AU REVOIR PARIS!

Right off the bat, let me apologize for any misspelling and bad grammar.  I woke up a little early to post this before leaving, and time is slipping away.  My taxi to the airport will be here any time now.  This is a bittersweet departure.  Paris is magical, but I love my home, family, and friends.  The experience was that of a lifetime.  I've learned so much about French cuisine and cooking, about Paris, about the French, and of course, about myself.  When I reflect upon the past month my memories aren't all perfect, but they're certainly all meaningful.

I've met so many friendly folks; classmates, instructors, chefs, storekeepers, restaurant owners, and others.  Last evening I was invited to dinner at the lovely home of my friends, Pierre and Veronique.  The food was terrific and the company, even better.  As I've said before, it would be hard to meet nicer, more hospitable people than Pierre and Veronique.  Florence, Veronique's sister was in attendance as I had hoped.  She is completely engaging and has lead such an interesting life, having lived all over the globe.  I love talking with her.  New to me were Nicole, a beautiful, easy going Michigan native, who married a darling young Frenchman named Giles (I'm sure that I spelled that wrong).  Having graduated from FIT in New York, she now designs chic handbags.   Nicole's marriage to Giles landed her in Paris for the past seven years, and with two young daughters settled in, this city is home.  What a fun couple!  Veronique served a delicious shrimp appetizer followed by perfectly prepared lamb chops, ratatouille, and cous cous.  I've learned to love the "cheese course" which is customary in France.  For whatever reason, cheese just tastes better here.  Dessert was "meringues" and assorted chocolates.  No lack of scrumptious food and certainly, plenty of laughter!

After saying my goodbyes, I headed home and this was the stunning view from the taxi.  It only made me feel more grateful for this opportunity.  Paris, I'll be back.

As this is the last post before I depart, I'd just like to say "thanks" to my followers, readers and all those who cheered me on in my adventure.  Having your support gave me the connection to home that I needed to pursue this dream.  See you in the U.S.

Cemetiere du Pere Lachaise

Since the end of my trip is drawing near, I wondered what remained on my "to do" list.   Having cooked quite a bit over the past two weeks, I decided to give the pursuit of French cuisine a rest.  I've never visited the Cemetery du Pere Lachaise so that was today's focus.  As Paris's most prestigious cemetery, it is the final resting place for more than a few celebrities.  Perched on a wooded hill above the city, it's actually quite a relaxing spot.  The funerary sculptures are striking to say the least.

I had a map (not a great one) designating the locations of celebrity grave sites.  The first one was pointed out to me by a elderly French gentleman who could obviously tell that I was going nowhere fast.  Below is the grave of Theodore Gericault, a French romantic painter.  The Raft of the Medusa (1819) is depicted on the front of his tomb.  This painting is on display at the Louvre.

Next came my search for the resting place of Jim Morrison, lead singer of the Doors.  He died mysteriously in Paris in 1971.  I had a difficult time finding it.  Lot's of folks asked me for directions.  Little did they know that they were flirting with disaster.  I have little sense of direction.  There are no directional markers for specific grave sites, but if you see a crowd, be certain that it's the resting place of someone famous.

Third on the list was Oscar Wilde, famous Irish playwright, poet and author.  He lived a turbulent life and died in Paris at the age of forty-six.  Jacob Epstein sculpted his monument which is, sadly, covered with graffiti.  To add insult to injury, a significant part of his anatomy has been removed.  Sick!

Today's weather was gorgeous, so I took the time to wander along the cobblestone streets and read some of the epitaths.  There are more than a few memorials to those who were a part of the "French resistance".  So much history in this cemetery.

Edith Piaf is considered to be the most famous French singer of popular music.  She died of liver cancer in 1963.   Piaf lived what was to some an "unacceptable" lifestyle, and therefore was denied a funeral mass by the Roman Catholic Church.  Nevertheless, tens of thousands of mourners showed up at her procession.

Four o'clock was closing in, and I hadn't eaten lunch.  The little falafel place in the Marais was calling my name. (L'as du Falafel)  I made my way there, and at only five euros, it was so worth the trip.! 

MICK JAGGER WAS RIGHT!

