An American Thanksgiving in Paris

Turkey Day in the City of Light

When the recent vintage is resting in barrel and the leaves on the vines and on the trees start turning that brilliant orange-gold, and the sun seems brighter and colder at the same time....it signals my most favorite time of year.  Holiday season.  This usually begins right on the heels of Halloween and rolls merrily into Thanksgiving, the last holiday I can enjoy without the pressure of commercialism breathing down my neck.  Christmas, of course is a part of this trifecta of holiday goodness, but there's something calming, warm and pure that comes with Thanksgiving.  All you have to do is cook, eat a ton (hopefully at several different locations during one day), and pass out while watching the Thursday evening football game.  On the sofa, wrapped in a warm throw in front of the fire, steaming mug of mulled wine in hand.  And this is my favorite memory of holidays in sunny California!


So this year, I am lucky enough to experience this holiday season in a true continental climate - in the north-central region of France.  And while many things about this time of the year are exactly what I love about the end of the year - vintage put to bed in barrel, leaves on the Plane trees lining the boulevards turning brilliant colors of orange and gold before drifting into the wet pavé streets, the chilly sun poking it's head out for perhaps a few hours a day before retreating, fire-roasted chestnuts and corn cobs offered up for a few Euros on every other street corner, brasseries offering vin à chaud..... there is no reference, of course, to the splendidly fall-esque holidays of Halloween and Thanksgiving.  It is, in fact, Noel, that is celebrated with relish at this time of year.

Determined to have some familiar flavors of the season this fourth Thursday in November, and to feel that I had properly engaged in l'automne, I set out to find exactly how I could enjoy a little bit of Thanksgiving in Paris.

A little bit of home on the Right Bank of the Seine

Luckily, with all of the American expats now living in Paris, this was not a hard task.  The American Church of Paris had listings of several restaurants in the city that were offering Thanksgiving meals for fixe prix, many offering them into the weekend seeing as Parisians did not take Thursday or Friday off to celebrate. (No such thing as Black Friday here!  Whew!)  There was, however, a very clever little market in the little village of Saint Paul in the Marais, called Thanksgiving.  As the name suggests, they offered all things American-made (for twice the price in America, of course, and in Euros).  And they had all the necessary objects you would need to put together a full Thanksgiving meal for 20 hungry Parisians.

I popped in around 6 pm the day before Thanksgiving.  BIG mistake.  The store was approximately 30 square meters, 15 of which were crammed with Pop Tarts, Aunt Jemima Pancake Mix, Froot Loops, Mission Tortillas, and now there was Stouffer's Stove Top Stuffing, French's Fried Onions, Libby's Pumpkin Pie Filling, Jiffy Cornbread Muffin Mix, Kraft Marshmallows all vying for space. And about 30 patrons.  The shop had fully roasted and stuffed birds to go; fresh birds to prepare at home; homemade pumpkin and apple pies, and apparently killer cranberry sauce that was gone by the time I arrived.

Where to go for PopTarts, Goldfish Crackers and Marshmallow Fluff in Paris  

But, seeing as I was just cooking for two (myself and one who would be arriving home later in the evening from work), I selected just the essentials from the shelves which included the pumpkin pie filling, cornbread muffin mix, cranberries and a few sweet potatoes.  The rest would be prepared with French ingredients.  As for the turkey element, we had a package of cutlets from the grocer that were already in the fridge, which would fill in nicely for a 20lb bird.

The turkey cutlets were breaded in French flour, salt and pepper, and pan-fried in about two tablespoons of beurre doux.  A dressing of butter, olive oil, shallot, fresh sage, cranberry chutney and red wine topped them off.  The sweet potatoes were mashed with quite a bit of beurre doux and crème entière and topped with cubes of Saint Agur fromage bleu and flat parsley.  Instead of the Green Bean Casserole that had been ever-present at the Thanksgiving table for as long as I could remember, I opted for the traditional French haricot verts, sautéed with fresh roasted chestnuts (purchased from a street vendor, roasted, along the Champs Elysées), beurre (of course), and lardon, or the French version of bacon bits.  A fantastic touch to almost any meal....

