When I tucked her in last night, I told Gigi that the next time she saw me, it would be my birthday. She informed me sadly, "We don't have anything planned for you." Well, it turns out she's much better at keeping secrets than she used to be (with my family on a trip in Colorado four years ago, Gigi told me: "We're going to have a surprise party for you, but I'm not going to say anything!"), because in fact I wake up to breakfast-in-bed and gifts from both Anthony and the girls. The breakfast itself is also much improved from breakfasts-in-bed past, since Anthony and our cousin Abby are both there to supervise.
All of us girls wander around the Marais for the morning, since Pippa and Gigi don't have school on Wednesday, and Abby's just arrived in Paris last night. We have what we are calling a food-porn morning, since we go tea-shopping (and sniffing), salivate at 105€/kg salmon in the windows, and finally break down and buy some rabbit and chicken en croûte (in pastry crust), pâté, vegetable terrine, cheese, and warm-from-the-oven bread at three lovely shops: a charcuterie, fromagerie, and boulangerie. It may very well be the world's best lunch, made better with a small glass of sancerre.
After an afternoon at gymnastics class and wandering around the 6th (and seeing where Abby lived long ago in Paris), we all go out to dinner at a restaurant that we've walked by probably hundreds of time but never noticed. Called Mon Vieil Ami, it is right here on Ile St. Louis, just doors down from our apartment. Abby's foodie friend recommended it, and since it is rainy, and late for a school night, and the girls are coming out with us, it seems like the perfect choice. It turns out to be even more perfect than anticipated, because it is a restaurant that highlights vegetables. If you've actually heard me rant about restaurants in France, you would know that my big beef (pardon the pun...) is that they are all meat-and-potatoes. Side dishes are generally my favorite part of any meal, and having lived in California for so many years where vegetables are really celebrated, this just completely bums me out each time we eat out here. So this restaurant is the perfect spot for me and is my new favorite restaurant in Paris: Each dish is described first by its vegetables, flavorings, and preparation and then, in smaller type, by the protein component, and is served in those same proportions. Pippa and I share a two-person carotte confit with currants and pork belly, which is univerally agreed to be the best dish at the table.
We are all dressed up, especially the girls who choose to wear a Christmas dress (Pippa) and a new Indian sari (Gigi), and we have a lovely French chardonnay (fruity, not oaky like California chardonnay's which I actually can't stand). When we get there at 7pm, we are the only customers in the restaurant, but eventaully it fills up at a more "normal" French hour (around 8:30). All in all, it is a fabulous meal, and a fantastic way to start a year.
And then, as if a great day, great company, and a great meal are not enough to make for a very joyeux anniversaire (happy birthday), I shamelessly ask for a take-out box for the leftovers of the carrots-and-pork belly. It is just too much for us to finish, along with the excessive desserts we have also ordered, but it is just too heartbreaking to throw it away. As an American, I firmly believe it is my birthright -- and indeed my environmental and moral responsibility -- to take home leftovers and not waste food. But the concept of doggie bags is extremely unusual and really rather gauche here in Paris. If there's one thing that's nice about growing older, however, it's that the opinion of my waiter matters less and less to me (and, in fact, he is actually very gracious about it), so one doggie bag coming up. I'm just happy they actually have a little box they can use, since my alternative is to run home and grab my own tupperware. Now that would be gauche. But I'd do it anyway.
All of us girls wander around the Marais for the morning, since Pippa and Gigi don't have school on Wednesday, and Abby's just arrived in Paris last night. We have what we are calling a food-porn morning, since we go tea-shopping (and sniffing), salivate at 105€/kg salmon in the windows, and finally break down and buy some rabbit and chicken en croûte (in pastry crust), pâté, vegetable terrine, cheese, and warm-from-the-oven bread at three lovely shops: a charcuterie, fromagerie, and boulangerie. It may very well be the world's best lunch, made better with a small glass of sancerre.
After an afternoon at gymnastics class and wandering around the 6th (and seeing where Abby lived long ago in Paris), we all go out to dinner at a restaurant that we've walked by probably hundreds of time but never noticed. Called Mon Vieil Ami, it is right here on Ile St. Louis, just doors down from our apartment. Abby's foodie friend recommended it, and since it is rainy, and late for a school night, and the girls are coming out with us, it seems like the perfect choice. It turns out to be even more perfect than anticipated, because it is a restaurant that highlights vegetables. If you've actually heard me rant about restaurants in France, you would know that my big beef (pardon the pun...) is that they are all meat-and-potatoes. Side dishes are generally my favorite part of any meal, and having lived in California for so many years where vegetables are really celebrated, this just completely bums me out each time we eat out here. So this restaurant is the perfect spot for me and is my new favorite restaurant in Paris: Each dish is described first by its vegetables, flavorings, and preparation and then, in smaller type, by the protein component, and is served in those same proportions. Pippa and I share a two-person carotte confit with currants and pork belly, which is univerally agreed to be the best dish at the table.
We are all dressed up, especially the girls who choose to wear a Christmas dress (Pippa) and a new Indian sari (Gigi), and we have a lovely French chardonnay (fruity, not oaky like California chardonnay's which I actually can't stand). When we get there at 7pm, we are the only customers in the restaurant, but eventaully it fills up at a more "normal" French hour (around 8:30). All in all, it is a fabulous meal, and a fantastic way to start a year.
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