"Merci, Alfredo"

Monday turned out to be a wonderfully odd and interesting day.

It dawned clear and warm and with the good weather hanging on I headed over to Pere Lachaise to start videotaping the cemetery, division-by-division. (Susan had left for school early – in fact she leaves for school every day now.) I had no sooner dropped down into the Metro at Blvd Saint Michel than Marie called me to tell me she had bad news and then we were promptly cut off. (OK, Marie and her friend Philippe are two very knowledgeable local historians of Parisian cemeteries with whom I had a couple of meetings so far.) After I left the Metro at the Pere Lachaise stop I tried to get back to her a couple of times, left messages, and she called me back once but my phone was playing hide-and-seek in my jacket.

After this went on for about 20 minutes we hooked up at last. She informed me that the four busts in Pere Lachaise that I had identified as being missing had indeed been stolen. Her next move now is to draft a letter informing the powers-that-be of their recent misfortune. (You can find out more about the missing busts at my blog on Paris cemeteries. Just click here.)

Marie then told me that she and Philippe were going to be at Montparnasse later in the day to look for one or two people (residents of course), to check on another missing bust and then they were going to hang around for the funeral of a famous French film star later that afternoon.

“Maybe you’ve heard of him, she asked? “Philippe Noiret?”

“Of course!” I said. “C’est Alfredo”! Susan and I had just read in the papers that he had passed away in Paris but beyond that we had heard nothing else.

In fact I had been familiar with some of Philippe’s Noiret’s work for quite a few years, dating as far back as 1971 when he played a fantastic eccentric opposite Peter O’Toole in the WW2 film “Murphy’s War”. I also remember his face -- how could anyone forget it once you've seen it -- in the 1978 quirky comedy "Who's Killing the Great Chefs of Europe," and his very touching portrayal of Colonel Delaplane in the engaging and bittersweet story of love and war in “Life and Nothing But (La Vie et rien d'autre, 1989)”, and of course as Pablo Neruda in the Italian love story “Il Postino” (1994).

But it was his role as Alfredo, the irascible, endearing movie projectionist in another beautifully crafted Italian film “Cinema Paradiso” (1988) that moved both Susan and I to see the movie more than a dozen times over the years.

Told in flashbacks, Alfredo “unwillingly” takes the young boy Toto into his magical world of film, as an apprentice projectionist, a world the boy has only seen from afar (mainly from the seats in the audience). Little Toto, whose father perished on the Russian front, living in a tiny room with his mother and baby sister, barely eking out a living, and childless Alfredo become truly “father and son". But the film moves beyond such Disneyesque pretensions and tackles the real world head on. Alfredo, believing that Toto is destined for much greater things which can only be had for the price of leaving his past behind him eventually persuades the young man to leave his family, his village, everything, for the wider world of Rome, to make something of his life. And so he does eventually becoming one of Italy’s leading film directors.

As a young boy who spent much of his early years hiding out in movie theaters in central Illinois “Cinema Paradiso” touched me profoundly, it ‘spoke to me” as some are fond of saying today.

Naturally then I had to pay my respects to someone I had come to know so well – not Philippe Noiret, of course I never met him, but those delightful characters he had created; characters who told such marvelous stories with their faces.

And I knew Susan felt the same way so I tried reaching her at school but no luck. Well, no problem since she would call me as soon as she left school.

I met up with Marie and Philippe and they introduced me to their friend Hugo, a man who had clearly spent a lifetime working on his smile: it was a broad as his face. And of course he shared the same passion for cemeteries as the rest of us.

The funeral cortege was rumored to arrive in the cemetery about 4 pm – and the area near the grave was already cordoned off leaving the general public (us) to mill about behind the barricades waiting for things to happen; in fact there were probably a couple of thousand people hanging about.

A man strolled around the cordoned off area requested that no one take any photos, out of respect for the family. I packed my cameras away. (I returned Tuesday morning to photograph the graveside full of flowers.)

