The Four Food Groups of Life

It was time for the Last Supper. Perhaps that's a little over-dramatic, but Sunday night I had my last dinner party at my chic Parisien apartment. It was also my last trip to the market, my last trip to the Marais, my last Sunday in Paris...

My dad was interested in seeing the Jewish section of the Marais. I may have explained before that the Marais is known for its Jewish community, particularly Rue de Rosiers. Over the last couple decades the Marais has also seen an increase in the gay community. Now when you walk through the Marais, you can see it's unofficially split into two sections - one filled with synagogues and kosher delis and the other filled with gay bars and interesting shops. I love it all, but we only had time for breakfast on Rue de Rosiers. I took my dad and my stepmom, Brenda, to a place that is half deli/restaurant and half patisserie - a great combination of goodies! We dined on quiche, potato latkes and pastries. I asked Brenda what she thought of her first French (Jewish) pastry, and she said, matter-of-factly, ''light, buttery, sugary, and flaky.'' The four food groups of life, I asked? Maybe in France...

After the Marais, we headed to Rue Mouffetard to buy ingredients for dinner at the market. I showed my dad and Brenda what it means to shop for dinner in France. They summed it up in one word: long. If you're going to do it right, you can't just do a one-stop shop at Giant (or Franprix). You must go to the market for fresh local vegetables, then to the boucherie for meats, then to the boulangerie for fresh baguettes. It's time consuming, yes, but in France, it's a lifestyle necessity. It's also a source of enjoyment and entertainment, especially for a market lover like myself!


BRENDA'S PERSPECTIVE: The Role Reversal

As I sit down to write my blog about our visit to Paris at Michelle’s request, I find it difficult to sum up 14 days in Europe into a few brief paragraphs. But I will do my best. The sites, the smells, the sounds, oh yes and the flavors, the delectable flavors are still swirling in my mind weeks later.

But before we get to that, let me just say my husband Dave and I were definitely looking forward to our European trip that we had been hoping to take for the past 20 years. But I know equally we were looking forward to setting our eyes upon our daughter who we had not seen in many months. She having accepted a position abroad, sublet her apt, found a place to live in Paris on Craig’s list no less, packed up and hit the road with about two weeks notice. Needless to say we were slightly apprehensive. We avidly followed her blog at first just to be close to her in some small way and to be sure she was adapting and happy. And then as she slowly became familiar, then comfortable, then happy with her surroundings we relaxed and let the pride wash over us that we had been slightly holding inside. I know that even though I had been adventuresome in my own way in my youth, I would NEVER have had the chutzpah at her age, or my current age for that matter, to leave home and hearth and plunk down in a foreign country with nary a friend or relative in sight, where I did not have full command of the language, did not know the banking system nor even how to shop for groceries! So to say we were proud of her is such an understatement. We admired and envied her as well.

So we get off the plane bleary-eyed in Paris, grab a cab for our hotel, check in and call her to meet us for breakfast. From then on our roles were reversed and she became like the parent. She ushered us around Paris like little ducklings and translated for us with ease in her beautifully-acquired French accent and Parisian attitude. She took us to many of her favorite haunts. We ate at her favorite creperies (we became total addicts, scouring the streets for a jambon et fromage and Nutella crepes for days like junkies needing a fix), drank and enjoyed music at her favorite piano bar, did the touristy things she had avoided while establishing her Parisian lifestyle, celebrated her birthday with the most delectable magret de canard rôti (roast duck), and met her Parisian friends (who were all divine). She taught us to use the metro and the RER (we got off to a rocky start on our own). And we spent an afternoon shopping at a French market. This is an experience like no other as the tasty fruits and vegetables are all beautifully ripe, colorful and flavorful. There are so many sights, smells and things you want to taste it is an overload to the senses. There are vendors offering scarves, and jewelry and wallets, and many eye-catching trinkets to ooh and ahh over. I must have been a crow in a former life as anything shiny catches my eye! Then we strolled to Michelle’s darling Parisian apartment, and she effortlessly prepared a smorgasbord of delectables from our market visit.

We took 1600 photos and walked our feet to nubs exploring as much of the city as we could in just a few short days. Even buying oil paintings by the Seine. I know it sounds cliché, but we really did! Just like an ''I Love Lucy'' episode.

