u m a m i

The NY Diaries Part I

Day 1: Saturday 9 May 2008

Paris is hot and sunny. Load suitcase into car. Drive to Boulangerie Poujaran/Secco, 20 rue Nicot to get madeleines for Robyn. Long line at the boulangerie. Everyone dives like lemmings when they bring out a tray of warm croissants-flaky and too buttery. Madeleines get packed in a Filipino salt cracker box, tied with ribbon and snugged into special nook in valise.

Earrings set off metal detectors. Hands scanned for explosive powder. French man had in his carryon luggage toiletry case containing humongous bottles of perfume, aftershave, lotions plus a nosehair clipper. Hello which mountain did he sortir from?

At the 'best of France' shop, consider buying the crystal studded pooch harness. 150 euros, the equivalent of 20 fresh rabbits. Erm, no thanks. How about 80 euro shoulder massages? Relax. things will be cheaper in US. Repeat to self, over and over.

            

Flight arrived 3.35 pm. Wait for the sisters and cousin in the lobby of his apartment building. Hesitate before greeting each other. Me a little sulky after waiting 40 minutes, and everyone else controlling their surprise at the first sight of my very big newly-permed hair.

Cousin's apartment overlooks a big field where people play ballgames. Don't know what games though. The two white cranes in the upper left quadrant is where Ground Zero is. Beyond the skyscrapers is the sea.

Dinner at Prune. I am the clever one, booked 3 weeks ago. They actually called my Paris number the day before to reconfirm the reservation. Small and aggressively hip but have no fear, I am wearing silver spangled Repetto flats! Parmesan omelet outstanding. Fiddlehead ferns a novelty, never again to be honest, too glue-y. Fried veal sweetbreads with caper sauce excellent. Further details hazy but overall a fun dinner.

Day 2: Sunday 10 May 2008

Wake up 6 a.m. Check out 24 hr convenience store (meanwhile husband in Paris laments that because of long weekend many restaurants are closed), stock up on tea, juice and mik.

Eat madeleines. Eat one banana. Drink milky tea. Exit apartment.

Navigate subway system. Painfully.

Exit subway, bumble along Madison Avenue until we locate Sarabeth's East for Sunday brunch.  Sucky service, ginormous portions, average food.  Real maple syrup should run, not sit recalcitrantly in plastic tubs. Waffles sprinkled with old raisins is too pathetic. Big thumbs down. And they didn't want people to take pictures of their lousy food....

Central Park. The Frick Collection. Since I am not a steel magnate I buy a postcard copy of my favourite painting of Sir Thomas More by Holbein, only 1 USD.   

Ferry to Staten Island. It's FREE. View Statue of Liberty through grimy rain-slicked windows. Back on the Manhatten end of the ferry terminal, I buy a Jamaican pie at the refreshment stand. It has rubber casing and an oddly tasty spicy meat filling. Sisters  horrified by radioactive glow emanating from it.

Met cousin at Blue Ribbon Sushi near Houston St (pronounced How-stone). Hugely popular, casual and noisy. Fish very fresh. Uni test: pass.

               

Day 3: Monday 11 May 2008

The day we ate too much

Wake up early again. Try to make sense of the maps. Give up.

Drink tea and juices. Eat butter cookies leftover from AirFrance flight.

First stop is nearby- Century 21 is the place to find a bargain as everyone tells me. The walk though, seems forever because it is raining hard and my expensive high-tech ultra-lightweight Japanese umbrella crumpled piteously at the very first NY gust. When we finally made it there, C is hungry so we exit the store to find some food. Into randomly chosen Roxy Food Shop on 20 John St along the next block.

Roxy fulfils all the criteria for what my sisters and I romantically imagine as the typical American coffeeshop/diner. Not tricked up with too much chrome, shiny leather and jukeboxes. More stark lighting, linoleum and emanating strong proletariat vibes. With handy coatstands attached to each banquette no less. Their menu has all the expected omelets, sandwiches and platters of meat-with-token vegetables but everytime I find myself in such a setting, I only want lots of bland watery coffee and corned beef hash with toast and jelly.

