I liked what you said the other day about waiting to read these letters until both of you can sit down and read them together, remembering things together. This reminds me how Mother used to print email letters so that she could take them over to nursing and read them to Dad. But after Dad passed away, Janice suggested in 2010 that, instead of emailing people, we start a blog with photos. "This way, family can read our jottings if they wish to do so, and if not, there is less junk mail to delete." Sadly, Dad never saw these postcards.
Speaking of memories, Pentecost Sunday was a day which brought back memories. This weekend, we celebrated the Bloughs' 46th anniversary, recalling the time the Bloughs and we were joined by Alan and Ellie two years ago in Paris when we four Kreiders celebrated our 50th anniversaries together.
Janice and I skipped church (something my letters to Mom rarely revealed!) I knew it was Pentecost and that the services would be special, but it seems that we are still getting slow morning starts, which has been our pattern in Paris these past ten summers. I guess it suits us, and the bedroom drapes effectively keep the room dark. Shortly before noon, we went to the market for cheese and veggies, and got the most wonderful Roquefort cheese. I had to restrain myself at lunch, otherwise the entire slab would have vanished. The markets offer much better cheese than we can get in Vancouver. I think the refrigeration here is not nearly as cold and the stock moves quickly. I can take cheese home from the market and eat it almost immediately, whereas in Vancouver, I have to let it sit at room temperature for several hours, and sometimes a Camembert even for days. Anyway, I loved the Roquefort, which was surprisingly mild, and also the chevre (goat cheese).
After lunch, we took the No. 24 bus from Charenton to Notre-Dame, the end of the line for holidays and Sundays). We eventually decided to visit Janice's favourite bookstore, La Librairie du Jardin, which is dedicated entirely to books and magazines on gardening. It is at the western end of the Jardin des Tuileries, the long formal garden stretching out from the Louvre (between the Louvre and Place de la Concorde). I think you walked through it on one of your very first days in Paris, possibly on your way to St Eustache. Well, it proved to be a long walk, rather longer than expected, and then we discovered that the bookstore is no longer there. Yikes. Janice later learned from La Figaro that the bookstore closed this past January, and some of the books dealing with historical gardens are now available in the Boutique du Musée du Louvre. I always hate it when yet another of our favourite little places ceases to be (I'm still lamenting the closure of Vancouver's Chinese Impressions Restaurant almost 20 years ago). Since Janice cannot load up on French gardening books, our luggage promises to be less heavy this trip.
Disappointed, we walked back east, nearly as far as we had already come, to St Eustache to hear the Sunday afternoon pre-Mass organ recital. Philippe LeFebvre, the organist at Notre-Dame and teacher of improvisation at the Conservatory, played Duruflé's Op. 4, Veni Creator Spiritus (Come, Creator Spirit). His fingers flying quietly over the keys created the most wonderful musical sensations of wind, or the coming of the Spirit as it is pictorially described in Acts. The initial 15 minutes or so were filled with such amazing subtleties. I also enjoyed watching his right foot quickly tap the metal peg (I don't know the correct term) which called up the next set of pre-programmed stops. But sometimes, he suddenly decided he wanted a slightly different effect and quickly altered things by touching several other stops manually, all the while his other fingers and feet kept on moving. Finally, toward the end, we got to hear the more sonorous variations on the chant hymn tune, with the obligatory all-stops-out for the final two pages. I could feel my chest throbbing from the loud low pipes, yet my ears never hurt or even tingled. Real (non-amplified) sounds are wonderful, but expensive to produce and maintain. Anyway, we saved two seats for Neal and Janie, who arrived just before the organist was introduced to us. As the photo suggests, we had prime seats for seeing the five-keyboard console.
We then took several métros, arriving at one of our favourite destinations, Le Bistrot de la Porte Dorée, where Neal had reserved the round table in the very private corner, probably the most private table I have seen in Paris. After being seated, we remembered when the six of us ate across the room two years ago, a true celebration. I also remembered introducing Jesse and Rapti to this bistrot last year, at this same private round table.
So, as requested, some photos of food. After our apéros (kir and sparkling white wine) and pork rillettes (spread on thin pieces of whole wheat toast, the spread hopefully being no more than 50% fat), we had our entrées. Janice and Janie selected the special, a dome of marinated raw salmon over goat cheese. They loved it.
I had the assiette Périgord, a nice selection of cold cuts, including fried cold gizzards, a nice slice of the sweetest smoothest foie gras imaginable, some cuts of smoked/cured ham, a bit of duck confit, and the obligatory lettuce and tomatoes (I suppose a little decoration never hurts).
Main courses varied, but I got the usual, bar grillé (I have no idea what this fish is called in English). The poor ex-swimmer's mouth was only barely open, and truly out of focus in this photo, but the tomato sauce was a perfect match for the delicate white fish. When the course was finished, the waiter jokingly asked if I wanted him to wrap up the head to take it home.
Neal tried a new dish, beef steak and fried potatoes. It looks very American, but he assured us that it was superb and most certainly not a mere steak with stuffed tomato and a mound of ratatouille (which was not at all runny) and sauce tartare.
I see that I neglected to photograph all the dishes, so I will hurry on to show three desserts, ending with my annual favourite, crêpes flambées au grand marnier, loaded with butter. Janie and I each got four little crêpes, nicely folded into quarters. I didn't want the dish to end, not ever. Others settled for lesser desserts of chocolate covered profiteroles and sorbet.
After decaf espressos, we knew that the 25-minute walk home might be a better idea than taking a cab or the métro, so we left the Bistro and walked through the Parc de Vincennes, along the Lac Daumesnil. It was 10:00 p.m., well after sunset and even nearly past the so-called 'blue hour', when cameras show things to be quite blue. In the fading light, I had to shoot at f/1.2, which gives little depth of field, but some of the photos almost work. First, we look back at the Bistrot de la Porte Dorée.
Neil, Janie and Janice walked on ahead, letting me linger for the occasional photo.
The swans are more than willing to end their day with torn bits of old baguettes. I suspect that seeds would be more beneficial, but this is what is more readily available. The Canadian geese had already settled on the grass for the night, safe on one of the two islands in the lake.
Seeing this couple led to a brief discussion on why women's shorts are so often shorter than men's. As I recall, the men in our group were silent.
This family of four was closing shop for the evening; their picnic was over. The children could stay up later because Monday is a holiday (Pentecost Monday).
I slept well last night, though most certainly not on my tummy! Next time you come to Paris, we'll have to go to this Bistrot. It was a bit out of the way for you on your last visit, and not nearly as historic as where we ate (Le Procope), but put it on your bucket list.
With love from us both,
Evan
No comments:
Post a Comment