Sunday decadence

It was an extraordinary Sunday, first of all in that I was actually at home and had no meetings, coffees, lunches nor social events planned.

I caught up on the wash; took pictures of the whole house (just another of those projects of which I seem to have a never-ending supply); went next door and caught up with the neighbors. I also actually had breakfast and lunch at home (rather unheard of in my current life) then did decide that we all deserved a treat so headed up to the local bakery and bought “goodies”.

My former housemate and her husband are currently here as their place was flooded in the major storm we had in July – good enough excuse for me!

I divvied everything up into threes, made my coffee and had it outside on my terrace, all the while reading one of my out-of-date magazines so that I can pass it on later this week.

The sweets were truly decadent! It was a very good Sunday indeed.

choclatemousse + St. Honoré

Apple pie

My share of the three goodies

July 4th round-up for Miss Betty

Oh no – the last full day in Paris for our little band of tourists.

Our breakfast room

Organizer, J. (no not me for a change!) had arranged for a half-day English-speaking private tour guide who picked us up promptly at 9 a.m.  Starting to have to set the alarms.

Amir was our fountain of wisdom and source of entertainment for three and a half wonderful hours. I can highly recommend hiring a private guide as one can see what one has missed, or spend more time on what one personally wants to see! As we were a fairly homogenous group – all interested in the same things, we really benefited from the special treatment.  Montmartre and seeing where both Victor Hugo had lived as well as the famous Moulin Rouge, never mind the oldest true cabaret in Paris and the last vineyard as well, on top of Picasso’s work atelier then Sacré Coeur were highlights.

Moulin Rouge

Where Van Gogh lived with his brother in Montmartre

One of two remaining "moulins" where there was dancing: Utrillo, Toulouse-Lautrec, Picasso and others met here

Picasso's atelier

Sacré Coeur

A wonderful mime

The flying buttresses of Notre Dame

The explanations about the “Pont Neuf” (new bridge – the first built in stone as opposed to wood, which rotted and had to be replaced often), the narrow streets in another neighborhood; the Latin quarter (thus named as the Romans had come through in the first century BC); the Opera house – at the end of the street leading in between the Louvre and the Opera house where the Emporer had his own private entrance, simply too many things to take in, but we did try.  J had again organized lunch: at Monsieur Bleu we all had the Asparagus Linguine, which was delicious in itself. We had intended on not having any dessert thinking that nothing could beat Angelina’s: we were wrong as the following photos bear witness.

Before

Millefeuille

Upside down lemon tart

Salty caramel ice cream

Cheesecake

The aftermath

The afternoon passed in a swirl as we dashed back to Galeries Lafayette for another suitcase (I won’t tell who, but there were too many souvenirs to pack and not enough spare room); returned for a rest then packing. Had intended just grabbing a couple of salads in the tea room across the street, but, due to the Soccer match in between France and Germany, it shut early. J and I debated getting yogurts next door in the mini-market, but finally opted to go back to where we had had dinner the first night to avoid the hassle - remember those desserts? And we had thought them exceptional - guess it is a good thing that we didn't have more time or we might even have discovered others (better I am sure not after Angelina's and Monsieur Bleu)

As the Eiffel tower lit that evening, all were trying to get to sleep for an early morning departure: Miss Betty’s Paris adventure had come to an end… for this time at least.

She is now cruising and having a well-earned respite from the rush of seeing it all.

The Eiffel Tower as seen from our hotel's entry

 

Miss Betty at the Louvre and more decadent desserts…

Thursday July 3 and it was back to a program – thankfully one with only one major goal – visit the Louvre.

Our hotel, The Hôtel Elysées Union, (www.elysees-union.com) so kindly organized and recommended by Teresa of AAA (in Redlands? To be confirmed by J) has been above the average in terms of the friendliness of the staff and the provision of whatever we needed: a wheelchair borrowed by the family to go to Versailles and again this morning for the Louvre.

