Time is not on my side..

Holy moses, where does the time go? Didn't I just get off a train from Paris? You're probably thinking I'm still detoxing, that maybe it wasn't going so well and I've been curled up in bed swearing I will never drink wine again. (would never happen by the way, wine and I are the best of friends)

I assure you, I am fully detoxed, but I seem to have been sucked into some sort of time vacuum where I wake up every morning and think:
"Wait. What just happened?"


So I have no idea where the last 7 days have gone and the rest of this one is booked solid. The parents just arrived in jolly old england yesterday, and I am in official tour guide status mode.
Dad has already decided that I make my coffee way too strong. And this is a man who likes strong coffee.
I know, right?

Anyway, the fun is only just beginning. Because after they head off to visit family in the rest of Europe, a super duper* friend of mine from Toronto is coming to stay with us and her and I are going to paint the town red.
Sparkly red.
With maybe some splashes of orange.

Who knew October could be so darn fun?

Now, about that coffee..



*super duper is a phrase that is tragically under used. Don't you think?

And then there was Paris..

So aside from all that tea business there is this matter of how I spent my time on my latest trip to Paris.
I had a whole list of things I wanted to do while I was there and aside from my trip to Mariage Frères, I didn't get a darn thing done. I made my way to L'As du Falafel and wouldn't you know they were closed for renovations for the week. I almost cried. Really. I know, a girl should not go to Paris with falafels on her mind but if you knew how good those things are you would completely understand.

In Paris, like everywhere, it's kind of hit and miss if you decide to just walk into some place you don't know and are hoping for a good meal. Unfortunately my friend Alisa and I, forced to abandon our falafel cravings, chose a serious miss. And although I did eat the potatoes off of the salad nicoise that I ordered, it wasn't at all worth speaking about.

Then there was an impromptu meet up at a cafe at about 4 in the afternoon* which did not end until midnight after much wine was consumed.
A girl cannot get things done when she just sits back and focuses on socializing.
But it's fun that way. And after living there for over a year and a half, it's just kind of how it seems to work out for me lately.

I came home, unloaded 120 pictures from my camera and people, I'm telling you, all of them are of friends, except for this shot up there of the drink of choice of those two that kept me so occupied* on friday afternoon. Oh and of course this guy who always seems to end up on my camera whenever I'm in Paris.


David: always fun at parties..


Then there was the party on Saturday night which my friend and I spent the whole day getting ready for: shopping for groceries, then lunching to recuperate from the shopping, then shopping some more. No there were no strippers at the party but there was a heck of a lot of food, wine, champagne, general chit chat and the obligatory 2 cheek kiss with everyone who comes through the door. A girl needs to keep her tic-tacs handy when she goes to Paris I tell you.
I did not climb into bed until almost 3am.

The next day, as you can imagine, was a total write off and then suddenly here I was back home again with nothing to show for it but some tea and the tail end of a 3 day hangover.

So this week the girl needs to detox. I bought some kale last night just for that purpose and promptly left it on the tube.
You see where my head is at.
This detoxing might take awhile.

___________
*Two of my favourite people, Melissa and her husband, were in town

On Paris. And being a bit yappy..

Poilane brioche, an Ispahan Macaron from Hermé,
Lucy the cat, and a home-cooked dinner chez Lebovitz

Alright, alright. Maybe you are all completely bored with me talking about Paris. We drank wine, we ate sweet stuff.. yada yada, right?

My mom always did tell me that I talk too much. Although she often uses the same out of date example to make her point: "There was this time when you were 4 and you sat in the back of the car and talked for 3 hours straight.."

I was 4.. Surely I've changed somewhat since then, no?
Perhaps not, because it appears I'm still talking.
And I will admit that Cindy and I sat in our pjs until noon almost every day that I was in Paris drinking coffee and yes.. talking..
Then, you put two talky girls in a kitchen with Lebovitz- a marathon talker himself, and boy, that is some kind of crazy evening.

When I returned G asked me the usual questions.
G: "Did you have fun?"
Me: "Yes. Very much so. "
G: "What did you do?"
Me: "Talked. Alot."

He nodded, I think with understanding and probably some relief that I got some of the talking out of my system.

So yes, I'm back. I got some nice things in Paris including some Ispahan jam and some matcha truffles which I will tell you about soon.
Because well, you know, I like to talk.

Cindy and Michele do Paris...just like the old days..

On Monday I am on my way to Paris again for another week of fun. Cindy's in town so what better reason to go, huh? Well, that and the promise that I can go watch David "make tapenade".

But back to Cindy.

Remember when her and I were both living in Paris and then she left and I was sad?
Yeah me too.
Well she's back, just for July, and thus the reason for my trip.
We're going to take Paris by storm in our own low key sort of way.
And the first place we are planning to dine is a vietnamese restaurant called Le Bamboo.
I know, right?
But it's true.
Gimme some of that green papaya salad any day.
Other than that, a wine fueled picnic by the river and probably a lot of walking around.

