Quote of the Week

As quoted in the movie Of Gods and Men:

"Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it for religious conviction".
Blaise Pascal.

Amen, brother!

The Spark of Antisemitism

Apparently, it takes three drunk French people at a bar to get it started.
Fourth Musketeer wannabe John Galliano got suspended from Dior for allegedly hurling racial insults at a Jewish woman and an Asian man. It's all very confusing.
It turns out that the woman isn't even Jewish and furthermore, she works at the Institut du Monde Arabe. She filed the claim against Galliano because "she feels solidarity with Jews and Arabs".
To which I have to say: Gee thanks, pal. As usual, too much politically correct fervor paves the road to hell. Thanks to you, Yahoo News is now chock full of the vilest hate speech against Jews since the middle ages. Just scroll down to the comments section of the Galliano news story and let your stomach start churning. Anonymity allows pathetic losers to spew evil and inflammatory stuff in the internet.   Blood libels, conspiracy theories, anti-Zionist rants, "Hitler was right", "Henry Ford was right", poor, stupid "Helen Thomas was right" (she is now quite unfortunately in the company of the other two bozos), you name it. It's as if you put the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, Mein Kampf, The International Jew, the anti-Israel hate brigade and the blood libels of yore in a shaker and stir.
Galliano is countersuing the attacked couple for defamation. And he should, if indeed they made the accusations up. This is as inexcusable as racially insulting people, maybe even worse. It is what in Jewish tradition is known as lashon hara, an evil tongue, a terrible sin which is not to be exercised by anybody.
The way the Galliano incident was reported in the media makes it seem that the hoopla is more about the antisemitism than about the other racial insults. I find this unfortunate, since both are equally racist and this gives the anti-Semites an opportunity to complain that the Jews are always kvetching about antisemitism. However, the fact that this happened in the Marais, a Jewish neighborhood, in a city that is still reckoning its collaboration with the Nazis, may have to do with the extra sensitivity. You can't walk two blocks in the Marais without running into a plaque commemorating the hundreds of Jewish people or schoolchildren who were deported to their deaths from those very homes. People in the USA have never seen their neighbors forcibly taken from their homes or attacked for ethnic reasons (except for Blacks in the South or if you were Japanese in the 1940s), so they think it's all an exaggeration.
So the new trope is that Jews are oversensitive, and that we overreact. I think it is true in some cases. But who is to decide what is an overreaction?  Because we have so much to complain about, we should not complain at all? Blacks have the same problem. Some people think they overreact. Who is to judge? How can anybody who doesn't share a history of persecution and humiliation, deem it an overreaction?
It's a delicate subject. Are we paranoid and oversensitive, or are we finely attuned to prejudice and hatefulness (not that we are not capable of it ourselves)?
I can tell you this: I know it when I see it. I feel it in my bones. And I can read between the lines. Sometimes it is carefully euphemistic and baroquely disguised (like Charlie Sheen's violent hatred of "Chaim Levine") and sometimes is outright nuts and transparent (see Yahoo comments). Many times it is an overly feverish disgust with Israel, as if Israel was the only country with behavioral issues in the world, but most of the time it's the banal, ignorant, prejudiced remarks about noses and greed and world domination.
I'm fucking tired of all of it, whatever its latest guise.

NEWS UPDATE: Here is evidence that Galliano did say horrible things. His defamation suit is bullshit. 

Esto es Vida!

I don't know what it is about the Cote D' Azur that it is so delightful, even as it is chock full of  men wearing ugly square-pointy shoes and pastel colored pants. There is something about this outrageously expensive town (one beer and one glass of rose at the Hotel Majestic: 23 Euros), that is extremely soothing to the eye and the soul. The sun shines, the sky and the sea are super blue, and the seafood is amazing. This is, after all, Provence.
I have been coming to the advertising festival for 3 years now and was finally able to get a table at perpetually mobbed Coquillerie Brun, est. 1958, late last night. It did not disappoint. A non pretentious seafood place with amazing shellfish platters (freshest oysters ever), an unbelievable fish soup and a tarte tatin with caramel and fleur de sel ice cream that made us vow to eat there everyday, if we only could. The euro is a little bit cheaper than last year, totally engorging our sense of largesse. 
So you will forgive me if all I can talk about is food right now. That and the thing that never ceases to amaze me, which is that the French in this part of France are so much nicer (for the most part) than the ones in Paris.
I have to find out at what time is the Mexico game. I also didn't see mes amies the Leopard Ladies last night, so there are 2 mysteries to be solved.
See you later (I wanted to say A tout al'heures, but I don't know how to spell it)