According to me, "It’s not good to peak too early". . . .and  Mick said, "You can't always get what you want.".  Yesterday was a peak, and today, well it was the other.  On the advice of Jonathan, my American friend from yesterday, I asked Frank, the head saucier, if I could work for him today.  He shrugged. (His back to you in the pic, but a good look at the kitchen)  I decided to hang in there, because that particular chef position is vital to any kitchen’s success, particularly a French kitchen. As he was making a huge pot of chicken stock, he said to me, “chicken, water, and garnish, NO CHICKEN JUICE!!!” Gotcha, I don’t cook with chicken juice either, but I do make stock. I smiled that smile of respect and didn’t speak. So it was peel and prep, prep and peel.  A young chef named Arthur worked with me, and although we had quite the language barrier, he was friendly and we got by.  Like Chef Adeline, he started at the age of 14.   Now, at the ripe old age of 18, he’s on his way in the world of French cuisine.  Arthur asked me about my chef experience and the first info out of my mouth was that I had been the chef in an “Italian” bistro.  I kid you not, he obviously felt sorry for me.  "Poor Sherry, she didn't work in a real restaurant." Young Arthur proceeded to tell me that the “French way” is the best way.  I didn’t go there.  As far as technique goes, he’s right, but personally, I like a lot of different cuisines.

Noticing the chefs at the next station peeling something that I had never seen, I inquired (in French), “What's that called in English?” Frank told me “I don’t speak English!”  I knew better.  I asked again, “Is it a turnip?”  Chef Frank just kept saying “salsify, salsify . . . it’s salsify!”  I’m not sure what that was about, but it’s okay.  Yesterday was the exception, today was the rule. The kitchen is generally a tough place. By the way, I would estimate the ratio of men to women in the Ritz kitchen at about 20-1.  Particularly in France, it’s a very chauvinistic biz.  Again, no problem, I’m making my own niche.  However, I must say, in defense of certain chefs, that I was a cast member for a culinary tv pilot where I worked for David Bull at the Driscoll Hotel, and I also interned for Robert Rhoades at Hudson’s on-the-Bend. Both of these highly trained, successful chefs are not only exceptionally talented, they were patient teachers and complete gentlemen.  I’ve met  only a few established female chefs, and the most unpleasant chefs I know ARE WOMEN.

Back to the food. According to a chef who heard all of that going on in the Ritz kitchen, salsify is often referred to as “the forgotten vegetable”. It looks like a long thin purple carrot, and then white when it's peeled.  I’m going to search for some in the U.S. and come up with a recipe.

Olivier, a nice (also very young) chef that I met yesterday, was slicing some huge cepes (porcini mushrooms) on a mandolin and placing them on a silpat baking sheet. (He reminded me of the main character in the movie "Ratatouille".)   When I asked him about the preparation, he was more than happy to explain.  He told me to use butter and “white eggs”.  He meant egg whites. In the French language, words don’t necessarily string together in the same order as they do in English.  I’m sure that I sound absolutely ridiculous when speaking my completely sad French, and the words are surely out of order.

I simply had to include a picture of the altogether charming server that gave me the "Hook 'em" sign.  Didn't see him today, but I think his name is Nicholas.

I stopped at “food heaven", picked up some bread and got a fix for my “sushi habit”. Time to start packing. Paris has been AMAZING, but I’m ready to go. I’m a Texan at heart, and a Pittsburgher in my soul.


Friday evening is dinner at Pierre and Veronique’s home. I am looking forward to it!

By the way, I just turned on the TV, and there’s a well-known French chef doing something that they told me NEVER to do in the Masters Program. Just goes to show that there’s usually more than one way!

LOVE WORKING AT THE RITZ!

Today made me remember why I love the "rock and roll" of the kitchen.  What a great day.  When I arrived at the Ritz I couldn't find any of the chefs that I knew, but a kind gentleman from Ghana who works for Ecole Escoffier took me downstairs to get my uniform (I knew where it was, but he had to vouch for me.) and then introduced me to Sophia.  Sophia is a powerful yet completely affable young woman who is the right hand of the Executive Chefs.  Now that's a place I'd like to be; all the pressure, none of the blood and guts.  I got the "cook's tour".  Okay, cut me a break.  I couldn't help myself with that one. 

