Last day in Paris. The rain returns and becomes my signal that it is time to go....but not before I enjoy one final lunch. I return to my hotel to leave my shopping bags full of Debauve et Gallais chocolates, Laduree macaroons, and my modest picnic for the Eurostar the next day. La vie est belle! I head to the Cafe Varenne not far from my hotel....a gem of a neighborhood bistro. It's a bit late in the day so I don't have to worry too much about getting a table. I am seated in the window with a view of la Boucherie de Varenne, a very charming butcher shop! It may seem strange to put the words charming and butcher in the same sentence, but trust me, it is charming. The store front is green and the proud banner says "Charcuterie, Volaille, Triperie". The butcher is perfectly dressed in a red checked jacket with sleeves that roll up and attach with tabs. Who would have guessed that fashion and meat go together! Yes, the butcher wore red. I try to focus on the menu of the day because I feel the impatience of the waiter behind me. Ironically I don't order meat. I take the lentilles with diced carrots and poached egg on top, a salade frisee and a glass of brouilly--red wine that is slightly chilled. I am already in heaven just by making these choices and continue my people watching out the window. The butcher has prepared a platter of meat on a silver tray to take to the apartment at 33 rue de Varenne and is on his way up to deliver it. I wonder who lives there and what their relationship might be...He returns to his shop after only a few minutes, however, so any fantasy I might have is quickly dispelled. My lunch arrives and it looks so good that it distracts me from looking at anything around me. I enjoy it slowly knowing that it will be months before I get to have anything like it again. When I am done, the waiter asks me if I will be having dessert. I ask him what is being offered that day and he replies "tarte aux fraises...la meilleur du monde"! Strawberry tarte--the best in the world. That is quite a statement I think. Then he adds, "C'est la recette de ma maman!" Ah...his mother's recipe. How can I refuse? The tarte arrives and it is beautifully arranged--I'm impressed already. One bite of the tarte and I know that he wasn't kidding. It is the best strawberry tarte...simple in that it is just strawberries, pastry and cream... but the best strawberries, amazing pastry and scrumptious cream. He gives me a knowing nod as he passes by watching me close my eyes and take a first bite. It's not just a bite of a strawberry tarte, it is a bite of Paris... always at it finest.
Dreaming of Paris and Miss Von Teese? CointreauTeese will keep the dream alive!
Usually on my birthday, I like to spend a quiet day alone. I gather both my thoughts and my wits to be ready to move forward into a new year. It's windy this day in San Francisco and as I am pushed around Union Square I keep passing in front of the corner hot dog stand. The vendors are usually students trying to make a buck and today is no exception. They are young, smiling and dancing around to upbeat music to stay warm. The smell of the sausages cooking gets into my soul and I decide that one will be my lunch. There is no one at the stand when I approach so they are very happy when I order, pay and tip! I prepare my hotdog the way I like it with lots of ketchup, relish and a smattering of mustard. I stand in the sunshine on the street next to the stand and take my first bite. My eyes are closed and my head is tilted back to take in the sun's warmth and I utter a quiet sigh of delight. Simple pleasures! I open my eyes to see a line forming at the stand now. The young vendor smiles at me and thanks me for bringing all the business! "You are the best advertising ever!" he laughs. 
What a day! St. Andrews was storming mad. The doors to the hotel bar were rattling and ranting until finally they had to be locked to be kept quiet. The thought of going outdoors was trying to enter my mind but it never quite made it. Sideways sheets of rain, blasts of chilling wind, and people everywhere running for cover. No....not the day to step outside. Instead we took refuge in the bar for tea. What a wonderful afternoon practice. We weren't the only ones who were "practicing". Enter two Scottish ladies....friends wanting a bit of a chat and a coffee. They talked as if they had been on one long visit--the kind of visit that lasts for years. Maybe that's a good definition of friendship...a conversation that lasts for years. They solved their problems while we solved ours and the hour moved along. 
Last day in Paris. The rain returns and becomes my signal that it is time to go....but not before I enjoy one final lunch. I return to my hotel to leave my shopping bags full of Debauve et Gallais chocolates, Laduree macaroons, and my modest picnic for the Eurostar the next day. La vie est belle! I head to the Cafe Varenne not far from my hotel....a gem of a neighborhood bistro. It's a bit late in the day so I don't have to worry too much about getting a table. I am seated in the window with a view of la Boucherie de Varenne, a very charming butcher shop! It may seem strange to put the words charming and butcher in the same sentence, but trust me, it is charming. The store front is green and the proud banner says "Charcuterie, Volaille, Triperie". The butcher is perfectly dressed in a red checked jacket with sleeves that roll up and attach with tabs. Who would have guessed that fashion and meat go together! Yes, the butcher wore red. I try to focus on the menu of the day because I feel the impatience of the waiter behind me. Ironically I don't order meat. I take the lentilles with diced carrots and poached egg on top, a salade frisee and a glass of brouilly--red wine that is slightly chilled. I am already in heaven just by making these choices and continue my people watching out the window. The butcher has prepared a platter of meat on a silver tray to take to the apartment at 33 rue de Varenne and is on his way up to deliver it. I wonder who lives there and what their relationship might be...He returns to his shop after only a few minutes, however, so any fantasy I might have is quickly dispelled. My lunch arrives and it looks so good that it distracts me from looking at anything around me. I enjoy it slowly knowing that it will be months before I get to have anything like it again. When I am done, the waiter asks me if I will be having dessert. I ask him what is being offered that day and he replies "tarte aux fraises...la meilleur du monde"! Strawberry tarte--the best in the world. That is quite a statement I think. Then he adds, "C'est la recette de ma maman!" Ah...his mother's recipe. How can I refuse? The tarte arrives and it is beautifully arranged--I'm impressed already. One bite of the tarte and I know that he wasn't kidding. It is the best strawberry tarte...simple in that it is just strawberries, pastry and cream... but the best strawberries, amazing pastry and scrumptious cream. He gives me a knowing nod as he passes by watching me close my eyes and take a first bite. It's not just a bite of a strawberry tarte, it is a bite of Paris... always at it finest.
