I'm eagerly awaiting to see how, if at all, the French celebrate Halloween.
So far, there's virtually no sign of it. I saw pumpkins on sale at a farmers' market last weekend, labeled as "Halloween squash," and this morning there are flyers up advertising a midnight-to-noon Halloween party tomorrow night at a club I've never heard of.
But that has been it, so far. No decorations, no costumes on sale, no candy corn (thank God!).
Stay tuned ...
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Voulez-vous pacser avec moi?
Unlike some other European countries, France doesn't have gay marriage, yet. They do have civil unions, which are known here by the acronym "PACS." This in turn has become a verb, "se pacser," which means "to get oneself PACSed."
The cake decorators of Paris are a bit ahead of the laws, however, as shown by this sight from a neighborhood bakery:
The cake decorators of Paris are a bit ahead of the laws, however, as shown by this sight from a neighborhood bakery:
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Election Fever
Seen on a Frenchman's car today:
And later, on the train, a woman was reading a French magazine with the headline: "The World Waits for Obama."
Nine days to go ...
And later, on the train, a woman was reading a French magazine with the headline: "The World Waits for Obama."
Nine days to go ...
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Exploding Myths, part 3
French fries -- Are just called "fries" ("frites") here. Very common, but as with many other things they are subject to unwritten but elaborate rules. Duck legs are served with french fries; duck breasts with mashed potatoes. Plain grilled steak with fries; steak with a sauce, like steak au poivre, without. And so on.
French press -- Many people use these at home to make coffee, but at restaurants and cafes it is almost always espresso-style.
French dressing -- I actually was served a salad at lunch today that had what Americans would describe as French dressing on it. But that's the first time in the nearly 3 months I've spent here. Basic vinaigrette is far more common.
Frenching -- Butchers back home tend to automatically cut the meat off the bones of a rack of lamb for a nicer presentation, but I haven't seen any "frenched" chops here. The French tend to be a bit frugal about food and this technique does tend to waste it.
French kiss -- Yes, they do it here too. But not, so far, to me.
French press -- Many people use these at home to make coffee, but at restaurants and cafes it is almost always espresso-style.
French dressing -- I actually was served a salad at lunch today that had what Americans would describe as French dressing on it. But that's the first time in the nearly 3 months I've spent here. Basic vinaigrette is far more common.
Frenching -- Butchers back home tend to automatically cut the meat off the bones of a rack of lamb for a nicer presentation, but I haven't seen any "frenched" chops here. The French tend to be a bit frugal about food and this technique does tend to waste it.
French kiss -- Yes, they do it here too. But not, so far, to me.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Ode to the Cafe
The more time I spend here, the more I fall in love with cafes.
Not any one cafe in particular -- although this one in my neighborhood is one I regularly visit -- but the institution as a general concept.
Let's start by defining a cafe as a place that's open from early in the morning continuously to late at night, as opposed to a restaurant, which only opens at mealtimes (typically 12-2:30 and 7:30-10:30). It serves coffee, alcoholic drinks and light meals.
Let's further note that many cafes, as defined above, call themselves "brasseries" but really are cafes. Brasserie literally means brewery, and in days gone by, brasseries were restaurants that served beer and Alsatian or Belgian food. These days, the word is more likely to mean a cafe with a good selection of beers.
A good cafe -- and I've found several, both near home and my office -- evolves as the day goes on. In the morning the regulars come in and have their coffee, and maybe a croissant or tartine, standing up at the bar. It's cheaper that way and, at that hour, more social. A good counter man gets to know his customers' drinks and starts preparing them as soon as the customer walks in. (It took only about a week for the guy at the cafe near my office to learn mine.)
Most cafes serve a standard menu with several types of salads, sandwiches, croques monsieur and madame, sausages and one or two other things. They will also usually have a hot dish of the day or maybe two, a full meal with meat, starch and veg. And this is lunch for many Parisians. Perhaps with more coffee, perhaps with some wine.
Although you can get coffee at any time at a cafe, during the afternoon and evening most of their business is done in wine and beer, as groups of friends or coworkers drop in for a drink between work and dinner. Food is still available, but people who are hungry in the evening tend to go to a real restaurant rather than eat cafe food.
Almost all cafes have outdoor seating facing the street, and peoplewatching is a chief feature of time spent at a cafe:
Many cafes have heat lamps to make the outdoor seating comfortable at this time of year. But even if they don't, people will often sit outside in their overcoats:
New York sidewalk cafes -- where the seats face each other rather than the street -- just don't compare, particularly when they are actually restaurants that want to sell you a full meal to justify the real estate you're taking up. Being able to sit down and get drinks or a snack with your friends at any hour like this is something I'm really going to miss.
