therese

Yep, Alon's has great bread, much better IMO than the fancy desserts. I've not been going to the Morningside Market lately, as I'd stopped doing a CSA over the winter. But once I re-start the CSA I'll be back to our "three loaves of multigrain, sliced" habit every Saturday AM. I like the mini French baguettes from DFM in a pinch (they're not remotely "mini", more of a batard), but DFM does not have a really good mult-grain, or a good sourdough. The mini whole wheat croissants are good, as are the rugelach.

So, my secret is out: I'm the world's worst tourist. My ideal touring day is a half day of sights (so, 9:00 AM to 1:00 PM), nice long lunch, post-prandial stroll, nap, light dinner (at home or out), concert/dancing/show, drink/snack afterwards, home to bed. I think that part of the reason Americans are wed to the idea of big meals in the evening, even on vacation, is that they feel somehow guilty indulging themselves during daylight hours. Clearly not an issue for me.

Ditto. And I just got back, but didn't do any upmarket meals. Gotta start planning that next trip...

DFM is a great location for me---I don't technically live in Decatur, but it's close enough that it's still an easy trip for me. And Morningside, where Voodoo is lives, is still a very reasonable trip. But certainly anybody who lives west of town is market-deprived. OTP on the east side is still easy access to DFM, but of course it's also easy access to all the markets on Buford Highway and out I-85. I think the Midtown location with compete largely with Whole Foods rather than Dekalb. And maybe the competition with actually improve some aspects of DFM, like the bread.

Okay, enough snarkiness on my part. Ex-pat friend would be the same no matter where she lived. I won't relate the conversation about the idiotic book "French Women Don't Get Fat." For those of you who are considering renting apartments for upcoming trips to Paris (or anywhere else in Europe), here's my take on what makes them great: 1. Breakfast in your jammies. Or naked, if you don't taking the risk with hot beverages. 2. Ditto late night snacks. 3. Ditto aperitifs before heading out for the evening. Well, you're likely dressed at this point, but if nobody objects to your taking off your shoes. 4. A lot more flexibility in your diet. Restaurant meals are often much higher calorie and fat than most people are used to eating routinely, and also much lower in fiber. Great for the occasional splurge, but more than one big meal a day leaves me very much out of sorts. 5. Economical. This was not a a cheap place to rent, but because the children never ate out in the evening (not something we'd planned, just how it happened) and I only ate out when I was with friends, our big meal of the day was at lunch. Dinner was soup or salad or bread and cheese, with fruit and a couple of cookies (for the kids) afterwards. So I realized savings that I'd not anticipated. A traditional French approach to meals, by the way. 6. Weight loss/maintenance. Vide supra. 7. Clean laundry in spite of packing light. We each had a rolling carry-on for the flight over, as well as my daughter's day pack (basically empty on the way over) and a small duffle bag for toiletries. Paris is, like all big cities, pretty dirty, and it was great having fresh clean clothes, even jeans, every day. 8. Sanity. Rooms with doors mean that you can get away from other members of your party. Yes, yes, you love them dearly, but that doesn't mean you want to be with them every minute of every day. 9. No housekeeping. This may sound strange, as who doesn't want a housekeeper/chamber maid to come by and tidy up every day? Well, me, particularly if it means I need to drag everybody out of the room at a time when it may or may not be convenient to me. And because there's more room in the apartment it's actually already tidy: closets big enough to store all your clothes, suitcases stowed, etc. So, hope this info is of help. Feel free to ask for any details I've not supplied.

