Thursday, and I have today and tomorrow to spend in Paris.  How could I leave without trying to find another baking class, this time for delicious bread baking?

And I found it, just in time.  Bread Baking course to learn how to make 250 gram (exactement) baguettes, buttery brioche, and French savory, flat bread called fougasse.

This school, Cook’n With Class, is located in the tip of the 18th arrondissement and my class was set for 2 p.m to 5 p.m which fit in with the week winding down.  Arriving there early so I could avoid getting myself lost, I took a few minutes to walk down Rue Ordener where I found a patisserie which sold sandwiches (on baguettes, of course), savory tartlets, and quiche.  So, knowing my time was limited, I happily ordered the Quiche Lorraine, chauffe, merci.  I paid for my lunch went back out onto the street and found a bench near the school.  Oh, divine eggs, cream, and cheese in a delicate, bready crust.  I enjoyed enough to satisfy my hunger then wrapped the rest to have later.

Entering the school, Tara greeted me and introduced me to the other students.  Six of us all together, a mother and daughter from Australia, a young couple from Charlotte, NC, and a sweet young woman from Saudi Arabia, we students were ready to learn the secrets of baking our own baguettes at home.

And we did!  Chef Florian Guerin, a darling Frenchman, made the work fun.  The kitchen classroom had all the necessary equipment: the all-important weigh scale to measure the exact amounts of ingredients, a wide table surface for us all, two convection ovens, a variety of baking sheets, tin pans, and tartlet tins, and plenty of flour.  Flo taught us that Days 1 and 2 are the prep days to make the “starter” of yeast and to coax the mixture to frothy, billowy perfection to be ready for Day 3.  So much kneading on Day 3, our baking day, that we wondered if all the physical work of kneading, slapping yeasty dough on the table (slam!), and struggling and fumbling our newly-learned techniques was worth it.  But of course, the hot, crusty rewards at the end of the 3 hours made it all worth while.  The white wine, cheese, sliced sausage, and the laughter we shared added to the afternoon pleasure of working with our hands.

Naturally, Denis and Adine were thrilled with the results that I brought back to Saint-Mande.  And as soon as I return home, the next few weekends I will be busy practicing what I’ve learned from my Paris cooking classes.  I’m so glad I enrolled in these courses to have the fun of hands-on practice of the basics.  I’m sure I’ll be fine at home and I’ll remember this trip with even more love because of what I’ve experienced.

Bon Appetit!!

Metro Jules Joffrin in the 18th arrondissment

My lipstick couldn’t resist the Quiche Lorraine either!

Cook’n With Class on rue Baudelique.

Mixing fresh yeast with flour and liquids.

Dough, the basic recipe, raised and ready for us to cut into portions, to add other ingredients (sugar and butter for brioche), and to shape it.

Rolling all these breads in their own unique method takes PRACTICE! “Push with thumb, pull and tuck with 2 fingers, while rolling.”

Chef Flo, a well-traveled pastry and bread chef, was delightful.

Last bit of flour dusting on the baguettes.

Fougasse with chopped Kalamata olives and olive oil, brioche ring, single brioche, and brioche braids. Ready to bake.

Golden goodness and a wonderful smell.

Checking and turning the breads. Baguettes only need 10-15 minutes to bake.

Everyone took enough home with them.

Voici les pains!

Chef Flo with a baguette “spear.”  Au revoir et merci beaucoup.  A bientot!

My last Wednesday in Paris and after 15 days, finally I met Eiffel’s greatest design and the icon of Paris.  My 9:30 reservation ticket in hand, I boarded the Metro and transferred to a bus which wound me through the morning commute to the west side of the Cite.  With under 5 minutes to spare, I hoofed it from the bus to the main attraction, didn’t take a wrong turn or get lost, and promptly got in line at the Green Marker (for pre-ticket purchasers).  In the overcast autumn morning light, it looked just like I remembered hanging on my bedroom wall back in 1980-81, only today it didn’t have a rosy glow added by the poster printer.  It was ironic that I travelled all the way from California on this trip of a lifetime to meet the city of my dreams and just barely had enough days to make the tower’s acquaintance.  Maybe it was my subconscious saying, “if I see it, then it may not be as I’ve remembered it all this time.”