Susan, who was on her way home, duly called and when I told her what was happening she immediately retraced her steps back to Montparnasse and headed to the cemetery. A few minutes later she had joined our little party.


It was then announced that the funeral was running about an hour late so that gave Philippe time to show us a few of the notables buried nearby. But first he asked if there was anyone in particular I was looking for in Montparnasse. I said “Yes, Henri Fantin-Latour”, the French painter (1836-1904). Phillippe needed no further information. He immediately wheeled around and started zigzagging through a cemetery he obviously knew so well –he even had his large notebook with him which he referred to every now and then -- and a few moments later we were standing over Fantin-Latour’s grave. (photo above.) I snapped my photos and off we went weaving in and out among the headstones, dodging the occasional mud (it’s cleaning time of the year so there’s plenty of wet ground right now)

The five of us eventually worked our way back to the crowd and shortly afterwards the funeral cortege arrived: two Mercedes hearses with flowers inside as well as on top (very impressive) and then the one hearse bearing the plain wooden coffin, followed by family and friends who had been walking behind the vehicles.

Susan remarked how strange it was, that one of the most poignant scenes in the movie “Cinema Paradiso” was the one in which the adult Toto has returned after 30 years to his home in Sicily to Alfredo’s funeral; and here we were attending the funeral of the man who portrayed that sublime character. Who would have thought, that the first time we watched “Cinema Paradiso”15 years ago, that someday we would be in Montparnasse cemetery in Paris, in the twilight of the day, watching Philippe Noiret’s body being laid to rest? (photo: if you look closely, the red white and blue beribboned flowers are from "Jacques" himself.)

Certainly not us.

The sun had set and darkness was fast overtaking the day. As the family and friends began breaking up so did the spectators. Susan and I said “au revoir” to Marie and Philippe – Hugo had left a bit earlier it seems – and I will probably be seeing them this weekend in Pere Lachaise. We then headed out of the cemetery. The large gates were closed and so everyone leaving had to squeeze out the small “man doors” and as we did so a wall of news people with video cameras and paparazzi immediately faced us. We waved, said “Hi mom” and “Thanks” and headed for the Metro.

“Merci, Alfredo, merci beaucoup.”

Wish you could have been here,

Steve

Thanksgiving in Paris

This seems like a good time to stop, catch our breath and give thanks for our good fortune to be alive and especially to be alive in Paris.

It’s a little after 8 am; Susan left at a quarter to 6 to go to school since her class has a big outing this morning to the Rungis wholesale food market on the outskirts of the city. The market is for the trade only (restaurants, grocers, etc) and so this should be quite an experience. After that she’s in class all day so we won’t see each other until after 7 tonight. (photo: Pantheon.)

And it’s raining. In fact it’s been raining here off and on (mostly on) for the past several days. The last of the leaves should be pretty much off the trees by now and we can only wonder when we’ll see the first snowflakes.

After a less than spectacular dinner Tuesday night at a place called “Pied au Cochon” (“Pig’s foot”), near Les Halles in central Paris, we said good-bye to Anna Maria and Guy. They were off to Venice on Wednesday for a few days and then back home to New Jersey. The company was great that night even if the food less so.

It was grand to spend time with them this past week and we had a blast showing them some of our favorite places – the few we’ve been lucky enough to get to at any rate. And we appreciated seeing one or two new places as well.

On Saturday we met them in front of the Paris Mosque near our apartment and then strolled over to the Rue Mouffetard, where an antique show/flea market was underway in addition to the regular food vendors of course. (photo: Anna Maria and Susan.)

From there we strolled past the Pantheon and then through the Luxembourg gardens and I wanted to show them the woman's profile on its side in the water at of the Medici Fountain but it was gone! For the winter maybe? Who knows. Anyway after we strolled out of the gardens we stopped at a cafe next to the Sorbonne for a bite of lunch. (We sat across from the statue of Auguste Comte, the father of Sociology. Exciting, huh?)


