I FORGOT TO MENTION...

I wrote this for HiP Paris.

Happy Easter! 

{Photo credit 1: sent to me the day after Valentine's Day by R, 2: Lonely Planet pocket French phrasebook page on "problems".}

LAST WEEKEND IN PARIS {AGAIN}...

My heart sank as I realised I'd drawn the short straw and got the Eurostar carriage filled with teenage French schoolchildren. But all was well - they were curiously subdued. Once in Paris I couldn't resist the flowers - €12 for FIFTY anemones (at the Red Kids market). I could never buy fifty anemones for myself, but would be very happy if someone else did.

K and I split a rotisserie chicken, M and I went to Aux Deux Amis for wine, cheese and charcuterie; she remarking on its remarkable tardis like quality in retaining people. Sunday brunch at Tuck Shop with M and A was lovely.

I stayed at X and J's quiet, calm place and slept amazingly well there. I met L at Chez Jeanette for an apero, R made me a surprise birthday cake with trick candles, we *think* we saw her neighbour KL walking his dog, then we went to Le Mary Celeste with A and I undid all my good resting/sleeping work by having fun drinking too much wine and crashing out on a sofa fully clothed at 4.30am.

On Monday, hungover, I met sweets R and C at Ten Belles to talk toxins. As I left to head towards the Gare du Nord, the sun shone straight down the rue de la Grange aux Belles, illuminating everything.

CHATS...

In Paris last weekend I was intending to see the Eileen Gray exhibition, when I kept coming across this funny poster for another exhibition: Les Chats. Yes, paintings of cats. I did walk past the Pompidou Centre, intending to stick to my Eileen plan, but it was the final day of the big Dali exhibition and the queues stretched for miles. Chats it was. I made my way over to the Quai des Orfevres and found myself in a room covered floor to ceiling in hundreds of small paintings of cats, by different artists. Many oil paintings; some er, better captures of the feline soul than others. The pinnacle of naive art. But while I was there I discovered the incredible work of Christel Le Vaillant. Cats in clothes, like painted cats from a Lula editorial. I felt sudden, joyous waves of love.

I snatched up as many postcards of Christel Le Vaillant's work as I could - there's one of a tough tabby cat wearing a striped breton top, battered jeans and a biker jacket that is unbelievable. I'll try to scan it, except my scanner is now defunct and being used as a cat bed. Chats!

NOSTALGIA...

Read my latest existential crisis post on Paris for Harper's Bazaar here.

{Snapshot of the view from the 18.13 Eurostar from Paris to London}

READY FOR SPRING...

{Florist in rue Vieille du Temple. Astier de Villatte, Tuileries chairs, Jacquemus spring collection at The Broken Arm}

PERSONAL PARIS FAVES...

A few favourites from February in Paris. I'm trying to avoid the usual suspects. I keep reading about the same places again and again in round ups of where to go in Paris - and I'm part of that cycle, being *in the business.* So in my own space here, it's nice for me to step back from diligently reporting on what the top ten must-go places are, with a unifying theme to each post... and just think about what I really enjoyed.

Le Comptoir General
Sort of surreal, multi layered, multi functional community space that describes itself as a ghetto museum. It was one of the coolest, most unexpected places I went to in Paris. Thanks J!

Verlet
Hardly a secret, being right on rue St. Honore opposite the Astier de Villatte shop, but it's only when you open the door and are greeted by the mingling scents of candied fruits, spices, tea leaves and coffee beans that this place hooks you in. Dark wood panelled walls, plants and pictures on the walls of the far flung places their supplies come from give it a colonial feel. It's authentically charming in the best sense. Apart from the extensive menu of tea and coffee there are cakes to be chosen from a glass display and a small menu pour un petit faim. I like to sit upstairs by the big arched window, watching the world go by on the street below.

Rue Charlot Sunday veg feast
I've mentioned here before (six years ago!) how strange it is that in a city/country where incredibly high quality vegetable produce is so easily available, no one seems to eat vegetables?! (Or eat much at all, but that's another story.) I still haven't solved that mystery, but I am grateful for friends that live a two minute walk away from the Marche des Enfants Rouges, who over many years have perfected the art of the vegetable based recipe and who were kind enough to invite me to lunch most Sundays. It's not an exaggeration to say they probably saved me from malnutrition while I was in Paris. We would go to the bio veg stall at the market, then to the greengrocer on rue de Bretagne, who I was introduced to - very important to be introduced to local shopkeepers. Then I would be given a glass of wine and would sit and watch them prepare the most beautiful, fresh soups, salads and concoctions: artichokes with freshly shelled peas, potato leek and dill soup - I wish I'd photographed all the meals we had, but I only took one photo of this salad.