Not any one cafe in particular -- although this one in my neighborhood is one I regularly visit -- but the institution as a general concept.
Let's start by defining a cafe as a place that's open from early in the morning continuously to late at night, as opposed to a restaurant, which only opens at mealtimes (typically 12-2:30 and 7:30-10:30). It serves coffee, alcoholic drinks and light meals.
Let's further note that many cafes, as defined above, call themselves "brasseries" but really are cafes. Brasserie literally means brewery, and in days gone by, brasseries were restaurants that served beer and Alsatian or Belgian food. These days, the word is more likely to mean a cafe with a good selection of beers.
A good cafe -- and I've found several, both near home and my office -- evolves as the day goes on. In the morning the regulars come in and have their coffee, and maybe a croissant or tartine, standing up at the bar. It's cheaper that way and, at that hour, more social. A good counter man gets to know his customers' drinks and starts preparing them as soon as the customer walks in. (It took only about a week for the guy at the cafe near my office to learn mine.)
Most cafes serve a standard menu with several types of salads, sandwiches, croques monsieur and madame, sausages and one or two other things. They will also usually have a hot dish of the day or maybe two, a full meal with meat, starch and veg. And this is lunch for many Parisians. Perhaps with more coffee, perhaps with some wine.
Although you can get coffee at any time at a cafe, during the afternoon and evening most of their business is done in wine and beer, as groups of friends or coworkers drop in for a drink between work and dinner. Food is still available, but people who are hungry in the evening tend to go to a real restaurant rather than eat cafe food.
Almost all cafes have outdoor seating facing the street, and peoplewatching is a chief feature of time spent at a cafe:
Many cafes have heat lamps to make the outdoor seating comfortable at this time of year. But even if they don't, people will often sit outside in their overcoats:
New York sidewalk cafes -- where the seats face each other rather than the street -- just don't compare, particularly when they are actually restaurants that want to sell you a full meal to justify the real estate you're taking up. Being able to sit down and get drinks or a snack with your friends at any hour like this is something I'm really going to miss.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
The Colors of Autumn, part 3
Still not a North American autumn, but I'll take what I can get:
These scenes are from Parc des Buttes Chaumont, in the northeastern part of Paris (the 19th arrondissement). It's way off the tourist track but a lovely place, landscaped even more vigorously than Central Park and with a nice view of Montmartre.
It's also supposedly plagued by gang violence between Jews and Arabs, but we didn't see any evidence of that on Sunday, just families out picknicking and enjoying the brilliant fall weather:
These scenes are from Parc des Buttes Chaumont, in the northeastern part of Paris (the 19th arrondissement). It's way off the tourist track but a lovely place, landscaped even more vigorously than Central Park and with a nice view of Montmartre.
It's also supposedly plagued by gang violence between Jews and Arabs, but we didn't see any evidence of that on Sunday, just families out picknicking and enjoying the brilliant fall weather:
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
A Street Name for the Neighborhood
Greenwich Village in Manhattan has a "Gay Street," but here in the Marais they've got a "Street of the Bad Boys" ...
Monday, October 20, 2008
Exploding Myths, part 2
Every American has certain cliches about French food in the back of his or her mind. Some actually have turned out to be true, others not so much:
Cafe au lait: Supposedly this is what French people drink for breakfast in a cafe, served in a large bowl, but I've never actually seen it. Most people order just "cafe," which is basically espresso; others, including me, order a "creme," which is more like a cappuccino.
Croissants: Very popular for breakfast, yes, but equally so and arguably more traditional is a "tartine," which is basically a chunk of baguette served with butter and sometimes jam. Tartines here are not toasted, as they are sometimes in the United States. Supposedly a tartine was originally the stale end of the baguette from last night's dinner but now they are served fresh, at least in a cafe. (To get a fresh croissant with your coffee, incidentally, you have to pick your cafe carefully. The best croissants are the ones you get directly at a bakery, but of course bakeries, in one of those unwritten but rigid French rules, don't serve coffee. As for the cafes, some usually have fresh croissants, others aren't so reliable.)
Escargots: They do appear on quite a few menus, particularly in traditional bistro-type places, but I haven't seen anyone order them yet. They are actually a regional specialty from Burgundy, so maybe the fact that Parisians don't often order them means about the same thing as New Yorkers rarely ordering grits.
Frogs' legs: I saw these on a menu for the first time last night. Don't know why they're so rare.
Horsemeat: Two butchers in my neighborhood carry it, but I haven't seen it in any restaurants. I believe it was always more of a home-cooked specialty anyway. I haven't and don't plan to try it myself.
