Just a few thoughts regarding living in Paris ... where O where does all the shit come from? On one of my irregular morning runs around the Ile Saint Louis this morning I spent more time dancing around the little – and not so little - piles of dog poo than admiring the stunning surroundings. Notre Dame – check. Early morning bateau on the Seine – check. Dog shit shoe-smeared for 3 metres along the pavement – check.
The thing is, apart from one sighting by Popsi Bubblehead of an embarrassed-but-not-embarrassed-enough-to-clean-up-after-him chap and his defecating shitzu, we have never actually SEEN any dogs depositing their doo-doo. There are plenty of dogs, for sure but, like Venice, they must creep out and crap at night when their owners are sleeping – for surely nobody who lives in this most elegant of cities would allow their pet to despoil it, would they?
And further to earlier posts about photographing such a photographed city I will post a few of my slightly surrealist efforts in that department. You’ve got to love digital photography – take 10,000 pics and you surely must get one good one?
On the food front we have been eating in a lot, as per Venice, because it ain’t cheap here in the Marais. Several people have mentioned that there is cheaper eating out in the ‘burbs but that’s like going to Blacktown for a burger when you live in Bondi.
To this end I recently created Lapin Braisee a la Mode du Keith for Popsi and her brother Paddy, who came to Paris for a few days and drank all the alcohol in the house. I was an innocent bystander, I can assure you.
On a couple of days a week there’s a smashing little market sandwiched between Rue Francois Miron and the Rue De Rivoli, just around the corner from the wonderfully spooky St Gervais church (worth a look).
The market is all twee white stalls selling anything from a mouth-wateringly tasty take-away paella to splendid cheese, wine, fruit veg and woolly hats. It was here that we first encountered our lapin, on a butcher’s stool resplendent with pigeons, ducks and chickens all still wearing their heads and a glazed gaze that said ‘I wasn’t expecting THAT’.
One look at the lapin and it was love at first sight. So much so that when the butcher asked if we wanted to keep the head – and here he held it up and wiggled it about – “because it was funny” I could only concur.
I’ll post the results – and the recipe –tomorrow.
