“I am screwed”, I’m thinking. Ok, I’ve been living here for a few years now, and I should know better, but I fell for the oldest trick in the book. A week or so ago, I invited a few friends and acquaintances over for dinner. One of them, who is French, has always been a bit scornful of me, from my lack of complete fluency…
Although not Michelin-starred, one of my favorite restaurants in Paris is Les Papilles. I have to admit that I rarely go there, since it’s equally far from any métro station, and I don’t make it over to that part of town very often. But when a friend called me about having a leisurely Saturday lunch, I jumped at the opportunity to revisit the restaurant. A…
I was trying to avoid commenting on the Michelin flap in San Francisco, where stars were recently bestowed on a precious few restaurants there. Since I no longer live in San Francisco, I can’t really comment on their recommendation (except for Manresa, which I did manage to eat at, and was excellent, stars or no stars.) I’ve eaten at several two- and three-star restaurants here…
When I take folks into épiceries in Paris, I invariably drag them to the honey aisle. I start explaining how the French love honey, and buy it based on what varietal it is…rather than just stopping in the supermarket and picking up a jar of that vaguely interesting looking syrup that you know is going to leave an annoying sticky ring from the bottom of…
I always thought it would be fun to have friends who were celebrities. I mean, wouldn’t it be fun to just pick up the phone, and have conversations like… “Hey Uma, wanna head out and get a bite to eat?” “Gee Mariah, I am just too dead-tired to stay home and watch Glitter again.” “Babysit again, Katie? But you know how Tom feels about leaving…
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