I Think We’re Well Past Counting the Number of Glasses of Champagne I’ve Had By This Point: Spring Break in France, Part Three

So last Thursday, after visiting Château d’Yquem, Mother, SPARKY and I began our seven hour car ride to the Champagne region.  Have I mentioned how much I love having an iPod and a Kindle?

We made a slight detour about halfway there while in the Loire Valley to visit the town of Chenonceau, home of the UNESCO World Heritage Site Château de Chenonceau.  It was a breathtaking home, with a kitchen I’d want even without all of the modern appliances because the wood-burning bread oven is all I need to be happy!

What I think impressed me the most about the Château, however, was the fact that fireplaces were actually in use and it had the feel of an actual home with few ropes to keep you five feet from the item.  I wish other places did that because it makes you feel as if you’re in someone’s home and not a museum.  Beneath is a photo of the Gallery, which spans the width of the river upon which the Château sits:

The gardens are also breathtaking, both the formal and informal.  The formal gardens look like what you’d expect any château to have while the informal garden, which is really a vegetable and flower garden, was more impressive in my opinion.  While it is very formal, with everything labeled and in perfect rows, there are some parts where the grounds staff seems to be somewhat creative:

There were also tulips planted for everywhere, which created this amazing rainbow of colors:

These flowers are actually used in floral arrangements inside the rooms of the Château, which is really interesting because it adds to the sense that this is someone’s home and not just a museum.

Now, as if any of our homes look like that unless it’s photo shoot day, but still, it’s a nice touch.

The Formal Gardens:

Before leaving, I got this photo looking down the main drive to the Château:

If only that driveway weren’t dirt.

Even though it is kind of a schlep to get there, I really enjoyed myself and again, that’s really because you feel as though you’re not in a museum, but really in someone’s home that is open for the garden tour.

We finally left as everything was closing and continued driving toward our destination in Vinay.  Again, I’m so glad I have a Kindle and an iPod.  I made it about nine chapters of my book, “I am Charlotte Simmons,” by the time we arrived in Éparnay for dinner.  I’ll discuss that book at another time; even though it’s about things that aren’t new to a college student like myself, reading about them seems to make them sound shocking.

Our hotel in Vinay left me with mixed emotions.  On one hand, the staff was very courteous and made our stay lovely, but at the same time, for what we were paying, I was kind of shocked about the hotel itself.  We stayed at the Relais & Châteaux Hostellerie La Briqueterie and for a company that prides itself on being a luxury brand, the hotel was old and looked more than ready for a renovation.  That said, we weren’t there to see the hotel since I didn’t see a champagne vineyard in the backyard.

In case y’all don’t know, there isn’t a town called Champagne.  Rather, it is a region about three hours from Paris that is the only place in the world where sparkling wine can actually be called Champagne.  Unlike Bordeaux where the vineyards are where everything takes place, the grapes used to produce champagne come from vineyards that are spread throughout the region and so bottling takes place mostly in the towns of either Épernay or Reims.  What visitors to the region see are the caves, which is where the champagne is stored in the bottle while it matures.  It may not sound that interesting until you realize you’re staring at 2,000 bottles of champagne just sitting there in one alcove and then you get a sense of just how amazing it is.

Our tour on Friday was in Épernay and it was to the biggest Champagne house in the region, Moët & Chandon, one of the cornerstone companies in Bernard Arnault’s LVMH.  Also located at the Moët & Chandon house is Dom Perignon, which what we thought we were signed up to see.  Apparently, we were wrong.

You don’t see the production in person at the Champagne houses; instead, a video, this one narrated by the actress Scarlett Johansson and is actually available to watch on their website, tells you a brief history of the house and then of the production of the champagne before ending with a lengthy spiel about how the house’s champagne is so luxurious, it’s associated with the most luxurious events and people; it stands for luxury.  Y’all, we know that if you just want to half-ass it with champagne, you buy someone a bottle of Moët and that if you want to actually go all out for someone, you go for the LVMH brands of either Dom Perignon or my favorite, Krug, which isn’t open to the public.

After the video ended, we proceeded down into the caves to see where the bottles are being aged before being sent around the world to be sold.  All those magnums!  To say I had a an out-of-body experience down there would be a gross understatement.  Let me be perfectly open with y’all and say that in my mind, this is what Heaven looks like.

While on the Moët tour, I did get to see something I’ve wanted to see since first learning about it since November, a Nabuchadnezzar, which is the largest size bottle of Champagne, roughly equivalent to twenty ordinary bottles of champagne.  SPARKY said no.

After downing a few glasses of Moët, the traditional Impérial and then the Rosé Impérial, which I had never before tasted and rather enjoyed, we entered gift shop.  Now, I went into this whole tour planning on purchasing a bottle of Andy Warhol-inspired POP ART 2002 Vintage because I just loved the idea and the colors on those labels were so outrageous that I just had to have one.  Then I realized that I had purchased so many other bottles of wine that I was fast-approaching a limit of some sort and decided that the set of six glasses with the Dom Pérignon logos from each of the six pop art colors would be just fine.

So, after my purchase, we said goodbye to the statue of M. Pérignon and headed a block down the road to lunch at La Grillade.

(The man who stole my heart over 300 years ago by inventing champagne, the monk Dom Pérignon)

La Grillade was so much fun.  First of all, the chef and owner, M. Christophe Bernard does a little bit of everything; he’s part chef, part server, part bartender, part schmoozer and just plain fun.  It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and y’all would think it’s because maybe the food isn’t so good so he has to do something to get you to have a good time, but in reality, the food was divine!  If memory, and my stomach, serves me correctly, I had duck, which was prepared in the fire place in the dining room and then an ice cream sundae, which was so good!  I know, it’s sad, but the chef recommended it to me personally, so how could I say no?  Since we were in the Champagne region, I decided that only champagne would be drunk so why not have a glass with lunch after just having two at the tasting?  We’re on vacation!  To show that I’m clearly not the only one with that brilliant idea, the mantle of the fireplace in the dining room has eleven very tall vases filled with corks and the name of each month of the year on them.  On the prep table for the dishes cooked in the fireplace, was April’s vase, already on its way to being filled up just two days into the new month:

So glad I could help fill it up!

