Café Crème and their Big Salad

George: What's in the big salad? 

Jerry: Big lettuce. Big carrots. Tomatoes like volleyballs. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZhIViqfPutQ

"The Big Salad" is one of my favorite episodes of Seinfeld. I know, I know... you're thinking "Why are we still using Seinfeld references"? That's because they never get old. Especially the really good ones. Anyways, this link was not able to be embedded but if you're not familiar with the joke or want a walk down memory lane (yes, Seinfeld is now memory lane...), here it is: THE BIG SALAD :30.

The Big Salad also happens to be one of my favorite meals. No summer meal is complete without a Big Salad with lots of stuff in it. During the 2009 recession, my NY girlfriends and I would have roof-top dinners with Trader Joe's pizzas and prosecco and one of us would always make a Big Salad.

So you can imagine my surprise when I discovered (Ok, The Kooples told me about...) the Big Salad at Café Crème.

My Big Salad of choice is their caesar salad because it arrives loaded with avocado, tomatoes, parmesan cheese, chicken and garlic croutons with a light dressing. The Big Salad, a fresh piece of baguette and a glass of rosé is a perfect afternoon lunch. 

If you find yourself in the haute-Marais looking for a nice terrace (it gets fantastic afternoon sun), a traditional French brasserie lunch and might also want a Big Salad, Café Crème is the place for you. The service isn't amazing but the people are really nice and it's what you'd expect from a normal French cafe. 

It's just sometimes a girl really, really needs her Big Salad. 

Café Crème

4 Rue Dupetit-Thouars

75003

Metro: Republique

Center Stage meets Mean Girls: The French Version

UPDATE: March 29 - I smiled today and did some major Bonjour-ing when I walked into the changing room and then said "Bonjour" to the girl next to me at barre. It went over OK. She smiled back and asked how I was. I said good. Then she asked me if I was American. I said yes. Another person (the one token guy that takes class) also asked me where I was from and if I lived in France. I proudly responded back in French(!). Then I got called out for not being flexible which resulted in me having to put my leg up the wall...by myself in front of everyone. Then I got called out for leaning back during pirouettes.

Maybe a bit too much focus on me but I will say this: there were smiles.




Since I wrote about my and Zelda's love for ballet back in February, I've been taking ballet classes three times a week. That was over a month ago which equates to 14 classes.

And boy are those French girls mean. Mean French Girls.

The French Mean Girls...
only the French don't really dress like this. 

You would think that after over a month of seeing the same people three times a week you would start to acknowledge each other or maybe even form a little smile... but the rumor is true people: the French are a hard bunch to crack who don't smile much - especially when they're a bunch of young women dancing.

I've read a few different things about how Anglo moms will drop-off and pick-up their children from school and the French moms will not even look at them for the ENTIRE year... and now I see that this behavior is not just at the local schools but at the dance studio too.

It's me, the odd one out. In the corner waiting my turn for jumps, leaps and whatever else we are told to do. But they're chatting away in French... I'm convinced they purposefully choose to not be next to me during barre exercises.

Sir Lancelot thinks it's because I have my poo face on (sometimes I just can look really unhappy and well... a bit bitchy). I call it my intense and passionate face. It also might not help that I wear my hair in a tight bun with makes me look uber-German - more than the 25% I am... and that with my poo (intense/passionate!) face, probably doesn't come off as friendly.

Oh and I don't really speak French.

But let's be honest, we know these girls all speak English... or at least enough to be nice. Please. They start learning English as little kids - hell, they've probably all watched Mean Girls in English!

I know they are capable of speaking to me. They just don't want to.

I like to believe that Maureen is actually French... because how
she is in the movie is pretty much how the girls are at class. 

Maybe it's because I always get put in the front line. A foreigner in the front line? C'est pas possible! Maybe it's because I always am the only one that can continue doing the jump repetitions at the end of class. A foreigner doing it better than a French person? C'est parce que je ne fume pas!  I should tell them that as they all light-up outside after class...

