May 24 Paris

Don't get me started with this Icelandic volcano bullcrap... we're flying home tomorrow dammit!

OK, last day in Paris, tidying up a few loose ends. We had a leisurely morning, then took the Metro out to the Palais de la Port Doree to see the two offices at either end of the ground floor. One of the offices has amazing furniture by Ruhlmann, and both are marvelous examples of Deco design. The murals on the wall are a bit politically incorrect, dancing naked savages welcoming the civilizing influence of la Belle France... but they are wonderful. Ira even tried to sketch one of the rooms to get the dimensions right in his head. I took lots of photos for him to review later, as well.


The outside of the building is carved with a continuous set of bas-reliefs, completed in less than two years, so they have a wonderful unity about them. They all call attention to France's colonies in Africa, Asia, Oceania, and America. Again, probably not the most PC of schemes, but wonderfully done and managed by Alfred Janniot.

Back onto the Metro and back to Place d'Aligre to pick up some wonderful sugared mint leaves covered in chocolate. You may have had something similar, but you haven't had anything this good! Then off to lunch at Ma Bourgogne. We keep liking this place, then not liking it, then liking it again. This trip was wonderful. I had a poulet roti and the chickens are just darker and more flavorful here. Their frites are out of this world, as well. I started the mean with leeks, delicately cooked and twisted into a coiled rope on my plate. Ira had a starter of cucumbers, tomatoes, and green beans, and then finished up my leeks while I ate my chicken. (He helped with the frites!)

Then Ira went off to sketch Sert's Salle de Bal at the Carnavalet, hands down our favorite room in Paris. I wandered the Left Bank, and tried to get into Notre Dame twice, but was thrown off by the incredible crowds. Maybe next trip!

We're going to Pramil again for another meal. We wanted to go to Breizh Cafe again, but it's closed tonight. Both of these restaurants took the prize for best meals of the trip.

Paris says goodbye!

May 23 Paris
We decided to stay in Paris, since we're having such a great time. The apartment wasn't available to extend, so we rented a hotel room deeper in the Marais. It's nice to have a shower that we can stand up in!

We slept late and long and just had enough time to have breakfast on the hotel's centime. Then we took the Metro to the Left Bank to see the new Hermes store. It's built in a Beaux Arts swimming pool, a huge, three-story structure. The main feature of the store is an ash wood stairway, with slatted, wooden pavilions in the center of the floor to set off the merchandise. It's mainly for home furnishings, but only for someone who can afford to pay $500 for a pillow, or $5,000 for a casual blanket for the couch. Yikes!

Next up was Bon Marche, a big department store. We had headed in that direction and noticed that they had a special exhibition, a replica of a Charlotte Perriaud tea house that she had build in 1941 for a Tokyo exposition. (We were at war with Japan at the time, and occupied France would have been technically an ally of the Axis nations, but let's not get political...) Ira bought some socks and a belt while we were there. Right across the street was a cafe that served Berthillon's ice cream, so we stopped for lunch. Our timing was perfect, as the place filled up quickly after we sat down. Despite the heat, we were sitting in the shade and ordered raw beef, tartare for Ira and carpaccio for me. They always serve such big portions!

After lunch, we went across the river to the Louvre so Ira could sketch in the sculpture court and I could wander around and look at some art. It was crowded, because Monday most museums in Paris are closed. The Egyptian rooms were particularly filled with people. I had to visit just to see a wonderfully preserved mummy that I love, with incredibly intricate facial wrappings. For the rest, I wandered around taking pictures and enjoying the art. You can see some of the paintings here, but, of course, there's nothing like seeing a painting in the flesh, so to speak. You see so much detail you miss, even in fine reproductions.

It was a hot day, so once we left the Louvre we stopped near home for more ice cream!

We had a little time to relax before it was off to dinner. We stayed at the apartment that our friends were in, Ann and Roberta. It's over in the seventh and it's huge and modern. Two bedroom, two bath place with space for miles, more closets that you could possibly have clothes and a view over the trees of the neighboring park. From the living room you can see Sacre Coeur. This is how people should live in Paris. After drinks and snacks, we lodged ourselves into a taxi and went to the restaurant at the Hotel d'Alembert where we sat outside and enjoyed their last night in Paris. To start we had an incredibly delicious amuse bouche, a savory carrot cake spiced with cumin and coriander. Terrific and I was disappointed it was only a couple bites. My first was white and green asparagus paired with a soft boiled egg. Roberta had a Caesar salad that was so huge she shared it with everyone. For my main course, I had frog's legs with a peanut butter sauce. It's been a while since I've had frog's legs and these were delicious and creamy. We were too stuffed for dessert, so we shared a combination dessert of mousse, a pecan tarte, and a praline.

