When Michael and I planned the trip we each had a full agenda of things that we
wanted to see and do. Negotiation and compromise were mutually understood as we
built our final itinerary.
The only thing we didn’t plan for was bad weather.
Several of our outings were planned with the belief that for the most part, the weather would cooperate somewhat. We knew that we’d have to be flexible because we were going in mid-March and as I checked the extended forecasts I developed a sinking feeling that early spring could potentially be worse weather-wise than the two trips I took in the middle of winter.
The forecast immediately before we left: lots and lots of rain and cold temperatures.
I was undeterred; I packed warmer clothes and an umbrella. After all, a sudden cloudburst creates the perfect opportunity to duck into a cozy café, order a coffee or glass of wine and people-watch until the rain stops.
Our first day (Friday) was pretty much a wash; after settling into the apartment, napping and hitting the nearby Franprix for basics we didn’t have time for much more than dinner. Saturday morning we woke reasonably rested and since I volunteered to pick up bread and bakery goodies for breakfast, I was showered and out the door relatively early.
I walked up the Champ du Mars toward the Rue Cler to go to the artisan baker on the corner. What I saw when I got there gave me a pleasant surprise—a line of about twenty people on the same mission, to get good bread. The line was the best recommendation about the quality within; no reason to seek out a local for advice. There was a table out front where people could just pick up a quick baguette instead of waiting to go inside.
Ordinarily that would have been my choice but I was there on a mission. I was there for raisin pastries; those delicious rounds that are spiraled like a cinnamon roll but include a custard-y element and frequently have a little honey glaze, depending on the baker. They’re little curls of heaven!
The bakery didn’t disappoint; the raisin pastries (or pain au raisin) were big, golden brown and when I ate one with tea, absolutely delicious. The bakery itself was reasonable in price and had a nice variety of breads, cakes and pastries. I saw what could be best described as a “foot-long” éclair; the first I’d ever seen in a French bakery.
Crispy bread, soft-boiled eggs and tea made for a great breakfast that morning. The eggs came from our trip to Franprix and they were impressive—huge, brown and extremely fresh. We discovered that fact when we tried to peel the eggs after boiling them. The shells stubbornly clung to the egg white and didn’t want to budge. Once peeled, they looked a bit ratty but with a bit of salt and pepper, were absolutely delicious.
One of our discoveries at Franprix was the number of different types of butter in the dairy case. We chose a slab in a package that described it as being salted with sea salt. It was intriguing, to be certain. When we tasted it I found it a bit salty but not such that I wouldn’t use it for toast. In fact, when I put some peach preserves on top of the butter, the flavors blended together very well.
After breakfast we decided that since it was Saturday morning, we ought to visit the Rue Cler on a true shopping day to get the full effect. I brought along my canvas tote so we wouldn’t have to wrangle too many plastic shopping bags.
When we arrived, we found a busy, crowded shopping street that was bursting with life. The flower markets were so very colorful and it seemed that every food shop had some kind of outdoor display. The Italian market put out bins of fresh pasta in a glass case, the butcher’s shop showed their freshly roasted chickens and “cocottes”, smaller birds of what species I was uncertain. Vegetable vendors filled their tables with colorful produce and tried to engage passers-by in conversation about what was good that day.
We navigated the cobblestone street among pedestrians, baby strollers, people with dogs on leashes, those who let their pets run free and even folks who were trying to sell a litter of puppies. On one corner a woman was selling small daffodils, one Euro for a bunch.
At the Italian market I bought ten slices of what was described as “Tuscan” sausage and a spread made from Mascarpone and Gorgonzola cheeses. This spread proved fabulous smeared on a round of bread and topped with a spoonful of peach preserves. I bought tangerines that were heavy, firm and when peeled, brought back the memory of those I had on my Riviera trip.
Our final market stop that day was for a couple of gorgeously-red heirloom tomatoes. I knew they would be delicious with pepper and sea salt as a simple breakfast salad.
Once we returned to the apartment and put away our purchases, we decided to walk to the Parc Champ du Mars, then on to the Eiffel Tower. When we got there we found the line for the one set of elevators to be far too long for comfort so we decided that going to the top would be saved for a future trip, preferably one that had better weather.
Once we oohed and ahhed over the Tower, we had a thought: LUNCH. Michael wanted to divert to the Ile Saint-Louis so we cabbed over to the nearby Place Saint Michel. This section was familiar to me, the locale of a memorable shopping afternoon on one of my past trips. It’s close to the university community and where “our” neighborhood, the 7th, is somewhat reserved and residential, the Saint Michel section of the 6th is rowdy and young.
