When I went to get the chicken to make my bisteeya, I wanted to follow the recipe to a T. So I went to the butcher to get a precise amount of chicken in grams. Since I wasn’t sure what one chicken thigh weighed, I took a guess that I might need 3 or 4 thighs. Judging from the reactions I get when ordering things by weight, they don’t get a lot of recipe-testers or cookbook authors shopping at my butcher shop. When the butcher put the poulet fermier thighs on the scale to show me, I wavered, thinking that the quantity looked a bit stingy and perhaps I should get a few extra. Then I started thinking (which often gets me into extra-trouble), “Well, since I’m here, I may as well get a few more.”
Results tagged pigeon from David Lebovitz
Uncharacteristically, I’ll spare you the specifics, but I need to catch up on about 147 hours of sleep. And while we’re at it, I could use a hug. And since the former isn’t necessarily easy to come by here, as is the latter, I was embrassé by dinner at Alain Ducasse restaurant. While it’s been tempting to remove the “sweet life” byline from my header until things return to normal, since one of the sweeter sides of Paris is an occasional foray into fine dining, I dusted off my lone, non-dusty outfit, and rode the métro to a swankier part of town.
When I was in Monaco and I went to visit the chefs and the kitchen at Alain Ducasse’s restaurant, Louis XV, the pastry chef asked if I could possibly stay and taste their lovely desserts. Unfortunately I had to catch a ride back to Paris because I didn’t want to miss, well..nothing – I couldn’t stay. Then a few weeks later, a lovely invitation to his Paris restaurant arrived in my mailbox and I cleaned myself up, then headed into the aquarium.
Spring in Paris is truly a glorious time.
Even though this winter was relatively mild, it’s nice to peel off the wool scarves and mittens that we’ve all been bundling ourselves up in to ward off the damp, chilly air and start packing them away.
Deep-scarlet strawberries start appearing at the market and cafés waiters across the city slide extra seats outside as all of Paris starts to stir from its winter hibernation.
Unfortunately, that includes the pigeons too.
Those wicked beasts that coo outside our windows, who wake us up at the crack of down with their incessant warbling on windowsills and ledges everywhere. They soil and permanently damage all of the magnificent churches and monuments of Paris. And like the rest of the city, I suppose, they’re celebrating spring by enjoying more time outdoors socializing with their friends.
But unlike (most) civilized Parisians, they don’t care where they let loose.
During this week and the next few, they’re poised high up in the trees, causing much fear of being the recipient of their crotté droppings. (And whatever they’re eating doesn’t seem to be agreeing with them.) It seems to be pretty well-known amongst the locals to avoid standing under trees at all costs, but I’ve seen plenty of unsuspecting tourists and a few newcomers get nailed by those feathered foul lurking above.
Consider yourself warned.
And sorry about the icky picture. But if I have to see it, then so do you.)