But, it was better than my memory.

Autumn has always been my favorite season of the year and it was a perfect day to visit the Eiffel Tower.  No blazing summer sun beating down, no icy rain or snow, no packed crowds inhaling the perfumed air of spring.  I did this right, planning my trip in October.  The sky had patches of hazy, stretchy clouds that slowly, slowly moved with the cool breeze that pushed them by.  I waited in line and craned my neck back to take in the enormous size of the base, my eyes following up, up through the center of the tower to see as much as I could make out toward the “sommet.”  Within a few minutes the line was ushered to clear security checks then to board an elevator.  Yes, I’ve lived long enough on the planet to know that I don’t have a death wish need to walk to the top of the Eiffel Tower (or down, either).

Small but many elevators took turns transporting groups to the 1st floor/stop, then the 2nd floor/stop, then all the way to the top.  I stayed still for the direct flight up.  What a thrill to be on this 2-year construction project for France’s centennial celebration.  I circled the summit floor many times, snapping pictures of the Cite, a few selfies, and the information plaques that detailed the tower’s history.  After about an hour up top viewing the Cite map in different directions and recognizing much, I reluctantly decided to make my way back to ground level.  By then, many more visitors had arrived and I was glad to have been there at 9:30 a.m. when I could relish the experience in relative peace and quiet.

Back on the familiar #69 bus, I took it to Pont Neuf where I spied a convenient souvenir shop which hung in the window The Gift I wanted to get Philip.  Hopping off and running in, I picked up more goodies, probably my very last shopping opportunity before the week ends.  Back to Saint-Mande for a rest, I wanted to be fresh for the Diana Krall concert.

Leaving the house at 6:30 p.m., L’Olympia is in the 8th arrondissement, another destination that took some review to find just the right transfer points.  Arriving there and walking to it straight away, I went in and enjoyed a glass of champagne to toast my trip, my day, the night of music, the enchantment of it all.  A wonderful night of music, Diana gratefully and lovingly talked about her genuine affection for Paris where, 14 years ago, she recorded her fabulously popular live CD “in Paris.”  Of course, I have that one.  She performed at least 20 pieces (I lost count) including Joni Mitchell’s “A Case of You,” one of my favorites.  So glad I had the ticket to this performance.  I need to go to hear more music, absolutely.

Chilly coming into the damp night air out of the L’Olympia, I made it back to the house, fixed a hot cup of coffee and munched the last pain au chocolat.  Very satisfying…

Only 2 days left.

From the ground looking up.

This way….

Going up, up, up.

Looking towards the Arc de Triomphe, you can see the exactness of the city layout.

A beautiful scope at the summit to view Paris better.

Panning northwest towards the Ile de la Cite.

Moi, avec mon nouveau chapeau aubergine .

Looking southeast. A small (Lady) Liberte stands on a bridge way down there.

A last bloom in October

Au revoir. A bientot!

#69, the cross town bus

Pont Neuf stops for bus and Metro station.

Entrance billboard wall.

Moi in the upstairs lobby with my bubbly, people watching. And my Hermes scarf from home.

Diana Krall and her 5 instrumentalists. I had a great mezzanine seat.

Musicians in the Metro. All must audition to receive permit to perform.

Here comes my Metro train.

Enjoying the “pain au chocolat” of my morning labors.

Ah, yes, the ultimate Paris memory, a baking class! And what better technique is there to learn and take home than making and baking fresh croissants from scratch?  Bien sur!!