We saw the ladies off in a taxi and walked along St. Germain des Pres, crossed the Louvre at Pont des Arts with its groups of drinking and talking young people, then waited for the bus to take us home. As we were waiting, the champagne lights on the Eiffel Tower went on at midnight, a fitting farewell to the left bank...

May 22 Quasimodo Chez Lui

Did I mention that the sleeping loft was a bit tight? Great apartment, but they did say we'd be able to stand in the loft area, and, well, as you can see... no.

Oh wait, what was I saying? Of course I can stand up. I just can't turn around since my head's in a beamed vise.

May 22 Tours

Day two with the car. This time we drove down to Tours to see some Mantegna paintings at the Musee des Beaux Arts there. We took a different route out of town and got caught in construction. It wasn't bad driving, it's just that they are building a light rail to go into the city and it restricted us to a narrow lane going out. From a driving perspective, it was a snap because the cross traffic was light. From a scenery perspective, it was awful, with the usual ugly banlieu exacerbated by the construction mess. We finally got out to the A10, however, and enjoyed our trip through marvelous French countryside.

When we got to Tours, we went along the river and found free parking down along the quai. It was perfect. The Loire ambles at that point, but there are a lot of noisy seabirds there, wheeling about. Tours was lovely on a Sunday afternoon, quiet and provincial. It has a magnificent cathedral. From the outside it seems a bit of a stylistic mish-mash, but inside it's tall and imposing. We walked in first, but they were having a mass, so we went out and continued on to the Musee des Beaux Arts. There we saw a show on the Chateau Richelieu. The real draw was two predellas, parts of a larger altarpiece from Verona. We'd seen the central crucifixion in the Louvre, but this was our opportunity to see the two panels that surround that one. (The rest of the altarpiece, I believe, is in Verona.)


They're both magnificent. Christ rising from the grave has such immense power. I love the athletic movement as he strides out of the tomb. It feels like he is weightless, but athletic, as if he carries the weight of death's experience only in his body. It's the other panel, however, of Christ praying in Gethsemane while his apostles sleep around him, that really is one of my favorites. Christ has such power in his pleading with God, his father. You get the sincerity of his requests. On the left side in the background, you can see Judas turning backwards to ensure the Roman soldiers are following him closely to his moment of eternal betrayal. They also had a painting borrowed from the Louvre for the Richelieu show that shows Athena casting sins from the garden of virtue. It shown on the wall.

There's an enormous cedar of Lebanon in the courtyard of the museum. It was planted in 1804, and it's astounding that a 200-year-old tree can grow so large in such a relatively short time. Trees love Paris and France; they really respond to the climate here.

Another curiosity across the courtyard from the museum is a stables with a taxidermied elephant. Apparently, Ringling Brothers was in town in the early part of the century, and their elephant up and dies. Ringling "gifted" the dead beast to the town, who promptly stuffed it and displayed it. Wait, I just read a more compelling story of its death, read this blog post to get the sad and thrilling details. It was murder, folks.

After the museum, we walked next door to the cathedral, where they were practicing on the organ. It was a lot of experimentation, with discordances and strange sounds. Later, they were testing it with some fugues, but for a while, it sounded almost demonic.

The cloister of the church is precious, with a wooden-roofed second story. The gargoyles are terrific and they have some amazing faces in the stained glass. There was also some graffiti on the walls from the 1600s. I took too many pictures to post here, but the slideshow is going to be amazing.

The ride back was uneventful. We had time for a rest and then a late dinner at 10 p.m. I had wanted a simple crepe dinner, and crepes I got, but not simple. We went to a wonderful nearby place called Breizh Cafe. First, a word about the ambience. The crowd was young but not snotty, there was a kind of lively intelligence about our fellow diners. The owners and servers were all tremendously polite and efficient, and overall, even if the food had been bad, I would have had a good time. The crepes, however, were out of this world good. I had one with artichokes and ham and cheese and a sunnyside up egg. Ira had a complex one with tomatoes, anchovies, ham, and... a sunnyside up egg. Most of the varieties of crepes included an egg of some kind. There are three locations for this small chain, Paris, Tokyo, and Bretagne. My god was it good. In America, the filling is the important part, so the crepe itself tends to get lost. Here it's front and center, with a crunchy texture and rich taste, highlighted by the final brush of butter that the crepe gets as it's plated. My god, if you like crepes, you must eat here. If you don't like 'em, you must eat here. One of the best meals of the trip!

Just an illustration of how fun the ambience was. We were seated just inside, with wide french doors, so the couple seated outside were right next to us. They greeted a friend of theirs who came down to chat for about 30 minutes. During that time, neighbors walked by and said hello to the three, including a Japanese woman who was clearly a resident and her aged mother, who was clearly visiting from Japan. Friendly, intelligent, cosmopolitan. You feel better just sharing the space with these folks.

