Old Paris through New Eyes

Seeing Paris for the first time, again.

Paris, for me, is still a city of surprises.

Old characters take new forms.

And if you look up from your phone as you turn a corner, you’ll be confronted with hundreds of years of history in a single glance.

We had dear friends in town from the States over the Thanksgiving Holiday. We haven’t seen them since before the pandemic, so it was like filling up the gas tank with hugs, laughs, talks, not to mention plenty of foie gras and steak tartare.

It’s the first time their sons have been to Paris, so I got to do one of my favorite things – rediscover the magic of my adopted capital through the eyes of others. The boys are 16 and 10. The elder is a born flaneur; he loves to walk and eat and smile at the pretty girls. The younger one wanted to see everything; from the Louvre to Galeries Lafayette to Napoleon’s tomb. So for the holidays I thought I’d do a little round up. Take you around Paris the way I took them, stopping at some of my favorite spots along the way. You can file this away for a future trip!

No one forgets their first visit to the Louvre, but I had a lovely déjà vu moment with the boys. Museums are special, almost sacred, places to me, and I always try to carve out a bit of peace amid the tourist chaos — which takes some doing in the Grand Galerie, the wing containing the Italian Renaissance paintings and the Mona Lisa. I wanted to show them my favorite painting, Raphael’s portrait of Castiglione with his silky squirrel fur coat. But I couldn’t quite get up close, because there was a young woman bending down, looking up, explaining the painting to two young kids and their parents. I bet that’s a ParisMuse guide, I thought to myself. I worked for them when I first moved to Paris in the early 2000s (It might be the best job I’ve ever had) and I know the portrait is on their route. But I could tell just by the smile of the guide and the wonder of the kids that it was them (It was!). The company was founded by an art historian with a passion for making things fun and accessible (I spent my first years with them giving a now defunct and shockingly intellectual Da Vinci Code tour of the Louvre). They do private tours of all the major Paris museums, and if you retain only one thing from this newsletter, ParisMuse should be it.

I admit it. I skipped the Eiffel Tower. Twenty years ago, I brought my new in-laws to the top of the Empire State Building before our wedding, so I feel I’ve paid my dues. But I never skip lunch.

A quality French brasserie (open non-stop throughout the day) is a rare thing, a delicate balance of tradition, bustle and not outrageous prices. A lot of them are owned by chains these days, and the nearer they are to major tourist attractions, the more skeptical I become. But I love to be proved wrong. Our friends made a reservation at Aux Antiquaires near the Musee D’Orsay. When we arrived the place was heaving, tables topped with raised platters of shellfish and bowls of steaming beouf bourguignon. (The photo above is from their website - I was too busy eating!) When I sat down, my friends already had kir royals in hand, and the little one was sipping a vanilla milkshake with whipped cream as his aperitif, an act of vacation decadence of which I highly approve.

We ordered some escargot to start, and I gave lessons on the eyelash curler-like implement used to trap them. (A boy will never forget his first kiss, his first car, or his first snail.) The hand-chopped steak tartare was the best I’ve had in a long time, the frites skinny and HOT (never a given) and the truffled porcini ravioli in cream sauce that we ordered as an appetizer was enough for a whole meal.

There are only so many 2 hour lunches you can eat in a week, so Thursday we went casual in the Marais. We walked in and out of the courtyards of the neighborhood’s historic mansions. The National Archives are free and open to the public; we admired the parchment scroll transcript of the trial of the Knights Templar in 1307.

The Musée Carnavalet, a hidden gem of a museum dedicated to the history of Paris, have recently redone their French Revolution galleries, including this alarming pair of guillotine earrings (complete with severed heads). Vive la République!

It always feels subversive to eat nothing resembling Thanksgiving food on Thanksgiving Day, and almost 30 years after my first visit L’As du Fallafel in the old Jewish quarter is still the best.

I retain my American tendency to overorder, but we were wisely advised by the waitress. Their pita sandwich, filled with either falafel, shawarma, or chicken livers and silky fried eggplant, crispy red cabbage and tahini sauce was more than enough. It reminded me how much I love perfectly cooked chicken livers, pink and creamy in the middle, which is something we all need reminding of from time to time.

I can’t remember the last time I went to the Galeries Lafeyette department store. But I’ve certainly never been at Christmas. It was a pure, childlike pleasure. To fight your way through the designer handbags to the stained glass dome and discover a glittering fairyland.

Weaving in and out of the tourist throngs, I was reminded of walking in New York with my father, admiring the Christmas windows. Every year we would stop at Henri Bendel’s (sadly sadly saldy closed), which I thought was the most elegant place in the whole world. My father would buy me some tiny trinket – I remember a box of chocolate covered apricots – so I could spend the afternoon like a fancy lady, strolling up 5^th Avenue with one of their signature brown and white stripped shopping bags.

The panoramic roof terrace of Galeries Lafayette remains one of the quintessential views of Paris. From up here, the flat winter-grey sky that we experience from below take on another aspect, as the light breaks through the clouds with the precision of a pointed finger.

All of this touristing is exhausting, which is why at the end of a long day, one inevitably ends up at Angelina’s, resting weary feet under marble-topped wooden tables and sipping their signature chocolate chaud, dark, thick hot chocolate served with individual bowls of barely sweetened whipped cream. The photo below is not mine, but it does give you the right idea — imagine drinking a cup of Willy Wonka’s chocolate river.

Angelina’s hot chocolate isn’t something you could drink every day. But it’s an excellent example of what 20 years of cooking in France has taught me – that few and fine ingredients, simply prepared, can produce magic. The version I make at home is lighter, but based on the same principle: milk, unsweetened cocoa powder, dark chocolate, done. So as you prepare for the busy holidays, take a break and rest your weary feet with a cup of something sweet and simple. And think of Paris.

French style Chocolat Chaud

This makes a single serving (you’re worth it!). Multiply as needed.

1 cup milk (or almond milk, oat milk etc.)

1 tbsp unsweetened cocao powder

2 tbsp chopped dark chocolate (or dark chocolate chips) - I use 70% cause that’s what’s in the supermarket.

This isn’t rocket science, but it does require a pot and a whisk, which is more equipment than most Americans use for their hot chocolate. (I too grew up on instant Swiss Miss made with water in the microwave.)

Heat the milk, add the cocao powder and chocolate, whisk to combine. Serve immediately — it gets a skin if it sits. There’s no added sugar, the chocolate takes care of that for me, but you can add to taste if you really feel it needs it. Serve piping hot in small mugs or pretty teacups. As the French well know, you can be decadent and dainty at the same time. And as my young travelling companion will tell you – and I heartily agree – a dollop of whipped cream never hurt anyone.

I’m not some kind of freak, but I do sometimes make a single serving for my son for breakfast. I have the cocoa powder and pre-chopped chocolate in jars in my pantry, ready to go. I fill a mug with milk, pour it in the pot, add a heaping teaspoon of cocoa powder and few pieces of chocolate. (No measuring, it’s too early. What’s the worst that could happen – it’s too chocolatey?)  It takes two minutes, and I feel like mother of the year before the sun rises.

And before my mother sees this photo and comes back from the the dead shouting ELIZABETH, DID I TEACH YOU NOTHING? THOSE ARE THE BREAD PLATES, NOT THE SAUCERS! Yes, mother, I know. But the saucers were packed up, under something heavy and inconvenient, so I fudged it. Apologies.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Add some sweetness to your inbox.

Give a glimpse of Paris this holiday season.