Taking a cooking class had been on my list of possibilities but it all came together last week with Adine’s encouragement.  I quickly began to sift through the Paris listings and in quick time was able to narrow down the search.  Ultimately, I selected a terrific patisserie school in the 8th arrondissement called Patisserie a la Carte.  The small store front kitchen classroom has a cozy set up of large marble-top table in the main work space, two convection ovens, two moderately-sized refrigerators, and a nice wrap-around counter and sink basin.  I and three super nice women, two from Sacramento and one from Nashville, enjoyed the intimate course led by Julie with PALC owner Severin nearby assisting.

From raw ingredients and with the necessary utensils, we began our work just after 9:30 to blend, mix, gather, throw, and knead our precious dough into golden, warm jewels of delicate, buttery layers. It was fun to handle fresh yeast, flour, sugar, 2% milk, salt and egg, using my fingertips to break up the yeast then mix in a bit of milk to a soft, silky consistency.  Not too lose or too dry, I isolated the yeast mixture then began combining the other ingredients before bringing both together.  “Use the right hand only, keep the left hand clean.” After gathering the mixture into a wet, sticky, glutenous ball, Julie taught us to lift and “throw” or whack the dough ball against the cold table, then to knead it with the heel of our hand, and repeat, actions that break down the yeast and start the chemical process that creates the elastic stretch required for the flaky layers we love.

Kneading, allowing the dough to set a bit, then learning how to tap, pound, layer butter, roll, fold, dust the table, turn and flip the dough into directed shapes and sizes, we began to understand and see our technique and craft coming together to make the delectable pastries come to life in our hands.  Nothing like rolling up your sleeves and making dough!

Incorporating cold butter into the dough by folding layer on layer then chilling, later I rolled cold dough into its proper thickness to cut it into its final shapes, including adding 70% cacao chocolate strips for pain au chocolat.  Four pieces of each kind of pastry that would bake for 12-15 minutes at 350 degrees.

By the way, a butter croissant is a rolled triangle baked straight, no bending allowed.  A pain au chocolate is a rolled rectangle “bundle.”  The only other authentic croissant you may find is almond-filled which is a triangle with almond cream spread on the dough before rolling.  No substitutes, no other fillings are authentic.

After class, Cindy, from Nashville, and I took a walk into the district.  She wanted to book a hop on-off bus tour for her short stay in the City and I wanted to pick up my will-call ticket for tomorrow night’s Diana Krall concert.  Both tasks done, we enjoyed a nice lunch together as we talked about all things Paris, our families, and enjoying our company.  It was nice to make a new baking friend.

Cold butter tenderly whacked to size.

Butter slab to begin the layering and rolling process.

Folded dough with incorporated butter.

Properly rolled to size, cut 4 triangles for croissants, 4 recs for au chocolat bundles.

Two fingers of dough to wrap over the 1st chocolate stick, then the 2nd, then roll, roll.  P.s. the 2-finger measure is a standard in the recipe.

Nashville Cindy giving her pastries an egg wash.

Julie, me, & Severin, owner of Patisserie a la Carte.  A great cooking school in Paris with classes for the home chef.  Wonderful time!

I know what I like and I don’t like modern art.  I don’t get it, understand it, or see it. Cubism. Why? Abstract art.  I think anyone can splash colors and paint and other media and call it “art.” Okay, fine, it’s art.  Whatever you say. I prefer seeing something recognizable, studying the artist’s hand on the canvas, and then thinking about how it makes me feel and if that’s what the artist intended.  Most of the time with modern art, I’m plain scared.

But Denis encouraged me again to go to the Pompidou Center, give it a try.  If nothing else, I could see the City views which are breathtaking six floors high.  So off I went, hoping to see an Andy Warhol or Marc Chagall.

