Le Sud

It's funny to hear the Parisians speak about le Sud (the south). There is an air of nostalgia, of longing,  their shoulders visibly relax as they remember running around barefoot as kids chez mamie et papi or drinking a Ricard with friends as ados. 

Everything is better in the south: the sun shines brighter, the food tastes better, the people are nicer. 

Then depression sets in: why the eff did I ever move to Paris?! I had it so good as a kid! 

And while I didn't live in the south of France as a kid, I did grow up in southern California, where I barely owned a pair of jeans and a jacket was just out of the question.  I was worried about being too hot. Can you imagine?

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Dancer friend is moving to Vietnam. I'm so excited for her, but it makes me sad to lose such a wonderful friend in Paris. Since she is essentially homeless until she moves to her new home across the world, she and her husband had the brilliant idea of renting a home in the south of France for a couple of weeks before their departure. Awesome right? Then, even more awesome, she invited me and another close friend to spend the weekend with them. Thankfully, I got over my commitment problems and got myself some train tickets stat. 

The minute we stepped off the train, we felt the heat of the sun, needed to put on our sunglasses and decided that sunscreen was in order. It was glorious.

After a quick stop in Aix-en-Provence to take in the Saturday marché (we got vintage plates and guacamole fixins!), we arrived at their little slice of heaven. 

Crisp rosé and bright-red tomato salads greeted us at the table, followed by BBQ chicken and fresh pain de campagne. Our feet were bare, our shorts were on and the air was exceptionally warm. It was divine. I kept asking myself why on earth I ever left Toulouse, why I ever left Cannes. What was I thinking?!

In-between pool time and playtime with their two little boys, we took a lazy walk into town and then a drive into one of the neighboring villages...

poppies!

quirky doors in the south

A beautiful place for a dip in the water when it gets too hot

In the evening, we cracked open a big bottle of red, prepared the veggies together and seared the steaks on the grill.  

In the morning, this awaited us on the terrace:

I had to remind myself, that life in the south is perfect because we were on vacation. But truthfully, I was dreading Monday, when we had to pack up and leave. I took a minute to lie on the grass and soak in the sun one last time (with sunscreen!). 

As the train pulled into the Gare de Lyon, my friend and I looked out the windows at the grey clouds and bundled Parisians. Even though I was sad to have left the slow-paced, sunny south, a wave of relief washed over me - home feels good. There is something about too slow that can depress me  - and Paris will always be in action, always buzzing. I love that.

That doesn't mean that I don't totally want a country home! But, Paris is still my homegirl.

Paris Eats - Hero!

I have to give credit where credit is due. I didn't find Hero. I had no idea what it was or where it was. It was all Briana Masson.  The girl lives in Paris for 2 years and basically introduces me to every new restaurant in town.  She's back for a visit, so of course we are already on restaurant number 3 in "new ideas from Bri to try in town".  It's like I live under a rock.

Thank god for connected friends. 

Bref -

Last night we ate at Hero, a Korean-inspired restaurant located on rue Saint Denis. It's a little hole in the wall joint, made by the creators of Candelaria, Le Glass and Mary Celeste.  The vibe is relaxed, friendly, quirky and inventive - I loved it.

We couldn't pass up the cocktails - Bri got a Thug Life and I got Nice Legs:

I mean - how do you say no to this?

Then we grabbed a table, ordered a bottle of this:

Basically, it's a fermented, milky kind of saké, served cold. If I could remember the name, I'd definitely include it here because basically I'm going to order it every time I go. The perfect combo to the spicy dishes at Hero.

It's a tapas affair with sharing plates - which I'm not always a fan of - what can I say, I like my food for myself! But at Hero, there was plenty to go around - phew! A pro tip from FCC: Order one porc bun for everyone at the table. First of all, it's hard to share, second of all, you're not going to want to share its, that's how delicious this thing is:

There is some heat on this thing - jalapenos? Not sure - but you've been warned! I'm not sure my Frenchie Copain could handle it, but I thought it was delish.  The fried chicken is also a must - of course I went for the spicy option and was a happy camper.

The desserts didn't thrill me as much as the savory foods, but that won't deter me from returning to this great new Paris eats.

I loved the chill atmosphere, fair prices and strong, interesting flavors. The staff was welcoming and the bathroom was not only clean, but also had an air of luxury with the cloth hand towels, which is always appreciated by a weirdo like me. I just asked Copain to take me there for my birthday (why do I make his life so easy?)

Head to Hero for a relaxed night with friends, good (spicy!) food and good people.

Hero
289 rue Saint Denis
75002 Paris
Make reservations online (easy peasy)

Home

Copain and I just fit what most people do in five years, into one. Almost exactly one - seeing as how last time I left you was one day shy of one year ago today.

I'm happy to be on the other side of it, still in one piece and not rotting in a French jail for strangling my boyfriend or throwing baguettes at idiotic bankers. 

We have been through the wringer people.

This all sounds horribly bad - très mauvais - but basically, we used our driving force of 2013 - Avancer - and took it to a whole new level for 2014.