Part of one wing of the Louvre

From inside the entry pyramid - conceived by Pei

With four of us, two using canes, taxis were by far the best way of getting around – so after another copious breakfast off we went.  What a blessing to have the “handicapped” with us, as D & I became accompanying persons and the four of us entered free. But that was the minor blessing: the real one was being able to actually move and clear a path on the lower floors. Whilst fresh we decided to show Miss Betty the Mona Lisa as it had been many years since last she (Miss Betty) had seen her - the Mona Lisa (I mean maybe once they were on a personal basis, back before she got put under glass and cordoned off): what a trial – and not to be offensive or politically incorrect – the Asians pushed, shoved and tripped over the wheelchair without thought or pause in their “need” to see this famous painting. Luckily for us, a guardian saw what was happening and before we could say Jack Robinson, dashed over,

through the front rows and beckoned us beyond the cord barrier directly in front of the painting: I had goose bumps and not wishing to make a nuisance of myself, didn’t even take a picture – it was enough to have had the privilege of being so close. Bless the French guardians at the Louvre!

With then split paths (I and Miss Betty from her two daughters J and D), and I with the lovely excuse of Miss Betty, was allowed to wander in search of more quiet corners. After some trial and error – and yet another lovely guardian – we managed to find the elevator to the top floor and the lesser frequented, but just as mind boggling paintings.  We spent considerable time in one particular room with Ruben’s 24 paintings, commandeered by Marie de Medici in honour of her life: paintings which were commissioned to decorate the walls of one of her halls in the palace in which she lived – facing that of her husband Henri IV. They married first by proxy; she supplied the funds, he led the life, but she also more importantly supplied him with an heir – Louis XIII. Born in Florence, Italy, she reigned in France until her son was able to take over the throne; intrigues and exile followed; then a reconciliation; in the end she traveled to Cologne, Germany, staying in the house of Pierre-Paul Rubens where she passed away.

Still in love with reflections, this a window overlooking a hall of sculptures

In this part of the Louvre I was finally able to allow (graciously you understand to make up for the rather abrupt: “you will stay in the wheelchair” of the lower floor) Miss Betty to walk around using her cane or the back of the wheelchair, a by far more comfortable solution.  It was also there, sitting on the benches provided for viewing down the center of the room, that we saw her daughters. I could have said that the “devil made me do it” but I prefer the “Miss Betty made me do it” version: borrowing her cane, I went and poked them both from the rear (on their you-know-what’s). Such fun. We decided that since all parties had seen what they most wanted to see, that we would leave the crowded halls and ferocious crowds to their own and head for a highly-recommended spot for a bite of lunch: Angelina’s

Angelina's

Upper gallery at Angelina's

Miss Betty and daughter D

To bless, or to curse, C – that is the question: she’s the one who had us heading there. Lunch was a wonder of tastes ranging from a truffle omelet to an asparagus risotto via two different types of quiches.  In fact it was so filling that we had to take away our desserts for later.  A bit of a search for the taxi stand and it was crash at the hotel.
 

Asparagus risotto

Then needing (believe it or not!) sustenance yet again around 19:30 we tried another restaurant on the main boulevard just around the corner. An air-conditioned room, a live singer and a far corner were welcome after the heat of the day, but we stayed reasonable in our choices knowing that dessert was awaiting us in the garden in front of our room.

Restaurant Kleber on Avenue Kleber

And what a dessert it was: we had picked four different ones and after purchasing paper plates and begging 4 forks and a knife from the mini-mart next door we were able to share the delights.

Paris New-York, a pecan confection

Raspberry tart

Peach Melba with vanilla custard

St. Honoré

 C – you are currently being blessed!

Flower store along our route

Miss Betty, onion soup and decadent desserts in Paris

June 30 

Finished June the way I like to live: a whole six-month period without any twisted ankles or other medical challenges. However, it was also a wonderful day as I traveled to Paris to join friends: one of my sister’s childhood friends (who promptly became mine during the years of to-ing and fro-ing for my mother), one of her sisters and their 91-year-old mom (day after tomorrow) who promptly said: “call me Betty”. I couldn’t quite be that disrespectful, but then it popped into my head: she’s Miss Betty!

I ate too much for lunch: who knew that in first class one got lunch on the TGV just like in a plane? I had been starving and so had gotten a sandwich at the train station and had wolfed it down promptly at noon. An hour later lunch was served: that’s ok, just like whilst travelling by air, I never turn down sustenance, as one never knows when the next meal might not be!

