Last of the 2014 Greetings

I realized I've been remiss about updating this blog. In the last month plus, I was working on completing my Year in Fromage and also getting the surgery to take out the breast cancer and put in the new replacement. Christmas preparations apparently took up the whatever small bit of my brainpower remained, and so I haven't updated here in a while.

Click here for a little glimpse at our year in review, because I still don't have the brainpower to write something at the moment. We're too busy purging old stuff to make room for the new stuff, enjoying the new Christmas toys and books, and meeting up with friends to take a break from our vacation with a cup of tea.

Happy Holidays, and may 2015 bring you health & happiness!
Love,
Kazz

In Case You Haven't Heard

I've been so open, I practically feel like I've advertised it on billboards, but in case you haven't heard, I have a little itty bitty case of not-to-panic breast cancer. You can get all the gory and not-so-gory details at A Year in Fromage -- and also see what cheese I've found to pair with it.

Getting Romantic in the City of Romance

I've been horrible -- horrible! -- about posting here, because it's been, well, quite a month. So I hope you've been keeping up over at A Year in Fromage. If not, here are two recent postings on love and romance (and dead fish) in Paris.

All you've ever wanted to know about the love locks popping up -- Whack-a-Mole-style - everywhere in Paris. And in the world.

And a wedding album like no other, mostly because it's a collection taken over the years from my local perspective. And also, because Anthony, the girls, and I just can't resist taking our own.

 

Super Ass Gyros

I'm just not sure: Would I rather have Oriental Pain, or a Super Ass Gyro?

 

 

Just after posting at A Year in Fromage about the signs in France that make me giggle I come across these gems. I've updated the posting over there, but if you've already read it, you can just enjoy these few new additions here. If not, click over and see what other beauties I've found.

And in case you're wondering, what's actually behind the strategically-placed sign in the café sign above is the letter "A".

Sharp Photo

As soon as I hear the bell ringing, I rush to the window to see what this guy is doing. At just a glance, I instinctively know he's an affûteur -- a knife sharpener.

My knives have been dull for a good half year, and just yesterday I finally stopped procrastinating and brought them in to the sharpener. So this morning, when I see him walking on the street below, I'm distressed that I don't have any knives to give him; then I realize we have one old, cheap, chopping knife that came with the apartment that barely cuts butter. So I run down with it (yes, running with knives) in my pajamas, with my camera. It's 5€ to sharpen a knife I don't use or care about, and it's worth every penny just to get the photos. Note that he's powering the wheel with his feet on wooden paddles.

 

I suspect some of these old professions won't be around much longer, so it feels good to get my knife sharpened in the streets while I still can. For more about these old professions dying out in France, check out the story at A Year in Fromage, which I write back in May; however, I've had to update it with this morning's encounter with the knife sharpener. The fact that I catch up with the knife sharpener -- by accident -- in just the right spot to photograph him with Notre Dame in the background just tickles me.

Letters from Camp

Here are some choice excerpts:

"Dear Kazz and Anthony. [Ed note: our children usually call us "Mom and Dad", not by our first names.] I had to right a letter to you! THEY MADE ME!!!!"

Pippa then proceeds to write about her time at camp and closes with:

"I do not miss you, but just pretend I do."

Fabulous.

Her next letter reiterates that point, verbatim, but closes with this:

"...but I do still love you very much!"

Well, thank goodness for small mercies.

Gigi's letter is not much better, frankly:

"Dear Mom and Dad, We are being forced to write to you, even though I don't have a stamp..."

You're imagining our children in an American summer camp: rustic cabins and lake-swimming. Think again. That may exist in France, but it's not where our girls are. They're at a 1000 year old medieval castle, riding ponies bareback (literally). To find out more, check out A Year in Fromage.

An Inconvenient Truth

This convenience store, called 8 to Eight, is open Monday through Saturday, 8am till 7pm, except for from 12:30 till 3:30, and not at all on Wednesday afternoons, or on Sundays. So not when you're generally not working, or hungry, at breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Very convenient indeed.



To see more about what I am failing to accomplish because nothing is open when I need it to be, check out A Year in Fromage.

Hula-la in Paris

Perhaps hula's not your thing. And perhaps you're even wondering why I'm talking about it on a blog from Paris. But that's just the way I roll. To find out more, check out Hula-la at A Year in Fromage. And a small bonus for you here, these are photos you won't find over there.