You gotta love the Eurostar. I mean, sure it was sad when we moved away from Paris, but I feel like it's just a hop, skip and a jump away. Conceivably, I could take the train there in the morning, go out for lunch and be home in time for bed.
I probably would never do that, but knowing I could do it is kinda nice.

Anyway, I'll be back in 5 days. And when I return, if all goes well, Melissa will be coming through town and crashing at my place for a night.
I haven't seen her in forever either so giddy up.
It's going to be a good week.

See you when I get back!

Pints, more pints, and an impatient dog..

The pup cared very little about our hangovers..

The weather here has been so great lately, but I'm told it is not typical for this time of year at all. And here I was thinking "why is everyone always slagging British weather?"
It's only mid-April and it feels like we completely skipped spring and jumped right into summer.

G and I celebrated in true British style by spending the weekend with a friend who lives in a lovely little town called Leamington Spa.
There were outdoor patios, numerous pints and a Sunday morning spent dealing with a pounding headache.
Despite the fact that the 3 of us felt rather haggard and hungover we dragged ourselves out of bed on Sunday morning and took the dog for a walk. It was as English as it could possibly be--a ramble in the fields, an abandoned manor at the top of a hill, horses grazing off to the left, gunshots heard in the distance (skeet shooting perhaps?) and a greyhound racetrack that we passed by on the way back home.

I was hoping to see some stately fellow in wellies and a handlebar mustache with some freshly killed ducks slung over his shoulder. Only because that is what I imagine you would see if you looked up "English" in the dictionary.
After the walk, we were even treated to a homemade proper english breakfast.

English life I tell you, it may be bad for the liver, but it sure is good for the soul.

Let's be best friends..

And then one day I tried to make a movie..
What?
It's my first one..
Be nice.

Canada has nice goats.

A lousy goat.

It has taken me some time to build up the energy to post since I returned from our trip to Canada. I spent almost 2 weeks with family and friends-- breakfasts, lunches and dinners were booked solid with visits. Then we came back to Paris, G had to dash off to Dublin for the week, and I found myself in a very empty apartment. Completely quiet except for the sound of me feeling awfully sorry for my sad self.
And the odd toilet flushing now and again.
Oh and that barky little dog across the hall.
Ok, alright, there was some noise, but you get what I'm trying to say.

But dude you might be saying: "You're in Paris. Get over it already. "
And to that I say: "But dudes, I'm alone."
And I can hear you saying: "But dude, if you're going to be alone, what better city to be in than Paris."
And to that I reply: "Dudes. Shut up and let a girl feel sorry for herself for one second."

And then I read a story about David and his tight shorts dilemma and all was right with the world again. You see how I am easily amused.

Unfortunately all I've got to show for my trip when it comes to pictures, is this picture of a goat named Sophie. The camera stayed safely tucked in my purse for most of the trip because I didn't want to feel like a tourist-- I wanted to just be there, in the city that I used to call home. There are pictures of family and friends of course, but it wouldn't be prudent to put those pictures up on the web for everyone to see and perhaps penetrate our international spy ring by uncovering our true identities.
And so, Sophie makes her big debut.
Boris the goat is not at all happy about it.
But he's a grumpy old fart anyway.

It will be goat-free* summer in Paris and it promises to be a good one.
Despite the threat of tight shorts.


*the absence of goats does not imply that I will not be eating goat cheese this summer. Because I will. Lots of it.

Roots. And getting back to them.

Whoa, look at that. I almost forgot I had this little old blog sitting here. But here I am posting and there is not a recipe in sight. What gives?

Well..

G and I are off to Canada tomorrow for a ridiculously overdue visit with friends and family. It stuns me to think that I haven't been home in over a year and a half. Friends have had babies, others have bought houses, and to top it all off my mom's got a new hairdo. Well, it was new about a year ago, but like I said, it's been awhile since I've been home.

So, we're packing up for 2 weeks in Toronto, and I'm bringing my new Parisian inspired scarf fetish with me. Who cares if it's hot out, all the girls in Paris do it, and now I do too. Don't make me give up my flare. I'm going to wear my scarf proudly and get myself to a hot dog vendor fast. Because damn it, Toronto sure makes some good street-dog.

It's a vacation that is going to be rather emotional for me. Seeing faces I haven't seen in a while, and seeing streets and sights that were once part of my daily routine. Strangely, I think it's going to feel good just to flash my Canadian passport and know that I am home.

We've had the opportunity to travel and I love it-- we have no plans to leave Paris anytime soon, but nothing can replace that feeling of belonging, that feeling that you are no longer a visitor.
Gets me all teary-eyed just thinking about it.

Aww. I'm such a sap.
I need a hotdog.

Spring. She is sprung.