The Ritz is like a little underground city.  There's not much that doesn't go on down there.  I've already seen the laundry and dry cleaning facility.  That happened last week when the laundry said that they were closed, and I told them that I didn't care.  I needed a uniform!  In the end, it worked out just fine. Walking into the main kitchen, I felt like I was in a church, my church.  This is the pinacle of the culinary world as far as I'm concerned.  (Yes, I know that now I have to go to confession for saying that.)  In the Ritz, when it comes to food, there is a boulangerie, a pattiserie, many kitchens divided up into garde manger, the "gastronomic" restaurant, the bar, room service, and more.  Fish is separated from meat, and sauces have their own little world.  They have an area devoted to the making of chocolate; lot's of tempered chocolate.  As they're already preparing for the Christmas season, I saw dark chocolate bears and really, I can't remember what else. There was so much!  But what I remember from that particular room is, THE SMELL; chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate.  YES!

I was assigned to "Petit Garde Manger".  That was the perfect place for me, right up my alley, suits my interests.   This was where God really smiled on me.  The first person I met when I walked in the door was Jonathan, an incredibly nice 29 year old American from Florida.  After fleeing the financial world, he just finished culinary school in Paris and is interning at the Ritz.  Talk about a "guardian angel".  Wow!  He was it.  This is not to say that I needed it as much as I expected.  I wasn't surprised, I was shocked at how friendly and respectful ALL of the chefs were in the Ritz kitchen.  Two of the three Executive Chefs (all on duly) came by, said hello, and welcomed me.

Soon, a server named . . .  came by and introduced himself.   I met a lot of charming Frenchmen today.  I can't exactly remember his name, and I don't want to get it wrong.  Anyway, when he discovered that I was from Austin he gave me the "hook 'em"  sign.  Yeah, you heard me.  HOOK 'EM!  Apparently this guy's best friend is a hairdresser in Austin.  (He shall remain nameless.)  All I know is that two weeks before I was chairing the "Nutcracker Gala" he cut my hair into a "mullet".  Immediately after that I had it cut short, real short.  I had no choice!  Don't ask Carmelo.  I think that my dress cost more because my hair was so bad.  Anyway, hair aside, this Ritz waiter was COOL!  I hope to have his pic on my blog this week.  By the way, he handed me a list of U.S. football scores for the weekend.  Apparently, he's a "Cheesehead".

After I picked my jaw up from the floor, I got to work.  Okay, so there was Jonathan, and then there was Damien.  Damien is a handsome twenty-five year old Frenchman that treated me the way I would expect my son (Graydon) to treat anyone.  He thoroughly answered any question that I posed, and just had an all around pleasant demeanor.  I watched him.  He was a "machine" during lunch service.  Enter Eric.  Eric runs the daytime show in Petit Garde Manger.  Right off the bat, he taught me things.  He has an incredible way of showing you step by step the right way without ever being condescending.  After showing me the proper and speedy way to shell huge langoustines, later in the day we did a big batch together.  He was faster than me, but saw that I caught on.  Apparently, Eric is coming to Austin to stay with my family and learn the "Texas" way. Yikes!

We made a few dishes, in particular, that I remember.  Eric was determined to show me exactly what went into each one.  First of all, the amuse bouche. There were three complete components to this dish.  I'll give describing it a shot.  We cut redfish into small 1/2 by 1 1/2 inch pieces.  I dusted them with curry powder and put them under the salamander to brown.  The fish was put on top of this chutney sort of stuff.  (I have to ask Johathan again what the heck they call it.  No one knows if it's Spanish, French, what?)  It was garnished with one sprig of chives. The second part was a fried fois gras ball on a little pedestal (I know that salt and seaweed were involved.)  On top of that fois gras was a little hat made from beet juice, gelatin, and agar agar.  Finally, there was a pumpkin orange, ginger soup with a tiny quenelle floating on top.  I'm not beginning to give you the full picture of this dish, but sorry, service was busy!  Couldn't take a photo, and I'm not really giving you all of the ingredients.

Petit Garde Manger is responsible for amuse bouche and appetizers for the fine dining restaurant.  Here are a couple of the appetizers.  One is a terrine surrounded by the most delicious calamari ever (that's from me, not what it says on the menu).  Another was gorgeous mixed vegetables surrounding one dynamite lobster tail.  Do I have to tell you that's not the description on the Ritz menu either?  Just my take word for it, amazing!