La Fete de la Musique

Here's a country that still has a certain sense of community, after all. La Fete de la Musique is a day when all of France devotes itself to making music, listening, learning, dancing. All events are FREE. Money has nothing to do with it. Every neighborhood has different bands performing almost every style of music imaginable (with an unfortunate penchant for hard core electronica or truly awful dance music). Most bands are conformed of amateurs, and most suck. But the enthusiasm is undeniable, both of audience and performers. France is a country of great aficionados. Most of them may be constitutionally incapable of moving to the rhythm, but this does not intimidate them in the least. They are willing to learn and they have no sense of ridicule.
What moved me, for I was deeply moved, is that everybody gets together to make it happen and to enjoy it. For one day, you share something special with your neighbors, it's that simple. Very, very cool.
I was thinking, imagine if we did this in NY, or the whole of the US. One single, solitary day when it's not about money, but about connecting. Imagine all those talented people who would come out and play on the streets, and all those neighbors that would enjoy it.
I don't understand how a country like this is less constrained by money than we are. They do public projects for the benefit of the citizens and they do not begrudge them every cent they cost. The fabulous mayor of Paris has instituted the amazing bike rental program, still going on, the Paris Plages festival with beaches on the Seine every July. They open and pay for art centers in struggling neighborhoods. They give back.
We, who are supposed to have everything, are miserly. Even free events like Summerstage or Celebreate Brooklyn are always about asking for contributions, donations, sponsors.
So I suggest to Mayor Bloomberg, who is so keen on winning again, to check out what they do over here.

Finally: One very good meal.

Thanks to Analia and Nicolas for recommending La Cave Gourmande, 1o Rue du General Brunet, 19eme (Metro Botzaris).

This is what we ate. It was all superb:

• Vichyssoise in a glass. It tasted of smoked bacon, of potato, of leeks, of cucumber. It had little croutons and also thin strips of fried leeks and potatoes. Amazing.

• White asparagus in a parmesan croute, with some sort of gentle sweet sorbet and a touch of balsamic. Excellent.

• "Toblerone" of lamb with BBQ sauce. The tenderest, tastiest lamb I've ever had shaped into little mounds like a Toblerone bar, sitting on a light puff pastry base with an amazing ratatouille on the side.

• Perfectly cooked Filet of Turbotin (fish) with a super subtle, elegant, light garlic cream sauce, smoked potato puree (genius) and the best fried parsley ever.

• Chocolate fondue with fruits. Simple, but the chocolate, out of this world.
• Almond torte with apples and saffron icecream. The cake was nice but a bit heavy, but the saffron icecream -- fantastic.

• One glass of excellent white wine from the house and one glass of rouge Vin de Pays D'Oc.

There is still good food in Paris at about 50 euros a pop.

Not that I am complaining or anything, BUT:

It's time to kvetch about France, Paris and the French. No visit here would be complete without a certain degree of exasperation, nes't pas?
Par example: There is always an extra bureaucratic step to everything. Free events are free, which is a wonderful thing. BUT. You still need to get a ticket for the free event. You still need to do the bureaucratic dance. Ces't comme ça.
More annoying: There is a mystery as to what metro ticket vending machines accept working credit cards. Some do, some don't and it's all very mystifying. Some machines only want cards with chips, others are more ecumenical. Seems that the more touristy the area, the more benevolent the machines.
BUT. Would it kill the Metro to have a machine that accepts bills, not only coins, and cards with and without chips? Would it kill the Metro to issue easy, convenient things like NY's Metrocards instead of annoying carnets of 10 loose tickets or a Navigo pass that requires your picture and the signature of Cardinal Richelieu?
It is the height of convenience to buy your train tickets online and just print them out in a machine at the station. In the very possible case that the machine does not accept your card, happily, you can also type in your confirmation number, BUT after you do so, it still asks you FOR THE FREAKING CARD IT WON'T ACCEPT.
So in the end you have to do everything analog anyway, like in the Ancien Regime.