After lunch we walked down Boulevard Saint Michel to the Cluny museum of the Middle Ages (located very close to Blvd. St. Germain), in the Latin Quarter. Anna Maria had suggested we stop and we were thankful we did. (photo above: Guy with camera, in the Jardin du Luxembourg.)

Located on the site of the baths of ancient Roman “Lutetia” (you can still see the 40-foot high vaults of the frigidarium), the Cluny eventually became the residence of the abbots of Cluny around the 13th century. It now houses some spectacular artwork from the Middle Ages: gorgeous stained glass, delicate leadwork, powerful stonework, and numerous wooden statues which look almost brand-new, nearly all of which came from buildings and locations now long lost in the city of Paris.




For example there were large fragments of tombstones dating from the Middle Ages, which had once been in the Parisian burying grounds, now lost beneath the city.

There were also sarcophagus covers:


It was an amazing museum indeed and well worth our time; and yours too if you get over this way. (Entrance is actually on rue Paul-Painleve, just off of Blvd San Michel, in the 5th Arrondisment. Admission fee. Hours: 8 or 9 (depending on the day) to 5:30 pm (winter) or 6:30 pm (summer). (photo below: interior of one of the rooms in the Cluny.)


It was late in the afternoon by the time we finished the museum. We planned to meet up again that evening for dinner and then headed off in opposite directions, Am & G to the right bank, Susan and I toward the southeast corner of the 5th arrondisement.

At a few minutes before 8 that evening we met up with Anna Maria and Guy on the Pont Neuf to watch the lights on the Eiffel tower (“tour”) kick into twinkle mode, which they do for ten minutes every hour on the hour as long as the lights stay on. After that bit of visual rush we strolled across the bridge to the left bank, up rue Dauphine toward Blvd. Saint German and eventually ended up at "L’Entrecote" for a dinner of “beef and frites.” We had eaten here once before back in September with Stan & Margie and wanted to go back again so this seemed a perfect time to do just that.

After a delicious dinner we started strolling back in the direction of their hotel when it began to rain. They hailed a cab and we said au revoir as we headed off to the Metro stop and 20 minutes later we were drying off in our apartment.

Sunday was a quiet day for us here in the 5th. Susan ran a few errands and I met up with my “friends from Pere Lachaise”, Philippe and Marie. We had hoped to spend some time out in the cemetery to begin our podcast taping but the weather pretty much put the kibosh on that.

So we met up instead at a trendy bar across from the Pompidou Center to talk about the first podcast: structure, outline and exactly whom we wanted to focus on. We decided to focusour first podcast in just three divisions for the first show (there are overall 97 divisions), 8, 9 and 10. We chose these three because they have a fairly large number of people buried there about whom my colleagues know quite a bit. Also the physical layout of those divisions lends itself to some truly spectacular photos, it's very chaotic, wityh lots of upturned and overturned old stones covered with overgrowth, a very ruined look.

After coffee and some lively discussion, mostly about Parisian history, the three of us strolled a couple of blocks to the Les Halles area where I was given a tour of the original, and the oldest cemetery in Paris (dating back to the 8th century): Les Innocents, located directly beneath our feet.

I was also shown some truly fascinating architectural remnants dating back to the Middle Ages and of course the very spot where a Catholic fanatic assassinated Henry IV. In fact there is a marker there on the ground as well as one on the wall, which used to be the outside wall of the cemetery. Oh, and in case youn wondered, it’s Henry’s statue that sits midway across the Pont Neuf bridge.

As the shadows began to lengthen it was only natural that the sky began to clear. Paris has been the way a lot lately it seems – beautiful sun turning to rain then to overcast back to rain and back to sun. But there was no time for Pere Lachaise now so I said au revoir to Philippe and Marie and headed home.

