A Paris weekend

What's the big deal about a Paris weekend? Well, the fact that I almost never have one. In the more than three years I've lived in Paris, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of weekends I've spent here in the city.

The reason is that--like many Parisians--Denis and I practice a weekend exodus to our house in upper Normandie. I spend every Friday morning food shopping for our leisurely and often fireplace-grilled weekend meals. Around 4:00 in the afternoon, the major mobilization is underway. After several trips up and down in our exasperatingly impractical and tiny elevator, we get the car loaded and set off.

For Denis, with his weekdays beginning at 7 and ending at 8 p.m. or even 10, getting away is essential. The grueling demands of his radiological practice and what we still call his "startup," but which is now well past that stage, can only be left behind by driving two hours to the northwest to the cherished maison de campagne.

Besides being a getaway, the Normandie house for me is a laboratory. It's where I garden and renew my inspiration for writing these pages. And our forays into the surrounding countryside provide a wealth of material for these pages--both editorial content and products, as I often discover interesting artisans in the most out-of-the-way places.

That said, when Denis told me we'd have to stay in town this weekend because of the French radiological congress, I wasn't unhappy. I've so rarely spent the weekend in Paris that I scarcely know how the city feels without its hectic weekday hustle and bustle.

Saturday morning, I awoke to a city becalmed. I could already feel the difference even before I got out of bed. Although we live on a street that is quiet even on weekdays, the very vibration reaching me through the windows on Saturday was different. I have never lived in any other big city, so I don't know if, say, New York feels as altered on a weekend as Paris.



When I went down to Parc Monceau, just a short block away, to run a few laps, there were far more joggers than usual. The park itself seemed extra resplendant, its gown of autumnal colors glittering in the early morning light. The ambience was so generous that I was even able to cast a kind regard toward the park's gardens.

Their garishly planted flower beds are Parc Monceau's hallmark and the usual object of derisory comments muttered under my breath when I pass through. The utter mishmash of all the latest horticultural incarnations of strident colors seemed almost pretty that Saturday morning, even though, yes, those were yellow-and-red amaranths planted among bright pink landscape roses, and banana trees among the rhododendrons.



After a quick shower, I headed out of Paris after all. This was the weekend of the fall garden festival at the Domaine de Courson, a ch”teau an hour south of Paris. Even though Denis would be busy at his congress all day, I could still go...in my new car! Armed with map, detailed directions, and my camera, I happily headed out of Paris, feeling like a real Parisienne (it's very chic to go to Courson). But I was going not for chicness, but because it's a great opportunity to find new artisanal products to offer you on my shop online pages.



This year was no exception. I met a woman from the Loire valley who makes the most fabulous baskets I've ever seen. She produces an entire range of all the traditional and highly specific French garden baskets. She makes a strawberry basket exactly like the ones in which strawberries used to be displayed in Les Halles, which used to be Paris' giant wholesale market right downtown (now moved to a modern encampment at Rungis, outside the city). These baskets hold exactly a kilo of berries.

Among her treasure trove of work was a traditional vintner's basket for gathering grapes, a basket specifically for green beans, for salad, for eggs, for gathering cherries, for mushrooms...

Her husband cultivates over 140 species of willow at their Pépinière Entomologique, or entomological nursery, which she then weaves into baskets and works of art. "Why that name?" I asked her, thinking I knew but not daring to believe it could be so. "Because my husband is an entomologist, and the nursery was started to provide habitat for butterflies and other beneficial insects. We have lots of American plants!" she said, smiling, as she showed me a stunning photo of fields of blossoms including our purple coneflower.

Needless to say, we talked a long time, and she invited me to visit, once before summer to see her atelier, and again in July to see all the flowers and butterflies. I promise to share those visits with you. Meanwhile, watch for these incredible baskets--homegrown and homemade.



That is not the invasion of the monster plants from Mars in the photo, but rather just a few of the thousands of visitors to Courson wandering around the dramatic foliage of some gunnera plants. Courson is the place to go to bring home all kinds of rare and unusual gems for your garden. Many pépinièristes collectioneurs--collectors' nurserymen--were there selling everything from exotic salvias to one stand devoted entirely to brilliant blue gentians.

My best finds besides the baskets were a woman from the Pyrenees who makes exquisite herbiers--pressed flower pictures labelled in hand script such as you would find in an old herbarium. She uses the wildflowers from the beautiful mountains around her home. These graceful compositions absolutely captivated me, and I bought quite a few to offer to you under 'Accountrements--Art.' Look for them later this week. I can't think of anything I would rather receive as a holiday present.

I also discovered a gentleman who owns the only quarry of la pierre de Coticule, the stone that is used for sharpening knives and tools in France. Unlike the American stone, which is harder and must be used with oil (messy enough to make me never learn how), the French Coticule stone is softer and is used with water. Under his guidance, I finally learned how to properly sharpen knives and even pruning shears, with the help of his special beveled stone for pruners.

The Coticule stone is easy to use and works fabulously. All my knives are now like razors. You will likewise find the Coticule stone for knives, packed in a handsome beechwood box, and the beveled stone for pruning shears offered under the Accountrements--cuisine and Tools and accessories--pruning, respectively.

After a stimulating and satisfying afternoon, I drove my fully loaded car home to Paris. After unpacking, I took a quick walk out to buy milk and bread for our Sunday morning breakfast. I realized I had never been out in my neighborhood at 6:00 on a Saturday evening before. The sidewalks were full of young BCBG couples, walking arm-in-arm, and attired in elegant fall coats and scarves. BCBG? That's just French for "yuppie"; it stands for bien connu, bon gout--"well-known (or seen), good taste."

Sunday morning, after Denis again took off for his Congress, I had the enormous pleasure of being able to go to the open-air organic market on Boulevard Raspail. This is the most wonderful market in the city, with organic-only producers who come to the city to sell their wares to familiar clients. The atmosphere is crowded, but friendly and civilized, with lots of light-hearted repartee between vendor and buyer. Of course, this makes for the interminable French wait in line. But, in the end, it's worth it, as you get your pick of pristine produce that is not only organic, but highly varied.

I bought: succulent monkfish cheeks and fresh sardine fillets from the fishmonger; killer pain d'épices, the traditional honey-spicy cake; a beautiful Sugar Loaf chicory, with pale green, furled leaves; roquette; a plump chicken and a bottle of organic burgundy to turn it into coq au vin; a luscious white furry sheep's milk cheese, as well as a wedge of Abondance and St. Nectaire; crème fr”iche and fromage blanc, the creamy French version of cottage cheese; leeks; fresh thyme, chervil, and parsley; fennel; sweet corn; heirloom tomatoes; tiny, teardrop-shaped limes that I'd never seen before; almonds; shiitake mushrooms; grapefruits; lemons, and...I'm running out of room in my baskets and my arms feel like they're tearing out of their sockets. I spent a solid two hours shopping, creating recipes and menus in my head from the inspiration in front of me.

Hungry to know what we had for dinner to finish off our Paris weekend? Go to "Dans la Cuisine"...

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