I was busy, ingesting nutrients! Back in London I'm inspired to make more of the weekly farmers market - I always go, but I have a bad habit of only buying flowers and a cup of coffee. Must become more familiar/confident with all the goodness that's on offer.

Richard Lenoir Brocante
I was mooching around in the Marais killing time before my friend arrived, when J (her again with the good tips!) tipped me off to the brocante that was on at boulevard Richard Lenoir. So I ambled over and indulged my "if I lived here I would buy those chairs/that table/that lamp" side for an hour or so. Everything was displayed so wonderfully. I was tempted as always, but then thought how many teeny tiny vintage glasses, broken clocks and apple shaped containers can a person need? I do wish I'd given into getting that earthenware jug for €3 though.

Dinner at Bones (We went back for drinks and snacks another night and it was just as good.)

First sunny day by the canal then walk home
The day before I left Paris, the sun came out. We got a takeaway coffee at Craft, then sat by the canal, soaking up the first weak rays of the sun for a while before saying goodbye - for now. Later, I decided to walk as far as the river, then get on the metro back to where I was staying in the farthest reaches of the 5th. It was still icy cold but the sun was low and illuminated the sides of buildings and fell in shafts through the trees.  It was so beautiful that I ended up walking the whole way.

Watching Merci's Fiat 500 being filled with rose petals

Very late dinner at Le Dauphin
By the time C and I rolled up at Le Dauphin it was 11pm and in true English apero style, we'd already shared a bottle of wine without having eaten since lunch. The kitchen was about to close so we quickly ordered five dishes from the menu: one meat, one fish, one vegetable etc - just chosen at random more or less. Maybe it was partially down to being starving, but the flavours in each dish were amazing enough that I listed them in my iphone to remember. The list means almost nothing to me now and I could never recreate those flavours. Now I have only the memory of certain types of stock that seemed to enhance everything. I'm pretty sure if I attempted warm oysters in blood orange stock with sliced radishes it would be vile rather than sublime, which is a bloody good reason to go back again. I also find this photo of us there really amusing, distorted by the rounded corner of a mirrored wall.

A WOMAN'S RIGHT TO BRAS...

I did mull over whether it was appropriate to post about lingerie on International Women's Day, which I've often marked here over the years. It's true that a photo of a teenage girl with her nipples showing, in order to promote a brand, isn't very feminist as well as having little to do with the customer that's likely to buy it. But I do think there's something about buying yourself fantastic lingerie that's liberating as well as being your right to do. We don't need to burn our bras anymore do we? That's something to celebrate I think. We can be educated, accomplished and respected and support our curves/not curves with beautiful lingerie should we so desire. Or not. I just happen to like nice underwear.

One of the things on my to-do list in Paris was to finally pluck up the courage to visit the infamous lingerie shop Sabbia Rosa - favourite of every A list celebrity you can think of. I'd read various articles about it over the years, which never included photos of its goods - just the description of visiting it, where you'd be whisked into a changing room, measured, appraised and would then be given outrageously expensive items of lingerie that the shop owner chose for you to try, then purchase - as it would be too awkward not to.  I'd passed by the shop in rue des Saint-Peres lots of times but the sight of banks of green drawers (of the wooden furniture variety!) which I wouldn't be allowed to open put me off. This time I braved it, expecting to emerge triumphant with a tale of humiliation by lingerie.

What actually happened was: I went in, they were really nice, and I was able to browse through quite a few things and decide that while the array of coloured silks was amazing, the styles were a little too classic, maybe even old fashioned for me. I'd already been to the lingerie department at Le Bon Marche and found Elise Aucouturier and into the Eres boutique to see the spring/summer 13 collection in pop pastel shades of pale blue, coral and watermelon pink. I knew that was more for me. No bows - Eres lingerie never has bows, I love it so. The spring collection is here - you can see all the glorious spring colours there, but this {Pompone} is my favourite:

I'd never seen Elise Aucouturier's collection before, but at Le Bon Marche there was a big display of it in prime position. To me, it's crossover ready to wear lingerie, that maybe isn't all that functional but is really, really pretty. The spring collection is all thin cotton and delicate crochet in indigo, cream and rust. Despite Elise Aucouturier's maddeningly slippery flash site I managed to cobble together some screencaps by cutting off various body parts of the model, who has no doubt already suffered enough in the name of fashion. Happy International Women's Day indeed!

HERE...

New Paris post on my Harper's Bazaar blog - here.

MERCI FOR THE FLOWERS...

We happened to be at Merci the other day when they were changing their visual concept over for spring. Until then the red Fiat 500 had stayed all winter with a few pumpkins and gourds next to it and I actually can't remember how it was inside, although I saw them tearing down the previous installation.

We sat in the used book cafe and watched as two women filled the Fiat first with plastic, then hundreds thousands of deep pink rose petals, so it looked like it was completely full of them.

