Latest Parisian Takeaways

Paris has been somewhat of a second home now for over ten years. Yet as my visits are sporadic, I still feel like an outsider pretending to be Parisian whenever I do go.  Yes, there are certain consistent aspects of my visit which I relish repeating. For example, buying baguettes at the same local boulangerie, pressing my own orange juice at the Franprix around the corner and exercising in La Place des Vosges. As comforting as routine can be, there’s always something unexpected to learn as well. This post highlights some of these takeaways from my recent December trip. 

Running in the rain

Simply put, I adore my morning walks around la Place des Vosges. Not only is the square close to my apartment, but it’s also architecturally breathtaking and a perfect backdrop for starting my day.  Up until recently, I would run religiously at 8 AM as soon as the park opened. Now due to a knee injury—plus my advancing age—I power walk instead.  But one thing is constant: the presence of jogging pompiers to keep me company.  Turns out the time of my 45-minute routine coincides with that of the local fire brigade whose station is just outside the square.  What surprised me on this time is that the Parisian firemen run even in torrential rain.

On my first morning in town, the heavens opened up.  Undaunted, I grabbed an umbrella, put on rain boots, and headed out. Predictably, as I arrived at La Place des Vosges, the firemen were already there. Fifteen young pompiers, decked out in their regimental red and blue shorts and t-shirts plastered to their trim bodies like a second layer of skin, energetically sprinted by me. Nothing seems to stop them. I was astonished as I’ve never seen American fire fighters exercising outdoors, no less running in a rainstorm.

Later I learned that not only do firemen in France run in their hood every day—they need to stay close to their station in case of an emergency call—but they are also required to do a minimum of one extra hour of exercise every day.

While we may not witness our firefighters working out locally as Parisians do, exercise is mandated for American firemen as well. Given 40-50% of firefighters killed in the line of duty is due to heart attacks, it behooves all of them to stay in shape, no matter if they live in Manhattan or Paris.

Boys who bake

Whenever in Paris, I faithfully attend mass at Saint Eustache, a masterpiece of late Gothic architecture. The reason for my repeated visit is not spiritual. The appeal is its organ, the largest in France.  As you might expect, Saint Eustache’s music program, organ and choral, is among the best in Paris.  That’s what keeps me coming back.

Upon entering Saint Eustache this visit I happened upon a group of spirited young boy scouts who were setting up a bake sale table. This was certainly unexpected.  The boys were wearing navy blue Catholic scout uniforms with short pants (yes, even in December!), knee socks and knotted Kelly-green neck scarves. They looked to be between 10 to 15 years old. I could barely wait until the mass was over to “hit” their table. When I asked the tallest of the scouts, who I assumed was the leader of the pack, whether their mothers had baked the delicious looking cakes and cookies, the entire group looked crestfallen.  Chorus-style the boys replied, “Mais non, Madame, WE made everything ourselves yesterday at home.”

Hoping to not further offend, I explained in my best French that in America its normally the girl scouts who stage bake sales and not their male counterparts. Then, I added flippantly that frequently their dotting mothers did the baking not them. Les Scouts seemed miffed by my comment but did manage to proffer a few awkward, lopsided smiles. I picked up a bag of four chocolate chip cookies and asked, “C’est combine?” The youngest-looking scout piped up in a high-pitched voice that I could pay whatever I wanted. Somewhat taken aback, I inquired how they were planning to use the money they collected.  When they replied to go to summer camp in Normandy, I handed over a 20 euro note.  My gaff was instantly forgiven. Money speaks in all languages.

The sacred beauty of a credit card

That same day during mass, I noticed several parishioners pulling out credit cards during the offertory.  Were my eyes deceiving me?  When the usher made it to my row, I spotted a device inserted into one side of the wicker collection basket where you could scan your credit card. Mon Dieu! Now with the church’s contactless card reader, the giving of money was not only effortless but also safe and sanitary. I stuffed my cash donation into the other side of the basket feeling a little like a dinosaur.  However, next time I promised myself I’d come prepared with my Visa card ready for action.

 A slip in service

Before Covid, service in French restaurants was predicably and professional.  In better restaurants, where waiters are trained to within an inch of their life, service was impeccable.  Less so now, I fear.  At least that was my recent experience at La Halle aux Grains. (This is the two-star Michelin restaurant inside the Pinault Collection of modern art.)

