The Apartment Saga

I wasn’t going to start the blog until we were domiciled in Paris but we had such a roller-coaster ride getting an apartment that I just had to share some angst with you.

For anyone who hasn’t heard why we are moving to Paris for ten months I have explained below, for those who know please skip the next two paragraphs.

It all started when Michael Both, a journalist and food lover, decided to throw away his cookery books, stop slavishly following hit or miss recipes, enrol at the Cordon Bleu cookery school in Paris and fully understand the preparation of good food.  This in itself was no bad thing but unfortunately he wrote a book about it, ‘Sacre Cordon Bleu’ which the BBC adopted for Radio 4’s ‘Book of the Week’.  Mrs H is very fond of listening to the 12.30am broadcast of this, and lay transfixed as Michael Both recounted his experiences whilst I snored away in my whisky fuelled dreams.

The next morning, whilst wandering around Cambridge, Jackie confessed how much she had enjoyed Michael’s book and how she wished that she had done something similar.  “It was,” she explained, “like an electric light being switched on in my brain.”  “Why don’t you do it now?” I asked.  “We were going to have a year off boating any way, so why don’t you try to enrol at the school?”  The upshot was she did and now, starting in June, we are committed to spending ten months in Paris.

Having discounted living aboard Dorabella through a Parisian winter we set about trying to find a suitable apartment to rent.  Two agents, both recommended by the school, seemed to have three apartments that met our budget and requirements so I wrote to them requesting a viewing.  I explained that we would drive to Paris on the 5th of May, stay in an hotel for two nights and view the apartments on the 6th.  Both agents agreed to this arrangement.

We duly arrived at the Hotel Yllen Eiffel on rue de Vaugirard late in the afternoon.  This modest hotel was situated close to the school and two of the apartments.  I telephoned the first agent, Lodgis, to fix a time for viewing our first choice apartment.  My contact’s secretary told me that he was about to go into a meeting and that he couldn’t keep a meeting waiting so she would get him to call me when the meeting was finished.  Now I have been in business for more years than I care to admit and for me customers have always been more important than meetings.  It doesn’t matter how brilliant your product is or how clever your staff are, without customers you don’t have a business.  This simple truism doesn’t seem to have penetrated the Lodgis organisation.  My second contact, Catherine Denicourt, was out but her secretary promised that she would get her to call me as soon as she returned.

An hour after arriving in our tiny hotel room the contact at Lodgis finally rang back to say that the apartment we had driven all the way from Ipswich to see had been taken off the market that morning.  Apparently Lodgis had had a major disagreement with the American owner  and no longer represented him.  Perhaps he had been late for a meeting.  My contact went on to say that he had e-mailed me three alternative apartments which I could first view on their web site and then visit the following day if any looked suitable.

The Yllen Eiffel didn’t run to free wifi but provided an Orange hot spot for which I purchased an access card.  The three suggestions from Lodgis were totally unsuitable so we were now solely dependant on Ms Denicourt who was worryingly still silent.  After two hours in our hot, prison cell of a room I telephoned Denicourt and Associates again.  Ms Denicourt was there, she had just been too busy to call me; I somehow thought that we were not going to hit it off, but at least an appointment was made to see the nearest apartment at 11.00 am the following morning.

Supper was taken at the excellent Thierry Burlot’s “Le Quinze”, a two knife and fork Michelin restaurant in rue Nicholas Charlet, which ironically was the same street that our first choice apartment was in.  The food and friendly service were excellent so perhaps it was just as well that we couldn’t live opposite.

The next morning we walked down rue de Vaugirard towards the school and the apartment which was in the next street, very convenient.  At 10.55 am my mobile rang, it was Catherine Deinicourt, she was very busy and had been delayed and wouldn’t now be at the apartment until 12.00 noon:  no apology just a statement, after all we were only potential customers. A tour of the local shops cheered us up. A veritable treasure trove of food shops plus a smart, new, Monoprix supermarket.

At 12.05 pm a huffing and puffing Catherine Denicourt arrived and did us the great favour of letting us into the apartment block.  An incredibly steep, narrow, rickety, wooden staircase took us up three flights to a sparsely furnished, tired looking apartment.  It was hate at first sight for me, Jackie claimed that she could have coped with the apartment for the convenience of the school and the food shops but couldn’t cope with the ghastly stairs.  Apart from the fire risk it would have been very easy to fall down them.  Ms Denicourt was not at all sympathetic and told us that she had other apartments with far worse staircases. Strangely this news was not at all reassuring.

I asked about viewing our next choice of apartment which, whilst being 25% more expensive and in the 8th arrondisment, a long way from the school, looked very smart and was on a bus route to the school.  Ms Denicourt looked slightly shocked at my question.  “The other apartment is completely different from this one,” she declared.  “It is of the highest quality and in the smartest part of Paris and it is very expensive.”  She emphasised this last point with a Gallic shrug as if to say ‘how can you poor English, with your economy in tatters and the pound on its knees, possibly afford to live somewhere smart?’  I confirmed that I knew the price and would be prepared to pay it for the right place.  With little enthusiasm she said that she would telephone the owner, another American, in the afternoon and see if we could view the apartment that evening.  She bustled off leaving us feeling slightly depressed and a little anxious.

To cheer ourselves up we decided to visit ’Le Bélisaire’, a bistro recommended for lunch in Clotilde Dusoulier’s book, ‘Edible Adventures in Paris’.  The bistro was perfect and buzzing with customers.  A long blackboard menu offered an appetising choice of three courses for €22 with a nice bottle of Chablis coming in at €19. 

After lunch we decided not to rely on Ms Denicourt but to go and try and find some local estate agents and see what they could offer.  We drew a blank with the first two who only dealt with unfurnished lets, but the third knew of an agency, CosyHomes, who did let furnished apartments.   It was a fifteen minute walk but worth every second.  When we arrived we met the delightful Marie de Palluel who sat us down in her office, listened patiently to our requirements and then diligently searched through her records to find a perfect match.  It was just 600 metres from the school and was available for viewing straight away.

The apartment was on the second floor of a building in rue Ernest Renan, a quiet old style street off rue de Vaugirard.  As well as a substantial staircase the block also had a small lift which would be useful for luggage and heavy shopping.  The apartment was superb, elegant rooms with period furniture, a modernised kitchen, a guest bedroom and a large master bedroom, just what we wanted.  Marie took us back to her office where we signed the contract and paid the deposit.

What had started out as a bit of a nightmare finished with a dream ending.  We celebrated by dining at the ‘Banyan’, a Michelin  one knife and fork Thai restaurant.  I also found a garage close by that does contract parking for €120 a month, not bad for the middle of Paris.  Now it’s down to some serious work with the French lessons and deciding what we are going to take to our new French home.  The excitement levels are starting to climb.  ~~~

After an exhausting three weeks of BCB Entertaining (Before Cordon Bleu), it was almost a relief to think of escaping to the anonymity of being a Parisian resident.  Colin Hunter was our last guest and he kindly remarked that of all his friends the one who least needed to go to a cookery school was Jackie.

Our travel day, Tuesday, did not get off to a good start.  The Paris flat does not have a bath, only a shower cubicle.  Jackie was determined to enjoy her last bath for six months and got up at 5.30 a.m. in order to do so, but the water was stone cold.  The previous day I had shown our cleaning lady how to switch the central heating and hot water system on and off and forgotten to switch it back on; the air was sacré bleu.  In my shame I then dropped and broke a coffee mug which shattered all over the kitchen floor and consequently the third and, we hoped, last disaster of the day was that we missed the ferry by five minutes and had to wait an hour for the next one.

At least the sea crossing was calm, the French roads congestion free, and even the Periphique was running ‘fluide’.  We made up most of our lost hour by not stopping for lunch.  We needn’t have bothered, the Cosy Home’s, (the Europeans just can’t get English business names right) representative, Robert Abdy, was forty minutes late in meeting us outside the flat.  He more than made up for it by helping me carry all our heavy crates and cases from the car.  After an inventory check Jackie miraculously found homes for our clothes whilst I sorted out books, computers, WiFit board, iPods and speakers.  Robert gave me a contact number for a broadband specialist who will come and wire us up to the internet and provide us with inclusive phone calls.  If you are reading this it must have worked.

Our next bit of luck was finding a Master Cuisiniere, Franck Dolisi, right next to the flat.  Restaurant La Bocalée provided our first, of, I suspect, many fine dinners.  We both chose a starter of crab in puff pastry with finely chopped dill in a cream sauce; it was excellent.  Our main course was nice if not exceptional being fillets of red mullet, with new potatoes, miniature kebabs of ratatouille and a pleasant balsamic sauce.  My pudding was sheer heaven, two home made sorbets of cherries and raspberries with fresh cherries and a raspberry coulis.  Jackie enjoyed her “Pearls of Japan’ which was made up of tiny beads of potato in a creamy vanilla sauce and an apricot purée.  It looked a bit too much like tapioca for my liking.

Our day which had started badly recovered ten-fold.  I really didn’t need a large whisky to go to sleep, but had one anyway.  ~~~

The first job for me on the Wednesday morning was to move our car from its two hour parking space to a garage close by which I had found during our last visit in May.  The manager had assured me then that there would be no problem in my leaving the car for six months starting in June and that I should just turn up, which I did:  but now there was a problem, he didn’t have any spaces.  I reminded him about my last visit and his assurance that there would be a place for me.  “But that was then,” he explained,”the situation has now changed.”  This Gallic logic escaped me for the moment but I decided that nothing would be gained by getting cross so put on my best pleading act.  The fact that we wouldn’t need constant access to the car and that it could be buried behind other long stay parkers swung it and a place was found.

My next task was to phone the internet man, Jèan Phillipe, recommended by the agent, who would look after getting our broadband connection set up.  He answered his phone straight away but didn’t sound too keen on our business.  He asked if I could e-mail our requirements and our address through to him.  I patiently pointed out that as we didn’t have internet access, which was the whole point of calling him, this would be difficult.  He said that he would call our agent and phone me back.  He never did and when I rang the agent and asked him to call me back he didn’t either.  I thought that this only happened in Provence.