               

And that's what I order. Should have ordered rye toast instead of plain though. Hash very yummy. Potatoes underseasoned. The waitress, cook and other customers eye the three of us with open curiosity, and maybe some awe too, as they witness our two pint-sized sisters devouring pan muffins.

             

The muffins are soft, fluffy and moist with very tender crumb. With no discernible baking powder feel on the tongue. What goes into them F asked. Buttermilk? Cream? Don't know he says, it comes pre-mixed. Mysterious...

Pit stop at Century 21. Socks for the sisters. Kiddie clothes for V and the niece.

Onwards to Momofuku Ssam Bar for lunch even though we are not hungry. Still, totally awesome food. If I live here I would come often. Their version of samgyupsal is different from what I ate in Seoul but still incredibly delicious, love the clam-XO sauce condiment it is served with. Fluke with sour cherries and olive oil also impresses. So does roast cauliflower dressed with fish sauce and spices. Steamed pork buns let the side down but redeemed by accompanying pickles.

Shopping. Lots of shopping once past Greenwich Village and into Houston and Bleeker St. We get trapped in Bleeker the rest of the afternoon. It's a long street, every store is different. Vintage clothing, small boutiques, cult stores, high chain fashion names interspersed with even more eating opportunities: Jewish bakery for cookies, Rocco's for more cookies in fennel and liquorice flavours this time and why not a cannoli piped with sweet cream on the spot? Grom gelato. Between us we sample many flavours, the all-round favourite is cassata. Creamy with a hint of iciness, laced with sweet liquor and studded with colourful fruity bits. We get so full just from grazing and have to forego Magnolia Bakery cupcakes and red velvet cake at Amy's Bread.

7.30 p.m. Oops we have dinner appointment with Robyn at El Castillo De Jagua at 113 Rivington St. Say goodbye to Bleeker St and promise to come tomorrow for breakfast. Decide the subway is too complicated and hail a yellow cab instead. Robyn has brought her friends along: Kathy of A Passion for Food and Olivia of olivia abtahi.com. We exchange madeleines for MORE cookies. I confess to Robyn that we have eaten way too much already so she wouldn't think me a spoil sport. Seafood soup, just the thing. My fried sweet plantains remind me of bananas. I prefer the salty version that Olivia let me try.

                   

Stagger out of restaurant. Thought we were done for the evening. But Kathy keeps urging us to try the all-American dessert we have never heard of, its name is Banana Pudding. One of the best can be found just across the road at Sugar Sweet Sunshine she continues to tantalise us. Oh hell, why not? We have already crossed the point of no return way back in the afternoon, giving in to all the baked goods temptation, what's one more? Or two? The bakery-cafe is crowded, we squeeze ourselves into a tiny table and order a banana pudding as well as a baby cheesecake. The pudding has banana pudding matter, whipped cream, wafers and chopped bananas. Creamy with soft crunchy bits though I wish they put more bananas inside. A bit too rich even between the four of us but who is to say, if we live in NY maybe we will build up our endurance. The cheesecake on the other hand, is super, we finish that at lightning speed. The staff asks if we are Malaysians, she is one herself she admits, and had noticed our accents right from the beginning. We chit chat with cousin a bit more until the bossy owner kicked everyone out- it's closing time she said, and her face looks so fierce nobody wants to mess with her. On way home, our cab passes How-stone St again. We are fated to cross it again and again.   

Youlin, Paris

               

I am finally feeling more human-like. No more falling asleep in the middle of the day and drifting in a semi-comatose state, and the throat is much better too I might just munch on some potato chips in front of the telly tonight.

While the NY pictures go through the Photoshop processor, let me share our latest favourite restaurant. Youlin is a French-Japanese izakaya place located a short spit away from Sorbonne along 3 rue Valette in the 5th arrondissement. T: 01 43 26 05 32. Sui Mai sent me the address just before she left Paris. It is a very small restaurant, with counter seating and tables enough for 20 people max, with a good part of the space taken up by a respectable selection of Japanese beers, sakes, sochus and liquors. The wine list though will not present any bargains and there aren't any wines served by the glass. Best to stick with the umeshus and sakes which goes very well with the food anyway.

