Thursday, August 9, 2012
L'Assiette Carreau: Paris dining perfection
L'Assiette Carreau was the best meal we experienced during our 6-night Paris stay. Among the 4 of us, we ordered 3 of the 5 plats and 2 of the 5 starters. Continually, we each claimed we'd selected the best menu item.No overwhelming sauces or complicated presentations. Superior ingredients were cooked with attention but not unnecessary flourish. Our waiter was helpful and friendly. After many disappointing Paris meals, we ended our trip with a winner!
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Grasse's Grandeur
Grasse’s Grandeur
In Châteauneuf-Grasse,
we stayed at a picturesque B&B. https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/208402 Less
like any other B&B we’d ever stayed at, this was more a home. Along with their delightful teenage daughter
Lily, Lucy and Wayne were outstanding hosts.
He picked us up upon arrival, escorted us to a local town, drove us back
in the rain, and chatted about his life and their B&B history. She served us coffee and breakfast, helped us
navigate the house and environs, and shared her interests with us. Friendly and helpful without being pushy or
prying, these two British hosts have mastered the delicate mixture of
hospitality and livelihood. And OMG, the area—natural and neighboring towns—is serene
and interesting. OK, I wouldn’t go back
for the shopping; but certainly, I would go back for the genuine affability of
our hosts and the exquisiteness
of the surroundings. I’d rent a car,
stay longer, and explore more towns.
Thanks, Wayne and Lucy for a warm welcome that lingered with us long
after we departed.
The Cote d'Azur Is More Than Nice
The Cote d’Azur Is More Than Nice
Nice isn’t what my
husband and I expected. We expected it
to be, well, French. But it’s just as much—maybe more—Italian. Picture being in an Italian countryside
village like Assisi but with crepes and us speak English and practice it
themselves. Gloriously, there’s no
Parisian language conceit. In fact, Niceans
are more accepting and relaxed all around. For example, suddenly, while eating al fresco
at a “kitchen”-type restaurant, munching on a rather mediocre salad Nicoise
(originated in Nice, of course), an older man at a nearby table broke into
song, soon joined by his fellow diners.
This went on for quite some time—until they left. No one except my husband and I seemed to
notice, yet alone mind. Frankly, all my when-in-Rome
hospitality convictions failed me as we found their extravagant warbling to be more
annoying than charming. Rather than
enjoy the novelty, we analyzed the spectacle to death: What if we tried that?
What if we joined it? What if we voiced
our disapproval? Bad, bad hospitality on
our part, I confess. Other than that episode, we found Niceans to be friendly
and accepting.
Leaving Nice, we took a 1 Euro bus to journey farther south
in the Cote d’Azur to Cannes. Again, we experienced this pleasant blend of
the best of the French and the Italians. Like most places we’ve traveled to, the native
had their own quirks. In Cannes, remarkably, the locals were dressed in
multi-zippered attire. http://obeyclothing.com/women/dresses-skirts/cannes-dress.html
We don’t know why. It was striking—almost
ridiculous. The film festival—scheduled to
begin the following week—doesn’t dominate the town as much as you might
think. Cannes consists of three
areas: The first is a long frontage
street, facing the water with a casino (or two maybe), older and more modern
hotels, and upscale stores. The second lies behind that—streets filled with
small restaurants, cafes, a department store, touristy shops, boutiques, delicatessens,
and some tourist areas (like a castle and church). There’s a big city flair in these two
sections. Then, there’s the old section,
which is much more subdued and picturesque.
Again, shops, cafes, and boutiques.
But less touristy and hectic. Walk
to the elevator that takes you to the top and look out over the city and the
sea. Rain or shine, it’s a great
view.
Even farther south, is the Grasse area. We stayed at an
awesome B&B run by a British couple.
I believe I’ve already reviewed that.
In each location, we experienced this unique blend of French
and Italian hospitality—the panache of the French without their Parisian haughtiness
and the culinary triumphs of the Italians without their loud arguing. Moreover, the step is laid-back, the service
is attentive, and the countryside is pleasing.
Today, we recall our late-May stay in the Cote d’Azur with serenity
and nostalgia.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Paris Syndrome
To
be clear, I’m addressing Parisian hospitality, not the national hospitality of
France.
France
is my favorite place to visit, and Paris was high on my France list…until
now. I just returned from 6 nights in
Paris. Unfortunately, the
Parisians—their rudeness, loudness, condescension, and lack of culinary effort—consistently
disappointed me on my trip last week.
OK,
I’m not saying I had “Paris Syndrome,” which is described by Wikipedia as
follows:
Paris syndrome (French: Syndrome de Paris, Japanese: パリ症候群, Pari shōkōgun)
is a transient psychological disorder encountered by some individuals visiting
or vacationing in Paris, France. It's characterized by a number of psychiatric symptoms
such as acute delusional states, hallucinations,
feelings of persecution (perceptions of being a victim of prejudice, aggression,
or hostility from
others), derealization, depersonalization, anxiety,
and alsopsychosomatic manifestations such as dizziness, tachycardia, sweating,
and others.[1]
I discovered this entry when I Google searched “Paris
disappointment.” Although I didn’t
suffer from any of these psychiatric symptoms, I did suffer colossal
disappointment by the way Parisians treated me, including the meals they
prepared. After I illustrate my
disappointment with two quick anecdotes (and believe me, there are many from
which to choose), I’d like to consider this issue more broadly.
