Hey all,
I’m in the states for the holidays. Lots of new things when I get back in a week.
-Moi
Paris nightlife – c’est pas évident. (This is a phrase you should learn IMMEDIATELY if you are visiting or moving to France. It means “it ain’t easy” or “it’s so unclear!”) When I went to London, I didn’t have any trouble. I hopped off the Eurostar, grabbed a Time Out London at the station, and was set to go. Dinner, movies, it’s all there! (This was not a language problem, but a culture problem. I do speak fluent French and, hopefully, fluent English.) I had a kebab, went to KoKo for the Dinosaur Jr. show and was in bed by 2am, my obligatory bed time. If I had been with a group of friends, there would have been a shortlist of other possibly awesome places to go out (Plastic People, Bistrothèque, The Bathhouse. Just to see!). The fashion scene in London was tougher. It was easy to find all the great stores, even the pop-up boutiques, but although I was accompanied by my trusty copy of British Elle (way better than American Elle), I stuck out. Apparently they haven’t seen the whole riding pants as leggings thing yet. Or maybe it was my butt…
Anyway, in Paris it’s tough, which is strange. Obviously, we have a vision of Paris as home to a glitzy nightlife – and certainly it is. But how many of us would participate or COULD participate in that? Discothèques and nice clubs are very expensive and often have that meat-market feel. Not my cup of tea. So I’ve been going to small, wonderful wine parties with friends, featuring more great conversation and practice for my argot (slang) than glamour. Nonetheless, I was excited to go to my first real nighttime excursion at the Point Éphémère. You see, I’m very easily excited.
The Point, from what I hear, used to be the place to go for the, ahem, music-y and boho scene. Many of the best (in my opinion) concerts from American and British bands. I imagine it’s something like the status of Sonar in Baltimore – it’s caché has decreased, but it still gets a lot of the great shows. This is all secondhand knowledge, unfortunately. There’s a couple of similar places – the Flèche d’Or, for instance. And this looks fascinating.
But before this red-letter night arrived, I was invited to the Opéra Bastille to see La Bohème. My friend had to wait 2 hours in the cold for standing-room-only seats. For every performance there are about 60 standing room tickets – and the view from those loges are great, but you can’t see the supertitles. Luckily, I had my own narrator. It was a great show – Musette in particular was amazing, played by Natalie Dessay, who is something of a French star. The impressive façade, extraordinarily modern, dominates one side of the huge Place de la Bastille.
And then, the Point Éphémère – it’s an approximation of an American joint in Paris, on the line of The Middle East in Cambridge, the Ottobar in Baltimore, and probably 20 different places in Brooklyn. Ahem, again. Anyway, it’s on the Canal St. Martin, a stretch home to a number of neat dives, gay bars, a hostel/pub, and so on. The restaurant/bar area was packed and there is a terrace right on the “water” – the skanky canal water, that is. Nonetheless, there is a gritty kind of atmosphere to the location. Finding it is a little scary, as you have to descend onto the quai, seemingly into the canal itself. It’s in an old factory, next to a fire station, so the fire trucks blaze by, nearly missing loitering smokers, and police boats streak down the canal with their sirens on. The food, however, is greasy and gorgeous and I can’t wait to go back for a burger. The concert space is standard for any small rock venue, painted black, a counter selling pints of Hoegaarden, etc. All in all, a fine time, a far cry from the glitz of the opera, but a nice dose of home.
is nasty. France, you ain’t got nothin’ on New England. Be ashamed!
For some things, the bad weather only increases their somber beauty:
Ominous, ominous clouds, which are now emitting torrents of rain, accompanied by gale force winds. Oh, did I already say that my dorm windows leak? Yeah. Back to bed.
This teensy little Reuters article assures us once again that the French (like the Chinese, the Japanese, and everyone else who’s supposed to be thin, godammit!) are indeed getting “fat.” And, as if on cue, the rest of the Western world experiences an unhealthy frisson of schadenfreude.
I wish that the publishers of these studies would give more information. In any case, as I said several posts ago, Paris isn’t France (it’s thinner), and the French are not the super-svelte strawmen everyone wants them to be. The same phenomena, whatever they may be, that are enfattening most countries in the first world are also affecting la Belle France.
(Thanks to Jezebel for originally posting the link.)
Of course! There’s nothing to say really – metro and RER strikes are such a banal part of Parisian life that it’s hardly worth mentioning. It would be a miracle if there WASN’T one while I was living here. And frankly, I would be disappointed. Zazie wanted to ride the métro – well, I want my 5 centimes worth of inconvenience. And this is just a little one! It probably won’t even affect my neighborhood…
Just… I’m supposed to go see Lars von Trier’s Antichrist tonight!
All I’ve craved since I’ve been in Paris, despite the fact that the streets are paved with frites and Nutella crêpes, is a huge, nasty pile of nachos. And apparently I missed National Nacho Day! Hélas!
For me, home sickness manifests itself solely as food cravings. Just two weeks until I go home for Thanksgiving and have my showdown with Border Café in Cambridge. They should start frying the chips now…
But what I would really love more than anything would be the crab nachos from Nacho Mama’s in Baltimore. There’s nothing more American than eating greasy tortilla chips smothered in cheese while sitting in a restaurant decorated entirely in Elvis memorabilia, Natty Bo posters, and Orioles jerseys. Right?
Gentle readers,
I promised you more strange fruits, but I am afraid that I must give you some strange tubers instead. Voilà! L’oeil de perdrix (partridge’s eye):
The Partridge's Eye
At left is a basket, with a picture of a partridge and a long explanation of the species. An heirloom potato, who knew? The potatoes themselves, at right, each have a pink splotch. (Hence the “Eye”.) Here’s a handsome couple of common pheasants:
On a long stroll today, I came across the fantastic outdoor market at the Place de Breteuil. Would you like some olives? Some shrimp? A DD bra? They’ve got it at the Place de Breteuil.
You can also pick up some bouquets of cabbages:
Or, you know, some real flowers.
Or maybe some beef?
And yes, that is the Eiffel Tower in the background.
Bon appétit!
The hair-buns do look shockingly like viennoiserie-buns. Great photo content too!
The produce vendor laughed when I came to the register with two round zucchinis, two clementines, two tomatoes, and a banana.
Here are the funny little zucchinis (do we have these at home?):
And here are some mirabelles, or baby yellow plums. I believe that these are exclusive to France – the Lorraine region of Alsace. They are not my favorite fruit to eat, but they are so adorable:
Our kind local grocer also informed us today that the clementines from Corsica would be out in a couple of weeks.
More odd fruit to follow.