Susan had to be in school most of Monday and Guy wanted to just relax and take a breather. Since Anna Maria wanted to see Pere Lachaise -- and I couldn’t pass an opportunity to show her my favorite folks who are forever stuck in that place – so it would just be the two of us. I picked her up about 11 in the morning and off we went: Metro line no. 11 to Republique where we transferred to the no. 3 and then off at Pere Lachaise.

We spent the next hour and a half or so walking around the cemetery, chatting, mostly about the people around us. Anna Maria’s interests are profoundly broad and deep and her genuine interest in the cemetery as a repository of Parisian history, culture and art was truly amazing.

Before long the rain caught up with us so after time spent under the umbrella – me not her. She seemed unfazed by it all, intent on what was all around her. So we headed back to the city center where I said au revoir. We planned to meet up the following evening for a final dinner before they left Paris.

Tuesday was pretty much rain again, but that didn’t dampen the huge contingent firemen who took to the streets to protest low wages and I don’t know what else. They clashed with police just a block from our apartment.

I was working on the computer and kept hearing this incessant siren – not that it’s terribly unusual to hear sirens around here, in fact we hear them all the time – but this just wouldn’t stop. I look outside and saw that traffic just below our window was being rerouted away from Blvd. Saint Marcel and as I looked up to toward boulevard I could see smoke and wave after wave of firemen – in their outfits mind you – marching, waving flags, chanting, yelling, shooting off fireworks, setting flare fires along the ground. There was plenty of smoke, and apparently plenty of police as well.

Ah Paris.

Wish you were here,

Steve

Friends and food

Seeing Paris with other people is always a special treat. Why? Well it’s always nice to see friends of course. Being here day-after-day-after-day, the city has becomes more of a routine for us, and we often lose sight of some of the wonderful things there are to see and do. But people who visit Paris for just a week are intensely focused; they need to use their time efficiently and usually act accordingly. And a little bit of that “intensity” rubs off. Thanks Stan and Margie!

And thanks now to Anna Maria and Guy! They arrived from New Jersey this past Wednesday and we joined them that evening for dinner at Sapporo, a funky, noisy little Japanese noodle bar in the 2nd arrondisement. (2 rue Daunou 75002 Paris, Metro: Opera or Pyramides.)

After initiating the weary travelers into the absurd intricacies of the Metro system at Chatelet (too boring and painful to go into detail) we soon found ourselves in “Little Tokyo”. Just a few weeks back we had come to this neighborhood after Susie’s graduation and had a great meal at one of the small noodle bars here and decided then and there we wanted to come back and try another one. So here we were!

Although the four of us were wedged into a small table in a room the size of long closet, the food was quite good and we had a grand time eating noodles, rice and catching up since the last time we were together (Thanksgiving in Siena). How time flies.

After dinner Susie and I said good night to A-M and Guy and while they walked back to their hotel we hopped on the Metro at Pyramides and headed home.

Since Susie had a heavy schedule the end of last week – she didn’t get home until 10 pm Thursday and then had a practical session in the middle of the day Friday – A-M and Guy were on their own those two days (four museums and tons of explorations).

At 7:30 pm Friday evening we met up again at their hotel the “St. Merry” in the 4th (right around the corner from the Pompidou Center). As we stepped outside into the cool night air, into a street packed with people hurrying one direction or another, we strolled leisurely for about 90 seconds and stopped at a café to have an aperitif.

Over a bottle of Nouveau Beaujolais the four of us sat and talked – and watched the people strolling by. A-M and Guy thought their hotel very nice and accommodating, although it suffers from a fair amount of street noise (sleep had become an elusive commodity Thursday night apparently).

A large part of the conversation revolved around where we were going to eat that night -- this being Paris and food being one of if not the most important topic at any given time on the streets of the city. I had put together a short list of possibles but A-M and Guy had come across a seafood place earlier in the day that they thought looked pretty good and it was just a short walk past the Les Halles area. So off we went.

L’Ostria turned out to be a real gem, a wonderful place to eat fish. In fact what had caught their eye earlier in the day was the bouillabaisse on the menu (minimum of four people). Sad to say we found out later that it was out of season. But we were not disappointed.