A long blackboard along one wall lists the rather short menu of "small plates"dishes, and there is an omakase (chef selection) option of 3 amuses, an appetiser and 2 small plates for the bargain price of 21 euros. The kind pricing is a great incentive to try almost everything. Between my menu and husband's selections of the small plates we managed to sample almost 70% of their dishes most of which were very good to excellent

               

The style is unlike typical Japanese izakaya, nothing as simple as pork stews or fried oysters, no mam here the food is more refined, marrying classical French techniques with striking Japanese influences for example clam sashimi with tomato coulis and yuzu oil.

               

Juicy fat scallops sweet and seared, served in a pool of sauce with truffle flecks and edamame beans. On top of delicious and cute 'gnocchi' made with rice. And I was so worried that their "Italian style" would mean a dollop of mystery ratatouille. 

             

Or a fatty piece of pork rib grilled and dusted with a very unusual ingredient of szechuan peppercorn. Just enough to make the tongue tingle without the spiciness. Oishiii! Other excellent dishes included a cauliflower soup served cold in a glass and dorade (fish of the day) where the beautifully cooked cabbage stole the spotlight. 

There was only one dish that I couldn't bear to eat. A cold pressed terrine of vegetables served with untampered kewpie mayonnaise was very cold and tasteless on its own and was made more nasty when dabbed with the kewpie. It was in the omakase menu which changes weekly so hopefully it won't be included in the next roster.

It would make a nice end if they had some kind of rice or noodle dish. The handsome young man at the bar who was taking orders explained that other diners had expressed the very same thing so by the next visit maybe we'll see what the talented chef can come up with. I also noticed on their website that they have started serving lunch.   

            

Desserts included a white chocolate mousse layered confection with red fruits that had won the chef a prize in 2006. I don't like white chocolate and while I was not converted by this dish, it was pleasant enough especially accompanied by the candied citrus slice.

            

The mille-feuille won me over completely. What it lacked in layers and thinness, being more of a sandwich really, it made up for in matching perfectly the flakey, light-as-a-feather pastry with a silky fruit custard filling. And they have good tea to go with desserts too, another reason to love them.

It's only a matter of time before this place becomes too popular so don't wait any further. Just go. 

We are a Typepad Featured Blog!

New York was just fabulous, I am so infected with NY everything I think I'll watch all the 6 seasons of SATC again. We ate A LOT, even taking into account a terrible sore throat which came over me three days ago and ruled out eating too much spicy or deep fried foods with crispy surfaces.

When I swallow, it feels like my tonsils have been slashed all the way to the inner ears so right now eating has been quite impossible. Dinner was a sweet omelette- all soft and runny inside just like all the diner omelettes I saw on Food Network this week- but tomorrow we are promised the 'best nasi lemak in Paris' which I definitely do not want to miss out on so we'll be guzzling lots of liquids tonight in a vain attempt to get better quickly. I also got me The Tudors (actually C brought this over from London), Gilmore Girls and Deadwood too in case we get SATC overload; contrary to what the travel gurus advise I gave in to fatigue and slept the afternoon away so will probably not sleep much tonight.

In other news, this 4 and a half year old blog was selected as this week's Featured Typepad blog. Thank you Typepad. I would also like to extend a warm and sincere welcome to new readers who found your way here via this publicity. Regular blogging will resume next week, promise!

To St Malo to see the sea, and a word about the Bigarrade

May is a curious month. There are three public holidays scattered in the first half so the French try to make long weekends around those dates and the city feels quieter than usual. The sun has been out since last weekend and we who have been locked in by the cold and blustery weather of March and April are taking the opportunity to go out and enjoy some warmth.