And of course, there were the classic cornbread muffins-from-a-box from Jiffy, homemade cranberry sauce (which I love to let simmer way down with a touch of red wine and dashes of orange zest, fresh cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and ginger). And of course, the pumpkin pie, or in this case, pumpkin tarte.  On top of all this American fantastic-ness, I found a website that was streaming live the Green Bay/Detroit game.  Total score!

Work in Progress

All was looking pretty good to go, and I was quite impressed that I was able to put the meal together sourcing some unfamiliar items in unfamiliar places, making the conversions from the US measurements to metric measurements, all the while preparing it all in French bachelor's kitchen without all the proper tools (like realizing there's no can opener as you prepare to open the pumpkin pie filling), and a heat induction stove top and convection oven (how do I even turn it on?!?).  But I had figured it all out, and was happily putting the final touches on the decor (chilled glasses for the Canard-Duchene Champagne, tea lights lining the counter, fleur des lys patterned cocktail napkins), when I realized that maybe I hadn't figured out the oven yet.  One hour later, the pumpkin pie still hadn't set.  The crust had baked properly, as did the cornbread muffins.  But the middle was still mush.  I set the timer for another 15 minutes at 200° C and finished whipping up the crème Chantilly.

15 minutes pass, and all is ready to be devoured.  I am starving by now, and all the wondrous flavors that have marked this holiday for me over the years are performing a dance for my senses, and I try everything one more time to make sure the flavors are in fact accurate.  All the Thanksgiving dishes I love are here, with none of the things that I often push to the side of my plate (sorry mom, still not a Green Bean Casserole fan).   The pie is still not done.  We agree to let it bake a little longer.

Et voila! Le finale.

After the turkey, potatoes, haricot verts, cornbread and cranberry have satisfied, the pie by now is out of the oven and cooling.  It still looks dismally flat and not very appetizing.  But we douse it in crème and try it anyway.  It's very strange.  Like pure pumpkin, with just a hint of sweetness.  It's edible, but not very good.  But happy with how the rest of the meal turned out, I let it go and just appreciated the fact that I could, in my own small way, celebrate my second-favorite holiday of the year in relative style in Paris.  Now that I have dutifully celebrated autumn, I am ready to embrace Noel, French-style, in the countryside, with friends and family, lots of French wine and traditional pastries, and hopefully, lots of snow!

And the next morning, while pulling the jus d'orange from the fridge, I look puzzled at the three eggs remaining on the shelf.  But there weren't supposed to be any eggs left after I made the tarte, I thought to myself............ So perhaps my baking skills are not as bad as I thought, and the convection oven could possibly turn out a good pie or tarte.  I just have to remember to put the eggs in the mix.

A prochaine fois!

Beaujolais Nouveau Est Arrivé!

17 novembre @ Nicolas Wine Shop

For all of the years that I've sported flashing red and purple lapel pins and lavished in the craziness that accompanies the annual celebration of a trés simple vin being released in France, I've never actually been in France when the fateful day of 17th November arrives.  The parties I have been to and/or have thrown look like New Year's Eve, with banners and balloons and confetti and feather boas and the encouragement of donning festive hats.  We in the wine community of America love that we can feel some sense of solidarity with our older, wiser, more elegant wine cousin, France, as the bars and brasseries along the Champs Elysées await the first boxes of the new vintage to arrive and be pillaged upon midnight of the 17th.  So it was with great curiosity and excitement that I set out on the third Thursday of November to experience this day of carbonic maceration celebration.  And I was met with....well, I guess you could say a faint enthusiasm for tasting the first finished wine of the vintage.  Most French (or at least Parisians who do know and love wine) detest the day.  But for me, I was quite excited to see what the vintage that I had just put to bed down in the Rhône Valley would taste like.  And, actually, I quite like Beaujolais.  Nouveau can be good, depending on your producer and the vintage, and can be easily enjoyed as an aperitif before delving into the smashed taters and turkey.  Really, what better to pair with Aunt Margaret's Ritz crackers and cheddar cheese chunks than Beaujolais Nouveau?  Ok, perhaps maybe if a single malt Scotch isn't available....

