Back in the old days it seems that seafood was often a cheap source or protein. Lobster used to be fed to prisoners because it was so cheap.  Fish and chips wouldn’t be wrapped in newspaper if it were a luxury food.  But today, fish is often one of the more expensive options for protein, at least in my experience.  I had attributed this to our now-empty oceans, but at least part of my problem must have been proximity to a large market for it.  In Paris, fish is plentiful and often cheap.  So I’ve been eating more seafood lately.

I’ve never cooked octopus before so I consulted my Greek colleague and she gave me lots of instructions.  I’m actually not sure that I’ve ever even eaten octopus before in my life.  Calamari, but not octopus.

Turns out that it’s pretty easy and just requires a little patience.  Since it’s not the most common thing, I expected it to be a bit of an acquired taste.  That is to say that I managed my expectations so that I wouldn’t be disappointed if I didn’t like it.  But damn!  It was good!  Very savory, just a bit chewy, and just a bit sweet.  Very nice.

I blanched the octopus for half a minute and then braised the legs in their own juices in a small covered skillet for about two hours.  They give up enough fluid to keep themselves going for a long time, although I did add water once or twice.  At the end of this, the remaining fluid is concentrated and flavorful.  I tossed some fresh fettucini with capers, olive oil, garlic, lemon juice, and the cooking fluid, then arranged the legs on top and sprinkled chopped parsley over everything.

Some days, if I have a lot of errands to do in the neighborhood, I will come and go from the apartment six, seven, eight times within a couple of hours. If I climbed the stairs each time I returned, that would be wonderful. But usually I rationalize myself out of it somehow or other. So I’ve decided to try a new system to work my way up to doing the stairs more often.

I am going to give myself a stair-climbing deductible.

Every day, I will climb the stairs the first three times I return from somewhere. After that, if I don’t feel like it, I will allow myself to take the elevator. After doing this for awhile, I envision myself increasing the deductible gradually so that eventually it will effectively cause me to climb the stairs all the time.

The nice thing about this system is that on days that I don’t come and go much, I will basically climb the stairs every time I return to the house. But if I am coming and going like crazy, I can give myself a break after a few times without feeling bad, since I’ll have at least done a bit of work that day.

I’ve also been trying to walk an hour a day five days a week recently, so the stair-climbing isn’t my sole exercise. But I’ve been at my healthiest during the times when I was doing structured exercise and at that same time incorporating small exercise into my daily life, i.e. choosing the physically demanding version of things when possible. If I do structured exercise without the second part, I notice myself compensating for the structured exercise by minimizing physical effort in other parts of my life, which is counterproductive.

Also, since we’re in Paris, I don’t want to give up my chocolate croissant habit. So I need to work even harder to make up for that!

Click on each image to see a larger version.

The entrance to the Louvre was designed in the eighties and was controversial at the time. Now it’s an iconic part of the museum. I find myself drawn to repeating patterns and textures in my photography, so I was happy with this shot I got from under the pyramid including part of a cement staircase. The clouds were doing interesting things that day too. Most of the time recently, the sky in Paris has been a uniform grey, so it was nice to see some blue mixed in for once.

The Louvre has several big indoor courtyards filled with sculpture. They are airy and open with high glass ceilings, so it feels a lot like you’re outdoors. In fact, many of the sculptures in these courtyards actually used to be outdoors in various cities, but were later moved to the Louvre to protect them from the elements. On Saturday’s visit we decided to focus on these courtyards, since we both enjoy sculpture so much.

In one of the courtyards, we saw a compelling interpretation of Perseus rescuing Andromeda, completed by Pierre Puget in 1684. We didn’t actually get a good photo of it, but here is a picture of it on Wikipedia. I like the sculpture because my eyes keep wanting to move around and examine different parts; they don’t just get drawn to one place and stuck there. There is a lot of motion implied in it, and I think it strongly evokes the ocean wind and the sense that the people are up on a high cliff. Greg commented that the statue looks equally interesting no matter what side you stand on to look at it. It’s hard to do this statue justice in a photo, so please take my word for it that it is really cool-looking in person.

In case you need a refresher on the backstory: Perseus rescued Andromeda from a sea monster using the head of Medusa (whom he had recently killed) to turn the sea monster to stone. In the sculpture Medusa’s head is down by Perseus’ foot, and I thought it was appropriately scary. Greg had brought a sketchbook that day, and he decided that he would settle in to work on a drawing of this statue.

Just next to Perseus and Andromeda was a series of four statues representing the four seasons incarnated as people. The statues of summer, spring, and fall were all beautiful women, but winter was depicted as an old man. I wish we had noted the name and date of the sculptor, but we didn’t. All four statues were appealing, but old man winter was especially well done.