May 21 Milly la Foret

Our first day outside of Paris, and wow, was it a terrific one. We drove down to Milly la Foret to see the Maison de Jean Cocteau, which just opened last year (with Pierre Berge backing). We rented a car at the Hotel de Ville and had a bit of difficulty getting out of Paris. Just at the beginning as we wanted to get across the river to the big avenues running north/south. Once we wended our way through some crazy streets in the Marais, we did find the way to the A6, and then arrived at Milly le Foret in about 45 minutes.

We found parking in this lovely place just down the street from the Maison. It was covered with gorgeously gnarled trees and kept the car shaded from the sun (have I mentioned the lovely days? Farmers are worrying about drought, but tourists are glad of the sunny skies).

The house/museum/gardens were lovely. It's clear that not only is this an expensive proposition for M. Berge (Yves St. Laurent's boyfriend and the director of his company) but also one of love. The museum is lavishly appointed and fascinating and a gret legacy for Cocteau. Only three rooms from the house are reproduced, the living room, the bedroom and the study. All fun to look at, of course, stuffed with interesting objets. The study is wallpapered in leopard skin and has a reproduction Rousseau on the wall. I would have been very comfortable lounging in a room like that. The rest of the house was filled with Cocteau's artworks, paintings, video clips on high tech glass screens, recordings, photos, and those lovely sketches where Cocteau managed to get personality and character in just a few lines.

The gardens and woods are about 4 acres. Canals run through them. Ducks paddle serenely. There are so many birds it makes me wonder where are the birds in California? I know we live in a desert, but I was never so conscious of the vast amount of different bird song until I sat in the little forest there and listened to them compete for attention.

We had a wonderful time wandering the garden. There are espaliered pear trees, identified by the most elegant signs ever created. The flowers were blooming, lots of poppies, bright red against the wild grasses. It was a terrific combination of wildness and order. I'll have to read more about it to see if it was like this in Cocteau's time.

Lunch was in the town square, whose claim to fame is an old marketplace, a big slate-roofed affair, with flower baskets hanging between the posts. There was no market today, only a school's science fair with students and their creations and anxious parents hanging out. We ate at a small bistro and had a nice meal. Nothing to blog about, but the wine was particularly good. The waiter seemed more interested in the wine, and he came through with the perfect glass for me, refreshing but not too alcoholic.

Now it was off to the Cocteau's burial place, which is in the Chapelle de St. Blaise des Simples. We started merrily off in the wrong direction before asking a man walking a dog, who pointed us in the right way. St. Blaise des Simples was originally a leper colony, and "simples" are medicinal herbs. The chapel is a small, pointed-roof affiar, surrounded by the herbs and gardens. It's tiny and lovely, and inside is decorated with lovely bold paintings of herbs up the walls, done by Cocteau of course. He's buried there, as is his last lover (kind of weird since he was the gardner, then Cocteau's lover, then, after his death, married and had two children). Another oddity is that when you enter the chapel, a recording plays, telling you about Cocteau, and it's read by Jean Marais, a famous French actor and another ex-lover of Cocteau. The French know how to encapsulate reality.

On the way into town, Ira noticed a chateau that he had previously visited on a garden tour. We decided to stop by the Chateau Courrances and wander the gardens. The chateau is blessed with a lot of water, and it's in great evidence here through the large moat and the incredible pools and canals that extend across the vast space of the formal gardens. It's almost too much. The lawns seem to go on forever. And the forests seem ever more extensive. There's one path (closed to the public) that seems to rise into infinity, the trees dwindling off into the distance. Again, the skies were blue and clouds were as ambitious as we were, ambling by, above us.


Back in town we parked the car at Hotel de Ville again, and then rested for our dinner with Ann, Ann, and Roberta. We chose Itineraires, because it seemed fresh and new. The food was wonderful. I started with the melon and ham appetizer, though this was dotted with balsamic vinegar and small tomatoes, and other vegetables. Everyone else had a green salad with bacon foam dressing, which was tasty but a bit kitschy. Both Ira and I fortunately ordered pigeon, and it was perhaps the best pigeon ever, tender, still almost raw of course as you can't even think of overcooking squab. I sucked on the bones it was so good. Accompanying the pigeon was a bowl of mashed potatoes so creamy that they should be called creamed potatoes. It was like a thick, gorgeous potato soup that just melted deliciously in your mouth. That was a great meal. By the time we got to Berthillon's on Ile St. Louis, it was closed. We had to get cones from a shop window and sit in the cafe chairs that they hadn't yet collected. We chatted and had fun until the waiter finally came out to bring in the chairs and we stumbled home at about 1 a.m.

One of the things I love about Paris is that it stays so light. We have light in the sky until about 10:30 p.m., so it never feels like you're out too late, even when you are!