Even now, two weeks after our little weekend holiday, every time we take V out she asks if we're going to the seaside. St Malo and Mont St Michel obviously made an impression on her. We stayed in a small hotel in the walled city, took walks around the rampart, rode carousels, walked on the beach, collected seashells and it was absolutely lovely. Definitely a big improvement on the chateaux-tramping of our previous vacation in the Loire Valley. The eating was good too. Lots of crepes, in particular the butter and sugar ones at Chez Margaux. Also lots of seafood, like pink roses with intact ebiko, cold crab and my new favourite, sole meuniere.

Posting will be sporadic again because next week I join third and fourth sister in New York for a girly vacation. I need to shop for some skincare products and children's clothings. In the meantime, if anyone is coming over to Paris the go-to restaurant is definitely Bigarrade. People say it is this year's Spring. I'd say it is much better, euro for euro we get more value for the money as exemplified by a great dinner we ate last night. The multi-course menus (my 45 euro Gourmet one: 2 apps, 1 fish, cheese, 3 desserts and husband's 65 euro Gourmand version which adds one more each of appetiser, meat and dessert) were exciting, brilliantly delivered and very yummy. My favourite dish was a small dessert of mango dessert topped with dried olives, just the thing for a jaded palate.

         

La Bigarrade, 106 rue Nollet. 17th arr. M: Brochant.

T: 01 42 26 01 02

A bowl of rice

               

St Malo was absolutely fabulous. We stayed in one of the many hotels within the old fort town and had a great time walking on the surrounding rampart, playing in the sand and eating superfresh seafood. I have not gotten round to processing the pictures so today I will highlight my current twin staples: plain rice and its perfect condiment.

Everyday we are bombarded by news of rising food prices especially rice. Two weeks ago at Tang Frères many of the shoppers' trolleys contained a big bag of rice, 20kg of the new harvest rice was 32.50 euros, up from the 25+ euros we paid for the same bag just two months ago. Needless to say we are more conscious and appreciative of our daily bowl and make sure not to waste a single grain of it. Instead of cooking dishes to go with rice, I have been simplifying our menus to make the rice the main focus. It can be a bowl of white jasmine rice, sometimes studded with a few precious grains of wild rice (not a rice technically) or mixed with some brown rice or other whole grains or legumes. Then I look for something simple to match the rice.

Around the same time, I came across a nearly forgotten speech by Lim Kit Siang when he talked about his son Lim Guan Eng's prison days:

He relates an incident during a meal on Sunday where each prisoner is given a single hard-boiled egg.  He was unlucky enough to receive a rotten egg. As he could not get a replacement egg, he had to eat plain rice. How he long for some ‘kicap’ to go with his plain rice!  Still, this experience will allow him to have a better story to tell his children than the one his mother told him when he was young. To coax the children to finish their rice when  young, his mother loved to compare her difficult days when she had to eat rice only with kicap.  Now, Guan Eng can say that he is worse off than his mother, kicap also not available - just plain rice!

I was moved by this man's strength and optimism, but more than that I was curious to taste for myself some rice with only kicap, or light soy sauce as we refer to it back home. I remember my paternal grandfather used to do that too but by our generation we were encouraged to eat less rice and fill up with meat, fish, vegetables etc instead. Driven by these ambiguous memories and evocative story, I went into the kitchen to scoop some cooked rice (it happened to be white rice and Korean 5-grain mix that day) and sprinkled it with a few drops of my favourite soy/seasoning sauce. It was a delicious combination, the nutty rice chewing slowly to release its starches and sugars tinged with the umamilicious sauce. I was hooked, and it has been at least three weeks now that I've been eating lunches of just rice and a simple condiment along with some obligatory vegetables and protein matter.