Of the many things that made a lasting impression, the attention to detail is the strongest of them all.  Working there makes you feel more like a surgeon than a chef.  The tiniest of movements the wrong way when plating can cause disaster.  I'm humbled and honored to be working there, not to mention learning a hell of a lot.

I was apprensive about how the Ritz kitchen would be.  All my fears were put to rest.  I worked hard, smiled a lot, took criticism and praise, laughed with the chefs in my section, and thanked God for this opportunity.  If this wasn't on my bucket list, it sure should have been. 

MY LAST WEEK IN PARIS

Today I was supposed to work at the Ritz.  Long story, but that's not happening until tomorrow.

Although Cora (friend from French school) wanted to have dinner in the restaurant at the Baccarat Museum last Saturday evening, I just wasn't up for a "fussy" dinner.  My stomach couldn't take anymore rich French food, plus those kind of restaurants are so expensive.  Chloe, another friend from school, and I connected and decided that a casual meal would be just what we needed.  We talked about going to a little bistro on my street, but her friend owns a restaurant in the heart of St. Germain des Pres, and she was sure that I'd like it.  After a glass of chamgagne at my apartment, we headed to Les Cinoches.  As is indicated by the name, the restaurant space was formerly a cinema.  The owner used to see movies there when he was a boy.  Contemporary, but in no way cold, Les Cinoches is comfortable, and the huge windows provide some great people watching opportunities. 

Chloe was right.  I did like it.  No, I LOVED IT!   The cuisine was just as it should be; fresh ingredients, straight forward, sophisticated, but not overworked.  The portions were generous, so I'm glad that we just ordered a main course.  We each had the beef filet served with as far as I could tell, a veal and red wine reduction, and another sauce that I think was a sort of a parsley pesto. Tourned potatoes in a cream sauce were on the side.  The dish was both perfectly cooked and seasoned.  I would definitely go back.  Maybe Pierre and Veronique haven't been there.  It would be a kick to recommend a Paris restaurant to them!  The address is One rue de Conde, Paris 75006, telephone: +33 (0) 1 43 54 18 21.

Sunday brought absolutely gorgeous weather.  I just took off walking with no particular plan and ended up on Ile de la Cite (once again).  It was hopping.  I went to see my favorite souvenir merchant Tajal.  As I picked up those few last minutes gifts, the owner of the shop came by to give me a few things.  That's not a good sign.  Apparently, I'm one of their best customers.

There's a quaint little bistro just a block from my apartment called La Horloge (the clock).  Considering the lovely weather, I decided to dine outside.  Like all Paris bistros, they have heaters above the outdoor tables.  Sometimes, they're just too hot . . .like today, for example.  I don't know if bistros always had those heaters, but earlier this year smoking in Paris restaurants and bars was outlawed.  That's a big deal here.  Paris has A LOT OF SMOKERS, and now those outdoor tables are their only refuge.   I ordered the grilled salmon.  Liked it, didn't love it.  It wasn't as good as something I throw together on a weeknight at home.  Still, great atmosphere.

I ran to Le Grande Epicerie Paris for a few groceries, and on my way home I spied this little guy in the doorway of a shop.  I must be missing my Lulu.  He looked a lot like her.  Folks in Paris have cute dogs.

This is were I've been living while in Paris.  It's a great apartment, perfect for one.  Everything's convenient and people are friendly.  Thanks CMG.  This was a great find!

A HECTIC TWO DAYS

As I said in my last post , this has been a busy week.  It's Saturday, but I need to back up to Thursday evening.  Chef Adeline had the early morning shift at the Ritz, so Chef David was our instructor.  He too is an incredibly accomplished chef.  As opposed to Adeline's serious nature, however, he tap danced and sang a little during our session.  There were a couple of things that Adeline told us to do and not to do, where David said just the opposite.  This only reinforces my original thinking that when it comes to cooking, there's usually more than one way. 

