Tea and Sympathy

One my favorite spots for tea in New York was a little palour called Tea & Sympathy, all doilies and scones. I finally caught up for tea in Paris with Karin, a fellow blogger (an alien Parisienne) and one of the first readers of the Lunch in Paris blog. It was such a treat to transform an online connection into a real life one - a uniquely 21st century encounter.

The blog will be a year old next month. After I finished the book - I knew I wanted to continue sharing stories and creating recipes from Paris. But I was very new to the online community - afraid I would be writing into thin air. Instead I've discovered a world full of enthusiastic, like-minded indivduals checking in to say hi, share their tips and Paris longings - and of course, their recipes.

Karin is a big gluten free cook - and she brought over some lovely carrot muffins made with coconut flour courtesy of almond flour fairy Elena Amsterdam of Elena's Pantry. I'm normally suspicious of gluten free pastries (I'm a texture nut), but these were moist, not overly eggy - and the coconut flour added a tropical ray that was just right with the grated carrots and juicy raisins. Never mind the fact that it was gloomy and chilled in Paris in the middle of June - we had the perfect excuse (and nibbles) to sit and talk the afternoon away.

PS - Karin changed a few things from the original recipe. She used Agave syrup instead of Yacon, and made 9 regular size muffins (baked for 20 minutes), instead of 32 mini muffins. Enjoy!

If you stand that close to Carrie...

You're bound to get your picture taken! Laurel and I decided to make a Sex in the City foursome with Jamie Cat Callan, author of French Women Don't Sleep Alone. Thanks to all who came to grab a cocktail and fill up on multicutural chatter at the Sex and the City Cafe on Friday. There were even ice-cubes. Very NYC.

I was up late reading Laurel's book, Sorbonne Confidential - alternating between fascination and horror at her experiences of the most prestegious French teaching exam - which has nothing to do with teaching - and everything to do with the mental formatting of the French elite. I'm glad Augustin will be sticking to the building blocks for a while. I'm not sure I'm ready to handle my son being told that Joseph Conrad (who was born in Poland) could have been a great French writer, but for reasons passing understanding, he chose to write in English instead...

Lunch in Paris was part of a really interesting article on travel memoirs in the New York Times - a new breed of travel writers who focus on staying, rather than just get-up-and-going.

I've been trying to tone down the sugar this month - in preparation for bikini season. So of course, for the last 24 hours, all I can think about is cake! I'm debating between my classic yogurt cake and an olive oil cake recipe given to me by my friend Jen. That's her homemade rhubarb compote as well. Maybe I'll put olive oil in the yogurt cake...

Best of Both Worlds - A Conversation with author Laurel Zuckerman

Hi Everyone – Laurel Zuckerman and I will be at the Café Etienne Marcel in Paris on Friday night for cocktails and conversation about “having it all” – how we’ve tried to combine the best of French and American culture in our lives, marriages, experiences of parenthood – and of course, our dinner tables! All this is part of the WHSmith reading series around the launch of Sex and the City 2 – Manolos optional.

I was so pleased to finally meet Laurel, the author of Sorbonne Confidential and an very active member of the Paris writers community. We decided to get the conversation going early a bit early (does that mean I can have a Cosmo at 8am?) with a few thoughts on the best and worst of French culture. Why do we love it here, and some days, why do we want to be beat someone over the head with a baguette? Funnily enough, though we met only yesterday - our loves and longings seem to be remarkably similar...

EB’s reasons to love Paris:

Food for pleasure, not fuel: I love the idea that a French meal is something to be planned for days, lingered over for hours, and talked about forever. I love that fresh ingredients make it simple to cook great food. I love that people don’t eat in their cars, or on the street, or at their desks. I love that meals are still the central thread in the social fabric of France.

My husband’s three week paternity leave: Never mind that I spent six days in the hospital FREE of charge. I’ll say that again – six days of hospital care, midwifes, and doctors FREE of charge. Not only were my bump and I graciously waived to the front of the line at the supermarket, taxi stand, airline check etc. New French daddy’s have three weeks with their partners and newborns; It was such a special bonding time for us as a new family – we got our feet wet, could share sleep shifts, and take baby Augustin for his first café crème.

If I lived in the States right now, I’d turn into a cupcake: I’m finding it harder and harder to make good food choices when I’m back in the US with my family. My mother’s fridge is lined with a wall of condiments, and there’s a cupcake (or a muffin, or a scone) at every turn. Why, every time I see a newsstand, do I crave Dots and Twizzlers? I struggle with the enormous portions, if it’s there – of course we’ll eat it…

Weekend is not a dirty word: It’s no exaggeration to say that the French are always going on, returning from, or planning their next vacation. Time off is sacred to them, and although my husband and I work a lot, balance is essential – in the end, I think it makes us more productive…

Don’t join a gym, take a walk: As a girl who thinks sweating should be reserved for vigorous sex – I’m totally in line with the French idea of exercise. Take a walk, drag the groceries up six flights of stairs, don’t eat till your pants split. Common sense that seems to keep French women slim without a stairmaster.

