la pharmacie

While in New York earlier this year, I boasted to a friend about not having ever gotten sick in Paris. It must be because I eat so well there, I half-joked. But it's true. And not just because "science compared every diet, and the winner is real food"; which, apparently, is not already a given. (For the record, I made a visit to a Parisian doctor's office in late February. Karma: 1; lack of humility: 0).

Science has also proven that we value experiences above all other purchases and that meaningful relationships promote well-being. As if I don't say it enough: there's something so wonderfully special about sharing a meal, whether at home or in a restaurant.

Last night, I was lucky enough to meet Rebecca for dinner. (She spent the last day of a Euro-work trip in Paris.) I made reservations at La Pharmacie, an especially convenient choice as I've been lusting after it since last summer when I first passed its pretty exterior.

My à point steak with chimichurri sauce, roasted potatoes, and salad was fantastic; our pichet of red wine, even more so. And don't even get me started on their butterscotch molten cake. My god. I've since added it to my list of favorite restos and am already eager to bask in the warm ambiance and convivial environment once more. I'll likely be pressed for time, money, and occasions to do so though. Have I mentioned I'm leaving Paris in early June? Well, I am. So it's as good a time as ever to share my nine other top eateries :) Semilla, Le Garde Robe, 3 Pièces Cuisine, Septime, Holybelly, Le Richer, Artisan, Caillebotte, Lockwood. Bon app !

P.S. The last time I dined in a pharmacy--also awesome.

femininity à la maison

Merci, madame. These words used to make me uncomfortable. Could I no longer be considered a mademoiselle? Had I become the only “ma’am” to be suspiciously carded outside a Parisian bar? (Yes, this really happened, and yes, the drinking age here is 18).

In every language, I’ve generally avoided calling myself “a woman.” I was a girl, a lady, sure, but not a woman. I didn’t believe I could handle the pressure or responsibility that comes with being one. I ain’t no Martha Stewart! And I don’t even usually talk like that. Then, this weekend, I read Rachel Jones’ recent article in The Atlantic, “Homemade is the New Organic.” Her brilliant premise: “I couldn’t help but consider how our attitudes surrounding domesticity, and its current post-feminist, Etsy-fied flavor, have changed our appreciation and definition of what constitutes a home-cooked meal.” Had I, too, fallen victim to believing the modern woman was still defined by her traditional roles of mother, wife, and otherwise humble yet multitalented caretaker? To an extent, yes.

I didn’t have a sexist upbringing... yet my dad worked late six days a week and my mom cleaned and cooked for us, in addition to working from home. She became a real estate agent when I was in high school as well. “Never mind that we are working longer hours and women are still responsible for making the majority of the meals in the home. We are inundated with recipes extolling the virtue of seasonal finds from the local farmer's market, or the health benefits native to exotic oils—good things in their own right.”

Although I wholeheartedly believe in feminist thought and speak up against present-day misogyny and our need to better support each other, in the end, maybe I want the job, the husband, the kids, and the dinner, too? But isn't that mostly okay? Shouldn't I be able to show love and affection through kitchen labors? Aren't I allowed to bake cookies for my coworkers, and be proud of myself for it (mostly because I successfully did so with a toaster oven)? I truly hope it's not any womanly label making me feel this way.

At the very least, it's certainly something to think about. “Home cooking has become warped by our fixation on doing it all and having it all—even in the kitchen.” This past Saturday, I went to a fabulous potluck dinner at Shola's. The culinary highlights: sweet potato-lentil soup, Persian samboosehs, and a plum tart; the latter prepared by a fellow grad student's pastry chef husband. And tonight, I'm thrilled to be hosting a "Breakfast for Dinner" party. On the menu: spinach salad with a pomegranate vinaigrette, hard-boiled eggs, and buttery pancakes with maple syrup and a warm cinnamon-apple compote. The question is: am I making everything moi-même? Not quite; it’ll only be a mostly homemade meal. I’ll come home from the office to a trusty American pancake mix :).

bonne maman

Friday night, moments after Lorelei and I enjoyed yummy tamales for a great cause, a cute guy asked me: "Why France?" He was wondering what made me decide on this country out of so many others as the place I'd purse a master's degree. "It was the safest option," I replied. And it's true. I love art, food, and wine. Also, I studied French in college, spent a semester living in Strasbourg, and knew I had the most wonderful French family who'd care for me like one of their own. Moving to Paris was scary, yes, but I had a familiar safety net to arrive to. This past Saturday, I took a break from the city spend the day with Marie-Christine and Patrick.

