It's the armpit baguette for me
how Paris lives up to the stereotype & my spin on a classic french dish
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The humble or not so humble, baguette
The city streets are quiet. It’s Sunday and the neighborhood sleeps, taking soft breaths as it exhales the previous night’s cocktails and cigarette smoke. The sighs billow into the sky, creating a grey palate that’s typical of this time of year. It’s half past noon and the bar just below our apartment is dotted with locals whose heads turn as we make our way to the bar. “Cafe Americano,” I say with a smirking gesture to help solidify the irony of being American and ordering an Americano. My fear of speaking in Paris to Parisians is quite evident. I think to myself, how long can I keep up this game of not speaking any real words out loud…I answer to myself, I hope very long.
We take a seat outside next to a young man who sits with an empty coffee cup, the newspaper, and a hand rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. Our coffees arrive, pipping hot and promising a slight reprieve from the too many glasses of last night’s house wine. The man next to us closes the newspaper and just as he does so, his coffee cup is swapped out for a tall lager. A very respectable and timely choice as we creep into the early afternoon, a choice I think I’ll be making soon enough. With coffee running through our veins and through a series of hand gestures, we pay our bill and begin our day in Paris by foot.
To the brocante (second hand/vintage) market we go. Along the way we stop to awe at the buildings, the wrought iron balconies swirled with delicate designs that boldly stand out against the cream colored buildings. The pop-up market stretches across the 3rd arrondissement and lines most of the streets surrounding the area. Full of beautiful vintage clothes, furniture, paintings, art work, jewelry…the list rambles on. The memory of the tall lager dances into my mind and I’m reminded it’s about lunch time and we’re conveniently right by the market.
Marche des Enfants Rouges, one of the oldest food markets in Paris, dates back to 1615 and houses some of the most wonderful food stalls. From Lebanese dishes to Moroccan tagines to laid back versions of French cuisine and even wood oven pizzas, the market is buzzing with fantastic bites. As you snake your way through the narrow alley ways, the choice for eating is yours, and not an easy one as the smells and food on the plates of hungry diners entice you, willing you to sit down and dive in.
After a quick loop of plate watching, we decide a bowl of onion soup is what we need to warm us up. And when in France right? We take a seat at the bar. Our elbows rubbing against our fellow diners next to us, who seemed to have the same idea, onion soup. But on our left is a smaller patron, aged 6 or 7. His parents and their friends are cheerily passing around a bottle of natural wine, enjoying their Sunday as anyone without children would do. The server comes around to the boy and places a large platter in front of him. A huge bowl of mussels, bread for dunking, and a bowl to put his empty shells in. She returns with a glass bottle of coca-cola, ice in a glass, and a lemon wedge. It takes all of me to pick my jaw back up off the ground as I think to myself, now this kid knows what he’s doing. I watch him as he expertly uses the mussel’s shell as his tool to grab the perfectly cooked, plump, and wine soaked mussels from their shells. Clank, the empty shells fall clumsily into the bowl. He smiles, gluttonously, as he pops each mussel into his mouth, taking a break to mop up the buttery white wine sauce that pools at the bottom of the bowl. To be a kid in Paris, I think, must mean to know and eat food well. I take a sip of my orange wine and silently thank my parents for giving me this same experience and relationship with food when I was a kid. A relationship that has allowed me to try anything once and to eat mussels with white wine when you want, wherever you want it.
Onward we go, warmed and fueled by a French classic and a half a baguette pumping through our systems. Our mission throughout the afternoon is only to walk through the city taking in its beauty and monuments, stopping where and when we please. As we walk it becomes more and more evident that we’re missing one thing that makes us stick out like sore thumbs (if that wasn’t already the case up until this point). What’s missing is the lack of an armpit baguette.
Everywhere we turn there’s someone with a baguette, tucked sweetly between their arm and body, strolling home or wherever they might be off to snack on said baguette. As the day continues on, it becomes almost silly? Is this really happening, Max and I look at each other with the same thought. Another person flies by with an armpit baguette and we’re damn near floored. The humble baguette is now just showing off. Like a humble brag, the baguette remains expertly tucked away, each person floating around the city’s streets flaunting its crisp and pointed end. We look at each other, it’s time we get involved.
With a baguette in armpit, we make our way towards the Eiffel Tower. It’s still a magical sight to see when it pops out around each corner. I’m always in awe at how beautiful the city is and then the Eiffel Tower appears and it’s like a magic show. It’s the same feeling I have when I’m in Rome and we wiz past the colosseum at night (or any city with moments so recognizable). I’m reminded that people have the same feeling about my home city, New York City. It’s a beautiful thing and something we should remember, respect, and protect when visiting any city, big or small.