But I'm still human and humans have feelings so unfortunately, their behavior has affected me. Enough to the point where I mess up and forget combinations. Not good. So yesterday was the last day that Mean Girls will be mashed-up with my French Center Stage. Goodbye Regina (her name is actually Pauline in class...). Look out for happy American Lady Lancelot. 

Next time, I'm going to walk-in (without my poo face) and give them a big, happy, optimistic American smile. One with lots of healthy, white American teeth as I happily say, BONJOUR! If they aren't going to make an effort, then I will. Take that Regina.

A taste of the best falafel in Paris

As mentioned, I've been spending more time in the Marais. And tucked away in the tiny, winding streets is where, according to everyone, is the best falafel in Paris. And I finally got to try it.

I was meeting Ella Coquine and meeting for the first time, Mary Kay from the adored Out and About in Paris blog (she's awesome by the way!) for drinks, so this was the perfect time to test out L'as du Fallafel for an early dinner. 

The man at the front on the stool will flirt with you. If you're a girl at least.

I won't go into the details of how it tasted - instead I've included links to some of my favorite blogs that have already written about it. Why beat a dead horse?

Was it the best falafel I've ever had? No but I'll definitely be going back. The best falafel I've ever had was off of Placa Real in Barcelona and another small spot in Granada, Spain. Unfortunately I devoured these falafels before Twitter, iPhones, Evernote, phone cameras existed so I can't share the knowledge of these spots. It's a bummer for me as well since when I go back to Barcelona, I have the hardest time finding my favorite place.

But as far as L'as due Fallafel goes, what I will say is this: if you don't want to wait in line, go around 5pm like I did. You'll get your falafel fast, a place to sit so you're not trying to eat it outside the shop, no lines and the entire staff of men will flirt with you. Not a bad confidence boost after a day of French class where I only feel silly. 

Here are some of my favorite reads about L'as du Fallafel:

Mary Kay from "Out and About in Paris"

Edna from "Expat Edna"

L'as du Fallafel

34 Rue des Rosiers

75004

01 48 87 63 60
Metro: Saint-Paul

Voleur is French for thief: Part 1

I'm not cool. I've never been that cool and this continued into my years living in New York.

After five years in the Big Apple, I can count only about ten times that I actually went to a cool club. I always said it was because I hated clubs in NY because no one dances (which is true) and who wants to pay $20 for a drink? But really it was because I would rarely get past the doormen. Let's be honest - if I could get into the club, of course I would want to go.

So you can imagine my excitement when we were told that during fashion week, The Kooples were going to be able to get us all into David Lynch's club Silencio. It was a reason to put on my finest pair of high heels and dress the part of accepted party girl. The club did not disappoint and unlike the Americans, the French actually dance.

Leaving late as one does after a fun night out, Sir Lancelot and I found ourselves exhausted and without a taxi not too far from the Les Halles area - which at 3pm let alone 3am is not the safest place to be.

Normally I'm pretty cautious with my phone, jewelry and such while exploring Paris, as the city is not as safe as one may think. But of course while trying to find the nearest taxi stand and gain awareness where we actually were (I had an idea but wasn't sure), we were talking loudly in English and waving our iPhones around with obvious signs of distress.

It was the perfect setting and we were the perfect target for two rowdy guys who just might want to mugg someone.

While Sir Lancelot waved his iPhone around trying to find a signal (why do we all think doing that makes a difference?), the two young guys walked up and started to give us high-fives while saying, "English? Ten? Dix? Ten? Cinq? Five? English?"

Normally I would roll my eyes at this person and stomp away with more than enough New York attitude, but this time I just stood there and answered back! Within 30 seconds, they started crowding around Sir Lancelot and punching him in the arms. I finally woke up and knew what was going on, so I did the only thing most girls would do.

I screamed - really loud.  And I kicked - really hard. And it wasn't pretty.

"They want your wallet! They want your phone!" I yelled as I got behind Sir L and grabbed both his coat pockets trying to protect his phone and wallet. Success - they were in my hands. At this point while Sir L was screaming in defense and fighting back, I kept kicking with my three-inch heels and did not stop.

It was at this moment that I realized they weren't going for the wallet and phone - they wanted his watch. And this isn't just any watch. This is a watch that Sir Lancelot has waited basically his entire life for...there was no way we were going to lose it now.