Jackie wanted to visit the school to see if the time table for her first term had been published and this exercise would give us a perfect excuse to visit the delightful Bélisaire restaurant just round the corner from the school.  Only the first week’s timetable had been published which seemed a bit odd as the term starts next Monday but then this is France.

The Bélisaire was buzzing as it had been on our last visit in May.  We felt slightly guilty at not having made a reservation, almost a necessity at lunch time here, but were welcomed and shown to one of the few remaining empty tables.  This is a very special place and embodies all the elements that one imagines a typical, family size French restaurant to have.  Everything, including the staff, seems from a bygone era except for the food which is right up to date, well prepared and excellent value.  I am not going to bang on about every meal we eat in Paris but just let me describe our €22 lunch because if you visit us you almost certainly will get to visit Bélisaire.

A prawn and goat’s cheese risotto started me off whilst Jackie had ravioli with Brittany lobster, langoustine and cream, both were excellent.  Our joint main course was sandre,(pike-perch or zander in English), with a compot of onions cooked in a Beaune wine; superb. We don’t eat pike-perch in England; they over populate our rivers, decimate other fresh water fish and we do nothing about them.  They are not like most fresh water fish, having clear, white, firm flesh and make excellent eating.

A creme brulée with a melon sorbet finished me off whilst Jackie had a panacotta with a mango coulis.  After a lunch like that how could I resist a coffee and calvados?  I couldn’t.  ~~~

The main problem with getting our internet connection was that we didn’t have a French bank account.  A local branch of HSBC seemed the best bet and a meeting with their Conseiller de Clientèle Particuliers, Ms Nadia Boujebli, was arranged.  We duly presented ourselves along with as much documentation confirming our existence and occupancy of 8, rue Ernest Renan as we could muster.  It transpired that the only acceptable proof of residency was a utility bill.  Unfortunately neither EDF nor Gaz de France will send us a bill until we have a bank account. The sensible Ms Boujebli understood this impasse and agreed to open an account for us anyway on the understanding that we would let her have a copy of our first utility bill as soon as we had one, so that she could slip it into our file whilst no one was looking.  We left the bank feeling strangely uplifted as if by opening an account our status had been upgraded from tourist to resident.

Jackie needed some extra kitchen things for the apartment and so on Saturday we decided to take the 39 bus to the site of the old Halles and visit the emporium of E Dehillerin, probably the most famous kitchenware shop in Paris if not France.  Michael Booth describes it beautifully in his book as the sort of shop that Harry Potter and his chums would find in Diagon Ally.  It is a labyrinth of isles and shelves laden with copper pans and every conceivable kitchen utensil.  Jackie took one look at it and sensibly pointed me towards a nearby bar with the instruction to have a long slow beer.

On our way home we stopped off at Sèvres-Babylone to explore La Grande Épicerie de Paris, one of the city’s largest gourmet food shops, which lies behind the impressive art deco facade of the Bon Marché. It is a gourmand’s delight with every sort of delicacy, even an English section with Frank Cooper’s marmalade, HP sauce, Lee and Perrin’s Worcester Sauce and Marmite, yum, yum.  It seems almost obscene that we should have this fabulous food store on our doorstep and be surrounded by great restaurants.  The WiFit board is going to have to work overtime.  ~~~

On Monday morning the holiday ended and the real reason for our being in Paris started with Jackie’s first morning at the academy.  This was basically an induction course, the usual stuff rules, safety, class timetables and the presentation of uniforms and kitchen equipment sets; knives of all shapes and sizes, prodding things, forks, and implements that even the Swiss Army don’t know about.

The first session only lasted three hours but there was a lot to take in and Jake was pretty exhausted when I called for her and suggested lunch out.  We chose a Korean restaurant,’ L’Arbre de sel’, another Clotilde recommendation, which was quite close to the flat.  The modest exterior and interior belied the excellent food which was served with gentle charm. Lunch for two plus two beers came to €38, great value.

Jackie’ first real day at school was on Tuesday when she had to attend a 12.30 demonstration. This covered the use of knives, the right way to chop vegetables and the preparation of a rustic, vegetable soup.  The soup, Jackie told me, was very basic but so carefully done that it tasted superb.  She is going to make it tomorrow and hopefully bring some home for me to try.  Covent Garden soups may never taste the same again. 

One fact which was emphasised was the importance of punctuality.  Students are required to attend their lectures or practical sessions fifteen minutes before the scheduled start time.  Five minutes before the session starts a register is taken and any student not present is not allowed into the lecture after it starts or to take the subsequent practical session.  As some of the sessions start at 8.30 and it is a twenty minute walk from the flat plus ten minutes changing into kitchen uniform we are going to have some early mornings on rue Ernest Renan.  ~~~

Tuesday evening I was allowed out to watch the critical Euro 2008 soccer game between France and Italy; the loser would be out of the competition.  Our local bar, the strangely named ‘café O’Kafé, was advertising a showing on their giant plasma TV.  To make sure that their was no doubt as to where my loyalties lay I wore my old French rugby shirt; wrong sport but at least the French blue would let me blend in with the fans.

I arrived just after kick off and managed to squeeze into the back of the crowded bar.  I was a bit surprised to see that the only other people wearing French blue shirts were two lads serving behind the bar.  Had this been Holland the whole place would have been a sea of orange; perhaps the French are more restrained in their sporting enthusiasms.  Italy scored first from a penalty and the offending French player was sent off.  I fully expected to have to join in a chorus of derision and disapproval at the poor refereeing.  What I didn’t expect was an outburst of cheering as the whole bar went hysterical; the place was full of Italians.  Rather than blending in I stuck out like a sore thumb. I felt as welcome as a Man City supporter at a Man United gala dinner.  It was fine then as Italy were in the lead and their supporters were in a good humour but suppose somehow France won?  The only visible French fan this side of the bar against whom they could vent their anger and frustration was me.  Luckily France played so badly that coming second was a flattering result.  Italy scored again in the second half and I began to get sympathetic glances from my Italian chums.  I responded with my impersonation of a Gallic shrug signifying, ‘it’s only a game,’ ‘you can’t win them all,’ or, ‘the best side is winning.’  Just before full time I managed to slide away before the joyous, tearful Italians started to force feed me consolation grappas.  On the way home I resolved in future to wear only neutral colours when attending foreign sporting fixtures.

Wednesday was Jackie’s first practical session when her class were to prepare a rustic, vegetable soup.  This exercise, Jackie surmised, was designed to show students how to use knives and chop vegetables safely. The recipe called for seven types of vegetable all of which had to be finely chopped. This year’s basic, classic, cookery class has twenty one students split into three groups of seven.  Jackie’s group has students from Canada, the Philippines, Finland, South Korea, Hong Kong and Panama.  The whole class attend lectures and demonstrations and then the groups go to their designated kitchens for the practical sessions.  Each student has their own work space with preparation area and electric hobs, gas being designated too dangerous for a training kitchen.  Green activists look away now.  The first thing each student has to do when they reach their work place is two set one electric hob at full heat, one at medium and one at low.  They then go to their preparation areas to chop and slice leaving the hobs blazing away for half an hour or so burning off the ozone layer.  Still, it was excellent soup.  ~~~

Jackie has a new, young friend, Mari.  She is from Finland and in real life works as a professional steward aboard luxury yachts all over the world.  What this means, she explained, is clearing up after rich people. Once, she had to help the yacht’s chef and decided that being a chef was a much better job than constantly cleaning showers and loos, hence the Cordon Bleu course.  As well as doing cuisine she is also doing pattisserie which by all accounts is even harder and just as demanding on time.

Every week two students from each group act as chef’s assistants for the practical sessions. They have to arrive early, go down to the basement store room where the fridges are, load all the produce for that lesson for their group onto a dumb waiter, then go up to the kitchen and lay out the produce in correct portions at each work station.  Jackie and Mari have been drawn together for next week’s sessions so it is just as well that, for the moment, they seem to get on.

The first week at the Cordon Blue academy has been an exhausting one for Jackie, but, I am delighted to report, she has enjoyed every moment of it.  She has prepared a classic rustic vegetable soup, learnt how to make stocks, cooked a delicious Fillets de Merlan Bercy, (whiting fillets in white wine butter sauce) and finished off with Poularde Pochée Sauce Supréme, Riz au Gras, (poached chicken with supreme sauce and onion flavoured rice), which we had for super last night.  This is not healthy eating by any means, as cream and butter feature heavily on the ingredients list. But, as the head chef said during the induction, ”We are not here to teach you how to make hospital food.”

Whilst Jackie is well aware of being the most senior member of her group at least her years of culinary experience are standing her in good stead. The other students are mostly much younger and some a little out of their depth.  One young chap was amazed at the speed with she chopped her vegetables.  “How do you manage to do it so fast,” he asked?”  “Because,” she answered, with a twinkle in her eye, “I am very old and have been doing it for a long time.”  ~~~

Still no internet at the flat, which is very boring.  To upload these literary gems, (non grammatical ramblings), I have to catch a bus to St Germain des Prés in the next arrondissement, walk up rue de Rennes to the Café Metro, find a quiet table, order a large white coffee and get thirty minutes free Wi Fi internet access.  Actually, as they charge €4.50 for a large coffee it’s not that free.  The sad thing is that whilst I can receive e-mails through my  normal server I can’t, at the moment, send any.  A couple of chums are working on a solution for me so perhaps by the time we get internet in the flat all will be well.  An engineer from France Telecom is due at the flat Tuesday morning to do what I haven’t  clue.  But five days after his magical visit we are supposed to get our broadband connection.  Don’t hold your breath.

Radio France organised a ‘Fête de la Musique’ in the Sénat on Saturday afternoon.  The Sénat, the seat of the French Senate’s upper house, is the former Luxembourg Palace, built by Henry IV’s widow, Marie De Medici in the early seventeenth century.  It is a fine, classic building with beautiful ornamental gardens.  As it is only a ten minute bus ride from the flat I suspect that we shall be visiting the gardens quite often.

