Spring is coming to Paris

We've been living in the Caribbean for a few years and are not accustomed to the cold. When the temperature in Trinidad fell to 80 degrees, I usually wore a light sweater. So you can imagine the shock for all of us facing the chilly winds that still linger in Paris these March days. My son is not only getting used to the chilly air, but also to wearing clothes. His preference in clothing tended to be Pampers size 4. And that's it. Maybe, if we had company, he would wear a t-shirt. And only if we left the house did he wear shorts. So take a look at the dramatic change:

He is seen here running around in Jardin Luxembourg in a puffy red down coat and covered from head to toe. He complained the first few times but now he's come to terms with it. In this photo, he's happy chasing pigeons and glad to be nice and warm.

The good news is that there are signs that spring is coming to Paris. Trees are letting loose some tender, lovely buds and cherry blossoms are in bloom. I lived in Washington DC for many years, where we are very proud of our cherry blossoms. Their appearance always made me happy. They are like little puffs of sugar, painted with a watercolor brush to tell us that winter is over.

This is great news for us. Paris in the spring time. I dare you to think of something more beautiful. 

A chilly afternoon in Paris

Yesterday our little family of three was cold. It was four o'clock and the logical thing to do was have some hot tea. As soon as I started heating up the water, my husband said "I'll be right back!" and walked out the door. A few minutes later, he showed up with a beautiful pink box - ribbon and all. In it were macaroons from Gerard Mulot. Please pardon yet another mention of this patisserie, but he couldn't resist. This little pink box was the perfect addition to our tea time. 

Macaroons are heavenly little creatures made of almond paste whipped with egg whites into oblivion in order to create a kind of merengue cookie. Various ingredients are added, creating a seemingly infinite variety of these little pastries. It seems that every time I enter a macaroon shop, there is a new flavor they've come up with. For example, my favorite yesterday was the passion fruit basil macaroon. I would never have thought of these two ingredients together, but it works. Oh, it works very well. A bit of tang and a bit of earthy basil - almost minty and definitely refreshing.

After drinking our tea and eating the entire contents of the little box, we decided we were warm enough to face the chilly evening. We took the loveliest stroll to St. Sulpice, and looked up:

A fountain sitting elegantly under a magical sky.

Gerard Mulot

A Gerard Mulot patisserie, which is considered the best in Paris, happens to be very conveniently around the corner from my flat. Please do yourself a favor and feast your eyes on their website. Just looking through the window, your heart skips a beat in about the same way as when you see the love of your life. 

The window displays almost brought me to tears. This is the good stuff, ladies and gentlemen. This is artistry. This is sugar manipulation at its best - a perfected art form that I appreciate at an almost spiritual level. I mean, just look at this stuff:

What did I choose, you ask? Well, it was almost impossible to do so. I'm glad I live around the corner because it may just take me eight months to try everything in the store. Today, I took A-L's advice and ordered the crunchy orange tart, which had the right kind of tang and the right kind of sweet. I also chose the dark chocolate tart, an opera, and a millefeuille, a classic that never gets old. The best part about these little bits of pastry goodness were sharing them with friends. We visited a friend of mine who I haven't seen in about ten years. She now has a toddler son as well, and he and my son hit it off immediately - they'll be best friends living large in St Germain - eating pastries and frolicking in the Jardin du Luxembourg fields - what a tough life.

Best hot chocolate in the world and the ugliest shoes in the world. Period.

Les Deux Magots is one of my favorite places on earth. It is one of the hang-outs of Hemingway, Sartre, and Picasso, among others, and one of the birthplaces of existentialism (according to the Lonely Planet France guidebook). (Yes, I read Lonely Planet guides...) Anyway, back to the hot chocolate. My husband and I tasted it last time we were in Paris, and swore to always return to this magical place. The hot chocolate is easily the most delectable, velvety cup of dark chocolaty richness I've ever had the privilege to enjoy. It was even better this time around, and in my toddler's words was: "yum yum!"

