A Simple Life in Paris

Okay, as much as I love making food from the market, at some point I got a little tired of the fennel. So I felt like I needed something more substantial, some real French food.

So I went to a bar/restaurant in the neighborhood, La Fauvette, the other night.

I’m not sure why I continue to be just a little bit shocked at how inexpensive French food can be in France, even in Paris, but this is what I got for 38 euros (okay, I did also leave a 2-euro tip, which the waiter seemed somewhat surprised by — tipping is not obligatory in France by any means, though waiters in the center of Paris are sort of used to Americans overtipping).

A pint of beer, smoked herring with steamed potatoes, chicken breast in mushroom cream sauce with penne, a carafe of white wine, creme caramel (flan), and Armagnac brandy. And it was delicious. Especially the mushroom cream sauce, I could just lick that up.

I mean, this isn’t fancy food, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was delicious.

I knew I’d have to go back, and tonight I did. I started with salade de gesiers (salad with warm gizzards, probably chicken, possibly duck). Then on to a blanquette de veau with rice. Which was so good! All accompanied by a carafe of rose wine. And then finished with a tiramisu and an Armagnac. All for 31.50 euros. Okay, I left another 2-euro tip, which was probably excessive, but it was so damn good!

I’m really going to have to rein in the tipping, though. It seems a little off-putting to the waiters. 😀

Okay, I swear this blog isn’t just going to be about food, but I mean, it’s France, so it can’t NOT include the food.

Speaking of which, the chanterelle mushrooms (which, oddly enough, the French call girolles) in the markets are just looking amazing, so I’m thinking I’ll have to make something with a chanterelle cream sauce in the near future.

Also, the red kuri squash — which I thought were from Japan, but which the French call potimarrons, which I though was the word for pumpkins, though they’re clearly not — are just everywhere and looking beautiful. So I’m very excited to be able to make my kuri squash gratin once I have a proper kitchen. Which I’m hoping will be sometime soon.

My inner clock seems to be having the mood swings of a teenager. Today I slept through the morning. Once I roused myself, I made a quick cup of coffee and shortly after had lunch at the apartment. The same as yesterday, so no need for photos. 🙂

I had the idea that I wanted to walk along the river today. This neighborhood is lovely, and also, it could kind of be anywhere in France. I wanted that feeling of being in Paris. And that, for me, is, yes, seeing the grand monuments, but maybe even more, the Seine.

So I took the Metro down to Bastille and then followed the lower section of the Canal Saint-Martin to where it joins the Seine.

I turned right and walked along the river, crossing onto the Ile Saint-Louis. As I walked, the breeze gusted with the scent of fallen leaves. Then I walked along the southern bank, looking across at the Latin Quarter and catching my first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, which is always how I really know I’ve actually made it to Paris. And that brought me of course to the backside of the Notre Dame on the Ile de la Cite.

Even though I’m not religious, I feel like I always have to swing by the Notre Dame when I’m in Paris. Architecturally it’s not really that special — I mean there are like a million Gothic churches in France that are also really beautiful. But still, it’s the Notre Dame. And so I have to go.

From there I headed north across the island and one of the bridges toward the Paris city hall, which is maybe just a bit much, but hey. And also to the BHV, the grand department store across the street. Paris is still very much doing department stores, unlike Seattle (thank you, Amazon!).

And from there, back along the river up toward the Louvre. One of the things I love about Paris is the Easter eggs. The things you will never hear about but just happen upon, like this lovely square.

I remember in high school French class my teacher recalling how awestruck she had been at the sheer size of the Louvre. And then years later, when I first went. It’s one thing to hear that it’s just enormous and another thing to experience it for yourself. And it’s amazing to think that it was built for kings and emperors as a palace, as their special province, and now it belongs to the people, to all of us. I love that.

As I took a passageway into the inner courtyard, there was a cellist playing a lovely classical piece. I lingered for a moment to appreciate.

And then the main courtyard of the Louvre. Yes, it’s crowded with tourists, and still it’s so beautiful. There’s a reason why so many people feel the need to go there.

After that I headed across the river down to the Boulevard Saint-Germain to meet up with a Meetup group at a café for drinks. Which was lovely.

And then back to the apartment, a bit of a trek through the Latin Quarter, the Ile de la Cite, the lower Marais, the upper Marais, and finally the 11th (does it have a name?).

I thought about stopping somewhere for a drink or a bite, but it being Friday, everywhere seemed crowded and loud. So I just headed home to feed my cat and make some dinner.

Since it was too late to get a baguette, my plan for salad with a warm goat cheese crouton became salad with poached egg and some cheese whose name I don’t remember (there are several hundred different types of cheese made in France, and I hadn’t heard of this one but it looked interesting). And a glass of white wine from the Gascogne.

And so, at the end of the day, I’m feeling like, yes, I’m in Paris.

Side note: In case you think I’m being super fancy with my wines, the French would probably think so. For everyday drinking, the French lean toward wines in the $4-$7 range, which in France is totally drinkable. I’m drinking wines in the $11-$13 range, which the French would reserve for special occasions, but which I’m thinking is sort of an everyday luxury.

