Spices and The Oldest Café in Paris

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Founded in 1686, where gentlemen of fashion came to drink the exotic beverage we know as coffee

Teas since 1692, and All the Colors of Pepper

Despite light rain all day, I wandered in search of Hôtel de Sully, missing it but finding the Place des Vosges as my consolation prize, and picked up some delicious tea from the people who have been providing tea to Parisians since 1692, as authorized by King Louis XIV, Dammann Frères. One tin of Christmas tea and one of Happy Dreams later, I picked up some gorgeous fresh strawberries and blueberries while wandering the streets towards home.

After a bit of work and checking of emails, Jack and I headed in search of a spice store we’d visited when we were last in town, Compagnie Française des Poivres et des Epices, an artisanal boutique of peppers, spices, salts and sugars in a beautiful square. There are 8 or so white peppers, several red, multiple black, four smoked, so a pepper for any meal. It is hard to choose, but we ended up with a white that’s great with chicken, a red to use for vegetables and a spicy black pepper for everything else. I have a cool antique-looking pepper grinder at home, but the saleswoman says the best way to grind the peppercorns is with a mortar and pestle. So at least I’ll get a little arm workout while preparing my pepper!

Restaurant Procope

The inside of restaurant Procope

Walking home from Saint-Germaine, we were searching around rue de Buci for a place for dinner when I realized we were standing in front of a restaurant we’d been looking for earlier — restaurant Procope, which started its life in 1686. On an earlier visit we’d done a Paris Walks focused on Revolutionary France where the guide mentioned the restaurant as one in which Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, many revolutionary leaders, as well as Voltaire and many philosophers and writers have gathered over the years. Napoleon apparently left one of his hats to guarantee payment of a bill, which he never came back to collect and which is now showcased on the stair landing.

The story of Napoleon and the restaurant holding his hat as a pledge
The infamous hat

In fact, I realized while eating that a letter signed by Napoleon was framed and hanging just behind my head. We had the fixed price menu, which was a DELICIOUS ravioli (seriously, it’s small but so, so good) and (for me) trout and (for Jack) beef. The trout was tender but served as a whole fish and I never enjoy eating the body of a fish when its head and tail are there making it impossible for me not to realize that a fish had to die to make my dinner. So, but for my idiosyncrasies, it was great. Jack enjoyed his beef.

Right behind me I find a letter signed by Napoleon

While we were eating, a group of men all dressed up showed up to gather at what I believe was a private dining area upstairs, and definitely added to the atmosphere.

This man was all in — the only one I saw carrying a sword
Love the hats

Walking Home On A Rainy Night And Enjoying The Sights

The walk home was lovely, strolling down streets strung with lights, crossing the Seine near the Notre Dame, still glorious despite the fire and rebuilding now underway.

Lights strung along a street add just the right ambiance
Yet another gorgeous Paris street
Notre Dame and the scaffolding that will help rebuild it
Another view of the great lady.

All in all, another lovely day in the City of Lights, love, wine, cheese, croissants, strolling, history, and so many other good and delicious wonders. We are only missing our little dog … and of course, our children!

Two Weeks in Paris

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Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Continuing with yesterday’s theme, and to enhance my memories of my trip when I try to recall it years from now, my blog will serve as my diary of Two Weeks in Paris, Winter 2022 edition.

I was born in Beaumont, TX, which is not at all like Paris other than people live in both places. I dreamt of Europe all of my childhood. I’d put myself to sleep imaging myself living abroad — always a home in Paris, sometimes a chalet in Switzerland or an old mansion with big bay windows and a comfy window seat with a plush red curtain overlooking the English countryside.

And now, I’m here, in “my” apartment (well, me and 12 other owners), in the Marais. And it’s as lovely as I imagined it would be.

Our flight here arrived so early that we had to wait on the airport bus before entering the terminal for the Covid checkers to arrive. Once they did, we handed over our Covid vaccination cards, our negative Covid tests, and our sworn statements promising to get another antigen test within 24 hours and then on to the regular passport/customs/baggage lines. After the taxi from Paris Orly airport we settled into the apartment, then walked the neighborhood soaking it all in… and ate a croissant with all the flakes.

I didn’t like croissants before, but now I am addicted. The carbs and butter are not the best way to start my 2022 diet trying to lose my Covid weight, but they are delicious!

I don’t know what this is a photo of, but it reminds me of Beaumont, TX Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com
In contrast… Paris. Photo by Elina Sazonova on Pexels.com

After an afternoon of walking, capped off by Falafels to go and a bottle of wine, we slept. And slept. Intermittently, awaken by calls from the States unaware that we were on a different time zone, until 11:30 this morning. I still felt groggy.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Nothing that a croissant and some Earl Grey couldn’t solve! Then we wandered the streets, coming across a clothing sale in a warehouse where 1 kilo of clothing was 10 euros and I got a dress and a shirt for 4 euros. They ended up not fitting (until I lose 10 pounds?), but it was fun to browse anyway.