               

What else goes well with rice? Well, Bordier butter flecked with sel fumée (smoked salt) for example. Before she left Paris, Sui Mai told me about melting some of this cult butter on hot rice. And what do you know, last Sunday morning I was in St Malo and there on the little street there was a Bordier signboard. Unfortunately the shutters were drawn though there was a sign saying their butters were sold in the fishmonger across the street. Butter will make any old rice tasty but this golden butter with black flecks of smoked seasalt turns it into another being altogether, mmmm total deliciousness; the smokiness did make me ask where's the ham as it was inexplicably meaty tasting as well. The butter is equally good with bread and home-popped popcorn ( credit to Sui Mai for this too) but I think I'll keep what's left of my tiny stash for rice.

Other well-known condiments would include good quality XO sauce. Like the butter and soy sauce, a little scoop goes a long way and if I have some on hand I usually accompany my XO rice with a boiled egg and some green vegetables. If I don't feel so lavish I would substitute with some Lau Gan Ma chilli sauce, especially the versions boosted with some chicken bones or pork nibs and black olives. Some Indian pickles would be perfect too but this is very hard to find, usually I finish the little pot that they give out with the pappadums at Aarchna my favourite Indian restaurant (19 rue Telegraph, 20th arr, T:+33 (1) 40330657).

But what really gets me and GG going is this jar of gouramy paste we picked up at The Big Store in the Chinatown area of Avenue d'Ivry. For many weeks now, I have been yearning for some cincaluk. It started with lunch at Odori where an order for cold boiled pig trotters came with a little dish of fermented shrimps very much like a less salty cousin of cincaluk. Cold gelatinous pork with cincaluk turned out to be a match made in heaven. However, as husband didn't like neither pig trotters nor cincaluk I had to doggy-back most of it home and the next day GG and I shared it for lunch; the restaurant were so sweet to give us another tiny plastic pot of the dip which we started eating with our just-cooked rice and within minutes we were both rhapsodizing over the pungent baby shrimplets. After that I looked in the Korean stores and all the Asian grocers in Paris and it was impossible to find. Unbelievable! I remembered seeing bottles of it in Paristore and Tang Frères before but had refrained from buying because if left uneaten, the sauce tends to bubble and grow and the bottle has been known to explode in the fridge which will definitely piss my husband off. Just when I want it, the supply dries up, Melaccan, Penang, Korean, all nada, GG even checked the Filipino grocer at Ave Victor Hugo and found only an inferior version. Maybe it's the wrong season, but I hope the stores carry it again.

             

This pickled gouramy sauce has therefore saved me from going a bit mad. I've never tried it before but the description of it sounded closest to cincaluk so we decided to try some. Made of gouramy/gourami fish, ground rice and salt, it is pungent in a very good way, of salted fish and lots of ginger and of course fermentation, some would call it funky and first-timers would probably faint. Sludgy and finely gritty sediments- see top image-would describe the overall texture but the taste is crazy good. Salty, savoury, sweet, gingery and sour all at the same time and then finishing on a decidedly spicy kick. It is our favourite topping for our rice these days though we try to ration ourself as it is very salty and probably loaded with preservatives after all. I am not even sure if this is the most well-liked brand in Thailand but this is the only brand available so we'll take what we can get. Interestingly there is an article on the internet which found that like some fermented foods it contains fibrinolytic enzymes which dissolve clots. There is probably a twisted logic here: eat pickled gouramy, get hypertension, then thrombolytic stroke/ heart attack/ gangrenous legs, then dissolve clots with more pickled gouramy. The humble little fish gets the last laugh haha!

             

La Petite pause

               

And we take a break because I have a mountain of reading waiting for my attention and exams to prepare for. Come the weekend we will drive to the sea, to St Malo; let's hope that the sun will be out and we can enjoy lots of Normandy butter and its derivatives.

Above picture is of an apple tartlette from the famous ice cream shop Berthillon on the Ile de la Cite. The scoops that they dispense are so very tiny, after regretfully licking the last drops of ice cream one can look forward to another ephemeral treat of butter, caramel and apples. Bonne vacances!

We do bistros and brasseries too!

               

Eating with the French is always interesting. Since my spoken French is far from fluent, I am quite contented to listen and the topics, well, fascinating would be putting it mildly. How about plastic surgery and french beauties, divorces, matchmakings, saving wayward French hostages, muggings, holidaying in Colombia and grand chefs of Lyon to start with?

