Читать книгу Our House is Definitely Not in Paris - Susan Cutsforth - Страница 9

Passion for Paris and pure joie de vivre fills every footstep and every lingering gaze as we stroll the streets of the most famous, most loved city in the world. It is a city of breathtaking beauty and sweeping grandeur. My infatuation with it is endless. If it is possible to fall utterly in love with a city, then Paris is the one to sweep you off your feet.

France is a country where everyone is committed to preserving a unique way of life, one that places cuisine first and foremost every single day. The very words joie de vivre, joy of life, indeed encapsulate the fervour the French feel for the exquisite food that is the essential essence that forms the building blocks of life’s daily rhythm. Every boulevard, every turn in the twisting, cobbled roads offers a new enthralling café, fromagerie, pâtisserie or boulangerie. The aromas surround you in wafting sweet sugar scents and irresistible temptations. Hours can pass walking and soaking up the ambience. We pause every now and then for another espresso and petite treat. Why not? Is not food at the top of every tourist’s list? The Louvre, Notre Dame and the Pompidou Centre are not going to go away. The delectable morning pastries, however, will soon be devoured if we don’t ensure we sample another luscious macaron.

Like many things in life, it is the simple things that are the best. While superb, French cuisine is generally simple. It is based on dedication to the best quality possible. It relies on seasonal produce — all brought from the fields to the table as soon as possible. So it is that the fish markets are bustling under bright, fluorescent lights at three in the morning. It is a world within itself — or so I have heard. This is one sight I don’t need to see at such an early hour. What I do know is that the abundance of fresh poisson that flows in will be on dîner plates throughout France by evening.

There are some fascinating facts abound surrounding French cuisine. I discover that the very rooftops of Paris are utilised — to produce honey. Even the rooftop of the revered Notre Dame Cathedral has been used for this purpose to capitalise on the abundant parks in Paris, such as Jardin des Tuileries, one of the oldest and most lavish, and featuring sculptures by Rodin. And oh, imagine the view when gathering honey from the chimney-topped Parisian grey-slate roofs.

Honey is a product you find at all French markets and there is an abundance of varieties, reflecting the different fleurs the pollen has been gathered from. Paris honey is unique, for many Parisians have orange and lemon trees on their terraces and balconies. It is like wine and varies each year, with an occasional vintage year. And so it is that the people of Paris are part of the cycle of producing honey. I have always loved honey, but all I discover adds another layer of insight into it. When I drift through the famous jardins in the future, such as the Palais Royal Garden and the Jardin des Plantes, I am going to particularly watch out for the fat black or brown and yellow-striped Brother Adam bees of Paris, so named after a famous German beekeeper, born Karl Kehrtein, who became a Benedictine monk.

I will look at them with new eyes, knowing they are part of the rich cycle of life. Beekeeping was long neglected in the City of Light but like many practices connected to food the world over, there has been a resurgence in the popularity of beekeeping. In Paris, Nicolas Géant has developed an almost cult-like following. Not only does he have hives on the roof of Notre Dame, but also other iconic buildings such as the Grand Palais, Vuitton and La Tour d’Argent restaurant. Imagine a restaurant that incorporates honey in its cuisine that is produced on the very rooftop of the same building. He even has a beekeeping shop in Versailles.

I am intrigued by Nicolas Géant’s passion for beekeeping and discover it has been a lifelong love. He decided to return to it six years ago and originally intended to go to Argentina. However, his wife didn’t want to leave France, hence the rooftop bees of Paris. During the 1950s it was common in the suburbs of Paris for people to keep bees, lapin and poulet. Older Parisians recall how their grandparents kept beehives in their jardins, as well as rabbits and chickens. It is hard to conceive such gardens now as you stroll the sophisticated streets of Paris. Napoleon Bonaparte was in fact responsible for the resurgence of honey here, even making the bee a symbol of the empire along with the eagle.

To me, this epitomises the dedication of the French to their cuisine. If there is haute couture, I think the same appellation should definitely apply to cuisine. So it is that I investigate and, sure enough, discover that there is indeed haute cuisine. It quite literally means ‘high cooking’, and denotes that it is the grande cuisine that gourmet restaurants and luxury hotels in France are renowned for. Haute cuisine is known for its meticulous preparation and exacting presentation of food. Clearly it is très cher, for haute cuisine is accompanied by rare wines. Like many aspects of French culture, it is an innovative idea and fitting for Paris, where the worship of cuisine is akin to a national religion.