The weather was warm and sunny and the premium spectating spots in the large courtyard were those in the shade.  Three choirs, one from Estonia, sang pieces by Gounod, Poulenc, Debussy, Massenet and others.  Good as the music was, three hours standing up was a bit much for us so we sneaked out after the first hour to find a street café where we could sit outside for an hour before returning, have a drink, people watch, read our papers and feel very Parisian.  ~~~

To compliment their cuisine courses, Le Cordon Bleu Academy run a wine and spirits program. This is also split into three terms each having two hours a week for six weeks.  They cover Wine Essentials, French Wines, and New World Wines and Spirits.  Enrolling for all three terms seemed a good idea as I got a discount and it would keep me out of the bars.  To make sure that I didn’t get into too much trouble Jackie enrolled as well.

The first wine session started at 7p.m. on Monday and I arranged to meet Jackie in the Winter Garden, a covered courtyard in the middle of the academy where students can meet and relax..  She had a class until 6p.m. and so I was a bit concerned as to how we would get anything to eat before soaking ourselves in Chateau Y’Quem.  I needn’t have worried because she had just finished a practical session and and brought the results of her labours, a magnificent, still warm, Pissaladière, (onion tart with anchovies, tomatoes and olives), a sort of posh pizza..  The dish is from Provence and believe me, is far superior to any pizza that you are likely to taste.  A chilled glass of rosé would have gone well with it but all the Winter Garden could muster was water.  We still got envious glances from several new interns as we scoffed the lot.

There were ten students for the first lesson in ‘Wine Essentials’, including two from Jackie’s cuisine group, Antonio from the Philippines and Sarah from Canada.  Our instructor was Professor Didier Allix a wine broker and teacher at the school for sommeliers.  He was very pleasant with a good sense of humour which kept his equally charming, American, female translator constantly amused.

Professor Allix started out by declaring how delighted he was to have such an international group as the French were too arrogant about wine.  The whole French industry, he continued, was too conceited about wine production and with its many laws and restrictions wine producers were creating wines with ever more complex structures.  In the New World where there was much greater freedom, producers could decide on what taste or flavour they wanted and produce a simple, strong tasting product.  There was nothing wrong with New World wines, he concluded, it was just a different approach.

The two hours just flew by.  We were told that whilst drinking wine can be a physical pleasure, tasting wine requires competence which can be acquired by applying a method.  During our course we would learn the method which utilises sight, smell and taste. 

We got to practice the method on four wines with ample bread and cheese in between to cleanse the palate.  A 2004 ‘Morgon Côtes du Py’ from Beaujolais started us off.  The Gamay grape gave it a strong acidity which made for a strong initial taste but was too much for most students.  A 2005 ‘Bordeaux St Foy’ disappointed everyone with little initial taste and no lasting one either.  A 2004 ‘Chinon Bonnaventure’ made from Cabernet Franc grapes was excellent.  But our favourite was a €10 bottle of a 2006 ‘Côtes du Rhone Plan de Dieu’ which had a nice balance of acidity and tannins and a lovely aroma of rich, dark, fruits.

It was great fun as well as being a lot to take in, I was interested to see that Professor Allix did not spit his wine out which always seems a waste and was pleased to follow his example.  There will be a written and practical exam at the end of the course: as a bit of homework we were advised to visit a market or two and practise identifying different smells and aromas.

On our walk home well after 9 p.m. we both got a very well known aroma as we passed an Indian restaurant, Al Punjab.   Al seemed to be in so we gave it a go and were pleased with the result.  ~~~

For a long time France has been renown for haute cuisine and fine restaurants; the reason being that restaurants, as opposed to taverns and cafés, were a Parisian invention.  The decapitation of  Louis XVI by the revolutionaries in 1793 followed soon after by large numbers of the aristocracy precipitated the redundancy of  many highly skilled chefs.  In order to earn a living they started opening restaurants to try and get the proletariat interested in fine food. Had the proletariat been communists they would probably have killed the chefs but the revolutionaries took to these new restaurants in great numbers, even the Jacobins, declaring that ‘now every man can eat like an aristocrat.’  By 1820 there were three thousand restaurants in Paris. I am indebted to Andrew Hussey’s wonderful book, ‘PARIS The Secret History’ for this information as I am for the following extract:

“The impossible standards that cooks for the aristocracy set themselves were exemplified in the story of Françios Vatel, cook to the prince de Condé at Chantilly, who stabbed himself to death in 1671 in despair at ‘two failed roasts’ at a dinner and the slow delivery of seafood for a lunch party.  In her memoirs, Madame de Sévigné recounts with the steely gaiety usual to the upper classes that the disaster was happily repaired for the prince’s party and, despite the loss of the chef, ‘the dinner was excellent, and so was the luncheon’.

Yesterday Mrs H made a classic Quiche Lorraine, nothing fancy but a superb result which we enjoyed for lunch.  After making the quiche the class were shown and taught how to make puff pastry which sounds like an awfully long and arduous process.  The chef said,” Why would anyone want to buy ready made puff pastry when making it is so much fun?”  I suspect that a good many women could give him plenty of reasons.  The partially made puff pastry had to be left in the fridge over night before the process is completed today. Then it will be transformed into some exotic sounding ‘Vol-au-Vents”.  I just hope that Mrs H doesn’t throw herself onto her spatula if hers don’t rise.  ~~~

The vol-au-vents were terrific, although Jackie was criticised for her sauce being a little to thick.  The other students were a bit crafty and quickly watered their sauces down at the last moment.  For me, being a northern lover of thick gravy, Jackie’s sauce was great. The perfect puff pastry cases contained a reduced cream sauce, leeks, a poached egg and more sauce topped off with a pastry lid and sprinkled with tiny dice of red pepper.  As the poached eggs are still runny it’s best not to serve these as finger food if you value your carpet.

Little Mari, who is not the tallest student, got picked on by chef.  “The reason you are so small,” he explained, “is because as a child you did not eat your soup.  My mother told me that I must eat my soup every day.  ”That’s not so,”Mari quickly responded, “the reason I am not tall is because I am from northern Finland.  In the winter it is always dark there and so we cannot grow.”  It is not always a good idea to get the better of chef in these verbal exchanges unless you are very pretty; luckily she is.

There is no practical work today but Jackie is going to learn how to make crab soup.  In itself this sounds fine except that she has the sneaky suspicion that before she gets to the soupy bit she is going to have to meet Mr Crab and deal with him.  Why else wold she have so many sharp knives?  Monday could be a bit traumatic.  ~~~

The chef, demonstrating the preparation of crab soup on Friday, first took some small, live crabs, the sort that small children catch in rocky seaside pools, and dropped them into a frying pan of sizzling butter.  The whole class seemed to wince as the poor crustaceans met their gooey end.  Through watery eyes and with gritted teeth Jackie concentrated hard on her notes and determined that on Monday she would be brave, take her crabs and just think of them as food that hadn’t quite altered their state.

It is quite a conundrum for carnivorous animal lovers this whole business of survival by eating lesser species that one’s instincts are to protect.  I am firmly with Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall in that if we didn’t eat them, most animals wouldn’t have any life at all.  But having decided to do so, it is our duty to ensure that their short lives are as natural and stress free as possible.  I certainly won’t be shopping in Tesco’s again.

Our friends Juliette Clarke and Mike O’Brien were coming to stay with us on Sunday evening.  On Saturday we discovered that the extra bedding supplied for the flat wasn’t nearly adequate which meant a hasty bus trip to rue de Rivoli and the big department stores.  Unfortunately it was the first Saturday of the sales and the whole place was teeming with bargain hunters.  It was like a bad day in Oxford street.  What should have been a ninety minute expedition took over four hours and tempers were a little frayed by the end of it.

Every Sunday there is a large market under the raised Metro tracks between Cambronne and Le Motte Picquet, a fifteen minute walk from the flat.  We had been advised by a local shop keeper to go early as by mid morning it got very crowded. Having done crowds in rue de Rivoli we got there at 8.30 a.m.  The market was great with every sort of produce to keep Mrs H happy and enthused.  She had decided to entertain our friends as if she was an ordinary Parisian housewife; buy the starter, cook the main course and purchase a tart for pudding.  Four veal steaks, vegetables, bread and some nice looking ‘Brillat-Savarin’ cheese was procured from the market.  Whilst our local charcuterie yielded some reassuringly expensive paté and the patisserie four raspberry tarts.  ~~~

The first shock that awaited Jackie’s Monday’s practical class, when they assembled in their kitchen, was the crabs.  Chef explained that the market did not have any of the small swimming crabs and so he would quickly show them how to prepare the much larger European crab.  These were the armour plated, big as a saucer jobs with wavy claws and scuttley legs.  He took one from his crate, placed it upside down on the work top and, whilst its legs and claws were waving around, grasped what appeared to be it’s tail and with a swift movement broke it backwards.  This seemed to cause the claws and legs to wave around even more.  “It’s still alive,” shrieked Jackie.  “No, it’s dead,” insisted chef, producing a cleaver and with one quick blow splitting the crab in two.  A tear slowly trickled down Jackie’s cheek as he left the two crab halves with her and moved on to the next one.

The rest of the class were not so lucky and each had to take a live crab back to their work place.  Word seemed to have spread around the crab community that this kitchen was definitely not a good place to be and claws and legs were waved frantically in an effort to escape.  Poor, kind, gentle, Antonio had a particularly lively example which he found impossible to despatch.  He eventually went to chef and asked him to administer the ‘coup de grace’; non of the students were happy.  Once their crab halves had been eviscerated they were told to break them into smaller pieces for frying by hitting them with their rolling pins.  In a grim silence rolling pins were raised and smashed down on the crabs with great force as if to ensure that no morsel should still be alive to suffer more pain in the frying pans. Bits of crab and shell flew through the air coating aprons and smocks and sticking in people’s hair.  The massacre at Culloden could not have looked worse.  Chef insisted on pushing the pace; stocks had to be reduced but everybody was getting a bit flustered. Jackie managed to burn the bottom of her pan three times and kept having to scrape out what wasn’t burnt into a clean pan.  At last the soup was finished and presented to chef for his appraisal.  Jackie’s had a good flavour but was too thin, her croutons, however were highly praised.  She had used the old trick of putting them on a piece of kitchen roll after sieving to get rid of the excess oil.

