Today was so warm that everyone was shedding jackets and coats left and right.
A beautiful day with a bright blue sky.
A friend of mine who has a pied-à-terre in Paris came for dinner tonight and told me that Bill Clinton is supposed to be having an affair with a very rich Canadian MP (does she remind you of anyone?). How would an American who lives in Europe know that? But her story was very convincing....
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Two more French people told me today that they "know who will be the next president of the United States: Hillary Clinton!" They just don't get it.
My latest taxi driver was Lebanese and since Lebanon has been in the news this week, I asked him what he thought. He was soon off on a tirade against the Syrians. "Normal Syrians are wonderful people. They are like Lebanese, they are our own nation. For a long time, Lebanon and Syria were the same country. But the problem with Syria is that the Alawites are running the country and the army."
"What exactly are the Alawites?" I asked.
"They are from the northwest corner of Syria, a very poor, mountainous area. It is so poor that the best way for the young men has always been to join the army. Hafez Assad and all his clique are Alawites."
"They are Muslims, right?" I said.
"They are not good Muslims," he said. "They are like heretics, and other Muslims do not consider them Muslims. But most of all, they are a very hard people. They are very cliqueish and trust only each other. They are the reason that Lebanon has had all these problems with Syria. They are evil people!"
Right then we arrived at my stop and I opened the door to get out.
"You are American?" he said.
"Yes," I said.
"I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for having invaded Iraq," he said.
"Yes, well...." I said, halfway out the door.
He turned completely around in the seat. "I mean it, Madame. I am sincere. It was wrong of the Europeans not to join with the Americans to overthrow Saddam. Iraq was a dangerous place for its neighbors. We Lebanese are very grateful to George Bush!"
Well, that was a first.
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Before dinner for my friend, I had to go shopping. I stopped off at the butcher shop and noticed this new poster (left). Translation: "November is THE month for tripe products. Cheek, tongue, liver, kidneys...tripe products will make your taste buds dance. Follow the advice of your artisan."
After that I went to the best baker in my arrondissement to buy some dessert. I am friendly with the owner, a pretty, slim, elegant woman in her fifties with long curly blond and gray hair. I have always loved her friendly, open attitude-- you never see her yell at her employees, and she is as kind to a small child asking for a croissant as to someone buying a hundred euros worth. When she has time, I love to talk to her. Her husband is a grand chef and she says he never lets her cook at home.
Today I asked her where the pastries were made. I imagined some huge entrepôt outside the city where things were shipped around town-- there is such a wide variety of bread and quiche and Napoleons and religieuses and financiers and fraisiers, and the kitchen in the place seems small.
Her face lit up. "Everything is made right here! In the basement! Only raw ingredients come in here," she said proudly. "Only flour, cream, chocolate, carrots, fruit. Everything is made here. Every chocolate cream, every bit of dough, every morsel of orangette."
"It must be quite big!" I said.
"As big as this place," she said, gesturing to the cafe/bakery combination, a pleasant light space.
"You must have a lot of people working," I said. "I suppose there are people who just peel things all day long?"
She shook her head. "I am against that," she said. "Many places do that-- an apprentice peels potatoes for a year. I think it is inhuman. Anyone who works for us can try many different things each day. If he must peel fruit or do unpleasant work as part of his apprenticeship, he also works with a master baker watching, to create the pastries."
"I would love to see a grand bakery at work," I said.
"I will show it to you!" she said. "Come at this time of day, around 6 o'clock, and I will take you down and show you all around."
I love France!
The only problem with this bakery is that it is not near my house. By the time I get home, the neatly wrapped and tied square box of pastries is usually vertical in my shopping bag and all the eclairs and lemon meringue tarts have slid into each other, covered with raspberries. They still taste delicious, though.
Great blog - found it through La Coquette. That woman totally looks like the insecure type to fall for a playboy like Bill Clinton. But that taxi driver, was he being facetious?
Posted by: La Dauphine | 28 October 2005 at 03:11
Hi Rue Rude.
I'm also a Paris blogger (http://pamela.poole.free.fr/frogblog) and I was at the picnic last June. Were you there?
I wanted to let you know about the new social network for Francophiles I just launched at www.francophilia.com.
It's the first social network exclusively for Francophiles. We've been online for just over a week and we have 75 members (from 18 to 77) from over 10 different countries. All of them are interesting people who have something to share.
There is something there for everyone. Francophilia's features include a personal blog, instant messaging with other online members, live discussion room for members, forum discussions, the ability to create special-interest groups, to publish and RSVP to events, to publish classified adds, photo, video and music uploading, and more.
We're still in beta testing, but we would like to invite you to join us. And please share the news with your Francophile readers and friends!
I look forward to meeting you at Francophilia.
Pamela Poole
Founder
Posted by: Pamela Poole | 22 October 2007 at 10:05