EXPERIENTIAL PARIS
I'm a foodie, and Paris is a city for the gastronome. It's true that the culinary excitement in Europe has shifted to Spain (think Barcelona and Ferran Adria and El Bulli), but the influence of French culinary tradition is deeply entrenched even there.

The idea of a learning vacation has become popular in recent years, and one of the things I love to do in Paris is to take cooking classes (albeit with more success than Audrey Hepburn's Sabrina at Le Cordon Bleu, above). The city is full of cooking schools, and below are three suggestions. And don't worry. All three instructors are totally bilingual.

COOKING IN PARIS:
THREE FOODIE TREASURES

(Photo credit: Paule's Lacanche stove, by ddip)

Paule Caillat and Promenades Gourmandes
This red Lacanche stove graces the kitchen of my friend Paule Caillat, who offers cooking classes out of her home in the Marais neighborhood of Paris's 3rd arrondissement. The groups are small and hands on, and you share the meal together when it's all done. It's a great way to learn basic French dishes and techniques, as well as to meet people while you're at it.

As part of the package, Paule takes the group to one of the city's many food markets to shop for ingredients, and if you like, she'll also take you on an afternoon shopping excursion to some of the city's best culinary stores.

Check out Paule's Promenades Gourmandes website for more details, and tell her I sent you!



(Photo credit: tile outside a boulangerie, or baker's shop, on the Rue de Grenelle in the 7th, by ddip)







At Home with Patricia Wells
The food critic for many years at the International Herald Tribune, Patricia Wells runs cooking classes out of a former artist's studio on the charming Rue Jacob in Paris's 6th arrondissement. She also offers classes in Provence in the south of France, and her popularity means it's good to sign up early.

Unlike Caillat, Wells offers week-long classes, so this option is for those who want more than a glimpse of French cooking--and who are willing to make the commitment in time and money. A less demanding introduction to the depth of Wells's knowledge is available through the fourth edition of her Food Lover's Guide to Paris. Even with a copyright in the late
1990s, it's still one of the best print resources for Things Culinary in Paris that I know of.

Check out At Home with Patricia Wells for more details.

(Photo credit: camembert on baguette at L'Esplanade de St. Eustache cafe in the Les Halles area of Paris, by ddip)

Eric Fraudeau and Cook'n with Class
One of the newest cooking schools in Paris is in Montmartre. At one point an artist's haven (think Gene Kelly and An American in Paris), this neighborhood surrounding the Basilica of Sacre Coeur (in Paris's 18th arrondissement) fell on hard times for many decades. Lately it's begun to gentrify, and classy restaurants (and people) are moving into the area.

Along with many other Parisians, my father and I marked Valentine's Day in Montmartre last month with dinner at Le Chamarre. (Note that, even though Le Chamarre's website is in French, everyone speaks English there.)

Eric Fraudeau's Cook'n with Class offers a range of hands-on cooking classes, market tours, and cheese and wine tastings out of a studio not too far from Le Chamarre. His website (which is currently being updated) also provides good information about Paris in general, and if you're interested in learning a little French while you're in Paris, sign up for a French-language cooking class with him! (For more information, email him at info@cooknwithclass.com)

Take a leap with any of these cooking schools, and don't forget to check back next Friday for more tips from Experiential Paris. Bon appetit!

(Photo credit for top photo: imdb.com, Audrey Hepburn, as Sabrina, in Billy Wilder's 1954 classic film Sabrina. Tip of the nib to my sister for pointing me in this direction.)

EXPERIENTIAL PARIS
A neighbor asked me if I could make recommendations for a friend who is visiting Paris for the first time. The friend takes an "experiential" approach to travel. This idea intrigued me and got me thinking about how to formulate a response away from the usual guided tours that are genuinely helpful and interesting for first timers--but not experiential in the way this friend is seeking.

I put together what turned out to be a three-page email of suggestions, and because it was received with such enthusiasm, I decided to share the information in a series of posts I'm calling "Experiential Paris." This first post will focus on gardens, parks, and walkways in Paris. Enjoy, and feel free to share with your traveling friends. (Photo credit above: flower market at the Madeleine by ddip)

GARDENS, PARKS, AND WALKWAYS:
THREE TREASURES

Paris is a horticulturalist's dream. Visiting one of the city's gardens, parks, or walkways for an afternoon is one of the best ways I can think of to experience Paris as Parisians do, with an appreciation for slowing down and taking in the aesthetics of place.