Everywhere inside they had put displays of white and deep pink ranunculus, anemones and wax flowers (that's what I call them anyway!) popped individually into small vessels and grouped together.

It was a much needed reminder that spring is near. And also, can I please have the job of rose petal fluffer?

BONES...

Two weeks into this trip to Paris I gave up on going to all the newly opened hyped up bars and restaurants. In part, checking out new places to go is work for me - to potentially review for HiP Paris for example. But a big part of it is that I genuinely enjoy trying new places when they open; the holy grail being that they might become a favourite I'll want to return to. Variety is the spice of life, non?

While my friends are messaging me from London asking which date I'm back so we can go to Balthazar, it doesn't really work like that in Paris! I'm becoming convinced that the new restaurant/bar openings' lifeblood here is made up of reviewers and what I'm dubiously terming foodie tourists. Many Parisians and "people who aren't Parisians but live here" alike just don't really care that much about going to new places, which leads to weird scenarios where you end up taking them to places they hadn't heard of. It also means that if you do go, you might discover a great place not particularly full of people speaking English, plus the owner's friends, or just a great place that lacks atmosphere or a sense that something is *happening*. So while I'm not quite at the stage of being content to rock up to the most convenient corner brasserie for a croque monsieur (I tried) I really had to calm it down a bit in terms of what I expect to happen on a night out.

BUT.

Out of all the places I've been that were newly opened, the one place that stands out and that I'd happily visit again - and again - is Bones. The most talented young chef in Paris (I'm trying to avoid typing hottest, well, because...) opens own restaurant in the 11th, food bloggers get all in a lather, all I hear before I come to Paris is Bones, Bones, Bones. I managed to get a table for the early seating by booking three weeks in advance. Bones. I was expecting all hype and no substance to be honest. The description of it being punk that I kept hearing didn't help. I was a bit worried that the friend I was taking would hate it and we'd be served something really unappetising, but worse that we'd be uncomfortable and unconvinced. The way it was described in some reviews you'd think they had fluorescent strip lighting, chainsaws for chairs and the meal would consist of them throwing pork scratchings at you from the kitchen.

So I was relieved when we turned up at this lovely, slightly industrial, sensitively renovated stripped back room, with a big bar area at the front featuring a suckling pig resting on the bar; no more than ten tables with comfortable chairs or banquettes and an open kitchen at the back. The staff was friendly and relaxed, the music was GREAT, natural wines were offered, discussed and ordered, we both noticed that the bread was really nice, the butter was delicious. Hmm, nice stoneware plates. Then we got into the prix fixe menu of the day, which at €40 is pretty amazing value. There were five courses on the menu, including cheese and dessert, but I'm sure we were given at least three other dishes in between the courses. Everything we ate was good. Everything was balanced, had care taken over it - whether it was on the menu or not. That is some sophisticated freestyle cooking if that was all based on what they felt like doing that day. Saint-Jacques with pear, smoked? octopus, duck heart, boudin noir - a lazy person like me could say the food was a bit like St. John crossed with 40 Maltby Street in London. By about 9pm the bar area was heaving and I felt that elusive *something's happening* vibe, which is so important in creating an atmosphere that makes you want to return.

Good food, good wine, comfortable surroundings, good music, good atmosphere - if that's considered punk, I'm into it.

PARIS WEATHER REPORT...

New post up on my Harper's Bazaar blog - here.



{p.s. I DO know that foux de fa fa isn't actually French!}

HOW I KNOW...

If you haven't already seen it, here's a link to my latest post for HiP Paris - I Know I'm in Paris When...

GATHERING PARIS...

My second Paris post for Harper's Bazaar is up now - here - on a classically left bank first few days. The next day it all changed! 

There are bits of my gathered words and pictures of Paris distributed across different corners of the internet at the moment. Hopefully all the bits will end up in the right places and won't overlap! But for anything that has to do with places you might want to check out if you're visiting Paris, my Instagram (it's private, just ask!) is the best place to look - because I'm going everywhere! I 'gram it for my own memory's sake as much as anything, but it's currently turning into a bit of a Paris guide.

Last night saw the launch of Brooklyn Brewery at Le Mary Celeste, the night before its official opening - the pre-launch of the launch if you like. I was so keen to go to this new bar from the owners of Candelaria and Glass that I insisted on going before it actually opened. It was packed, there was free beer and we stayed all of five minutes. I must remember not to be so keen - Paris nightlife is way more sleepy than London and I realise I'm the only person in Paris going, "I wanna check it out! Now! We have to go! Immediately!"