So, a vignette... It's Thursday lunch, and we are all six (me, 15-year-old son, 12-year-old daughter, exchange friend, exchange friend's 11-year-old daughter, and ex-pat friend) at La Crepe Dentelle for lunch. Ex-pat friend has remarked on my ordering an aperitif of chouchen before the meal, exclaiming over the deleterious effects of too much alcohol. I reassure her that it's not distilled spirits, and exchange friend (who doesn't drink much herself, as she's subject to migraines) backs me up. I offer her a taste, which she accepts, and she declares it much too sweet, really not very nice at all. I order a bottle of cidre sec with lunch, having ascertained that both friends will partake. While pouring herself a bowl, ex-pat friend offers some to my daughter, who politely declines, and then to my son, who also politely declines, pointing out that he only drinks water or milk, ever. She returns to my daugther, urging her to try some. She explains that it's not very alcoholic, that children in France routinely have a bit of cidre (but cidre doux, of course, because they are children and all children prefer sweet things), that it's important to cultivate her palate, that it's important for her to grow accustomed to consuming alcoholic beverages with meals. Again, my daughter declines, and again, ex-pat friend starts to expound on the virtues of broadening ones palate, at which point I interrupt her. Me: "Um, she knows what it is. We drink it at home." Ex-Pat: "You drink it at home?" Me: "Yes. So she's tasted it more than once. She likes it. She likes wine and beer as well. Ex-Pat: "Oh. Well. How very international of you." Me: smiling grimly, I refrain from pointing out that hard cider is widely available in the U.S., from a variety of producers, and is sold at Kroger and Publix, right next to the Budweiser and Miller Lite. Ex-Pat (brightening a bit): "Oh, but that must be cidre doux." Me: "No, I buy cidre sec." Ex-Pat: "Why?" Me: "Because I don't like cidre doux."

This all depends on your definition of good fortune. Atlanta is already blessed with a large number of really great markets, including locally owned Dekalb Farmers Market. So, on the one hand I may benefit from fewer "looky loos" clogging the aisles at DFM, particularly on the weekends. On the other hand, if Trader Joe's successfully leeches off enough of DFM's customer base, I risk losing DFM entirely. The Midtown Promenade location is, by the way, entirely inadequate. The commercial space, presumably the old and now vacant Winn-Dixie, is fine, but the parking is terrible: the original area allotted to the grocery store is already used for overflow by the adjacent cinema and various restaurants, bars, and shops in the shopping center.

Absolutely loved the apartment, and your detailed list (PM'd) of markets and restaurants in the area came in very handy.

Actually, that's not quite it, as there are some dining vignettes along the way that merit sharing. But more work to deal with at the moment---I'd have posted more last evening at home, but had to dine out for work (and very nice it was).

Awake the next AM by the not too grim hour of 8:00 to find curlywurlyfi up and dressed. Our cab for the airport arrives at 10:30 and Fi asks if there's something she can do to help and I say, "Well, you could run around the corner and pick up croissants and a baguette for breakfast." And she bundles right up and runs out into the coldest morning yet in Paris while I drag my poor children out of bed. When I tell my son that he needs to get moving, that the taxi was coming at 10:30, he responded, "Taxi? Where are we going in a taxi?" Me: "The airport. We're going home today." Him: "Home? We're going home? When did that happen?" Me: "Just now. It came to me a in a dream." Him: "Um, what?" Sister: "Get up, it's Friday and we're going home today. Yeesh." So we all managed to get up and get dressed and Fi made us lovely sandwiches with ham and butter (and tomato for me) to eat at the airport before we boarded (along with Orangina for my daughter and cidre for me) while I packed our bags and the apartment management arrived to bid us adieu and the taxi arrived exactly two minutes early and Fi left for shopping paradise and we left for our pleasant Delta flight home. Upon arrival in Atlanta my son remarked that everybody would be speaking English. Except for our francophone taxi driver, born in Orleans.

Our pleasure. More in an hour, when I return from my massage (heh heh, yes, my 6:00 massage).

Confused yet? Because we're about to get another visitor, and this one's very much into food. And shoes, but that's beside the point. She arrived at Gare du Nord at about 4:00, making it to the flat at about 4:30 (just barely giving me time to change the sheets on her bed). I'd met her through eGullet on the WW thread, and had met up with her for dinner in London last April. And weird as it sounds, felt perfectly comfortable inviting her over to spend the evening with us in Paris. She can out herself here if she'd like. We'd decided on L'Ourcine for dinner on the basis of numerous recommendations here on eG as well as mentions from other credible sources. Reservation for 8:00, which was honored with a smile. Staff attentive, young, very friendly. We each started with a glass of champagne (not a flute, weirdly enough, but never mind). I started with a terrine of beef tongue and foie gras, followed by scallops with endives, and finishing with blanc manger with pineapple. eG friend started with a cream soup made with some sort of game bird (I think) and little cubes of foie gras, followed by gigot d'agneau with potatoes, followed by a shortbread cookie with apples. All of it excellent, and all of it (except for dessert, which was manageable) absolutely enormous servings. Given that it's difficult for me to send something as nice as tongue and foie gras terrine back the kitchen only half eaten, I did my best, but it was rough going. The amount of cigarette smoke was also a bit overwhelming, frankly. I'm generally fine with some cigarette smoking, but this evening was excessive: I could have actually been smoking myself and not inhaled any more. Anyway, back out into the cold night air (still flurrying) and home to our cozy flat, where we stayed up late chatting (son having been banished to the floor of my bedroom).