Any print or online guide to the city will offer good information on where to start. And take a peak at Elaine Sciolino's piece for the New York Times in June 2008. It focuses on lesser known gardens in the city and has a companion slide show for visuals.

Below are three of my favorites in the city.

(Photo credit: the Luxembourg ruche, or apiary, by ddip)

The Luxembourg Gardens
The centrally located Luxembourg Gardens off the Boulevard St. Michel are not to be missed. Everyone goes there, and you'll find amazing things tucked in various corners—an apiary (above), a fruit orchard, a fish pond, pony rides and miniature sailboats for kids, boules (a ball game using small steel balls on a flat gravel surface) for the adults, ice cream, and everything in between.

(Photo credit: Eugene Atget, Luxembourg Gardens, Masters-of-Photography.com)

The plantings change regularly, and when we were there last month, tulips and daffodils were already pushing through the ground with their bud sacks ready to burst. Stroll through the park leisurely or choose a chair to sit in the sun and read for a while. It's what any self-respecting Parisian would do.

Afterward, go to the Dalloyau patisserie for coffee and pastries. It’s on the Boulevard St. Michel side of the park and has a lovely little tea room on the second floor. Parisians sit there for hours reading, writing, talking. And on your way to Dalloyau, don’t miss the free photography exhibit that usually lines the fence of the park on that same side.

(Photo credit: Allee des Cygnes, by Alemsk.tos on flickr.com)

Ile des Cygnes
My father and I walked to this little known island in the Seine after Mass at St. Eustache one Sunday afternoon. He thought it would be a relatively short walk, but hiking from St. Eustache in the 1st arrondissement to the
Ile des Cygnes in the 15th is not for the faint of heart. It took us about two hours and remains a peak Paris moment, partly because we walked the whole way along the Seine, taking in an amazing swathe of people and sights.

The fun of the island is the approach to its far end along the enchanting tree-lined Allee des Cygnes (photo above). The reward: a miniature Statue of Liberty at the very tip of the island. The Metro is aboveground in this part of the city, so it's fun to catch a ride from here to wherever you're going next.

(Photo credit: St. Cloud, Eugene Atget, from Masters-of-Photography.com)

St. Cloud
I love some of the parks just outside of Paris. The grounds at Sceaux, for example, are lovely. Versailles is magnificent and an easy day trip. But the park at St. Cloud is my very favorite, and not many people seem to go there.

I learned about St. Cloud many years ago through nineteenth-century French photographer Eugene Atget, who took some classic images (above) in this park along the Seine in the town of St. Cloud. You can see the flowing waters of the magnificent terraced fountain, known as the Grande Cascade, on certain days of the week and take tea or coffee at the little concessionnaire that's open in good weather.

The park is an easy ride on the Metro from Paris, and if you're so inclined, you can combine a visit there with a stop at the nearby National Museum of Ceramics.

(Photo credit: Musee-Ceramique-Sevres.fr website)

At the museum, you'll be introduced to Sevres beauties (left) along with the idiosyncracies of French museology
--a sort of "figure it out yourself" approach to displaying a museum's collection. It's a lovely space and a lovely collection, so even if you aren't exactly sure what you're seeing, you'll go away happy.

Tune in next Friday for more tips from Experiential Paris!

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS AND BARCELONA:
Guest Blogger (My Father!)

I invited my father to contribute an entry about our recent trip overseas. Below are his observations.

(Photo by ddip: Ecole Militaire metro stop. Guest Blogger is on the platform. Can you spot him?)

PURSE FROM A SOW'S EAR
Every aspect in the planning of our recent trip seemed fraught with problems, all of which of human origin. It did not bode well for this journey. Despite the signs, our vacation turned out exceedingly well.

With few exceptions, usually I do not pay attention to individual acts while traveling. This time, perhaps because of the initial experiences, I was more aware of them, and they added an interesting and enriching component to our trip. Here are a few examples, listed by city.

PARIS
Champagne in Three Acts
DDIP and I enjoy La Table de Joel Robuchon (an expensive restaurant, but worth it). In Paris I have two quests: one is for the perfect lemon tart (thus far to be found at a patisserie on the Rue du Temple near the Hotel de Ville); and the other for the best kir vin blanc (a kir made with white wine), thus far found in my own home.