Steak tartare: This is actually hugely popular, particularly for lunch. Raw chopped meat mixed with capers or pickles and served with fries. I can't figure out the attraction of it myself but this is the one stereotypically weird French dish that the French actually seem to eat.
Baguettes: You won't be surprised to hear that the old cliche about a mustachioed, beretted Frenchman carrying baguettes under his arm doesn't actually exist. Mustaches are rare here on men under 60; the only berets I've seen are on the people dressed up as artists in the tourist precincts of Montmartre. But people carrying home baguettes are, actually, an everyday sight on the streets of Paris:
I snapped these three pictures within about 5 minutes today, on a busy street but not within sight of a bakery. It's quite common to see people carrying two or three at a time, I suppose depending on how big their families are.
"Baguette," incidentally, means "stick" and is also the word for chopsticks. So ordering "baguettes" in a French Chinese restaurant won't get you a piece of bread ...
Cafe au lait: Supposedly this is what French people drink for breakfast in a cafe, served in a large bowl, but I've never actually seen it. Most people order just "cafe," which is basically espresso; others, including me, order a "creme," which is more like a cappuccino.
Croissants: Very popular for breakfast, yes, but equally so and arguably more traditional is a "tartine," which is basically a chunk of baguette served with butter and sometimes jam. Tartines here are not toasted, as they are sometimes in the United States. Supposedly a tartine was originally the stale end of the baguette from last night's dinner but now they are served fresh, at least in a cafe. (To get a fresh croissant with your coffee, incidentally, you have to pick your cafe carefully. The best croissants are the ones you get directly at a bakery, but of course bakeries, in one of those unwritten but rigid French rules, don't serve coffee. As for the cafes, some usually have fresh croissants, others aren't so reliable.)
Escargots: They do appear on quite a few menus, particularly in traditional bistro-type places, but I haven't seen anyone order them yet. They are actually a regional specialty from Burgundy, so maybe the fact that Parisians don't often order them means about the same thing as New Yorkers rarely ordering grits.
Frogs' legs: I saw these on a menu for the first time last night. Don't know why they're so rare.
Horsemeat: Two butchers in my neighborhood carry it, but I haven't seen it in any restaurants. I believe it was always more of a home-cooked specialty anyway. I haven't and don't plan to try it myself.
Steak tartare: This is actually hugely popular, particularly for lunch. Raw chopped meat mixed with capers or pickles and served with fries. I can't figure out the attraction of it myself but this is the one stereotypically weird French dish that the French actually seem to eat.
Baguettes: You won't be surprised to hear that the old cliche about a mustachioed, beretted Frenchman carrying baguettes under his arm doesn't actually exist. Mustaches are rare here on men under 60; the only berets I've seen are on the people dressed up as artists in the tourist precincts of Montmartre. But people carrying home baguettes are, actually, an everyday sight on the streets of Paris:
I snapped these three pictures within about 5 minutes today, on a busy street but not within sight of a bakery. It's quite common to see people carrying two or three at a time, I suppose depending on how big their families are.
"Baguette," incidentally, means "stick" and is also the word for chopsticks. So ordering "baguettes" in a French Chinese restaurant won't get you a piece of bread ...
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Exploding the Myths, part 1
It is not true that McDonald's in France sells wine with its Happy Meals. They do, however, sell beer.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Small Towns in the Big City
At dinner last night, an old dance-floor buddy from Fire Island who has lived here for two years and I tried to figure out why Paris, despite all its obvious hassles, is so seductively agreeable as a place to live.
Eventually we realized the answer: because it's like New York used to be.
When I moved to New York in 1991, and for decades before that, New York was a city of settled and closely knit neighborhoods. You got to know the shopkeepers and a few of your neighbors; you could easily get recognized as a regular at small restaurants in your area; you ran into a surprising number of people you recognized on the street.
People who had never lived there were surprised to hear it, but New York in those days was less an impersonal city and more a network of interlaced small towns.
That's much less the case now, when those mom-and-pop stores have been replaced by chains. You can be a regular at Starbucks or Duane & Reade, but the counter staff turns over so fast that none of them will be around as long as you will. So that personal touch is gone.
But Paris is still a city of small-town neighborhoods and mom & pop stores. When I walk into the cafe near my office, the counterman knows what I drink and starts making it as soon as he sees me. It would be the same way at the bakery if I didn't insist on trying something different every day. And the butcher, and the vegetable store where the lady likes to joke about American vegetables.
And that makes it a very nice place to live.
I miss the old New York.
Eventually we realized the answer: because it's like New York used to be.