Then the day came when we were on our own. We were like baby birds testing our wings. Qu’est-ce que c’est? (What’s this?) We have to speak on our own behalf and order food and beverages and get directions? How will we manage on our own??? By the way, the Parisian’s are not the snobs everyone says they are, but that is another story. Needless to say, we managed, and Dave and I had a wonderful, romantic time in Paris and came home with a renewed attitude to walk more places, eat more crepes and let the ''joie de vivre'' carry us away.


THE DAD PERSPECTIVE - PART 1: Up, Up and Away!

After reading Brenda’s blog, she described many of our feelings so well regarding what I will now call “Michelle’s Excellent Adventure.” I will not elaborate so you have to read it again. Let me add one other feeling. From the time she said, I might go (which in Michellean terms means, I am going come Hell or high water), to leaving at the last moment, to the creation of a new world, I have to admit that I have forgotten what it is like to be young.

I remember leaving for Upstate New York for the summer the year of Woodstock when I was in high school. Please do not count backwards as I was a prodigy and was seven at the time. My friend who was on the wrestling team with me two years before had spent a year in some private school. He came into school to visit the last week and said, my uncle is looking for lifeguards at a hotel in the Catskills for the summer. Do you want to go? After pointing out that I barely knew how to swim, I said sure. I got “permission” from my parents and off we went. Car trip. No cell phones. No blogs. No email. Of course, we wound up working at several hotels, and I forgot to keep in touch with my parents, and they had to come looking for me one weekend. But that is another story. Now we can’t make a trip to Europe without making reservations two months in advance, researching every Marriott in town, packing for a week, talking with doctors and more. Michelle goes on the Internet and leaves. Ah, to be young again.

Of course, even when you plan things go wrong. I ate some bad seafood before I left and was sick as a “dog” (wonder where that expression comes from) on the trip and for the first day or two. Imagine flying business class and eating nothing. Imagine picking at your first crepe. In bad news there is always good news. For the days after that—I did not have the old Hershman appetite but felt fine. You wonder where Michelle gets her love of food and adventure? More than partially from her Grandma Arline, a Rosenblatt. It was absolutely nice to eat like a normal person for most of the rest of the trip instead of gorging. It made me appreciate the food I ate even more.

THE DAD PERSPECTIVE - PART 2: Food, Walking, Pictures and People

Group one: FOOD. Michelle described the four food groups. Well, these are the groups that describe an adventure to Paris (and these things followed to Rome). It really amazed me how busy the McDonalds was down the block from our hotel. I had to walk in and it was wall-to-wall with tourists. We wanted crepes and crepes and crepes. Also some quiche, duck, Nutella and everything Michelle blogged about. There was no room for American food. And ever since we got back we have been eating French bread and cheese and crepes. Why stop now?

Group number two: WALKING. Parisians walk everywhere. If they are not walking, they are taking the metro, buses, motorbikes (not huge Harleys) and bicycles. Even if they drive it is a vehicle not much bigger than a bicycle. It was so interesting to see men in beautiful suits and women in silk dresses riding bicycles. Brenda and I now walk in the mornings to breakfast. Today we walked to McDonalds. Americans will wait in the drive-thru for 15 minutes instead of getting out of their cars and going inside and ordering—with no line. Walking for six hours a day in Paris gave us more time just to be together. Now we hope we can continue this lifestyle, bring a little bit of Europe back home.

Group number three: PICTURES. For those who get the pleasure, you can probably go on Facebook and see lots of pictures that Brenda took on the trip. She took so many pictures that we had a tragedy. She lost 600 of them. And still had almost 900 left. I guess we will have to go back. My job? Carry the camera case (and lens and video camera) and point out pretty flowers, buildings and doors. I became the photography assistant and photo opp spotter. That is why we walked for so long and never went that far. But we are going to have some great pictures and that will keep the memories going.

Group number four: PEOPLE. You can’t go to Paris and not watch the people. Some say that Parisians don’t like Americans and are snobs. Actually, I am partial to anyone who is bringing me food. They were not particularly cheerful. But they were helpful, patient and we could sit down and order food and eat for three hours and no-one tried to rush us so that they could make some money. As a matter of fact, tips were not very important. The people are very stoic. If you want to understand Parisians, look at their dogs. The dogs walk through the crowds with their heads down, never wagging their tail and never smiling. They are reflection of their owners. They even speak French (not only the poodles). If you said hello, to the humans that is, (Bon Jour)—they responded. If you said thank you (Merci), they responded. They expect you to be polite. Wouldn’t it be nice if we were more polite? And by the way, I butchered every one of these words. New York accent speaking French? Does not work.