(Photo by ddip: lemon tart)

At Robuchon, I had ordered my preprandial kir while ddip ordered water. The director of the restaurant came over to greet us and noticed ddip’s empty wine glass. He could not tolerate such a situation. He turned to a waiter and instructed him to pour champagne for us. Madame could not have just water!
***
Several days later, we had lunch at Casaluna--a Corsican restaurant singled out by Pudlo (a French guidebook to restaurants in Paris). It was such a fine experience that we decided to return for lunch on the following Sunday. When we arrived for our second visit, we were welcomed like old guests.

We went to use the rest rooms before sitting down. When we went to our table, there to greet us were two glasses of champagne. A little special welcome for two "old friends."
***
Marcel and Ginette were our downstairs neighbors. We had met Marcel at the elevator, and he had told us of his lamentations about people who had previously stayed in our apartment. He was acutely aware of our comings and goings and remarked that we had gone to bed early the night before.

Toward the end of our stay, ddip bought a primrose plant as a thank you for Marcel and Ginette putting up with "our noise." Later, Marcel knocked on our door and invited us for an aperitif on the following afternoon.

I thought we would have a simple glass of wine. Instead we arrived to a spread of hors d'oeuvres and desserts. And then came the champagne and an expressed regret that we had not met earlier.

Invalid Credit Cards
On one occasion, neither of my credit cards would work. Fortunately, ddip’s card did. Later, at Casaluna, ddip asked what would happen in instances where people’s cards would not be accepted. Our waiter casually said that they would be taken to the forest, tied up, and never heard from again.

The Failed Thief
There was a new scam being run in Paris. As one walks along at a popular place, a person "finds" a gold ring on the ground and engages you in conversation about it. DDIP spotted the ruse quickly and moved us on.

We ran across the scam several times! In one instance while crossing the Seine (on the Pont des Invalides, I think), someone tried the game on us. I just laughed. The response was also a good laugh of acknowledgement of his failed attempt.

(Photo by ddip: Eiffel Tower, a prime spot for con artist scams)


BARCELONA
The Curious Waiter
In the mornings, we took breakfast at our hotel. Basically because it was "un-Spanish." Breakfast was served from 7:30 to 10:30! We ate closer to the latter time.

The meals was charged to our room. When the waiter came with the bill for us to sign, he noticed our name. Not quite sure, he asked if I was American or Italian. We remarked that we were of the former, but of the latter ancestry.

DDIP suggested that my nose gave us away. No, the waiter said, it was all of me.

The Button Sewer
We had dinner one evening at La Dama--a Michelin one-star restaurant. (DDIP did not inform me of this for fear that I would refuse to go.) When we entered through locked doors and removed our coats, a button fell off ddip's coat. She proceeded to put it into her pocket, but two La Dama persons--the maitre d' and the head waiter--refused to permit this. No, they would have it sewn on while we dined.

After an excellent meal, they presented us with our coats, and there was the button properly affixed but not at its original place. The coat had been missing another button at mid-line; so they had resewed the button but in the more "strategic" location. Then it was “Buenas noches y hasta la proxima vez” (Good evening and until next time).

The Toilet Counselor
While visiting at La Sagrada Familia--Gaudi's fanciful church--ddip wanted to use a restroom. She asked a guard, who suggested she use the facilities at the nearby McDonalds. A woman who had been chatting with the guard frowned (in distaste) and insisted that ddip not go there but to use the public toilet, which was in the park across the road. We went to the preferred facitity.

(Photo by ddip: peppers at La Boqueria market)

The Worker
For lunch one day, we decided to go to the Boqueria, which is a large and fascinating market on La Rambla Catalunya. We decided to have a Spanish tortilla, which is like a fritatta. DDIP asked to have it heated, and the woman agreed.

DDIP then said thank you, to which there was no response. I told ddip that she said thank you too often. A faint smile crossed the woman's lips, and without raising her head said, "Es mi trabajo" (It’s my job).

AMSTERDAM
The American and the Security Officer
Our flight home took us through Amsterdam's Schiphol airport. While standing in line to go through the security check/interview (I was once interviewed by a cook because there were not enough security officers!), an American woman tried to bypass the line. She was distraught because she had a baggage problem.