After lunch, we drove to the nearby city of Reims, which has more than just a history with Champagne.  Reims is actually home to one of the best preserved gothic cathedrals in the world, the UNESCO World Heritage Site Notre-Dame de Reims.  What I found more interesting than its gothic architecture, which doesn’t really do a lot for me, was that this was the cathedral where the Kings of France came to be crowned.  This makes sense though, because if you have to spend all day in one of those get-ups with that two-foot-tall wig on your head, you would need some champagne just to celebrate not blowing over in a breeze!  Just across from the cathedral was a champagne store where I finally got to see a sabre in person!  If only it weren’t 34,000€!  The store’s owner, after I explained to him in French that SPARKY thinks its dangerous and blah, blah, blah something about glass getting in the bottle, me swallowing glass and dying, the owner, who looked not unlike the Agatha Christie-created detective Hercule Poirot, proceeded to explain to me, who then translated for SPARKY, that the pressure inside the bottle is so powerful that when you do in fact break the top off, the pressure forces all of that glass out away from the bottle, making it impossible to re-enter the bottle.  That’s all I needed to hear!  While there, we bought a demi-bottle of Krug since it’s my favorite champagne and it wasn’t possible to tour this trip (it’s only open to actual Krug lovers, which SPARKY and Mother are not; plus, you have to buy a lot of it in order to be considered a Krug lover, which I don’t, yet).  Dinner that night was back in Épernay at Bistrot le 7, located at 7, rue des Berceaux (how fitting).  I think we all had the sole, but the duck tar-tar before hand was excellent.  The evening was a lot of fun and it’s not pretentious, but simple.

Saturday morning arrived and it was onward to Reims to visit Taittinger and Veuve Cliquot before returning to Paris for one final night.  Now, I’m not a Taittinger man myself.  I prefer Veuve, Bollinger, Dom, and mon amour, Krug, but Mother planned this so I just went along with it.  Like Moët, there was a video, but no Scarlett Johansson and a much larger group of people, with children and the parents from Larchmont, so of course they thought their little shits were the greatest things since sliced bread.  Though I do hope those idiot parents realize that their children need to be a lot smarter than they are if the goal is even a mediocre prep school in the city, so sorry.  The visit in the Caves was interesting, but the champagne didn’t do a whole lot for me.  It was just so-so.  I blame the kids.

Between tour, we had a phenomenal last lunch in France at Le Jardin Brasserie on the grounds of Les Crayères hotel.  It was warm enough to sit outdoors, which the restaurant had every single patron doing, and look out onto a private world that makes you forget you’re in a major French city.  Wait, that might have just been the champagne talking.  Mother and I had the Cod, which was so good (oh the butter) with a side of parmesan cheese-coated frites and haricot-verte while SPARKY I think had the salmon, which he said he liked; he eats so quickly that no one has a chance to try anything.  Oh, and of course there was another glass of champagne pour moi!

Following lunch, we headed just down the road to visit the Veuve herself.  Veuve Cliquot is a huge part of why I even wanted to visit the Champagne region.  At the end of last year, I read Tilar Mazzeo’s biography of Barbe-Nicole Ponsardin Cliquot and the champagne house she created with her husband before his death and how she turned it into the multi-million dollar empire it has become today.  “The Widow Cliquot” was what brought me to Reims and I was determined to get the most out of this visit.  the caves, which Mother decided she didn’t need to see, where the grandest of them all, beginning with a grand staircase that was under-lit in Veuve Cliquot orange:

Okay, so maybe it isn’t quite Titanic, but I bet Kate Winslet would have walked down these steps to see Leo.

Even the floors have the Veuve’s seal on them:

Okay, that’s a little gauche, but I’ll let it slide.

Unlike the other houses, which seemed a bit stuffy, Veuve Cliquot was a bit more animated with everything done at the house somehow making its way back to being related to the Veuve.  Even this new tunnel that was dug in 2005 has a painting of the Veuve facing it so that every employee there can be reminded of all of her hard work and brilliant ideas:

I’d call this a tunnel of love, but it leads to booze, which is more important.

The tour of the caves ended with some rather unique features though.

I still have no words to describe this hot mess and I’ve had a week to think about it!

The stairway back up to the tasting room was done in a really neat way because they have listed on every step the years that there have been Vintages champagnes.  I found a 1989 so I guess now I need to get a bottle!

The champagne we tasted at Veuve Cliquot was also unlike the champagne we had at the two other houses since this was not the regular blend, but instead a glass of the 2004 La Grande Dame.  It was the perfect end to the perfect tour.  I bought a towel to wrap around my bottles at home.