Finally the ordeal was over, soup and croutons were packed into Tupperware boxes for transport home and students made their way to the Winter Garden or the locker room to change.  When Jackie got there, feeling drained and exhausted, it was full of new students all jostling around trying on their uniforms and generally being a pain.  Jackie reached up to open her locker and in the push and shove dropped her string bag with the boxes in.  Tasty,but thin, crab soup and perfect croutons splashed all over the floor.  The expletives frightened even the non English speaking students and would probably have won her a place in a Gordon Ramsay kitchen.  ~~~

Whilst Jackie was battling with her crab soup, Juliette, Mike and I were next door enjoying a leisurely lunch at Le Bélissaire.  After which we took a bus to Luxembourg gardens for a coffee and a sit in the sun.  I went back to the school to escort Jackie home whilst Juliette and Mike went for a stroll through the gardens.  It was then that I got the full account of the crab massacre.  We were due back at the school for our wine course at 7 p.m. although Jackie was still in a bit of a state.

It had not been a pleasant Monday for Jackie so far but our wine teacher, Professor Allix soon put that right.  He had been, that day, to a formal lunch where the guest of honour was the director of the International Wine Producers Association.  Naturally both the food and wine had been of the highest quality.  A superb white wine had been served with the fish course, but then, he exclaimed, gazing at the ceiling as if trying to recreate every second of the experience, with the beef en croute we were served a Margaux which cost €1000 a bottle, his eyes sparkled at the memory.  A 1999 Sauterne, which had been like drinking liquid gold, had complemented the desert.  The purpose of the lunch was to hear speeches and discussions about the emergence of India and China as wine markets.  Each were consuming just under half a million cases of wine a year already but this was a drop in the wine barrel compared to the potential.

Professor Allix, a normally genial man, was in such high spirits that the lesson fairly buzzed along.  The main point of the session was for us to think about matching wine with food so that the tastes complemented one another.  “Wine,” pronounced Professor Allix, “is like a condiment, a liquid delicacy that helps bring out the flavours of the food.”  We then undertook a very interesting exercise.  He noticed that one of the cheeses the school had provided for us to nibble in between tastings was a ‘Crottin de Chavignol’ from Sancerre.  One of the wines he had brought along for us to taste was a 2006 Sancerre, Domaine Auchère.  Normally I stay clear of goat’s cheese and would never dream of serving white wine with cheese.  Professor Allix told us that quite often local produce like cheese and paté will have a complementary taste to the local wines.  And much to my surprise they did, I even liked the goat’s cheese.  Later on we tried a similar exercise with the same cheese only this time with a very superior and unusual, white, 2004 Chateauneuf du Pape, Domaine de Nalys.  Whilst on its own the wine had an elegance and nobility, with the cheese the tastes clashed and neither helped the other.

We left the school in high spirits and met Juliette and Mike at ‘Al Jezera’s’ for an Indian.  It was a good end to a mixed day.  ~~~

Parking spaces in rue Ernest Renan, as in most residential streets, are like hen’s teeth.  Consequently cars tend to be parked very close together and getting out without touching a neighbour is difficult.  I was amused to see one matelot’s practical solution.

So ends our fourth week in Paris and Jackie’s third at the school. Time has flown by although Pin Mill seems a life time ago.  The high spot of the week was Mike and Juliette’s visit which was over far too quickly.  Luckily the weather was perfect with temperatures between 26°C and 30°C and a light breeze.  They left after breakfast on Wednesday to visit a vineyard in Sancerre to pick up some wine and then to continue on to stay with friends in the South.  The good weather left with them and we have had rain most days since then, which put paid to my planned exploration of the St Dennis canal on a tripper boat.

After the crab trauma, Jackie’s next assignment was the stress free creation of cheese straws during which no animals were harmed.  The straws were excellent, being twists of cheese flavoured flaky pastry covered in sesame seeds. It was a shame that our guests had left as Jackie brought loads home and we needed help to eat them.  There are still lots left as I write.

On Thursday her group were taken to a local market just around the corner from our flat and shown what to look for when buying fruit, veg, meat and fish.  Chef also visited a butchers, our local charcuterie, a cheese shop and a baker, making many purchases which he transported back to the school and turned into a fabulous picnic for them all: a variety of cold meats and pâtés, half a dozen cheeses, shellfish, bread, cakes, fruit and wine.  If only I’d been there.

Having been disappointed by Mr Hamilton’s qualifying excursion at Silverstone, I am writing this before the race as I don’t think that he is going to win and don’t want to end on a down note.  Still, fourth place on the starting grid isn’t bad and anything can happen especially as rain has been forecast.  ~~~

Yes I know I predicted that he wouldn’t win, but that was a white lie; you knew that, didn’t you?  Lewis Hamilton’s victory at Silverstone must rank as one of the great drives.  Perhaps up there with Ayrton Senna’s domination of the wet British Grand Prix at Donington Park in 1993 when he lapped the entire field.  I was on tenterhooks at the first round of pit stops when Raikonen came in right behind Lewis.  I felt sure that he was going to jump him like in Canada, but no problem and a wrong tyre choice by Ferrari let Lewis steam off into the distance.  Apparently during his middle stint his visor started to mist up and he couldn’t see properly; doesn’t bare thinking about does it?   Let us hope that it rains for the remaining Grand Prix.

Jackie’s practical today was grilled salmon served with a lemon butter sauce and Byron potatoes which we are going to have for lunch tomorrow because tonight is our third wine tasting class.  Professor Allix wasn’t quite so ebullient this evening having to tackle dull French wine laws without the benefit of a top lunch.  We were told about the different categories of wine, vins de table, vins de pays, Vins Délimités de Qualité Supérieure (VDQS), and Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée (AOC) and sampled an example of each.  The first two were pretty awful, the VDQS, a St Porçain red from the Loire valley not bad but the AOC Faugères red wine from Languedoc Roussillon was outstanding.  We love this part of France but apart from Minervois and Picpoul know little about the local wines.  I hope to get to know a lot more about Faugères.

The wine we were served was of 2003 vintage from Chateaux Chênaie and was made from Grenache, Cinsault and Carignan grapes.  It had an intense, dark red colour with a complex bouquet of woodland aromas.  The taste was of a rich, powerful wine with a nice balance of acidity and tanins and a satisfyingly high alcohol content.  It was a winter wine and would compliment strong meats, game or meat stews.  Not a wine for summer picnics but then the weather here is hardly summer.  Cool, wet and windy which made our regular visit to Al Jezera for a curry on the way home all the more enjoyable.  ~~~

Another example of the Euros just not getting it right when using English words to name and describe their businesses.  I know just what message the owner of this pizza emporium is trying to convey but my mind always first conjures up a picture of minced bunny on toasted cheese; as for ‘Lav Club’ I suppose you join at your own convenience.

Week three at Le Cordon Bleu and the kid ‘oven’ gloves have come off.  All the chefs are now pushing the pace during the practical sessions probably to simulate the pressure of working in a commercial kitchen.  This in itself would not be so bad but for the inconsistency of instructions between the demonstrations and practical sessions.  During a demonstration students are shown exactly how a particular dish is to be prepared and have to make copious notes to refer to later.  If, as often happens, the supervising chef for the practical session is different from the demonstration chef he will demand that the dish be prepared his way which is nearly always different from the demonstration.  As the practical session chef is the one who awards marks for each dish he is the one who needs to be impressed.  Jackie and her colleagues are finding this a little frustrating especially as suddenly having to learn a new technique on the fly is slowing them down which further annoys chef.

This week has seen the introduction of one of Jackie’s least favourite activities so far, almost up there with killing crabs:  this activity is ‘turning vegetables’.  First take your carrot/artichoke heart/mushroom in your left hand supported between your thumb underneath and two forefingers on top.  With your other fingers rotate the vegetable whilst using a sharp pairing knife in your right hand to sculpt a delicate shape.  Better not try this at home, it is very difficult but as the school are hot on ‘turning’ we are having to scour the markets for cheap artichokes, mushrooms and carrots for Jackie to practice on in the flat.  I suspect I am going to have to get to like vegetable soup a lot. ~~~

Sarah, Jackie’s Canadian class mate, was bemoaning the fact that she hadn’t found any decent Chinese restaurants in the area and was getting desperate for some good Asian food.  Jackie suggested that we all went to our favourite Korean restaurant, L’Arbre de Sel that evening and extended the invitation to her young Philippino class mate Jose-Antonio.

There are 800 Korean restaurants in Paris, the majority of which are owned and run by Vietnamese people.  L’Arbre de Sel (www.larbredesel-paris.com) is a genuine Korean, family run business which offers excellent food at moderate prices.  It has rapidly become our local eatery of choice and it was great fun to introduce Sarah and Antonio to it.  I started with my favourite  kimchi galettes, pancakes of fermented cabbage with a hot dipping sauce, followed by a sizzling plate of spiced pork strips with small dishes of pickled vegetables.  Antonio had a similar selection whilst Jackie had belly pork and Sarah sizzling beef.

Sarah is only doing the basic cuisine course and will return to Canada in November.  She has always loved cooking and the course was a graduation present from her mum.  When she returns to Vancouver she is going to take up accountancy; strange that, she seems such a nice girl.  Antonio, on the other hand, who comes from a family of lawyers and doctors, has an ambition to open his own restaurant back in Manilla.  He hopes to get a job in Spain for a couple of years in order to learn Spanish.  It was nice to have company for a meal again and being in the presence of youth is always a tonic for us old timers.

Tomorrow Jackie is going to cook a rabbit dish which should stand her in good stead if she ever needs to get a job at the local pizza place.  It’s also the night of the student dinner at ‘Le Train Bleu’ in Gare de Lyon.  The school is hosting the dinner and each student can take one guest. Jackie has chosen me; yippee!!  Carrying her books to school each day has finally paid off.  ~~~

If ever you are in Gare de Lyon with a few minutes to spare do try and peek inside ‘Le Train Bleu’ restaurant.  The listed dining room is situated just inside the main entrance up a short flight of marble steps. Inside, a high vaulted ceiling with gilt cornices is adorned with giant frescos depicting destinations served by the station in an earlier time; Monaco without any high rise, Antibes before blocks of flats, it is all quite breath taking.  This then was the venue for the Cordon Bleu, basic cuisine and basic patisserie, student dinner.

