The Loire PROBABLY Won't Make You Sick

A couple of months ago, I happened to mention to this woman I know that I was planning to visit the Loire Valley with my family when they came over to France to see my husband and I in April. The Loire Valley, by the way and in case you are not already familiar with it, is a region of France that is located about two to three hours southwest of Paris. It is famous because the beautiful countryside is rife with quaint villages, awash with vineyards, and, most importantly, scattered with gorgeous chateaux (castles).

I remember that during this particular conversation, as soon as I spoke of our impending trip to the Loire, she made a face as though she had just ingested something wholly unpalatable--like a spoonful of gasoline.

Now, I realize we all have different proclivities, but this reaction seemed pretty peculiar to me. As in: I had said that we were going to visit castles and countryside which are world-renowned for their aesthetic beauty. Shame on me for having expectations or making assumptions, but have them I did. As such, I assumed she would smile and perhaps enthusiastically endorse this family outing of mine. Instead, her response was what I would have anticipated had I shared with her that I planned to take my family to a nudist colony for obese cavemen.

Or something like that.

Anyway, she went on to tell me that in her opinion, the Loire Valley is nothing special; the castles are over-rated and the architecture makes her "sick" because it is so "boring."

Well, as it happens, this person was not someone with whom I have ever felt I had a great deal in common. We have quasi-regular exchanges which are fine enough, but it seemed clear from early on that we would never be extremely chummy. Not to say that this scenario is necessarily a bad thing; I suppose that sometime during our acquaintanceship I just came to the subconscious conclusion that we were simply not very similar people, decided we would just be the "Hi, how are you?" sort of "friends", and left it at that.

After visiting the Loire, however, I recall this conversation and I have inevitably formulated a whole new assessment of this gal: I am now inclined to (unofficially) diagnose her as being off her rocker.

Lending credence to my diagnosis: the area is BREATHTAKINGLY gorgeous. To be fair, I suppose that if you do not possess even minute interest in architecture, history, horticulture, wine, nature, and/or beauty, then the region could possibly be marginally-less-than-spectacularly appealing. But if you do happen to have any interest in any of the aforementioned, let me tell you something: this paysage is for you.

We visited Chenonceaux, a beautiful chateaux built on a river, about 15 minutes outside the town of Amboise (which is, along with Tours, Saumur, Chinon, and Angers, a "major" town in the Loire). From this exquisite property, Catherine de Medici ruled France during the 16th century. I mention this historical tidbit not merely to wow you with my intellectual prowess, but rather because her name is validation of sorts for my claims astuting the wonder inherent with this property. She designed the gardens at Chenonceaux, and it was she who designed the Jardin des Tuileries--the wildly famous and much-photographed gardens which lead to the Louvre from the Place de la Concorde in central Paris. The woman had vision and she executed it with admirable and lasting effects.

Walking around the castle, we had a pamphlet that gave the power-point main ideas of the history of the place, and I really felt I learned way more in two hours about the history of French rule in the 16th-18th centuries than I ever learned in high school history class.

I had great high school history teachers by the way. It is just that you retain a heck of a lot more when you can be wowed and awed by such beauty whilst learning timelines and factoids.

We ate lunch at the most adorable resto in Chenonceaux--Le Relais de Chenonceaux, which is just up the street from the castle, in the center of the Chenonceaux village. The village was quintessential France, straight out of a movie, really. Adding to the effects of this al fresco experience--where every vegetable seemed freshly plucked from some ridiculously perfect French garden--birds were melodiously tweeting, a rooster was cock-a-doodle-doo-ing in the distance, and the service was crisp French affect meets laid-back country friendliness.

So yeah, we liked it there.

Next we went to Chateau Royal d'Amboise, and we were first blown away by the tiny free-standing gothic cathedral (La Chapelle Saint-Hubert) which houses Leonardo Da Vinci's tomb. He requested to be buried there, after living the last three years of his life at a nearby manor, and it is easy to see why someone would seek to be eternally entombed in such a locale. Set high on a cliff over the river, the view is incredible. The castle itself did not disappoint either. The views were particularly spectacular.

The creme de la creme of this little sojourn was the hotel at which we stayed. It was a former monastery which had been built into a cliff. It was literally a troglodyte dwelling and the rooms are actual limestone "caves."