EB’s reasons to beat someone over the head with a baguette:

Five people, five explanations, no answer: This is one that makes my head wobble. It’s very hard to get a definitive answer to anything – opening hours, tax law… round and round you go, picking up tidbits of information here and there, piecing together a patchwork of knowledge. I’m sure there is a right way to do things, but no one seems to know what it is…

No one ever asks what you do for a living: I’m lucky enough to love my work – so it’s a shame that it’s the last thing a French person will ask you about in a conversation. The old American “So, what do you do?” line is a non-starter here. Professional lives often take a backseat to other things.

The first answer is always “Non”: I come from the land of Yes, so imagine my surprise when I arrived in France and the first thing I heard was “Non, c’est impossible” – you ABSOLUTELY CAN’T keep your maiden name on your bank account, have your sweaters folded rather than hung, or get a last minute train ticket! After almost a decade in France, I now understand that “Non” is merely the beginning of a negotiation; once you explain that your grandmother is ill and you’re going to burn your chocolate cake if you don’t get home in time to take it out of the oven in time and surely the woman behind the counter has a sick grandmother too, n’est-ce pas?, you’ll get your train ticket, and a smile as well…

LZ’s reason to love Paris: (actually a little town just outside Paris)

I walk everywhere. My children walk everywhere. We don’t have a car, don’t NEED a car. And when we walk, it’s side by side, not Mom the Chauffeur in front shuttling from one appointment to another. We can talk, admire at sights, breathe the air (ok not always a plus). Kids can run to the store by themselves to pick up milk or eggs. It feels right.

Having babies. Giving birth is scary enough, and it’s a relief not to have to worry about the cost. Also, your job is protected and you get three months off, paid—and the possibility of a leave of absence. There is a reason why France has the highest birthrate in Europe.

Child care: while finding a nanny or a crèche can be difficult, from age three all children can attend école maternelle, which is free, well organized and generally staffed with kind and well trained teachers. It’s the best part of Education Nationale.

Food, of course the food! I love the ritual of preparation, the anticipation, the effortless culinary skill off friends and neighbors, the civilized pleasure of eating, drinking and talking together—the banishment of vulgar talk of carbs and proteins. I am eternally grateful to France that my daughter at 12 can prepare a beautiful three course meal.

LZ’s reasons to dream, sometimes, of elsewhere

French negativity. More energy gets swallowed up in constructing explanations why change is impossible than simply analyzing and fixing a problem. This is most true for the education system, which cries out for reform which cannot happen, no matter how obvious the need.

The fact that the terrific fruits and vegetables we relish are poisoned with pesticides. While France is not the only country where industrial lobbies control regulatory agencies, that food and water are allowed to be contaminated, year after year, is a scandal of the highest order.

Sometimes, I must admit, the way history is taught to children is too much for me. Slavery, colonialism, racism, imperialism, and ghettos tend to be presented as strictly American inventions which miraculously spared France. World War II was a profit making venture. Vietnam was never Indochina. My children, caught between competing versions of history—French, American and (thanks to my husband) Russian, learned early to distrust schoolbooks and check facts. Though I suppose that’s good, really.

There is a charming expression which sums up a certain attitude which has caused me grief: “A promise only engages the person who believes it.” It’s like a weird national anthem. Especially for builders. tradesmen. repairmen and installers. How many expat books owe their existence to this distain for contracts? There is a scene I love in “Asterix and Obelix: Mission Cleopatre”. Monica Belluci’s Cleopatra orders that her new palace be built swiftly because she’s made a bet with Caesar. “Ok,” answers the sweet but incompetent little architect (Jamel Debbouse), “but how many months late?”

Please join us for a drink on Friday - and check out Laurel's blog - and of course, her books!

PS - This one makes me want to beat someone over the head with the Eiffel Tower - I just found out that I paid taxes on 125% of my revenues last year...This is not a joke. I paid taxes on money I didn't earn. "Travailleur Independent/Profession Liberale" BEWARE - since the law changed in 2006, if you are an independent worker and not yet a member of an "Association de Gestion Agreee" for your profession - you are being automatically taxed on the basis of 125% of your earnings. Vive la France. The fiscal advantages are explained very clearly here. Unfortunately, it is too late to join for 2010, the deadline was May 31st - but don't forget to do it for 2011!