May 20 Paris

We took the bus to see the Musee d'Orsay, but the line was too long, so we hopped back on the bus and went to the Grand Palais. There were three, relatively minor shows there, but much to admire. The Odilon Redon show was the best, and it was lavishly furnished with pictures from his entire career. He started out doing dark drawings based on the writings of Poe and Baudelaire, exactly the types of malign influences that launched many a French person back in the day. His most famous image is that of a smiling spider. He seems to get right into the heart of the dream, whether pleasant or nightmarish.

Next up was a show about landscape paintings, how it evolved from basically the background of paintings into a respected genre. One of my pleasures in the show was discovering a painter I'd heard nothing about, Paul Brill, a Dutch painter who gained papal favor and did a lot of work in Rome. Another unknown (to me) painter that I enjoyed was Goffredo Wals, a German painter, again active in Italy. He was represented by two silky paintings on bronze that were modern and dreamlike.

The final exhibition was one of Aime Cesaire, Wilfredo Lam, and Picasso. Picasso was represented by a lush black painting, but he was really just a teaser to get people interested in the Martiniquan poet and Cuban painter. The exhibit was lavishly done, with wonderful wall coverings and a grand ceiling structure that cast protective arms around the paintings and poems.

Since it was no charge, we trotted across the street to the Petit Palais, where we had the kind of mediocre lunch you have in restaurants the world over, even in Paris. We just saw a small exhibition there on Charlotte Perriand. She did so much iconic furniture work, mostly for Le Corbusier. Every item was either, "I didn't know she designed that!" or "Oh, that one's wonderful, too!" Throw in her stimulating photographs, self-taken nudes, all young assurance and beauty and abstract nature shots, and she deserves to be remembered. Thank goodness there's a show about her in the Petit Palais. The French are so good about memory.

Ten we returned to the Musee d'Orsay where there was STILL a line. OK, we waited in it. Then, we waited in line to get into the Manet show. It wasn't revelatory. He's got a tremendous amount of great paintings, but I've seen most of them apparently. It's always a pleasure to see old favorites, like Dejeuner sur l'Herbe and Ira and I contrasted it with Titian's Fete au Champetre, which we saw last week at the Louvre. It's nice to be able to go back and forth between artistic linkages.

May 19 Le Jules Verne

Wow, now this was an evening to remember. Reservations for the Jules Verne are tough to get, but I prepared early and got us a reservation. Of course, in the interim, another Ann decided to join us. Luckily, we had no problem extending the reservation. Ann, Roberta,... and Ann, were already there when we arrived. We took a private elevator up in the South Tower. Ira knew all about it, since he had read Elevator Systems of the Eiffel Tower on the boat crossing over to Europe. So he knew we were going to go sideways before going up.

Three lovely ladies awaited us at a round table. They were all dressed in black, Roberta in an elegant ruffled dress, Ann in a stylish Gautier Eiffel Tower print, and Ann in a dramatic black sheath. The drinking commenced early. And speaking of drinking, we shared two bottles of wine, both suggested by the waiter and they were both delicious. The first was a Pouilly-Fousse. The second, I can't remember because I was a bit tipsy.

The amuse bouche was a salmon soup, tiny slices of salmon and vegetables with a creamy broth poured over them. I started with the lobster, generally not my favorite dish, bur I thought they'd do it right. It was tender and delicious. I then had the lamb with artichokes. While the lamb was delicious, it paled before the mighty artichoke hearts, cooked to perfection.

Dessert was a crunchy chocolate confection, topped with pistachio nuts.

We ate for about three hours, laughing and having a good time. As we were leaving, we noticed a stairwell and asked if we could go down to the observation platform. But, of course! So, we went down among the crowd that was still up there and watched the tower's champagne lights explode around us. That was one of the best parts of the trip!

May 19 Paris
It was market morning, as we took a guided tour of the Place d'Aligre Market. Our guide was Claude, otherwise known as Miss Lunch, and she proved to be a charming knowledgeable host. She lives in the 12e, which is an up-and-coming neighborhood in the east. The actual market runs every day of the week, and is of course more crowded on weekends.

We met at Ble Sucre a trendy little patisserie/boulangerie. I had a croissant and Ira had a Breton breakfast pastry/bread called a Kouign-amann that consists of heavenly flakiness and butter with suger added just to remind you that a diet consisting only of these would kill you. But you'd die with a smile on your face.

After that rush we went to the market proper where we fueled up on coffee. Unlike most cafes, Aouba roasts its own beans on the spot. You can see the owner doing this. I was chatting with him just at the moment he released the beans from the roaster into the spinning dish below, and I received a huge hit of the aroma, just before he made me a divine espresso. Other in our little group had a noisette, which is basically just un cafe with enough steamed milk to turn it nut brown.