Before those of you who know me fall to the floor in shock and confusion about this apparent admission to my "roughing it", I can assure you that the hotel was actually quite the glam affair. It is called Les Haute Roches, and has a Michelin rated restaurant. Amazing food and wine, by the way. For wine we had a Vouvray--since the actual village of Vouvray is just a stones throw from the hotel--and it was delectable. The food was much of a muchness--in the best possible way. To best describe it to you, I can just say that one could have just eaten the amuse bouche of prosciutto and cream on a crostini while looking out over the river from the terrace, sipping the local vintage, and been incredibly content.

But I recommend just splashing out for the whole meal, because it was worth every penny.

And then...well, we actually missed the second day of castle hopping we had planned. We had hoped to visit the town of Saumur and the Abbaye Royale located there as well as the Chateau de Breze castle, and then to perhaps end our trip with the most famous and largest of the Loire's offerings: Chambord. But, sadly, my mother came down with bronchitis and we had to get back to Paris tout suite.

I share this last tidbit because it seems that I have to concede that my "off-her-rocker" acquaintance may have been somewhat justified in her preposterous opinions regarding the Loire: in the end it does seem that the place could make you sick. (Irony: hello, again, you bad penny, you.)

But regardless, you should go there; it is awesome.

You MUST Love Paris

It seems that whenever American friends and family are about to be visiting us in Paris, I become disproportionately nervous and/or start displaying schizophrenic behavior in anticipation of what their overall impression of this city will be. I bounce back and forth between wanting them to discover the delights of Paris on their own, and wanting to reveal to them the city's incredible depth and breadth by dragging them to various unrequested locales on a whirlwind tour.

My tour, by the way, can be diffentiated from other "English speaking" tours of Paris by the sheer magnitude of pastry I will force you to consume and the quasi-useful, always fragmented, historical knowledge I will impart to you at random.

The thing is that I feel it is my duty to make certain that no one returns to United States soil feeeling anything but absolute adoration and amazement at this city.

It has occurred to me that if I had been half as ambitious when I worked for that matchmaking company a few years ago, the city of Charleston would probably currently boast higher marriage rates.

Anyway, what my problem is surrounding this issue of wanting/needing people to love Paris, I cannot really say. And because I have not actually figured out how my health insurance works over here and/or what precisely is covered, I cannot go to a therapist to really get to the bottom of things. What I do know is that this tendency has not previously revealed itself. Whether or not people actually like my environs seemed inconsequential to me when I was living on U.S. soil.

In fact, there have been times when I was not even sure I liked my environs. If you want proof of this declaration, see the "Onset 2005-2007" files. We basically lived in this would-be adorable seaside village that was located in the purgatory of Massachusetts that sits not exactly on Cape Cod, but is not really a contributing part of the "mainland" either. The town, which had more potential than Thai from Clueless, never blossomed while we resided there. Other than a rather top-notch pizza place and some lovely neighbors, the place revealed itself as a disappointing haven for tatoo parlors, alcoholism, and loitering teeenagers (one of the top five things I fear in life). A shame, really given that it was on a gorgeous harbor and really could have BEEN something. It needed a busload of Chers, but still, the potential was there.

However, when people came to visit us while we were in Onset, I just assumed that they wanted to visit us. Whether or not they liked the town was up to them. And, while many people love Charleston (our more recent "home"), it is true that the city is a whole other kettle of fish--particularly for most of our New England-dwelling friends and family. Many people take issue with the fact that it is hot as Hades down there for a good chunk of the year and the whole Southern drawl, with its drawn-out consonants can be a bit grating/confusing for people who have not heard an "r" properly pronounced anytime in recent memory. I adore the place and find it quirky, artsy, and gorgeous, so no problem for me if you like it or not.

With Paris, however, whenever we have a visit pending or one currently occuring, I turn into this Dr. Jekyl person who is part weird preachy tour guide, and part Mr. Hyde who is sitting back with baited breath waiting for our visitors to share with me their newest revelations about the AMAZING city of Paris. The fact of the matter is that our guests probably do leave Paris with a certain affinity for the city. And such is likely accompanied by a newfound distaste for yours truly. As in: "Another croissant? Can this girl lay off?"

The irony is that Paris--with its amazing architecture, incredible and varied art, and delectable cuisine--largely speaks for itself. So why I feel the need to speak for it is a tad strange.

