Well the rainy, overcast weather started early Tuesday in the City of Light. Not to be deterred however, by a bit of precipitation, the three of us bundled up, grabbed our umbrellas and hit the metro late Tuesday morning. We were off for a whirlwind tour of some of the culinary hotpsots of Paris, places where one can find all sorts of tools, implements, just about everything and anything a cook could possible need or want for the kitchen. (photo: Armagnac display at Hediard's.)
The three of us walked to Jussieu where we got on the no. 10, changed to the no. 12 at Sevres-Babylone, and got off at Place de la Madeliene. We did the "Madeleine stroll", circumnavigating the church located in the center of the place, stopping at Fauchon and Hediard's, two of the big names in foodstuffs (at somewhat overstuffed prices), ending up at the Maille mustard shop where Joyce bought three crocks of mustard to take home. We watched mesmerized as the clerk filled all three from barroom-like taps at the counter. Pretty cool. (It also shows how easily amused we are.)
From the place we walked up Boulevard de la Madeleine to rue des Capucines, past the Place Vendome, home of some of the world's most fashonable jewelry shops, Cartier, Bvlgari, Dior, and Fred:
(That one was for you Winnie.)
The place isn't all about glitter though: Chopin died at no. 12 and Dr. Mesmer (as in mesmerism), the father of hypnotism, lived at no. 16.
We left the place, retracing our steps and followed rue Danielle Casanova and rue des Petits champs to the Palais Royal gardens (I noticed for the first time that the famous French writer Colette had lived in the building above the entrance to the gardens):
We stopped for a delicious lunch at the Bistrot Vivienne (4 rue Petits Champs 75002):
After lunch we worked our way toward the Les Halles area. Susie showed Joyce Dellerhin's the culinary tool shop which hasn't changed an iota since Julia Child bought her first roasting pan there in the late 1940s! The place is worth a stop just to watch and talk to the clerks alone: they are funny, pleasant and if it's in a kitchen they know about it.
From Dellerhin's we walked up rue Rousseau to rue Etienne Marcel where we turned right down rue Montmartre to Mora's kitchen shop. After browsing there we turned left out of the shop back up rue Montmartre to A. Simon, just across the intersection with rue Etienne Marcel. We then retraced our steps to rue Etienne Marcel and turned left, and here we kept to the left walking down rue Tiquetonne while Etienne Marcel bears right. We had to a make a stop at Detou for some baking supplies and as always had a pleasant bit of banter with one of the regular clerks there. (These guys in the kitchen business seem to all share the same fun-loving, quirky personalities.)
We walked over to Les Halles and submerged ourselves for the first time into the bowels of this enormous and very unattractive underground shopping complex. After about 10 minutes we quuickly realized that this was a serious waste of our time so back to the surface we went and off toward Chatelet and the no. 7 metro and eventually home for an evening of packing, fried rice and Seinfeld. Wednesday was going to be an awfully long day for one person in particular.
The three of us had an early morning Wednesday: I was up at 4:45 a.m. and the girls not long afterwards. Susan and Joyce said their farewells before Susie had to scoot off to the pastry shop. Around 6:30 a.m. Joyce and I grabbed the bags, and headed down the five flights of stairs and toward the RER stop at Port Royal. To our good fortune Wednesday morning began clear and not too cool, with no rain, which was a good thing since I promptly forgot our umbrellas.
The return trip to Charles de Gaulle went smooth as silk -- we found good seats this time with a bit of space for the bags, and there were no delays.
Before long we were at the CDG terminus and then began the trek up five flights of escalators and two stretches of moving sidewalks, through Terminal 2D to 2B where I said my au revoir to Joyce. Her BA flight to London was on time and we're hoping she has no glitches on the second leg to Boston. When he learned that Joyce would miss the last bus from Boston's Logan airport to Bangor, Maine, and that she could only get as far as Portland, Maine, her husband Carl, forever the gentleman, decided he would simply drive down to pick her up. What a guy.
We're glad you were here Joyce. It meant a lot to Susie that's for sure. And me too of course. I like any excuse for more pastry in the house!
Wish you were here,
Steve
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