Almost immediately upon arriving, we took a seat here, in the living room, to catch up as we enjoyed a pre-lunch apéritif. (I haven't seen them since Marie's birthday!) Then we moved into the dining room for the weekend lunch above: leeks vinaigrette, stewed turkey with potatoes and mango, puréed celery root, brussels sprouts, lettuce salad, camembert, tarte aux pommes, and, of course, wine and bread. We finished the amazing meal with small cups of strong coffee. I doubt I'd be in France now were it not for the goodness of Marie and her family. And what a shame it would be to miss out on apéro plans with the aforementioned cute guy... ;)

un brunch américan

For me, at this point, homesickness comes in waves. Mostly calm ones.

You may notice I tweet about New York regularly. I do--because I've fallen into a whole new kind of love with the city since moving an ocean away—yet I don’t necessarily long for my life there, at least not my former one. The hardest days, weeks, months never became blog posts, but they happened, and they sucked. It was a tumultuous post-college experience. I really struggled with figuring out what the heck I wanted out of this life (personally and professionally) and how the hell I was going to make it as such.

What made it infinitely bearable enjoyable, though, was the endless number of friends and family I had in such close, comforting proximity. I could text or call or see my favoritest people regularly, and that was so completely wonderful. I needed them then.

I still do, of course; albeit in different ways. Living abroad has forced me to be more sure of myself by necessity. It has also encouraged me to get out there and form new relationships, which although I was once intimidated by, I’ve also lovingly embraced. This experience has given me more space to be and flourish and for that I will always be grateful.

But I do miss home. I miss the warmth and friendliness of American culture. I miss family dinners and endless chats with friends. I miss those who truly know me, and love me unconditionally anyway. I miss pizza dates. And gosh, do I miss boozy brunches...

Then again, pretending to be Parisian is nice, too. I regularly buy bread from the boulangerie and produce from the marché, I wear black quite often, I get excited about new exhibitions, I don't make eye contact with anyone on the metro, but I always wish fellow elevator-riders a bon journée. I'm even adopting slang. And these are only the guidelines I've been easily able to pick up on.

Because, in the end, I am very much New York-born and -raised. (The state, not the city). And so, I've made expat friends here. Besides those I've met through blogging, there are also those from school, and another from serendipity. And when the latter hosts a brunch, I help her serve a spread of juice, coffee, tea, croissants, brioche, sliced fruit, smoked salmon, scrambled eggs, bread, butter, and jam. We even ensured there was champagne to be had. It's good to know I'm not the only one on mimosa-withdrawl ;).

I've said this once before, but home is more than a place, it's a feeling. I'm creating a home for myself in Paris with a flexible disposition, a few amazing confidantes, and a bit of familiarity--most notably peanut butter. Even on rainy days I've been making a concentrated effort to appreciate this time where such things are possible. One day, I hope, Paris will be one home of many.

Weekend plans: happy hour tamales, lunch with my French family, an afternoon at the Château Vaux le Vicomte, Nuit Blanche, Sunday at the races/laundry, and a Macklemore concert. Wishing you a lovely one, too, wherever you may be.

This post was inspired by Rachel's Expat Diaries.

soup & sweater weather

It always amazes me how quickly the season progresses. Tomorrow is officially October, leaves are continuing to change color, and more and more squash is available at the market every weekend. Have I told you I've officially made it a ritual? I've been frequenting markets throughout Paris since I arrived, but I haven't made the weekly commitment to my local one until now. It makes me feel rebellious as Phyllis Flick just shared a survey reporting that only 13% of Ile-de-France residents (those living in the greater Paris-area) shop in markets. Sadly, most are missing out on the one-of-a-kind sensory experiences and neighborly encounters.

