It was a month ago today that I stepped on a plane in Los Angeles headed for Paris. This month has allowed time to reflect. When my cousin and I toasted the New Year on the Seine the DJ was playing “Oh What a Night” by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. That song keeps playing in my head when I look back and it becomes “Oh What a Week” — my new theme song.
There was an opportunity for our group to have dinner in a French home and who knew what that might entail? We had no idea. As it turned out our hosts were both expatriates. The hostess, a former assistant at Paris Match Magazine, has lived 35 years in Paris. Our host was a Romanian artist with 30 years under his belt. Their home was in a former jewelry-manufacturing atelier (workshop). She met us curbside and guided us down a warren of dark stone passageways to their front door. It was easy to imagine rats scurrying along but we did not see any. Inside, the high-ceilinged room served as kitchen, living and dining room. Antiques, artwork and different intriguing but difficult to identify objects surrounded us. One small skylight above the front door was the only natural light; all of us were fascinated peering here and there exploring.
The meal prepared by the hostess was served in courses and delicious. Our host spoke of his escape from Romania and his career as an artist in Paris. Both of them put us completely at ease.
A large painting dominated the room and when I guessed that it was Nijinsky (the famous ballet dancer) our hostess flattered me by saying, “Over 2000 people have had dinner here and you are the first to recognize him.” I was very pleased with myself. As dinner wrapped up she asked us if we would like some “white coffee.” This turned out to be orange blossom essence dissolved in hot water served in tiny cups. She asked us to say “Frommage” and took our picture. Needless to say we were all charmed.
A New Year’s eve morning food tasting tour brought us to a market street. Many prepared parcels were bundled in front of the stalls waiting for pick-ups by people having parties that night. Lavish seafood platters were especially prevalent. Our first stop was at a chocolatiers. Everything was looking gorgeous inside fancy glass bell cases. We tasted it and it was very good but we mostly agreed that California’s “Sees” was better. French chocolate is snappier while Sees is creamier. We tasted cheese and sausage then finally fruit. Our guide was very worked up about something she called “Kaki,” which turned out to be persimmon. To our surprise most of the people on the excursion had never encountered persimmons!
Paris is known for its luxury goods. We visited a huge department store, the Lafayette. It was filled with beautiful perfumes, famous designer clothes and spectacular holiday displays. All six floors opened onto a towering atrium topped by an intricate stained glass dome. The central display was a huge Christmas tree formed from red plush velvet and gold metallic swathes and covered in twinkling lights. On the hour it started to undulate prettily as it launched into a twinkly light show with music. Impressive. We visited Lafayette on our own but remembered an earlier guide explaining to us that many Parisians were, “Window Lickers” (looking but not buying) like our window shoppers.
The evening of New Year’s Day we boarded a long narrow boat for a nighttime cruise on the Seine. The lights onshore were lovely as we slid along. We passed many dark houseboats and empty restaurant boats. Everyone was resting after their big New Year’s eve (Bonne Annee!) celebrations. As we floated under bridges I wished I could return for a day cruise to see them better.
The Moulin Rouge was an important stop for my cousin. We had both watched a TV documentary on how their dancers audition and train to break into working there. The Parisians see the show as a complete tourist trap, but we didn’t care. Waiting outside it felt like a cross between Las Vegas and Grauman’s Chinese Theater in Los Angeles with a little Disneyland thrown in for good measure. It was cheesy, yes, but just so over the top in a good way with all that red neon and spangly signage. Eight hundred and fifty people are seated nightclub style in the showroom. You file in and out slowly — a fire would be a disaster.
After we were wedged into our chairs our anticipation built. I doubt that anyone present felt blasé when the show started and row after row of bare breasted, feathered, beaded and bedazzling women appeared. WOW! The show is a real hodgepodge with numbers ranging from French homage to Indonesian masks to a rock and roll sock hop with giant jukebox. Say what? But, logic is not the point. For two hours we suspended our disbelief while 25 very athletic but feminine women and 8 supporting feminine men pranced and smiled. When they got to the can can and started jumping up in the air to land hard in full splits you just had to love them. Ooh La La.
My favorite memory of all was lunch at Le Train Bleu at the Gare de Lyon train station. Built in 1900 for the Universal Exhibition during the Belle Époque (beautiful era), it is considered one of the five most beautiful restaurants in all of Paris. The décor and ambiance sweeps you back in time. Our experience included impeccable service, the best food we had anywhere and that artful setting… It was wonderful from start to finish. No trip to Paris would be complete without a meal at Le Train Bleu. My cousin ordered scallops, which were served with a garnish of caviar — little dark blue balls that exploded in our mouths like “pop rocks.” I asked our waiter what kind of caviar it was and he just kept making flapping motions with his hands above his shoulders. It turned out to be flying fish “caviar” known for its tiny crunchy eggs with their signature pop. While not true caviar it is described as “a versatile fish roe prized for adding a briny burst to meals.” Amen.
And so my personal tour of Paris ended not with a bang but with the pop of flying fish “caviar.” Trite as it may be, it truly was (for me) the trip of a lifetime. And to my cousin Dianne who made it possible may I just say one last heartfelt time, “Merci Beaucoup!”
Be First to Comment