Spring in Paris

Yesterday, a random "let's meet for an afternoon coffee" turned into an 8 hour walking tour of Paris with regular breaks at various cafes. My caffeine intake went through the roof, but damn, I sure got some good exercise. But the positive effects of those hours on our feet were quickly negated when the sun finally set and we decided it was time to switch from coffee to wine. But more caffeine would have kept me up all night, so I was really doing it with my health and well-being in mind. You see how I'm always taking care of myself.

The big excitement of the day was that I had my first celebrity-spotting experience. I won't deny that in these nearly 8 months that I've lived in Paris, I have wondered where the heck all the famous people are. Brangelina are photographed everywhere but I never seem to bump into them. If I did, I'm sure they'd want to take me out for a drink because I mean, you know, maybe they read Oswego Tea or something.

So anyway, there we were perched on a hard stool in a charming wine bar in the 5th, munching on a cheese plate, and right past the front window walks none other than Kristin Scott Thomas. It took all of .005 seconds for me to recognize her.
There was a subtle "Ah!" and a point and then "That's Kristin Scott Thomas." I tried my best to reel in my bug eyes.
Alisa, my wandering companion, nonchalantly informed me that KST actually lives in Paris.
I think she then flipped her hair to further accentuate the humdrum-ness of the sighting.
Well then.
But inside I was feeling pretty self-satisfied. Won't this make a great, albeit really short, story to tell my friends and family?
Then I realized that what it boils down to is this: "I saw Kristin Scott Thomas. The End. "
But still.
It's my story, and I'll tell it.

My legs were sore and aching when I got home so I took the hot water bottle to bed ignoring all warnings against doing so.. I woke up with 2 red patches on the back of my calves which screamed "You dork, you burnt yourself".

But it seemed a fitting end to an otherwise perfect day. Let me just say these 3 little words: Spring in Paris.. It doesn't get much better than that.

Cheerio dear friend and toodaloo

In the last days of 2005 I received an email from Cindy:
"Will you be my best friend between January 10 and 31st?"
I pondered the question and I wrote back:
"Sure, sounds great. Although I'm wondering if I shouldn't somehow be offended."
But her reasons were sound. She would not only be done culinary school but she would also be finally free of the innumerable houseguests she seemed to have for the whole of November and December which made her difficult to pin down. Now it was just her and Paris and I guess she thought the experience would be far more exciting if she added me to the mix before she finally left Paris for good on January 31st.

Well, it is now February 1st, and Cindy has packed her bags and returned to Chicago. And in her wake, I am left with these kind gifts: microwave popcorn, Campbell's soup, baking powder and other such interesting things that had taken residence in her kitchen cupboards these last few months.

This past weekend was her last so I stepped up to my role in my final days as her new best friend. Saturday night, she joined G and I at our place for a night of movie watching, which saw us go partway through 2 movies that bored us all before we finally settled on the thrilling action of a Vin Diesel flic. Cindy marvelled at the pretzels I had found and after eating one said:
"This is the first pretzel I have eaten in 6 months."
"Wow, that's a long time." I said.
"Sure is." She said.

On Sunday Cindy and I toured the Père Lachaise cemetery. We looked for Oscar Wilde but couldn't find him. But we did say hello to Jim Morrison and Balzac before we got too cold and had to high-tail it out of there.


At Père Lachaise cemetery

On Monday, Cindy and I met at Ladurée on the Champs Elysées for our final goodbye tea.
I ordered the Thé Royale aux Fruits and she ordered some sort of yummy tea whose name I can't remember.
Then she asked for a madeleine.
"We're out of madeleines." our server said.
"How about a financier?" I offered.
"We're out of those too."
"Cannelés?" I tried.
"Sorry. No cannelés either."
Nonetheless we enjoyed our tea and then Cindy showed the Ladurée crowd what it's all about:
In that posh tea room, with all the well-dressed French women, probably back from a shopping trip to the nearby Louis Vuitton, Cindy removed her sweater to reveal her green t-shirt with a picture of the state of Illinois on the front, and the caption "Come on Feel the IlliNOISE".
"I like your shirt." I said.
"Thanks." Cindy responded. "This tea is really good."
"Mine too."

And thus ends the story of Cindy and Michèle in Paris.
Aw Cindy, I'm going to miss you.

Traveler's Lunchbox comes to town

Yes it's true. Melissa took residence on my couch this past weekend. And when a friend comes to town and you've only got a few days together you make a plan and you execute it. When this friend is a fellow food blogger, you had better have a good appetite.

There was eating. And then there was eating again. And then we rested so that we could eat some more.

From a 3 star lunch at Pierre Gagnaire with Pim to walking down the street with a falafel in hand, there was no stopping us.

But now Melissa is back in Edinburgh and Pim's stay in Paris is at its end. I am left with a full belly and a weekend full of great memories.

And the best part is that I've met these two fabulous women all because of this silly blog. Who would have thought? But I feel like a very lucky girl.

So to Pim and Melissa: until we meet again my friends, I eagerly await your return!