The restaurants chosen are also different from where we might tend to go to, you know, the tiny, overbooked under-30 covers place run by an ex-chef from famous 2 or 3 star establishment and his/her spouse and maybe a spare harried waitstaff but which is all mitigated for, hopefully, by food to swoon over. In contrast most of these "dine with the locals" meals have been in larger establishments serving classic foods with comfortable surroundings and brigades of waitstaffs. Such as Montparnasse 1900 last night. The restaurant has existed for nearly 100 years and was run by the same family for a long time before being sold off to someone else. Sitting on a plush leather banquette in the midst of gorgeous Art Nouveau everything (ceilings, walls, lightings, tiles, my tachycardic heart overwhelmed by all the beautiful craftwork), taking in the details such as the luggage racks and coathooks which harks back to the days when passengers eat there after disembarking from their train at nearby Gare Montparnasse, when we think about it all, the food hardly mattered anymore.

               

Not that it was terrible, thankfully it was not bad at all. Cocktail of avocado and shrimps, steak frites, floating islands (île flottante), creme brulée for husband- competent classic dishes, though my steak was too classical in the sense that I had to chew and chew until my jaws ached and my head screamed. So the food doesn't make you go and extol, say, the whimsical pairing of vanilla and watercress but it does allow one to relax, to carry on a civilised conversation, to butter up the baguettes, to finish the kir petillante (sparkly blackcurrant and champagne cocktail) and to raid the chocolate almonds in the sugar basket come coffee time.

               

If one prefers Art Deco, there is also La Coupole further along the same street, or Le Boeuf sur le Toit near Champs Elysée. And then there's always the bistros like Chez George and Bistrot de la Muette; the decor would not be nearly as elaborate, and the tables are closer together but these places are always full of locals as well as tourists enjoying an uncomplicated night out. 

Addresses below:

Montparnasse 1900: 59 Blvd Montparnasse (6th) T: +33 1 4549 1900

La Coupole: 102 Blvd Montparnasse (14th) T: +33 1 4320 1420

Le Boeuf sur le Toit: 34 rue du Colisée (8th)T: +33 1 5393 6555

Bistro de la Muette: 10, Chaussée Muette (16th) T: +33 1 4520 3593

Chez Georges: 273 Boulevard Pereire, (17th) T: +33 1 4574 3100

Artisan Saveurs

               

Last weekend on the way to Bon Marché we passed Artisan Saveurs, a small and charming restaurant/salon du thé on 72 rue du Cherche Midi. Their door and exterior woodwork had just been been painted a fresh layer of vivid red, beckoning us in for a spot of lunch and a cuppa.

               

The lunch menu was short, mostly tasty and straightforward interpretations of home-style dishes like fricassée du lapin (rabbit), millefeuille of lamb sweetbreads, marinated salmon and ragoût de cochon (braised pork) served with a healthy pile of salad and side dishes like polenta, gratinéed potatoes or rice. Comfortable seating, pleasant and cosy decor and attentive service may explain how this place has been in business for nearly ten years.

               

Their tea menu is long and our Darjeeling selections were brewed before being transferred to the teapot which is correct and would have been even better if they had been more generous with the tea leaves. I chose from the fairly large and tempting dessert and pastry menu a Savarin au Rhum, deliciously well-soused and surrounded by ladylike fruit slices.

All in, a genteel and tranquil place for lunch or a shopping pause in the neighbourhood. They also have baking classes if one is so inclined.

Below: a pictobrowser and composite images of home-cooked lunches for those days when I do not have any lunch appointments, some of which have featured on the blog before. To read the notes please place mouse over the word on the bottom right corner.

Acide

               

Since I am in a bit of a sour mood I decided to pick up a box of frÜ Sicilian Lemon cheesecake dessert. It's good if a bit expensive, and their GÜ range of chocolate desserts is not too bad either.

