As I type this, I've been in Paris for 24 hours, staying at my friends' apt in the Opera Arr. Their place is unreal - no fewer than 10 skylights and 20 windows (I promise, I am not exaggerating), and it just makes me want to be Picasso; to wake and paint and take advantage of the mad light and 6th story Parisian rooftop views.
Unlike Picasso, sadly, I have no artistic skill.
But like Picasso, I do have a great love of food and drink, so the past day has been a whirlwind of espresso, cheese, pain au chocolate, and (of course) wine. And throughout - as always when in Europe - I marvel at the perfection of the food... starting with perfect produce. I had just a regular salad yesterday, at just a regular neighborhood cafe, and even the little tomatoes were ideal. Hothouse, yes, but heirloom and stunning.
We couold all do with a heady dose of French perfectionism, I think. Something about an adherence to the old-fashioned, a praise of originality and simplicity, permeates everything from food to fashion.
I, for one, am going to try to find out what little baby tomato varietal was in my salad yesterday, and add it to my garden this year: my own little nod to bringing Paris home with me.
-Heather... off to the Pompidou... sigh...
Posted by: Nishant | March 16, 2006 at 08:43 AM