For our first dish we prepared Free-range Veal Sweetbreads with Artichokes and Asparagus.  In case you haven't eaten sweetbreads, it is the thymus gland of a calf (located in the neck).  Chef David wanted us to use two different preparations for this dish and compare them.  We braised two sweetbreads, and pan sauteed third.  I'll get right to the point here.  The French love this dish, and I don't.  I would never order them in a restaurant and hope that no one ever prepares the dish for a dinner party where I am the guest.   When the braising was finished, David handed each of us a spoon containing a HUGE bite.  We are expected to at least taste everything.  I took the smallest bite imaginable, and when he wasn't looking, tossed the rest in the trash.  The valuable thing about learning any of these preparations is the technique.  Braising is a technique that I have used often, particularly with Osso Bucco.  There are only subtle differences among chefs on the braising subject, but every point of view is helpful.

Next came Bresse Chicken Breast, Champagne Risotto with Asparagus Tips, and Mushroom Fricasse.  I told you in an earlier post that Bresse chickens are from southwest France.  That was incorrect.  They are raised in the Rhone-Alpes region.  These chickens have a particularly delicious flavor.  As I looked down at my mise en place tray, once again, I was startled.  This guy still had his head with feathers, the beak, the whole nine yards.  Although a tough instructor, I couldn't help but feel that the gentleman side of David was showing.  He finished butchering, de-boning and fabricating that little guy.  Fine by me.  After placing two pieces of blanched asparagus on each breast, we rolIed and tied them, browned them in some olive oil, and put them in the oven.  I prepared the risotto, a dish that I can prepare in my sleep.  Of course, I learned early in the week that there's always something that they don't like about they way you cook.  That's okay.  This program no place to have a thin skin, besides, that's what I came for.  They are the experts.  But although I had the benefit of the chef's constant input, the risotto that I make at home is better than this one was.  I'm sure it's just a matter of opinion.  But my opinion is, in this case, my way's better.

The Lobster Lasagna with Spring Spinach, was not what you and I think of as "lasagna".  (Check out the picture.)  After making lasagna noodles from scratch, we blanched them and folded them over several times putting a different ingredient inside of each fold: spinach, mushrooms, tomato confit, julienned celery and carrots.  Yet again, it was time to kill the poor lobster.  David taught us a different technique than Adeline. (This is the technique that I learned in culinary school.)  Okay, this part should come with a warning.  Ready?  You take the lobster and jam your knife right through it's head.  Then, you rip off the claws and tail.  I don't know if that's better, but at least it's instant death for the lobster.  It seems less cruel.  None of it is pleasant. . . in any way.  We made a sauce with the shells (which I can now do in my sleep), boiled the lobsters, and baked the little lasagnas.  Delicious all the way around. 

This night I had a plan. I pretended to be ravenous and took a lot of food with me. On my trek home down rue Cambon, I found the same elderly homeless man from the night before. I put all the containers down beside him. He looked up and smiled.


Chef David was great, taught me a lot, but he talks a lot.  We got out of class at 12:15 a.m.  I got home at 12:45, and for any of you who have ever worked in a restaurant, you know that it doesn't end there.  It takes a good hour or two to "come down" from the adrenaline rush that comes with restaurant work.  I had class at Alliance Francaise on Friday morning.  It wasn't pretty.

Nevertheless, Friday turned out to be a great day.  My French class petit fete had blossomed into quite a party.  Mary, a California native who was new to our class this week, was kind enough to host the party at her spacious apartment around the corner from school.  Everyone brought something, and the ballontine that I made at Escoffier was a hit.  For three hours we ate, drank wine, talked and laughed.  For some of us it really was "goodbye".  Sweet Gemma goes back to Italy with her mom and her Newfoundland on Monday, and I'm in the Ritz kitchen.

Our class contained a wide range of races, nationalities, and ages.  Whatever the reason, we had real chemistry.  Next Friday I'm meeting whoever is available at the end of class to have lunch.  Unfortunately two of my very favorite people in the class will be gone, Ryota and Abs.  Ryota is a young Japanese man.  We hit it off the very first day.  With the same sense of humor, there was a lot to laught about when it came to our French pronunciation.  Abs is an Iranian graduate student living in London.  I should buy his mother a present.  What a gentleman!  I can't talk about our class without mentioning our instructor, Elodie.  She is a gentle soul with a sharp sense of humor, not to mention an amazing teacher.  We all love her.  Fortunately, I'm having dinner with Cora, Chloe and Rana tonight.  The plan is to meet at the Baccarat Museum.  Apprently, their restaurant has a good reputation.  Cora is in charge of that stuff.  I'm good with it.