One petrol station visit later and it was au revoir, Reims, au revoir, Champagne and bonjour, Paris!  Since we had to be at the airport early in the morning on Sunday, we stayed at the airport Hyatt, which despite being very nice, didn’t even give you free wireless, which I found to be a bit tacky.  But as if I had time to check my email.  Paris awaited so we dropped off our bags and headed back into the city for one last night.  I must say that SPARKY did a good job of driving in Paris, considering that those wild freaks on the motorcycles zip through and don’t pay any attention to anyone or anything in their way.  We headed to Bon Marché’s new food hall, La Grande Epicerie de Paris, which may have been a trip highlight for me!  Dozens of different types of sea salts (they even had citrus-infused sea salt), pâtes galore, desserts, the largest white asparagus any of us had ever seen, and then I saw my love; my favorite chocolate in the world, Cailler.  The first Swiss chocolate company may today be owned by Nestlé, but it’s almost never seen outside the Swiss border so for me, this was such a treat!  Naturally, I bought some.  The food hall may not have the same beauty as Harrod’s infamous one, but it has the feel of a place where you can actually go and see real Parisians buying groceries to make dinner for that night.  It’s not prissy and overdone, but simple and well-designed to suit the needs of the 21st Century shopper.  Even if you don’t have anywhere to cook the food, just walk through and observe all the delicious food that the FDA won’t let us import!

As it was getting late, we headed to get dinner at La Cigale Récamier, which is known for its soufflés.  We only had one for dessert, but it was divine.  After dinner, we barely made it out of the parking garage since our car was so damn big and proceeded to leave Paris.  This is where SPARKY showed his true stupidity.  So while parked at a traffic light, I could see that he had a better view of the Eiffel Tower than I did and so I asked him to take the photo for me with his iPhone.  This is what he gives me:

This isn’t a joke at all and when I asked him why he took a photo of a Paris traffic light, SPARKY honestly said, “Well it was lit up!”  What’s worse is that I know he’s been to the top of the Eiffel Tour before because I schlepped him up there when I was nine!  HOW IN THE HELL DO YOU MISTAKE THE EIFFEL TOUR?

At least he got the Arc de Triomphe right:

When we arrived at the Avis return area, it was closed and we had quite a difficult time returning the car, but we finally did, only to be nearly locked inside one of the terminals, which was closing for the night.  Then, the hotel’s shuttle was nearly twenty minutes late arriving at the airport and so we didn’t get to sleep until very early Sunday morning because everything had to fit in the suitcases!

After a few hours of sleep, Mother, SPARKY, seven bags, and I boarded the shuttle back to Charles de Gualle.  I got them checked in for their flight, said farewell, hopped the shuttle to Terminal 2G, and flew back to Italy exhausted, 5lbs heavier, hemorrhaging money like never before, and very, very happy!

This trip, more than all the others I’ve ever taken in my life, was probably the most rewarding because for the first time abroad, I wasn’t treated like an American visiting France because I used all of the French I learned over the course of the seven years I spent studying it and surprised not only myself, but SPARKY, Mother and a whole lot of French people, who all said that my accent was perfect (which is good to hear, especially since I spent four years getting that to where it is now).  In all honesty, being told that I had a perfect accent and spoke French beautifully by French citizens was without a doubt the highest compliment I have ever received.

Do I think the trip was worth it?  You bet.  Any regrets?  Yes, I should have gotten the bigger box of macarons at Ladurée and the other pair of Tod’s I tried on.  Would I do it all over again tomorrow?  Oh yes indeed.

Of all the friends I had when we sat around my kitchen table that night and talked about what we were going to do when we turned Twenty-one, I’m now the only one who actually carried it out and being able to say that is something I’ll always cherish.  I wouldn’t call this the trip of a lifetime because I’d already been to Paris before this, but it was certainly my favorite trip I’ve taken because for once, I was able to show my parents something that interests me and introduce them to a part of France they would have otherwise never visited.  Yes, we didn’t go to Spain, but that’s okay, because I don’t remember enough Spanish to get by and while it will be some time before we take another family trip to Europe, we’ll get there eventually, just as long as it comes after we see Asia, which is up next.

Until next time…

-JD

It’s Okay That You Just Ate That Much Food Made With Butter, You’re on Vacation in France… Yeah, Not Ten Days of It: Spring Break in France, Part One

When I arrived in Siena, my Italian roommate, Andrea, told me that everyone goes home weighing at least ten pounds more.  I thought that by maintaining my fruit-filled lifestyle combined with bi/tri-weekly running I would be able to keep this from happening.  Well, it turns out that this freak method worked until I left the Prada Boot and flew to France.  If buttermania herself Paula Deen weren’t such a complete hick/utter embarrassment to America by being a perfect example of why we’re looked down upon as nothing but fat freaks, fluent in  French, and able to probably fit into a normal airplane seat, she’d probably be living in France permanently because it’s got to be the only country in the world in which its citizens use as much butter as she does on a daily basis.  Now, while I’m beginning my first diet (there’s a word I never thought I’d ever have to equate with myself) in an attempt to shed the five pounds I managed to gain in France in only ten days, allow me to tell y’all how Spring Break 2011 went.

So in order to make my 10h10 flight from Florence to Paris, I had to wake up at the LOVELY hour of 4h30 since I’m slow in the morning and because my bus to Florence left at 6h20 (first one of the day), followed by another bus to the airport (longest twenty minutes of my life).  Then, I checked the Italian with the bag and proceeded to spend the next ten days acting as an unpaid translator for Mother and our own Clark W. Griswold (yes, SPARKY came).  Landing at Charles de Gaulle, I rather hoped I’d get to see the stunning Terminal 2E or 2F, but no, instead, I, along with all the other Air France passengers arriving from EU-zone nations that don’t require passport control, were taken to the bizarre-looking Terminal 2G.  To be honest, it looks like a make-shift building that was constructed with the intent to be torn down in a week.  The windows are tinted pink, blue or yellow; it’s just a freaky place.  Oh, and did I mention you have to take a bus to get to the rest of the airport?  Of course, I was actually in a surprisingly good mood considering that I had only managed to get two and a half hours of sleep and just spent nearly six hours getting to Paris.  I was in this surprisingly good mood obviously because I was in Paris!  I was so excited that I nearly screamed when I saw the Arc de Triomphe!  It looks great eleven years after I last saw it.