The security officer stopped her and explained that she would have to go to the end of the line. In an exchange about her luggage, he explained that the responsible people were taking care of that, but that she was at a different station and she would have to join the queue.

The woman looked at the officer and told him not to be angry. As she walked away, he replied: "I am not angry; just disappointed."
***
The rest of the trip was uneventful, except that I lost every game of 20 Questions as we flew across the Atlantic.

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: Pet Cemetery






"Allons Bonhomme/Let's Go, Buddy"



"Whatever I do/
Wherever I am/
Nothing will erase your memory/
I'm thinking of you/
I'll never forget you"

"To my beloved Bigoudi"




Le cimetiere des chiens (the pet cemetery) in Paris is on the left bank of the Seine in a northwestern suburb called Asnieres-sur-Seine. It's a short Metro ride from the city and an easy walk from the station. The cemetery came to be as the result of efforts by attorney Georges Harmois and journalist Marguerite Durand, and it first opened to the public in 1899. The Art Nouveau entrance gate to the cemetery was designed by architect Eugene Petit, who also designed a number of buildings in the 14th arrondissement in Paris.

In the twenty-first century, the cemetery is managed by the city of Asnieres-sur-Seine, and the care of the resident cats is the responsibility of a cemetery association and of various unofficial but approved volunteers. For more information, go to this site. (It's a good way to practice your French!)

Photos: by yours truly, excepting the one of me with the black kitty and the one of the plastic beaded dog headstone, both of which were taken by my father

HOT FLASH FROM BARCELONA: Graffiti Art







Photos: Graffiti in Barcelona's Barri Gotic, the medieval and oldest section of town, along the waterfront

HOT FLASH FROM BARCELONA: Strawberry Report
Strawberries are in season here in Barcelona. They're on the menus at all the restaurants we pass, and the market stalls of the fruit sellers at La Boqueria, the big outdoor market on La Rambla, are filled with boxes of red strawberries glowing with freshness. We decided to have them for dessert last night at Tragaluz, a hip restaurant in the Eixample neighborhood of the city.

I'm not generally a big fan of strawberries and will usually choose raspberries instead. But the strawberries last night were out of this world. Served in small white bowls, they were sliced over a scoop of hyper cold vanilla ice cream. The waiter brought a little pitcher of strawberry emulsion (a fancy word for the syrup of the berries), which he poured over the berries in our chilled ceramic bowls.

I love my life at home and all the many privileges that come with being American. But we don't do justice to the food we eat. We should be in love with strawberries the way I was last night, dreaming about them, and choosing them every time as the only possible dessert. I know I'll yearn for my Barcelona strawberries when I get home and will remember them as the thing that transcends all the grit and grime and noise and bustle and stink of this Mediterranean port city.

Photo: Ready-to-eat fruit at La Boqueria, the outdoor market on Barcelona's La Rambla (pedestrian street)

HOT FLASH FROM BARCELONA: Weird Things

I've wanted to come to Barcelona ever since I saw All about My Mother. It's the movie that turned me into an Almodovar groupie. Watching his movies is like eating. It's a sensual experience, and this movie, set in Barcelona, is a feast for the eyes.

Aside from physical beauty, Almodovar also sees the beauty in freaks and weird things and life on the margins. I thought about that today at Gaudi's Park Guell, a hilltop park overlooking Barcelona and the sea, with walking paths, mosaics, small fountains, flowering crabs, and blooming mimosa trees.

A scene in All about My Mother (or is it Volver?) is set here, and as we wandered the grounds, I read about Gaudi's patron, wealthy industrialist Eusebi Guell i Bacigalupi. He happened to meet Gaudi at an exhibition in Paris in the late 1800s, and from that chance encounter flourished a productive relationship, one result of which is the Park Guell in Barcelona. According to my National Geographic guidebook, Gaudi and Guell overheard passersby complaining that one of Gaudi's buildings was too "weird." Guell is said to have remarked, "Mr. Gaudi, now I like you even more!"

Photos: mosaic tile at the entrance to Park Guell; mimosa tree in bloom in the park

HOT FLASH FROM BARCELONA: Penelope Takes One Home
We're in Barcelona for a short visit before returning home, and the city is quite a contrast to neat and tidy Paris. Street sweepers here brush light trash off the sidewalks into little plastic paniers in the evening, but everything else, at least down by the waterfront where we are, sports graffiti and layers of grime, no doubt from the heavy car exhaust that permeates the air. And yet it's a lively, happy place to be, and the weather is fabulous. Now in late February, it's sunny and close to 60 degrees, and while locals bundle up in winter coats, my father and I enjoy light sweaters as we walk past swaying palm trees and flowering cacti. It's a nice way to prepare for the six inches of snow awaiting us on the other side of the ocean.