Then work calls, and translating the French/Italian oven manual with the help of Google Translate so we could prepare chicken, veggies and baked sweet potato for dinner, accompanied by the last of last night’s wine, and then binge watching Emily in Paris for fun.

Photo by Live on Shot on Pexels.com

And now, time for bed. Or, given my usually 9 p.m. bedtime, way past time (it’s 1 a.m.). I hate jet lag.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Now, for Day Three!

Lit Up By “The City of Light”

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Today’s gratitude thought is an easy one — I arrived safe and sound, despite Covid-19 and so many flight cancellations and delays, in Paris this morning. But, KN95 mask and safety googles on, we made it safely here. Today, I’m grateful for Paris.

We flew for the second time on La Compagnie, which is a lovely airline but a pain to use from San Diego, as they only have one flight to Paris, out of Newark, and getting to Newark on a different airline in order to make the flight in time is a bit of a challenge, but worth it.

View from my living room in the Marais

Late last year we sold one tiny fractional studio apartment down the street and purchased a slightly larger one-bedroom fractional with a sleeper sofa my kids can use when they are able to visit with us. Its remodel was just finished a week ago and we are the first of the owners to be able to visit, and love it! Above is a view from our living room; below is the view from our kitchen.

View from my kitchen, over looking the St Paul metro carousel
View of the kitchen into the dining area, with beautiful old wooden beams

It’s long been a dream to have an apartment in Paris and while I only own 1/13th of this one, it’s a start! And my neighborhood is lovely, with organic groceries, wine stores, boutiques, metros, and more.

And just a short walk away is some of the best falafel, and we were lucky enough to stop by when there was no line. Picked up our food, picked up a bottle of wine on the walk home and enjoyed a lovely dinner. Now on to get some sleep and recover from my jet lag.

Highly recommend L’As du Falafel!

In writing the headline for this blog post, I researched why Paris is called the City of Light. In 1667, King Louis XIV entrusted his police lieutenant to make Paris safer, in part by installing street lights. Lanterns were placed on almost every main street, and residents were asked to light their windows with candles or oil lamps. The idea was to prevent dark corners and alleyways criminals where criminals could hide.

I am so grateful to King Louis XIV, and to his police lieutenant, and to every single person who has contributed to make Paris the gorgeous city that I (and millions of others) love so.

Thank you Paris, for being you!

Photo by Alex Azabache on Pexels.com

Parlez-Vous Français?

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The first time I tried to learn French was in high school. It was my favorite class, but not because of the subject matter or the teacher but because my best friends were in it with me. We delighted in entertaining ourselves and not in doing the hard work of learning a foreign language, no matter how much I dreamed of traveling to and living in France. Nonetheless I managed to learn enough in high school to coast through the semester of French in college. It was easy, and I got in the habit of not studying.

About half-way through the second semester, with the class now conducted entirely in French, I first realized that I had absolutely no idea what was being said. I could not answer a single one of the questions the teacher directed at me with anything other than “Je ne sais pas!” It was true. I did not know. I did not know anything. And at this point I was lost.

Rather than doubling-down, as I should have done, or hiring a tutor, which would have been another brilliant idea, I simply fumbled my way through the rest of the year, barely seeking out a passing grade, my standard answer for all questions in or about French remaining the same — je ne sais pas, I do not know.

But one thing I do know is that I love France. Walking the cobblestone streets of Paris, spending the day in the Cluny Museum and the next one in the Louvre. Exploring the Dordogne region, from ancient cave drawings to medieval castles to the gorgeous wines produced there. Soaking in the depiction of life in 1066 through inspecting the Bayeux Tapestry, or walking the beaches of D-Day in Normandy. I love it all.

So, after ignoring the golden opportunities of my high school and college classes, I decided in my 40s to try again, this time with Rosetta Stone. Then, in my 50s, with the podcast “Coffee Break French,” and, at 58, through my local university’s extension courses . Again, in frustration, I gave up. But I have re-started my efforts yet again. Now, at 60, I listen each day for 30 minutes to Pimsleur and I diligently add on teaching myself from “French: Learn in 4 Simple Steps” to get the grammar right as well. It is so hard! I am determined to finally get this right. To one day be smart enough to understand the question being asked of me in French, and brave enough to risk ridicule for mispronouncing the words to answer with something other than Je ne sais pas. I will know. I do know. Je sais…allons-Y!