This morning was my first morning in Paris. I had planned to focus on getting my residency permit and the French phone number that I’ll need in order to start applying for apartments. But last night I thought what I really wanted to do was go to the Bastille food market, especially as it only happens twice a week, and Thursday is one of those days.

I woke up quite early and went for a quick stroll around my neighborhood in the 11th arrondissement as it was still too early to start heading to the market.

Around 7 am, I headed out into the light drizzle to stroll down. When I got there, the vendors were still setting up their stalls, even though it was half an hour past the official opening time.

So I wandered through the market. I always like to go through once to see what’s available, what looks good, and then I go through a second time to buy. The market is three or four blocks long and has three aisles, so it took a bit to make my initial survey, and by that time some of the stalls had started opening up.

I loved the beautiful fruit and vegetable displays. At the fishmongers, I admired the glistening scales on the fresh fish, the prawns and langoustines and sea snails, the mussels and clams and oysters, the fresh scent of the ocean. The diligent white-haired butcher carefully slicing and trimming the cuts of beef. The aroma of roasting sausages and whole chickens as I walked past another butcher’s stand.

I had an idea of making a warm goat cheese salad and also some kind of vegetable soup. So at one produce stall, I got a bulb of fennel, a small zucchini, a bunch of shallots, a leek, a head of oak leaf lettuce, and a couple Rubinette apples. At another, I got parsley, chives and thyme. At another, a half dozen eggs. And then finally a bunch of delicate pale green grapes. All for about 15 euros ($16-17). It felt like a steal.

After that I stopped at an organic grocery for a few more supplies, a butcher for a terrine of shredded chicken breast in lemon aspic and a salade piémontaise — potatoes, ham, hard-boiled eggs and sliced pickles in mayo — and a bakery for a rustic baguette. And that was lunch.

And as I write now, a soup is simmering on the stove with the zucchini, fennel and leek I picked up in the morning, and I’ll garnish it with some crème fraiche and the herbs, and eat it with the baguette and some cheese and a sauvignon blanc from the Loire Valley.

In between, the residency permit and the French phone number got done. And I still got to do one of my very favorite things, shop at the markets and put together some simple but delicious food.

Okay just a super quick update to say that Gertrude and I made it to Paris and are settling into our Airbnb in the 11th quite nicely.

I’m at SeaTac waiting to board the plane. The last six months have been all about squeezing my stuff down to what I can bring on the plane.

Selling my townhouse, getting rid of my furniture, giving all the other things to friends or to Goodwill, throwing away a bunch of stuff I probably should have tossed a long time ago, trying to figure what is really essential, what I’ll really need once I get to Paris. For instance, decided I needed to bring my potato peeler because the French ones are NOT good. And then also of course winding down my job at Microsoft.

I mean there’s also been the tasks of setting things up to live in Paris — getting my long-term stay visa, arranging for an Airbnb when I first arrive, setting up a French bank account (no small task).

And there have been all the things to figure out. How does French healthcare work? What do I have to do to bring the cat? What’s the best way to transfer funds and exchange dollars for euros? What’s the best way to look for an apartment? What documents do I need to apply for an apartment? Can I find real tacos (the actual Mexican kind, not that weird hodgepodge the French call a taco)? So many questions!

But mostly, up until now, it’s felt like it’s been about winnowing, about narrowing, about shrinking everything down to what I can bring on the plane.

And I’m looking forward to the other side, where I can begin creating the next stage of my life.

In ten days, I’ll be moving from Seattle to Paris with two suitcases and a cat.

Paris is a city that, perhaps more than other places, has woven a mystique about itself. And I can’t say that I’m immune to its myth, even after visiting it a dozen or so times over the last thirty years.

But the Paris of glamour, opulence, sophistication isn’t the one I want to focus on, at least not mostly.

I will confess to having bought a bunch of contemporary dance tickets for the 2023-24 season at the Palais Garnier. Which can’t NOT be described as glamorous, opulent, and, perhaps, sophisticated. And also, breathtaking, spectacular, fabulous, mind-blowing.

But that said, some of the things I am most looking forward to are the very everyday pleasures. The simple things.

The coffee and croissant at a neighborhood café, the waiter having just run down the block to the bakery to fetch the croissants and baguettes they will serve for breakfast that day.

The hustle bustle of the twice weekly open-air food market along the boulevard Richard-Lenoir with its greengrocers, fishmongers, cheese sellers, butchers, charcutiers, bakers, and all the rest.

The blue storefront of the queer bookstore on the rue Saint-Ambroise in the 11th, after having moved from the rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonnerie in the 4th (I’ve gone there on every single visit to Paris).

The little restaurant with the horseshoe bar right by where the bookstore used to be, delicious food and wine for a reasonable price, the epitome of old-school Paris.

A simple picnic in a park or along the river or the canal.

The late-night jazz jams under the stone arches of the subterranean club.

The classical concerts in a gothic church or in the courtyard of what was once a noble’s mansion.

The conversations with the butcher or the cheesemonger or the charcutier about what’s good today and how to serve or prepare it.

I mean, I’m sure I’m idealizing it all a bit. And yet I’m also not. In fact I’m not doing it justice.

But in any case, that’s what I’m looking for. A simple life in Paris.