2015: the journey to me

hi. it's amy (again), obviously.

i know, i know: this is my travel blog -- a space to record the this-es and that-s of my time spent away from home, a space to let folks know i hadn't been mugged or kidnapped by gypsies (remember?).

but it's the first day of the new year, and i feel compelled (attributable to my rule-following-ways and this day's inherent tendency, as if a cardinal rule, towards reflection) to take pause and write something down about my travels over the last 365 sunrises and sunsets, even though i didn't wander too far from home (which is only to say i never left the 48 contiguous states), this time.

and, so, alas: here i am.

in short, 2015 was epic. and how could it not be? what, with the way i was born into it? fireworks (literally and figuratively, i dare say) over the thames? a month of gifts (galore) from the universe? achieving an unprecedented level of self-actualization? i could not have been positioned better - emotionally, mentally, spiritually - to live through the fullest (in a "my-cup-over-floweth" kind of way) trip around the sun, yet.

the way i came into 2015 was partially by design -- the trip, i mean: it was a gift to myself; the first of the three "big things" i was going to do to commemorate the 40th anniversary of my life on this earth; a check mark on my bucket-list of to-dos. planning and executing the trip was the easy part -- all that required was a few simple clicks on the internet and several months of reading travel books and consulting with seasoned travelers, all of whom had my best interests at heart. the remarkable coming of age experience (because, really, that's what happened: coming of age at 39-and-some-spare-change), on the other hand, was something i didn't (couldn't) expect or anticipate. and it, the culminating results of the experience, i mean, is the one thing for which i am the most grateful; the one thing that has been the most useful to me over the last year, as i have navigated my way through various personal and professional labyrinths; the one thing i endeavor to let guide me in the years to come, as i continue to evolve in this life.

the second of the three big things before 40: finish a half-marathon. talk about an evolution.

the plight of my existence has always been my struggle with weight -- and a mighty struggle it has been (and continues to be), indeed. back in the day, when my human density tipped the scales to a number i don't care to share (out of sheer embarrassment and shame), i'd never have imagined myself running anywhere (could insert a self-deprecating joke here, but i won't), or doing any real physical activity by choice, for that matter. i'd never been athletic, an athlete -- and, i'd never be athletic, an athlete. yet, this year, in 2015, between april and october, i finished, i ran, three (!) half-marathons, one in training and two official races.

finishing the races was, believe it or not, the easy part (it's amazing how far a bit of stubborn determination will take a person). for me, the real struggle has been allowing myself to categorize myself as a runner (not just someone who runs sometimes), as someone with athletic abilities, as an athlete. i mean, hell: i'm still too thick around the middle! the number on the scale is still too big! my calves and thighs are huge! an athlete? a runner? pshaw!

but let me tell you this: when i crossed that finish line, first in june and then again in october, i knew that i'd earned the label, that i am, indeed, a runner, an athlete, despite what outward appearances may suggest. and, that acceptance, for me, is an epic accomplishment.

and, now, the third thing, the third big thing before 40 ... here, i struggled: what, what would that be? what else could i do?  what? what?

when i came back from europe, my immediate inclination was to get the hell out of dodge, to leave this life, this life that had not turned out how i'd imagined it would be, the way i'd imagined before i knew anything about anything, and find something else in a place far, far away. but then the day-to-day (read: reality) settled in, and i knew leaving (read: escaping to another unknown) was not the answer, would not be a means to finding my own contentment. the answer, instead, was to open my eyes, open my eyes the way the universe had taught me to do, and observe all that i'd been given, all that i had -- family, friends, livelihood, health, opportunity ... and love. so. much. love.

and then do you know what happened? i found more love, new love, love for me to share, and love for me to receive. and this, this has been the best and the biggest of the three big things.

like i said: epic.