The Spanish newspapers today are filled with coverage of Penelope Cruz's win at Sunday's Oscars. Full page articles in all the rags show her in her vintage Pierre Balmain evening gown, kissing the statuette, and the news reports on television replay parts of her acceptance speech over and over. (It seems she did not faint after all.) Spain is proud.

Photo: Me calling home from the phone booth just outside our hotel in Barcelona. The city seems to have a phone booth on every block, and I love this photo of me looking like an Almodovar character who's hopped off her Vespa to make one of many calls to a crazy character who is, no doubt, ever elusive.

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: Romancero Gitano
The historic Folies-Bergères is a dump. Once the Montmartre haunt of Toulouse-Lautrec, and the inspiration of many of his drawings and paintings, the theatre is now crumbling--peeling paint, threadbare carpeting, sagging seats. But it came alive last night with Cristina Hoyos and her Ballet Flamenco Andalucia, who are in Paris to perform Hoyos's choreography for the Romancero Gitano (Gypsy Ballad) of Andalusian poet and playwright Federico Garcia Lorca.

The troupe performed for two hours, without intermission, bringing down the house with wild cheering, rhythmic clapping, and shouts of "Bravo, bravo!" We jumped to our feet along with everyone else, in total admiration of the troupe's precision, costumes, and sheer joy of dance.

Below is the original Spanish and two English-language translations of the first and fourth stanzas of the famous fourth ballad, which Hoyos chooses to open and close the ballad's exploration of constraints on personal freedom:

Romance sonambulo
Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verde ramas.
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montana.

****

Verde que te quiero verde.
Grandes estrellas de escarcha,
vienen con el pez de sombra
que abre el camino del alba.

Sleepwalking Ballad (I)
(my father's literal translation)
Green as I love you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship upon the sea
and the horse in the mountain.
****
Green as I love you green.
Great stars
come with the shadow
that opens the white road.

Sleepwalking Ballad (II)
(transliteration by Carl W. Cobb, University Press of Mississippi, 1983; Cobb's transliteration is so-called because he works to preserve the rules of the ballad in meter, rhyme, syllabification, etc., to be true to the musicality of the form rather than constructing a translation that cleaves to the literal meaning of the words. The two approaches are irreconcilable, so go with the one that speaks to you.)

Green grows my love, my love grows green.
Green wind. Green-branching tree.
Stallion on the mountain heights
And ship upon the sea.
****
Green grows my love, my love grows green.
Great hoar-frost stars come down
And join the shadow fish that frees
The pathway of the dawn.

I'm ready for Spain.

(Note to readers: We leave Paris for Barcelona on Monday, home on Friday.)

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: Les Restes du Roi (The King's Leftovers)
La chef, for whom I served a stint as sous chef three years ago, invited us for lunch yesterday at her new apartment in the Marais. It's close to her old place but is bigger and has more natural light coming in through a streetside wall of French doors. La chef still leads cooking classes through her Promenades Gourmandes business and is branching out to a culinary salon approach through her new Salon Culinaire, offering her space for artistic and corporate team-building and brainstorming sessions, publicity events, private dinners, gatherings with culinary experts, and the like.

As la chef prepared lunch--les restes (leftovers) from a big dinner the night before
--we nibbled thin slices of Lyonnais sausage with small salted sablés (crackers). Her companion poured wine (white and red), and we sat down to a first course of individual truffle soufflés with mushroom emulsion (mousse) in little verrines (glass cups). Talk moved quickly from professional chitchat to local politics (city elections, garbage collection, library services) as la chef brought out the plat principal (main course): blanquette de veau (veal) in a cream sauce accompanied by lemon basmati rice (basmati with chopped preserved lemon).

We wiped up the sauce on our plates with pieces of baguette, and I asked about the difference between the "croissant au beurre" (butter croissant, photo below) and the "croissant ordinaire" (croissant made with margarine). The butter croissant is made in a straight or slightly curved shape, while the margarine knockoff is typically overly crescent shaped or even square. La chef and her companion had a long and lively dispute about the tax base imposed by the French government on these two types of croissants. Basically, it gets down to the fact that you pay more for the butter-based croissants. But it's worth the extra sous (pennies) for the superior flavor, even if you do have to lick your fingers afterward.

