Tasting a bit of Feminism

My husband and I are fairly equal partners in this challenge of everyday life. We both clean, care for the children and house, and divide-and-conquer as necessary. We have a mutual respect that is helpful (until we have differing ideas, of course). The point is there aren't many tasks that I would be surprised to see him doing, nor vice versa.

For dinner last night, we sat down at one of our old (though not great--this was more for nostalgic purposes) haunts and proceeded to review the menu. As I made my decisions first, I started looking at the wines. Our waitress, a young, French woman, came and took our order and we thought nothing of it.

When she returned, however, she held a bottle of wine and was clearly full of angst. She uncorked the wine and began moving it towards my husband. I wasn't understanding at all until she blurted out (in French), "Well, Madame ordered the wine, but is she also going to taste it?" I suddenly understood that it was probably not normal for a woman to order the wine. I said I would try it and she breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to my husband with a nod of approval and said "very progressive!"

I was fairly amused-- as was he. After living here all these years, neither of us had ever noticed that it mattered who ordered/tasted the wine. Is it another "rule of having fun?" Since then, I have asked several waiters if women ever order wine and they have said that it has happened-- proving that, while it is not necessarily a surprise, it is also not common. I don't know if the wine was really so great that night, or if it was simply a bit of feminism I was tasting. Either way, the results brought a smile to my lips.

Home Sweet Home

I arrived in Paris for our sabbatical just last week and one of the places on my list to return to tout de suite was the Brasserie Balzar. This famous, left-bank bistrot is one of my favorites-- they have a wonderful combination of a warm ambiance, friendly staff and a great location. During our last sabbatical, we visited a handful of times in various forms- my husband and I alone, with children, with friends, etc. and had a lovely dinner each and every time.

Since it had been three years since I had the pleasure of dining with them, I wondered if I would remember any of the staff. As I walked to the front door, I immediately recognized the maitre d'. He is a stout, older gentleman with an unforgettable mustache and a ready smile. In addition, a couple of the waiters (yes, they are all men) were the same. I gave a vague smile as I didn't want them to think they should remember me and walked to my table.

Shortly after being seated, the maitre d' walked up to me and said (in French) "It has been awhile, Madame." I was stunned that he remembered me and then quicly realized that he probably saw my look of nostalgia as I walked in, but I played along nonetheless. I told him it had been three years, in fact, but that I was happy to be back. He next said (again in French), "And how is your husband, the professor?" You could have told me I'd just won the lottery and I would have been no less stunned. How on Earth could he remember me three years after my last visit-- even remembering my husband's occupation? I told him my husband was well and we would return together soon.

Some people say home is a collection of personal objects, others argue that home is wherever you belong, the old sitcom "Cheers" said it was "where everybody knows your name." I don't know that anyone here knows my name, and I am certianly lacking in personal belongings, but I am most certainly home.

The Cannibale Cafe: A Grain of Salt with your Dinner

I like to learn-- I always have. I like to find out what people think, their ideas on politics and even religion-- if nothing else, it's a fresh perspective but I generally walk away with something more to reflect on. In much the same manner as new ideas, I love to get recommendations from people-- what are their favorite websites, restaurants, vacation sites, etc.?

A couple days ago I found myself without a dinner idea at dinner time which meant we were going out. I quickly scanned the Internet for a new, child-friendly choice in Paris and came up with almost nothing. There was one review, however, that caught my eye-- a ChowHound review of the Cannibale Cafe. The cafe was near our apartment and the review was great (good food, easy-going staff, and art supplies for kids!). The name of the restaurant lingered in my mind, but to avoid a coup d'etat, I decided to give it a try.