In 2014 we:

1. Put in an offer on the cutest apartment in the world. In our favorite Parisian neighborhood.

2. Realized the that the apartment was above a dry cleaners (dangerous perc!). Freaked out.

3. Urgently visited the environmental police office in Paris and combed through their files to research the dry cleaner's level of danger - finally decided it was okay to move forward and that we wouldn't die of perc-induced cancer.

4. Bankers! loans! Documents! Different banks! Different loans! More documents!

5.  Took a trip to Vietnam and Cambodia - almost got hit by lightening in the plane to Siem Reap. Hiked to a remote village, stayed with the villagers. Swam through the Dark Cave, tried not to die.

6. Decided to get married in November. French paperwork! More paperwork! But then this:

7. Said, OUI! then flew to Budapest -bouquet and all- for our wedding dinner... just the two of us.

At the airport: You are a few meters from a new beginning...

8. Moved out of our Teeny Parisian Apartment into our new humble (but adorable) abode in the 11th arrondissement - down five flights of stairs on one side, up five flights of stairs on the other side! 

9. Celebrated the holidays as mari & femme - in a heated apartment! With lovely stockings from Budapest, and our first Parisian Christmas tree.

10. Got rid of the taupe couch! 

Before:

After:

11. Bought our first dinner table, first new bed, a rug,  and finally hung photos on the walls. I even bought a Le Creuset casserole dish and made a boeuf bourguignon.

We are finally home.

So you understand why French Cannes Cannes went on hiatus for a year there. It was nutso up in this heezy. I was a crazy lady - une folle! 

But I'm happy to be back and to share 2015 with you.  We are done with Avancer, so now we can VIVRE.

Paris Eats - Clamato

I really wanted to like it. Really. That was totally the plan. But... I'm still hungry.

Friends and I met at the new-ish Clamato restaurant on rue de Charonne in Paris last night. We hummed and hawed over which delicious dishes we should order and settled on about 6 of them. We probably should have doubled or tripled that - but then we would have left spending 80 Euros each, instead of 56. Granted, I had four glasses of wine in there - 5 if you count that one I sent back because it was an organic wine that tasted not unlike fermented apple juice (why was this not written on the menu?).

I felt bad - I NEVER send food back. Just ask my friend who watched me suffer through pasta with rancid olive oil on top. She sent hers back - I suffered through all of mine and then felt like barfing. But this was different - this was wine that tasted like apple juice. I just couldn't do it.

In Clamato's defense, the food was absolutely delicious. Amazing mixes of flavors and creative food styling - 5/5 on that. My maple pie dessert was also delish and big ups for the absolutely divine crème chantilly - fluffy and just the right amount of sweetness. But service was so-so, the wine was "natural" but not indicated as so on the menu, and I was seriously hungry afterwards.  Maybe there should just be a sign that says - Order a billion plates, Spend a lot of money, Eat good food and Go home happy.

Alas, no sign.

I'm embarrassed to say this, but I totally stopped at McDonalds for a McFlurry on the way home. I know, sacrilegious. I'm a horrible person.

Then I ate 3 pickles on my taupe couch.

Then I ate 10 Sour Patch Kids.

Then I felt bad and went to bed.

Sigh.

Survey says - go to Clamato for really good seafood. But you know, just be aware that you'll have to Order a billion plates, Spend a lot of money, Eat good food....then you'll go home happy.

Les Vacances Scolaires

It's oh-so-quiet in Paris this week...all of the petits Frenchies are on vacances scolaires (school vacation), and parents are either home with them or have sent them to some sort of day camp so that they can continue to go to work.

I have my pick of any Vélib I want, and the metro is about half as crowded as usual.

Le BONHEUR!

I rode to work this morning, all I could do was sing this little song in my head...

Because when the kiddos are back in school....

Parisian Charm

On Wednesday night, I came home late from my Zumba class at Théâtre du Renard. Tired and sore from the last Tina Turner jam sesh, I parked my Vélib and typed the code to the front door of my immeuble.

As I walked into the hall, I was stopped by this:

One of my neighbors had removed his old windows and replaced them with new, plastic-framed, undoubtedly double-paned versions.

Where part of me was jealous of the heat-insulating additions to his apartment (surely he would be warmer than me!), another part of me felt so sad...soon, windows like this won't exist at all...

Instead of walking up the five flights of stairs to my apartment, I tip-toed around my building, careful not to wake the neighbors, and photographed all of the things that may one day be replaced by white-plastic versions, void of the Parisian charm that makes this city so magical.

How many people have come in and out of this door...

Leaned against this wall as they said goodbye to someone outside...

Felt the comfort of home as they entered this hallway...

 Lit their way with this lamp...

Climbed these creaky stairs...

Tip-toed along this landing...

Steadied themselves on this banister...

Looked down from the top and saw this twirling staircase...

Felt the relief of finally making it to the front door! 

(especially after all those early 20th century Zumba classes)

I'm usually annoyed with my building, what with the leaking windows, moldy corners and thinnest walls on the planet.  But I guess that's just the Parisian charm shining through, n'est pas?