Of course, I would be on the WRONG side of the building, at the wrong entrance.  I entered the Center after waiting 20 minutes for the line to the biblioteque. When I realized the museum entrance was on the OTHER side of the building and with no waiting, I said it was meant to be (or not to be).  I have till Friday so no problem.  I got my pass and headed to the top to get the city views via 5 escalators, to try to avoid the crowds.  The views were indeed lovely and I snapped a couple of shots.  Next, the 4th and 5th levels house the permanent collection so I started with 5.  There are so many gallery wings, the art seemed endless.  Late 19th century pieces included Matisse and Picasso then as the 20th century rolled in, new artists had to break through to carry on.  The collection is vast and after a bit, I had to move quicker through the gallery to get through as much as I could.  When I made it to the 4th floor, I found the more modern, abstract art.  Then it became 3-D, cartoon/illustrated, video, smashed piano that was mounted collage-like.  The first thing I thought was, That poor, wonderful piano, broken up for art.

I spent at least 2 hours in the Pompidou and glad I went so I know what’s there.  I did see a Chagall or two. Exiting out onto the cobbled street, I found the King of Falafel and bought a delicious pita murguez and another Coke.  Chilly though it was, I sat on a bench in the plaza and savored the veggies and sausage while giving my feet a rest.  Once done, I needed to move on.  To. The. BHV.  “B(azaar?) Hotel de Ville”.  It’s a grand department store across from the Hotel de Ville (Paris’ City Hall, hotel means hall). Adine said I had to go in and see its floor of hardware and lighting, beside any sales that were going on.  I went in and got as far as the heavenly kitchen department on the 3rd floor where I purchased two fold-up picnic knives.  Someone I know has one and I’ve had it on my list to buy if I could find one in France, and I did. My picnic shanks! Ha, ha.

I tumbled out of the glorious BHV (it is a really good store, upscale, Parisian) and headed to the Latin Quarter to visit the Eglise St. Julien le Pauvre, Paris’ very first church.  Came upon the Square R. Viviani, a tiny adjacent park where Paris’ oldest tree still grows since it was planted in 1602. I read a memorial plaque in the park for 11 children of the 4th arrondissment who were taken away from Paris in WWII and unknown whether any survived concentration camps.  Ranging from one to 6 years old, I took a few moments to remember them and some of the things they missed growing up with their families in their Latin Quarter district.  The City began to come out of darkness about WWII in the 80’s and France’s involvement with Germany, and started raising memorials throughout the City to acknowledge the great loss.

I went over to the church door and it was locked.  Again, my bad luck with churches and the 5 o’ clock toll.  Luckily, Shakespeare & Co. was a few steps away and, voila!  Its new cafe on the corner had its grand opening today.  I bought a cafe, enjoyed that as a nice shot, and decided to find the Deportation Memorial near Notre Dame, one last time.  Making my way over two bridges and following signs posted, I found it at last but the docking area was closed.  I again took time to think about the hundreds of thousands of people who passed this spot, at the tip of the Ile de la Cite, from 1940 to 1945 to board boats destined for concentration camps.  I thought about their last memory of the City they loved and left, the sky like I saw it today bright and beautiful, the apartments lining the Seine overlooking them, and their fear.  That was tough to imagine but I felt that I needed to meditate on it for a while before heading back to Saint Mande.  I travelled a long way for the chance to experience history like this and I gave myself time to be present, with intention, and my feelings.

Atop the Pompidou, the City with the Eiffel Tower in the distance. And modern art in the foreground – “tagged” apartments!

Apartments overlooking the Centre Pompidou plaza, from six floors up.

This was cool: colorful, blinking, and fun. The last thing to see before exiting the Centre Pompidou.

The King of Falafel, down the block from Pompidou.

Yummy deliciousness!

The oldest tree in Paris, an acacia planted in 1602.

Eglise St. Julien le Pauvre, the first church in Paris.

This narrow stone passage of steps is meant to give you a sense of enclosure, weight, and descent into the unknown, perhaps as the deportees felt when herded and forced to board boats taking them away from their homes and loved ones. This place is where they last saw Paris.

