Liz says: Okay, so we re getting ready to go back to the -3 temps of Madison after the balmy days of Paris. This is one unhappy camper as far as the weather is concerned. I'm just getting used to the idea of roaming my neighborhood and figuring out which corner leads to which, trying to make a sense of direction.
I've learned to be bold and insist on speaking my pathetic french or as the Fixer says, I will be here in 20 years still getting the english menu.
I have learned that my smile can change the world, or at least the way it looks to me. Even though Parisiens don't walk round smiling, I do and they respond with friendliness.
I've learned that Amy Winehouse appeals for no particular reason other than it sounds good in the background of a cafe at night.
I've learned that the french seem to love pizza and I say no,no, no!
Okay, now there is pizza as we americans know it, Dominoes or the local pizza joint run by Sicilians. The chain pizza is another animal altogether, just casserole on a dense, tasteless crust. The local pizza can be okay to great and maybe even close to authentic. But french pizza is a thing in and of itself. The french do their take on everything. You see lots of curried dishes in french restaurants, they are very light and creamy. Good but not the hot, spicy things you tend to get in America.
But back to the subject a hand, french pizza. I have to begin with Corsican pizza. That was wonderful, bizarre and of course, in Corsica (an island off of France, in case you don't know).
It had goat cheese and corsican honey on a genovese crust. Lots of Italians from Genoa settled there and influenced the cuisine. It was very unique, not really sweet, herby, as the honey there is influenced by the herbs grown there, and rich.
But, it was Corsica, there was an italian influence and I thought, well, this is special.
The first night in Paris we went to the pizza restaurant below the apartment because we were too tired to venture any further out. I had the 'parisien pizza'
it had goat cheese (fresh), ham, bland chopped meat, akin to burger,tomato sauce,
and some other creamy cheese. It was bizarre. Creamy, bland pizza on a so-so crust. Dick remembers his 'margheritta' a classical pizza," as mainly cheese, seemingly mozzerella and a flavored oil to add to your liking, super thin crust, almost like a saltine with that kind of consistancy. Not one of the great pie's of all time."
The owner was sweet and we were so tired I had forgotten all about how mystifying it was until everytime we pass a pizza restaurant here. It will be filled to overflowing. Even Dominoes has take out orders on scooters. The thing is the pizza is so very french. It bears no resemblance to Italian pizza, American Italian pizza, or even Corsican pizza!
They make it very bland, very creamy, almost like a very thin milky casserole with a thin crust. And they love it. The places are chocked full every night.
Especially a place called Cesar's. The waiters are crazy fun, they speak italian to you and swing and swirl around from table to table with utter efficiency. Large families come there and the noise level is synonmous with real live fun.
The pizza is that weird french take on the pie and veal piccata here! Don't get me started! I've had it 3 times, each time it is utterly different, it has no lemon, no capers, is not pounded out and usually resemebles some sort of creamed beef stew without vegatables, but with gorgeous chanterelle mushrooms and sometimes potatoes. The thing I can't figure out is this place is so close to Italy!
I guess I have more to learn about the french, after all if they can change the world, they can certainly change me. Vive la France!
Monday, December 22, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
all pleased with myself or how friggin domestic
Liz says: Sitting here in my purple Wolford all pleased with myself. Having charted out the living room and tidied up some business with the Fixer, I just feel all yummy.
It was a lovely day, around 50 degrees, dull, not sunny, but not cold and not grey.
I'm happy that I have a new home and the kettle is warming for tea. Dick is busy behind his computer, taking care of something or looking at the news, or as he says 'dicking around'.
We had lunch with the Fixer and his pal, delightful, as usual. They had the gargantuan bloody Argentinean steaks and cleaned their plates. I don't know how they do it. I had about half of my huge hot goat chesse salad with bacon and onion soup. I can barely fit the tea in my tummy and its been 2 hours. Dick had the Cassoulet, he finished about half. We are still working on becoming french.
The Fixer says its metabolism and that angst burns off his calories. Give me Xiety! (If you don't get it watch High Anxiety, Mel Brooks).
We went to a restaurant we had been to previously, Chez Nadine on the Moffartard. The irrepressible owner is sweet and chatty, although she can speak about as much english as I can french. Still, she will talk to you, convince you to order her best dishes, even if it takes showing you press clippings, and charm the teeth right out of your head. I adore listening to her even though I haven't a clue what she is saying, she has that musical french la, la, la going on all while she is saying whatever it is, you just go ,"okay, whatever you want, my dear". Her husband must be a puddle. Actually, I'm retty sure he's the one in the chef's jacket who strolls through every now and then, saying one word and checking the scene.
She is love!
