Paris in the rain

Who was it that said Paris is at its best when it’s raining? I guess their experience of rain wasn’t a chilly 40-something degrees, when the wind is blowing sideways and all you really want to be doing is romping through the Luxembourg Gardens. Last year when I came to Paris in April, it was probably twice as warm. This week is just plain cruel.

But. It is Paris.

There are breathtaking landmarks.

Kooky characters.

Delicious food.


(Always, delicious food.)


And cafes when all else fails.

It could always be worse, n'est-ce pas??

Cold but lovely

This is a different kind of Parisian visit for me. I’m trying out the concept of “no agenda.” Save for a few restaurant reservations , and the book soirée bien sur, this week will unfold mysteriously. Each day, spontaneous. It’s also different as I am with someone—obviously new for me and changing things.

So far, so good.

Sunday was the kind of day you read about; a cliché day. An old colleague had invited me to his country home, so off on the train we went. It was the kind of day that you couldn’t script any better. He and his wife have a spectacular home (which used to be a mill and which featured a roaring fire—for as NYC is having summer temps, Paris feels like the dead of winter. There’s currently a 40-degree difference between the two cities). There were more than a dozen of us, all friends from different pockets of their life, making for an eclectic crowd and non-stop conversation. We moved from the fire to the dining room table. Grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, homemade quiche, bread, salad, cheese, wine, ice cream, chocolate… it lasted for hours. And required a stroll through the village before taking the train back to the city in the evening, which couldn’t have been more picturesque. A babbling brook, a small school, the local park. Pitch-perfect.

From country mice to city mice in a matter of kilometers and hours, we went to the Hemingway Bar for cocktails at night as the Ritz is about to close for two years’ worth of renovations. Always a delight.

And back in the daylight hours, having no agenda meant a stroll across the Pont Alexandre III. Lunch at Café Constant. A pit-stop at Les Deux Magots. And dinner with friends.

It was brilliant to see and feel Paris again. To know that there is no work to be done. To see where the day takes you. To see how life unfolds.

I am in Paris

It was a long week. But I had a Friday night red-eye to Paris. I was so happy, though the flight was delayed and I couldn't keep my eyes open at 10, much less 11 or 12, and when I landed and my phone is not working. I had the usual bumps and miscommunications upon arrival. It is cold. And, after seven hours of wandering and picture-taking, I realize, I do not have the software installed to upload photos from my new camera. Hrmph.

On the positive side, what started as an annoying day filled with those out-of-body experiences and visiting abroad impasses turned into 100% happiness. The sky and tree blossoms were brilliant. I had a Nutella crepe. I met Michael on the Pont des Arts and we walked until we got to La Belle Hortense, where we caught up over wine until it was time to meet Mel at the Gilbert & George opening at Ropac. We passed Suzy Menkes in the street and then bumped into friends. The vernissage was jammed and fun. Then Mel and I went to Cafe Charlot, where the prices have skyrocketed and the food and service remain the same level of irresistibly mediocre, and it was all perfect.

I rode the Metro home. It was calm, quiet, magical in the streets. In short, it's a bit like being home.

A funny thing happened on the way to Paris

The first time, I mean. When I first moved to Paris in 2009, it was to replace another American writer at Ogilvy. Rosecrans Baldwin. He was done with living abroad and moving back to the States. I never met him in person, but heard great things about him. We became Facebook friends, commiserated via email a handful of times, and I knew through the grapevine that he was writing a book. About Paris. And Ogilvy.

Jump cut a couple of years. I got my hands on an advance copy of his book, brilliantly titled Paris I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down. I laughed out loud, tracing the characters in his book to mine—our colleagues in Paris. I got to relive the giddiness of my first months at the office all over again. I was secretly envious of his book and the cool way he described everything.

And then another funny thing happened. Today. A piece I wrote for NPR’s 3 Books, which included Rosecrans’s book came out. As did a roundup on Vogue.com that included both of our books.

How uncanny that we shared such similar experiences: being recruited by the same guy to come write ad copy in Paris, spending shy of two years being alternately seduced and slapped by the city, and then returning home and writing books about our experiences? The story of fate continues...

Classy girls

I met Nadine and Brett at my Three Tarts book signing. They came with their parents, all four of them excited for their upcoming visit to the City of Light (and Dark Chocolate). Needless to say, nothing made me happier to see that they trekked through the SoPi streets to get to Denise Acabo's A l'Etoile d'Or. (Well actually, it made me especially happy to see them perched over the Bernachon table.) Now these are memories that will last a lifetime.