Next up, cheese at Libert, where Claude chose about six cheeses that we ate from a knife right on the street. There are many rules to be considered a serious cheese shop. One of them is that you should have a prominent display of old, stinky cheese that indicates you are a player. You also must have a storage place for cheese under your shop so that you can age it yourself. And also, you should be able to dress up the cheese with additions of your own in order to be first rate. The folks at Libert apparently do this in spades. The cheese tasted wonderful, which is all we needed to know. Our favorite was a cheese with a soft rind washed with walnuts, it had an incredibly walnuty aroma and then a strong flavor to finish. Every cheese we tried was a winner.

Next up was the butcher in the covered part of the market. They were charming and a bit shy at all the attention. They gave us some homemade ham, which was extraordinary. I ate like the pig I was eating.

Chocolate! How could we have a tour and not stop for chocolate. More on this later because I'm running out of time and I want to do them justice. I'll update later when we go back for the chocolate-dipped mint leaves we ordered.

And then, and then, and then, this really goes on, doesn't it? But we had more good stuff! Wine at Le Rouge Baron was particularly fun. I really want to take my friends Mike and Jen there. Someday... Wine from a barrell, charm and style a plenty, and tons of people gathered around just having a good time. Go. Drink. Enjoy. Have one for me.

Our final stop was an olive oil store. Again, I don't have time to do it justice, but we're returning for some oil, so I'll update later.

May 19 Paris
Getting a bit behind in my postings here. Wednesday, we went to the 16e to visit the Fondation Corbusier to see his Maison La Roche. We got there behind a group of Spanish school girls, so waited until the hubbub quieted before we put on our disposable booties, were told, "Don't Touch Nothing!" and then let loose. The house is marvelously simple, with straight angles and gentle curves, everything balanced and pleasing to the eye. A bright color like yellow might be used as an accent, but the walls were either brights white for light and contrast or a very human pink that is pleasing to skin. I would have liked to have gone out on the rooftop patio, which was flooded with light, but the door was locked, alas. The neighborhood is charming too, lots of modern architecture, including one of Ira's favorites, Mallet-Stevens. There's a whole street of his work that looks like a movie set where rich people are having a good time.

Then we took a long cab ride to the 9e, both to relax and to get to the Musee de la Vie Romantique, which is located in the most charming house that was the salon of painter Ary Scheffer. One of the most notable guests at these salons was Georges Sand, and you can find lots of her memorabilia there. It's a charming little place, more noted for its lovely surroundings and garden. We all fell in love with a rose bush there. It's that kind of place.

We wandered the neighborhood to look for a suitable restaurant and came upon La Clairiere, a simple place, which emphasized light, fresh foods. The ladies had salads and a vegetable medley I had a lamb shoulder, and Ira had the charcuterie plate. Typically, we've been pigging out, but this was a simple meal. We did have a wonderful rose wine, which we've had lots on this trip.

Then it was home and nap time. Dinner was near the Jardin du Luxembourg, so Ira and I took the bus down and walked through the gardens just as the sun was laying its last, horizontal rays across the large fountain and pond there.

Then we made it to the restaurant, Au Bon Saint Pourcain. Ira and I secured an outside table and we waited for Ann and Roberta. And waited and waited. They were late because the cab driver couldn't find the street. The owner of the restaurant was an old bristly-eyebrowed crab, and he was furious at us for taking over his table and not eating. They eventually came and we eventually got food, but he never warmed up to us. My before was particularly notable, leeks in a buttery sauce that just melted in your mouth. Ira and I both had rabbit in a mustard sauce. While good, it wasn't as good as some of the lapin that I've had in European trips. The ladies had chicken, which was again, serviceable, nothing more. The wine was a delightful Saint Pourcain. My dessert was the highlight of the evening, perhaps the best creme brulee, I've ever had. It was so light, and the top so crunchy, that I was sad to see it go. I'd go back to the restaurant just for that dish, though the owner would probably have an apoplectic fit if we did!

We walked back home through the Germain-des-Pres neighborhood. It was crowded with young people having a good time. Ira enjoyed the luxe furniture shops, but not the endless motorcycles that roared past. It was a long walk back to the hotel. Too long, but we did cross the Pont des Arts, which was packed full of young folks sitting in clumps here and there, drinking wine from the bottle and smoking cigarettes. Not my scene, but it was a charming scene nonetheless. There must have been over a thousand people on the bridge, with more spilling out onto the quai below on the right bank. If you're under 25, go there when you're in Paris!

I looked back as we were crossing just in time to notice the champagne lights on the Eiffel Tower exploding. Marvelous. Paris knows how to do it just right.

May 17 Pramil

We'd heard about Pramil from our stylish friend, Lewis, who'd heard about it from his friend Thierry, who is friends with Alain Pramil. It's located in the haut Marais, 9 rue Vertbois, walking distance from our apartment. Ann and Roberta met us there in a taxi (and hosted us for dinner because they're sweet).