Thursday morning I got up earlier than the rest of the household (which now includes my exchange partner from Deauville and her daugher, sleeping in the other bedroom, my daugher sharing my bed, and my son on a couch in the living room) to run out and get breakfast from the closest boulanger, Banette. I have to admit that I am not incredibly impressed by Banette, but it was hot and right around the corner from our flat on this snowy morning, so that was good enough. After laying out breakfast (everybody still asleep) I ventured back outside, this time to meet a train at Gare Montparnasse, arriving from Montfort. Said train carried an ex-pat friend from high school (so an American) and her husband (a Frenchman, whom she'd met while teaching him English and later married). We were originally supposed to have spent Wednesday with her family (three children) at their home in Conde sur Vesgres in the Yvelines, but couldn't manage to fit it all in, so she dropped her kids at school and accompanied her husband into town on the train. So I managed to connect with her (whom I'd not seen in at least 15 years) and her husband (whom I'd never met) at Montparnasse, and another of their friends (godfather of one of their children) who'd recently moved to the country from Paris. We'd planned on having a coffee, but he'd scheduled an early meeting, so we accompanied to godfather/friend on the Metro to Pyramides, his usual stop, and then walked back to the flat where everybody was up and breakfasted and dressed. Incredibly. So, more tea all around, as exchange friend and ex-pat friend had met when exchange friend was living with me in the U.S. Very interesting to see how each of us had changed. Or not. For lunch we all six went back to La Crepe Dentelle, as both of my children had enjoyed it and exchange friend was headed that direction anyway to pick up a ski bib for her daughter from a friend. I started with chouchen (again) and then cidre (ex-pat friend horrified at my heavy drinking). My galette was something I can't recall at the moment: seems like mushrooms, onions, and tomato, but I'm not sure. For dessert I had a frangipane crepe. Both lovely, but the frangipane actually exceptional. I've been dreaming of frangipane since, and will need to try and reproduce it very soon. After lunch exchange friend left to pick up the ski bib and return via train to Deauville. Ex-pat friend returned to the flat with us for a bit and then returned home via train about 3:00, leaving us all alone. But not for long...

Like all stereotypes, the one that describes all French people as being interested in food or even having particularly good taste when it comes to food is, in my experience, just so much hooey. Her grandmother was an excellent cook, and had actually operated a charcuterie/traiteur at some point in the remote past, but in fact was not quite as good a cook as my U.S. born and bred mother. The rest of the family (parents, younger brother, aunt, uncle, cousins) were all variously interested or uninterested in food. There was no between-meal snacking, so there was generally a stampede for the dining room when "A table" was announced, but that wasn't necessarily because we knew that there was something amazing waiting for us. The only person that I knew back at the lycee that was really into food was my first boyfriend (who was actually at university in Caen, but never mind), whose brother was training to be a chef.

We used to float a Cheerio in the bowl when my son was learning how to pee standing up. It worked pretty well. I'm considering going back to that system, as his technique's gotten a little sloppy lately. P.S. Really delighted that I managed to relate this post to food.

Roast a chicken with whole lemons stuffed inside. Prick the skins and roll the lemons first, and rub the outside with lemon juice, olive oil, and salt. Lovely moist chicken, nice crisp skin.

Glad you're enjoying them, Lori. I've still got a few more days (and meals) to post, but need to get some work done first.