When I moved to New York in 1991, and for decades before that, New York was a city of settled and closely knit neighborhoods. You got to know the shopkeepers and a few of your neighbors; you could easily get recognized as a regular at small restaurants in your area; you ran into a surprising number of people you recognized on the street.
People who had never lived there were surprised to hear it, but New York in those days was less an impersonal city and more a network of interlaced small towns.
That's much less the case now, when those mom-and-pop stores have been replaced by chains. You can be a regular at Starbucks or Duane & Reade, but the counter staff turns over so fast that none of them will be around as long as you will. So that personal touch is gone.
But Paris is still a city of small-town neighborhoods and mom & pop stores. When I walk into the cafe near my office, the counterman knows what I drink and starts making it as soon as he sees me. It would be the same way at the bakery if I didn't insist on trying something different every day. And the butcher, and the vegetable store where the lady likes to joke about American vegetables.
And that makes it a very nice place to live.
I miss the old New York.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
An Icon Lives On
Those of you who lived on the Upper West Side at any point during the '90s probably remember Shakespeare & Co., the great independent bookseller, which like many of its kind is no longer in business.
There is also a Shakespeare & Co. on the Left Bank of the Seine. I don't know if it has or had any business relationship with the one in New York, but this one appears to be thriving:
Supposedly this store was a hangout for Stein, Hemingway and other Americans Abroad in the era between the wars. And now it's mine.
There is also a Shakespeare & Co. on the Left Bank of the Seine. I don't know if it has or had any business relationship with the one in New York, but this one appears to be thriving:
Supposedly this store was a hangout for Stein, Hemingway and other Americans Abroad in the era between the wars. And now it's mine.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The Tides of War
Seen at a cafe in my neighborhood:
Glad to see the D-Day beaches are producing something other than war debris these days ...
Glad to see the D-Day beaches are producing something other than war debris these days ...
Monday, October 13, 2008
Chestnuts, but where's the Open Fire?
I took a walk in the park near my office today and found the ground absolutely covered in chestnuts, which are ripe and falling off the trees everywhere.
And yet I haven't seen guys selling roasted chestnuts over an open fire on the street, as you do at this time of year in Portugal, Spain and New York, among other places.
It's not that the French don't eat chestnuts -- they're an important part of the national cuisine at this time of year.
A coworker suggested that while chestnuts may be in season, open fires aren't, yet -- it's Indian summer here and about 80 degrees outside.
Still, it's puzzling.
And yet I haven't seen guys selling roasted chestnuts over an open fire on the street, as you do at this time of year in Portugal, Spain and New York, among other places.
It's not that the French don't eat chestnuts -- they're an important part of the national cuisine at this time of year.
A coworker suggested that while chestnuts may be in season, open fires aren't, yet -- it's Indian summer here and about 80 degrees outside.
Still, it's puzzling.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
A Pilgrimage to Pere Lachaise
I don't intend for either this blog or my sojourn in Paris to be about traditional tourism. But a trek to Pere Lachaise Cemetery isn't an act of tourism; for a gay man, it's a pilgrimage, for that is where you can see the tombs of Oscar Wilde ...
... Gertrude Stein ...
... and Alice B. Toklas (whose name appears on the reverse side of Stein's tombstone) ...
Over the years, people have evolved interesting rituals with respect to these graves. Wilde's tomb is covered in lipstick kisses ...
... which seems to me to be a bit misplaced; Wilde's legacy in gay culture is its fondness for satirical, cutting wit, not for female impersonation.
Stein and Toklas's tombstone is covered in pebbles, in the Jewish tradition, but also, for whatever reason, in New York City Metrocards. I have no idea why, since Stein and Toklas were both Californians (Stein is the one who famously quipped of Oakland, Calif., "There is no there there").
Pere Lachaise is also home to the graves of Jim Morrison, Sarah Bernhardt, Frederic Chopin, and any number of famous Frenchmen. But even the ordinary graves sometimes have stories to tell, as does this one:
Let's see: World champion men's hairdresser, died in 1980 at age 30. Some things just make you go "hmm ... "
... Gertrude Stein ...
... and Alice B. Toklas (whose name appears on the reverse side of Stein's tombstone) ...
Over the years, people have evolved interesting rituals with respect to these graves. Wilde's tomb is covered in lipstick kisses ...
... which seems to me to be a bit misplaced; Wilde's legacy in gay culture is its fondness for satirical, cutting wit, not for female impersonation.
Stein and Toklas's tombstone is covered in pebbles, in the Jewish tradition, but also, for whatever reason, in New York City Metrocards. I have no idea why, since Stein and Toklas were both Californians (Stein is the one who famously quipped of Oakland, Calif., "There is no there there").