At the tip of the Ile de la Cite, the Deportation Memorial park has space for visitors to sit and reflect.

Since I went to mass last weekend at Notre Dame, I planned to visit the American Catholic church in Paris, Saint Joseph.  Missed the 11 o’clock mass because I got lost.  It’s in the 8th arrondissment, close to the 17th, and I had not been out that way till the day before.  So, I decided not to fret since there was a 12:30 mass and went for a cafe.  At McD’s.  I wanted to see the downtown menu.  They have automated ordering machines, then you go pick up your food when it’s ready.  But the cafe and pastry section is hands-on for the specialty cafe McD’s serves.  Ate my snack and wandered again through the district to find St. Joseph.  I felt BLESSED to arrive and have a seat!  The Passionist order reside at SJ and the priests are Irish.  The parishioners were so friendly and a mix of people – East Indian, African, Asian, and Americans.  I’m glad I went, it felt like home.

All dressed up, I marched down to the Metro which took me to the Pont Neuf bridge.  My brilliant idea: since my days are ending, I need to have my bateau ride on the Seine River.  I found the Vedettes du Pont Neuf, paid my 14 euros and took a single-seat up top on the right side of the boat.  The one-hour tour floated us past the two iles (little islands), turned left and backward, headed the length of the city to the Eiffel Tower, then did another left turn to dock us back where we started.  The guide spoke in French and English, was thoroughly interesting about the buildings, sites and historic significance, and at the end I felt that was the best 14 euros I could have spent to see as much as I did.  And floating on the Seine gave such a different perspective.  The other good deal, if you recall, was my self-guided #69 bus tour last week, about 1.20 euros.

With just a bit more time to fit in another site, I headed towards the Palais du Justice and arrived at the Conciergerie and its neighbor, Sainte Chappelle.  First, Le Conciergerie was Paris 17th and 18th century prison.  Marie Antoinette spent her last months there before her “interview” and execution.  The prison held up to 800 prisoners during the rebellion and the structure that survives is beautiful warm, yellowed stone.  Hard to imagine the terror and sorrow and pain that it contained during those dark times.  Makes you think twice about a hotel “concierge”!  There’s a very nice memorial to Marie Antoinette in the place that her stony prison chamber and personal chapel were situated. Present-day French have a soft spot for M.A.

Once done with the walk-through, I headed to Sainte Chappelle two doors down but it was closed for a concert. No ticket, no entry.  Darn it again, I missed the last entry time just like last week. As it was getting to be early evening, I decided to head back to the Metro and Saint Mande for a nice sit-down bistro dinner at the Royal Comptoir – let someone else cook and clean up for me.  Since the special osso bucco ran out, and it was Sunday after all, I chose leg of lamb – it was delicious. I jotted thoughts and ideas and memories in a notebook while sipping my appetizer, another Cosmo.  I can’t believe my trip is ending soon…

A twisty croissant au chocolat avec une vinnoise cafe – espresso with whipped cream dusted with chocolate

Vedettes au Pont Neuf launch. An excellent deal.

Beautiful Notre Dame from a different angle

Lovely low boats that people berth on the Seine

There she is, the Eiffel Tower. This is the closest I’ve seen her.

Moi et elle!

Diner! New side for home – broiled tomatoes, yummy. Need to find an excellent baguette baker though…

A cappuccino for dessert. Parfait.

Saturday was a big walking day. Getting up at my usual hour, the other tourists had a head start on me but, hey, I’m on vacation. So I did what needed to be done in the morning and headed out at around noon, dreading the weekend tourists.

Where to go? Finally, to the L’Orangerie Museum, built just for Claude Monet’s work.  The museum installed the canvases a year after his death because at the time of his death, the building had not been completed.  Now, L’Orangerie houses his huge, and last, canvases of his beloved nympheas, or the water lilies from his Giverny home.  I could hardly wait.