Friday was my last night of the Masters Program.  I would sacrifice my final lobster for Lobster Fricassee with Vegetables and Champagne sauce.  Adeline suggested that we all sit down after cooking, crack open a bottle of champagne, and actually enjoy the food; and that we did!  We started with foie gras that we had prepared on Wednesday, followed by Crayfish Gratin, and finally, Lobster Fricassee with Vegetables and Champagne Sauce.  The lobster dish looked so delicious that I forgot to photograph it.  It did not disappoint.

With all that champagne flowing, we totally forgot a Salt Encrusted Bresse Chicken had been taken out of the oven earlier in the evening.  No one could even think about eating more or even taking it home, so I said that I knew someone that would appreciate it.  After carving and wrapping it, saying my goodbyes (although I know that I'll see everyone in the Ritz kitchen next week), I headed down the street to find the man that I had been feeding.  As I exited the Ritz I saw barricades and lot's of people lined up for some sort of gallery showing.  All the folks that usually sleep there were displaced.  I wasn't giving up.  In the adjacent alley folks were sleeping every twenty feet or so.  I searched and searched, but I couldn't find him.  Suddenly I noticed a man, a non-threatening man, looking at me.  I told him to take the chicken.  I was humbled, because I could tell that he was grateful.  As I left, a cute little dog popped up beside him and looked right at that container. He obviously smelled his dinner.

Last night I slept for ten hours, and now I'm pondering a nap.  This week I was in kind of a "flat spin".  It was all worth it, but I'm beat!

ESCOFFIER, HERE I COME!!!

Last evening was the start of my Masters of Culinary Arts Program at E'cole Escoffier.  Auguste Escoffier is know as the Father of modern French cuisine, so needless to say, the culinary point of view in this program is . . . FRENCH! 

When I arrived I got the "411" on the daily routine; where to get my uniform, where to change into that uniform, the kitchen location, etc.  There's good news and bad news.  There are only two, yes I said two, students in my program.  That means that we both get to do a lot and get tons of attention from the instructor.  That's the good news.  The other person in my program is a woman from the Republic of Georgia (as in used to be USSR) named Tamara.  (Notice that I didn't come right out and mention the bad news.)

The instructor is an experienced, talented chef named Emeline.  Her demeanor is direct, but respectful.  Emeline knows her stuff.  In just the first class, she taught me countless French tenets and little tricks to make a meal heavenly.  Having started her formal culinary training at just fourteen years of age, at thirty-one, she's a veteran.  As a part of her more than impressive resume, Emeline taught professional chefs at Alain Ducasses's school in France.

Since there are only two in the class, there's no observing, only doing.  We started on our first dish, Dublin Bay Prawn (langoustine) Ravioli with Shellfish Coulis.  Lot's of techniques for sauce and building flavors that I learned at le Cordon Bleu, came flooding back.  However, the French really do take their time with sauces, more than I ever have.  The photograph of this particular dish doesn't do it justice.  Toward the very end, we whipped the sauce into a foam.  If we had used lobsters rather than prawns, it would have had less brown color and more pink.  No matter, it was terrific!

The three dishes that we created were all being worked on simultaneously due to different cooking times for poultry, seafood, vegetables, potatoes etc.  We fabricated a guinea hen and started on the sauce.  For me, the preparation of this dish was more about carving up the bird and searing it than anything.  It's imperative that afterwards, in the oven, the breast meat (white meat) isn't cooked for as long as the dark meat, so that the breast meat doesn't dry out. That is most important in this preparation.  Once again, making the sauce from leftover body parts, wings, liver, extra bones etc. is key.  Also, lot's of wine in the sauces!