Pere Lachaise is also home to the graves of Jim Morrison, Sarah Bernhardt, Frederic Chopin, and any number of famous Frenchmen. But even the ordinary graves sometimes have stories to tell, as does this one:
Let's see: World champion men's hairdresser, died in 1980 at age 30. Some things just make you go "hmm ... "
Colors of Autumn II
It's still not quite up to North American standards, but autumn here is getting a bit more colorful, as this view of the Louvre shows:
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Dancing in Paris!
There is dancing in Paris! And it's some of the best dancing I've ever had on the European continent.
All the more welcome because it has been so long in coming. I live in the heart of the gay area but while there are plenty of bars here, none of them have dance floors. And the people I've met thus far don't dance, and so can't help point me in the right direction.
But last weekend I found my street littered with placards announcing that my favorite party from Ibiza, Matinee @ Club Space with DJ Iordee, was taking up residence for the winter at Club Mix here in Paris. That one I wasn't going to miss, even if there was no one else there.
Which seemed like a possibility, because a friend visiting from the U.S. had gone to Mix last weekend, for that Hector Fonseca/Amanda Lepore event I posted about earlier, and said it wasn't a hit.
So just in case, I went early, thinking that if it was a bust, I could at least get an hour or so of the music and still catch the Metro home before it closed.
Leaving early was a good idea, it turned out, because the club was, typically for Paris, not easy to find. It is in a seedy area by Gare Montparnasse, one of the main train stations, about a 25-minute subway trip from my house. But while the address was given as 24 rue de L'Arrivee, it turned out that the buildings on the even-numbered side of the street stopped at 22. Eventually I saw a huge illuminated sign on the odd-numbered side and went in.
And descended into one of the most arresting modern club spaces I've ever seen. It's about the size and shape of the main dining room on one of those Atlantis Cruise ships, curving balconies and all, except that instead of the tacky carpeting and decor you've got sleek, minimalist railings, curved staircases everywhere and an amazing light system.
The place was empty when I arrived at about 12:15 (it opens at 11:30) but filled up quickly. They were handing out passes for this party in the Marais bars, good for free admission before 1, and it seemed that everyone had taken advantage of this because the line to check coats curled all the way back up to the balcony by 12:45. After 1 the pace of arrivals slackened sharply, but by then the space was about 80% full and stayed that way until I left at 3.
The French have more than their share of beautiful young men and this crowd had more than its share, even for France. Almost everyone was between 18 and 40; almost all were gay men, although a few women and their (possibly straight) escorts were there as well; and almost all appeared to be French.
I say that because of the conversations I overheard, but also because of the way people dressed -- the French are a bit more formal than Americans in clubs, and the crowd was divided about equally into button-down shirts, polo shirts with collars and fancy T-shirts, with only a handful of tank tops visible. About a dozen guys eventually took their shirts off; they were all unusually heavily muscled for this crowd and so I'd guess they were foreigners, since the French don't tend to have muscles. One was doing an excellent example of what Anthony Cheng calls the "white boys washing clothes" dance that you see a lot of at Alegria. The French dance a bit more loosely. I saw no real bumping and grinding and very little cruising/flirting; this was definitely a crowd that was there for the music.
And what music it was. I liked this set by Iordee even better than the one at Ibiza. He started off with a fairly mainstream house vibe but as people came in, he gradually edged more and more toward happy vocal trance, and before I knew it and without even thinking about it I was out on the dance floor shaking away. Then at 1 a.m. he drove it home with a dubby remake of "(You Got Me) Burnin' Up" that sampled even more heavily from "Love Sensation" than the original Cevin Fisher version did. About 20 minutes later he played an old trance classic I remember from Susan's turn-of-the-millennium sets (I've forgotten the name, but it might have been Solar Stone's "Seven Cities"). That was it for the recognizable stuff, except for Madonna's "Give It 2 Me" and a song built around a sample of Robert Plant's banshee wail from "Immigrant Song" (I wouldn't call it a remix, precisely, since that was the only recognizable part of the song, but it does mark the second Led Zeppelin reference I've heard on the dance floor this year), but it didn't matter. I was in heaven.
Almost totally sober, I might add, because the one bad thing about this club was the drink prices -- 10 euros ($14) for either a weak mixed drink or a bottle of water. The water bottles here are 50% larger than the normal U.S. size but that is still outrageous. On the other hand, the French do do something so totally simple and brilliant you just have to slap your forehead in frustration: they sell the drinks in plastic cups WITH LIDS, so they don't spill on the dance floor. Why no American has thought of that, I have no idea.
