snowing

Welllll, it's snowing here in Paris.

I'm sort of torn as to how I feel about this. 

On one hand, I think snow is awfully pretty, when you're watching it from inside someplace warm.

On the other hand, I'm not such a big fan of the low temperatures necessary for the production of snow. 

Also, to my extreme displeasure, I discovered yesterday that I had worn holes through my black winter boots, featured in the above photo. I was wondering why my feet were feeling especially chilled and upon inspection, found that I had embarrassingly large holes in the soles of both shoes. Swell. 

The cold makes me crabby.

But it's Thursday evening and I decided to treat myself to a splash of red wine and a rocher noir from the Atelier du Chocolat down the street in anticipation of the swiftly approaching weekend, so the the complaining stops here.

small pleasures

Right now, my job is pretty much all-consuming, so when I make it home at the end of the day, I generally just toss some food in my mouth and then go to sleep.   

Please, don't be intimidated by the glamour of my lifetyle.

Anyway, my schedule will be pretty packed with work until Christmas, but until then, I'm trying to soldier through and enjoy small pleasures. Like hot bread from the bakery or cashmere socks to sleep in when the weather drops below zero. Or the occasional good movie.

Babette's Feast 1987

Last night I watched the Danish film "Babette's Feast" for the first time. The basic premise is that a Frenchwoman named Babette flees to a remote village in Denmark during the days of the Paris commune. She works as a servant for two elderly spinsters who hold church services for a bunch of querulous old Danes. One day, Babette discovers she's won the lottery and decides to spend her winnings preparing a real French dinner for her employers and their small congregation. The food is stunning- with things like blinis Demidorf, turtle soup, and cailles en sarcophages (which, in case you were wondering, are quails boned and then stuffed with foie gras and slivers of black truffle and served in a puff pastry "sarcophagus" with a truffle sauce. My eyes almost fell out of my head.)

It's a wonderful movie that speaks to the power of food, as an art and also as a means of bringing people together. 

Does that sound corny? Well, I don't care. 

As I said, focusing on the small pleasures

il fait un froid de canard!

Since the temperature in my apartment is basically the same as the temperature outdoors, after huddling over my space heater for an hour or so after lunch, I gave up on ever feeling warm again and decided I might as well go on a walk. Absorb some of the Christmas spirit and what not.

But first I put on a hat.

I was given this hat at work about a year ago. Don't ask me why, I haven't the faintest idea- but for some reason, chapkas were distributed to all the employees in my office. It's made of fur, which I suppose is obvious, and large enough for a man. Yes, it's ridiculous, but it's also so warm.

Anyway, thusly attired, I headed out.

Now that Christmas is less than a month away, most of the large department have Christmas window displays up in full force. I made a first attempt to take a look on Saturday, on my walk home from the Parc Monceau, but when I arrived at Printemps, I was very nearly crushed by the teeming mass of shoppers/spectators.

Can you see the display?
Neither could I.

But I did start to see lots of little pine trees for sale.

At dusk, I took the metro to Concorde and then walked up to see the Marche de Noel and the lights on the Champs Elysees. The view across the Place de la Concorde was lovely, but it was so crowded on the Champs Elysees, with all of the little stands selling mulled wine and knick-knacks that I only stayed a short while. 

But I do love Christmastime- I can't believe it's nearly December....

musee nissim de camondo

Today started off rather slowly. Not at all a bad thing on a Saturday morning.

I lazed around my apartment for a while, making coffee and reading P.G. Wodehouse, then talking to Daniel and his friend Atticus on the phone (they were up at 1am drinking Sparxx and making frozen pizza in Atticus's oven, which also apparently functions as the heating system for his apartment at Stanford. There was some debate as to whether that showed a European sensibility or was just, you know, ghetto.)

Afterwards, since we had the first snow of the season yesterday and the weather has become quite brisk, I set off to see if I could get an old fur coat I bought a few months ago at the Salon du Vintage fixed- there's a small tear in the sleeve, which I suppose is part of the bargain when you buy vintage things. Wearing fur fits into the category of Things-that-are-generally-frowned-upon-in-the-United-States-but-are-A-OK-in-France, like cigarettes or butterfat. So I decided that it would be acceptable to buy one while I was living here, especially since I mostly just wear it inside my icebox of an apartment.