Why am I in a sour mood though? One, all the China-bashing in the press has been dragging me down. The protests against the Beijing Olympics and its associated hypocrisy, overbearing presumptiousness, smugness and bare-faced opportunism have been so unrelenting it's effects have instead waken some latent Nationalist sentiments in myself. My father would be proud of me I think.

Two, the métro station closest to my school is closed until mid-June so I am not liking this inconvenience.

Three, I just spent a whole morning reading this rubbish book called Doggy Bag by a French writer Philippe Djian. He tries to write in a chick flick meets American prime-time series format and fails abjectly: the plot never moves along, earthquakes mix uneasily with alcoholism and preoccupation with sex, one third of the way through and I still couldn't tell the characters apart. I should have saved my 8 euros for an Asterix comic or settle for yet another translated P.G Wodehouse caper. 

Four, I was walking along the streets and at the corner of Ave George V and Ave Pierre Charron I spied from the corner of my eye a tall suited Caucasian man walking at cross angles and mentally calculated that at the speeds we were both walking along we would definitely bump into each other. In the past I would have stopped, or veered to the side but I was in a mutinous mood. Why should it be me who gives way? The French would never do such a thing, if they bump into you they pretend it didn't happen, if I bumped into them first I would be "tsked tsked" at. Husband says only the Chinese and Japanese do the zig zag walk, and bearing his words in mind I walked straight ahead and hoped for the best. The tall white man in the suit stopped, if he was a cartoon car he would have slammed onto the brakes and screeched to a halt. Whew, I quickly walked away, but not before hearing him say "Pardon" in an English accent. I felt a little bad, but also pleased. Which also explains why when I was perusing the dessert shelf in Carrefour I shunned all the French brands and went English instead!

The Olympics flame passed our street junction

 

Last night it snowed. It was the last thing I expected when I drew the curtains for bedtime. At first I thought it was so strange that the rain was pouring in a horizontal direction, then my eyes registered the flurries and dances of the flakes by the light of the streetlamp. It was mesmerising and beautiful. We wished hard that the snow would settle, from our window we could see husband's car getting a fine dusting, and hoped that the next day V would wake up to see snow. Alas, in the morning it had all melted and the weather was cold and chilly though not in an unwelcome way, looking at all the green trees and jaunty flower beds we are definitely putting winter behind us.

In the afternoon I was interrupted by the sound of helicopters circling overhead. It's not an unusual thing in this neighbourhood, the helicopters come out at the slightest reason- a marathon, Bastille Day celebrations, Veteran's Day, inauguration of the President, a state visit etc- and we are usually grateful if they do not also close the metro stations and/or block the roads. Still, the helicopter was so loud it was practically outside, when I popped out to check, it was actually above us. Looking into Place de Beyrough I saw that Avenue Marceau was completely blocked to vehicles other than police vans.  People from the opposite building came out to observe on their balconies, and traffic came to a standstill.

It was the passing of the Olympic flame, though I was clueless at that time and did not keep an eye out for a runner bearing a torch. Oops, I've just read that the torch was extinguished three times and they had to put it in a bus. Apparently 3000 policemen were deployed in this exercise alone, although  most of them who passed our junction were sitting safely in a van instead of facing off with the protesters. By the time the bus came round I saw and heard only one protester, and a handful of press photographers, contrary to what is reported elsewhere. Also, does this mean that if the Chinese don't do what the protesters want, the games would be boycotted and the thousands of sportsmen who trained so hard have to put their dreams on hold and miss out on the medals.

            

Still, one may ask, what has all these events, fascinating as they may be, have to do in a food blog? Nothing. But I do have a picture of a roasted leg of milk-fed piglet which I bought for a Saturday lunch from the market butcher . The meat was milky and tender, delicious, we finished the lot in one sitting and the dogs got to chew on the bones so they too were happy.

          

Too right says Mimi. Now if only someone could explain to her why the helicopter is still around even though it is nearly 10 p.m The protesters are not tired yet?

Also, I am updating my Twitter more frequently, see column on right hand side.