Paris Plage: An Inner City Oasis

Each summer for about a month or so the city of Paris brings the beach to the Right Bank of the Seine, importing god knows how much sand and dozens of palm trees. (Note: these have nothin' on Stanford's Palm Drive). You can't swim in the Seine so it isn't quite like a real beach, but that doesn't stop bikini-clad girls from tanning and precocious toddlers from playing in the sand. It's popular enough that one should bring her own towel to sit on rather than banking on snagging a beach chair (even with a majority of Parisians away on holiday!) If and when you do get a seat, it's a great place to relax and people watch. Vendors are on hand selling gelato, hot dogs, fries and ice cold drinks. Or if you want to be a little more active, there are foosball tables and organized exercise classes. Beyond the boundaries of the beach, toward the Louvre, a group of men and women have set up of stools offering free 10 minute massages. For those who can't actually get out of the city, it's a nice afternoon escape. (And did I mention it's free?)

Honoring the Dead and Famous at Père Lachaise

A tourist site I’ve always been fascinated by is the famous Père Lachaise cemetery, mostly because it features prominently in a segment of one of my all-time favorite films, Paris je t’aime. Spanning 116 acres in the 20th arrondissement, it’s almost like a ghost town with its designated streets and elaborate tombs that resemble houses. I think it’s cool, but it took me a month of being here to find a group of people who also wanted to visit.

Established in 1804, Père Lachaise holds the remains of some of France’s most famous citizens. The cemetery is so large that you kind of have to plan out ahead of time which graves you want to see lest you want to be wandering aimlessly for hours.

My top 4 were:
- Georges Méliès (pioneer filmmaker; inspiration for the movie Hugo)
- Frédéric Chopin
- Édith Piaf
- Oscar Wilde

As depicted in Paris je t’aime, it’s tradition for female fans of Wilde’s work to bestow lipsticked kisses upon the gravestone. But at some point in the recent past I guess someone decided this wasn’t a good thing and erected a barrier around the tomb. As you can see, though, that didn’t really stop the fangirls.

While it was moving to pay my respects to some of the artists that have had such a strong influence in my life, it was even more poignant to see evidence of their lasting legacies - from fresh flowers and burning candles to handwritten notes. See the rest of my photos on Flickr.

 

Eating in the Dark

As a post final exam celebration, a group of us embarked on what I can only describe as the extreme of sensory experiences and adventurous eating: we had dinner at Dans le Noir.

A trendy restaurant with branches in Paris, London, Barcelona, New York and Saint Petersburg, Dans le Noir attempts to turn haute cuisine on its head by having patrons eat, well, in the dark. But it’s not just any kind of darkness; it’s the sort of pitch black that exists only in nightmares; the kind that even eyes with 20/20 vision cannot adjust to.

They say that you eat with your eyes first. Well, at Dans le Noir you end up eating with pretty much everything else. Adaptive plasticity is what enables blind people’s other senses to become heightened, and so too after being seated, it’s up to your nose, mouth and fingers to try to discern what’s on the plate in front of you. Because having a blind meal is only part of the fun - the other part is that you’re only told what you’re served after you’ve eaten it. So course by course you’re left guessing what the chef prepared. In theory this kind of literal blind tasting should make you appreciate food for more than its aesthetics - the odors, the textures, etc. In practice, though, it’s a much less dignified experience. Eating without being able to see poses a number of challenges, like getting the food from the plate into your mouth and not onto your face.

Our server, despite her best efforts, managed to spill some wine on my lap and clip the back of my head with a plate. But this was nothing compared to poor George, one half of the British couple seated somewhere to my left, whose dessert sampler somehow got shoved right into his nose.

While the eating part of the meal was tricky, talking to people when you can’t see them was possibly even more disconcerting. I suppose we must have been speaking at an elevated volume to compensate, for our server kept urging us not to shout. So while I can’t ultimately recommend the food, I can say that the experience produces a lot of conversational gems, like the following.

“I just ate a lemon.”

“What is this shit?!”

“Ow! That was my nose!”

“I keep picking up my fork, and then it’s empty.”

“Who’s touching my leg?!”

“I hope this wine is going into my glass…”

“OH MY GOD! WAS THAT SQUID??”

“You’re talking right into my face. Are you trying to kiss me?”

“Alright, screw it. I’m using my fingers.”

So, if you’re ever in need of a creative first date…

 

A Basic Pâtisserie Retrospective

Things I made in my first month of cooking school, as I study for my final exam tomorrow.

The Best Falafel Outside of Israel?

Yesterday M and I met up in the Marais area for lunch at what is generally regarded by foodies as the best falafel in Paris. Located on the trendy Rue des Rosiers (see previous post), just the queue outside L’As du Fallafel at midday should be an indication that the restaurant is better than all the rest.

If you don’t feel like awkwardly eating on the street trying not to be a a slob in public (a challenge, given how much they pack into each pita), skip the takeout window and head inside to grab a table.

 

Bastille Day

Met up with a group of friends from class for a picnic on the Champ des Mars while we waited for the fireworks to start. Truly a French experience with baguettes, cheese, fruit, chocolate, bottles of rosé that we managed to smuggle in and, of course, a French flag courtesy of A’s “five finger discount.” The fireworks were pretty impressive themselves - a solid 30 minute program set to disco music. Festivities ended close to midnight, and the mass exodus from the park afterward was enough to convince me it was a better use of time to walk home than try to force my way onto a packed train. I probably would have been fine going it alone, but two friends kindly walked all the way back with me, even though one lives in the complete opposite direction.

Overall: good people, good times, good weekend.

 

Of Rainy Nights and Partying with Firemen

Friday night after baking a kilo of brioche dough in various shapes and sizes for practical, a couple friends and I met up in the 6th for a strange Bastille Day tradition: the fireman’s ball at the fire stations. Apparently the night before and of the holiday, fire stations across the city open their gates and host what basically amounts to a huge dance party complete with DJ and drinks.

I think I mentioned before that the weather’s been pretty un-summery, and Friday was no exception. Pushing your way through the station’s packed courtyard was made even more difficult by all the umbrellas. (I gave up pretty quickly and accepted the fact that I would get drenched over the course of the evening).

I don’t usually enjoy club/frat-like environments, but the party was actually pretty fun. The firemen didn’t engage much with the crowd, mostly staying behind the bar and serving drinks. But the few that we talked to seemed very nice, not to mention ridiculously good-looking.

We left around midnight in search of some hot food to warm our rain-soaked exteriors, ending up at a little Italian place where we shared penne carbonara and lamb skewers. Definitely a step up from my usual drunk food of choice, chicken nuggets.

Sometimes the best nights are the ones that are most spontaneous.