It was an excellent evening especially from a male perspective as we were outnumbered five to one by females.  Having spent every day wearing their kitchen uniforms the ladies had really gone to town and were dressed up to the nines.  The Asian girls in their tight silk frocks looked especially attractive.  Jackie gave me one of her sweet smiles which I correctly interpreted as, “you stray more than one centimetre from your seat sunshine and you’re for it.”

The food didn’t live up the surroundings.  The starter was a filo pastry parcel of crab and langoustine with lobster sauce which somehow was devoid of any taste.  Our main course, confit of duck, was so salty it was inedible.  Jackie and I sent ours back and had a rather boring piece of salmon instead.  To finish we had a pineapple carpaccio with basil and almonds which I quite liked  but Jackie wasn’t impressed.  At least the wine waiters did a sterling job and kept us all well topped up.  The wine, surroundings and convivial company made for a memorable evening which was over far too soon.  ~~~

The 15th is the largest arrondissement in Paris.  Devoid of any notable tourist attractions it makes up for it by providing excellent food shops, four markets a week and good, moderately priced restaurants.  A weekly bus pass at just over €16 gets me around the rest of Paris although the poor weather has not been conducive to do much sightseeing.  Being July the popular museums and galleries are knee-deep in tourists with huge queues at the ticket booths.  People-watching over a slow beer from one of the many corner cafés is an expensive past time.  At our local bar on the corner of Pasteur a half litre of beer costs €7.60.  Just down the road in more fashionable St Germain des Prés the same beer costs €10.20; that’s over £8 in real money, so life for me isn’t all beer and skittles.

Napoleon’s tomb, in the stunning Église du Dôme is a fifteen minute walk from the flat and worth every second.  Behind the Église is Les Invalides, originally a hospice founded by Louis XIV to serve up to 4000 wounded soldiers.  It now houses five museums covering armour, relief cartography, the First World War, the Second World War and an amazing history of General de Gaulle.  I spent four hours there and would happily go back.

Sunday is our worst day as the bus service is greatly reduced and getting around without using the dirty, crowded metro is a problem.  On our way back from the market last Sunday morning we spotted a number 80 bus and decided that we would hurry home, have a quick lunch and then go and take a number 80 to where ever it was going.  It took us to Montmartre and we ended up climbing the hill to the Basilique du Sacré Cœur along with hundreds of other tourists.  Going inside the ’over the top wedding cake’ of a church was out of the question with so many people about so we contented ourselves with the fine views over Paris before returning to our Sunday escape bus.

When Juliette, Mike and I had walked along the Champs Élysées last week, work was well underway erecting grandstands all along the boulevard for the Bastille Day marches and celebrations on the 14th.  Jackie and I debated whether we should try and get there and join in but travel was going to be difficult.  Several of our nearest bridges were closed and we couldn’t understand the complicated instructions at the bus stop.  By the time we had got ourselves together on the day Mr Sarkozy and his elegant wife were already seated in the presidential grandstand on Place de la Concorde taking the salute, so we watched the whole thing on the telly.

The parade and march past were most impressive.  Just about every regiment in France and overseas must have been represented.  Marching bands, soldiers in their ceremonial uniforms, mounted cavalry, tanks, self propelled guns, sailors and airmen proudly paraded past Mr Sarkozy and his large entourage of guests which included just about every European leader except for Gordon, perhaps his pocket money had run out and he couldn’t afford an away-day to Paris.  Following the ground spectacle we were treated to a flypast with French fighter jets painting the sky with red, white and blue smoke.  The display was rounded off with seven sky divers leaping out of a plane and landing right in front of the presidential stand.  The whole spectacle was magnificent, and compared very well with the trooping of the colour.  I was sad that we hadn’t made more of an effort to join in and as soon as the TV broadcast had finished set off for Napoleon’s tomb to see if anything was going on there.  It wasn’t but on the way I stumbled across Bistro de Breteuil which had a large terrace overlooking the charming place de Breteuil and was full of people all enjoying their holiday lunch time in glorious weather.  Such was the buzz emanating from the terrace that I decided that it was the right place to be for us.  I hurried back to the flat and without much effort persuaded Mrs H to put on her glad rags and accompany me to the bistro.

We got the last table next to a solitary French woman who after a short while was pleased to be engaged in conversation.  She explained that the bistro was part of a chain of seven in Paris, www.bistrocie.fr all of which offered the same formula.  An apéritif, starter, main course, desert, coffee and a bottle of wine for two all for €36 each.  The menus were simple but the quality was excellent and the free choice wine list surprisingly extensive.  After our Kir Royales I had a dozen Burgundian escargots whilst Jackie had foie gras with a glass of sauterne.  Then I had a Charolais steak which was cooked to perfection with béarnaise sauce and chips which could have come from Belgium.  Jackie had lamb with ‘jus au thym’ and Gratin Dauphinois.  Our French neighbour was pleased to speak English but Jackie persuaded her to speak French slowly so that she could practice.  Jackie did exceedingly well, managing to have a proper conversation in French: I ate my chips.  For dessert I had an apple tart flambéed in Calvados whilst Jackie had a very naughty Millefeuile.  I had a glass of Calvados with my coffee which the waiter forgot to put on the bill.  When I pointed this out to him he just said, “Happy Independence Day, Monsieur.”   A great place and we shall certainly return.  ~~~

Apparently, Nintendo’s Wii games console is really cool with the young.  Jackie’s class mate Sarah has one back in Vancouver but her mum wouldn’t let her bring it to Paris.  She was most impressed to hear that we had one in the flat so Jackie organised a Wii evening with a vat of chilli on offer for her and any other class mates that fancied their chances on the WiiFit Board.  Naughty boys, Sydney and Antonio said that they would come but failed to show on the night, consequently I shall be eating chilli for the rest of the week.  Another of Jackie’s classmates, Curene, from Hong Kong came laden with gifts of exotic looking chocolates and biscuits whilst Sarah had made some excellent pineapple fried rice and a wonderful savoury filling for lettuce wraps.  What kind and thoughtful young women.

Neither of the girls had seen the WiiFit system before and were fascinated by the technology.  Basically by standing on what looks like a substantial set of bathroom scales and by moving one’s weight about one interacts with the software.  There are balance games like slalom skiing, heading a football, ski jumping, a surprisingly tense tight rope walking test plus many others.  On the more serious side the system works out your BMI (body mass index) and tells you how much weight you should loose, Curene was under her optimum weight, lucky girl,  Sarah was spot on whilst Jackie and I were still seriously overweight and this was before we started eating. 

To help fight the flab the system also provides Yoga poses, muscle building workouts and aerobic exercises. Trying to keep your TV sprite spinning a hula hoop is just as entertaining for the spectators as it is for the participants.  One of the favourite activities was the ski jump.  Having failed all her previous efforts Sarah put all her might into one final go and jumped a record breaking 170 metres, nearly clearing the TV set in the process.  If her mum is reading this I suspect a WiFit Board might be a welcome addition to the Christmas present list.  ~~~

Jackie has not been quite such a happy bunny of late, especially after her practical sessions and I have finally found out why.  It’s all to do with this vegetable turning business.  You may recall that a few days ago she was having trouble carving her potatoes/carrots/courgettes/whatever into neat, regular shapes; especially in the way that the school insists.  All the chefs are very hot on vegetable turning.  The trouble is her classmates, with their young, agile fingers and sharp little minds are getting to grips with turning and are overtaking her.  Now it isn’t a competition but it is more than a little irksome when someone who could be your granddaughter starts to wield a knife with what looks like years of experience.

Our second guests, Derek and Wendy Parker, arrived late Friday afternoon.  They live in a delightful house overlooking the Canal du Centre at La Chapelle in the Loire valley.  Their house in the photo is the one on top of the hill.  We had parked Dorabella there last summer and been looked after very well.  It was nice therefore to be able to entertain them.

Derek and Wendy had travelled to Paris for the daughter of a friend’s wedding on the Saturday and asked to come a day early to spend an evening with us.  Jackie made one of my favourite dishes for supper, ‘Paupiettes de Veau Bourgeoise’, (stuffed veal rolls with glazed vegetables).  The veal escallops were stuffed with finely chopped shallots, garlic, mushrooms and cured ham together with ground veal, pork shoulder, a little armagnac and seasoning.  They were served with perfectly turned, glazed vegetables and a veal reduction; just divine.  We had a bought fish terrine for starters and bought tarts for pudding, well what is the point of living next door to a great charcuterie and patisserie if you don’t use them. n’est pas?

Derek is a bit of a wine connoisseur and I was lucky to hit on a very fine 2006 Chablis from Lamblin & Fils in the Yonne valley to go with our fish course.  It was superb and Derek was most impressed with my choice, assuming it had something to do with my wine tasting course.  I didn’t like to admit that my method of selection had been to pick the most expensive bottle on the shelf and hope.  The Santenay, Burgundy, was less impressive with the main course but came to life with the cheese.  It all goes to show that there is a lot to learn with matching wine to food.

Just before Derek and Wendy arrived Jean-Phillipe called to install our Orange Livebox TV decoder and recorder.  Our internet package from Orange includes free phone calls and on-line TV with video on demand.  The 64 TV stations aren’t of much interest as the only English language ones are, CNN (yuk), BBC World (yuk2), SKY News, Euro News and Al Jazeera(???).  The video on demand is of much greater interest as in theory we can search a database of films, find ones where the original language was English, chose that as our preferred language  and for €4 a pop watch a film. We tried it out last night and chose “No Reservations” a Catherine Zeta-Jones film which seemed appropriate as she plays a top chef in a classy New York restaurant.  All went well for the first fifteen minutes and then the picture froze.  The English dialogue continued to play but the picture wouldn’t change.  I tried fast forward, fast return, stop, I even tried to turn the box off but nothing happened.  Eventually I pulled the plug out and mentally waved good-bye to our €4.