So Mother had told me that she was thinking about taking a taxi to our hotel, which even our hotel’s concierge said was a stupid thing to do since it would cost at least 65€.  Thankfully, she took my advice and after enjoying the perks of the Air France Arrivals lounge, boarded a «Les Cars-Air France» bus headed to the city.  I arrived a few hours later and met her in front of our absolutely charming hotel.  Instead of going for one of the horribly over-priced hotels like the George V (not that I didn’t want to stay there, but I can wait until I can expense the 1,500€ a night room), we stayed at a little place in the 3rd Arrondissement about which Jean told us called Pavillon de la Reine.  Aside from being in such a charming part of Paris that is separated from the freaky, touristy/overpriced parts of the city, the hotel staff and everyone was just so friendly.  Even the lady at breakfast was so sweet and remembered the way Mother took her coffee after only one day!

So that Friday was spent largely just strolling around the 5th.  Since we’re fast-approaching Easter, all the chocolate stores are displaying some version of eggs, but nothing compared to the stunning window display that Patrick Roger had in his boutiques all over Paris:

Now as if I could pass that up so 7€ later, I was in heaven!  If only all brown eggs could be real egg shells (oops, I ate it) that are filled with chocolate praline!  We also saw the new Hermès near Bon Marché, which I must say is stunning and showcases the Hermès furniture collection so well, but like the Prada in SoHo, you don’t go there to buy anything.  The window display was also quite amazing:

Now imagine having that as a child!  Dinner Friday night wasn’t memorable, but Saturday, oh Saturday.

So, upon realizing that we slept through our alarms and didn’t wake up until 11h13, my first and only instant reaction was to say, «Oh my gosh!  We missed breakfast!» (it’s all about the important things in life)  Thankfully, the hotel sent it up at no extra charge!  So before I explain what happened that day, let me preface this by saying that I sold SPARKY on this trip by promising him that there would be little to no shopping.  Oops!  So I haven’t done any sort of self-indulging that I usually do at least once a month and that hasn’t happened since January and so I was desperate to blow my money and fast and as if my mother’s going to object.  So anyone who knows me well enough knows that I am in love with my light-brown leather Tod’s Brooklyn Moccasins to the point that I have bought a new pair each year for the past four years almost as they only last a year of hell with me.  Well, that was until  they stopped making them and I couldn’t get any new pairs at any of the outlets.  I was so desperate that I even tried to go retail for once!  Alas, my current pair’s time expired in August and they’re barely holding up today.  Well, I didn’t get a new pair of those, but mother (only child, just remember that; also, imagine if I had been the Caroline they were originally hoping for!) got me my first pair of suede shoes.  Sadly, they’re not blue, but they’re a variant of the Chuka shoe, which is favored by polo players (as if I’m one of those bros).  Because of the extreme wear and tear I put on my shoes, I opted for the Brooklyn-style of those as well because it has a rubber sole and lasts a lot longer.

Then, as Jean would say, we went across the street to attend Mass.  Where do we go to pray?  That’s easy, the Hermès flagship store.  Now, this was probably the WORST decision of my life to enter this store considering the forest fire burning in my wallet.  After buying Grace a little something for her birthday (she bought me shoes that say Screw You on them so it’s the least I could do), I bought the one thing I went in knowing I was going to buy, a new bow tie, which is green and just so not something I would ordinarily buy.  Then, I told Mother that I just wanted to LOOK at belts and that there was no way in hell I could justify spending so much money on something that expensive at this time in my life.  Well… the buckle matches my watch band’s buckle and it looked so nice in the display and even nicer around my waist, then the sales lady was so sweet and she and Mother thought it looked so nice on me, and then Mother said the one thing that just sold me, «It’s so gorgeous and you have to get it.»  Thank you, Mother for offering your credit card?  «Oh no, you’re paying for that one.»  I get that it’s outrageous for a parent to spoil a child with an Hermès belt (which I didn’t originally plan to buy), but when the parent goes on about how gorgeous it is, well you kind of expect they’d at least contribute to its purchase.  I’m now paying SPARKY in installments for my 22nd Birthday Present to myself.  I still can’t justify buying it, but I did.  Grace, who never tells me I shouldn’t buy something unless it’s truly hideous, said that I was at the Hermès flagship and that I needed to buy something worthy of saying I got something there.  I love that she can always tell me why it’s okay!  Thankfully, it doesn’t have that big H on it like everyone who just buys that belt because it’s the cheapest one they sell.  You should only buy that one if you don’t take it seriously, which only a few people I know can do.

When we emerged from the cathedral with our wallets much lighter thanks to our very generous confession plate donations, it was pouring down rain, which was unexpected for Saturday.  So, as always, I had to put our purchases’s well-being ahead of my own and get soaked while running to the nearest taxi stand.  We got side-tracked at the best place though, Ladurée.  Since it was pouring down rain and cabs were not available at all, we figured what’s wrong with lunching at 17h0.  However, there was a line to get in and the incompetent moron manning the door refused to extend the awnings so the patrons wouldn’t continue to be soaked to death because, «They’re only for the sun.»  This lead us to buy overpriced umbrellas at the news stand and the following photo to be taken by Mother because it was apparently funny:

Thanks, mommy!  Love you so much!  Y’all can’t see this, but my ENTIRE back was drenched!

Lunch at Ladurée was heavenly!  Mother had the Smoked Salmon Sandwich while I opted for the Ladurée Club Sandwich, which were both out of this world.  That entire meal was such a daze that for one of the few times in my life, I don’t know what I had to eat for dessert!  Don’t worry, though, I didn’t leave empty-handed:

The box went back to America empty.  It was so ornate that I just couldn’t bear to throw it out.  Saturday night was supposed to be spent dining at Les Papilles, a little bistro in the 5th, but there was a slight problem because the new food trend in Paris seems to be having menus that change nightly depending on what’s fresh that day and well, it was the one thing Mother won’t eat: pork.  Saturday night’s dinner was at a little café and again, not memorable.