Another statue I liked was this much-larger-than-life bronze man. It is part of a group called the Four Captives, by Martin Desjardins. They represent Holland, Spain, Brandenburg, and the Holy Roman Empire. I learned on the Louvre’s page about this work that these were the four nations defeated in the treaty of Nimegen in 1679, ending the Dutch War. The statue I photographed represents Holland.

There is a longitude line that runs directly through the Paris Observatory (2°20′14.025″ east) and the French were angling for it to become the prime meridian for the world. Of course, now we have Greenwich Mean Time instead of Paris Mean Time, so we know how that turned out. In any case, all around Paris there are these little gold markers showing where the line passes. We’ve run into them unexpectedly several times in our explorations around town, and we found one in the marble floor of the Louvre Museum. They are featured in a popular book, too.

While Greg got going on his sketch of Perseus, I decided to explore another area of the museum. I was still feeling sculpturey, so I headed over to the wing with Greek antiquities. Going from the later marble sculpture to the earlier stuff was really interesting. The later marble sculptors were often trying to imitate the ancient Greeks, and you can definitely see the resemblance in subject matter and style. Completely by accident, I suddenly found myself in front of the Venus de Milo, which is a fairly famous example of ancient Greek sculpture. While I did find it appealing, I couldn’t really tell why it was so famous. The galleries all around were filled with beautiful, finely crafted sculptures, and I couldn’t see what made this particular example better than the others. I dutifully took a picture, but since we weren’t allowed to use flash and the light in the room itself was quite poor, I didn’t get a usable shot.

The Louvre used to be a royal residence. I couldn’t find any information about these amazing painted and gilded ceilings in the ancient Greek galleries, but I theorize that these were put there when the palace was actually being used by the French royalty and court.

I passed by a room that had been fenced off and was being used for storage while another area of the museum underwent a remodel. These sculptures were draped with plastic veils. I found them creepy and surreal.

When I went to the Louvre the first time about ten years ago, Greg took me to see this statue of Cupid and Psyche by Antonio Canova. It was neat to see it again; it kind of felt like visiting an old friend. The first time I saw it, I remember feeling really moved by it. At the time, Greg and I were in the giddy early stages of our romance. Seeing it again brought me back to that time.

And on Sunday’s visit, we accidentally stumbled upon the Winged Victory of Samothrace, which is another quite famous ancient Greek sculpture. Unlike the Venus de Milo, I thought this sculpture was more impressive in person than in the photos I’d seen, and I did feel like I could understand why it is so famous. Even without its head, it’s a wonderfully expressive statue. The body has a posture of power and dignity, and the clothes look like they’re truly being blown by a strong sea breeze (it was originally set facing the ocean). Even the body itself looks like it’s leaning into the wind.

It was a great weekend of art. I feel so lucky that we get to live here in Paris!

The Cartier Foundation is having an exhibit on a similar subject right now entitled “Mathematics: A Beautiful Elsewhere.”  Their exhibition is an admirable if a bit uneven effort.  Mostly interesting, sometimes compelling, occasionally less than impressive.  David Lynch did a project for the show that I was excited to see, being a fan of his films.  His piece, however, didn’t engage with the mathematical and scientific side of the exhibition with sufficient rigor and came off as amateurish.

Anyway, “admirable but uneven” can probably be used to describe the exhibition of which we were a part at Cafe A as well, so I’m not in a position to criticize.  Although I do think that the piece that Jen and I did was better than David Lynch’s.

Our video was projected in what used to be the chapel of a monastery onto a screen that was probably 30 feet across.  I think it’s by far the biggest that anything I’ve done has ever been.

The video explains the features of rainbows in a non-verbal way.  If you pay close attention (and maybe watch the video more than once), you’ll know how light is reflected inside rain drops to produce rainbows and double rainbows, as well as why the sky is brighter inside the rainbow than outside.  Even if the video doesn’t teach you how rainbows work, hopefully the diagrams are aesthetically pleasing in their own right.

We provided a description for the exhibit itself, but it’s difficult to translate it.  French draws a distinction between different ways of knowing things—there are two different verbs.  Savoir is used for things that you know “in your head,” like facts or skills.  Connaître is used for things that you know “in your heart,” like people.  Both are translated as into English as “know” so the title of our work, “Savoir et Connaître les arcs-en-ciel” becomes “Knowing and Knowing rainbows.”