... merci boucoup...

bonjour! just me again, amy (obviously). 287,338 steps, 581 flights of stairs, 129.53 (!) miles, and about one week later, and i'm just taking the time to offer one final reflection about my adventure abroad (though, i won't stop reflecting on this experience any time soon (if ever), that's for sure). remember when i said, way back when, that comments about the "bravery" of solo travel always surprised me (like, um, i should have done this years and years ago but didn't -- what's so brave about that?)? well, i get it now (and it has nothing to do with time, space, or age): in taking this trip, across the atlantic, to a foreign land where i'd never been, i exercised a certain degree of bravery by deliberately putting myself in a multitude situations where i was completely vulnerable (most notably in paris, where english was not the primary language) and alone -- that's brave, that's courageous, that's badass, actually. and, more importantly, it's exhilarating, it's empowering, it's validating. turns out i am a brave person who is willing to take risks, even when the stakes (getting mugged by gypsies or wetting myself in public, for example) are high. who knew? (yeah, ok, you knew, and i did, too; but now i really know).

let me just say a few things about perspective. during the planning and preparation phases, several of my friends told me that this trip would alter my perspective, that i'd come back changed -- which, at the time, was a mysterious statement, one that didn't hold a whole lot of tangible meaning for me. i mean, to be fair, i certainly understand that, if we're living right, new experiences always teach us a thing  or two ... or a hundred; but, there was just no way for me to grasp the depth of the sentiment pre-trip, simply because of my lack of worldly experience. and, so, it follows, i really couldn't wait to see what those words would come to mean (and i knew they'd mean something important because i have some very wise friends).

well, i understand better now: alter my perspective? this trip completely changed my perspective about myself, my potential (both in the immediate and in the future), and my place in the world. while my essence remains the same (i mean, i'm still amy at the core), i did come back a changed person: i am more relaxed, more confident, more open, more aware, and, most importantly, less afraid. in many ways, i feel restored -- no longer encumbered by the lingering pain of past wounds; less inhibited by the chains of insecurity and fear; and more alive. more alive.

the universe was beyond kind to me whilst i was away, presenting me with gift, upon gift, upon gift. i can't say i've ever known such generosity. or, maybe, it just goes to show what can happen when a person opens herself up and actually takes the time to pay attention, to walk through each day with her head up and her eyes wide open. and the beauty of it all: no one needs to travel 4000 miles to discover the endless power of the universe -- she just needs to pay attention, from wherever she may be.

since i've been back, many people have asked me about the transition back to daily life. i'm not going to lie: it's been tough, really tough ... and not because i returned to some sort of shitty existence, either (quite the contrary: i live a very sweet, rich life, this i know). getting back into the routine of things has been fairly easy (save for the sleep -- how i miss those 9:30/10:00am rise times!) -- funny (and not in a "ha ha" kind of way, either) how that happens, getting right back into the swing of things, barely even missing a beat. the hard part is managing the overwhelming (almost suffocating) desire to be somewhere else, especially now that i know that somewhere else and really, really, really like (love, love, love) it. for the last week, i've felt like (what i imagine) a heroine addict must feel like coming off a really good high: slightly depressed and worried about when she will get her next hit (this isn't the best metaphor, is it? might help if i were actually a heroine addict ... just kidding). suffice it to say: the travel/adventure bug has bitten -- and he left marks, deep, deep, deep marks. the good news: there will be another trip; now, it's just a matter of when ... and where.

finally (well, at least for this space in the blogosphere), i have to say: it's been an enormous pleasure maintaining this space over the last several weeks, both in terms of the joy that i find in exercising my creative spirit by putting finger to keyboard, so to speak, and in knowing that i've brought a group of readers along with me. i thought i'd get lonely, long to have someone to talk to at the end of each day... but this space helped me stay connected, helped me fill what otherwise might have been a distracting void. and now i have an account of what amounted to be the best three weeks of my life, peppered with comments from the people whom i love the most. talk about gifts from the universe...

au revoir, for now.