Not to worry though! I've been loving the sh** out of the orchard apples for them ;). I've also been helping myself to cruciferous veggies, and was recently inspired to make my favorite lentil soup. Yay, kitchen! When it really starts to get annoying, please tell me to stop raving about how much I love having a space to create real meals, okay? For now, I'm just going to go with it. Clearly.

I started the same way my mom and Giada do, by sautéeing the vegetables (onions, carrots, celery) in a large pot with oil, garlic, salt, and pepper. About 8 minutes later, I added a can of diced tomatoes. Then stirred for another 8. I added lentils (~1 pound) and chicken broth after, and finally, brought the soup to a boil before leaving to simmer for roughly 45 minutes with fresh thyme sprigs.

I served my first bowl of lentil soup alongside a glass of red and a hunk of baguette des près, my most recent (heartier and grainier) French bread obsession. And, oh my gosh, it was wonderful! Soups--and most one-pot meals for that matter--are just delightful. Even after eating, I was left with two "free" lunches and another healthful dinner later on in the week. Looking forward to making this one, this one, and maybe even this one next. As of tonight though, I'm all about words and wine with Lisa, Juliette Sobanet, and more. I honestly cannot get enough of this season's produce and plans. Life feels so gosh darn good right now.

from my kitchen

Did you feel that? I just sent you a great, big hug. A bis, too. As much as I couldn't help but write my last post in humble grief and frustration, it never occured to me that publishing it would elicit such warmth and support. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Now I'm hoping to balance out the heaviness with a lighter topic: homemade food; another necessary comfort I appreciate greatly.

After a year without a kitchen, coming home to a stovetop (and counter space) is just about the most wonderful thing in the world. I use it for legitimate meals often. The other day, I even cooked chicken for the first time! Seriously. Though I regularly enjoy it out, I've previously shied away from preparing it myself. I used my mom's basic cutlet recipe on drumsticks: coating each one in flour, dipping into egg, and shaking in a bag with bread crumbs and herbs before placing into a pan with hot oil. They tasted like home.

I'm usually less adventurous (read: cook vegetarian) though. Post-chicken dinner, I brought home a head of red cabbage to braise: cutting it into pieces, adding to a pan already containing a generous amount of butter, topping off with a few tablespoons of water, sprinkling with salt, and cooking at low heat until the liquid is absorbed. Quite the chef, huh? Thank god I prefer simple, seasonal flavors. Honorable mention goes to the apple oatmeal with peanut butter that's been brightening up dreary Parisian mornings.

jeanne a.

It’s August in Paris! I’ve been warned about this. From the moment I first arrived at CDG (slash probably a few days after), I've been hearing about how the entire city shuts down for an unofficial vacances. Though I won't mind having less sweaty Parisians on the metro, I’m bummed so many of my favorite restaurants are closed for a month. My tight budget, for the record, is not.

One in particular--of which I somehow have failed to mention until now--is Jeanne A. This épicerie and wine shop serves classic French comfort food to-go, or to stay, in their cozy, contemporary space. Best part: high quality for fair prices. My beau and I took Matt when he was last in Paris. Second best part: it’s located in Oberkampf, blocks away from fun bars like this one, this one, and this one.

I recommend reservations for the fall, and trying these places while you wait. Also, merci for the kind words on my last post. It’s so comforting to have a space like this to be honest, and, better yet, receive such compassion in return from a couple of lovely ladies I have yet to meet. This is why I love blogging. Please don’t take my mediocre iPhone photos as a reflection of under-appreciation ;).

tasting the jura, part 1

Somehow, TA-ing a course entitled Food & Communications got even more enriching than it already has been; I had the fortunate opportunity to join the professor and 8 students in the Jura for three days of critical exploration to "gain an in-depth understanding of France's relationship to local foods, taste, and 'terroir'" as we "follow[ed] the renowned Comté cheese from cow to consumption." Talk about embracing "eating well".

We arrived in a small town three hours Southeast of Paris around 11am. Once we settled into the gite, French taste educator Claire Perrot led us through a study of "taste" and its implications by all the senses.

