Today I turn fifty. Excuse my French—but holy crap! I’m sure you’ve heard this a zillion times before, but I have no idea where all the time went. Believe me, when it happens to you, you’ll say it too. Did I really go to college for four years then travel around Europe for another year after that? Did I really work away in restaurant kitchens,…
In a country where one of the tenets is égalite, there are, believe it or not, some people who are more “equal” than others. It’s one of the less-discussed French paradoxes. No, I’m not talking about the motor scooter drivers who ride roughshod through Paris, bombarding pedestrians on the sidewalks or breaking through traffic, cutting off buses, bicyclists, and generally wreaking havoc in their noisy,…
It’s considered rude in France to ask people who you’ve just met—“What do you do?” It’s kinda like asking someone how much money they make. We Americans are used to freely discussing money, or anything financial, and have no qualms about admiring someone’s new shirt, and in the next breath asking them how much it cost. Or walking into someone’s apartment and asking them how…
Looking down at my feet the other day, as I sat in the Palais Royal, I came to the realization that I’m almost a Frenchman. At least according to my socks. Then again, the dorky shoes probably negate them.
It’s true that the French have a thing for singers in pain. But Americans aren’t really all that different. They had Jacques Brel and Edith Piaf, and Barbara and Dalida. Bonus points are given if one is so triste that they commit suicide. Which makes Britney Spears ineligible, but we Americans do have Judy Garland. Being French, naturally, Romain worships Judy Garland.
Since the last post (#3) focused on something so beautiful, and so perfect; an exquisite cup of gelato, I thought it’d be okay to spring the Musée Fragonard on you now. Located in on the eastern fringe of Paris, the Musée Fragonard d’Alfort is part of the Alfort Veterinary School, founded in 1766, which is one of the oldest veterinary colleges in the world. Lest…
I’m pretty sure that there’s sometimes a secret conspiracy around here to make me think that it’s me who is crazy. For example, I bought this little glass dish last weekend. When I brought it to the seller to pay, I said, “This is such a beautiful butter dish.” She looked at me, then at it. Then back at me. “Non, non, monsieur, it’s for…
A
Get David's newsletter sent right to your Inbox!
Sign up for my newsletter and get my FREE guidebook to the best bakeries and pastry shops in Paris...