 

  

A Tragic, and Heroic, History

The 70th anniversary of the Rafle de Vel d'Hiv, arguably the single most shameful day/event in French history, has just come and gone. Even though it's a tragic affair, I stumble across the fact that one of my best friends here has an incredible family history that puts at least a glimmer of hope back into one's opinion of humanity, in general. To read all about it, check out A Year in Fromage.

 

 

Le Butter Chicken Bagel

Nothing says "authentic New York bagel" quite like an Indian restaurant called "Le Butter Chicken" serving bagels in Paris.

If you haven't read my story about the Brooklynization of Paris (alternate title: Bagels, and Donuts, and Hot Dogs, Oh My!) at A Year in Fromage, you can read it here.

Princess of the Theater

If you haven't yet, you can read all about Gigi's professional theater debut (and about the origins of some French theater traditions) at the gorgeous Théâtre du Châtelet, which is itself something of a star in Paris. In an update since publishing the story at A Year in Fromage, she tells me, "It's surprising how many actors in the cast are gay." I find this very, very funny. And not surprising at all. But then again, she's ten, and it's her first theater experience.

In other entertaining King & I news, here's a hysterical clip from the Matrix of her castmate, star of the show, Lambert Wilson. So f***'in French:

Banana and Bunny

I've written before about the kinds of things I see every day that, well, you probably don't (unless you, too, live by the pedestrian performance bridge in central Paris). I've been wanting to update it and publish it over at A Year in Fromage, but it's tough because every time I think I'm finished, I come across something else to add. Well, finally, I decided I've seen it all and posted it a few days ago, only to have this appear on the bridge today:

 

 

The beauty of a blog is that I can edit even after publishing, so I must admit that I've gone to my post and updated it. Click here for full story and accompanying cheese which, believe me, is a cheese you don't see, or taste, everyday (thank God), even if you live in central Paris.

My D-Day Hero

Why am I posting such an ugly picture of myself over at A Year in Fromage? It's a story that's well worth a little humble pie.

 

I've met a fair number of very (very) famous people in my time, and rarely have I been so star-struck, and never have I been so moved. It's the 70th anniversary of the Normandy Invasion:

 

 

For the full story, click here.

While They Party

This year's Mother's Day poem from Pippa:

 

You love orange.

I like blue.

You love black.

And I like to snack.

This is my mom

that I've known for long.

She took care of me

While I partied.

Besides the obvious issues with the rhyme sequence and how the poem scans (and don't even get me started on the spelling, which I corrected for you), is anybody else concerned that my 8 year old is out there partying?

I will say this, though: This year's French Mother's Day turns out to be the greatest ever. The picture below, taken this afternoon, gives you just a tiny hint why. But I'm saving that story for another day, because it's a doozy...

 

Carbo Loading

It's that magical time, the breadiest time of the year. For those of us that live by Notre Dame, at least. This year, not only does Pippa go as a field trip (and this means me too, as a chaperone), but the girls also get to make some bread once when we stop in to buy a baguette. Gigi gets private lessons from one of the most celebrated bread bakers in France (and, therefore, in the world, the man on her right). No, I don't know his name.

Here are a few photos from our latest visit, too late to make the story at A Year in Fromage.

 

 

 

Left to their own devices, this is what they choose to make. Gigi wants to make (and eat, entirely by herself) a classic baguette. It is so hot from the oven here that she can barely hold it, though you'll notice she somehow managed to eat one crouton (end of the bread) already. And Pippa makes the braided ring she's been dreaming of. She wasn't allowed to on the field trip, since they had to fit almost 30 loaves on a baking sheet. The ring turns out perfectly, and we dub it a baguegel (pronounced "ba-GAY-gul", a.k.a. a bagel made of baguette dough). I think it's beautiful and, with a little refinement, it could become a hot new trend.

  

There's a dairy booth open today that has this poster. You know what I'm thinking...Three Years in Fromage? A Life in Fromage?

 

The Eurovision Factor

Drumroll please...It's time for the 59th annual Eurovision contest: the Europe-wide hunt for the best, newest, freshest, and undoubtedly cheesiest new song and performer from each country. We have Eurovision to thank (or blame) for ABBA (1974, Sweden, "Waterloo") and Céline Dion (1988, for the song "Ne Partez Pas Sans Moi", representing Switzerland despite being Canadian. I call shenanigans). It's like the Oscars, the X Factor, the Olympics, and the Miss America pageant all rolled together, with more fog machines and floor lighting and almost no commercial breaks (God, I love Europe sometimes!).