Then, we prepared lunch: fresh radishes with salt and butter, vegetable lasagna, green salad, and a medley of incredibly local goat cheeses with sliced bread. The meal began with a champagne toast, too, of course.

Following our leisurely déjeuner, we went out for a hike led by the gite's botanist. He not only explained the Jurassic history of the region but pointed out edible plants as well, most notably, stinging nettles.

While we had our second round of taste education, the botanist cleaned and prepped the stinging nettles we'd collected for two dishes. We prepared dinner after, and set the table with bouquets of wild flowers. 

And soon, dinner was served: stinging nettles croquettes and soup, river trout (caught by the neighbors) in a cream sauce with wild rice, another cheese plate, and an apple tart. Sitting at a table surrounded by others who were just as conscious and appreciative of the delicacies made the experience all the more special. It truly proved that "taste and pleasure are not about breaking the rules, but about reconfirming our relationship to the places from which our foods come, our ties with others, and our own sense of self." This glorious notion of terroir would continue as I met farmers, cheese makers, and cheese agers in the days to come...

how to brand yourself

Academic post alert! I'm currently studying "how online social networks have transformed the dynamics of personal interaction, organizational behavior, marketing, branding, social mobilization, and civic action" in a class of mine. Part of the coursework involves blogging about the articles we read and discussions we have. Below, you'll find just that. I encourage you to contribute your thoughts, too.

I feel like a cliché calling myself another "American in Paris," but it's an accurate label nonetheless. No matter the fact that I buy fresh bread from the boulangerie, shop at the marché when I can, and wear more black than ever before, I'm consistently reminded of the fact that I'm not French; if nothing else, then for my inability to completely embrace bad customer service ;). Because of this, too, I'm branded from the very start, whether it be by a Parisian or another expat. (For the record, I tend to clarify that I'm from New York.) It's had me thinking more and more about "my brand" then--both online and off.

 

In a 2009 New York Times article, Putting Yourself Out There on a Shelf to Buy, Alina Tugend wrote:

"But what if I don’t want to be a brand? What if I don’t want to build a public image and network? What if I like the security and camaraderie of being 'just' a worker in a company? Creating my own brand sounds as if it is potentially liberating. But that’s what we thought about managing our own retirements rather than relying on pensions and choosing a phone company rather than being stuck with Ma Bell. It turned out, though, that that kind of freedom comes with a lot more risks and responsibility."

Today, unfortunately or not, it's pretty irrelevant whether you the feel the same way as she does. The truth is, "to be in business today, our most important job is to be head marketer for the brand called You." And that's a direct quote from a 1997 Fast Company article. Stereotyping occurs anyway, now you can brand yours.

A recent Inc. article by Geoffrey James explains just how to Create your Personal Brand in 8 simple steps:

1. Know yourself and what you're good at.
2. Create a memorable brand name.
3. Capture your online turf.
4. Build a website for your domain name.
5. Set up automatic updating.
6. Share useful content on a regular basis.
7. Get feedback from people you trust.
8. Be authentic, even a bit risky.

In that case, (1) I think research, design, social media, (2) Does this count? (3-4) Check! (6-8) I promise I try.

It's a lot of pressure though, especially when you're so very aware of your brand as "an American in Paris." How could I possibly brand my multifaceted self--one who does actually "love art, food, wine, yoga, and travel" and wishes "to improve the ways in which the world communicates" in order to  promote global understanding--in just 140 characters? I can hardly wrap my head around this identity of mine myself.

Tonight I went to the "Communications via Social Media" panel thanks to the7eme, an online student publication. "Employers want to know what you can do... so go out and start doing things," advised the professor for this very class. To which Meg added, "don't be afraid to talk about what you've done. It can open a lot of unexpected doors." In the end, "people will search for you online, so it's important to take part in that conversation, and having your own website can be a great way to put your best foot forward." said Matt Cutts in a PBS' MediaShift article. Phew, at least that part's covered. Now for those business cards...

[Photos from Versailles, where my boy resides]