I accompanied it with a croissant, and I was in chocolate heaven. 

Now, to offer some contrast with this mouth-watering deliciousness, I'd like to share a less appetizing situation. If you are even the least little bit aware of shoe aesthetics, then you'll understand my predicament. These are the shoes I have to wear to culinary school:

I had to go to the end of the world (well, the end of the metro map of Paris) to buy them at a chef's speciality store (which was actually pretty cool), and I almost gagged when the sales person told me these were the ones Cordon Bleu students wore. "The women tend to choose the white ones rather than the black," she said. "That's a little better, I guess," I said. They're steel-tipped, oil resistant, and can withstand the side effects of the atomic bomb (well, maybe not that) "security shoes" and they're hideous. They are comfortable and strong, though, which is what will be important when I'm standing up for ten hours a day and a sharp knife comes flying down to my toes. Pity party over here.

Bonjour, Paris!

How do you write a smile?

Well, one seemed to have permanently fixed itself upon my face ever since I arrived on Sunday.

Please join me with three cheers for my son, who behaved brilliantly on the 24-hour trip from Port of Spain to Paris - hip, hip, hooray...! And another chant for my husband, without whom there would not be a smile this large on my face - "for he's a jolly good fellow...." ok, you get the idea. Besides the jet-lag and inevitable exhaustion, the trip was good.

I've been to Paris a few times, so my observations are not really about the city itself. Rather, the observations I'd like to share today are about how I feel as a new resident of Paris. I am deliriously happy to be able to finally take time to see the city, without feeling rushed or thinking that I have to move on to the next monument because my days here are numbered. Today, for example, the three of us took the metro to Pompidou only to find that it's closed on Tuesdays. Instead of being annoyed, we walked and walked and walked without looking at a map or making any plans for the rest of the evening. We stumbled upon three playgrounds, so my son was thrilled. We saw street performers and beautiful window displays of pastry shops, clothes boutiques, and art galleries. 

always tip a street musician

As an anthropologist, I am fascinated by the people. Paris, like most of Europe these days, is a melting pot of people from around the world. I hope that my experience with the culinary culture of this city exposes me to what this collage of traditions has to offer. 

You may be wondering what our first meal was? If you guessed moules frites, you're right. Actually, I ordered steak frites and my husband had the moules. The baby had a moule and I think he liked it, but his favorite was the broth that the moules came in. And oh yes, the bread. None of us can get enough of that crunchy, heavenly baguette brought down to earth by the bread gods.

moules frites

steak frites with belgian mayo

I'll leave you with my last thought of the day...I better keep taking these long walks, or else I'll be rolling out of France in eight months because of the extra thirty pounds I'll be carrying (AH!)

Au Revoir Trinidad

And so a major milestone in my journey begins...at the airport waiting for my flight to Paris. Please keep your fingers crossed so that my toddler son sleeps and that this trip goes well!

I leave behind Carnival festivities (which are on full blast as I leave the island). I also leave behind good friends, but they will be following me through this blog every step of the way.

My next entry will be from the other side of the pond. I can smell the pain au chocolat that is waiting for me at the corner bakery. I am coming, wait for me!

House of Jaipur: A bit of India in Trinidad

A dear friend took me out for a goodbye lunch at one of my favorite places: House of Jaipur. Located in an unassuming street in Woodbrook (a residential/commercial area in Port of Spain), this tea house is an oasis from the bustling, trafficky, concrete hood in which it lives. 

As soon as you enter, you're transformed to India. The proprietor has impeccable taste and everything from the furniture to the cushion covers and picture frames are for sale. You can come here for a spot of tea and a sweets platter and also stay for lunch - a colorful, aromatic, delectable lunch.

We had samosas and dosas, accompanied by a lovely masala chai. 

The burnt reds and oranges and the glittery lamps shades and table cloths were beautiful. But the most fabulous part of the lunch was spending time with my friend. I'll miss her and this lovely Indian oasis in the Caribbean.