Our description plays on the different ways of knowing things in French in what I hope is a clever way.  The point is that it’s possible to appreciate rainbows in an intuitive way just by seeing one in the sky, even if you don’t have any idea how it works.  It’s also possible to appreciate them in a more abstract, intellectual way by knowing how the light rays and water rain drops interact to produce what you see. And there is beauty in both ways of understanding them.

At last, here’s the video itself, in three inch rather than thirty foot format:

Savoir et Connaître les arcs-en-ciel

On connait les arcs-en-ciel quand on les voit, même si on ne sait pas comment ils marchent. On sait les arcs-en-ciel quand on comprend comment la lumière et les gouttes de pluie travaillent ensemble pour les faire. Les arcs-en-ciel sont plus jolie quand on les sait et on les connait au même temps. La musique représente un arc-en-ciel en segmentant une mélodie en flux distincts, dans la même façon qu’un rayon de soleil est divisé en ses consituents fréquences.

But there is one that stands out from the others. It’s the place we go when we want something really special. It’s where we got the Bûche de Noël that Greg recently referred to as “mind-altering,” and I also spoke highly of it when I posted about our holiday food.

The boulangerie we love so much is Dominique Saibron.

On their window, it says that they won Third Prize in the Competition for the Best Artisanal Baguette in Paris in 2010.  I don’t know who won first and second place that year, but Dominique Saibron’s baguettes are definitely my favorites in Paris so far. However, I have not made an exhaustive survey because I am too lazy. Why would I trek all around the city comparing baguettes when I have so many good choices in my neighborhood? This is also the reason that I haven’t yet tried a macaron from Ladurée. I am sure this fact will horrify many! However, the macarons in our neighborhood are already, as Greg would say, mind-blowing. If Ladurée is truly the best of Paris as everyone says it is, I am afraid my head will explode with excitement if I try one of their macarons. And I need my head.

In addition to their baguettes, we’ve gotten small desserts from Dominique Saibron several times. I also like their quiches. It’s a fast, filling, delicious lunch for under 4 euros, and it’s very French. I have not yet tried their macarons, but I certainly will do so soon.

During our stay, “Coupez la tête!” (“Off with their heads!”) became a running joke with Leslie’s father. Referring, of course, the the historical French inclination to behead the nobility. We would be driving through the countryside and someone would point out a château; then Leslie’s father would exclaim “Coupez la tête!” While passing another château, I remarked that I had heard it’s privately owned and someone still lives there. He remarked “On a oublié de couper la tête.” (People forgot to cut off their head.)

One time it was Jen’s turn to extend the joke, but she instead exclaimed:

“Coupez les cheveux!”

(“Cut their hair!”)

A decidedly different approach to handling the nobility.

• In movies/fiction shows, a lot of the basic dialogue involves people yelling. That is apparently a normal conversational style. Usually the person doing the yelling is all worked up, and the other person looks completely blasé or stoic about it. They will reply in either a completely flat tone of voice (much more common), or they will yell back.
• You can watch the Simpsons in French, and the voices sound almost the same as in the original version.
• There is a (satirical) news show which is performed by puppets. The puppet-version of Barack Obama makes frequent appearances (along with other leaders of countries such as Nicolas Sarkozy and Angela Merkel). Sylvester Stallone also appears a lot– he is a sort of embodiment of the concept of “greedy Americans working on Wall St.” Sometimes there are several clones of him onscreen at a time. In one recent sequence we watched, two Stallones go into a church during mass and steal money out of the collection plate. I’m not sure exactly what the joke was about, since I couldn’t understand all of the dialogue. But in any case, the show doesn’t only poke fun at America. It makes fun of France just as often, portraying its bureaucracy as ridiculous and frequently painting public figures in a less-than-flattering light.
• There seem to be more artsy channels and programs available here.
• Also, the educational stuff is actually educational (in contrast to, for instance, the US’s “History” channel which I’ve often caught showing speculative unsubstantiated conspiracy theories espoused by crackpots).
• There are fewer flashing graphics and swooshing colors, and more screen time devoted to people actually talking or doing stuff. It’s a bit calmer than TV in the US.

And if I had to summarize the differences between French and American TV in one sentence, it would be this: In French TV there is less action, more talking.

When you’re young, every experience is new and hence interesting. With time, the range of your experience grows, and while the brand-new experiences aren’t as frequent, there’s satisfaction in feeling like you know what’s going on. Eventually, though, the time between eye-opening experiences becomes ever longer, and the feeling of competence that comes with experience is no longer sufficient consolation.

Which makes such experiences all the more precious.

It also makes it all the more important to seek out such experiences, because if you don’t go looking for them they won’t necessarily come looking for you. On the other hand, you never know when or where you’re going to be treated to such an experience.