First of all, before even the food, the service was excellent. The chef came out several times, including dessert to serve a course. Our waiter steered us right at every opportunity, and was charming while giving out the good advice. Even the busboy was courteous and helpful.

Now the main stuff, a terrific meal that was experimental but so utterly french. I had the courgettes aux sardines, which consisted of a layer of puff pastry, then thinly sliced eggplant, then a halved sardine, all lightly covered in a tomato sauce from heaven. It was so good that when I passed around bites, the table got an extra order to share. They all got the same appetizer, which was equally tremendous, a basic salad of something called ficoides galciales. which is a type of ice plant, assez rare, grown in Bretagne. It's peppery and yet filled with water and crunch, with an unexpected texture and flavor that really made a simple salad pop. We're going to try to get some seeds to see if it will grow in Sonoma (like our successful experience with puntarella).

Our entrees were equally satisfying. I had seabass, tender and flaky with a crusty skin. Accompanying it was eggplant and olives, though the waiter said there was a surprise inside, which turned out to be oysters. Incredibly flavorful and complementary. Roberta had the onglet de veau with zucchini, tender and juicy. Ann had the cocquille St. Jacques, which is always a crowd pleaser. Ira had the sweetbreads with young turnips in a cream sauce. I loved it. This was one of the recommendations of the waiter when Ira waffled on ordering it and it was a good suggestion. (Our waiter also approved heartily of our appetizer choices, and you know how great those turned out.)

We had a terrific rose to wash down the food. I didn't get the year, but it was a bandol rose, chateau romassan, domaines ott. I'll have to try to get some for Jen, who's on a rose kick lately.

Dessert was equally spectacular. My three compatriats all had the chocolate ice cream with a tapenade of passion fruit and hot pimento peppers just to add a burst of spice at the end of the sweetness. I had strawberries, plump and full of goodness, topped with an insanely delicious cucumbre ice cream. They flavors all combined marvelously in my mouth. I'll have to try to replicate that combination this summer.

We had a lovely and long meal and broke up at around midnight. We shared the tiny restaurant space in the front room with two other tables and then a long table of Israelis. At first we couldn't figure out where they were from because they were speaking both English and French, but then we heard Hebrew and knew that they were tourists from the Mediterranean. Even though they were a large group, they were well behaved. Israel being such a small country, I think its people are generally cosmopolitan, at least the Israelis I have met.

Wonderful wonderful dinner. It'll be hard to top this experience. Big thanks to the crew at Pramil and thank you to Lewis, who is always so smart.

Lazing, Shopping, Carnavaleting
I was feeling the effects of all that rich food and decided to spend the morning mostly on my back, coaxing away the travel blues. Ira was feeling more chipper, so went out to do the shopping while I dozed on and off. We needed a baguette, of course, and water and other essentials. Ira bought me pear yogurt, which is about the best thing I've ever tasted.

Ann and Roberta came by after their trip to the Musee de la Chasse. They shared a light lunch of bread, and cucumber salad with us and told us how much they enjoyed this weird place. If you're coming to Paris, don't miss it.

Then we wandered the Marais on a shopping expedition. This is something Ira and I don't usually do, so it was definitely different. Roberta had a list of shops to browse, and I had the responsibility of finding things on Google Maps and getting us there. We went to the place where everything is made of recycled canvas, and a store with amazing silver walls and chic clothing. Ira found places to sit at most of the shops, so he wasn't oomplaining.

That last shop was directly opposite the Carnavalet, the museum of the history of Paris, and we always stop there to visit Sert's Salle de Bal, gorgeous scenes of the Queen of Sheba traveling en retinue to visit King Solomon. It's extraordinary, as you can dimly see from the pictures I've posted. Another must do in Paris. And while you're there, go out the door and see the Fouquet jewelry store, perhaps the best example of Art Nouveau decorating I've ever seen.

After that it was just a block and a half to the Place de Vosges, where we recharged with espresso and chocolate ice cream. Then, as usual, the womenfolk took a taxi home while Ira and i walked home.

Now, it's nap time and then another great restaurant for tonight.

Bofinger's
Ann and Roberta made it into town and joined us for a lovely dinner at Brasserie Bofinger, one of those "check off" places. Last time we were in Paris we went after the opera, and it's a terrific place to have a late night meal. Last night was just about the company and the food. Ira ensured that we sat under the cupola, a wonderful stained glass creation that crowns the ceiling in the main part of the dining room. The maitre d' was going to show us upstairs (i.e., Siberia) when Ira gently corrected him and said, non, "la salle de la coupoule." The maitre d' recognized authority when he heard it and made it happen.