I knew of a brasserie in that section that would be ideal for a relaxed lunch. The Jardin Notre Dame is at the end of the Rue de la Huchette, a pedestrian-only street notable for souvenir shops and Greek street food stands. If you’re in Paris and find yourself yearning for a Gyro or Souvlaki fix, this is the street for you. I haven’t actually eaten from any of these places so I can’t speak for the quality but the aromas coming from within take me right back to Greek Town in Chicago.
Jardin Notre Dame wasn’t extremely busy since we arrived not long after what we considered to be the end of business lunch time. It was as I remembered it and we were able to get the table I occupied when I was there, in the glass-enclosed section overlooking (what else) Notre Dame Cathedral.
Michael saw “foie gras” in the listing of items in the daily formule so we each ordered some as our starter. What we didn’t know until our plates arrived was that it’s somewhat of a generic term and not necessarily what we might get (and pay a premium price for) at home. Instead of a nice, pan-seared slice of goose liver we had what looked like processed pate from a can, served with some toasted pain de mie.
Michael looked a bit disappointed but what can one expect from a €12 three-course lunch? I dug in with gusto and found the product surprisingly good when spread on the toast. My little lunch steak was perfectly cooked and the frites were yummy. I sipped Perrier with my lunch, looked out toward the stained glass on the Cathedral and marveled that I was, once again, in Paris.
Recipe: Tomato Breakfast Salad
This dish takes me back to childhood. My Grandmother Nellie would make big farmhouse-type breakfasts when we would visit in the summer. Since orange juice was expensive (and full of sugar, Nellie was diabetic), and she always had a bumper crop of home-grown tomatoes, we got our Vitamin C from tomato salad every morning.
1 or 2 Absolutely-ripe heirloom tomatoes
Juice of half a lemon
Pinch of lemon zest
Salt and freshly-cracked pepper to taste.
A few tablespoons of chopped flat-leaf parsley
This is a salad that doesn’t benefit much from being made ahead so it’s best to make it just about the time you’re going to serve it. Cut the stem core out of the tomato and slice the tomato thinly. Arrange the slices on a large, chilled serving plate. Sprinkle with the lemon juice, zest and then the salt and pepper. Sprinkle with parsley and serve.
The only thing we didn’t plan for was bad weather.
Several of our outings were planned with the belief that for the most part, the weather would cooperate somewhat. We knew that we’d have to be flexible because we were going in mid-March and as I checked the extended forecasts I developed a sinking feeling that early spring could potentially be worse weather-wise than the two trips I took in the middle of winter.
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The forecast immediately before we left: lots and lots of rain and cold temperatures.
I was undeterred; I packed warmer clothes and an umbrella. After all, a sudden cloudburst creates the perfect opportunity to duck into a cozy café, order a coffee or glass of wine and people-watch until the rain stops.
Our first day (Friday) was pretty much a wash; after settling into the apartment, napping and hitting the nearby Franprix for basics we didn’t have time for much more than dinner. Saturday morning we woke reasonably rested and since I volunteered to pick up bread and bakery goodies for breakfast, I was showered and out the door relatively early.
I walked up the Champ du Mars toward the Rue Cler to go to the artisan baker on the corner. What I saw when I got there gave me a pleasant surprise—a line of about twenty people on the same mission, to get good bread. The line was the best recommendation about the quality within; no reason to seek out a local for advice. There was a table out front where people could just pick up a quick baguette instead of waiting to go inside.
Ordinarily that would have been my choice but I was there on a mission. I was there for raisin pastries; those delicious rounds that are spiraled like a cinnamon roll but include a custard-y element and frequently have a little honey glaze, depending on the baker. They’re little curls of heaven!
The bakery didn’t disappoint; the raisin pastries (or pain au raisin) were big, golden brown and when I ate one with tea, absolutely delicious. The bakery itself was reasonable in price and had a nice variety of breads, cakes and pastries. I saw what could be best described as a “foot-long” éclair; the first I’d ever seen in a French bakery.
Crispy bread, soft-boiled eggs and tea made for a great breakfast that morning. The eggs came from our trip to Franprix and they were impressive—huge, brown and extremely fresh. We discovered that fact when we tried to peel the eggs after boiling them. The shells stubbornly clung to the egg white and didn’t want to budge. Once peeled, they looked a bit ratty but with a bit of salt and pepper, were absolutely delicious.