Those of you who go to clubs regularly know that "residency" is an elastic term. But it certainly implies that Iordee will be back sometime at Mix, and I'll be right back there with him.
All the more welcome because it has been so long in coming. I live in the heart of the gay area but while there are plenty of bars here, none of them have dance floors. And the people I've met thus far don't dance, and so can't help point me in the right direction.
But last weekend I found my street littered with placards announcing that my favorite party from Ibiza, Matinee @ Club Space with DJ Iordee, was taking up residence for the winter at Club Mix here in Paris. That one I wasn't going to miss, even if there was no one else there.
Which seemed like a possibility, because a friend visiting from the U.S. had gone to Mix last weekend, for that Hector Fonseca/Amanda Lepore event I posted about earlier, and said it wasn't a hit.
So just in case, I went early, thinking that if it was a bust, I could at least get an hour or so of the music and still catch the Metro home before it closed.
Leaving early was a good idea, it turned out, because the club was, typically for Paris, not easy to find. It is in a seedy area by Gare Montparnasse, one of the main train stations, about a 25-minute subway trip from my house. But while the address was given as 24 rue de L'Arrivee, it turned out that the buildings on the even-numbered side of the street stopped at 22. Eventually I saw a huge illuminated sign on the odd-numbered side and went in.
And descended into one of the most arresting modern club spaces I've ever seen. It's about the size and shape of the main dining room on one of those Atlantis Cruise ships, curving balconies and all, except that instead of the tacky carpeting and decor you've got sleek, minimalist railings, curved staircases everywhere and an amazing light system.
The place was empty when I arrived at about 12:15 (it opens at 11:30) but filled up quickly. They were handing out passes for this party in the Marais bars, good for free admission before 1, and it seemed that everyone had taken advantage of this because the line to check coats curled all the way back up to the balcony by 12:45. After 1 the pace of arrivals slackened sharply, but by then the space was about 80% full and stayed that way until I left at 3.
The French have more than their share of beautiful young men and this crowd had more than its share, even for France. Almost everyone was between 18 and 40; almost all were gay men, although a few women and their (possibly straight) escorts were there as well; and almost all appeared to be French.
I say that because of the conversations I overheard, but also because of the way people dressed -- the French are a bit more formal than Americans in clubs, and the crowd was divided about equally into button-down shirts, polo shirts with collars and fancy T-shirts, with only a handful of tank tops visible. About a dozen guys eventually took their shirts off; they were all unusually heavily muscled for this crowd and so I'd guess they were foreigners, since the French don't tend to have muscles. One was doing an excellent example of what Anthony Cheng calls the "white boys washing clothes" dance that you see a lot of at Alegria. The French dance a bit more loosely. I saw no real bumping and grinding and very little cruising/flirting; this was definitely a crowd that was there for the music.
And what music it was. I liked this set by Iordee even better than the one at Ibiza. He started off with a fairly mainstream house vibe but as people came in, he gradually edged more and more toward happy vocal trance, and before I knew it and without even thinking about it I was out on the dance floor shaking away. Then at 1 a.m. he drove it home with a dubby remake of "(You Got Me) Burnin' Up" that sampled even more heavily from "Love Sensation" than the original Cevin Fisher version did. About 20 minutes later he played an old trance classic I remember from Susan's turn-of-the-millennium sets (I've forgotten the name, but it might have been Solar Stone's "Seven Cities"). That was it for the recognizable stuff, except for Madonna's "Give It 2 Me" and a song built around a sample of Robert Plant's banshee wail from "Immigrant Song" (I wouldn't call it a remix, precisely, since that was the only recognizable part of the song, but it does mark the second Led Zeppelin reference I've heard on the dance floor this year), but it didn't matter. I was in heaven.
Almost totally sober, I might add, because the one bad thing about this club was the drink prices -- 10 euros ($14) for either a weak mixed drink or a bottle of water. The water bottles here are 50% larger than the normal U.S. size but that is still outrageous. On the other hand, the French do do something so totally simple and brilliant you just have to slap your forehead in frustration: they sell the drinks in plastic cups WITH LIDS, so they don't spill on the dance floor. Why no American has thought of that, I have no idea.
Those of you who go to clubs regularly know that "residency" is an elastic term. But it certainly implies that Iordee will be back sometime at Mix, and I'll be right back there with him.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Drag Queens Wanted
Seen in my neighborhood, in case you need something for that special party:
While the sign declares it to be a shoe store, they've also got a large selection of flamenco dresses.
And it's refreshing to see a place openly advertise itself to drag queens, even if that doesn't seem to be a very large part of the market here.
