The Wedding Crashers

There is so much to experience in Paris I often feel as if I could spend a lifetime here and never really know her. She is mysterious, full of complexity, and above all stunningly beautiful. Her treasures are many, among them the quietly elegant Les Invalides. Serving at once as an armory, veterans hospital, and private chapel to kings dating back to 1674, it is best known as the tomb of Napoleon. It is a favorite place to take friends visiting from out of town, and I always discover somethng new and interesting in this multi-faceted gem of a landmark. From cannons fired in battle centuries ago to a museum dedicated to each branch of the military, it is to be savored slowly with attention to detail. I have glimpsed rows of armour hung meticulously in rows catalogued like library books and pondered the battles waged by brave soldiers in the age of chivalry. I have seen the modern day veteran taking the sun as they are cared for in the hospital which serves them still. Napoleon's infamous (and freakishly small) waistcoat was on display for a short time, as were letters written to Josephine and various members of his cabinet. The beautiful dome of the chapel is decorated with 12 kilos of gold leaf which gleams in the sun and catches the eye from miles away. I am fortunate to have a view of Les Invalides from my attic apartment, and never does a day go by that it doesn't take my breath away! I decided it was a must see during my sisters holiday visit. It had snowed the night before and the air was crisp and clean. The grounds were embellished in silvery white, sparkling in the early afternoon sun. We visited the tomb of the Emperor first, then I led Karen to the cathédral Saint-Louis des Invalides. I wanted her to see the ancient standards hanging along each side of the chapel, captured from enemies defeated as France expanded her realm. As we entered we passed a handsome soldier in dress uniform who appeared to be standing guard at the chapel door. There was a beautiful choir singing quietly, adding a magical ambience. As we stood there absorbing the sensuality of the moment - the sound of the choir, the beautiful light streaming through the windows, the energy of a place steeped in history, we noticed several men of various ages in military dress entering the chapel. There was obviously an event about to take place. Soon women in hats began to arrive and take their places in the pews. Was this a funeral of a veteran? Our curiosity was satisfied when we saw the children, four adorable little bridesmaids dressed beautifully in aqua dresses accentuated with taupe sashes and a little boy dressed in traditional breeches and possesing a gregarious smile. There was time to spare before the ceremony and they immediately found a way to have some fun, a vent in the floor gave the girls the Marilyn Monroe flying skirt effect! They squealed with delight as their full skirts ballooned above their waists and grandmaman anxiously fussed over making them look perfect again. Being the hopeless romantic I am (and possesing no small amount of chutzpah) we decided to take a seat and wait for the blushing bride. We were a little uneasy, unsure of whether we would face the embarrassment of being asked to leave, but to the contrary we were offered a program. We were to witness the nuptials of Perrine et Pierre-Henri. I readied my camera for madamoiselles big entrance as the strains of the huge pipe organ filled the room. The young attendants took their places, and a few latecomers rushed in a panic to find their seats. The wedding procession began and the beautiful Perrine was escorted by her father to her husband to be dressed in elegant simplicity. I captured her on film then we quietly ducked out, opting to forgoe cake and champagne (and a lengthy catholic wedding) for the Musée Rodin. What an unexpected pleasure. I wish Perrine and Pierre-Henri every happiness!