So I screamed even louder. And I kicked even harder. And Sir L fought back even more. It was our four hands against their four hands pulling the watch every single way.

My weapon for the voleur. At least I kicked in style. 

We won (!) and the two assholes ran away. We had the watch (albeit with a broken clasp) but Sir L's hand was cut and resulted in a week-long bruise. Thank goodness the thieves didn't have any actual weapons...

It was a true wake-up call for us and we walked away scared. Of course I was in tears because while girls are great at screaming, we're also really good at crying. And then I proceeded to scream/cry at Sir L  that "I am over Paris and booking the next flight back to the States tomorrow!"

While it was a stressful end to our evening, luckily I had been prepared for a good screaming and kicking fight with a stranger since I'd had some practice in 2007. But that's a story for "Voleur is French for thief: Part II." (Coming soon...)

Just remember: you can never be too safe.

To realize the severity of thieves/pickpockets in Paris and protecting your valuables, check out this post from my friend Mary Kay's blog, Out and About in Paris. 

le printemps

Place de la Concorde on my first, first day of spring in Paris.

Happy spring! Apparently the French do not say this to each other. I asked Mrs. Fix-It, our hardware store lady, (she looks how I always imagined Miss Trunchbull from Matilda), if it is normal to say "happy spring," on the first day of spring. She said no.

Instead I wished her happy Jour du Macaron. Yes, Paris has a day all about macarons. You know, the dessert that I'm just not very interested in.

But yesterday I decided to give this little holiday a try. My friend Liz and I went to the Pierre Hermé near the Tuileries and if you make one donation to their charity of choice, you get one macaron. It's a sweet concept.

I chose Rose and Olive Oil/Orange macarons and decided to save them for Sir Lancelot as I never have dessert in the house. Aside from the fact that they were a bit smushed by the time I got home, I'm going to admit something: I really liked them. Not enough to go on and on and on all the time about them. But I liked them and I liked them much better than Ladurée's.

So it's official. I'm a Pierre Hermé girl and it's finally spring.




There are eight Pierre Hermé locations in Paris. But for a lovely spring day, head to the one on Rue Cambon, near the Anglo book store, WH Smith. Nothing sounds better than Hello! magazine, macarons and sunshine in the Tuileries.

Pierre Hermé
4 rue Cambon
75001

A weekend in London makes Paris feel like home

London is such a big city and I never feel like I have enough time to really soak it all in. All the more reason to go back. 

This time we danced the night away at Sir Lancelot's friend's fabulous birthday party. 

And with unexpected lovely weather, we explored Notting Hill, ate a lovely lunch at Daylesford Farms (where I bought the kale during our last trip!!), antiqued in Portobello Market, took the tube from High Kensington to Covent Garden, brought in dusk at Trafalgar Square and I caught a glimpse of Big Ben as we made our way back Chelsea. 

This time around, London felt more foreign than Paris - a true sign that Paris feels more like home every day. 

Six months in Paris brings a day of warmth

I love Paris in the springtime! Well I did for the first truly springlike day until it became cloudy and cold again. But you don't hear me complaining. Even one day of warm weather makes a happy Lady Lancelot.

Since now I'm a ballerina three times a week and my school is in the Marais, I've been spending a lot more time walking around the quartier before and after class. It is one of the neighborhoods that I had not explored as much in the fall, so it's been quite fun discovering the nooks and crannies of the area.

After ballet this Friday, I chose a cafe bathed in sunlight for an afternoon drink. It happened to be near the Pompidou and the La Place Igor Stravinsky. Turns out, Sir Lancelot loves this area and the interesting/unique/weird sculptures and has called me many times from the same spot when he used to frequently travel to Paris for work.

With the proximity to the Pompidou and the abundant amount of outdoor terraces, this place was jumping and screaming springtime. Old people, young people, families with children running around and of course teen boys bothering everyone by playing sports everywhere.

No matter where you are or what the people are like, a warm and sunny spring day makes people happy and excited to be outside. The place was no exception and perfect for some entertaining people watching.