 

 

If you're feeling at all fabulous, festive, morbidly curious, or feel the need to see identical twins, dairy maidens, teeter totters, ice skating, Matlese country singers, and/or transvestites. you really need to see the videos and read the scoop at A Year in Fromage.

 

May Day!

It's May 1st, May Day, and that can only mean two things: 1) lilies of the valley, and 2) nearly everything is closed. OK, I exaggerate. A couple stores are actually open and do not have a sign in the door saying "specially closed on May 1st", but seemingly 99% of Paris is off-school, off-work, and off-duty -- except the people selling lilies of the valley on the streets.



If you want to know about one of the stinkiest cheeses known to mankind, or learn more about this holiday, and help me create the inevitable holiday to celebrate the official 35-hour work week here in France; or the 4-day school week; or the 6-weeks-on/ 2-weeks-off school schedule, check out A Year in Fromage.

Puppet Regime

Is Obama a puppet? According to the French Guignols de l'Info -- News Puppets -- he sure is. It's funny stuff, and the French have been skewering us, themselves, and just about everybody else in the world for twenty years in this way. See more at A Year in Fromage.

No-Names

There's a French comedy movie called Le Prénom that takes place entirely in a living room, after one of the brothers says that he's naming his new baby "Adolf". There are some names you won't hear in France -- read about it at A Year in Fromage.

About Time

Long ago, you've heard me complain about the wonky clock on my cell phone (it turns out I was the one who was wonky, and just didn't know how to set it). But now that I know about a little historical tidbit called French Revolution Time, my wonky clock seems like child's play. Go ahead, just try to wrap your mind around all this clock conversion math at A Year in Fromage.

photo from: http://io9.com/5886129/the-short-strange-history-of-decimal-time

Pastry P*rn

In case you're in the mood to look at pastry p*rn, you can check out A Year in Fromage, where viennoiserie waits for you. I hope you like your pastries flaky, because it's a really crummy posting.

Let's Clear the Air

They say there's something magic in the air in Paris. Well, if so, it's black magic at the moment.
Have you heard that there's an air pollution alert in Paris? I think it hit world news, but if you were here, you would not even need to read the news to know it. Frankly, it's the first time in three years of living here that I've seen the air around me -- actually, physically seen it.

 

While the worst of it seems to be over, we've had a couple relapses even since I posted this over at A Year in Fromage, where you can read and see (or not see -- it's pretty hazy) more about it.

Four Bulletins & A Snafu

Bulletin #1 -- a language one:

I know we've been living in France for a while now because the girls are speaking strange franglais.  Their latest: Pippa talks about all the science experiences she's doing in school. At which point Gigi yells, "experiments! Experiments!" At which point I point out that Gigi recently says that if she doesn't get a good grade for something she'd worked really hard on, it will be "a big deception." At which point I correct "disappointment! Disappointment!"

Also, Gigi talks about the book Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Uzbekistan. Perhaps she's not hearing quite enough English.

Bulletin #2 --  a gym one:

I realize it looks like I'm being one of those bragging parents who keeps pointing out my children's accomplishments, but I swear it's because I myself am amazed. They're doing stuff in gymnastics that I was never able to do, and learning and progressing so quickly it's crazy. So just know that this honestly is not coming from a place of vanity. It's coming from a place of pure jealousy, frankly. I so wish I could have done this when I was their age! And I harbor no illusions about them being Olympians or even serious competitors in the States. The level here is lower, and mostly recreational, and they're not fanatical about pointing toes and straightening legs. But still, I'm impressed.

Bulletin #3 -- a yummy one:

Near the Bourse, on and around rue Saint-Anne, I have finally found the Japantown part of Paris. I feel like the food here is better and more authentic-tasting, relatively speaking, than Parisian Chinese food. Having lived in both Japan (for many years) and Taiwan, I feel like I can say this with some authority. It fills a craving in a huge way for ramen and gyoza, and it's delicious, but it's still not as good as actually eating Japanese food in Tokyo. Naturally.