Sunday, the one day of the week when the stores are closed and we can’t do any more damage.  We began cultural day by going to the most culturally important place in Paris: the flee market!  Unlike normal flee markets, the Paris one is more of a giant antique furniture hub and well, we figured that considering past success (our dining room chandelier) we’ve had there, why not go back.  It was almost depressing to see the limited quality and the high amount of tourist traffic there now.  Apparently, people need to hire guides to take them in search of the perfect antiques.  I guess Mother counts as a guide since she does hold a degree from RISD, but at least I didn’t have to pay her an hourly rate to show me things she’d schlep me to see anyway.  So we left and headed over to the 6th for as about as American of a meal as I will have until May.  Welcome to Ralph’s, the very hyped restaurant opened by Ralph Lauren this past year in his new, breathtaking store on the Boulevard Saint-Germain.  The space was stunning.  So Ralph Lauren, with the paintings and the animal heads and the hints of the English country manner that grace the New York flagship Rhinelander Mansion.  The staff was so attentive and friendly.  Yet, that wasn’t enough to help the food.  It was good, not great, just good.  Personally, I wouldn’t make a special trip to eat there because the food is nothing like that at Lifshitz’s Rugby Café in Georgetown, which is where they make the BEST hamburgers!

We left Ralph Lauren and headed for the Musée d’Orsay, which we prefer so much more than the Louvre, which has just too much to see.  Besides, I’ve seen the Joconde before so no need to wait in that freak crowd to see it again.  Note, if you’re a student studying abroad in Europe, show your Visa/Student ID from your European school and you can get in for free.  Mother had to pay 8€ for herself.  After the museum closed, we ended up across the street at the most surprisingly interesting museum.  It was the Musée de la Légion d’Honneur and I urge everyone to visit it!  First off, it’s free to everyone so no one can complain that it’s too expensive.  Then, in addition to seeing the medals that French Heads of State have had made for them over the centuries (Kings, Napoleon, etc…) but also the hundreds of medals that France has received from the Heads of State of other countries, which was truly fascinating.  Mother and I are both sad we didn’t have time to see the whole museum as they were closing, but it was certainly a highlight of the trip.

So Mother wanted to see some hotel that used to be Napoleon’s brother’s home or something like that and we looked at the map and it looked walkable.  It was the longest mile and a half of my life!  Plus, we ran into Mr. Jefferson:

Look at that pose!

Sunday night brought the best meal of the trip, courtesy of our concierge, Jonathan, an English ex-pat now living in Paris.  He sent us to one of his favorite little places after I explained we didn’t need English menus and he dropped the tacky restaurants that they send tourists.  This restaurant was called Fish la Boissonnerie and it’s located in the 6th.  In keeping with the new movement in food in Paris, it too only offers what’s fresh that day, but it was the best cod I’ve ever had in my entire life.  We couldn’t stop talking about that meal for the rest of the trip!  If you’re going to Paris, TRUST ME ON THIS ONE!  GO!  You will not be disappointed.  Now, I will be disappointed if I can’t get a reservation next time I’m in Paris because of all the publicity I’m giving it, but I’m not too worried.

Monday meant it was our final day in Paris so we started off going to the Galerie Vivienne, which is this neat little arcade that just has boutiques and small cafés.  It was very relaxing to say the least.  I snapped this photo while there:

Then, I saw this:

In case y’all don’t know, Le Grand Colbert is where Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton reconnect at the end of Something’s Gotta Give, which is one of my all-tiem favorite movies!

Following that fun stop, we moved on to lunch at Baccarat’s Cristal Room.  Don’t go for lunch.  The food, aside from being insanely expensive, is too heavy for lunch and much better suited for dinner.  The space, though, is out of this world.  Where there should be ornate portraits now rest empty picture frames that go from floor to ceiling with the bare brick behind them exposed, the Baccarat everything, the attentive staff; don’t get me wrong, it was delicious, but just too rich!  We saw the museum there and then the shop (didn’t buy anything) before doing a marathon shopping dash for Mother.  We celebrated a great trip to Paris by having drinks at George V’s bar and then a visit to the speciality food store, Hédiard.  Dinner was at this fun seafood restaurant two blocks from our hotel named Le bar à Huîtres.  My platter of clams camed was served with dry ice in the middle.  It was so much fun.  Also, they had olive oil that is in a perfume bottle and you spritz it on your food.  That was the highlight of the night, me spritzing my food with olive oil.

That’s all for tonight, but tomorrow, y’all can find out what happened once our trip went from classy to SPARKY in just a matter of hours because our very own Clark Griswold arrived and if he doesn’t look like an American!  Until then…

-JD

Spring Fever Struck Early in Siena, But Not For Me (What a Surprise)

So while out on my run this past Wednesday in the fortezza, it was kind of hard to notice that there were all these extremely sexually active teenagers doing everything but actually having physical sex.  Now I know that American PDA is quite tame when compared with that of the more openly romantic Europeans, but this was on a completely different level!  I saw a couple with the guy seated on a bench and his girlfriend practically in a sex position with her legs locked around his body and their lips not separating for what seemed like hours.  I could see them for a large part of my run around the fortezza (which I circle six times each run) and I only counted two times when they actually “came up for air.”  Then there was this other slightly younger couple that moved around with him always pulling a Justin Bieber hair flip:

On my third loop around the fortezza, this couple was literally dry-humping on the grass!  In total, I believe I counted at least twelve couples out and it’s not even spring yet!  Seriously, this is worse than Rollins, where those kids have spring fever everyday of the year.