... time for a different perspective ...

when i woke up thursday morning (january 15), i could hardly believe ten days had already passed since my arrival in this most magnificent city and my departure was just two days away. a dark, dark, dark cloud of malaise started to settle over my head and a lump developed in my throat (this time, not strep related) and my eyes filled with crocodile tears. i'll admit it: i wallowed for a while -- about 30 minutes, during which time i was unable to pull myself out of bed, hoping to simply freeze time by not moving. and then the spirit of my perfect flat tapped me gently on the shoulder (he knew i was feeling down, hence explaining the "gentle") and then screamed, directly in my ear: "quit wasting the time you have left! get up and get out there. now!" that was enough (plenty, actually) to move me to action: i leaped from bed, put on a little shakira (for motivation and a mood lifter), got myself showered and dressed, and was ready to live one of my last days to the fullest in record time.

to be honest, by this point in the trip, i'd had my fill of antiquity, the middle ages (medieval times), romanesque, and gothic art -- i needed a change of perspective. thus, to the musée picasso i walked (after stopping for another of those chocolate croissants, that is). the museum doors opened at 11:30 a.m. -- i arrived shortly thereafter to find that a queue for entry had already formed.  no worries, thought i, with the paris museum pass in hand, allowing me to enter the side of the queue that was only a mere three people deep. much to my dismay, however, i was informed by the attendant that entry to the museum is not covered by the pass (thus, making my new best friend rick steves a liar!) and i'd have to join the queue of people without tickets (which had almost doubled in about three minutes). prepared to pay the admission fee, i joined the other line -- where i watched the queue of people with tickets grow exponentially in about four minutes.

i waited in line for about an hour -- then i overheard the couple in front of me say in english (when everyone else was speaking in french) that it was still going to be at least another hour before we non-ticket holders would stand a chance of entry. and that's when the spirit of my flat pushed me out of line and told me to find something more interesting to do with my time.

plan b: to the centre (georges) pompidou, home of the musée national d'art moderne (largest museum for modern art in europe), i go.

you can read all about the centre pompidou's unique architecture here; i'm going to simplify and say it's a really cool building, both inside and out. and it's another place in paris from which you can get an impressive panoramic view of the city, simply by taking the escalator, which runs through the tube you see above (inside view below), to the 6th level of the centre.

although this isn't the greatest picture (it was taken through a window on an overcast and rainy day), you can still see sacre-coeour in the background, overlooking the city (i felt a particular sense of pride when i viewed this scene, knowing i'd walked my way to that point in the city ...).

 

i spent the better part of the day, wandering through the six floors of the centre. the jeff koons, an american artist known for his reproduction of banal objects, exhibit was particularly interesting and fun to view. the photo below is balloon dog (magenta) -- one of five unique versions, blue, magenta, orange, red, and yellow (huh. blue's clues inspiration?). interestingly, orange sold at auction for $58.4 million in 2013, making it the most expensive piece of work sold at auction by a living artist.

after spending quite a bit of time with mr. koons, i made my way to the permanent collection at the national museum of modern art, which houses more than 50,000 (!) works of painting, sculpture, architecture, and other media (including some picasso!). i lost myself four hours, observing the various forms of expression, manifested in color, shape, texture, and, even, sound...

afterwards, i stopped by a crepe stand and treated myself to a jambon et fromage crepe (ham and cheese) and took a leisurely stroll back to my flat, pausing to grab this photo (a common scene along many-a-street in paris).

thank you, apartment spirit, for not letting me waste a most precious day ...

... bon appetite, part the trois ...

it's my last night in paris, and i have to find a restaurant with available reservations on a friday night (and it's already 2:00 p.m.). unable to secure a table at restaurants suggested by friends, real life friends and rick steves, i turned to trip advisor for help (again). the choices! so overwhelming. i narrowed the search to neighborhood and only looked at the places with recent feedback (and by recent i mean within the previous two weeks). i finally landed on l'ilot vache -- primarily because of location (a 10 minute walk from the flat, along a route that i had come to know well) and also because i was growing weary of sorting through recommendation after recommendation after recommendation (the mention of "discreet service" on the restaurant's website had no influence on my decision -- what does that even mean?!?). plus, i could reserve a table online for the time that best suited me (8:000 p.m. --2200 hours). decision made.

i didn't get a picture of the exterior (though, you can catch a glimpse if you visit the website), but here's a shot of the inside.

when i walked inside, i was greeted by the owner -- amy! (said in a french accent, so it sounded more like "any"), who seemed genuinely happy to welcome me to his establishment (the same experience i had when i dined at les papilles, too). the place, which is quite small -- maybe 20 tables? -- is really decorated something fierce (as you can see). and, though it's hard to tell, the little orange spot behind the glass next to the cow on the table in view, is a live goldfish. seriously. a live goldfish. as over-the-top-as it seems, i know i like the place as soon as i walk in and hear the owner's voice. i am seated at a table in the corner, offering me full view of the entire dining room floor (which i am sharing with several other tables). once seated, the waitress brings me the dinner and drink menus and a small ramekin of olives (which were quite tasty).

