruous confluence of former driveway and bookcases.

One never knows which books will be remaindered, but the store is carefully organized by categories and then by authors, so it is fun to browse.  They had virtually nothing on medieval history (my favourite subject these days), but I picked up some promising novels, a biography of the photographer Jan Saudek (strangely, known mostly for a single but powerful photo taken in 1966, one that made an impression on me in the early 1970s).  Prices are astonishingly low, so I picked up six paperbacks for about €24 ($30?)  Eventually the postage back to Canada will likely exceed the cost of the books themselves.


The French call bookstores "libraries" (a bibliothèque would be similar to our libraries where one can read, and sometimes borrow, but not buy books).  However, it is understood that you can spend hours in a librarie just browsing and reading, without being obligated to purchase.  Children learn this at a very early age.

My next bookstore visit will have to include the complex of stores known as "Gibert Jeune", a group of about four larger stores on Place St Michel, on the left bank within minutes of Notre-Dame.  Each of its stores is devoted to a different group of subjects.

Last evening (Thursday), Janice worked all day in the library with Yves, and then the three of us joined the Bloughs for a festive meal in their apartment celebrating our return.  The aperitif was an unusual concoction made from honey by a Catholic lay community.

The meal began with some smoked salmon in avocado on fresh lettuce.

 Then Janie served veal, perfectly roasted with new potatoes and a side of fresh green beans.

Next, the obligatory course cheese, this one including four (two brought by Yves from the Touraine), and we finished with some fresh mixed fruit.  Yves generously supplied a 1996 Pomorol (Bordeaux) which was absolutely astonishing, ready to drink, and a perfect accompaniment to the veal and cheeses.

Yves and Neal did dishes, while Janice and I chatted with Janie.

 By 10:30, we had no option but bed, and the 8:00 alarm rang far too early.  We nevertheless got up, had breakfast and were then joined for coffee and tea by Yves, who gave us a fascinating account of last winter's snowstorm, and of families being stuck in their cars on highways for several days without food or water.  If only France could get some rain now.  There has been no rain in this part of the country since March.  The farmers are in real trouble because although grain is growing, there are no heads at the ends of the traumatized stalks.  This is the driest weather since the drought of 1976.  The locals look at every cloud, hoping for rain, whereas tourists hope it will not rain. Well, it is supposed to get up to about 20C today, so I will soon be cleaning my lenses, repacking the bag and heading back to the métro. 

Meanwhile, love from us both,
Evan