Speaking of things that are blossoming, the number of tourists visiting Siena seems to have increased since the start of this month, which I guess is expected since Siena’s famous Palio is in the summer and it’s kind of dead during the winter months.  So inevitably, this means more people following an idiot waving an unopened umbrella in the air being paid more than he/she deserves to take a group of picture-taking obsessive tourists to see where they filmed part of the Quantum of Solace:

This is the same place where 007 drove that gorgeous Aston Martin DBS V12 at the end of that fantastic opening scene:

Anyway, this week coming up includes a midterm and many more phone calls to vineyards in Bordeaux and the Champagne region of France because instead of making reservations to tour the vineyards, our hotel in Bordeaux, a place kind of known only for its wine, has simply suggested we pay 600€ per person to do some over-priced guided tour.  Personally, I’d rather spend 1,800€ on Pétrus, Latour, Mouton, and Haut-Brion instead.  Then in the Champagne region, I’m just trying to see if Krug and Bollinger will be kind enough to even let me in since they don’t mention anything on their websites about tours.  Alors, a bientôt.

-JD

Justin Turned Twenty-One, I Went to a Bull Riding Competition and Andrew Admitted to Enjoying Boston Market… At Least We Get a Fresh Start with Fall

So this week has been very busy.  To begin, I saw Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, and while it’s not the same as the original, I personally enjoyed it.  Yes, Uncle Gordie isn’t as fantastic as he was in the original (I do see him as role model), but the story of Jacob Moore, played by Shia «le Bœuf Bourguignon,» actually showed that there is still loyalty left on Wall Street.  This «let’s root for the optimist who wants to save the world with some new energy solution» idea ended though as soon as Uncle Gordie came back into action.  Oh this man is good!  Anyone who steals $100 million that was left to their daughter in order to get back to the top of the financial ladder is a winner in my book.  I would use this opportunity now to post Grace’s reaction to the movie, but someone got out of going.  It was her loss because the theatre was all conservative white guys who were well-dressed.  In other words, Grace missed meeting husbands two, three, four, five, and six.  Husband number one wasn’t there because well, it was past his bedtime since he’s got to be at least 80 and on oxygen to even be considered.  Interestingly, when alcoholic, drug-addict Charlie Sheen reprised his role of Bud Fox during a cameo appearance at a charity event at the Met, my fellow theatre goers booed Sheen’s character for sending a truly great man to prison for eight years.

By the way, in case anyone is looking for birthday presents for me, the grey check tie that «le Bœuf Bourguignon» wore in one scene; I have to have that tie.  I’m assuming (I may be wrong, but I hope I’m not) that it’s from Hermès, but it’s just so nice.  Also, I know that while no one actually has pocket squares these days, I feel that it’s time to bring them back (hence, I bought one this summer at Century 21) .  In my final summary of Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, I’d like to reiterate what A.O. Scott wrote in his review of the movie for the Times with regard to how Stone portrays Manhattan.  Scott writes that «Manhattan has rarely looked so persuasively gorgeous. Mr. Stone and the director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto, turn the city into a dazzling jewel box — sometimes literally, as when the camera, gliding through a gala soiree, surveys the sparkly, dangly earrings of the women in attendance, alighting finally on the plain and tasteful pearl studs Ms. Mulligan is wearing.»  Personally, I have to agree; the city was shown so beautifully (they even showed a great shot of my favorite building on the park, The St. Urban on 89th and CPW) and did anyone else find it interesting that the office where Jake Moore works is across the street from the infamous Lipstick building; you know, the same building where Bernie had his offices?

Moving along, so as y’all know, Grace, Annie and I saw Easy A on Thursday.  It was strange.  Personally, I thought it was too over-the-top fictional.  I mean, let’s be honest, no one is going to pick a girl up for a date in a John Deer.  Everyone else with whom I’ve spoken regarding this film had nothing but praise for it, and while it was funny, I just got bored pretty quickly.  Interesting note, this was the first movie in a while in which Stanley Tucci did not sport the turquoise ring he usually does in his movies.  I actually found the scenes with Tucci and Patricia Clarkson were the most entertaining people in the movie because of their great chemistry and hysterical lines.

On Saturday, Grace, Annie, Sarah, and I tailgated before and during the UVa-VMI game, which we won, with fried chicken, ham biscuits, and a wedge of brie, because that’s Grace’s new cheese apparently.  It was so hot hat I had to keep my linen blazer on simply to hide the sweat on my back (lovely mental image, I know).  Meanwhile, Grace and I are standing there watching the game and two rednecks ask what is with the formal dress.  Now, having been brought up/self-taught to NEVER acknowledge crazy people simply because there’s a good chance they will either kill you, rape you, hold you for ransom, or ask you twenty questions in hick.  We got stuck with the hick questions.  Grace, who was raised the opposite way and ALWAYS opens up to anyone within earshot, begins explaining the traditions of UVa to which hick one responds «so it’s the corperations takin’ over the sckool.»  Well Grace then continues when this clearly 35 and ready to get with a college girl moron asks where the action is going to be later in the evening before eventually offering him a sip of whiskey from her flask.  THEN and ONLY THEN does she realize that hick one and hick two are psychopaths and that we need to get the hell out of there.  I meanwhile, am just trying to not get shot.  Worse, they had chewing tobacco, which is probably the lowest one can get.  After we bid adieu to hicks from Texas, by way of Virginia Beach, Grace then claims she talked to the hillbillies and offered them some of her Jack Daniels because she thought it would make them a bit more normal.  Yeah, I’m never taking her on a subway.  Grace, the lesson I hope you learned from this experience is that if someone looks a bit awkward, avoid eye contact, feign deafness, give a one-word response and then burry your head in your iPhone/BlackBerry, or simply walk away.