i knew what i was going to order before i even arrived because i studied the menu online after i made the reservation. what i didn't know, however, is that wine was not available for purchase by the glass. so, i had to buy a whole bottle, which i did without regret (and without care that the bottle of wine would cost more than my entire dinner). look: a romantic dinner for one.

first course, the entrée or starter, escargots de bourgogne au beurre persille (burgundy snails in butter with finely chopped parsley). i made the mistake of failing to order fois gras (sorry, sarah!) when it was presented as an option, so i knew i was not going to leave paris without having escargot, the popular french appetizer. my commitment to this endeavor was so serious that i even googled "how to eat escargot" and watched several youtube videos so i would not look like an amateur when served the dish. i was ready, man, ready.  turns out, though, that the snails were already removed from their shells upon presentation, so my research was for naught. oh well. at least the risk of sending a shell flying across the room (ala julia roberts in pretty woman) was completely eliminated. whew! the snails, themselves, didn't taste like much (they were slightly rubbery, though, a texture for which i was prepared, thanks to google), but the sauce! the sauce was a buttery, garlicky delight -- a perfect condiment for the crusty baguette (and trust me: i did not let any of that sauce go to waste).

next up, the plat or main course: boeuf bourguignon au chocolate noir (beef bourguignon with black chocolate). this ordering decision was inspired by julia child, my favorite french chef (and would be a perfect complement to the nice bottle of bordeaux i was happily enjoying). frankly, this dish left much to be desired. it certainly wasn't anything special (not horrible either), which i think you can ascertain from the photo. the beef was tender and fairly flavorful, but the broth (or gravy) was limp, lacking in complexity, and overly salty. i thought, at least, the vegetables would have absorbed some of the dish's flavor since it was a stew of sorts, which would have given them some depth, but no; they seemed to be cooked separately and added at the last minute. and i am positive the pale potatoes would have been better had i been able to dress them up with some of the sauce from the snails(!). yet, even though the dish wasn't anything spectacular, i was still enjoying my dining experience quite a bit, actually (ok, so maybe the half-bottle of wine i'd consumed by this time (coupled with the 3/4 bottle of wine i consumed at the flat before even leaving) had something to do with my unbreakable good and festive mood). and, lest anyone need reminding: i'm in paris!

and then there was the fromage -- the cheese. the presentation wasn't anything great (unlike the chèvre  platter from two nights before), but the cheese was good (then, again, it's nearly impossible to ruin a cheese course, since slicing and plating are really the only required preparation techniques). i ate the cheese with a smile and pretended it was the best cheese i've ever eaten ...

dessert is next, and i've made my way through three-quarters of the wine (see ol' drunk eyes below). oh, and ps: i know the wine was having its way with me because i took roughly 20 selfies of myself making funny faces in the bathroom (and, no, not while actually using the bathroom) before i left the restaurant after dessert. i'm so weird.

the dessert choice du jour: crème brulée, an egg-based custard dessert i've always claimed i don't like (because i don't even like eggs!). well, when in paris ... 

and, as you'll see when you scroll down, turns out that i do like crème brulée because i had no problem eating every last bite (and, again, would have happily licked the dish clean if it weren't unbecoming of a lady). of the three courses, dessert was, by far, far, far, far the best (next to the wine, which was actually my favorite part of the meal -- probably because it was the most expensive wine i've ever knowingly consumed).

although my last meal in paris was not outstanding, the experience of dining at l'ilot vache was highly enjoyable and satisfying. i walked back to the flat feeling sated and happy and content. and, really, even consuming the most well-prepared, most delicious food can't beat feelings like those.

au revoir, paris! for now.