The book docket

It’s been almost 10 weeks since Paris, My Sweet launched and it’s definitely been a whirlwind. From the Jersey Shore to the Bay Area, I’ve loved connecting with friends and Francophiles. And just to keep me tottering on the edge of sanity and a new pant size, here are more events on the horizon:

April 11: Joint reading with the fabulous Jeryl Bruner at Posman Books, NYC
April 18: Book signing party, hosted by Seymour and Le Citizen hotel, Paris
April 29: French pastries and book signing at Bread & Cocoa, Larchmont, NY
May 4: Belgian chocolates and books signing at Bobby’s Main Street News, Boonton, NJ
May 6: Book signing at Chelsea Market Baskets, NYC
May 12: Artisanal chocolates and reading at Talking Leaves Books, Buffalo, NY

My Vegan Mondays

Another week, another Vegan Monday...

Morning
Coffee and soy milk
Green juice
Oatmeal

Afternoon
A rare and wonderful lunch date with Sion! After macarons, aperos, fromage et vin in Paris, this in fact was our first NYC date. We caught up on men, books and writing, while still managing to put away some veggie burgers and sweet potato fries. It was so New York, and so awesome.

Evening
Carrot ginger soup
Crackers and hummus

This is it, mes amis. I'm trying to be very, very mindful so I can let loose in Paris next week. Get ready!

Visions of Paques past

They don't call them chocolate masters in France for nothing.

Just take a look at some of the incredible, edible sculptures from previous years at Michel Cluizel...

... and Lenotre.

Guess who??

(There is only one Patrick Roger.)

Wouldn't want to break that oeuf at Pralus (actually, I would).


And Michel Chaudun's chocolate sculptures are almost too exquisite to eat.

Almost.

Happy Easter!

One week and counting

"What is it with this city? I need to write a letter to the Chamber of Commerce."
—Gil in Midnight in Paris

I love Woody Allen's sense of humor. And I love that I'm going to be back in Paris in exactly one week. Last year, my April visit was sublime. Sunny, warm, filled with great food and friends. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for the same this year.

Visions of nighttime

If you haven't fallen in love with Paris yet, you haven't been there at night.



Near the river.


On a rooftop.


Under the Eiffel Tower.

C'est magique.

My Vegan Mondays

Do you ever get the sense that you're a total bore? That your life is passing you by? That you've lost control and might not ever regain it? (No? Just me?)

I think I've been eating absurd amounts of lemon basil bonbons, walnut chocolate chip cookies and salted caramel ice cream lately because I don't know what else to do. I don't have time to call my mom, to go to yoga, to pet my cat or to read a magazine... from February. Life is good. It's just crazy. And it's freaking me out.

In lieu of an all-expenses-paid trip to Tahiti, what I need is a week's worth of Vegan Mondays to regain some equilibrium... at least on the diet front.

Morning
Green juice
Fuji apple

Afternoon
Health food store hot bar: $11 worth of dill and fennel rice, broccoli and brussels sprouts
Granola bar

Evening
One of my favorite soups, which I did find time to make this weekend: carrot-ginger-sweet potato
Dried pineapple (merci, maman!)

French word of the day: vexant

Def: annoying

How did I not know this word until now?

Short but sweet

Merci, San Francisco.

I came.

I read.

I ate.

San Francisco was the perfect little respite in what’s been a very busy year so far.

I got to reconnect with great friends.

Take in landscapes that are both invigorating and inspiring.

And enjoy my favorite kind of food: California cuisine. And in just a few short days, I crammed a lot in my maw:
• Arizmendi
• Baker & Banker
• Bar Jules
• Harry’s
• Mission Beach (twice!)
• Universal Café
• Zuni

Landed in San Francisco

24 hours into San Francisco, I have certainly not been shy about (over)eating.

I took a short walk yesterday, with a soundtrack of foghorns in the bay and squawking green parrots overhead.


But otherwise, I’ve been focused on a string of eating opportunities.

First stop was Mission Beach, a new San Francisco favorite. I managed to skip the french toast this time. But not long after, I went to my favorite candy store, Miette.


And then for a cupcake.

By the time dinner rolled around, I didn’t need another bite, not to mention calorie. But it just so happened that three friends from high school were in town, so of course I had to go eat (a turkey burger and pinot noir, for the record).

And after yoga class this morning, it was time to eat. Again.

Speaking of San Francisco favorites, when was the last time you went to Zuni?

For me, it had been eons. And I had forgotten how magical a restaurant can be.

We were seated on a banquette near the open kitchen.

Loaves of Acme sourdough bread before us. (And, before long, in front of us.)


And I watched one chef make their famous Caesar salad.

Over and over.

And over again.

Tossing, pouring, grating…


Naturally I had to have one.

Along with a pizza from their wood oven.

It was heaven.

24 hours into San Francisco, and I couldn’t be happier to be here.