But like the charming window display says, today is the day that the debates on the vintage are open for discussion.  Will 2011 bring notes of cherries, strawberries or small woodland animals to the older siblings of Beaujolais, dutifully resting in their barrels the way proper wine should behave?  Or is 2011 a complete bust, worthy of no inflated wine prices on the auction blocks at Christie's?  Well, after several stops in various arrondissements in Paris, I felt I hit a good cross-section of the selections available, and found a few lovely newbies, worthy of scribbling down a note or two.

Stop No°1: Le Tire Bouchon in the 10éme.  That clay jar is filled with pickles. Yum.

Walking south from the 18éme and passing the Gare du Nord to my left, I entered into my bordering neighborhood, the 10éme, which is actually quite a lively neighborhood, with lots of cool little hang-out nooks.  I was recommended to try this bistro at Place Franz Liszt, which was rumored to have a creative wine list.  They were showcasing the Laurent Thevenet Beaujolais Nouveau from Morgon, which actually had a bright, fresh palate of strawberries, a balanced midpalate with good tannin and even a little bit of dirt on the finish.  With the assiette de charcuterie, featuring pate, jamon pays, rillette et saucisson sec, it brought out the spicier notes of the wine and downplayed the overdramatic young fruit.  Not a bad start, I thought...

Next on the itinerary was to venture to the epicenter of many quite decent and notable wine bars, le Palais Royale.  In this remarkable neighborhood you can find the likes of Les Fines Gueules, ô Chateau, Alfred, Racines, Juveniles, Willi's, and, oh yes, Le Grand Vefour.

Clearly not dressed for Vefour, I headed just north of the arcade passage that opens up onto one of the loveliest - and wonderfully tourist free - courtyard gardens in all of Paris, to Rue des Petits Champs.  We're in the 1er arrondissement now, the center of Paris and the chicest of neighborhoods.  This is where you will find the Ritz, the Louvre, the Rue Rivoli, Place Vendome.  And so of course, I had to visit the most famous wine bar in Paris known Stateside, Willi's Wine Bar.  

Which was dreadfully silent.  The sound of two people tenderly placing their glass on the polished oak bar was the only sound I heard. I am used to 'wine bars' being active at all hours of the day, especially 6:30 - 7:00pm.  But the bar à vins in Paris act a little more like restaurants, in that they close during the afternoon and really don't get going until 9pm or so.  However, I had no time to wait until then.  So I ordered a glass of the BN** (at which time the bartender asked if I really, really wanted to try this wine?  Perhaps something more complex from their carte du vins?), in dutiful research mode.  It ended up to be a rich jammy number from Domaine de Bacarra, a Beaujolais Villages producer (who is also a Vigneron Independent, more on that on a whole other post...).  With rich forest floor notes and bright plums and cherises flambé, it was the kind of elegant BN I was hoping to find at a place like Willi's.  And if you've ever been, you know their wine selection is fresh and dynamic, and I did feel kind of ashamed going in to ask for this slop of a wine, but it proves my theory that IF the producer cares and IF the bar or restaurant is discerning in their selections (and serves in proper glassware), there are many lovely BN wines to experience.  

But unfortunately that was not the case at my next stop.  All the corner bars and brasseries were fully decked out in party mode, so I just had to pause at one.  Streamers, balloons, posters, even wine barrels lining the streets as makeshift bar tables.  And the patrons were spilling out onto the street, spilling electric red wine on each other as they went merrily from one table to the next.  Music pumping - strangely a lot of American 80's tunes - and young and old alike celebrating the birth of a new vintage.  This was the action I was looking for.  But, alas, dreadful glassware prepared me for dreadful BN.  I saw them pour it from a bottle, but other than that, I never bothered to find out what it was.  Oh well, at least I got to hear Billie Jean.

If you see this in your glass, run.

Meandering back north from the 1er, I detoured through a fabulous little pedestrian shopping district,  the Rue Montorgueil which is anchored by some of the most famous cookware magasins in Paris, namely La Bovida and E. Dehillerin.  Avoiding the lusty pull of copper pots gleaming in the window, I traversed up the Rue past the many market stalls, friendly cafés, famed patisseries (i.e. Stohrer) and stumbled upon two fantastic little wine shops holding tastings of the BN right outside on the sidewalk.  With cute marketing gimmicks and free saucisson, I had to stop for just a sip.  The Miss Vicky Wine slogan (in English) 'I'm Cool Because I Drink Wine' and the girl pouring the liquid in a neon pink mini-skirt made it all worth it.  In fact, it wasn't all that terrible, but at 8€ a bottle, I knew I would just be paying for marketing.

Tasting the Miss Vicky BN

But I had one stop to go - and I had been looking forward to experiencing this place for myself ever since Uncle Tony* told me about it on his travel network show.  And although reservations at the main restaurant are impossible to get (perhaps the hype from the show, or perhaps because there are only 35 seats and the food really is good), there is a little wine bar that is associated with the main restaurant down the same dark alley in the 2éme.  Yes, Frenchie has a wine bar.  And a damn good one at that.  Just like big brother across the street, the place is minuscule (so small that there are no stools at the zinc bar - the few you do see belong to the bar tables), but they make every effort to squeeze as many people in as possible. Even with all of us bellying up to the bar asking for a glass of Alphonse Mellot to go with our freshly sliced charcuterie plate, the guys behind the bar were quite patient and helpful.  After getting used to the service levels in France, I though they gave fantastic service.  And the Carte du Vin is pretty wonderful.  Conterno, Breuer, Fichet, Leguin-Colin, Cos, even Calera made the list.  And the by-the-glass selections?  They ask you what you are looking for, what from the list might interest you, and (within some boundaries), that's what they open for you.

Frenchie Bar à Vins, with Chinon

I opted for a glass of the Mas del Périé Chinon, which was decidedly NOT a BN.  And it paired perfectly with  the Burratta et Boudin Noir avec Pomme.  The bread tasted like it was baked in a huge brick oven just a few hours before, with a lovely chocolatey-crunchy crust.  And more than once Chef Gregory Marchand came from across the street to check on the bar and chat with guests.  He asked me about the Cascina Zerbetta Barbera del Monferrato that I had moved on to.  And of course, my French failed me.  'Ah, trés bon, bien sur! C'est trés jolie cave!' was all I could get out, I believe.

Busy Little Wine Bar 

Beautiful Buratta and Boudin Noir

So perhaps I wasn't a complete purist in my pursuit of bon Beaujolais Nouveau on this third Thursday in November.  But there are times when you just have to draw the line and drink good wine.  Life is too short - and a spot at the Frenchie Bar à Vin is hart to get.  But it was fantastic to get a sneak peek to what vintage 2011 will be like for many of the wines now sleeping away the winter in their barrels.  I for one will be very excited to taste the Northern Rhônes this year.  So enjoy a glass of 2011 Beaujolais Nouveau with your cheese cubes, and love it for exactly what it is:  a preview into a truly fantastic vintage.

Cheers......and Abaluche!

*You know you wish Anthony Bourdain was your crazy uncle too.

**Beaujolais Nouveau.  Got pretty tired writing it out all those times.

McDo? No, SVP.

Just a quick note about the abundance of McDonald's dotting the Parisian landscape:  I broke down and had a Big Mac last night after my bf and I finished some bricolage in the apartment.  While I am all for In-N-Out after moving or home improvement projects, McDo (as they refer to it here) is just not the same.  And although the restaurants here look like trendy hair salons, decked out with leather stools and geometric-shaped lighting fixtures matching the brown/green/aubergine striped wallpaper, the food is just the same as I recall from my last visit about 6 years ago.  Pretty much terrible.  I had heard from several people that the burgers here are much better than in the States, and that the condiments are much tastier.  The sauce de frites was pretty much tarter sauce, and the Big Mac?  Well, I've never been able to finish one in the States without getting ill, so about half-way through I had to put it down.

Sorry Paris - I love you dearly, but I think I'll wait for my In-N-Out before having another fast food burger.

Where is L'atelier de Joel Robuchon again?

The Diz-Wheat

Sq St Bernard et St Bernard de la Chapelle

"Oh, you're in the 18th? That area is so...... um, cosmopolitan!"  Yes, my friend's exclamation upon hearing of my new neighborhood in Paris would certainly be the word to describe the 18eme arrondissement.  Not quite the 'Sex and the City' type of cosmopolitan (although this side of Paris certainly feels more like New York than down along the Seine), but a true mélange of cultures from across the globe.  At the foot of Sacré-Coeur and Montmartre to the East, you will find residents from Senegal, New Delhi, Turkey, Morocco.  It's an area that is slowly becoming gentrified and invaded by Parisian hipsters looking for the next creative neighborhood, as well as young professionals and families looking to buy within the Paris Centre without paying 800,000€ for a 60 square meter apartment.  But today, it is still a true testament to the real underside of Paris.  Of course, up on Montmartre (also part of the 18eme), apartment prices are most likely approaching that range, since the area seems already settled by the young, creative and fabulous.  And the views of Paris aren't that bad, either.  But it's when you drop down into the valleys of Montmartre that the colorful neighborhoods thrive.

Rue Myrha

Entry to the Goutte d'Or is off of Metro Line 2, 'La Chapelle', which drops you precisely at the epicenter of India, Africa and the Middle East.  Looking for a good Kebab?  You'll find about 6 comptoir pour emporter within a city block.  Need a smart-looking weave and an authentic salon that can give you a good design?  Head to Rue Myrha, where I counted 8 shops along the 2 block walk up to Montmartre. Craving truly spicy Indian cuisine that exports you directly to the heart of New Delhi?  Faubourg Saint Denis running alongside the tracks of the Gare du Nord is your stop.  But in between all of this are sights that are truly Parisian: cafés and brasseries scattered along the various rues filled with men leaning up against the carved wooden bars drinking Kronenberg or 1664 in large goblets. Beautiful tree-filled parks and squares encased in black wrought-iron gates dotted with pigeons and children running merrily about.  And the artesian boulangeries, with lines out the doors at 6:30 pm as residents gather baguettes tradition for the evening meal.  And even here, in this truly 'cosmopolitan' neighborhood hides a trend-setters 'cosmopolitan' hotel, the Murano's Kube Hotel, with it's famous Ice KUBE bar, (interior temperature set at -10°C), whose exclusive parties attract celebrities and rap stars from around the globe.

Ice KUBE Bar at KUBE Hotel

Furniture upholstery at the base of Montmartre

Venturing west from the KUBE, you'll pass over the tracks of the Gare du Nord and start the climb up to Montmartre and Sacre Coeur.  Once you've traveled up Rue Myrha and crossed Rue Cligancourt, the broken and unrepaired asphalt suddenly becomes old stone pavés beneath your feet, and the lights of the Sacré-Coeur do not have to compete with the glaring neon signage of the international calling salons lining the streets.  The romantic appeal of the bohemian in Paris slowly starts to come into focus as you pass tiny boutiques selling artwork and hand designed jewelry, and you spot the streetlights dissecting the various stairways leading up to the basilica.  Just at the foot of the hill, running along the stunning Square Louise Michel, is the textile district of Saint Pierre, anchored by Le Halle Saint-Pierre, where fabrics and other tissus that form the base of so many smartly-designed Parisian chambres and couture are produced and sold at wholesale.

Once on top of Montmartre, it's tough to get away from the tourists, and all the brightly lit shops that encourage you to buy several keychains that say 'I Love Paris'.  But at night, it's particularly charming, and I find myself wandering the Place du Tertre examining the faded marquees of the famous eateries that hosted so many Parisian luminaries of the past: La Bonne Franquette, Le Consulat, Chez la Mère Catherine, offering the same comfort to visitors today as they did in the 18th and 19th centuries.  A cup of vin chaud offered by a brasserie on the back side of the basilica makes a perfect accompaniment for a cold and drizzly autumn night.