... don giovanni, oh what a rake and seducer are you ...

my flat in paris was directly across the street from the opera de le bastille, or, more commonly opera bastille (the bastille opera house) -- i had a perfect view of the building from my window but failed to snap a shot with my own camera (thus, the photo below is lifted from here). the bastille opera house is a modern opera house in paris, inaugurated in 1989 as part of president françois mitterrand's "grands travaux," or grands projects culturels, an architectural program to provide modern monuments in paris, symbolizing france’s role in art, politics, and economy at the end of the 20th century.

i am fairly new to the opera (so i certainly wouldn't call myself a fan, yet), but, thanks to the influence of my friend sue, who, along with her husband, is an avid and well-informed opera fan, i am learning to cultivate an appreciation (and an enjoyment) for the art form. in the last year, i've seen two operas: the italian opera La bohème, which i saw with sue at the decc via a simulcast sponsored by the metropolitan opera; and the french opera carmen, which i saw performed by the duluth superior symphony orchestra (dsso) and the lyric opera of the north (loon). why not, then, elevate my opera going repertoire by securing tickets to the opening night of the italian opera don giovanni (composed by mozart) at the bastille opera house? in paris? exactly. ticket booked. and opera-going attire packed.



to prepare myself for the paris event, i did two things: 1) since the opera would be performed in italian, i read several different synopses of the opera so i would at least have an understanding of the story and the characters (and the english (and french) translation was provided via a teleprompter for the audience, which was something i did not expect); and 2) watched the 1984 film amadeus, to, you know, get to know mozart better.

photography was obviously strictly prohibited, but i did snap these two mediocre shots of the venue before the performance started. the place is massive, massive! and it appeared that all of the seats were filled, at least all of the seats on the main floor, which is where i was seated (towards the back, as you can see, left of center stage). i sat between a fellow solo opera-goer, who did not speak any english (this i learned when she tried to ask me if she was sitting in the right seat number) and a gentleman of a gentleman-and-lady duo, who did not speak english as his first language either (this i know because i overheard him speaking to his lady-friend, who subsequently responded, in a language that was not english).

the performance started promptly at 7:30 p.m. and began with a message from, i am assuming, the director, who addressed the audience with the full chorus, all dressed in black, standing behind him (i am not sure what he said because his speech was not translated). after he finished speaking, the chorus sang a song. when the song was over, the audience applauded mightily and offered a standing ovation (which i didn't quite understand, to be honest, but followed suit and stood and clapped with the others). the house lights came up again, several minutes passed, and then the lights went down, the orchestra began, and the set was revealed. i have to say that i was surprised to see a modern set -- i was expecting to see something reminiscent of the early 19th century (the period in which the opera was written). instead, the primary backdrop was a multi-story office building and don giovanni and leporello were dressed in suits (the other characters were also costumed in modern garb).

clearly, i am not an opera reviewer, but i can say this of my experience: the singing was beautiful --  it's actually hard to believe that such sound can come from a human mouth (and appear as if emitted effortlessly); the music was dark and intense, captivating really; the modern setting made the whole experience more engaging (and interesting), at least in my opinion; the opera was performed so well that i found myself more caught up in what was happening on stage, rather than trying to keep up with the translation on the teleprompter (see, the pre-work really paid off!); and i was surprised to find that it was nearly midnight when i returned to the flat across the street (that says something, too, the unnoticeable passage of time, about the quality and my enjoyment of the performance).

ultimately, i think going to the opera is a bit like reading shakespeare: comprehension takes some time and some effort: you have to get a feel for the language; it can help to read a plot synopsis before reading the actual script; it's most useful (and helpful) to read aloud and discuss with others; and the scripts become better and better with every re-read.

thus, i say: to shakespeare! to opera!

... the (sacred) heart of the matter ...

when i was visiting with graham and mary (old friends, you see) at the moulin rouge last week, i asked if they would share their "must see whilst in paris" list with me. in unison, they said: the sacre-coeur, or the basilica of the sacred heart of paris, located at the summit of the butte montmarte, the highest point in the city. interestingly enough (and not surprising, by any means), this landmark was already on my (auspicious) list of places to visit while in the city. and a plan-for-the-day emerges.