While the sign declares it to be a shoe store, they've also got a large selection of flamenco dresses.
And it's refreshing to see a place openly advertise itself to drag queens, even if that doesn't seem to be a very large part of the market here.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
The Seine is not a wide river
As a kid, I was fascinated by civil engineering -- bridges, railroads, etc. -- and read lots of books on the subject. One of those books, discussing construction of a project in France, remarked that it did not involve a lot: "maybe two [segments], maybe three; the Seine is not a wide river."
The phrase has always stuck with me, because it seemed to present the width of the Seine as something that all civilized people knew, like the fact that the First World War started after an assassination in Sarajevo, or that the English drive on the left side of the road.
I mention this only because it gives me an excuse to post a nice picture of the Seine and let you make up your own mind as to its width:
The phrase has always stuck with me, because it seemed to present the width of the Seine as something that all civilized people knew, like the fact that the First World War started after an assassination in Sarajevo, or that the English drive on the left side of the road.
I mention this only because it gives me an excuse to post a nice picture of the Seine and let you make up your own mind as to its width:
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Le vin est mort. Vive le vin.
Quite a few studies have been published in the last few years showing that the French don't drink wine like they used to.
I'm sure the statisticians know what they're talking about, but on the ground in my neighborhood, they are still drinking it faster than the recycling station can keep up with the empties:
What I've noticed, though, is that there are definite, unwritten rules for what to drink when.
At meals: wine. Absolutely, every time at lunch or dinner (breakfast is generally limited to coffee, though I've seen older guys in my neighborhood knocking back beer at 8:30 in the morning). From bottles, most of the time, at least when there are two or more diners at the table; the days of ordering the house plonk by the carafe seem mostly in the past.
I try to avoid drinking alcohol before nightfall -- it makes me sleepy and tends to rule out enjoying the afternoon -- but when I have lunch without wine in a restaurant I definitely feel I am in the minority.
When the French are not eating, though, they tend to drink beer. Mass-market, draft European beers like Becks, Stella or especially Heineken, for the most part; although the French make one very good beer, called Kronenbourg, it isn't as widely available as I would have expected.
I had drinks tonight at Open Cafe with a couple of friends, and I'd estimate that 80% of the people there were drinking Heineken, though that may have been because of a happy-hour special. The rest were mainly drinking French specialties like kir (white wine and cassis syrup) or pastis (anise-flavored liquor mixed with water). I would have expected to see people drinking wine by the glass, but that doesn't seem to be very popular outside of mealtime. Mixed drinks, of course, are mainly for foreigners.
What the French used to drink years ago, of course, I have no idea. Maybe they used to drink wine by the glass in bars, or maybe they used to just drink more wine with dinner than they do now.
But wine is definitely still alive and well here.
I'm sure the statisticians know what they're talking about, but on the ground in my neighborhood, they are still drinking it faster than the recycling station can keep up with the empties:
What I've noticed, though, is that there are definite, unwritten rules for what to drink when.
At meals: wine. Absolutely, every time at lunch or dinner (breakfast is generally limited to coffee, though I've seen older guys in my neighborhood knocking back beer at 8:30 in the morning). From bottles, most of the time, at least when there are two or more diners at the table; the days of ordering the house plonk by the carafe seem mostly in the past.
I try to avoid drinking alcohol before nightfall -- it makes me sleepy and tends to rule out enjoying the afternoon -- but when I have lunch without wine in a restaurant I definitely feel I am in the minority.
When the French are not eating, though, they tend to drink beer. Mass-market, draft European beers like Becks, Stella or especially Heineken, for the most part; although the French make one very good beer, called Kronenbourg, it isn't as widely available as I would have expected.
I had drinks tonight at Open Cafe with a couple of friends, and I'd estimate that 80% of the people there were drinking Heineken, though that may have been because of a happy-hour special. The rest were mainly drinking French specialties like kir (white wine and cassis syrup) or pastis (anise-flavored liquor mixed with water). I would have expected to see people drinking wine by the glass, but that doesn't seem to be very popular outside of mealtime. Mixed drinks, of course, are mainly for foreigners.
What the French used to drink years ago, of course, I have no idea. Maybe they used to drink wine by the glass in bars, or maybe they used to just drink more wine with dinner than they do now.
But wine is definitely still alive and well here.
The Color of Autumn
The leaves are starting to turn here, though it's a good bit less glorious than autumns in North America:
The Family Tree of the Bagel
In her book "The Bialy Eaters," Mimi Sheraton tells of her unsuccessful quest to trace the roots of the bialy to Bialystok, Poland. She goes there only to find no one there has ever heard of such a bread; most likely everyone who knew it was killed in the Holocaust.