The restaurant is small, seating maybe 30-55 people, and was operated by two guys: one working the tiny kitchen within view of us all and one working the floor so to speak. Very efficient, very smooth operation (at the end of the evening a woman joined them as well).

For starters (“entre”) Susan and I had a goat cheese and haddock salad: a bed of fresh greens, with slices of grapefruit, apple, and ultra-thin slices of smoked, salted haddock (raw), and in the center were two small pieces of bread each topped with sliced goat cheese and then placed under a broiler to melt. A-M had a salad of greens covered with “crevettes” (small shellfish); and Guy had a mussel (“moules”) salad. The wine for the evening was a crisp Sancerre.

For main course (“plat) we all had the sea bass (“bar”). Fresh? They brought each of us an entire fish, “sitting upright” (rather than on its side), with the head and tail still on, cooked to perfection; and surrounded by a small handful of sliced cooked vegetables: potatoes, fennel, turnip. We skipped dessert.

Sitting next to Susie and A-M, bistro-like, were two young men who had struck up the occasional conversation, talking about food of course. Susie, ever eager to work on her French and Anna-Maria, ever eager to just talk to people. Anyway a friend of theirs soon joined them, another young fellow and we ended up sharing our wine with them – we certainly had plenty to spare! They in turn bought us all “digestifs”. And it was our first taste of Marie Brizzard, an anis-flavored concoction that we thought to be less oily than ouzo and less syrupy than most Italian anisettes, and very tasty.

We walked back in the direction of their hotel and said good night as we turned toward the metro.

L’Ostria: 4 rue Sauval 75001 Paris. 01 40 26 08 07.

Chocolate pistachio

Speaking of desserts Susie is back to bringing tons of them home.

During her first week back at Le Cordon Bleu, and now deep into the superior level of the diplome de patisserie, she brought home the following:

"Baba", a yeast cake soaked in rum and fruit syrup;

"Tart creole", a basic tart crust layered with sponge cake and cocanut mousse topped with pineapple and meringue;

"Mango-Raspberry creme cake";

And then yesterday, Friday, she brought home a "chocolate pistachio surprise" -- and boy was I ever!

Check it out:




So our frezzer is jammed pack with desserts -- and she has justed started! And this coming Monday is apparently cookie day. . .

Anyway, if you're in the neighborhood and need something to eat, drop by. To paraphrase Henny Youngman, "Take my dessert, Please!"

Wish you were here,

Steve

Alsatian wines and Susie’s Desserts

Quick notes:

First there were chocolate-raspberry truffles, which were a bit soft, probably as a result of adding the raspberry puree, but velvety smooth texture, delicious with just the right amount of raspberry flavor. We’re thinking that to correct the “softness” maybe roll into a hard chocolate shell.

Then an apple tart – “Meme’s recipe” from Jacques Pepin.

Chocolate chip sugar cookies: frankly I though these were better than regular chocolate chip cookies; they’re chewy with just the right amount of chocolate-sugar balance.

Basic crème anglais ice cream – without using any kind of machine just cooked and frozen – stirred after 5 hours. Subtle flavor but became frosty too quickly.

Raspberry custard tart -- enough said there.

Raspberry-almond muffins – a big hit in the morning let me tell you!

As for wines lately it seems we’ve been on an Alsatian kick. Our favorite little wine shop on Rue Mouffetard ( known locally as “the “Mouff”) carries a large selection of delicious Ostertag Alsatian wines. Ostertag is a producer we became familiar with via Kermit Lynch many years ago. Spectacular wines, particularly their Pinot Gris. At “Le Grand Epicerie” (part of Le Bon Marche), we discovered the smooth “Black Tie”, a Pinot Gris-Riesling blend. We broke away from the Alsatians Saturday, though and had a 2003 Gevry Chambertin with a veal roast on Saturday; very nice indeed.