Jackie was pretty upset with this technology which had cost us a small fortune to install as we had had to have the only telephone point in the second bedroom extended 20 metres to the sitting room in order to connect the TV.  I studied the French manual and found a section called ‘My Video”.  I then located this area in the TV menu selection and found our film stored there as having been paid for.  Greatly cheered we settled down to watch our film again only this time when it started the dialogue was in French.  Back to the manual, but by the time I had worked out how to restore the English dialogue Jackie had gone to sleep.  It was perhaps as well, the film was terrible.

The main benefit of our Orange TV box is that I can record Grand Prix which means that we can be more flexible on Sundays.  Although I shall be very upset if the box freezes in the middle of a race.  Talking of Grand Prix, I am writing this just before the start of the German GP and so don’t know the result yet.  It seemed to work for the British GP.  I know that Lewis is on pole, but in the immortal words of Murray Walker, “Anything can happen, and probably will.”  ~~~

Another great race and another fantastic drive by the amazing Mr Hamilton. I thought that it was cruel of the McLaren team to play a practical joke on him half way through; but full marks for livening up the race.  Instead of bringing him in for his pit stop when the cars were going slowly behind the pace car they waited until the race was back up to full speed.  How they must have laughed when four cars overtook him as he was having his tyres changed.  I can’t think Lewis was too pleased but it certainly made for an exciting race for us spectators.

The Orange box recorded the race perfectly.  I watched it live anyway but the recording allowed me to replay it and work out what happened with the sequence of pit stops.  Without the benefit of an English commentary it was a bit confusing first time round.  I had hoped to listen to Radio 5 Live’s commentary via the internet.  But five minutes before the start the broadcast stopped and a recorded message announced that due to contractual constraints the broadcast wasn’t available outside the UK. It seems that Bernie has got every square inch of the planet sewn up, even the internet.  Apparently it is possible to receive internet broadcasts outside the UK by using a ‘proxy server’ whatever that is.  If anyone has any advice, baring in mind that I am a Mac user, then I would love to hear from them.

Summer arrived today and after delivering Mrs H and her books to school, yes I am still toadying up to her in case there is another school jolly that I might get included on, I made a picnic lunch and headed off to the Luxembourg Gardens. It was a beautiful day with just enough breeze to stop the heat from being oppressive.  At long last the shorts got an airing and Paris got a view of the Harding snow white pins.  The gardens are very civilised and provide proper chairs to sit on and take the sun.  After an extensive explore I bagged one and settled down in the sun with my Cordon Bleu chicken baguette, a cold can of larger and La Boheme on the iPod, wonderful.  I suppose that this is what I miss about not being on Dorabella; the outdoors and captains’ meetings on the bridge deck with Leo.

When I called for Mrs H at school this afternoon I found her writing up her notes in the Winter Garden with a steely glint in her eye.  She had just got her half term results; out of a possible mark of 5 the group average was 3.2, Jackie got 3.5 which is excellent but it wasn’t the best mark.  This isn’t a competition but suddenly only the best will do.  Tonight she is having a practice cooking the dish she will have to do in tomorrow’s practical session.  Luckily for me it’s roast beef Cordon Bleu style.  At last her vegetable turning is coming on a treat.  She is flying through carrots and potatoes and all without losing a thumb, yet.  ~~~

I took myself off to La Défense today to admire this exceptional showpiece of modern architecture.  The predominately head office business area lies to the north west of the city and its centre piece ‘La Grande Arche’ mirrors the ‘Arc de Triomphe which can be seen in a straight line from its steps.  I loved it although I am sure there are as many detractors as admirers.  According to the guide book there is space inside the cube for Notre Dame Cathedral complete with spire.

Its been a bit of an up and down week for Mrs H.  On Wednesday she lost £160 worth of prescription lens Gucci sunglasses.  Sadly anything of remote value that gets left lying around quickly disappears.  One of Jackie’s fellow students had his knife case with over £200 of equipment in it pinched today as he was changing.

On the cooking front things have been going rather well, her Beef Bourguignonne was praised and her turned potatoes passed muster without comment.  Her souflé was impressive enough that the chef made the other students stop what they were doing and come and admire it; I think Jackie found that a bit of an ‘embarrassment’. Her last dish today and one which I was really looking forward too for supper tonight was deep fried gambas and tartare sauce which according too her classmates looked superb. 

When I got to school this afternoon I found Jackie outside still in her uniform.  She told me that she had locked her padlock key in the locker, this wasn’t a problem as I had a spare. But when she opened her locker the padlock key together with her flat key weren’t there.  The padlock key didn’t matter but it wouldn’t be hard for anyone working at the school to find out our address and pay us an unwelcome visit.  Jackie was close to tears when the receptionist finally found them on her desk.  She went off to change considerably cheered but came back looking a little glum.  “What’s wrong now,” I asked?  “Someone’s nicked the prawns,” she replied. ~~~

Jackie was determined that I should not miss out on her famous prawns; so on Friday afternoon we walked from school down rue Lecourbe past our local fish shop where a dozen, grey, jumbo prawns were purchased at just under €1 each.  Back home the prawns were peeled and marinated in olive oil, chopped garlic, chopped parsley, salt and pepper.  They were then dipped in a tempura-like batter and deep fried until a light golden brown.  Instead of the calorie full tartare sauce Jackie served them with lemon, salad and a spicy Thai dipping sauce:  they were absolutely scrummy.  A bottle of Petite Chablis from Messrs Lamblin & Fils was served; more acidic than their Chablis it complemented the prawns well.  Having announced my complete satisfaction with the prawns Mrs H ventured to remark that in future it would be much easier for her to make them if she had a small deep-frier.  She certainly got her timing right for I agreed that we would purchase one the very next day.

A trip to the truly wonderful department store BHV (Bazaar de L’Hotel de Ville) on the rue de Rivoli was made on Saturday morning.  A neat, small deep frier was purchased and now sits in our kitchen waiting hungrily for prawns.  As I had been a good boy and carried her books and knives to and from school all week, Jackie rewarded me with lunch and I chose another of Clotilde Dusoulier’s recommended restaurants ‘Le Trumilou’.  Located just upstream of the Hôtel de Ville on the Quai de L’Hôtel de Ville it is an unpretentious place that serves traditional, no frills, Auvergne style food in great quantities at a very reasonable price; the three course menu costs just €19.

Jackie started with a courgette flan which was like a light quiche without any pastry, it was delicious.  I had two different types of patés, some duck rillette, salad and cornichons.  The main courses didn’t come plated but arrived on serving dishes from which we helped ourselves, all very rustic.  Jackie had knuckle of pork served on a bed of lentils. The meat was cooked to perfection and just flaked off the bone.  I had a fillet of pike perch with dill sauce, beans and sautéed potatoes.  It all tasted very nice, my only complaint was that the beans were overcooked as the French like them that way and my fish still had too many bones to be eaten comfortably. We both had a creme caramel for pudding and washed the lot down with a pleasant, if unremarkable Tavel rosé.  Despite the bones and limp beans I would still go back and perhaps be brave and try the calves liver.

On our walk back to the bus stop we passed ‘La Plage’.  Each summer between the 21st July and the 20th August the city fathers dump a load of sand beside the Seine so that the few Parisians who haven’t deserted the city for the seaside can enjoy their own beach.  Despite a poor weather forecast the stretch close to the Hôtel de Ville was well populated with sun worshippers, many in swim suits. It’s a nice idea but has no appeal for me, I don’t even like sitting on real beaches.  Whilst I won’t be dashing back to ‘la Plage’ I do have to make sure that at least once a week we walk back from school past the fish shop and just hope that there are plenty of jumbo prawns on display.  ~~~

The centre of Paris came to a standstill on Sunday when the ‘Tour de France” reached its conclusion with a sprint race up and down the Champs Élysées. It was a nice day and we decided to take our number 80 bus to the Arc de Triomphe and see what was going on. 

With still two hours to go before any competing cyclists appeared the Champs Élysées was already packed with spectators enjoying the party atmosphere.  Official Tour stalls were selling souvenirs and refreshments, whilst entertainment was provided by the teams’ sponsors, most of whom had floats, which were parading round the circuit some with giant effigies of the cyclists they were sponsoring and most had bands blaring out rock music; it was all very jolly.

A giant TV screen at Place Clemenceau showed the riders toiling towards the outskirts of the city.  Having soaked up the atmosphere we decided that rather than wait for the race to finish and get caught up with the thousands of other people trying to leave we would leg it back to the flat and watch the finish on our TV.  Had it been a Grand Prix nothing would have moved me but not being a cycle racing aficionado I was happy to go.  I was glad that we had made the effort because the excitement was truly infectious.

Monsieur Allix was in a good humour for our last wine class before the exams, but it wasn’t a spectacular lunch that was the cause this time.  He confided that there was a strong possibility that later this year he will be starting his own School for Sommeliers, possibly in association with Le Cordon Bleu Academy.  Currently there is a shortage of training facilities for sommeliers in France and Monsieur Allix has seen an opening.  He greatly amused us with stories from the time when he taught young sommeliers.  When serving a fine vintage, the wine must be first decanted to leave the sediment in the bottle.  In order to see the sediment the sommelier must first light a candle and then whilst pouring the wine hold the neck of the bottle close to the candle and stop pouring as soon as sediment is observed.  One poor chap, who had his wine in a serving basket, was concentrating so hard on looking for the sediment that he held the basket too close to the flame and set fire to it.  His successor was so nervous that his hand started to shake and he spilt wine onto the candle putting it out. Thankfully we were spared any candles in our wine tasting session.

Our four wines to taste started with a 2005 Bourgogne Passetoutgrain from Ballorin.  Made from 70% Gamay Grapes and 30% Pinot Noir it had a high acidity which wasn’t to my taste or many others .

A 2005 Bordeaux Chateaux Thieuley made from 70% Merlot and 30% Cabernet Sauvignon was much smoother with a slightly smoky aroma.

I had high hopes for our third wine which was a 2005 Rully from Belleville.  Made from Pinot Noir grapes it was a well balanced wine with a mossy, woodland, aroma and a warm finish.  But at €19.20 a bottle it lacked the wow factor to go on my shopping list.