Lastly, was the Breast of Pigeon Pie with Perigueax Sauce.  I looked down at my cutting board and jumped.  The instructor asked if I was alright.  Of course, I was, but the pigeon still contained a head and feathers.  What's a girl to do?  I slit it's throat, cut off the head, and stuck my hand up it's #*! to rip out the guts.  Yeah, I know, Paris is incredibly glamourous.  We took a blow torch and burned off any little "hairs" that were left on the bird.  By the way, yes, I paid to go to this program.  We fabricated the little fellow and seared him in some olive oil.  After we set that aside, we made "pommes anna", a traditional French potato preparation using thinly sliced potatoes, clarified butter then baking the potatoes in round pan in a rosette pattern.  I actually made this potato dish (my choice) for a final exam in culinary school.  However, here in France, they never do it exactly the same as we do in the U.S.  We sauted some porcini mushrooms (in season right now), and eventually built our pigeon pie.  One of the things that I can't get down with about authentic French cooking is that they serve a lot of their birds (dark meat) medium rare.  I can't eat anything that flies less than well done, not overdone, just cooked.  I can't forget to mention the Perigeaux Sauce, a classic sauce using Cognac, Madeira wine, truffle juice, and truffles.  Yet again, there's a lot of care taken when preparing this sauce.  Delicious!  Every detail in French cuisine is important from the technique used when chopping herbs to the way the mushrooms are prepared for garnish.  Presentation is more that significant.

Edeline wanted us to take home all the food that we cooked.  It was absolutely enough to feed a dozen people.  I took more than I could eat, but I've had to get rid of some of it, not to mention, that I had a hard time enjoying any of it at 11 p.m., the end of class.  I was beat!  Besides, I felt personally involved with that pigeon.  yuk!

Tonight's class doesn't start until 6:45.  No telling when I'll get home.  I blew off French school this morning.  I NEEDED SLEEP.  My sweet friend from school, Chloe, sent a text to check on me.  I have to go tomorrow.  Not only do I want to speak French, I love the people in my class!

I LOVE THE MARAIS!

The other times that I've visited the Marais have all been during the day.  Little did I know that the Marais truly comes alive at night; and on Sunday when most shops are closed in Paris, things are hopping in that district. With no cars in the streets, just people, it's bustling with young and old alike.  I'm going back next weekend, my last weekend in Paris, and I'm going to start early in the day.  There's a lot to experience.

I met my friends from Alliance Francaise at the Pompidou Center and wasn't quite sure of the plan.  Apparently, there wasn't one.  We just went up top to the restaurant, George, had a drink and some enegaging conversation.  Since there's no down time during French classes, we don't really have any chance to get to know one another.  I am so fortunate to have met these women, women from completely different backgrounds than my own.  Cora was born in the Philippines, married a German man, and is now an interior designer in London.  She's lived in Hong Kong, New York, Switzerland, and then, well I just lost track.  What an interesting life she's lead.  Rana is from Riyadh, Saudi Arabi. She's a gorgeous, modern, self-assured Muslim woman, educated with a masters degree in global communications; however, Rana still doesn't drive a car. It's not a "law" in her country, but it just isn't done.  I can't imagine that.  She and I are planning to have dinner next weekend.  I absolutely look forward to it.  She's a darling young woman, loves food as much as I do, and her culture fascinates me.  Chloe, a beautiful, confident nineteen year old is of Indian/Dutch heritage.  Educated in England, she lives between Belgium and Qatar.  When I was nineteen, I still lived in Criders Corners and was working on my English.  These women all speak two or three languages.  They are so very interesting, to say the least. 

Rana took us to her favorite "falaffel stand".  There were lot's of little places where you could get in line, buy your falaffel, and eat on the street; however, this was the only one with a LONG line.  There was a reason for that.  Talk about delicious!  Oddly enough, it was one of the best meals I've had in Paris.  Just the right "street food" always hits the spot. 

This is a short post, but tomorrow is a long day;  French classes in the morning and Escoffier in the evening.  I'm tired just thinking about it, but completely excited. 