The food could have been worse and we still would have had fun. It took us about 30 minutes of animated conversation before we could even look at the menus. Our waitress was a pretty young black girl, and she quickly realized the dinner would be run on our terms. She brought us a wonderful bottle of Sancerre that got the dining part of the evening off to a rollicking start.

I'd been a bit hesitant to come here after such a big lunch, but we all shared food and ordered sanely. We had one of those big seafood platters (Le Prestige for those familiar with the place) and then shared a plate of white asparagus, which is in full cry right now. Bofinger's was better than Benoit's by the way.

The second bottle of wine came just as the choucroute platter came out. Stuffed with sauerkraut and about 5 pounds of sausage and bacon and beef, the plate that typically serves 1 was a better fit for three. (I had the souris d'agneau, which is the haunch of the lamb.) We all shared and tasted everything, including a delicious conversation about Paris.

Dessert was on a grander scale. Ann and Roberta shared a plate of profiteroles, but the kitchen went a bit crazy and still gave them huge portions. Ira had the chocolate mousse (his second of the day), and I had the creme brulee, which, as you can see from the picture, really bruled. We rolled out of there just before midnight, a three-hour meal of talk and taste. We poured the women into a taxi and took off for the twenty minute walk home to our apartment, a necessarily head-clearing move after all that wine.

Tonight, we go to a restaurant owned by a friend of a friend. It's our first really non-touristy place this trip. Stay tuned.

May 16 Le Louvre
Our first stop was to order an engraved plaque for Ira that reads "L'architect ne travaille pas les apres-midis." It's kind of an inside joke. You could tell the woman at the counter was a bit puzzled, but she wasn't about to turn down a job. Then we took our favorite bus, the 72, to the Louvre.

We avoided the line at the Pyramide by going to the mall they have downstairs, buying a ticket from a machine, and sashaying through the line of people having their bags checked for explosives. Ira doesn't like the big entrance below the pyramid because it's crowded and noisy, but I kind of like the energy and the light that makes you feel on a mountaintop and not underground.

We just happened to walk into the room that houses the Mona LIsa. On the wall on the other side was our first stop, the Concert Champetre by Titian (with some help from Giorgione, most notably the nude female pouring water into the well). It's a wonderful, mysterious painting, clearly an inspiration to Manet for his Dejeuner sur l'Herbe. It's a calming painting as you try to unravel its secrets, just enough to get you through the next room, which as you can see from my commentary/photo, is not very relaxing. On the other side of this room is an enormous painting, the "Wedding at Cana," which was stolen from Venice by Napoleon. They made a meticulous photographic copy, which hangs in the rectory at San Giorgio Monastery and, frankly, I'd rather see the copy in its original setting than the original in this harried, too crowded setting.

We then made our way into the Grand Gallery, which is notable for many fine paintings, including four Leonardo's in a row. (The Madonna of the Rocks always attracts a crowd.) But it's more notable for its collection of Mantegnas, the finest outside Italy, and almost always lacking a crowd. The San Sebastian is brutal and dominating, the crucifixion scene is gruesome and illuminating, and everything Mantegna paints is a revelation. There are three canvases missing, but they are going to be in Tours, where we were planning a trip in any case. More on that later.

After the rigors of the walk up and down the Grand Gallerie, we only had time to admire the greek and roman statuary before walking to lunch. The statues there are glorious, though after Italy, not fundamental. I particularly liked the expression captured in the face in the photography I chose here.

Lunch was nearby, right next to Les Halles at a place called Archives National are just a block from our place. Set in a handsome set of buildings, most notably the Hotel de Soubise, it contains the records of France. When we went there was a protest going on against plans by Sarkozy to put a Museum of French History there. While that may seem unexceptional, there is a lot of political baggage about this proposal. Basically, it boils down to conservative vs. progressive thought. Think of this new museum as equivalent to a Museum of White People in the States and you'll get an idea of the heat this is generating. I got a pamphlet as I walked in, and the staff had hung a banner on the facade of the museum protesting the "takeover" by the government.

Ira had wanted to see the grand rooms in the Hotel de Soubise part. They were marvelous. The most notable is the Oval Salon, which is filled with light from a regular succession of french doors. The decoration is rococo, marvelously inventive with arabesques and turns and rounded edges. The paintings that occupy the niches are not so successful. By Natoire, the paintings seem more revivalist Classicist than rococo. Ira disliked them on sight. He was the equal of Boucher in his time, but he is the epitome of the Academist, nothing of the genius, but talented enough to produce dull, popular work that challenges nothing. There was an amusing quote about him being popular with decorators and architects because his paintings never upstaged the "wood and glasswork." Another reference to him was "quickly forgotten." History can be a harsh judge.
In some of the rooms were documents, minor things like the Edict of Nantes or Napoleon's last will and testament. A papyrus! from Dagobert I king of the Franks. It's just a bit thrilling to be in the midst of all that history.