The other place that had been on my list forever that I finally got to check off yesterday was the Musee de la Chasse et de la Nature - which was equal parts beautiful and horrifying. Taxidermy in the extreme, guns, a stuffed polar bear, a cabinet with a ceiling covered in owl heads, the smell of decaying fur - I couldn't deal with it and all I kept thinking was, "Stop the killing!" By the time I got to the stuffed leopards and lions I was having an existential crisis and although I took a lot of photos there, I now don't want to post them here or anywhere. Just stop the killing.

On a lighter note! I checked out The Broken Arm as well yesterday. It's a huge, beautiful, airy space in an amazing location right behind Square du Temple, that opened last week. There's a cafe which is sparely designed, but with plants and baby pink and blue touches. I ate a delicious slice of blueberry cheesecake there. Next door is a shop / gallery space with books, objects, Aurelie Bidermann jewellery and clothes: Carven, Kenzo and Jacquemus are a few of the brands stocked. And I believe the owners are 100% French - I think! - and are part of the Des Jeunes Gens Modernes collective. But hmm, I think I see the touch of some lovely non French people I know in the design! It's actually hard to find cool places in Paris (especially if coffee is involved) that don't have an international influence in their ownership, believe it or not. I'm on the hunt for them! Will report back.

THE BEST THING ABOUT LONDON IS PARIS...

Is the name of my new blog for Harper's Bazaar, direct from Paris.

And here is the first post!

Of course, you know who that quote is from.

ON SLOWING DOWN...

The other day I realised that I have time. I have time to go to all the restaurants, all the bars, all the cafes; to go to all the old favourite places and check out all the new exciting places. I don't have to go to them all right NOW. I suppose I'm used to racing round in London a mile a minute, hopping from one thing to the next.

So that afternoon I mooched around the sedate 5th arrondissement, instead of immediately jumping on a bus or metro. I went to Sadaharu Aoki and bought a matcha eclair, then wandered down to the tearoom at the Mosque, where flocks of tiny little birds flutter round your head (and the occasional MASSIVE PIGEON muscles in). There are so many heaters there that it's positively balmy, even if it's freezing cold outside. They just bring you tea, you don't even have to decide or ask for it, which I like. After a glass of tea at the Mosque I wandered around the Jardin des Plantes, then took refuge in the warmth of the greenhouse.

I was going to cross the river and walk up to Bastille to look in the Sessun shop, then perhaps have a drink at Septime Cave. But it's the derniere demarque - final markdowns in the sale, or in other words, the dregs. The sales finish on Tuesday, then all the new stuff will be in the shops. That's the time to go. So I wandered back through the gardens, went back up, up, up the winding stairs to my little home for the month and ate my matcha eclair. Sounds boring right? Haha, maybe, but it was somehow a very memorable day.

 I did go out that night though - obviously.

PARISLONDONPARIS...

I've been in Paris almost a week now and I'm still not quite settled. Here in body - the rest is all over the place. I wasn't well when I arrived and needed to find a doctor, which I was only able to do eventually with the help of friends. (Thank you!) So that was a bit scary. I was always able to navigate anything in Paris before, even without speaking decent French. I suddenly felt very foreign.

Like some kind of euro homing pigeon I keep accidentally going into places that turn out to be Italian, like this sweet cafe/bookshop in rue Charlot, Marcovaldo. I actually said "thank you, grazie, uh, merci" when the girl brought my coffee over. Confusion.

I've got a whole load of restaurants bookmarked, but as is always the case - the places that you read about from afar getting raved about on food blogs, don't always turn out to be the best places to go when you get on the ground. The couple of times I've tried to eat at restaurants I had bookmarked that weren't recommended to me personally, I've had really bad experiences. CAFE DES MUSEES I'M LOOKING AT YOU. I'm hoping to keep the bad restaurant experiences neatly to just this week, so that I can then enjoy the rest of them thereafter.

But I HAVE had some very fun times already, and you'll hear about those soon.

Backtracking slightly, here's what's going on in London this February, for HiP Paris.

QUICK HI FROM PARIS...

I've been out and about - the usual and not so usual. Finding my way around / to and from an unfamiliar neighbourhood, getting settled, seeing friends, lunches, dinners, walks, mooching in the 3rd and 10th - forever faves. Writing, thinking, no time for shopping yet.

Here's my room with a view. For the time being more timely updates can probably be found via my Instagram if you're on it and request to follow me. I'll be posting elsewhere while I'm in Paris too, so watch out for my imminent dispatches - I'll post the links here as and when of course.

BREAKFAST AT...

If Claridge's is my Tiffany's then it makes sense that breakfast at Claridge's is something I'd like to become a weekly ritual. Both bars closed and quiet - very unnerving - roaring fires in the lobby and dining room giving everything a glow; a huge insulated coffee pot placed on our table, grapefruit ricotta pancakes ordered and then a lot of gossip and guffawing, plus unashamed constant Instagramming of the table by both parties. And I don't think they minded a bit.