 

 

Bulletin #4 -- a bureaucratic one:

It turns out my latest carte de séjour had the wrong expiration date on it -- months earlier than it should be. Luckily, I look at my card a week or so before that date, and I manage to get my paperwork in just in the nick of time. Of course, that means I don't have a valid card for several months until the bureaucratic wheels (powered by Flintstone woodpeckers) have approved my legal status and manufactured and delivered my new card. That's OK: I don't carry it with me, ever since the multiple pickpocketing incidents, and I've never been asked to provide it, anyway.

And the snafu -- or is it?:

We still don't know where we'll be next school year, but we do know the girls will not be back at their school in San Francisco: The school didn't have any vacancies for them! By staying away more than two years, we lost our automatic, guaranteed spots, and the school had record-low attrition. With no available spots to give, we can't be insulted at all, got a really nice personalized note, and still love the school. We are not devastated. Those of you who know me know that a) I have been gunning to stay longer in Paris anyway and b) I generally find that life works out wonderfully -- and often in the most unusual ways. In fact, the more unusual, the better, in my mind. In case you're wondering, they do still have their spots guaranteed here at their Paris schools (which they love), and the girls are both excited about the idea of staying longer, too. So we're gearing up for the very real possibility (though as Anthony will tell you -- not the inevitability) that we might stay yet another year....Stay tuned.

 

Got Me Pegged

My friends and family have me pegged. Besides lots of electronic messages with birthday wishes, I received three physical cards in the mail. One of them:

For the other two cards, both my sister and one of my best friends picked out the same one:

 

Inside the card, the punch line reads, "Oh yeah...like if you had magic shoes, you'd go to Kansas."

 

Gold Mountain - New Meaning

Gold Mountain used to mean San Francisco to me. Now it means this delicious dinner. One of the nice things about doing A Year in Fromage is that once it comes up in conversation, nearly all of my French friends have something they are excited to share. My friend Claire, another gymnastics mom, assures me that I cannot write about cheese and become any sort of cheese expert without having a full Mont d'Or dinner. Who am I to argue?

 

She graciously invites me to her home in the Marais and serves not just the typical Mont d'Or winter dinner, but also a wine from her godparent's vineyard -- an AOC wine of the Jura called Arbois Cuvée Béthanie -- that is specially chosen to go with the cheesy meal. And this meal is cheesy, make no mistake, but not in the sense of tacky or gauche. It's an absolutely lovely tradition involving a melted, oozy, gooey winter cheese. To find out more, see A Year in Fromage.

My Little Cabbage

If you ever need some terms of endearment with a French twist to call your honey, lovebug, or sweetie-pie....

I don't want to give you the same old list, including many I don't hear in use. So, click here to see the ones I actually hear on a day-to-day basis, especially from parents talking to their children. Let's face it, I'm at school drop-off/pick-up where people greet their kids far more than I'm at some seductively-lit hip restaurant/bar overhearing lovers murmuring sweet nothings.

 

What's Your Arrondissement?

As every Parisian adult knows, and every Parisian school-child learns, the arrondissements in Paris are shaped like a snail, with arrondissements 1-5 forming the heart of the city. Sure, I recently used this same map for a different posting. But I'm finding it's coming in handy yet again...



When we were planning our move to Paris, we had thought of living in the 6th or 7th, where the schools are known to be good, till one of our good friends, a Frenchman who had lived in Paris himself, quietly appraised me and said, "You're not a 6th or 7th sort of person." They're lovely places to live, and it seems like most expats choose these neighborhoods over all others. But he was 100% right; I'm just not 6th or 7th enough.

Every breakdown and guide to Paris' arrondissements I've seen focuses on the tourist sites in each area. But if you live here, what does your arrondissement say about you? The answer's here at A Year in Fromage.


 

Bubble Trouble

In case you were wondering, Bubble Tea -- those sweet Chinese tapioca drinks -- are taking over Paris, too. Well, anyplace there's Chinese food nearby and in many tourist spots where there's likely to be Chinese tourists. The girls love their Bubble Tea, as you can tell at the New Year's Parade in Paris' Chinatown. It was their favorite part of the event. In fact, they look like an ad for Bubble Tea. "Bubble Tea! It's Bubblicious!"

 

It's a packed crowd, but the girls are small enough to squeeze in at the front. I give Gigi the camera, and see whether she's inherited the Kodak gene. Turns out, she has! Here are some parts of the Chinese New Year's Parade that are colorful, and interesting. But not as great as Bubble Tea:

 

 

 

 

 

Gong Hey Fat Choy! Happy New Year! And may it be filled with bubbles.