Although it's true that one typically associates food poisoning with the last thing that one ate before its onset, and that it was typically an earlier meal that's the real culprit, the time between consumption and onset of symptoms is typically much shorter, on the order of 6-8 hours. There's no actual "infection" in these cases---illness is the result of your consuming toxins produced by the bacteria (typically staphylococcus) before you ate it, generally because the food was kept neither sufficiently hot nor sufficiently cold (after having been inadvertently inoculated with the bacteria during preparation). The rapidity of symptom onset and the degree of discomfort are somewhat dose-related: the more toxin built up in the food the quicker and worse the symptoms. So depending on the timing of VivreManger's symptoms relative to his meal at Willi's, that meal may well have been the culprit. One of the worst bouts of food poisoning I've ever experienced was in Paris, the result of a meal in a Basque restaurant. Fortunately my husband ate different food, and was able to take care of me.

Apparently Le Flore en l'Ile on Ile-St-Louis serves brunch. I don't know the details, as it was my children who remarked on the fact while paging through the menu, but our lunch was nice enough and the view was lovely.

Wednesday better weather, though still cold. My old friend (my exchange partner from Deauville) and her 11 year old daughter arrived mid-morning via train from Deauville. A cup of tea later we headed out for the Louvre. Very cool, crowded but not too. I ran into somebody that I'd met at Le Train Bleu earlier in the week, working as a tour guide. We stopped for lunch at Cafe Richelieu, a nice quiet break with decent croque monsieur, etc. I had a cold seafood plate that featured smoked salmon and blini and shrimp. Late afternoon we took the children on an hour cruise of the Seine, again running into the guy I'd met at Le Train Bleu. It's a very small world. For dinner I'd wanted to book somewhere interesting, but my friend is not particularly in to food, so we ended up at one of the places in rue Montpensier, a Thai place called Baan Boran. I eat a lot Thai at home, and so am a bit pickier about it than I'm likely to be about French: very good tom yam soup, "laab" that wasn't, actually, but pleasant enough, and a dessert described as bananas with coconut milk which was actually bananas and small tapioca pearls in coconut cream, so a good deal heavier and sweeter than I expected (but of course still consumed in its entirety). Nice atmosphere, service sweet but not particularly efficient.

Tuesday cold and rainy, and the children slept in. We finally got going in time for lunch, at La Crepe Dentelle, 10 rue Leopold Bellan (so very close to the Montorgueil market). We arrived at about 1:00 to a very nearly full restaurant, but were cheerfully seated at the last table, right in front of the kitchen. Or rather what passes for a kitchen, as it's basically one guy (family-run operation, I think---one woman serving, one woman in the back doing dishes) whipping out galettes and crepes as fast as his arms will move. I started with chouchen, an aperitif made with honey (so presumably a bit like mead, except that I've never had mead), and then drank cidre with my galette, a complete (egg, ham, cheese) with tomato. Son had a complete, and daughter had a salad (because she was feeling contrary). For dessert son had a crepe with nutella, daughter had the contrarian's choice of passion fruit and cassis glace, and I had a crepe with bananas, flambeed with rum. When I ordered my son asked if they'd actually flambe it tableside, and I answered surely not, given the very tight quarters. But sure enough, the server managed it. Everything excellent, and service quick and friendly. Towards the end of the meal our water carafe had gone empty and the crepe maker noticed, and ran out with another carafe in between orders. We spent the afternoon at Cite des Sciences et de l'Industrie. Dinner at home.

Monday was our first real day in Paris, and touring was in order. We headed over to Ile de la Cite to check out Sainte Chapelle and Notre Dame. We stopped for lunch at Le Flore en l'Ile. Food way better than expected, given the amazing view of the back of Notre Dame: salade perigourdine for me, quiche for my daughter, roast chicken for my son. Ice cream for the children for dessert, fancy coupes that were their least favorite part of the meal, as they're not fans of whipped cream or too much in the way of sauce. I had a nice fruit salad: We spent the afternoon walking along the river. We'd planned to visit the Tour Eiffel, but the weather turned gray and we decided to wait. Dinner at home.