A simple salad of walnuts and chopped endive (red and green) in a light vinaigrette followed. Then cheese--reblochon, a soft, cow's milk cheese from eastern France. Then dessert--chocolate orange tart topped with chopped pistachios. Then small cups of espresso.

We ate everything with gusto and oohed and aahed over it all. "It's nothing," remarked la chef. "Just an easy lunch for a busy day."

Photos: la chef's new Lacanche stove (they're made in Burgundy); a classic croissant au beurre, with little pots of Bonne Maman jam (a very common brand)

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: La tarte tatin
The classic tarte tatin (apple tart) has been on dessert menus all over town this visit. It's a very traditional, tasty French dessert that is also easy to make. Below is a recipe from La Carpe's winter catalogue. (La Carpe is a culinary store on the tony Rue Tronchet at the Madeleine).

Tarte Tatin
6 ounces sugar
2 ounces unsalted butter
6 apples, cut into big slices
1 pate brisée (see Julia Child or any other good French cookbook)

1. Place the sugar in a heatproof 8-inch deep-dish pie pan (or in a tarte tatin mold) on top of the stove.
2. On medium heat, allow the sugar to melt. Be patient, and do not add water. When the sugar is a nice caramel color, add the butter and stir til blended.
3. Take the pie dish off the stovetop and add the slices of apple in concentric circles or in whatever pattern is pleasing to the eye.
4. Cover the apples with the pate brisée, crimp the edges, and place the tarte in the oven for about 40 minutes at 350 degrees.

Serve warm with crème fraiche, whipped cream, or vanilla ice cream. It's great plain too. Serves 6 people.

Photo: panel from the window of Le Champ de Delices patisserie/boulangerie on rue St. Dominique in the 7th arrondissement

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: Street Fashion
Street fashion in Paris falls into a few obvious categories this year:

--fur, fur, fur. Fur coats, fur hats, fur collars and neckpieces, fur gloves, fur everything. I have to admit to feeling sad about this. I was working on a book about animal rights just before coming to Paris, and you don't want to hear how we get our furs. At least not on this blog.

--tight jeans, although you do see some wide-legged sailor-style jeans too.

--pointy-toed boots, flat heeled or high heeled.

--the ubiquitous scarf around the neck, usually in an interesting contrasting color.

--the "boule" dress, form-fitting at the bust and waist and then ballooning out at the knees and loosely cinched there (with elastic, I think). You wear the dress with leggings or tight-fitting pants. I saw a woman jogging along the river the other day in such an outfit. I thought she looked ridiculous, but the get-up is everywhere.

Photo: one of the elegant streetlamps at the Pont Alexandre III (think Les Invalides and the Grand and Petit Palais)

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: Le Cimetière des Chiens

My sister and I have been sharing stories of our menopausal angst lately, and she suggested I call my posts from Paris "Hot Flash from Paris" as a sort of double entendre (menopause gone front page). I haven't actually had a hot flash while here (thank heavens), but the name works.


Yesterday, my father and I took the Metro out to Le Cimetière des chiens (the pet cemetery) at Asnières-sur-Seine, a northwestern suburb of Paris along the Seine. I'd read about the cemetery online while fact checking a book on American cemeteries that we recently published at work.

The cemetery has a sad charm counterbalanced by the welcome of a family of very alive resident cats--all well fed and cared for by the official cemetery association and by unofficial but authorized (in true French fashion) volunteers.

A small black female cat with rich red undertones greeted me as I entered the cemetery and accompanied me along my stroll. Toward the end of our exploring, she jumped onto the bench I chose for a sit-down and began to groom. I sat quietly, admiring her coat and self assurance. As my reward, she eventually sidled up to me, stretched out along my hip, made it clear she wanted to be stroked, and began to purr softly. We sat together for quite some time, and yours truly fell totally in love.

When it was time to leave, the little cat accompanied me to the gate, and I bid my farewell, thanking her for her friendship. "Ils ont leurs tetes" (They have their ideas) one of the volunteers told me later about cats and whom they decide they like. Little "Princess" had decided she liked me.