It is only this year that I have found out about the expansive open-air markets in Paris. One of the biggest markets in Paris, the Marché twice-weekly food stalls, extends all the way to the Boulevard Richard Lenoir, with a bountiful array of fromage, poulet, poisson, charcuterie, pâté and fresh fruit and vegetables. I am always eager to absorb all I can about France and so I read more about the famous markets. I find out that Hemingway described it in A Moveable Feast: ‘This wonderful, narrow crowded market street.’ I learn that three mornings a week, the tree-lined square of Marché Monge offers more excellent cuisine, particularly known for its artisan fresh pain. Here, too, a number of beekeepers sell their honey, while a well-known fishmonger describes with zeal how he gets his fish ‘straight from the Normandy coast’. Since this is the affluent Quartier Latin, it is, however, très cher. The quaint, cobbled streets, an open-air gallery of Impressionist artwork, are worth a promenade to simply soak up the atmosphere. Parisians strolling just like the tourists also abound, for it is their everyday world.

When French people gather to eat and share meals, they discuss precisely what it is they are eating. This includes their last meal and their next. Their svelte, sophisticated appearance is decidedly deceptive. In a country consumed by passionate debates on many social issues, cuisine with a capital ‘C’ is one all agree on no matter their views on education or politics! Très bonne indeed.

Food for the French is about achieving a balance of flavour, while also having strong links to its rich history and, above all, chefs who strive for excellence and perfection in every single dish they create. Chefs and food producers are given the highest awards in the country. That in itself sums up the reverence the French have for their cuisine. It is the epitome of culinary sophistication that chefs are regarded as geniuses, as masters of la cuisine. The art of food has been perfected over centuries; it has the status of an ancient deity.

Just like famous French designers such as Pierre Cardin, Christian Dior and Yves Saint Laurent are known the world over, the premier Michelin chefs are household names in France. Raymond Blanc, Paul Bocuse and Alain Ducasse are among the enviable few who, each year, vie for, and attain, this prestigious, highly coveted award. I am sure that they all live and breathe Alain Ducasse’s famous ideology, savoir-faire; the intricate ‘know-how’ of haute cuisine. The Michelin Guide has been published each year by the French company Michelin for more than one hundred years. It is the oldest and best-known European hotel and restaurant reference guide, and awards Michelin stars for excellence to a mere handful of restaurants. Acquiring or losing a star has dramatic results for the success of a restaurant.

It is fascinating to find out that the inspectors for the restaurants that may gain or lose a star are all anonymous. Indeed, most of Michelin’s executives have never even met an inspector. Even more extraordinary is that inspectors are not meant to disclose to anyone, even their family members, what it is they do. This is to prevent anyone boasting about their position. It is such an exalted position that the cuisine cloak of secrecy means that inspectors are not even allowed to be interviewed by journalists.

I have already added all the markets to my must-do list for our next trip. I am a planner of grande proportions. My lists don’t just exist in my rénovée life; they are a feature of my daily life at home and at work. I am well-known as being the Queen of Lists. They pervade every facet of my existence. And, of course, there’s always one for Paris. My sole regret is that this time we are not in Paris for the euphoria of solde season. Next year, I finally hope to buy a pair of highly coveted, noir Repetto ballet flats. Again, shortly before leaving, a French fashion article features them. I have long known about the most famous ballet flats in the world. Madame Rose Repetto first perfected the exquisite craftsmanship of ballet slippers in 1947, in a tiny workshop near the National Opera of Paris. Brigitte Bardot, one of the most influential fashion trendsetters of the 1960s, helped to make them famous.

A dedicated collector of Repetto ballet flats once said: ‘The Repetto ballerine is like Harry Potter’s wand; the shoe chooses its owner!’ What a superb thing to say about the most famous shoes in the world. Now, my style icon Audrey Tautou wears them. They have danced their steps far beyond the classic black to a rainbow hue of colours, ranging from cream, green, orange, red and purple.

As the sun dances its way to bed on the horizon at the end of another glorious day in Paris, so too do I, in my ever fanciful dreams, dance down Parisian boulevards in my nouveau chaussures de ballet, new ballet shoes.

Food, however, will always remain first and foremost in every traveller’s mind when they head to the City of Love. And the golden light that bathes the buildings in the late evening is every photographer’s dream. It washes over Paris like the shining glaze that adorns choux pastry puffs. The clouds lightly scudding through the fading pale-blue velvet sky are their celestial counterpart.

The fact that I am here once again to soak it all up is part of life’s magnifique mystery of never knowing quite where your journey will take you. That it has led me to Paris more than once in my lifetime is a shining jewel in the crown that I feel forever fortunate that life has bestowed upon me.

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