Anyway, I lugged the damned thing down the street while a man followed me making meowing noises (...did he think the coat was made of dead cats ? shudder. Or was he taking cat-calling literally?) and then found out that a drycleaner can't fix such a thing and I'll have to take it to a fur-specific tailor, one with "special needles." Oh.

So I dumped the coat at my apartment and started over. I decided to go visit the Musee Nissim de Camondo up by the Parc Monceau in the 8th.

I'd never heard of this museum until last week, when a friend drew my attention to an article in the NY Times on artwork stolen during WWII. The author of the article made mention of the Musee Nissim de Camondo as being among the loveliest museums in Paris, so I felt I had to go and take a look.

This hotel particulier was built in 1911 by comte Moise de Camondo, the scion of a Jewish banking family of Turkish origin. In 1935, Moise bequeathed the house and the entire collection of 18th century furniture and art within to the French State in honor of his son Nissim de Camondo who was killed in combat in WWI.

The residence has been restored and is now open to the public. 

It really is something to see. It made me think of Proust, because doesn't this seem like exactly the setting for the sort of of world he describes in his novel? The Aubusson tapestries and Savonnerie rugs, the silver originally commissioned by Catherine II of Russia. There is an entire gallery devoted to the Sevres china that was used in the household. It's fairly epic.

The article in the paper also mentioned a book by Lynn Nichols called The Rape of Europa that provides a history of art plundered by the nazis during WWII. I bought the book and would absolutely recommend it to anyone at all interested in European art history. There's also apparently a documentary film based on the novel, but I haven't seen it yet. 

Anyway, quite fascinating. And now I'm really looking forward to reading this, another book along a somewhat similar vein that my friend Lena pointed out to me... perfect reading for the long cold days ahead.

thanksgiving in paris

Thanksgiving is, I think, my favorite holiday.

Though I have to admit, it doesn't feel very Thanksgiving-y here in Paris.

Well, obviously.

Instead of a four-day weekend, I just have a regular week of work. And a big presentation on Friday. So I will have to settle for cranberry yogurt for breakfast (that's a standard yogurt flavor here, oddly enough) and calling my family in California. Violins, please.

My mother will make last-minute trips to the grocery store and try to keep the dogs out from under foot. My aunt Roseanne will roll up her sleeves and make pie after pie while my uncle Robert prepares the birds and various elaborate side dishes. My fifteen year-old cousin Pierson will act as sous-chef. My brother will sleep in until noon and my dad will play golf.
In the evening, the adults will drink Manhattans before dinner.

And I will wish I was there!

Oh and if you're wondering, the picture above was taken in front of a Cajun restaurant/American grocery store in the Marais that's actually called "Thanksgiving." Though I have never been in (I somehow manage to live without Jiffy peanut butter or Stay Puft marshmallows here in France) I kind of love that it's named that.

Thanksgiving
20 rue St. Paul
75004 Paris

thinking of summer

As the weather becomes more rotten by the day, I find myself daydreaming of summer more and more often. 

I took this picture back in late August, when I took the train out to Chartres for the day. The weather couldn't possibly have been more perfect and all of the flowers were in bloom. 

The cathedral looked so brilliant against the sky. I took off my shoes and sat in the square facing the church and lifted my face to the sun.

I miss that day now.

But it's nice to have it stored up in my memory to think of as I layer on sweater after sweater and stuff my stockinged feet into boots.

diptyque

I went into Diptyque on the rue des Francs Bourgeois yesterday and wanted to buy everything in the store. I'm not a huge candle person and I don't like anything that smells too sweet or too fruity, but Diptique candles are just so lovely. Not only do I love the way they smell, but I love their labels. Sleek, unfussy.

When you go into the store, the staff encourages you to turn the candles over and tip them out of the glass holder so that you can smell the base of the candle, where the scent is the most condensed. It makes a big difference to do this, since the smell of a new, unlit candle can be rather faint and if you're going to spend 40€ on a single bougie, you probably want to make sure you really like the frangrance.

 Some of my favorites were Figuier and Sapin, which I think would both be perfect in a living room as a small, elegant touch.

Already thinking of who these might make good Christmas presents for just so I can have the fun of going back into the shop...