Our Bûche de Noël. That was a mind-altering experience. I didn’t expect it. But we saw them all over Paris, and everyone gets one, so we did too. I’ve had a lot of desserts in my life. Some were good, some weren’t, but very few have made me say “I didn’t know such a thing existed in the world.”

Now I have to wait a whole year for them to come back!

We have had Camembert many times, but this is the first time we’d seen Camembert au Calvados. As the name implies, the cheese is soaked in Calvados (an apple brandy made in the same region as Camembert). The rind was looking pretty funky, so I asked the cheese-seller if it is edible, and he assured me that one can eat the whole cheese. So when we got around to eating it, I bravely left the rind on. It’s a good thing, too, since most of the Calvados flavor is in there. I am not sure what the brown grainy stuff is, but I don’t think it’s mold. I think it’s mainly there to hold onto the Calvados. It looks like it should be crunchy, but it isn’t.

This cheese is called a Langres, which my cheese book tells me is also the name of a town in the Champagne region, where the cheese is made. Langres is a fermier cheese. Fermier (farm) cheeses are made in small batches on a individual farms, using milk supplied only from the farm where the cheese is made, rather than being made at a plant where milk from many farms is mixed. In fermier cheeses the milk is not pasteurized. In the Langres cheese, there is usually a hollow well on top (though ours looks pretty shallow) which is meant to hold some champagne when the cheese is served. Sounds interesting! We didn’t try that, since we’re only eating a little piece each night. I really like this cheese. I think it ties with the Mont d’Or for my favorite cheese we’ve tried in Paris so far. The smell is pretty pronounced, and the flavor is somewhat strong, though not overpowering. The interior is soft and creamy and doesn’t hold its shape, so we ate the cheese by simply squashing it onto a piece of bread. The rind doesn’t have a noticeable flavor or texture, either. (With the Mont d’Or the rind didn’t taste bad, but the chewy texture bothered me a little. Both cheeses have the same soft, barely-solid interior. I sense a theme developing with my cheese preferences.)

We also got a cheese labelled simply “Brebis fermier.” A brebis is a ewe, and you already know what fermier means. Since the name is so general, I can’t say for sure where in France this cheese came from. Since it’s a fermier, though, at least we know it was made with care on someone’s farm. In any case, it was very tasty. The flavor was similar to Manchego, but with a smoother, moister, less crumbly texture. For this cheese, we elected not to try eating the rind. I think with harder cheeses this is usually less advisable.

To accompany Christmas Eve dinner, we made ourselves a massive cheese plate. Unfortunately, a month later, we can’t remember the names of all the cheeses we had. The orange one is a young Mimolette. The semi-circular cheese in the center is some kind of goat cheese. In the upper right is the Munster that Greg loved so much. Closest to the camera is the Fougerus that Greg mentioned in an earlier post; we cut the soft white washed rind off, though we probably didn’t need to. And in between that and the Mimolette is some kind of hard cheese. I think it was a Tomette, but honestly I can’t say for sure. In any case, it all tasted good.

We also indulged ourselves with a Bûche de Noël (Christmas Log) for Christmas Eve (and Christmas, and the day after Christmas) dinner. The smallest cake we could get was labelled as feeding 4-6 people. The first night,we cut ourselves pieces that were 1/4 the size of the cake, but they were so rich that we had trouble finishing them. The rest of the time, we cut pieces that were 1/8 of the size of the cake, and they were perfect. I think this cake should be labelled for 6-8 people. The cake is bookended by squares of dark chocolate. The outer layer was chocolate mousse. Inside there were several different layers of crunchy things. It was somehow simultaneously crunchy and creamy and nutty. It might be the best cake I’ve ever had in my life.

In Annecy, we took a lot of photos, but instead of boring you with an exhaustive visual catalog, here are a handful of interesting shots.

In the old center of Annecy, there are still many buildings standing from centuries gone by. Every tourist has their picture taken with the prison of Annecy, which has been extensively photographed.  But since we don’t want to be just like everyone else, instead I’ll present quick a shot of Greg and me by the river in the old city center, wearing our coats that make us look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

There’s a chateau on the top of the hill overlooking Annecy, and from there you can get nice views of the town. The rooftops of old Annecy are made with beautiful red tile. I am not sure what it’s made of– looks like terra-cotta, but I don’t remember for sure.

Annecy had some lights up for the holidays. I took this next photo (like the others) with our little point-and-shoot camera, without making much effort to adjust it for nighttime photos. There’s something about the graininess of the buildings, with the clouds and the mountains, that appeals to me, even though I think the blue lights are drawing too much attention to themselves. The photo isn’t going to win any photography prizes, but for some reason I like it.