Having dined there last spring, I expected a repeat performance of perfection both from the kitchen, run by the Bras father-and-son chef team, as well as their previously attentive waitstaff. On this visit I was seated at a comfortable table overlooking Saint Eustache. A stylishly attired serveuse appeared with a small container of exotically flavored butter and a basket of warm, rustic, dark bread. When I asked which grains were used in the prepartion, her curt reply was “I haven’t the faintest clue,” as she discreetly retreated. Naturally, I assumed she would reappear with a thorough explanation of how the bread was made, but that never happened. That should have been my first clue.

The lunch menu which followed was imaginative, exquisitely prepared, and utterly delicious. I went through three courses, most of them centered around interesting grains and seasonal vegetables, the signature of the Bras family’s cuisine. While still enjoying my Bûche de Noël dessert, a check for my meal was unceremoniously plopped down on the table.  My shocked expression caught the attention of the maître d’ who rushed over, whisked it away and offered me coffee.  But even before my delicate demitasse of espresso was delivered, a bus boy breezed by and yanked a chair from my table.  “Vous me permettez, Madame?” he politely asked in a hushed tone. Without allowing time for a response, the chair was added to the table next to mine.

Three strikes and you’re out in my book of fine dining.  While I refused to allow the spotty service to totally detract from the Bras’ excellent cooking, it certainly lowered the scale of enjoyment of the total dining experience. I reconciled the issue by reminding myself that finding good waitstaff post pandemic has been a universal challenge for everyone in the hospitality business, not just the French.  

Le Krispy Kreme est arrivé

In the land of feathery light, yet buttery-rich pastries, why in the world would the French permit Krispy Kreme donuts to even make it through customs?  I ask you!  But there it was. An enormous poster inside my local Metro station announcing that a Krispy Kreme doughnut shop was opening in Forum des Halles.  If that were not bad enough, the ad clearly stated that KK was “Le Meilleur croissant de Paris.”  Whoever wrote that was either an overly zealous American copywriter or a Frenchman with neither taste buds nor national pride. While the French do have an affinity for certain American brands such as Apple, Starbucks and Levis, there’s no reason to anoint KK with the crown achievement of “best croissant” in Paris. 

The gold ring ruse lives on

On this recent trip, I thought it prudent to warn Zoe and Mei Carter—my goddaughters who were traveling with me—about some of Paris’ most popular tourist cons. I recounted my favorite: the Gold Ring scam.  Do you know it? Having been a victim of it years ago along with my late husband Ed, I knew the rip-off well. Low and behold, the following day as we were meandering along the Quai Branley, the girls and I observed the stunt firsthand, gypsy and all.  Allow me to unpack this ruse. 

An individual, either a gypsy or sometimes even a young Frenchman, approaches unsuspecting tourists, usually busy sorting out directions on their cell phone. A bright gold ring is discreetly dropped on the sidewalk when no one is paying attention. The perpetrator scoops up the ring, feigning surprise, then sticks it in your face asking if you dropped it by accident.  Naturally, the idea of someone losing a valuable gold wedding band provokes an immediate reaction.  After you’ve checked to make sure it’s not yours and breathed a sign of relief, the “perp“ usually replies, “Well, take it anyway, I don’t need it.” Sometimes a comment such as “my religion forbids me to wear jewelry” is added for effect.  Next the ring is shoved into your hand and the person walks away.  At this point, you are stunned.  But the scheme is not over yet.  The trickster usually circles back and asks for money explaining he/she is either hungry or deserves compensation for the “gift.” At which point, you should shove the ring back into the perp’s hand and walk away.

Unfortunately, the young German couple we witnessed didn’t realize they had been targeted. Instead, they had played their role as polite tourists and were left with a cheap brass ring as an unwanted souvenir. When we saw the couple a few minutes later, they were still trying to figure out what had happened. Eventually they ended up shrugging their shoulders and laughing about the mishap.

What surprised me is that 20 years later, even with warnings in every guidebook imaginable, that this scam still prevails.

Dancing baguettes

Being a New Yorker, I know a thing or two about incredible holiday window displays. Consider Sak’s Fifth Avenue and their sound and light show; the Christmas tree at Rock Center; and Bergdorf Goodman’s flashy windows, just to name a few hot spots. It’s easy to be huffy about, “Nobody does it better” with so many foreign visitors descending upon New York to experience our shimmering lights, dazzling displays and electric energy in December. Well, move over Manhattan.  After my recent visit to France, I’m taking my chapeau off to Paris.

Not only were The City of Lights’ holiday windows innovative and stunningly beautiful but also refreshingly entertaining. A good example was at Le Bon Marché, one of the multiple department stores owned by the LVMH Luxury Group. This year’s theme was gastronomy, as seen through the eyes of a child.