The Cannibale Cafe could not have been a worse choice for dinner. Outside of the generally unsavory area it was in, I entered the restaurant with my children in tow and proceeded to sit down to the worst French meal I've ever had (in or outside of the country!). The actual menu featured nude lesbians entangled on the cover (which my 6 year old found quite interesting), a zebra in a thong on the glasses and NO child-friendly food (or art supplies) anywhere in site. Thankfully, my husband's overdone, but tasty steak came with the requisite frites, which we all shared. It didn't save the dinner, but it saved my children from becoming... well, cannibals.

I suppose, in the end, all perspectives and ideas need to be taken with a grain of salt. They all reflect the myriad of experiences of the writer which may (or may not) be in line with your own thinking. Who knew-- even restaurant reviews need a little salt now and then.

Cannibale Cafe
Address:93, Rue Jean Pierre Timbaud, 11th arrondisement
Metro: Couronnes
Map:

The Natural History Museum: Larger than Life

Larger than life seems to be an American expression-- things in France are much more understated and, in theory, more refined. The one place this seems to dissolve is in the Natural History Museum (Grande Galerie de l'Evolution). Located on the left bank, inside the walls of the Jardin des Plantes, this newly-renovated museum is awe-inspiring as soon as you walk in the door. This ode to taxidermy presents elephants, giraffes, butterflies and whales among other species, in a style that allows you to get as up close & personal with a lion as you would ever want. The African animals, for example, are put together in a scene mimicking an African valley. There are videos along the sides to show you actual footage of the area, complete with moving grass and elephants.



Whether your group includes a 9 month old or a 9 year old, this museum is a great stop-- and, ironically perhaps, something you don't see often in the U.S. Sometimes even the French are larger than life.

Overall rating: ****


Grande Galerie d'Evolution in the Jardin des Plantes
Address: 36, rue Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 5th arrondisement
Metro: Jussieu or Austerlitz
Website: www.mnhn.fr
Map:

Agrandir le plan

Going Home

American writer Gertrude Stein once said, "America is my country, but Paris is my home town." Having lived there twice and been a tourist several times in between, I couldn't agree more. It's one of the cities that captures your heart in a very real and personal way.

While I tend to be somewhat opinionated, and perhaps outspoken at times, I try to make a point of expressing myself without attempting to convince others I am right. For the most part, I'm not certain I am right. My conclusions about global warming, the economy, abortion and other hot topics are based on the information I've gotten from others to this point and are thoroughly intertwined with my principles, values and beliefs. Just because it all fits together for me in a certain way doesn't mean it will for someone else. My experiences in Paris, however, were ascertained first hand and, although my feelings on the subject are very emotional, I somehow feel qualified to convince others of the city's beauty and stature.

Given my wonderful experiences in Paris, it always perplexes me when I hear someone speaking negatively about their time there, and almost feel insulted, as if they were speaking of a dear friend. I've found a number of reasons people don't understand the city, but most of it revolves around Americans trying to "check off" experiencing Paris on a laundry list of things to do. I, personally, don't believe that you can really experience anything on a timeline for the simple reason that the timeline itself distracts you from the experience.

I was at a restaurant the other night and, in the same manner that you can hear someone saying your name even if you aren't listening, I happened to hear the people behind me talking about their recent time in Paris. Much to my relief (and enjoyment), they talked about how much they loved the city. They hadn't really intended to spend time there, so they went with no timeline, nothing to "check off" and had a simply marvelous time. They sat in cafes, sipped wine, walked along the Seine and made their way into the Louvre. In my (not-so) humble opinion, they experienced Paris in a weekend far more than the tourists who arrive, lists in hand, ready to conquer the city in one week.

The beauty of Gertrude Stein's quote is that it is really a telling statement on how Paris should be explored. When I return to my hometown, I sometimes arrive, list in hand, ready to conquer it. I see the people I want to see, do the things I want to do, and return to real life tired, having missed the experience all together. Other times, I go home and let life happen. I may not see all the people I want to see and I may not do all the things I want to do, but I return feeling like I walked down Main Street. The difference is subtle, but it's very real. I hope I can go home again soon.