Paris sunset over wine by near the Palais Royal.
|A sandwich I made often--thin Basque ham, brie, honey soaked apricot on sliced boule.|
So I will have to go by memory and pictures. I can close my eyes and taste the honey soaked apricots and baguette that I shared with friends for breakfast in front of an alley cafe near the Seine. I can ruminate on hints of musty ripened cheeses on display at the outdoor markets where I shopped each week. Often I've been downtown and felt the same feeling of being alone in an empty metro station late at night; mechanical clanking sounds in the distance and dirty air breezing through the tunnels as the last trains of the night glided past. I remember informal gatherings of friends and strangers for conversation on the street near St. Michel or outside Shakespeare & Co. at dusk. My heart is filled with the lifelong friendships I formed with others there, searching as I, to feast on Paris.
|From inside the Musee D'Orsay looking onto the Sacre Coeur on the hill of Montmartre (left).|
This may sound like so much pomp, and it is perhaps in the grand scheme of things. I am a writer and I consider many more things than food. But food is sometimes where it all starts. Food is essential. Food is a counterpoint to living as well as a necessity to sustain life.
I also wrote about my time in the city of lights here.
|A good place to eat: the Seine just near the Louvre.|
|A particular view from Montmartre.|
|Pere Lachaise Cemetery, 2002. There was a young girl being buried up this hill.|