I took some photos of the market, which is at the fountain square, the aforementioned Place Monge. It was close to closing down, as it was already near 1 p.m or 13 Paris time ;-}. It has all sorts of fresh produce, fish and goods several days a week.
I also incuded some photos of the apartment.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
My Neighborhood!
Liz says:
We went out but I forgot to take many pictures! Just spaced out with the sun and thinking about Madison's new snow. It was lovely again here today, it was supposed to rain, but, it didn't. So, I spaced out taking pictures for awhile and just enjoyed.
I added a couple of pictures of lunch because it was FABULOUS!
See everybody soon!
Friday, December 19, 2008
If did. Welcome to Rue Monge
Liz says: I hate to say it but it was beautiful today. Sunny, around upper 40's maybe even 50's. But, I am sick. I can't pretend its not there anymore. I thought it might get better but my sinus infection has moved down to my chest. I have another Zpack and set of Dexone pills, which I started this morning. If this doesn't knock it out, I will be back on US soil and running to the doctor right after Christmas.
Its a real Camille scenario. Yeah, well I could be Greta Garbo. She had TB, according to Dick but its that, you know, delicate cough into a lace hanky thing. Well, except, I'm hacking into hard napkins. Sorry, too much info.
ON THE UP SIDE!
We have the place, it was supposed to be the temporary place. Now he paperwork is rolling, the bills are in our name and the residence is secured.
The Fixer is getting our beautiful black (cinna.fr) sofabed moved in for us and doing everything he possibly can to help us. He can argue with the best of the french and he's a ball of energy. We could not have done this without him.
This apartment is smaller than our upstairs, in the Madison house. The bathroom is tiny and the kitchen is in the living room. Dick noticed "that infernal rumble" which turns out to be the metro underground somewhere near here. I don't notice it much. It sounds like noisy furnace in an old house coming on. Bugs him more than it does me. We are hoping that it won't freak the birds out.
We are a block from another fountain, on the Place Monge. We are about 6 blocks from the Mouffatard market I loved so much. The streets go at an angle, so we are 2 blocks from the middle of that street. The Mouffatard starts as a market and turns into a street of restaurants and then mediocre shops. We are closer to the restaurant area. It opens onto a square, surrounded by restaurants, on of them Irish. But, all that is about 2 blocks away. You can see it up the hill from the fountain area, the Place Monge. I just remembered that we saw a scene being filmed with a horse and carraige in the Place Monge when we first got here. It's pretty easy to get the olde time Paris look, if you limit the shot to exclude the cars and a few signs o' the times ;-}.
My new street is Rue Monge. It is a very long street in Paris and it gets ritzier further on. There are 2 butchers on our street, one fish monger, all sorts of shops, some boutiques, pharmacies, ethnic restaurants and asian traiteurs (to go deli-like places), lots to explore! We have gone to the bistro on the corner a couple of times for quick, easy dinners. It has a great wine list and pretty good food. It is orange and white, the red haired bartender is very freindly. I'm just trying to get my head around, "this is our new neighborhood".
We are officially becoming Parisiens. The paperwork is working and the rent is being paid.
I did what I came here to do. By the skin of my teeth, and with the help of many, we have done the do.
I'll add pictures tommorow.
Its a real Camille scenario. Yeah, well I could be Greta Garbo. She had TB, according to Dick but its that, you know, delicate cough into a lace hanky thing. Well, except, I'm hacking into hard napkins. Sorry, too much info.
ON THE UP SIDE!
We have the place, it was supposed to be the temporary place. Now he paperwork is rolling, the bills are in our name and the residence is secured.
The Fixer is getting our beautiful black (cinna.fr) sofabed moved in for us and doing everything he possibly can to help us. He can argue with the best of the french and he's a ball of energy. We could not have done this without him.
This apartment is smaller than our upstairs, in the Madison house. The bathroom is tiny and the kitchen is in the living room. Dick noticed "that infernal rumble" which turns out to be the metro underground somewhere near here. I don't notice it much. It sounds like noisy furnace in an old house coming on. Bugs him more than it does me. We are hoping that it won't freak the birds out.
We are a block from another fountain, on the Place Monge. We are about 6 blocks from the Mouffatard market I loved so much. The streets go at an angle, so we are 2 blocks from the middle of that street. The Mouffatard starts as a market and turns into a street of restaurants and then mediocre shops. We are closer to the restaurant area. It opens onto a square, surrounded by restaurants, on of them Irish. But, all that is about 2 blocks away. You can see it up the hill from the fountain area, the Place Monge. I just remembered that we saw a scene being filmed with a horse and carraige in the Place Monge when we first got here. It's pretty easy to get the olde time Paris look, if you limit the shot to exclude the cars and a few signs o' the times ;-}.