May 15 Musee de la Chasse

I'd had such fun at this museum the previous night, I dragged Ira to it this morning. It's really almost insane. Someone has taken a perfectly boring museum about hunting and animals and made it a madcap mixture of old and new, traditional and experimental. The first room you walk into is the "Boar Room," which is fairly traditional. There are paintings of boar hunts and then a stuffed sanglier in the corner, all sharp tusks and wiry hair. Just off this room is your first indication that all is not your grandfather's hunting museum. It's a small owl room. I've put in two pictures here, but they really can't convey how eerie this closet is. It's dark, and there's a stuffed white owl head seemingly floating in front of you. And then you look up and the ceiling is covered with owl heads looking down at you, feathers radiating out from each large-eyed face to meet and overlap so that the entire ceiling is covered in feathers and beaks and those yellow glaring, staring eyes!


Next up is the stag room, of course with taxidermied, antlered resident. There was a photography show on the ground floor about animals in houses, called Animonuments, and the artist had taken this stuffed stag out and photographed it in a lot of places. My favorite was the beast surrounded by hunting dogs who were sniffing it curiously. Not quite what they were used to!

Then there was the wolf room. Look at the friendly guy I've placed here. Laughing at us or threatening us? It seems like both. WOlf as trickster coyote. There's such an odd melange at this place. I've been twice and now I can't imagine going to Paris without coming here.



The unicorn room was one of the strangest, another small space, this one lined with shelves and containing objects like an oversized curiosity cabinet. There was a unicorn horn, of course, but the rest of the items moved more strongly into pure fantasy. There were abstract creations of bone and horn and hide. There was a video of a white unicorn in a heavy rain, moody and seemingly purposeless. There was a specimen jar filled with some type of animal abortion, too complex to be anything but the early stages of a nightmare. Have I mentioned how strange this place is?

Dogs, monkeys, birds, horses... they all get their own room. There's always a mixture of animals and objets and contemporary art pieces that make you take a second look at the more traditional art that surrounds it. Whoever curates this museum has done a wonderful job. Perhaps the strangest piece is in the trophy room, which is lined with heads of African beasts, at least 100 of them. As you walk in, there is a motion detector that starts one of the heads. It's a pure white boar, whose tusked mouth starts to move as it groans and roars in an unearthly manner. Then it begins to talk in a guttural voice, seemingly foretelling your doom in the pits of animal hell, consigned to be endlessly trampled, gored, and eaten as the spirits of dead animals exact their eternal revenge. It's creepy as hell, anyway.

What a museum! I loved it. We have friends who are joining us in Paris and I might just have to take them there. I'll leave you with one last image. It's like a dense waterlands of reeds, made out of cardboard. In front of this is an old-fashioned cabinet with brass buttons and the names of birds, perhaps fifty of them. When you press a button, you get the sound of the bird's call. If you press enough buttons, you get a symphony of the calls, just as if you were in a thickly populated marsh. Wonderful!

May 15 Bistro Benoit

We'd been here before on a previous trip and loved the classic bistro layout, very old school, with lace curtains and flower china and a raft of waiters. Benoit even has seltzer bottles in the windows, which makes us feel at home. It being Sunday night, we had an early reservation at 7:30. It was us and a troika consisting of two Japanese men and an Anglo who spoke the language fluently.

They started us off with an amuse bouche of cheese puffs. I had mine with my customary aperitif of Jack Daniels (avec des glacons). We both had the white asparagus, slathered in this cheese/butter sauce that was so good we dipped the bread into it throughout the meal. The spears were big and fat and tender and delicious.

Ira wanted to keep it simple, so he just ordered an appetizer consisting of an elegant concotion of veal tongue, thinly sliced, alternated with rich foie gras. It was so rich I had to help Ira out. Of course, he helped me by having a few white beans from my cassoulet. It came in a big cast iron pot, which the waiter showed me, then carried off to a nearby table to "decant" so to speak. He then placed an enormous portion of beans, volaille, sausage, and bacon on my plate. It seemed too much to eat, but I did, and washed it down with the perfect glass of Bordeaux Pomerol, the type of glass where the last taste is the best.

For dessert, Ira had the fraise bois with a touch of Chantilly. I ordered the orange souffle, which turned out to be an outrageously large portion of frozen orange sorbet, covered in thin strips of candied peel and then drenched in enough Grand Marnier to have my head swimming from just the fumes.

After this repast, we wandered through the area, which is stuffed with bars (including a bear bar!) and young people. By now, the alcohol was wearing off and it was cold, so we walked the laborious 5 minutes home. Have I mentioned how well placed our apartment is? If you're coming to Paris, stay in le Marais. It's where the action is.