before i go on, two things: 1) i love how white my teeth look in this picture (another coffee-maker  + camera's self-timer creation -- and what i looked like the morning i set out to see the sacre-coeur); and 2) i wasn't totally sold on this shirt when i bought it from the old navy, but i've noticed many a lady wearing flannel prints, both in london and in paris, suggesting that i may, in fact, have just a little bit of style. and now the shirt is one of my new favorites (i'm even wearing it right now as i write this, and it's at least three days later!).

back to the sacre-coeur adventure. in order to get some energy for the three mile walk before me, i stopped at the patisserie around the corner (my favorite little bakery, less than a block from the flat) and picked up breakfast (natasha!), a chocolate filled croissant (the official parisian breakfast, for real, really). as you walk the streets of paris, you see many, many, many people enjoying their morning (afternoon and evening) croissants, or chunks of their recently purchased baguettes, or their classic baguette sandwiches, purchased from either street vendors or boulangeries (for the record, i took part in all three cultural practices, though i never did quite get the hang of eating and walking at the same time -- clearly, much better at attacking the sandwich in private).

the walk from the flat (in the bastille neighborhood, remember) to montmarte takes you right through the the place de le republique, a public square in paris, located on the border of the 3rd, 10th, and 11th arrondissements. here, you find the statue of the republic, a woman shrouded in heavy clothing, wearing the the traditional phrygian cap, holding a branch in her hand. the woman is marianne, a symbol of the french republic and its values (her head also appears on the postage stamps, euro coins, and wine-bottle wrappers). the statues of liberty, equality, and fraternity, the three major symbols of the republic, stand with their backs against the pedestal.



















most recently, the square was the starting place for the paris march, led by relatives of the victims of the charlie hebdo attacks. more than 40 world leaders joined the rally, linking arms in an act of solidarity, and an estimated 1.6 million people took part in this march, including me (photo courtesy of the bbc).

i don't mean to gloss over this tremendous event, this tremendous moment in history -- the truth is, i'm still trying to find the right words to describe what it was like to be present in paris during this time (and i'll likely come back to this in the coming days, as i filter through all of the events from the last three weeks in my mind). for now, all i can say is je suis charlie, nou sommes charlie ...

one of the benefits of walking the city of paris, is you get an intimate feel for the various neighborhoods and how they resemble and, contrarily, differ from one another. as i walked past the republique and got closer to montmarte, i noticed a distinct change in the neighborhood feel (particularly compared to the bastille, marais, and other left bank neighborhoods) -- rick steves describes the feel as both "slightly seedy and trendy" (and i'd agree). like other places, the sidewalks were crowded with people: some of whom were hustling and bustling to get to where they were going; and some of whom where lingering on street corners, enjoying their morning smokes and sipping from bottles concealed in brown paper sacks. the atmosphere felt more working class, too, than the other neighborhoods through which i'd been traipsing. and, most notable (what i remember the most, at least), the area felt alive, alive in a way that was distinctly different than other areas (perhaps because i wasn't in the heart of paris' touristville neighborhood anymore?).

i finally made it to square d'anvers (square of antwerp), a major metro station and the point from which i began my ascent up the cobblestone paved hill leading to sacre-coeur. this part of town is known for being overly tourist-y (well, and why wouldn't it be? all of the travel books i perused glorified the panoramic paris view to be had from the summit), characterized by winding cobblestone stone paths and impressive views of the majestic sacre-coeur, the white basilica overlooking the city. this is all true (though, when i was there, it wasn't overly crowded, probably because it was a dismal day (only in terms of the elements) in the middle of january) and it's still a place i'd recommend visiting.



just as i reached the final staircase to entry, the sky opened and big, cold raindrops began to fall; perfect timing, as the basilica offered a peaceful and glorious respite from the rain. i followed rick steves' guided tour of the interior, stopping to marvel at the statue of st. therese; colorful mosaics, depicting the stations of the cross; stained glass windows; and images of joan of arc (i even stopped to rub st. peter's bronze foot for good luck). again, no photography was allowed inside the chapel -- and, this time, the attendants were keeping their eyes out for rule breakers and i did not want to be the subject of a sharp (and very public) call to madame! followed by a wagging finger, so i kept my phone in my pocket. i get it, though, while i find beauty and mystique in the various art forms decorating the church and am completely mesmerized by the sheer amount of time and attention to detail it takes to build something like the sacre-coeur (we don't invest like this in our buildings today), it is still a sacred space for many faithful believers, a place of worship, and a place of holiness, a place of peace that ought not be disturbed by the clicking and flashes of cameras.

and the view of the city is impressive (another one worth the climb), just as all the travel guides suggest. in this photo, i especially like the contrast of the white buildings against the grey sky. my only regret is missing the climb up to the dome of the church (another 300 steps and the highest point in the city). only after leaving, did i learn this was a possibility. next time.

next time.