For some reason, I haven’t travelled to the west as far as the Louvre since I’ve been here, so I spent a bit more time on the Metro, past the centre of the City.  Arriving above the Charles de Gaulle Metro station, I easily found my destination and quickly entered after walking through a portion of the Tuileries Garden.  I was pleased that there was not a big line of waiting ticket buyers.  I headed toward the main galleries and enjoyed the eight canvases, all green, blue, rose, lavender for the shadowy times of day Monet painted these.  Then there were the bright white, yellow, gold, and bright blue for daylight, sunrise, and sunset times in the second gallery.  He had a barn adjacent to his Giverny home converted to a high-ceiling studio.  These canvases had plenty of room to be hung and he moved from one to another depending on the time of day when he could continue adding to the pieces.  Brilliant, and a bit time consuming.

After having my fill, I moved to the lower galleries where the collection of Paul Guillaume, a famous 1920’s art dealer in Paris, resides.  Some more Renoir, Cezanne, Picasso, and other French artists of the late 19th and early 20th century.  This is a must-see museum.

Off on the Champs Elysses to meet the Arc de Triomphe.  As I pushed on, keeping in mind the route of the annual Tour de France, I noticed a gradual incline of the boulevard to the Arc.  The street pavement is cobbled with the ubiquitous smooth square stones and smooth repair patches here and there.  On rainy days for a final day of the Tour, this street is treacherous for the riders.  I enjoyed the fresh air, bright sun, and the many people spending Saturday walking the promenade.  Made it to the Arc and decided, worn out, that I didn’t want to think about how to get to the other side of the boulevard to stand below the huge structure (probably via underground).  So I decided to get my bearings and find my route and transfers to return me to Saint Mande.  Another lovely day, topped off with a yummy dinner at home with Adine and Denis.  The French like grilled hot dogs (saucissons), by the way, which was our main course.  Please pass the Maille Dijon Mustard!

My French breakfast at home. Les oeufs, fleur de sel, baguette et beurre, cafe. C’est parfait por moi.

An entrance to the Tuileries Garden. Les oranges, naturellement!

L’Orangerie Museum

1st gallery of water lily canvases

A twilight canvas

Love the colors in this close-up.

A sunset canvas

A twilight canvas

Arc de Triomphe

Up and out of the house early Friday morning, I headed to the Louvre for a visit.  The Metro delivered me and I wound through the underground labyrinth of really fancy shops and followed signage for this way and that in the Carousel du Louvre for eateries, boutiques, WC’s (toilettes) and finally, the Louvre.  Up stairs and escalator I recognized I.M. Pei’s above-ground Pyramid and knew I was close.  I walked to an entrance, flagged my artiste card to the attendant, and was immediately signaled to the front door to enter.  Once in, I plugged in my handy-dandy Louvre audio tour which I downloaded free from Rick Steves’ travel website (a real gem of a find, for anyone who travels) and was on my way.

I strolled through the galleries to hit the main attractions including the Venus de Milo, Winged Victory, the Mona Lisa and other da Vinci works, as well as the Grecian and Roman statuary and art from the Romantic period.  Just as impressive to me was the grand royal palace which was home to France’s kings before all these works of art took up residence.  After 3 hours in the Louvre, I decided that was enough, I saw all that I wanted to see, and since it was 3 p.m., I was hungry.  So, for fun,

I had to do it…

Wow, what a view!

Cheesy me.

Venus de Milo, awesome.

Just one of the ceilings of the royal palace.

The Winged Victory of Samothrace. Can you imagine what the original might have looked like?

From the inside out of the Octagonal Room.

Three generations by da Vinci: Saint Anne, Virgin Mary, and baby Jesus. Sweet.

Massively impressive, Delacroix’s La Liberte le 28 Juillet (1830). She’s rallying the people!

Admiring the Pyramid below the plaza. A moment I thought on the “Da Vinci Code.”

Cheesy lunch! It was better tasting because it was French fast food. I crack me up!