That evening, the four of us then headed to the Professional Bull Riders Charlottesville Invitational.  This is not a joke, and I have photos and a video to prove that I was there.  But, before we get inside, the cheap seats are gone so while deciding if it’s worth paying $40 a ticket to see some morons ride a bull, this soldier just walks up to us and gives us three tickets and won’t even let us pay him for them.  It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done.  We don’t know who you were, but thank you.  This place was such a freakshow that I took quite a few photos, and two videos, which I’ll post later this week (as soon as I figure out how iMovie on my iPod Touch works).

So following the bull riding competition, the girls decided that we should go to a bar.  It was unlike any bar I’ve ever been to before.  Instead of civilized behavior, it was a sea of alcoholics, which is always nice until some idiot decides to knock over a pitcher of beer (which I don’t drink because I find the taste revolting) and have it land close to you so that it spills all over you.  It was a lovely end to the day.

So Andrew finally wore his Hunter boots for the first time, despite buying them months ago.  I wore mine as well today because of the rain.  Even more interesting than that is that Andrew, who has eaten some of the finest food in the world, actually loves the fine cuisine of Boston Market.  Personally, I like my rotisserie chickens to come from Costco.  Andrew and I also realized something today as we walked the grounds of our respective schools: people wear sandals, particularly Rainbows (which I own a pair) during the rain.  Why would someone in their right mind wear a pair of sandals in the rain?  He can’t answer this, I can’t answer this; we’re completely at a loss for an explanation.  Here’s my real question: who wants to have brown feet?

Going back to the Hunter boots for a second, I have to just say that whenever I wear them, people look at me as though I’m diseased; what, it’s okay for women to wear boots in the rain but if a guy does it, I’m being looked at as if I committed some sort of crime?  Here’s the deal, I payed more than I probably should have for my shoes and since they have no insulation whatsoever and are made of leather, there is no way in hell that I’m going to wear them in the rain because not only do I want them to get one step closer to being ruined partly because they don’t currently produce the style of shoe I have, but because I don’t want my foot to get soaking wet and turn brown.  So if anyone throws me one of those damn   looks again for wearing boots, let’s just say that bad things might happen.

So Justin finally turned twenty-one on Sunday.  Since I can’t legally buy him alcohol, I instead sent him  a check so that he could buy himself the bottle of Hendrick’s Gin that he wanted for himself.  Justin also mentioned to me that he has peppermint soap.  Don’t ask how this was brought up, but he added that it has a numbing effect on certain areas (I wasn’t supposed to write that, but I couldn’t help myself).

Interestingly, did anyone know that in France, the two animals that are considered to be emotional support animals are a dog and a monkey.  That’s right, a monkey is an emotional support animal.  Jean told me this because Lily, her emotional support animal, is to travel to France with her in November, however she must first obtain approval because a cat has been replaced by a monkey on the list of what is an approved animal by the French government.  Honestly, this is absurd even for the French.  In  a semi-related story, I was informed this weekend that Annie’s new favorite obsession, Sasquatch porn, has been added to Urbandictionary.com by Annie herself.  If you too fear that your computer will attract this fetish by simply clicking the above link, here is the definition she posted:

Kinky pornographic material that involves a girl (or boy) venturing into the forest in search of the mysterious hair covered mongoloid, and they do it in the forest.

Isn’t that just lovely?

In addition to everything else bizarre that happened this past week, I had to venture into uncharted territory in my grocery store as well when I had to purchase a Swiffer.  I should have taken a photo to explain why I had such an issue with buying this thing because they give you so many choices and accessories that you simply don’t know what it is you need to buy.  Even better, I’m standing there with about four other guys I’ve never met, but in the same predicament as I was, just staring at this section of the cleaning aisle with no clue in hell.  No one knew what to do and for about twenty minutes, we just stood in silence staring until one guy cracked and called his girlfriend for help; she was no help to us because she told her boyfriend to forget about it and that she’d do it for him.  Thanks a lot!  Finally, I gave in and called my mother to see what I needed to buy.  In my defense, I’ve never purchased one of these before and I almost never go down the cleaning aisle in a grocery store.

On Monday evening, I went to see my friend, Sydney, at her dorm, which is the Italian House on grounds to make pasta, hence I didn’t get to post last night.  It was fun and I cooked the pasta last night as well and while it didn’t taste as good as the stuff in the box does, it wasn’t half bad.  Then the building’s fire alarm went off and I was stuck outside in a drizzle for twenty minutes while the fire department took forever to get here and then search the building.  On a positive note, I met my neighbors and they seem nice!  Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to meet the sex maniac who lives above me.  Last week, Cialis, as I call him/her, got it own four times in less than six hours.  I know this because the bed makes noises every time.  I’ve decided that the next time Cialis decides to «get it on» with four different people (you can hear the door open and close), I’m going to knock on Cialis’s door with a borrowed copy of the Bible and a rosary and just say that Jesus is watching.  I’m also going to suggest that Cialis take his/her anger out in a way that doesn’t involve him/her banging on the floor when walking, because it’s getting beyond annoying.

Well, as y’all can see, it’s been a busy week and while this one is going to be busy as well, it’s going to be mostly academics, so until next time…

-JD

Her Name may have been Destiny, but it wasn’t her Destiny to be a Waitress!

More on that title later because y’all, I have some news that is bigger than me leaving Rollins and transferring to UVa.  After patient waiting on my part, I received word on Friday that I managed to get the internship for which I interviewed back in the beginning of the month.  I’ll be working for my bible, New York Magazine and therefore living in New York (at a yet to be decided residence).  Andrew might have been happier than I was simply because every day following the interview, he started every conversation we had with “Did they call you yet?” so this should be an interesting summer since he’ll be in the city as well.  Now that I’m done gloating, let’s move on to more important things, like this week’s title.

