School was out for nearly two weeks for Toussaint, so we went to Paris for a few days, taking the superfast TGV train.
Let's buckle right down to dinner, shall we?
The Brasserie Bourbon, where we ate our first dinner, instantly had me sighing with pleasure at the decoration. The banquettes were a mustard-yellow striped velvet. There were chandeliers a yard wide, with hundreds of muted crystals -- not shiny, nothing to glare your eyes -- and reddish-brown shades. The overall effect is muted, soothing, comfortable, elegant, cozy.
The news was playing on a flat-screen TV. Sheila E. was belting out pop. None of it loud at all, nothing to discourage conversation. The other diners were a single woman with hair dyed very dark (Blonde is not a popular color for hair-dyeing here. They go for dark brown, or a kind of eggplantish color that takes some getting used to.) An Asian person of indeterminate gender in a futuristic motorcycle jacket. An elderly gay man, very chic with his cashmere cardigan and razor-short white hair.
There was much visiting back and forth amongst the tables, much smoking, many kisses (in Paris, it's three pecks; in the Dordogne, either two or four). The Brasserie Bourbon seemed to be the neighborhood meeting-place, or perhaps there was a particular group that congregates there -- people who work at the nearby Musée d'Orsay, maybe?
Julian, as usual, ordered a hamburger and frites. The cute waitress took him under her wing, delivering catsup without being asked (!) and calling him, "Le jeune homme" which had him rolling his eyes and smiling. Chris had steak in a roquefort sauce, which he whinged about being too tough, but when I glanced back a few moments later, the steak had disappeared. Nellie had roast chicken with mashed potatoes, which was fabulously tasty, but she was too interested in eavesdropping at the next table to finish. I had cassoulet, which was blindingly delicious. Each bean was a buttery, flavorful marvel. And how I wish I had written down the name of the wine I had a glass of, because it had a dark, mysterious ruby color and it tasted like a magic potion, full of the forest somehow.
Paris in the fall was like a new place to me. No packs of tourists, no lines, the streets are calm and uncrowded, and there is a feeling that it has opened up a bit, that you can have more of its subtle pleasures, find more of its secret places, feel more at home than is possible during the summertime. The sky was often gray, but there is the occasional gold dome to light it up, or you turn a corner to see a block of buildings in the fading sun that stops you in your tracks, it's so lovely. And of course, cassoulet is a dish for gray skies and frost.