I think perhaps, it comes down to the fact that, in America, it is a sort of sport to compare stories about how one was verbally abused by the French while visiting Paris. Like, if you had a POSITIVE experience, you better not admit to such because you will quickly be ousted from the game. And I really dislike the whole overplayed joke that goes something like, "Oh I love Paris! I just hate the French." This "original" piece of hilarity is invariably followed by some back thumping and overly-hearty chuckling.

Well, I have news for all you joke-tellers: the French are what makes Paris, Paris. Hello! Don't you like having "native" people here to ensure that the caliber of food remains high, and that the soul of the city remains intact? Would you prefer L.A., a city from where it seems no one actually originated, where everyone seems to have been beamed in from big-boobed, bulging-bicep, bobble-head land?

No Offense, L.A. in general, and Rob in particular.

Anyway, I suppose I feel this need to overcome the overdone stereotyping in which Americans engage when speaking about Paris. Probably because I also bought into these stereotypes at one point, and thus the "turn-around" has been all the more potent for me. But people will like what they like, and I cannot force people the people I love to love Paris, though I sure hope they will.

I can force them to eat pastries though. So if you are headed over here to see us, bring your appetite.

Croissant Making Class

Yesterday was my lucky day. It might be argued that EVERYDAY is my lucky day since I am living in Paris at the moment. But yesterday was an especially fortunate day for me and my pastry loving self because I was able to take a baking class, the focus of which was croissant making. This class was actually not my first foray into croissant making; I took a week-long course at the Cambridge Culinary Institute in Massachusetts several years ago. And though that class was taught by an amazing French pastry chef, the quantities of dough we made were insanely enormous, and it was difficult to transfer the knowledge to a modest home kitchen such as my own. That class was geared towards people looking to open their own bakeshop, or to work as a pastry chef for a restaurant--or perhaps those who have many, many extremely hungry friends stopping by for brunch every Sunday morning. I really loved that course, but I have to say that yesterday's class really outshone it--for a few reasons. For one thing, taking croissant making while in Paris is just such a wonderfully apt and cliche-leaning circumstance. As you may have noted from my last blog (the topic of which was Paris in the springtime), cliches are really enjoying a moment in my life. So it was great to add this little number to my arsenol. For another thing, we made MUCH smaller quantities of dough. While it is impossible to make croissants for only, say two people, it is still much for reasonable to be making 25 croissants at a time rather than to be making 250. For me anyway--you might be one of those people who have scads of really hungy friends popping by all the time. And thirdly, my teacher yesterday was AWESOME. So the class was at this cooking school located in the 18th arrondissement. As a point of reference, Amelie lived in the 18th. Once off the metro near the school, I walked up a hill and saw Sacre Coeur looming like a gorgeous cupcake of a basilica up above me, the sun was shining brilliantly, and I knew I was about to get seriously involved with a lot of butter. This situation was really the perfect way to start any day. The ideal scene was slightly marred by the fact that I arrived a little trop tot for the class, and thus the school had not yet opened. While waiting, I had to share a bench with a sleeping bum and his several empty cans of beer. But so high were my spirits that even that unsavory scene did not dampen them. So the school is called Cookin' with Class (www.cooknwithclass.com) and they also have courses where you go to a market with a chef to pick out local ingredients with which you will cook that day, a wine and cheese pairing class, bread making, and macaroon making. They may have one or two more, but not many. And I definitely liked that they did not have a list of 7000 options. It made me think that by offering just a few courses, they were likely really great at those offerings. And if the baking/croissant making class was any indication of the caliber, I would say my assumption was correct. So my teacher's name was Pino, and he is this really great French/Italian guy who lived in New York for a while too. He had the French devotion to refinement and high quality mixed with the Italian love for food and fun, and then on top of that, there was a dash of salty New Yorker as well. He was really technical and precise, while also being fun and encouraging. Best of all, he was neither overbearing nor impatient. This description might sound like a "normal" one for a good teacher. But I have taken a lot of cooking classes, and I have been screamed at by teachers, or else shoved aside when attempting to do something which the teacher immediately decides is the "wrong" way to approach it, and thus has to take over. Chefs are perfectionists, after all. The worst classes are when you are assigned different tasks, so you leave with no concept of how the whole dish was actually made. Like when you are left to shred cheese for 30 minutes and when the mushroom risotto appears at the end you have no idea how it came to be--though you are now really well acquanted with the common cheese grater (as if you weren't before). I really do not like leaving a class where I just "learned" something, and the first question I ask myself when standing in my own kitchen (probably clutching the cheese grater) is: "Umm, how on earth was that even made?" Here, we got to do eveyrthing. Even though the process is really precise and you have to be really careful to not overhandle the dough, and getting the butter to distribute all through is sort of difficult, he actually allowed us to do it without freaking out about our inevitable imperfections. And he was funny too. Best of all, he provided this butter lover with some seriously essential information. For one thing, there are a lot of boulangeries all over Paris where they do not use real butter. They instead use margarine (the NERVE!) or vegtable shortening in an effort to keep costs down. This revelation explains why I have had to shun certain bakeries because I felt their butter was sub-par. Turns out they were not using butter. I do not think you can fully appreciate how gypped I feel by this news. Had I any foot to stand on, or any coherent French to speak with, I might stage a coup. The good news is the he provided me with the names of some places where I will surely get the "real deal." He also gave some wonderful resto recommendations, and was just a wealth of knowledge in general. Not only did I learn (or re-learn, I guess) croissant making, but I finally understand how to use vanilla beans. Also how to preserve them; you soak the buggers in rum. After 10 days, the rum becomes actual vanilla extract and then you can squeeze the bean stalks like a tube of toothpatse to get out any remaining vanilla beans. I must say, the Food Network NEVER taught me that. So we made croissants, pain au chocolat, raison rolls, and two types of the most amazing brioche I have ever tasted. One was white chocolate and walnut, the other was dark chocolate and scattered with Cointreau-soaked rasins. This brioche was seriously out of control; a gastronomic phenomenon that I will remember until my dying day. Seriously, I think I could never eat again and I would feel satisfied knowing I ate the most yummy thing out there. But that would just be silly of me--who wants to be hungry all the time? So I will just say that yesterday was my lucky day and leave it at that.