So following a really boring week, I began my Memorial Day weekend by having brunch with Grace’s sister, Annie, and her friend, Claire at the home away from home for Grace and me: Baker’s!  Enter our waitress, Destiny.  First of all, she was a little… stupid because she got the orders wrong (and we’re all such regulars at Baker’s that this never happens) and then she laughed it off as if it was funny (it wasn’t and Annie and I were kind of hungry, while Claire was still full from her midnight binge).  Now enter the lady seated next to us.  First off, she thought that Annie and Claire were sisters (they look nothing alike) and then started to tell us about the “wonderful” service her church puts on after seeing Annie do the dancing while seated move.  Our sweet, little old lady then left her to go container filled with the remnants of her club sandwich, only to return twenty minutes later mentioning something about how it was “destiny” that Destiny had been her waitress…  I’m just as confused.

So Saturday night, mother and I watched Pirate Radio (also released as The Boat That Rocked) on the Apple TV while Satan’s mistress, Larry, slept soundly with the Buddy and The Wall Street Journal resting comfortably in his lap.  This, by the way, followed two hours of watching trailers to decide on the movie we were to watch.  While Grace told me that she did not like it at all, mother and I thought it was good (yes, I know how sad it is that I spent Saturday night in bed with my mother watching a movie while Darth Vador’s love child slept like a baby on the chaise lounge) and Justin told me it was good when he saw it in theatres back in October or November when it came it out.  Justin, you were right because you said I’d like it and I did!  Y’all need to see it because it’s just funny and the music was wonderful.

Sunday was just as exciting: I did laundry and tried to understand why I might not be able to go to France for second semester, as originally planned.  I’ll figure out a loophole.  I also spent all day Sunday doing what all nerds do, watching the History Channel and the all-day marathon of their fantastic series, America: The Story of Us.  It was so well done; I just loved watching every minute of the whole thing and I’m so thankful that they re-ran the whole thing because I missed a few episodes due to traveling.  Then today, I celebrated my Memorial Day with the two who amazingly produced moi at our club (that sounds SO pretentious) surrounded by all of these children who seem to have ZERO manners and etiquette on account of no actual parenting on the part of the parents of these heathens.  Apparently, having parent-child relationships these days means that parents have to be friends with their children and it’s wrong to yell at them anymore.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  Well, if you, the retarded parents of America, won’t tell your children that they’re acting inappropriately, not only do I plan to tell them, I look forward to telling y’all that YOU NEED TO GROW A PAIR AND LEARN TO CONTROL YOUR CHILDREN!  Frankly, I miss the good old days when children knew their place and had manners and were silent!  Unfortunately, that wonderful calmness has been replaced by a bunch of idiot parents who rejected tradition back in the 60s and 70s and have since never learned how to properly deal with children.  I’m actually not sorry if this offends anyone because you’re supposed to be a parent, NOT THEIR FRIEND!

Following that dinner, I went to see my friends Russell and Hannah (Russannah or Hannell?) and that was fun.  We watched an episode of Good Eats (I still prefer the 17h0-18h30 shows that include Ina (the only one I watch for the recipes), the Neelys and Miss Paula!), in addition to a lot of catching up.  It  was great seeing them and hopefully, I’ll get see them on Friday for Annie’s graduation (we know a lot of people graduating this year).

Andrew has been busy all week so we haven’t spoken much but that’ll change once I get up to New York.  Plus, I’m completely blanking on what we talked about when we did speak.  Justin has been promoted from last summer at the grocery store at which he’s working.  He’s gone from cashier to butcher so a huge mazel to him for that.  I told him it’ll be great for him because he can learn the sadly dying art of charcuterie, which I believe is the art of salting and prepping meats for sale so that they last longer.  While that sounds like some unimpressive vocation, it’s actually quite impressive to people who care a great deal about food.  Sadly, Justin says he won’t be learning any fine techniques.  Anyway, I hope to visit him and buy some steaks (and he better get me a good price!).  In Lisa news, my little bubbula is has been hard at work already at the C-Ville Magazine and watching the movie Up on her computer.  I never saw it but everyone loved it.  I’d write more about what she does but I honestly can’t remember what she told me she did.  I know that last Monday, the power was out and she couldn’t work but that’s all I remember.  She’s also working at her regular job at UVa’s library so she’s clearly the worker bee of the group.  I can already see her having more money than all of us one day.  She’s also begun to write her own novel that will someday be the next big “tween” thing to read.

Since my last post, Grace could only come up with this: she wants to buy a mule and then she and I are going to celebrate her sister’s graduation by going to see Get Him to the Greek, which looks beyond funny.  This will be after we visit this local pawn shop that has the worst ads on television.  It’s called Greenbrier Pawn and the owner, Jeff Craddock, does these ads wearing the same Ralph Lauren oxford (you pick the color but in case anyone is looking for a good gift idea, I’m a slim-fit, custom-fit medium) every time to talk about how they buy gold, old or broken.  He used to talk about his fine selection of Rolex and Cartier watches before tooting his horn about buying broken gold and after all these years of watching the same bad ads, I think it’s time I see what his deal is so I told Grace that since we can’t see Loni Love due to me having to move to New York this weekend, we’re going to this freak pawn shop instead.  Sadly enough, she’s agreed to come.  I plan to take my camera with me so that I can photograph our epic journey to this holy grail of tsatskies.

Well, I’m off to bed because mother and I are driving to Charlottesville for the day to look at more apartments, so until next time…

-JD