My favourite was the last wine, a 2005 Côte du Rhone Village Rasteau.  Blended from 13 different varieties of grapes, it had a strong nose with a hint of pepper and red fruits, a long warm finish and a nice balance between acidity and tanins.  The alcohol content was a high 14.5% but the alcohol didn’t overpower the wine.  At €12.90 a bottle, definitely a winter wine to go with rich, meaty stews.  ~~~

Each term students are allowed to take a guest into one of the demonstration sessions and, with Jackie’s approval, I had chosen Thursday.  Chef Marc Chalopin, with the help of his Australian translator Leanne, was going to show us how to make lightly saffroned mussel soup, sautéed veal chops with classic ‘Grandmother’ garnish and an Italian style strawberry tart for pud.  It all sounded pretty straight forward; perhaps something I could knock together one evening when Jackie was feeling a bit tired.

The demonstration room had tiered seating for about 60 students facing a cooking area with six hot plates, an oven and large work surface with a slanted mirror on the ceiling giving everyone a bird’s eye view of the proceedings.  A CCTV camera also relayed pictures of the work area to two flat screen monitors half way up the room.  It all looked very high tech and professional.

I had naively expected that Chef Chalopin would start with the soup, go on to the meat and finish with the tart.  But, as all proper cooks already know, activities have to happen in the order that makes the most efficient use of time.  Chef started by making the pastry base for his tart. He first made the dough with flour,butter, a little sugar, vanilla powder and salt, no water or eggs.  The pastry was rolled to a thickness of 4 mm onto floured baking paper.  A round mould was used to cut the base into a circle and chopped pistachio nuts pressed into the base by hand.  This was then put into a fridge to stabilise.  The sauce, a mixture of orange juice and sugar, was put onto a high heat to reduce to a syrupy consistency.  The mixture had to be whisked occasionally to stop the edges burning.  Chef had two hot plats on high, two on medium and two on low, the reason for this became evident when he started to fry the chops.

The filling for the tart was created by folding together mascarponi, whipped cream and vanilla.  I think I remarked in an early blog that this isn’t hospital food.  The filling was put into a fridge and the pastry base, after a line had been cut round the inside of the mould, popped into an oven preheated to 160°. At this point I would have wanted to put on a timer, but chef explained that time wasn’t important it was the colour of the base that would determine when it was ready. Once it was a light golden brown it should be removed; a timer would have been nice though.

A quick whisk of the bubbling orange juice and then on to cleaned, closed mussels, if they are open don’t buy them we were advised, which were placed in a wide pan on a high heat and covered with white wine, water and chopped shallots.  Finely sliced carrots, leeks and celery for the soup’s julienne were steamed in butter on a low heat, which enabled them to retain their bright colours.  As soon as the mussels had opened they were removed from the heat and the liquid strained into another pan.  If the liquid is too salty, fish or chicken stock can be added.  After tasting, Chef was satisfied that it wasn’t too salty, added some cream, 2 egg yolks, saffron threads and put the pan onto a high heat to boil quickly.

It was at this point that I began to feel a little uncomfortable.  There was a pan of bubbling orange juice on the go which had to be periodically stirred, a pan of mussel soup coming to the boil, steaming vegetables, a pastry base in the oven, which he hadn’t looked at once and now he produced a rack of four veal chops and proceeded to show us how to prepare them.  As a youngster I used to hate the juggling act when plates were spun on top of long cane poles.  The juggler would get half a dozen or so plates spinning by which time the early ones were starting to wobble.  He would dash back to revive the early ones by which time the later ones were wobbling and then he would set even more plates spinning, I couldn’t bare to watch.  It was this sort of panic that was beginning to creep up on me now.  If only Chef would look at his pastry I could settle down a bit; perhaps I could offer to look at for him?

The rack of veal chops had already been trimmed by the assistant chef but all was not well. Chef pointed to a flap of meat outside a muscle on the periphery of the chop, prodded it with his finger and pronounced that this was tougher meat than the eye of the chop and should be removed.  He did this with a pairing knife, chopped it into cubes and added them to the bowl of trimmings.  The rack was sliced into four large chops which were too many to fit into one frying pan so one had a smaller pan all to itself.  The chops were first tied loosely into shape, too tight and the meat will be stressed.  There was now a serious shortage of hot plate real estate and we hadn’t even started sautéing the turned potatoes, which first had to be boiled. But no problem, the mussel soup stock was ready, removed from the heat, poured into a cold pan and left to stand.  Another quick stir of the orange and then butter was melted in the frying pans on a low heat.  As soon as it had liquified the pans were transferred to high heat plates and the chops placed in them.  The meat trimmings were used to fill in any gaps in the pans both to stop the pans burning and to add to the meat juices.  Chef explained that the whole point of this exercise was not to cook the chops, which could have been done in the oven, but to caramelise the meat juices on the bottom of the pan in order to make a rich, concentrated jus.  The meat had to cook between 30 to 40 minutes, any longer and the pan would be burnt, any shorter and the jus would be too weak.  The chops and the trimmings had to be turned frequently and the pans watched intently to maintain the right colour. If the chops seemed to be cooking too quickly then the pan had to be moved from a high heat to a lower one.  I just wished that Chef would look at his pastry which I was convinced would be now burnt to  a cinder.

As if he had read my thoughts Chef Chalopin stopped attending to the chops, spun round, opened the oven and lifted out his pastry base.  It was a lovely dark yellow with the green pistachio nuts glinting like buried jewels.  Not enough announced Chef sliding the tray back in and closing the door.  My heart sank a little but at least I knew that Chef was on top of it all.

The orange syrup was glazed with balsamic vinegar, removed from the heat and left to stand.  Room now for the potatoes to be boiled before being sautéed in a pan of hot oil. Then the grandmother’s sauce was prepared, a mixture of lardons, small onions, button mushrooms and garlic.  Time then for the jus.  The chops were removed from their pans and placed on a wire tray to rest over the oven.  The trimmings were removed and the pans tilted to one side so that all the fat could be dabbed out with some kitchen paper.  What was left was a golden crust of caramelised meat juice stuck to the bottom of each pan.  White wine was used for deglazzing and the first reduction followed by three more with water to produce an intense, veal jus.

Whilst all this was going on, Leanne, as well as translating, was removing the cooked mussels from their shells ready to be added to the soup.  At last the golden pastry base was ready, the mascarponi filling was piped on, sliced strawberries added and decorated with torn basil leaves.  And suddenly as if by magic everything came together, the mussels and julienne vegetable were added to the mussel stock, the veal chops were carved and plated along with the garnish and each course served and presented on the demonstration table.  An absolute masterpiece which all looked and tasted wonderful.  But I am having second thoughts about trying to copy it at home as a supper ´’á deux’.  For a start I would need six more hot plates plus an assistant chef and an Australian translator.  Perhaps we’ll eat out that night.  ~~~

This has been an outstanding week for Jackie in the Cordon Bleu kitchens’.  Her first practical session was the preparation of ‘Blanquette de Veau à l’Ancienne’ (traditional veal stew).  This is not the sort of dish I would normally choose from a menu but after tasting Jackie’s effort I will give it serious consideration in future.  It consists of fairly large chunks of veal, either from shoulder or knuckle, carrots, onions, leeks, celery and garlic, with a traditional garnish of button mushrooms, pearl onions and lemon all cooked in butter, and a white roux thickened with whipping cream and egg yolks.  Jackie had made copious notes during the demonstration, studied hard before the session and, according to Chef Bruno Stril produced an outstanding dish.  He christened her ‘Chef de Blanquette’, which I suppose is as good as one can get.

Her next effort, mid week, was ‘Tournedos grillés, sauce Béarnaise and pommes pont-neuf’, which is steak and chips with a Béarnaise sauce. Easy peasy I hear you cry, but wait on.  The French have a way of classifying the way that steak is cooked which some English find unpalatable.  At the raw end of the scale is bleu, which is basically ‘should be still grazing in a meadow’.  Then there is ‘saignant’, which is ‘quick nurse, more bandages’.  Then there is ‘à point’ and finally ‘bien cuit’ which would just about make it onto the raw end of an English menu.  Before testing the cooked steaks the judging chef, which happened to be Monsieur Stril again, asked each student how their steak had been cooked.  With more confidence then she really felt Jackie plumped for ‘bleu’.  Chef Stril cut her steak, observed the red interior and pronounced it perfect.  He then took one of her chips dipped it in the Béarnaise sauce and pronounced them perfect as well.  “French meat, French potatoes and French sauce,” he acclaimed.  “And English cook”, responded Jackie with a triumphant smile.

Her final practical session was the preparation of the sautéed veal chops with classic ‘Grandmother’ garnish.  Those of you with great stamina will have read in my previous blog that I was present at Chef Chalopin’s demonstration of this dish; which was lucky as I was able to give her a few vital pointers during our walk to school.  The result was another perfect dish entirely to Chef Stril’s satisfaction.  I suspect that he’ll soon be on the Christmas card list.  All in all a good confidence-building week for Mrs H, which is just as well; the first exam is only two weeks away.

It was a good week on the social front as well.  Two friends from Ipswich YM rugby club, Elizabeth and Chris Peeke, had brought their grandson, Ashley, for his first visit to Paris. They had rented an apartment for four nights and e-mailed to see if we would like to meet.  Jackie finished at 12.00 on Wednesday, so after a phone conversation we arranged to meet at the Bistro de Breteuil for one of their excellent value menus.  It was a warm, pleasant day and so nice to be dining in company, outside once again; we do miss friends.  They had had a bit of a shock when they reached their apartment in the Latin Quarter.  It was dirty and in a complete shambles.  Elizabeth was in tears, but the agent quickly phoned around and found another apartment which, whilst in another area, not far from us as it happened, was clean, spacious and comfortable.  It seems that Parisian estate agents are a law unto themselves.

Mr Hamilton is in action again this afternoon in Hungary.  As usual I am writing this before the race; it seemed to work for the last two.  Pole position looks good, let’s just hope the team get the pit stops right and Lewis doesn’t jump any red lights.  ~~~

The last exam of any sort that I sat was 22 years ago when I took my VHF operators test.  So, despite the light hearted nature of the ‘Wine Essentials’ course I approached the exam with some trepidation as did Jackie.