Le Grand Paris

I spent several hours today at the exhibition about the architectural contest for Sarkozy's self-aggrandizing project (every French leader since Napoleon has to have one) of the Parisian metropolis of the future (thanks Mimosa!).
9 or 10 (I lost count after a while) architectural firms presented projects, among them Richard Rogers, Jean Nouvel and Christian de Portzamparc. It was extraordinarily interesting to see how each team conceptualized and solved the problem. It was also inspiring to see how big you can dream to try to make life better for the citizens of a metropolis. Some projects seem undoable, or too vague, others, like Jean Nouvel's, spectacular, and cunningly likeable, but it was all heady food for thought.
For a more journalistic but shamefully incomplete article you can turn to the NY Times. Here you will read about my own Napoleonic suggestions:

1. Destroy the offensive Tour Montparnasse and rebuild something gorgeous in its stead. Jean Nouvel imagines a spectacular golden structure on the top, but I say it's throwing good money after bad. Dynamite the eyesore and do something fabulous, as befits the area and the city.

2. One of the studios proposes a redecoration and renovation of the Place des Fetes, a few blocks away from here and a perfect example of condescending, ugly public housing for the immigrant poor. I second that emotion. Raze this horror to the ground and build a livable, beautiful, community space.

3. Destroy the Les Halles shopping mall and put a new central market there again. As one walks in the heart of Paris, thinking that this seventies monstrosity used to be the amazing central market of this town, one feels like sending whoever is responsible for this mall to the guillotine. I imagine Les Halles became untenable, but what they did is unforgiveable. I am no fan of the Pompidour either, but I'm letting it live for the time being.

4. As in New York, je vous propose to curb, limit and discourage the use of private motor vehicles as much as possible. Cities with great densities and mostly flat terrain (particularly cities with many narrow streets) have no business allowing cars anymore. More bikes, better subway cars, electric buses, minitaxis and trams, and voilá.

As for the outskirts, most of the teams concurred that they are dangerously cut off from city life. Paris is surrounded by an ugly freeway that functions like a moat, a demarcation line. Even with trains going to the banlieue, the poorest suburbs are ugly and neglected (and bad enough to spark riots, remember?). Many of the architects reimagine the balance of power between the center of the city and the outskirts, Richard Rogers in particular. They propose to end the isolation of the suburbs and make them into part of the city. I am all for the abolition of suburbs everywhere and the creation of cities of different sizes, where, as one of the architects noted, life does not have to depend on the automobile.

There was a wonderful quote in one of the projects. I paraphrase:
A city is not about a place in space, it's about drama in time.
Exactly.
In all, the contest is a fascinating opportunity to dream, and an example of the kind of projects the government should support. Many major cities should think in terms of this kind of long term planning (Are you listening, Mexico City? New York?).

Paris Pictures

Food for Thought

I have to agree with my French friend Nicolas: The food is better in New York. In restaurants, that is.
The bread, the butter, the cheese, the cream, the pastries, the charcuterie: all of that is better here. (The cherries too).
But to eat well in restaurants in Paris you have to pay a lot of money. Bistro food gets pretty repetitive and heavy after a few days (hear me complaining). We've been to decent restaurants where we've paid an average of 30 euros per person and the food is no great shakes. For $42 in New York you can eat a better meal. Perhaps not three courses, but much better quality.
Silver lining: today I bought 4 cans of cold 1664 beer for 1 euro each. Voila!
In NY you can eat really well all kinds of food for less. And that's all she wrote.

The Boulevard of Broken Dreams

The Meaning of Life Revisited

Do you remember that scene in Monty Python's The Meaning of Life where the waiter offers the fat guy an after dinner mint? Well, I am just about to explode, like that.