I don't know if Princess even has a name, but if she does, it might have been chosen from among this selection of names from the headstones throughout the cemetery. In alphabetical order (more or less), they are:

Bibi-Bibiche-Bimbeau-Bijou-Bisou-Bigoudi-Catiche-Chouchou-Calinou-Coco-Dadou-Doudou-Fripouille-Filou-Fifi-Gigi-Gribouille-Gapi-Joujou-Lolotte-Loulou-Micha-Minouchette-Moumouche-Milou-Mimi-Miquette-Mamou-Nenette-Nounouche-Nanou-Nini-Ninine-Pompon-Pilou-Patou-Pipoune-Pikouche-Pacha-Poupette-Titi-Titoune-Toutou-Titite-Totoche-Youpi-Zizou-Zoé-Zouzou.

Try reading this list aloud. It's so much fun and so French--and you might even find a name you like for your pet!

Photos: Headstones and decorations at the cemetery; me with Princess

HOT FLASH FROM PARIS: La Ville d'Obama
As I was paying for Valentine's Day dinner at Le Chamarré (a Mauritian restaurant in gentrifying Montmartre), the server noted the Italian name on my VISA card and seemed confused. He looked at me, a little unsure of my nationality, and asked, "You must be from New York?"

I gave up a long time ago trying to explain to Europeans the location of my Midwestern home (a city of at least one million people). They know the coasts of the United States and seem to imagine the interior as a Great Desert, not unlike American pioneers did in the nineteenth century. So I've taken instead to saying I'm from Chicago. Normally, Parisians show a vague recognition of this city; they often associate it with gangsters like Al Capone. But this year, they link it immediately to our national pride and international hero. "Aaah," cooed the server (a somewhat flirtatious young man), "la ville d'Obama (Obama's city)!"

What a thrill of relief and happiness I felt. No need to explain that I hadn't voted for Obama's predecessor and didn't support the war; no need to clarify that I didn't have a "thing" against the French for not going with us to Iraq; no need to feel apologetic for my homeland. It's a good feeling. And it's been a long time coming.

Photo: Saint Valentine's Day bread in the window of Le Pain d'Epis, an artisanal boulangerie near our apartment in the 7th arrondissement

EGG BAKE
Never heard of egg bake? It's a sort of breakfast hot dish, a crustless quiche baked in a 9 x 13 cake pan. It's billed as quick and easy, but it actually requires planning, a lot of puttsy preparation a day ahead of time, and good timing. I even crashed my computer searching for egg bake recipes online. Nonetheless, egg bake has proven to be a very tasty crowd pleaser, which we brought to brunch last weekend with friends. I found the recipe below on a website years ago and have adapted it to our tastes and methods.

Egg Bake
6-7 slices white bread, with the crusts removed
8-12 ounces ham, chopped into bite-sized pieces (meat is optional)
4-5 cups grated cheddar cheese (a mix of yellow and white cheddar is nice)
1 large head broccoli, chopped into florettes and blanched in boiling water for 1 minute
1 large yellow onion, chopped and sauteed in butter
8 eggs
1 teaspoon salt
2-1/2 to 3 cups half and half or milk (or a mixture of the two)

1. Start by removing the crusts from the bread slices.

2. Butter a 9 x 13 pan. Butter each slice of bread lightly, cut in half, and arrange slices in the bottom of the pan.
3. Chop the ham, blanche the broccoli, sautee the onion, and grate the cheese.
4. Layer these ingredients on top of the bread, ham first, then broccoli, then the onion. Sprinkle the grated cheese on top.

4. Beat the eggs in a large bowl. Add the salt and stir in the cream and/or milk. Blend well.
5. Pour the egg mixture over the bread, ham, broccoli, and cheese.

6. Cover the dish with foil or plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

7. The next morning, take the egg bake out of the refrigerator, remove the foil or plastic wrap, and allow to come to room temperature (about 15-20 minutes).
8. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Bake for about 35-45 minutes, until cheese has melted and egg bake is lightly browned on top. Let stand a few minutes before serving so the eggs firm up.

We had our egg bake with homemade cinnamon rolls and fresh fruit. The 9 x 13 pan served four adults and two children, with enough leftovers for a light lunch.
Note to readers: I'm off to Paris and Barcelona next Thursday for two weeks. Watch for a post from the City of Lights!