With the modern Pompidou Centre to my right (which to me resembles a jungle-gym from Safari Sam's) and the beautiful Saint-Merri church to my left, it was a peaceful afternoon where I felt proud of everything we've overcome in the last six months and relieved to have survived our first Paris winter. With the sunlight on my face there was nothing better than feeling ready to take on spring.

Jeu de Paume, Berenice Abbott and 'Changing New York'

"The tempo of the metropolis is not of eternity, or even time, 
but of the vanishing instant."

Last week I checked-out the new exhibits at the Jeu de Paume (a gorgeous building located in the Tuileries). I'd never been to the space and did not even know what exhibits were there but was pleasantly surprised to find something just perfect for my taste. 

Photography of old New York. By female photographer Berenice Abbott. She studied with Man Ray in Paris and was part of the 1920's avant-garde scene. Does that scream me or what? 

Berenice Abbott self-portrait; Man Ray style

She returned to New York at the beginning of the 1930's to work on a new project, Changing New York. Eight of the 305 photographs are exhibited. I have a personal interest in New York at this time as it was coming out of old ways and evolving quickly. Abbott wanted to capture these swift but dramatic changes as she said, "What people are really like is shown by what they build."  And don't destroy.

It makes complete sense why Paris is the most beautiful city in the world... the French aren't too into change so all the beauty that was built is still here... for us all to enjoy every day. 

The series focuses on the old buildings and neighborhoods and the daily life happening in them and the contrast with the new structures being built (for example, images of Rockefeller Plaza while 30 Rock is under construction). It evokes a sense of nostalgia that is different from other "old New York/lifestyle" photography exhibits I've seen before as the focus is on the structures instead of just people.

I recognized so many things in the work that is part of the New York that I left behind and made me wonder that in the ever-changing city, what parts of New York will be gone when we return?

And then you have Paris, a city where changes comes very slowly. I do not know this from experience - yet. But everything moves slower here and that's not always a bad thing. It enables you to take a bit more time to enjoy the slowly vanishing instant. 

Berenice Abbott's portrait, American scenes and scientific work are also in display. 

The Jeu de Paume also has a fantastic Ai Weiwei exhibit (nice write-up here from Milsters at Little Pieces of Light) that should put this museum on the top of your list for spring. 

Jeu de Paume

1, place de la Concorde

75008

**Berenice Abbott & Ai Weiwei expositions on display until April 29.

Helloooo darlings!

Off to London this weekend! 

It looks like these photos were taken in one day. They weren't.
We just basically wore the same outfits the entire trip. 

Except for a quick trip this past November, the last and only time I was in London was in 2005 with my girlfriends from study abroad. The three photos above are some of my fondest memories of our time together. We spent four fabulous days exploring the city, eating proper English fry-ups each morning, feeling punk in Camden market... And drinking too much Scrumpy Jack's cider which resulted in us missing our flight back to Barcelona, which then resulted in an extra night with more cider and pizza at a random pub in the town of Luton. (Sir L continues still makes fun of this story reminding me that Luton is the last place anyone would ever go).

This weekend is Sir Lancelot's friend's birthday, so we're crossing the channel via Eurostar for a three-day jaunt. Sir L has a day of meetings planned and I'll be hanging out with our lovely friends David, Jenna, Lola (Sir L'a god daughter) and Oscar the bulldog.

Lola & Oscar.

I'm looking forward to speaking English, exploring Portobello Market, visiting the National Portrait Museum and getting to know Lancelot's old home a bit better.

Bon week-end to all and I hope everyone has something delicious planned!

Verjus. Not bad at all...

I feel bad for Verjus. The restaurant that is. They received a few so-so reviews back in December and I didn't really see anything else about them in the blog world. As it is with every other expat in Paris, I'd heard about Hidden Kitchen but missed it because I arrived in Paris too late. But then I heard about Laura and Braden's next project: Verjus. Yes! Just like Yoga for the People! It's Hidden Kitchen for the people! And there was going to be a wine bar to boot!