Slow Food

Time for our general observations of some mystifying aspects of French culture:
Once you enter a restaurant, it will take you hours to get out. It doesn't matter if you were thinking of just having a fast crepe, a croque or a salad. It will take forever. The reason is not what all tourists think it is; namely, rudeness. It's a system of food delivery that probably stretches back to the ancien regime. Marie Antoinette probably said "let them it cake" when somebody asked for the check. The check doesn't come until you ask for it. Asking for it is difficult as waiters tend to disappear or ignore you for long stretches of time. Having been to Spain recently, although similar, there they are happy to take your money* faster.
1. There are fewer waiters in Parisian restaurants than there should be per capita. The humbler the restaurant, the fewer waiters on hand. It dawned on me that if you go to Taillevent, there must be a waiter for every one of your limbs and your five senses. But that is not my case. My observations are based on "cheap" places.
2. The waiter/ess may or may not acknowledge that you have arrived and sat on a table outside (this happens indoors too). Once the waiter acknowledges you, they act as if they don't know that you are there to eat. Perhaps they think your feet are tired or you sat down to ponder the meaning of life. Perhaps they think you just want to have coffee or a beverage, in which case, they will not bother bringing the menu. This is not a system about efficiency, but about personal freedom and choice, as dictated by the tenets of the French Revolution. Therefore, it is up to you to ask for it, since under no circumstance will the waiter have the menu on hand as they approach your table. As they go in search of your menu, they stop at every table along the way to inquire if others have decided, if they have finished, would they like some coffee, dessert anyone, etc. Before they bring you your menu, they finish all the chores that they set themselves to do along the way. The same happens with your meal and the same happens with the check. We have calculated that unless you eat a sandwich or a crepe on the street, the average lunch or dinner in Paris can't possibly take less than an hour. Not that we are in a rush, but idle people with time on their hands and a wandering spirit (i.e. tourists) have things to do too.
And please, do not take this as criticism. I, for one, do not always appreciate the well oiled machine that is service in New York restaurants, where everybody seems to be on the timer of an explosive device which will detonate in approximately 25 minutes, from soup to nuts. I'm just trying to understand the underlying essence of the Proustian lunch.
* The check dilemma also has me pondering whether the French have an issue with money. Perhaps they think it's vulgar to bring it up. To wit: We searched for activities at the Louvre we could engage on in an effort to improve our halting French. On their website, they list absolutely everything there is to know about the lectures, conferences and workshops available. Everything, that is, except the price. The price probably lies in some unfathomable recess where nobody who possesses an ounce of logic would think to look. We even went to the museum in person and could not find the prices listed at the information desk next to the box office. I guess money is not the most important thing in their minds. Time is not of the essence; it is as fluid and as long and as leisurely as all the tomes that Proust devoted to searching for it.
This is not necessarily bad. Indeed, it can be enormously delightful and charming, but coming from New York, it takes a little adjusting to.

Profit...eroles

They looked iffy, but once we took a bite, we were in heaven. The chocolate was unbelievable, the vanilla ice cream sublime and the choux pastry amazing.

Our Paris 'Hood

Rue de Belleville. Not one tourist around. Except moi. A plaque in a building nearby commemorates the place where Edith Piaf was born. Those are the neighborhood's credentials.

The corner bar. The enthusiasm of the jazz/bossa combo is charming, and the singer is a sweetheart, though utterly out of tune. They play American standards with great devotion. A drunk couple dances wildly, with no sense of rhythm whatsoever, but with too much abandon. It's quite annoying. And it looks like it's gonna end badly. She crashes to the ground on cue with the end of the song. Everybody claps. A fat French guy attempts to sing Sitting on the Dock of the Bay, by Otis Redding, with no sense of shame or decorum (or melody or tune). They are clueless, but they love the music with a passion.


Apparently, some things never go out of fashion.

Weird metro station from the 30's at the Place des Fetes. No one bothers to beautify it for the working class.



Two tough little customers.

It's impossible...

...to walk the streets of Paris without wanting to eat everything in sight. The bread, the pastries, the ice cream, the fromages, the charcuterie, the chocolats, even the Chinese food so beautifully displayed.
It doesn't help that there is food every two steps on every street.
Today I had a perfect crepe complete with jambon, fromage, oeuf and beurre, all of which are so goddamned tasty, they make what we eat in the States feel like plastic food.
As I can't stop at every artisan boulanger and eat all their pastries, I walk around with an irksome feeling all day long. If I did, I'd be a whale. What's a gourmande to do?

Nous sommes arriveés a Paris!

And we are staying in a fabulous five floor walk up which is a walk in the park compared to the one the last time around. The building is French and old and gorgeous.



We have a terrace. But the best part is that we are in a wonderful neighborhood very close to the wonderful Buttes Chaumont park.


The noises that waft from the street are the nicest I've ever heard in a city. Right now, I am typing to the accompaniment of someone taking piano lessons. The melody is one of those sugary classical music pieces that sound like a nursery rhyme. There are many singing birds and they are quite talkative. We also hear nice little French children playing. Blissfully, very few cars pass by this narrow street. Now there's a cat meowing. I think we're going to be extremely happy here.


I went down to the park to sit and read an article about Carlos Slim and I saw a cat on a roof (hot tin?) having a fight with two big crows. He probably decided to pester them and they did not take it on the beak. They circled around him and swooped down on him and made an unholy racket and they looked like they meant business.
I have decided that I may do as my voisins and use the park for a daily morning constitutional.
Meanwhile, we've already identified two bakeries, several laundromats, pharmacies, the charcutier, the poissonerie, the fruit stalls. Ah, Paris.