Chez Jenny: We
were seated outside and given an English menu.
Thereafter our waiter arrived only to dramatically refuse to serve us because
we don’t speak French well enough (and evidently, he didn’t speak English well
enough) although he didn’t give us a chance to try and we didn’t try because we
already had English menus. Another
waiter replaced the first, we ordered, and the food arrived. The presentations of 2 of the 4 plates was so
bland as to be disgusting—a series of white blobs—which was duplicated by the
bland taste. More than the food though, we
were flustered that a waiter would create such a scene about our language inadequacy
even though the restaurant clearly compensated for us with its English menu. Day
5 and once again, we were disappointed with our Parisian meal experience. Understandably, we complained to each other. Then, we stopped when one of us wondered why
we’d contribute to the restaurant’s negativity.
I think it was my son who delivered this much needed hospitality wakeup
call. After all, why should we allow the
carelessly prepared food and the condescending service to override our joy at
being together while eating outside on a beautiful Parisian street as the
daylight begin to wane? Inspired, we all mustered our courage to change focus. We managed to marvel at the one great meal served
by Chez Jenny. From there, we started to
recall the many great meals from our previous travels.
Pickpocketed: My
husband got pickpocketed in a Paris metro by 3 young girls. That’s bad enough. But then, when we tried to report the crime
to 2 station attendants, we were rebuffed by their measured disconcern (“unconcern”
suggests passivity whereas they were deliberate). No wonder pickpockets thrive. We were all outraged—as much by the
hardhearted officials as by the adolescent criminals . Our spirits were more than dampened. Then I called AmEx who helped us with every
cancellation and replacement detail.
Pleasantly and efficiently, the representative wiped away our problems
and with them, our worries. Moreover,
she renewed our spirits. I tell this story in particular--out of our many
Parisian disappointments--to highlight that it’s easier to recover from
mistreatment with just a little kindness from someone else. No man is an island
after all.
Toward the middle of our 7 days together, one of us
suggested that we “take the high road": keep greeting shop owners with a fearless “Bon
jour!” and exiting with “Merci” despite their surliness; keep tolerating our
loud neighbors who yelled out their windows at 3 AM; and keep searching for
a bakery that miraculously managed to open by 9 AM and actually have baked
bread to sell even to non-French speaking tourists.
For the most part, we succeeded in taking the high
road. But we are not super humans. I confess that we were continually
downtrodden by one daily Parisian offense. We never graciously accepted that
the damn rotisserie chicken place, which was so elusively open our first day, never
bothered to be open again. Day after
day, we checked but our dreams were crushed.
Finally, on our last day, we succumbed to the Thursday food market street
vendor. Yes, rotisserie chicken it was. But the “roasted” potatoes were cold and the
chicken skin lacked its signature crispiness.
We departed Paris early Friday morning, in the dark, without ever
devouring our perfect Paris rotisserie poultry. I’m home now, writing this, anticipating
tomorrow’s Harris Teeter rotisserie chicken special. Or maybe I’ll cook one
myself. I have some great French
cookbooks.
All anecdotes behind me (and I do feel exonerated by
narrating them), I’d like to more broadly address the ethics of these
situations. I wonder that if it’s necessary
that we encounter others’ hospitality in order to support our own, then how can
we disregard others’ inhospitality? That
is, if hospitality supports us, why shouldn’t inhospitality crush us?
Isn’t that the question
of living ethically. How do we avoid
responding in kind to others’ unethical behavior? Just yesterday, I read a perfect example of how
to be ethical when others may not be.
One of the travelers in Margaret Drabble’s The Seven Sisters recounts a life-changing experience. On a crowded train, she approached a crying
passenger who reported that she’d just had her wallet stolen. Gone were her identification, money, and
credit cards. Deciding to be a good
Samaritan, our storyteller loaned the victim more money than she could afford
to—with the promise that it would be returned.
Well aware that her fellow travelers probably judged her to be a gullible
fool because she’d never see her money again, this Samaritan arrived at her
next hotel and tried to plan how to continue her travels on a much tighter
budget. To her surprise, a brown
envelope with the replacement money and opera tickets arrived two days later. It seems that this victim was honest not only
about repaying the money but also, about auditioning for La Scala. But the moral of
the story, explains our storyteller, is not that believing in people pays off
because your kindness will be rewarded, but because your character will be
rewarded. She chose not be a cynical
person. Instead, she chose to be magnanimous
when all reason supported her disregard.
She chose to risk being generous and hospitable with no guarantees
because she wanted to be a person who believes in others and cares for others. She resolved for herself the two most plaguing
hospitality dilemmas. Should we expect any reciprocity for our
hospitality? No. Should we take all the risks when we perform
our duties as hosts and guests? Yes.
My son continually reminded me that I should limit my complaining
about “the French” to Parisians. He’s
right. I encourage you to travel to Normandy where they still remain grateful to
US WWII soldiers; to the Cote d’Azur where the best of the Italians meshes with
the best of the French; to the north where you still cherish their beloved Joan
of Arc; and definitely, to Provence where good food, good wine, and friendly
folks will enthrall you. OK, and go to
Paris. Maybe I just had a bad trip.
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"One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well." - from A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf