Читать книгу Our House is Definitely Not in Paris - Susan Cutsforth - Страница 8

Apart from Paris, it is food people’s minds turn to when they head for France. French cuisine is esteemed more highly than any other in the world. It is no wonder that France is the premier tourist destination for travellers the world over. Metaphorically, belts are already loosened when people board the plane, ready for the gastronomic delights that lie in wait. They are not the only things in wait, so to speak … the scales are sure to tip on any traveller’s return home. Temptation lures the tourist round every corner. It is simply impossible to resist.

Just before we leave, I read that delicate, light-as-clouds choux pastry puffs have overtaken macarons in the pâtisserie stakes. That is a fact I am determined to store in my memory bank of not-to-be missed delectable treats. Choux pastry is filled with every flavour imaginable, from the classic lemon, caramel and chocolate, to exotic combinations such as cherry, pistachio and strawberry. They have become so popular in the competitive pâtisserie tug-of-war that some even have a choux du jour, with the filling changing each day.

Once again in the months prior to our departure, the weekend papers are full of features about France. As Paris is the most popular destination when thoughts turn to travel, it is no wonder that France is so frequently highlighted. As always, I greedily devour every article, not the least the ones about the famed cuisine. I am again reminded that at home in Australia, food is not by any means the focus of my life. Step foot in France, though, and everything changes.

I positively pounce upon a two-page spread that extols the most outstanding cafés, boulangeries and pâtisseries in Paris. Now this is my sort of tourist guide. I plot and plan how many I can possibly visit. Another almond croissant from one of the many famous Jewish bakers in the Marais district, such as Sacha Finklesztajn? Why not? I can already taste it — its rich, buttery, melt-in-the-mouth flakes positively oozing with almond lusciousness. Surely a few hours exploring the charming streets of Paris will more than offset one indulgent plump croissant before choosing one of the myriad of charismatic cafés to settle in for a leisurely déjeuner? There is, of course, a fine distinction between provincial fare and Parisian cuisine. Country treats will be waiting in abundance in our département — canard in all its many succulent varieties; walnuts creatively incorporated in many dishes and, of course, the rich, much-maligned foie gras.

Across the oceans and continents and time-zones, my taste buds are already tingling in avid anticipation. I let my gaze linger over every word as I devour descriptions of the culinary delights that await — just as surely as my lips will linger over every luscious mouthful. Now, what time is it again that the famed boulangeries of Paris open?

I’m torn long before arrival over the well-remembered pleasure that the magnifique, brightly coloured macarons unfailingly provide. Or, trying for the first time, a famous mille-feuille, perhaps from Ladurée, possibly the most esteemed pâtisserie in Paris. The very thought of a mille-feuille, with its fine-as-air, wafer-thin layers of pastry and layers of crème, is enough to make me almost book an earlier flight.

While I bake at home in Australia (though never in my French life, for even without the demands of rénovée, why would I when the pâtisseries are so superb?) I will never aspire to be a pastry chef in Paris. They wake at 2am, when even the stars are still dreaming. I am more than content to wait quite a few hours longer to sample the wares of their dedication and devotion. In my moments of relaxation, I even find myself idly browsing pâtisseries in Paris on the internet.

In Paris, there are narrow, crooked lanes to discover; there are broad, plane tree-lined boulevards; there are splendid jardins; there are breathtaking monuments and grande buildings. It is a city for strolling, for pausing, for savouring, in every possible sense. It is a city for losing yourself in reverie and dreams. Paris is a city for slowing down, for stopping. For taking the time to venture into a petite handkerchief park; to simply sit on a stone bench, watching the pigeons flutter and take flight; watching the rest of the Parisian world saunter by. Parisians never hurry or rush; they know the meaning of soaking up all that is glorious in one of the most wonderful cities in the world. It is not just the tempting aroma of fresh pain wafting from boulangeries and the sugar-scented clouds from pâtisseries that sets your senses aquiver; it is also the delicate enveloping fragrances that float from the perfumeries and wrap you in an exotic cloak. The place abounds in endless delights of every sort imaginable. Saunter round a corner and a whole vista of possibilities awaits: gardens, memorials, fountains, statues, a chic boutique, café or boulangerie. Centuries of history are woven into everyday life.

Simply to be in Paris makes you tingle with joy and heady with euphoria. The very essence of Paris seeps from the ancient cobblestones themselves and fills you with elation; a sense of all that is magnifique in life. To breathe the very air is to truly feel overflowing with happiness.

French cuisine is all about cooking with respect for the food being prepared — using the freshest locally produced ingredients and pouring love into the food you are cooking. As well as dining out, shopping for food with Stuart is one of my favourite French activities.

A significant bonus is when you ask for things in multiple; you don’t have to know their gender. I do know enough by now to be aware that French nouns are divided into two categories: masculine and feminine. However, to complicate matters even further, there is no real relationship between a noun’s meaning and its gender. It all apparently depends on knowing whether to add la or le before a word.This is a distinction I am most unlikely to ever grasp.

Zut alors. No wonder I still stumble like a petite enfant just starting at école. I remain as confused as ever by the perplexities of French, and find out that there are subtle differences between une and un. I decide the best way to navigate such linguistic tricks is to ask for at least deux, two, while shopping in French markets. Voilà, it’s simple after all.

The baguette is as much revered by the French as my own love affair with them. The first time I had a baguette, still warm from the boulangerie, is something I will never forget. I can simply never get over the fact that the French eat so well every day. Most of all, the enduring veneration of food is evident in every town you visit. Pâtisseries, boulangeries, fresh markets. The feast spread before you fills every sense; the sights, the smells, the sound of the marketplace, and then the exquisite taste and texture of the food.

In the startling heat of a summer day, somehow everything is more sharply delineated: the brightness of the sun, the azure blue of the sky, the clarity of the light. A stroll through the markets brings all the Impressionists to mind; their evocation of food at its finest, for the still-life paintings of Renoir and Monet spring to life before you. The Musée d’Orsay has been transported from Paris to every country market; there is a touch of art in everyday French life. The sun’s smile touches a pyramid of peaches and imbues them with radiance. The cherries heaped in a glistening pile are an exquisite picture of cerise perfection. Strawberries are cradled in their beds of fresh morning dew, while the melons brim with the warmth of the nurturing earth. Temptation always beckons when the petite jewels of raspberries make their first appearance.

Dîner conjures itself before your very eyes as you wander and appraise and select. To shop in a fresh market is a culinary adventure in itself. It is a cornucopia of the bountiful produce, fresh from the rich French soil. I find it astonishing that still today, one in every two French people still shop regularly at fresh markets, even in cities such as Paris. For those like me, challenged to the extreme by the mere thought of la cuisine, somehow it all seems more possible when the markets hold you in their thrall.