Sunday morning arrived rather earlier than optimal for me, given my late (or early, depending on your point of view) return home from dinner at Le Train Bleu. I drifted back to sleep after the 7:00 AM alarm, finally waking at 8:03 (believe me, every minute counted) and somehow managing to get myself bathed and the children fed in time to scramble via Metro to the Gare Saint-Lazare to catch the 8:49 train to Deauville. We were met in Deauville by an old friend, my student exchange partner from high school. We spent an hour or so visiting old haunts in Deauville (including the lycee and the boardwalk) and then Trouville, dining at Les Mouettes. I started with a kir chataigne, then carrot salad, then moules frites, then tarte reine claude. Son and friend started with bulots, daughter with oeuf mayonnaise. Other desserts were creme caramel, mousse au chocolat, and tarte aux pommes. Friend and I shared a bottle of cidre sec, and the waiter poured us both shots of Calvados at the end of the meal in honor of us having traveled so far (from Canada he'd initially assumed, overhearing my French). We spent the afternoon touring Honfleur, and then home to her farm outside Deauville (horses and a few sheep) for tea followed by an early supper (I won't describe it---she doesn't cook) with her children and husband. We caught a train home from Lisieux, snug in our beds by midnight.

After lunch we went shopping for basics. I had plans to go out for dinner sans enfants that evening, and we planned on being out of town on Sunday and possibly Monday, so just dropped by the Monoprix on rue de l'Opera that's near the Pyramides Metro. Cheese, bread, tomatoes, radishes, cucumber, butter, yogurt, milk, persimmons (very ripe---I gather that persimmons are not a main stay of the local diet, but all the better for me). No touring that day, kids simply too tired to do more than run in the garden of the Palais Royal, where I could see them from the windows. Dinner for me that evening was with a group of people I'd never met, arranged on a travel forum. They'd chosen Le Train Bleu. Not the sort of place I'd necessarily have chosen on my own, but very cool decor and surprisingly good food. I chose the short menu, with soupe de mache (very good), blanquette de veau (unexpectedly excellent), and baba au rhum (more of a rum-soaked brioche than a baba, so a bit disappointing but otherwise good). Dinner started at 8:30 and lasted until after midnight, such that I just managed to make one of the last trains home.

We're back. Fantastic trip all around. We did rent the apartment in the 1st. Located in the Palais Royal, with the entrance on rue Montpensier and very cool enormous half moon windows along one side overlooking the street and along the other side overlooking the garden, it was really just amazingly nice. Very nicely (but comfortably) furnished, with two bedrooms and two baths, and a well-equipped kitchen: fridge and freezer large by French standards, dishwasher, convection oven, four burner gas range, washing machine, separate dryer. Not enough counter space had I actually tried to cook (and most of that taken up by a microwave), but decent knives and a separate marble-topped table that served as extra countertop. You can see photos and description of the apartment here. The floor plan is here. Management very professional, very helpful. We arrived Saturday late morning and were "oriented" while the housekeeper finished up in the kitchen. My son, 15, hadn't slept on the way over, and I knew he'd crash fairly early, so we headed out immediately for lunch. There are actually quite a number of restaurants on rue Montpensier. We headed around the corner to A Casaluna, 6, rue de Beaujolais, passing le Grand Vefour along the way. We ordered from the carte. Children (and me, in the end, as it was a lot of food, and I'd foregone a starter in favor of an aperitif) shared a sampler called "A Merenda" of sausage, soft white cheese of some sort ("brocciu," I think), mousse de foie de cabri, and a sort of not-too-sweet chestnut pate. All very good. As a main I chose Civet de Sanglier au "Patrimonio" et ses "Sturzapreti" (said sturzapreti being nothing like strozzapreti, but larger, more like dumplings), very good. Son had Caviar d'Aubergines gratiné à la Tomme de Brebis, which he noted would have been better if it had been heated all the way through. Daughter (12) had Cannelloni au Brocciu, which she'd have liked better if they'd not been covered in a thin tomato sauce. For dessert I had sabayon with citrus (excellent), son had a chestnut cream tart, and daughter had a chocolate croustillant with candied orange peel. Restaurant about half full, service friendly and efficient. Nice view of the garden of the Palais Royal from our table, and I sent the kids out to get some daylight and run in the garden while I finished the wine. Not the best meal in the world, but certainly quite nice.