Along the way, she offhandedly comments that the roots of the bagel are to be found elsewhere in Poland.
That place is most likely Krakow, to judge from my trip last month.
In touristy parts of Krakow, they sell tiny, stale, mini-bagels on a string:
But in places where Poles go, like the train station and market squares, they sell a different kind, bigger and twisted:
This type of bagel is lighter in texture than an American bagel, more like a German soft pretzel:
And lo and behold, at the Jewish bakery behind my apartment in Paris, they've got them as well as more American-style ones:
You can't quite make out the sign in this picture, but the bottom shelf is labeled "Baygel Pavot" (poppy-seed bagel), while the top is labeled "Bagel U.S."
And here I thought I was giving them up for the duration ...
Along the way, she offhandedly comments that the roots of the bagel are to be found elsewhere in Poland.
That place is most likely Krakow, to judge from my trip last month.
In touristy parts of Krakow, they sell tiny, stale, mini-bagels on a string:
But in places where Poles go, like the train station and market squares, they sell a different kind, bigger and twisted:
This type of bagel is lighter in texture than an American bagel, more like a German soft pretzel:
And lo and behold, at the Jewish bakery behind my apartment in Paris, they've got them as well as more American-style ones:
You can't quite make out the sign in this picture, but the bottom shelf is labeled "Baygel Pavot" (poppy-seed bagel), while the top is labeled "Bagel U.S."
And here I thought I was giving them up for the duration ...
Friday, October 3, 2008
The Naughty Bits
It's clear from watching TV at the gym this week that the FCC's jurisdiction does not extend to French TV, and especially not to commercials.
Two cases in point:
An ad for Levi's jeans shows a (straight) couple frantically unbuttoning their jeans as they climb the stairs to an apartment. As they do so, they admit to all the lies they told each other when they met earlier: "I've never been to the United States"; "This is not my apartment"; etc. This doesn't stop them from getting hot and heavy as the buttons fly open and the camera lingers lovingly on their crotches, with beaucoup de underwear showing.
In a different ad, a cartoon bird does its business -- shown in quite graphic color -- on a businessman's suit. The businessman pulls out and chugs a can of Red Bull, sprouts wings, flies up above the bird and unbuttons his pants, to the bird's visible dismay.
Neither of these would be worth more than a PG-13 at U.S. movie theaters, but you never, never see anything like it on TV, particularly not at 8:30 in the morning.
Refreshing.
Two cases in point:
An ad for Levi's jeans shows a (straight) couple frantically unbuttoning their jeans as they climb the stairs to an apartment. As they do so, they admit to all the lies they told each other when they met earlier: "I've never been to the United States"; "This is not my apartment"; etc. This doesn't stop them from getting hot and heavy as the buttons fly open and the camera lingers lovingly on their crotches, with beaucoup de underwear showing.
In a different ad, a cartoon bird does its business -- shown in quite graphic color -- on a businessman's suit. The businessman pulls out and chugs a can of Red Bull, sprouts wings, flies up above the bird and unbuttons his pants, to the bird's visible dismay.
Neither of these would be worth more than a PG-13 at U.S. movie theaters, but you never, never see anything like it on TV, particularly not at 8:30 in the morning.
Refreshing.
One more thing the gym is missing ...
... is cute guys. Haven't seen one all week.
It's the only place in Paris that doesn't have them.
It's the only place in Paris that doesn't have them.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
The (Old-Fashioned) National Pastimes
For a people that is supposedly au courant and a la mode, the French cling to some surprisingly old-fashioned hobbies.
These boys, for example, playing cards in the Place des Vosges on a sunny afternoon. I'm not sure when the last time I saw kids this age playing a card game:
And on the subway, particularly at rush hour, people read books. All kinds of books, ranging from Dostoevsky to Ken Follett (all in translation, of course). Quite a difference from New York, where people tend to read newspapers or magazines if they read anything. (However, one explanation may be that the Paris Metro is just too crowded at rush hour to manipulate a newspaper or magazine. A paperback book takes up far less space.)
This is one of the quirks of the place that I like.
These boys, for example, playing cards in the Place des Vosges on a sunny afternoon. I'm not sure when the last time I saw kids this age playing a card game:
And on the subway, particularly at rush hour, people read books. All kinds of books, ranging from Dostoevsky to Ken Follett (all in translation, of course). Quite a difference from New York, where people tend to read newspapers or magazines if they read anything. (However, one explanation may be that the Paris Metro is just too crowded at rush hour to manipulate a newspaper or magazine. A paperback book takes up far less space.)
This is one of the quirks of the place that I like.
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