One of our discoveries at Franprix was the number of different types of butter in the dairy case. We chose a slab in a package that described it as being salted with sea salt. It was intriguing, to be certain. When we tasted it I found it a bit salty but not such that I wouldn’t use it for toast. In fact, when I put some peach preserves on top of the butter, the flavors blended together very well.
After breakfast we decided that since it was Saturday morning, we ought to visit the Rue Cler on a true shopping day to get the full effect. I brought along my canvas tote so we wouldn’t have to wrangle too many plastic shopping bags.
When we arrived, we found a busy, crowded shopping street that was bursting with life. The flower markets were so very colorful and it seemed that every food shop had some kind of outdoor display. The Italian market put out bins of fresh pasta in a glass case, the butcher’s shop showed their freshly roasted chickens and “cocottes”, smaller birds of what species I was uncertain. Vegetable vendors filled their tables with colorful produce and tried to engage passers-by in conversation about what was good that day.
We navigated the cobblestone street among pedestrians, baby strollers, people with dogs on leashes, those who let their pets run free and even folks who were trying to sell a litter of puppies. On one corner a woman was selling small daffodils, one Euro for a bunch.
At the Italian market I bought ten slices of what was described as “Tuscan” sausage and a spread made from Mascarpone and Gorgonzola cheeses. This spread proved fabulous smeared on a round of bread and topped with a spoonful of peach preserves. I bought tangerines that were heavy, firm and when peeled, brought back the memory of those I had on my Riviera trip.
Our final market stop that day was for a couple of gorgeously-red heirloom tomatoes. I knew they would be delicious with pepper and sea salt as a simple breakfast salad.
Once we returned to the apartment and put away our purchases, we decided to walk to the Parc Champ du Mars, then on to the Eiffel Tower. When we got there we found the line for the one set of elevators to be far too long for comfort so we decided that going to the top would be saved for a future trip, preferably one that had better weather.
Once we oohed and ahhed over the Tower, we had a thought: LUNCH. Michael wanted to divert to the Ile Saint-Louis so we cabbed over to the nearby Place Saint Michel. This section was familiar to me, the locale of a memorable shopping afternoon on one of my past trips. It’s close to the university community and where “our” neighborhood, the 7th, is somewhat reserved and residential, the Saint Michel section of the 6th is rowdy and young.
I knew of a brasserie in that section that would be ideal for a relaxed lunch. The Jardin Notre Dame is at the end of the Rue de la Huchette, a pedestrian-only street notable for souvenir shops and Greek street food stands. If you’re in Paris and find yourself yearning for a Gyro or Souvlaki fix, this is the street for you. I haven’t actually eaten from any of these places so I can’t speak for the quality but the aromas coming from within take me right back to Greek Town in Chicago.
Jardin Notre Dame wasn’t extremely busy since we arrived not long after what we considered to be the end of business lunch time. It was as I remembered it and we were able to get the table I occupied when I was there, in the glass-enclosed section overlooking (what else) Notre Dame Cathedral.
Michael saw “foie gras” in the listing of items in the daily formule so we each ordered some as our starter. What we didn’t know until our plates arrived was that it’s somewhat of a generic term and not necessarily what we might get (and pay a premium price for) at home. Instead of a nice, pan-seared slice of goose liver we had what looked like processed pate from a can, served with some toasted pain de mie.
Michael looked a bit disappointed but what can one expect from a €12 three-course lunch? I dug in with gusto and found the product surprisingly good when spread on the toast. My little lunch steak was perfectly cooked and the frites were yummy. I sipped Perrier with my lunch, looked out toward the stained glass on the Cathedral and marveled that I was, once again, in Paris.
Recipe: Tomato Breakfast Salad
This dish takes me back to childhood. My Grandmother Nellie would make big farmhouse-type breakfasts when we would visit in the summer. Since orange juice was expensive (and full of sugar, Nellie was diabetic), and she always had a bumper crop of home-grown tomatoes, we got our Vitamin C from tomato salad every morning.
1 or 2 Absolutely-ripe heirloom tomatoes
Juice of half a lemon
Pinch of lemon zest
Salt and freshly-cracked pepper to taste.
A few tablespoons of chopped flat-leaf parsley
This is a salad that doesn’t benefit much from being made ahead so it’s best to make it just about the time you’re going to serve it. Cut the stem core out of the tomato and slice the tomato thinly. Arrange the slices on a large, chilled serving plate. Sprinkle with the lemon juice, zest and then the salt and pepper. Sprinkle with parsley and serve.