Negotiated the metro from the train station to the hotel and felt quite competent (I don’t remember the last time I used a metro – felt quite grateful to be able to read and speak the language of the city as otherwise I might have gone in the opposite direction of where I needed and wanted to be).

Our lovely and very well situated hotel

They had just arrived so J and I proceeded to go out for coffee (my 16h00 rule holds no matter where I am or whom I am with!) and found a lovely tearoom – with goodies – just 100 meters from the hotel.

Also noted that there were 5 restaurants within a small perimeter for dinner later.

After the sister and Miss Betty had rested a bit we proceeded back out for dinner, finally picking the restaurant from where we could see the Arc de Triomphe (the terrace at the restaurant looking towards the Eiffel tower wasn’t quite far enough out so there would have been no view, talk about being picky when one can!).

Due to jet lag on their part and over-eating on mine, we all chose small mains as the dessert menu had an above-average selection. In the end our desserts were larger than the meal, which had preceded it: we all chose a different one and happily dipped spoons into each others sampling the delights of crème brûlée (custard with a carmel top, which is flamed to make it hard; île flottant (floating islands)- with a thought for my housemate as this is her favourite dessert; profiteroles and a chocolate moelleux (chocolate cupcake with a runny middle set in custard).

moelleux au chocolat

crème brûlé

profiteroles

île flottant

Needing a wee bit of exercise to let that all settle, we then proceeded to walk to the Arch of Triumph; one which truly was as just as we got there we noticed all the police cars and vans, the anti-riot squads, etc. No need to wonder why: the French had just won their soccer match and qualified for the quarterfinals!

Heading back towards the hotel, J and Miss Betty stopped whilst the sister and I continued in the other direction towards the Eiffel tower.

Eiffel Tower, Paris, France

My own personal luck held and within short we were on the bridge over the Seine facing it in the early evening sun.

Days don’t come much better, nor do desserts: Welcome to Paris Miss Betty.

Miss Betty and her onion soup!

Thanksgiving

Truly

Happy

And

Never

Knowing

Such

Gratefulness

Given

Interesting

Vitality

In (a)

Nice

Group

OK, so it doesn’t rhyme, and lacking any explanatory sentences probably doesn’t make much sense to most of my readers, so I will (as usual) elaborate.

Way back when the children were growing up, Thursday was the day that they were free from school (since changed to Wednesday), so celebrating Thanksgiving was facilitated, if not easy, as I could usually take the afternoon to cook up a storm. Nothing elaborate and – as often as not – more a grilled chicken than a turkey, still we did celebrate my roots.

The children left and trying to have a family meal in the middle of the week became almost impossible, so we would do it the weekend after and I would go through the day itself thinking of other Thanksgivings and family.

Time passed, my husband died, and a housemate moved in part-time.  We could usually managed to both be here and free for Thanksgiving so for several years it was a communal effort to put Thanksgiving on the table for mainly non-Americans, but all of whom had some tie or other to the tradition: English who had spent time in the USA, persons born there, but never having lived there, etc. Hard work and two in my small kitchen took some doing, but we were both very good at doing it together and have fond memories of those years too.

Then, a couple of restaurants on our side of the lake (several large hotel restaurants in town have always done one) started doing Thanksgiving dinners. One year it was myself, my housemate, her daughter, and another couple where the wife was American and the husband French at a restaurant in the last village before the French border where the couple had spent many years in New York: delicious, but table service.

The true break-through came when our local restaurant – Café des Marrronniers  ( http://cafedesmarronniers.ch ) changed owners. For the past three years we have attended their Thanksgiving dinner, which just keeps getting better and better. One is served either soup or salad at table to start, but the main meal is set up buffet style and includes all the “goodies” of a traditional Thanksgiving.

Each year we pick a couple of good friends to come celebrate with us – making a “family of choice” in lieu of the missing of our own.  Mixed nationalities (9 of us this year: 4 held USA passports of whom 2 are dual nationals; 1 English only, 1 Greek, 3 Swiss only) and mixed generations running the gamut from 18 through over 70; didn’t count the languages but amongst us we probably covered at least 7, if not more.

An evening of wonderful friendship, good conversation and excellent food, including pumpkin pie, apple pies, cookies and New York cheesecake – a blessing in the winter gray, the memories of which will warm our hearts for many years.

Thank you my friends for making the evening so pleasant!