Paris in the Springtime...Cliche?

Paris is absolutely stunning at the moment. There are more flowers currently blooming around this city than I can adequately convey. The parks are all planted to the hilt with various buds in various colors, the grass is suddenly a lustrous shade of green, and everyday new trees are coming back to life. Against the monochromatic backdrop of the buildings, the streets, and the Seine, the juxtaposition of all this color and vibrant vegetation looks truly gorgeous. This sudden bloom, for me, epitomizes Paris on the whole. Her timing is exemplary. Meaning: just when you are fed up with winter, with having endured so many months of gray and drab and cold and yuck, she pops up all awash in color and blooming to the Nth degree. You instantly forget that she was ever anything but breathtaking and you fall in love all over again. Not sure why I keep calling Paris a "she." Makes me a bisexual lover of inanimate things, which is a rather unexpected life twist. Whatever, things could certainly be worse. I could love ferrets, for example. But anyway, just as when you are so irritated at being repeatedly ill-treated by a baker, or when you are about to pop with frustration and confusion because your bank is inexplicably fermer on a random Friday morning--AGAIN, you round a corner and are presented with a magnificent glimpse of gothic architecure, or a gleaming gold-domed building, or an impeccably dressed elderly lady carrying an armful of exquisite bright orange tulips. And suddenly, after being confronted with a shot of perfection, you remember that Paris is a city with something aesthetically arresting around each and any corner. You forgive each and any transgression with a sigh and a chuckle (assuming you are one to chuckle, of course)--the way you might forgive a naughty puppy for chewing your favorite shoes. Not that I know anything about that. Except I do. And Bruce, I am talking to you. Back to Paris though. Even though I well document my frustrations and confusions with interpersonal intercultural interactions here (just seeing how many words beginning with "inter" I could consecutively string together there), I can never stay irritated for very long because the city has so much beauty and near-perfection to offer in the form of food, architecture, or life in general. So Paris in the Spring time has always seemed to me to be the cliche of all cliches. Yet some things in life have earned the reputation they have for sound reasons. Admittedly, this situation is not the case for everything that has a reputation. Like, Krispy Kreme donuts, for example. All that hype, but are they really that good? I deign to say I find them average at best. But Paris in the spingtime really is all that it is cracked up to be. I hope you have or will have the chance to experience it for yourself soon enough.