UH OH!, FIRST BAD REVIEW FROM PARIS

My friend from French class, Rana, highly recommended an Italian restaurant right in my neighborhood, le Cherche Midi.  Thinking that a good way to start my Saturday trek would be a delicious Italian lunch, I took the short walk to this small restaurant.  It was bustling, completely packed.  Deciding to take my chances for a table anyway, I took the only one left (there was a good reason that it was vacant).  It was outside (no problem) right by the door (not my best idea). Check it out.  It's the one to the left of the guy with the motorcycle helmut standing at the door.   Let me get right to it.  The service was TERRIBLE.  It took at least 15 minutes to get a menu, and it went down hill from there.  Apparently, this is quite the hot spot.  As I sat there waiting, Parisians stood outside, also waiting.  They were waiting for tables, all the while smoking and blowing the smoke in my direction.  Don't get me wrong, that's not the restaurant's fault, but talk about adding salt to the wound.  A waiter dumped several plates RIGHT BEHIND ME, and scared the heck out of me.  No one said, "sorry", "pardon me" or anything remotely resembling any of that.  A nice man next to me (blue sport coat) made a joke at their expense.  I think that he felt sorry for me.  I ordered Veal Milanese.  The salad seemed fresh enough, but the veal was clearly re-heated.  The house wine was good, but quite frankly, I was appreciative of whatever would take the sting out of this experience.  I almost forgot this.  As I was waiting for my check (there was a lot of waiting during this lunch), the waiter spilled an entire cup of coffee on the nice man with the blue sport coat.  After the waiter cleaned up their table, and the man's wife wiped off his jacket, the waiter put all their dirty glasses on my table.  Le Cherche Midi will not be affected by my bad review, but for me, it's the principle of the thing.  Having worked in the restaurant biz, it's my opnion that restaurants fail more often because of service than cuisine.  The service there was so very BAD.  Needless to say, I won't darken their door again.  If I'm dying for Italian food, my friend Marla B gave me a recommendation.  She's Italian.  I should have listened to her from the beginning.

After lunch, I needed retail therapy.  Really, that is a category of therapy, and for those of you who don't believe it, give it a try.  I headed to Petrusse, one of my favorite shops in Paris.  Located on rue Raspail, Petrusse sells the most beautiful scarves and shawls of silk, wool, and cashmere.  I had a wonderful time talking with a lovely woman who works there named Zahia.  She was more than happy to put up with my pathetic French and help me with vocabulary and pronunciation.  Like so many French people that I've met, she was incredibly curious about Texas.  I promised to come back and see her when I'm next in Paris, and to bring her a bottle of her favorite fragrance, an American brand.  That cracks me up.  We're all about Channel and other French perfumes in the U.S.  She told me that American perfume is so expensive in France.  It's about time that something is cheaper in the U.S. 

On my way back to the apartment, I broke my rule.  I went to Le Grande Epicerie Paris.  (It's a Saturday!)  I was on the phone, and got knocked around by a few people.  Since I was carrying a couple of bags, I broke a few of bottles in the store.  Oh well.  I've spent so darned much money there that my conscience is clear.  As I walked past the seafood counter, I noticed the scallops.  I don't think that I've ever really seen scallops in a fish market, still in the shell.  As I stood there, I couldn't help thinking that this was the most gorgeous collection of seafood that I'd ever seen.

Most likely I'll venture out this evening for coffee or a glass of wine to catch up on my people watching.  For now, I'm holed up in my little apartment hoping that the rain stops. 

Au revoir Austin!

Well, it's just au revoir for now. Austin has been my home for over 24 years, and it has a serious place in my heart. I'll be back just in time for one of my favorite holidays. Boo! As is often the case, my flight is delayed, and I'll have to run to my gate in Dallas. Of course, I'm more worried about my luggage than anything else. A girl needs her "stuff". I'm getting that "I'm going to be too far from my family" feeling. I'm hoping to replace it with the "I can't believe that I'm getting to do this" feeling. I'm on the fence. I'll get there.

I wanted to leave you with some great Tex-Mex recipe, but like I've said before, I'm new at this blogging stuff and can't seem to get those enchiladas on the page. Recipes will be forthcoming.

So clad in my favorite pair of cowboy boots, it's off to Paris. I plan to get this adventure rolling as soon as I hit the ground. Tomorrow night there is an amazing festival in Paris called "Nuit Blanche" (White Night). Museums stay open for free all night long. It's one giant party. If you can stay awake 'til dawn, breakfast is served at many of the local government buildings. At least this is what my research tells me. I'm going to check it out and give you the real scoop later.

One final thing. Thanks to CMG for making this happen.