The following day we start off the same way as the day before. Coffee in our local bar and walking shoes rearing to go. Before coffee, I decided to pick up sandwiches from a local shop before the lunch rush hit. Chez Aline on Rue de la Roquette. I asked the woman to make me whatever she liked and we ended up with two baguette filled sandwiches. One filled with ham, Saint-Nectaire cheese, and butter and another with ham, pesto, and goat cheese. There really aren’t enough words to describe how incredible this sandwich was. No sandwich will ever live up to this and to top it off, the sun was shining in Paris. We found a sunny spot along the canal and tucked into the perfectly stuffed baguettes. What more can you ask for from a day in Paris? But that was just the beginning.
We made our way by walk to Montmartre. Soaking in the sun, catching up, and admiring the city streets of Paris. As we climbed the steps to Montmartre, I remembered a hidden hotel and restaurant at the top. A treat waiting for us as the stairs got steeper and steeper. They say happiness comes in all forms, but I’m pretty sure it’s baked into the soufflé at the Hôtel Particulier. A five suite boutique hotel, tucked within a secret garden in the Montmartre neighborhood. We arrived for their tea time, but of course I swapped the tea for a glass of wine. A baguette for lunch and a chocolate soufflé for an afternoon dessert? Who am I? Whoever she is, I’ll keep her. As the sun crept away and we said goodbye to our secret garden, we caught a glimpse of the Eiffel tower we hadn’t seen when we arrived. It was a beautiful little nod to this special afternoon.
You see, this trip was a special one. Max and I had been planning a trip like this since last year when we were supposed to travel to Florence together but my passport was detained (least we all forget). We go way back and know each other through Max’s brother, Zach. If you had the pleasure of knowing or meeting Zach, you’d know that he was one of the most special and warm hearted people to be around. An infectious laugh, an excitement for travel, life and helping others, and overall, a real party starter (queue his dance moves and standout outfits - the purple crocodile skin shoes, anyone?). Zach and I met while studying abroad in Florence and like almost every American studying abroad, after 5 months, I boarded the plane back to America madly in love with a boy from Boston and 15 pounds heavier (thanks to the pizza, pasta, and endless drinks). Zach was my first love and I’m forever grateful for the time we spent together when he was here. He taught me things like not taking yourself too seriously but serious enough when necessary, settings goals and chasing dreams, and above all being kind when no one else is looking. It’s been almost 7 years since Zach’s been gone (I’m not sure where time has gone), but I’m lucky enough to feel his presence and to walk through life knowing I knew and loved him. He gave me great friendship not only through himself, but through his whole family. And that, my friends, is something to hold onto. Santé, to many more trips like these.
La vie est belle, life is beautiful.
Mussels a la bourguignonne
Because I don’t have access to snails (I could hunt down tinned snails but who has the time), I thought, let’s recreate the classic escargot but with mussels or clams (shout out to the kid at the bar in Paris). The same principle and classic method applies. But swap the snails with clams and voilà! Now, my sincerest apologies to my French friends for swapping and breaking rules because I’d love to have my hands on some real escargot. But, I also figure this might be the more approachable recipe for this space as most of you have access to clams. So here we go, mussels a la bourguignonne.
Serves 2
Ingredients
2 lbs of mussels or clams (cleaned)
1/2 shallot, finely diced
3 tbsps of fresh parsley, finely chopped
1 clove of garlic, finely diced or left whole for those who don’t want garlic breath
1 stick of unsalted butter (1/2 cup)
1/2 cup of white wine
salt and pepper to taste
Method
In a pot, heat the butter over low heat. Add the shallots and the garlic and cook until the shallots are soft and translucent. Add the mussels and turn up the heat, give the pot a shake. Add the white white and cook off quickly before adding the lid. Allow the mussels to open - it will happen in about 5-8 minutes. Turn off the heat once the mussels are opened, sprinkle over parsley, and serve with a baguette. Bon appétit.
Until next time at a standing reservation…
With love & snacks,
Paige
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Need a happy moment?
Shout out to my good friend Jen for making last week’s recipe and sending me her masterpiece! She swapped the salmon for shrimp and rice for noodles and it looks incredible - so proud of these little recipes and this community for sticking with me, cooking with me, and sharing this standing reservation with me! If you make any of the recipes, please please please send me your final dishes, they make my day.
This was a beautiful reminder of so many people and places I’ve loved:) And it made me crave the mussels and I’m making them tonight! Bon Appetite