Vin chaud for sale up on Montmartre

Basilique du Sacré-Coeur amid the tourist traps

Diverse is just the tip of the iceberg in describing the Goutte d'Or and the 18eme arrondissement.  From Pigalle and the Moulin Rouge, to the Basilique du Sacre Coeur and the hilltop art studios of Montmartre, to the Kube Hotel next to the kebab counter on Rue Max Dormy, there is certainly a lot to discover here.  It seems that even after 111 years, the spirit of la bohème is still alive and well in this little corner of Paris.

Gare du Nord

View down into the textile marchés of Saint Pierre

IKEA and the City

For many people across the world, their home is a sense of pride.  Parties are thrown in honor of a finished kitchen.  "Look, we have new lights! Isn't it fantastic?" And so it is the same in Paris, where throngs of Parisians flock to the tony home decor boutiques in the city and the outlying bricolage centers to shop for tiles, rugs, kitchen sinks and rainfall shower heads to make their cozy little apartments in the Ile de France très fantaisie.  And this is Paris, where art of design is at the center of living, and so they take it all very seriously.

So I couldn't have been more excited to journey out to the fringes of Paris to the Ikea Paris Nord, adjacent to CDG, for a very familiar home deco shopping experience (and hopefully the same Swedish meatballs) with a distinctive French influence.  But instead of arriving in my Jeep Liberty, ready to be loaded with all types of necessary items to complete an apartment renovation, we were arriving by scooter.  All of a sudden, the shopping list was limited to exactly what we could pack in the top case.  And so it goes with every shopping experience in the city where a car is viewed as a ridiculous excess.

Shopping for lighting ideas at Fleux in Le Marais

We were not alone in our venture; several other scooters stood parked just outside the entrance, many equipped with the standard cases on top and at the sides, ready to be stuffed to the brim with hjalts  and tallviks and other exotic sounding household items.  And so with numb fingers and helmut hair, we folded into the pack of DIYers and started down the Ikea maze.  After about 4 hours of examining all the different showrooms and discussing the benefits of this rug color over that, and which canapé would be arriving to the apartment shortly, we arrived at the marché de l'éclairage. And actually, it was kind of exciting to be picking out new lighting systems for the kitchen, living rooms, the bedroom.  But what was even more exciting was that we got it all to fit on the scooter, and soon we were zooming back to Paris with new suspension lamps for the cuisine.  They won't be up until after the room has been painted, but believe me, when they're installed, I can't wait to have a party to show them off.

The Completely True Adventures of a Napa Winemaker Living in Paris

So, somehow, I ended up living in Paris.  Not even one year ago I had the crazy dream that it could be possible, and through hard work, luck, and tons of love and support from my family, it actually happened.  And so with a vintage in the Rhone Valley behind me and recorded in the history books, I face the greatest adventure of all: living abroad.

What's a winemaker from Napa Valley to do for work, you may ask, when she finds herself making a home in a very lovely city with absolutely no wineries to be found?  Luckily, the Parisians like wine and food, and French wine at that, so this seems the perfect place to explore the various brasseries, cafes, bar à vins, restaurants and cavistes that have been serving fantastic wines for decades.  Many of these wines do not make it out of France for us to enjoy in the States, and so I hope to find work in one of these establishments to do some reconnaissance on the best wines that have yet to be discovered.  A difficult task, I assure you, but I am ready to take on the challenge.  One producer to look for now on the shelves in your favorite wine bar or wine shop?  Domaine François Villard.  Not that I have any bias....

But first, some sightseeing.  Paris is quite a magical city, on so many different levels, that it's hard not to look up from your baguette or verre du vin rouge and just marvel in the majesty of the structures in front of you and relish in the tranquility of the gardens hidden behind the gold tipped iron gates.  You see, it's really all about balance.

A tout à l'heure!

 Opéra Garnier

 Jardin du Palais Royal

Basilique du Sacre Coeur