There I stood encircled by a gaggle of adorable petits Parisians, all bundled up in their warm winter coats and brightly colored scarves. Together we screeched in sheer joy at the magical display.  We giggled and clapped our hands when we saw crêpes flying around the room and slices of brioche falling over like dominos in the first of the four holiday kitchen tableaux.  The best however was the surprise of witnessing a row of baguettes kick out their svelte, doughy “legs” like risqué cancan dancers from Montmartre. Talk about a sense of humor, surprise, and sheer delight.

Say au revoir to the metro carnet

Just as New York tossed out its subway tokens years ago, Paris is moving quickly to abolish its iconic carnet of ten paper tickets. Sacre Bleu. This used to be the first thing I’d buy upon arriving in Paris.  Now it’s being replaced with a scannable plastic, rechargeable smartcard called Navigot.  Smart phones and Androids can also be scanned at the turnstile to allow entrance onto the subway or public bus.  For the moment, you can still purchase a single ticket for 1.90 euros ($1.82), a markup from the 1.49 euros cost for a single journey when using a smartcard. I guess this means the end of a used metro card as a souvenir bookmark?

Where have all the Bûches de Noël gone?

I started humming the Peter, Paul and Mary tune “Where have all the flowers gone,” each time I passed a pâtisserie and couldn’t find a traditional chocolate Yule Log cake. Where had they all gone, I wondered? I asked several informed French friends. According to them, the traditional Bûche de Noël (a sponge cake rolled into the shape of a log filled and covered with chocolate ganache) is slowly disappearing. For the past several years top pastry and chocolate chefs have vied for the attention of the media—and the adoration of their grand publique—by creating fantastical renditions of the traditional holiday cake, modifying both its shape and flavors. Much of this creative madness has been fueled by the popular pastry magazine, Fou de Patisserie, and its annual competition for professional chefs.  

For this year’s contest the Bûche de Noël was turned into all sorts of eclectic shapes such as a three-piece chocolate train set, a sleeping Shar-Pei dog, and a series of multi-colored macaroons iced together like a jumble of logs.

Just by chance, I sampled a slice of the competition’s winning Bûche de Noël at my La Halle aux Grains lunch. While to my eyes it resembled a flying saucer, the restaurant called it as a large hazelnut covered with milk chocolate ganache. Here’s how they described it using the pomp, poetry, and word precision as only the French can: “Multiple layers of buckwheat puffed like popcorn, a buckwheat praline and a crunchy crumble made from hazelnut powder and buckwheat flour married with hazelnut praline. For the softness, an incredibly light hazelnut mousse, an equally light cookie, and a creamy filling.” I can contest that the creation was sinfully delicious and worth every centime of its 75 Euro price tag for a whole cake serving eight.

Preparing for the Summer Olympics

This past December it was impossible not to notice the number of popular Paris monuments being sandblasted or covered with decorative “slipcovers,” as mandated by Paris’ building code for construction projects. Work was at full throttle as Paris prepares to welcome thousands of international athletes and millions of visitors as host of the 2024 Summer Olympics.

The NYTimes recently quoted President Macron as saying the country is “counting on a triumphant moment of beauty and pageantry” with the upcoming games. I had no idea how many well-known monuments were being transformed into sports venues including La Place de la Concorde which will debut break dancing as an Olympic sport!  And get this: the Seine River will be the location for the opening ceremony with the national teams of athletes arriving on barges!

However, to ease congestion Paris will not be the only location for the 2024 Summer Games.  In fact, Olympic competitions will take place in cities all over France: Lyon, Saint-Etienne, Nice, Bordeaux, Nantes, and Marseille. But that’s not all. French Polynesia will host the surfing competition which some people predict might steal the show from Paris!

Cleaning up Paris at a human price

Homeless people are a serious socio-economic problem in Paris just as they are in many other large cities around the world. On my latest trip I noticed brightly colored tents everywhere. But not for long as the French government has established ten temporary regional centers to relocate the homeless from the streets of Paris. This has sparked great controversy with local organizations who condemn the action as "social cleansing."  While it’s no surprise that a city as beautiful as Paris would make every effort to spruce up their image ahead of the 2024 Olympics, the real question is how they will deal with homelessness after the party is over.

The next Tarte Tatin Tales post will discuss what I’ve learned over the years about the French obsession with chickens. Yes, chickens or poulets as they call them.  Stay tuned for a tasty recipe for Coq au Vin, one of my favorite dishes to make especially in Paris where the correct choice of breed is de rigueur for home cooks and chefs alike.