Snowy Paris

I was born and raised in beautiful sunny Southern California, a fixture at the beach and my aunties swimming pool, and a dedicated worshiper of "le bain de soliel". Before moving to Paris I thought freezing meant 58° Fahrenheit. In a particularly cold winter in San Diego we might enjoy snowfall in the higher elevations of the Cuyamaca mountain range, but snow is a novelty there and a white Christmas would be nothing short of a miracle. It is perhaps for this reason I have an almost childlike fascination for the snow, I have never had to live with it! What a delight to wake up last friday morning to find the world blanketed in prisine white, the evergreen hedges guarding the fenceline tipped in frost and the bright red berries of the holly tree adding a touch of contrast. I opened the window and inhaled the crisp fresh air, what parfum! I love the sound of snow - the quietude, the way it crunches under your feet when it's fresh, the melody of the falling snowflakes. Adding to the pleasure was the presence of my sister, visiting for the holidays from her new digs in Oklahoma. I woke her with the suprise, "C'est neige!" I made some hot chocolate and we bundled up for a day in snowy Paris. There was electricity in the air that day, a mélange of joy mixed with danger as snowball fights broke out willy-nilly and parisians trod carefully on the slippery sidewalks and icy cobblestone streets. It was the last day of school before Christmas vacation - and half day at that - the joyful noise of children free from the confines of a classroom pierced the air in every arrondissement, causing even the most depressed and pessimistic parisian to smile. How beautiful everything looked, dusted like a cake with powdered sugar! I took pictures like a tourist and we warmed up with crèpes and coffee. It is an unusual year in terms of weather here in Europe, and the snow lingered several days - usually it turns to slush within hours. The eurostar to London was cancelled for several days, one was even stalled on the tracks for a very long time causing hungry and cold passengers to be stranded interminably. Tires skidded on the ice without traction, motorcycycles went down. The citywide sale of chocolat chaud increased tenfold and everyone had a story to share at dinner. Ultimately the sun burned through the winter haze and melted the lingering patches of ice as parisians prepared for Noel, rushing about until the very last minute shopping for gifts and desserts. The sun went down on a cold and clear Yuletide eve accompanied by a delicious meal shared with family, and a sense of contentment and gratitude for all my blessings. J'adore snowy Paris!

One Scoop or Three?

The french love their dessert. It's one of the things they do best, actually. Tarts of all description, death by chocolate, and custard tempt one to forget the names "Atkins" and "Craig" and embrace the concept of muffintops and eventual cardiac arrest. The pastry here is edible art, the patisseries gallerias of eye candy. Dessert is also big business for restaurants here in Paris. From around 5 euro to 7.50 a pop, you can spend nearly as much for dessert and coffee as for a decent meal. For day to day life, I prefer to buy my treats at the patisserie at 1/3 the price and have my café at home, but once in a while it is fun to indulge when I'm out on a big fat parisian dessert! I have two favorites: The tiramisu at La Trattoria on rue Convention (in the 15th), and the big bowl o' chocolate mousse at Chéz Janou (near Bastille). The latter is an "all you can eat" situation. Arriving in a huge family size bowl and served with a giant spoon you take as much as you like. I often imagine myself diving nude into the cloudlike chocolatey heaven and smearing it all over my body..... but back to the subject at hand. As I mentioned in my previous blog "Café Culture", the dessert menu is somewhat predictable in the typical parisian bistro. I have never seen a menu that did not include crème brulée, tart du jour, or glaces et sorbets. Ice cream is a popular choice, usually served in a large dish with a mountain of whipped cream and a cookie. I don't usually order glace for dessert as three scoops are encouraged and it's just too much! Two scoops would be baby bear, but here's the thing: The only thing the french love more than dessert and a good argument is the "double entendre". Now I have been living in Paris nearly three years, and during that time have been to more than my share of restaurants. I began to notice an unusual phenomenon (by american standards) on the french dessert menu all over town. It is possible to order 1 scoop of ice cream, known as a "boule" en française. Or, you may order 3 boules of glace (with or without the mountain of whipped cream). Ice cream is like a martini, one scoop is not enough and three are too many. I would prefer 2 boules s'il vous plait! When I dared request such a thing I was laughed at and given an emphatic "No!" What up? I asked my friend Viviane to explain. It seems that boule is another word for testicle. To be specific deux boules refers to the reproductive region of the male anatomy - that is why one orders either 1 boule of glace or 3 boules. To request deux boules is like asking for testicles on ice, if one prefers two scoops, one requests "deux parfums". For three scoops, one says "trois boules s'il vous plait" because as everyone knows, the man with three testicles n'exsist pas! BTW, now that I am hep to the jive I love to turn it around and punk the french by innocently requesting "deux boules: un chocolate et un vanille s'il vous plait!" The waiters grin knowingly and Vivianne collapses in laughter before chastising me, "Eets deux parfums Elisabet!"