Sir Lancelot and I tried the wine bar back in early November, adored the celery root (oops, celery root trend not intended) dumplings and yes the fried chicken but I really adored the dumplings. So we eagerly booked for their first weekend in December. Unfortunately and as our luck would have it, Verjus had to cancel because there was a medical emergency.

Luckily everyone is healthy again and Verjus is going strong with packed nights Monday - Friday but I've not read the most positive reviews.

Beautiful wooden decor and candle-lit setting. A special touch are the different wooden
chairs at each table. The randomness adds to the authenticity. 

So when Lancelot suggested an evening out in the 1st arrondissement, as he in the area doing late-evening editing on an upcoming commercial, I immediately thought this would be a good opportunity to finally try out Verjus.

And we were more than impressed.

The servers were lovely. The wine plentiful and perfectly matched. The food the perfect temperature. The flavors relevant and in-sync.

Lovely red and yellow beets, pickled carrots and shallot polenta.

We indulged in the tasting menu with wine and were not disappointed. The offerings were unique and seasonal but not over the top to the point where the plates did not make sense.

It is not the cheapest meal you will have in Paris but we felt the portions were sufficient (and we like to eat!) and we left content.

Go try it. And tell us what you think. 

Because the Lancelots have not given up on Verjus and we truly believe it is more than just fried chicken.

Verjus Paris
52 Rue de Richelieu
75001
+33 1 42 97 54 40

What I love about winter markets: root veggies

So I'm the worst. It's been since Monday since I last wrote and I hate that. I have lots of things started but clearly nothing finished. So today will remedy that. Plus I have that kick-ass song from Drive to keep me going.

The thoughts below aren't anything revolutionary but since winter is almost over (!!!!!), I figured I better let you read about my love for winter root vegetables before the asparagus kick-in full time.

So.... post Japan, we've gotten back into the habit of heading to the organic market on Saturdays (Batignolle) or Sundays (Raspail). It's probably one of my favorite things to do in Paris.

Aside from the lack of kale (cue my tears), I have become obsessed with the amazing variety of root vegetables.

While I am without my favorite leafy green, Paris markets make it much easier to truly eat "seasonal."

While you are able to find more specialty items at the larger super-marchés, there is something that feels quite healthy and just so normal when you eat seasonal.

Orange, green and purple navets (turnips) along with the curious and ugly cousin of potatoes (that top left you know what you're thinking looking root veggie) and then there is my new fave: celery root or céleri rave as the French call it. Now anyone knows I will kiss Whole Foods' bum any day of the week but I've never seen celery root in America! And I love it. 

I owe this discovery to Elizabeth Bard, the author of one of my favorite "American expat in Paris" books, Lunch in Paris.  She includes an easy recipe for potato and celery root mash. I finally knew what to do with this vegetable that looked like the bad combo child of potatoes and turnips. Just add in bits of this baby and you get the fresh taste of celery and your kitchen will smell just as fresh for a few days. 

As for the other lovely root veggies, I've been a fan of the easy and quick: peel, cut into thin slices and bake with olive oil, parsley and a bit of salt/pepper/parmesan cheese in the oven. I also include a few cloves of peeled garlic for added flavor (and hey! garlic is good for immunity against those annoying late-season colds!!) Whether you're in Paris or not, try to find celery root before the end of winter and use it up. You will not be disappointed!

On a side note: I made my first "French joke" last week.

After French class, I went to the amazing (code for closest to Whole Foods) grocery store at Le Bon Marché. It has a lot of "specialty" items (cue canned black and/or red beans being specialty in France)....

And I bought a leek. Unlike American grocery stores, sometimes you have to go to the separate weighing station before the actual check-out. I normally try to avoid these since it's just another added layer of me feeling stupid - but at Le Bon Marché I braved the storm.

And my weighing lady gave my leek a necklace! Look at that cute sticker. So I pointed at the leek and said, "Bijoux." Hah. And she laughed! Can you believe it? She laughed!!! I felt SO proud because I pointed and said "jewelry." And I promise you she was not laughing at me. But at my joke.

Sometimes it's the little things....

In the meantime, while I enjoy the last few weeks of celery root, do you have any favorite recipes or ideas of what to do with this ugly duckling of a root vegetable?!