... bon appetite, part the deux ...

for my second night of fine dining, i made reservations at les papilles (translation: buds), a restaurant recommended by my friend emily (who was in paris last year) and my friend rick, rick steves. when i originally tried to reserve a table, i requested a 19:30 dine time. the owner of the restaurant, bertrand bluy, responded to my email inquiry almost immediately and indicated the earliest he could possibly seat me would be 22:00. yes, this is possible for me, i replied, and i will be there (you can sort of see bertrand in the photo below -- good looking man, he).

there is only one menu served at les papilles, an entrée, plat, fromage, and dessert. when you dine at les papilles, you just trust the chef and his expertise (and i like this approach because it removes all decision making (save for white or red; ok, i'll take both, thank you), which is a blessing when you're indecisive and don't know which entrée to choose. in addition, the food is served family style -- each course comes in its own serving dish, smaller dishes for tables of one, larger for tables of more.  on wednesday, the first course (entrée or starter) was a creamy leek soup, served over a pile of fresh herbs, croutons, something that sort of tasted like bacon but better, and a dollop of (what i am guessing to be) creme fraiche (amanda!). look at the beautiful presentation. now, imagine the taste -- because you just know that something that gorgeous has got to taste something like heaven in a bowl (a bowl that i seriously wanted to lick clean (but didn't). seriously).

next up was a veal(!) stew of sorts -- a creamy white sauce, filled with chunks of veal, fresh carrots and mushrooms, and the most delicious pearl onions i've ever tasted (these certainly did not come from the frozen food aisle in paris' equivalent to super one), served over basamati rice.  the veal, apparently, had been slow cooking to perfection for hours. i didn't know what to expect because, to my knowledge, i've never consumed veal (hence, an unfounded fear of the meat, the baby cow). even with no real expectations, i knew i was eating something special -- i don't think i've ever had beef so tender, so flavorful, so, um, can i have some more? i really wanted to eat the whole pot of stew, but i'd already devoured a small pot of soup, half a loaf of bread, more than half of the stew, and i knew cheese, more wine, and dessert were still to be had. to avoid any possible gastric discomfort, i made myself stop eating (and i still regret it and probably always will -- #YOLO!).

next up: fromage. and i knew, before it was even presented, that it was going to be goat cheese, served with a black olive tapenade (spelling?). but, when in paris ... because i wasn't really sure how to eat the cheese (it was served with a fork and knife, which, to be honest, confused my slightly inebriated self), i tried to wait until someone at a nearby table served himself up a big bite of the cheese so i could see how it was properly done. but the waitress came by and inquired about my hesitation before i had a chance to learn from another; i admitted i wasn't sure how to go about eating the cheese, and she explained: use the bread (duh!).  so, voila.

i posted two pictures so you could see the evidence that i actually did eat some of the goat cheese (not a lot, but enough to at least taste it) and, i have to say, it still got me in the jaw (you know the place where things like goat cheese get a girl in the jaw), but i would not say it was vile, either. and, like the stew, i wish i would have been a bit more liberal in my consumption (gasp!). 

and, finally, dessert. i think this might have been a panna cotta (i know: that's italian) of sorts, made with pineapple and a healthy dose of frothy caramel goodness. whatever it was, i ate the whole thing, effortlessly. effortlessly (and i would have asked for more if it wouldn't have been a faux paus).

again, dinner was an experience, rather than a daily event, that was meant to be savored (just like the food itself). after this trip, i am going to have to start eating dinner at my dining room table, rather than perched on the sofa, engrossed in some mindless netflix flick. because, really, food, like life itself, should be enjoyed, it should be savored -- even if it is only scrambled eggs (and i don't even like eggs).