My new street is Rue Monge. It is a very long street in Paris and it gets ritzier further on. There are 2 butchers on our street, one fish monger, all sorts of shops, some boutiques, pharmacies, ethnic restaurants and asian traiteurs (to go deli-like places), lots to explore! We have gone to the bistro on the corner a couple of times for quick, easy dinners. It has a great wine list and pretty good food. It is orange and white, the red haired bartender is very freindly. I'm just trying to get my head around, "this is our new neighborhood".
We are officially becoming Parisiens. The paperwork is working and the rent is being paid.
I did what I came here to do. By the skin of my teeth, and with the help of many, we have done the do.
I'll add pictures tommorow.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
on a dime pt.2
Liz continues: So, as we walked, I noticed shops I had passed on my way to many other places. I noticed a butcher, a baker, boutiques, a cheeseshop, fresh flowers, well, I am in Paris!
It was still a dismal day, but this place wasn't in a worse place, it was just not where I had focused all my attention.
When the fixer arrived, I thought well, I can do this for 5 days. He had helped the owners buy and fix up the apartment. He was very up about it. I could feel it, and I didn't want it to sway me, so I was determined to stay immune. My feelings were pretty dulled from the pain of seeing my dream place literally pooed on.
We entered the building, it was clean, it had n elevator and the apartment was 5 floors up. I do like to be up high. Some idiot had graffittied something on the wall, but the fixer said the concierge for the building was going to fix it. The concierge for the building? Okay.
So, as it their habit, the agent/fixer went up the steps as we rode the tiny elevator up. In my experience here, it is rare to find an elevator in an apartment building that can fit more than 2 people. So, the people who re showing you apartments always walk up.
We get upstairs and he opens the door, immediately you see a gleaming white tiled bathroom. Tiny as usual, but with a window and bright and clean. A shower, no tub, but one of those rain shower heads. The whole thing is 4 square meters.
Then we enter a room with 3 full length french doors that open out onto a balcony.
They let in all the light that is possible on such a dull day because you are up in the sky. It is a typical Hausmann building. The style common in Paris, they are all about 5-6 stories high and some floors have the ornate black iron balconies. The room was minmally furnished in a very discreet and quiet style. The kitchen is in the living room, not uncommon here either, but the kitchen is laid out so well and all in white, you almost don't realize its there. It just seems to fit. There was a small bedroom down a short hall, it also had windows, and there was light.
It was indeed lovely. Small, but lovely.
We are going to rent for these few days and if everything works out, we will have it for our return. We could possibly establish everything we need to establish to get our visas.
But then there is that word if. Paris has changed me, IF has become a very big word. Everything can change with one piece of paper or because there is not one piece of paper. If, IF can be tamed, maybe I can enjoy the last few days just breathing and remembering where I am, surrounded by art that I can see, without the phone telling me I have to run to the bank. if...
It was still a dismal day, but this place wasn't in a worse place, it was just not where I had focused all my attention.
When the fixer arrived, I thought well, I can do this for 5 days. He had helped the owners buy and fix up the apartment. He was very up about it. I could feel it, and I didn't want it to sway me, so I was determined to stay immune. My feelings were pretty dulled from the pain of seeing my dream place literally pooed on.
We entered the building, it was clean, it had n elevator and the apartment was 5 floors up. I do like to be up high. Some idiot had graffittied something on the wall, but the fixer said the concierge for the building was going to fix it. The concierge for the building? Okay.
So, as it their habit, the agent/fixer went up the steps as we rode the tiny elevator up. In my experience here, it is rare to find an elevator in an apartment building that can fit more than 2 people. So, the people who re showing you apartments always walk up.
We get upstairs and he opens the door, immediately you see a gleaming white tiled bathroom. Tiny as usual, but with a window and bright and clean. A shower, no tub, but one of those rain shower heads. The whole thing is 4 square meters.
Then we enter a room with 3 full length french doors that open out onto a balcony.
They let in all the light that is possible on such a dull day because you are up in the sky. It is a typical Hausmann building. The style common in Paris, they are all about 5-6 stories high and some floors have the ornate black iron balconies. The room was minmally furnished in a very discreet and quiet style. The kitchen is in the living room, not uncommon here either, but the kitchen is laid out so well and all in white, you almost don't realize its there. It just seems to fit. There was a small bedroom down a short hall, it also had windows, and there was light.
It was indeed lovely. Small, but lovely.
We are going to rent for these few days and if everything works out, we will have it for our return. We could possibly establish everything we need to establish to get our visas.
But then there is that word if. Paris has changed me, IF has become a very big word. Everything can change with one piece of paper or because there is not one piece of paper. If, IF can be tamed, maybe I can enjoy the last few days just breathing and remembering where I am, surrounded by art that I can see, without the phone telling me I have to run to the bank. if...
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