I have six or seven routes for my morning walk, which I
rotate to keep the experience fresh.
This morning, at six-thirty, I set out on my basic, standard walk, the
first one I ever took. I turn right
coming out of my building, walk the half block to the Left Bank, turn left and
walk past Nôtre Dame, and then continue on past Place St. Michel, the
refurbished La Monnaie [the old Mint –
now home to a famous three start restaurant, among other things], on past the Academie Française, the Louvre [across the river], the Musêe
d’Orsay [once a railway station] and the statue of Thomas Jefferson, and
finally past the little row of Batobuses on the river, with Yves Montand and
Jean Gabin bringing up the rear, and then back again the same way to home. The large square in front of Nôtre
Dame is currently sporting a white rectangular tent-like structure, just put
up, and today Susie and I walked over to find out what it was for. [We started at the famous English language
bookstore, Shakespeare and Co., where I used to hang out sixty-one years ago
during my graduate school wanderjahr,
but the place is now so totally given over to tourism that it no longer feels
like a bookstore, so we left.] It turns
out that the structure in front of the cathedral is devoted to a “festival of
bread.” Only in France, I guess. We went in, bought a mini-brioche [2 Euros],
and ate it at a café while sipping coffee and watching countless
tours walk by led by a man or woman holding up an umbrella [as a form of
identification] and speaking into a microphone to the members of the tour all
fitted out with earplugs.
This morning I shopped for two dinners, and
decided to go with skate for this evening.
Skate is a really scary looking fish that actually tastes rather
delicate and lovely if broiled with butter on it. The trick is getting the fishmonger to take
the skin off [sans peau] because taking
the skin off oneself is a little like trying to skin a medium tank. I bought a piece of a skate wing weighing 485
grams [before the removal of the skin], which should give each of us a bit less
than half a pound. The skate has radiating
cartilage, and one pulls the tender flesh from between the spokes with one’s
fork. Steamed white asparagus and little
potatoes will complete a simple meal.
Our fellow copropriété
member and good friend, an ebullient, cheerful America woman who has lived here
for thirty years or more, told us we must go over to the Jardin des Plantes and see the Wallabies in the Wallaby Enclosure,
so maybe tomorrow we will give it a try.
I actually once went to Australia for the weekend to watch my then
teen-age son play in the World Junior Chess Championship, but I did not see any
Wallabies. [Patrick did not win that
tournament, but somewhat later, when he had become a Grandmaster, he did win
the U.S. Open Championship twice, among many other things. To this day, I brag that I taught him how to
play, when he was six.]
You will notice that I am studiously avoiding
any mention of Clinton and Trump. I will
however point out that Bernie does TEN POINTS
better than Clinton in matchups against Trump.
Just sayin’.
3 comments:
That I can vaguely visualize your basic route, having been in Paris for about a week over 40 years ago, indicates how mythically powerful that city is for so many of us.
I spent a bit more time in Portland, Oregon, during the same decade, but I can't remember anything at all about it, not even the name of one street.
Obviously you love food (so do I, and I think Paris is very nice, too). I certainly don't want to sound holier-than-thou, but do you have any qualms at all about eating animals? And do you think (or don't think) that left politics should also consider animals (at least certain categories) as a rather huge class of exploited beings?
No, I cannot say that I do.
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