The test was in two parts, the first being 25 written statements covering wine tasting, French wine law, wine production and matching food with wine, which we had to mark as true or false.  The second part, and the more intimidating, was a blind tasting, during which we were all given a glass of wine from the same, unseen bottle; we had to analyse the wine, write down our method of analysis and come to a conclusion, was it a simple wine,or an elegant wine and what type of food would it best compliment?  I had admitted to Jackie and Sarah that when it came to analysing aromatic groups from the smell I was completely lost.  I had already decided that if it was a red wine it would have a woodland aroma with dark berries and a hint of cherry, and if a white wine then soft, white fruits with a hint of lemon, just in case the wine had some acidic quality.  Sarah thought this was hilarious and I just hoped that we didn’t get the giggles if we had to do a verbal analysis, luckily it was all to be written.

The true or false question part was quite easy although I got two answers wrong, one just a silly mistake the other was a language problem.  In our course notes the direct translation of ‘macération’ was given as ‘fermentation’ which it isn’t.  This incorrect translation caused me to get another answer wrong but when I pointed out the contradiction in our notes Monsieur Allix agreed to look kindly on my paper.

Finally our glasses of red wine arrived, I could already feel the woodland dark berries coming on.  Now Monsieur Allix is not without a sense of humour, in fact he has a very good sense of humour and frequently had us laughing in class.  Would he play a joke on us and give us a ‘Vin de Table’ in the hope that we would rave on about its fine structure and elegant finish?  Or would he give us a ‘Grand Cru’ in the belief that we would dismiss it as being only suitable for accompanying egg and chips?  The wine certainly looked nice, it was clear, bright, had good legs and a rich red colour with an evolution to orange around the edges, a certain sign that it wasn’t a young wine and definitely not at the ‘Vin de Tables’ end of the range.  Now for the smelling bit, I stuck my nose into the glass and got a clean, intense aroma of woodland, dark berries with a hint of cherry, I kid you not.  Hardly believing my luck I quickly scribbled down my description, not daring to glance at Jackie or Sarah. Next the taste, it had an initial strong presence, a good evolution and a long warm finish.  The acidity was nicely balanced with the tannins and the alcohol didn’t overpower the taste, it was a fine, well made wine, perhaps not a Grand Cru but most likely an AOC from a good wine maker.  It would go well with red meats and I paired it with ‘Boeuf Bourguignon’.

The moment of reckoning came, our papers were handed in and Monsieur Allix revealed the test wine.  He hadn’t played a joke on us, it was a 2003, AOC, Beaune from Burgundy.  Jackie not only guessed the region correctly but also impressed Monsieur Allix by getting the year right as well; definitely heading for the podium that one.

After the test the class took on an ‘end of term party like atmosphere’.  Following a description of the concept of ageing wine in oak barrels Monsieur Allix pronounced that he was feeling thirsty and produced four more wines for us to try.  They were all from Bordeaux and of different vintages so that we could appreciate how wines can develop and change their character over time.

The first wine was a 2004 ‘Lalande de Pomerol’.  It had a strong initial taste with plenty of tannins but a slightly sour finish.  The wine, Monsieur Allix, informed us, was well made but would benefit from ageing which would allow the tannins to soften the acidic sourness.

Next up was a 2003 ‘St Emillion Lussac’ made from 50° Merlot and 50° Cabernet Franc grapes.  It was a robust, in your face, wine with marked acidity, rounded rather than astringent tannins and a high alcohol content which gave it a warm finish.  Should be excellent with strong game dishes and at €12.90 a bottle could well find a place in our wine cupboard.

One wine which will definitely find a home with us if I can track it down was number three, a 2002 ‘Listrac Médoc’ from Château  Mayne Lalande.  Made from Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc and Mérlott grapes , at €10.45 a bottle it was excellent value having a much softer character than the previous wines.

La piece de resistance was our final wine for the evening and the course, a 2001, St Emillion Grand Cru from Domaine Chante Alouette Cormeil.  It had a clean, intense nose with a touch of gameness about it.  A soft attack, gentle evolution and a soft long finish with a good balance of acidity, tannins and alcohol.  In my conclusion I had just written ’perfect’, and perfection costs just €17.50 a bottle.

It was a good note to finish our first wine course on.  We shall see Monsieur Allix again in September for our French Wine Course but sadly not Deborah, our charming American, translator nor most of our classmates who will be returning to their homes at the end of ‘Basic Cuisine”.  I shall miss them and my Monday night out; I’ll just have to go down to the pub.  ~~~

The 15 ème has gone on holiday.  Our local butcher, two bakers, the reassuringly expensive charcuterie along with a good number of the local residents have gone to the mountains or the coast or where ever Parisians flee to in August.  Parking spaces are ten a Euro in rue Ernest Renan and road junctions, which required nerves of steel to cross during rush hour as squadrons of scooters vied for the honour of running over one’s toes, are now deserts of concrete and tarmac.  It is not unpleasant it just feels slightly weird having the place to ourselves.  On the other side of the coin, the tourists are here in droves.  The queue to go up M. Eiffel’s tower is 90 mins, to enter the Musée d’Orsay, 40 mins, I think I am already too late to make the Louvre this month. 

Our local Monoprix and the few remaining market stalls are keeping Mrs H supplied with produce including vegetables for turning practice.  The latest requirement is to sculpt fluted, spiral channels from the centre to the outside of mushroom tops.  The result could well grace the inside of the Louvre’s ‘Donatello Gallery’ and seems to require similar skills.  I suspect that mushrooms are going to play a large part in my future diet.

Our local restaurants are also closing for the month and whilst with Mrs H bringing home master pieces from school every other day we won’t starve, it’s always nice to eat out now and again.  Thanks to a tip off from Chris Peeke, who found it last week, just round the corner from the apartment they got moved too, we tried ‘Oudino’ (www.oudino.com) for lunch.  They close on Saturday for 10 days and we will certainly make a return visit when they re-open.  The dining room was unpretentious and traditional very much like Le Bélisaire.  The service was efficient and friendly and the kitchen deserves at least one more Michelin knife and fork.  I had the €18 menu and started with toasted goat’s cheese on a bed of leaves with a balsamic vinegar dressing.  Jackie went ‘à la carte’, it only cost €4 more, and started with a terrine made from layers of aubergine and rabbit rillettes which had been pressed together.  For main course I had a fried fillet of daurade, served with tagliatelle and a garnish of finely chopped ratatouille, it was delicious.  Jackie had a traditional dish of duck confit, covered with puréed potato which was baked until a light brown crust formed over the dish like a posh shepherd’s pie; she was in heaven.  We both had strawberry confections for desert and washed the lot down with a carafe of house rosé, see, we haven’t become wine snobs.  Le patron insisted that I pronounced my desert order in perfect French before he would accept it, pretending not to understand my initial efforts.  The naughty fellow then congratulated me in perfect English.

I know I haven’t mentioned last Sunday’s Hungarian Grand Prix yet, perhaps because I was disappointed in the result.  Not that I expect Lewis to win every time or resent his team mate Heikki Kovalainen winning.  But the best man on the day, without a doubt, was Felipe Massa whose stunningly fast, consistent pace must have surprised a lot of people, including his World Champion team mate.  To have your engine expire just three laps from the end must have been heart breaking, I was upset and I’m a Lewis fan.  It must have been a brave Ferrari engineer that went to console Felipe afterwards.

All us F1 fans now have a three week famine until the next race round the streets and harbour of Valencia.  A brand new venue with no prior testing possible it will provide a formidable challenge to the teams.  After his fine performance round the streets of Monaco my money is definitely on Mr Hamilton getting back to his winning ways.  ~~~

Pre exam jitters are beginning to creep into 8, rue Ernest Renan.  The first of two exams based on what the students have been taught so far is next Thursday and is a written test in two parts.  The first comprises 20 multiple choice answer questions, 10 true or false statements and 2 association questions.  For the second part the students have to prepare an order form listing all the ingredients and quantities for one of seven recipes.  The dishes include ‘Poached Colin with Hollandaise Sauce, Suprême de Volaille Farcis, Sauce aux Champignons and Blanquette de Veau a l’Ancienne, Riz Pilaf’; every day fare as you can see.  Jackie is going to prepare two dishes over the weekend for both practise and for our meals.  Sadly the prawns don’t figure on either the written recipe list or the practical one so our new, unused, prawn free, deep frier is slowly gathering dust.

After shopping and lunch Jackie got stuck into typing her demonstration notes and put out a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign.  It was raining at the Oval in London so no cricket to listen to.  Rain was also forecast for Paris on Sunday but it was reasonably nice then and I decided to go out for a walk.  After a short stroll round the Luxembourg Gardens I wandered down to Place St Sulpice dominated on one side by the completely over the top façade of the St Sulpice church, which was having one of its towers renovated.  In the centre was the much more pleasing ‘Fontaine des Quatre Points Cardinaux’.  I couldn’t work up any enthusiasm to go into the church, I am getting tired of musty, church smells and all the hideous art.  Not sure what to do next I suddenly realised that I was feeling homesick for Dorabella.  A trip to the Arsenal Yacht Basin to see if there were any British Linssens there would cheer me up.

The Arsenal is situated at the southern end of the Canal St Martin, between Place de la Bastille and the Seine.  It is a very popular venue as it provides cheap accommodation for accessing the centre of the city.  Normally it is best to book a berth in advance especially during the busy summer months, but what a shock, when I got there it was less than half full; where were all the boats?  Has the high fuel price driven boaters off the waterways?  There were a few Linssens but none flying a red ensign.  On the end pontoon closest to the river was an old friend, Solveig VII, a Classic Sturdy 400, similar to Dorabella, that used to belong to the German round the world yachtsman, Rollo Gebhard.  I had last seen her in Maasbracht ten years ago when she was launched and named the day before Dorabella’s launch party.  Having spotted me on board Dorabella, which was lying against the adjacent pontoon, Rollo had invited me to join his function.  Later the next week we had waved good-bye to Rollo and his wife Angelica as they set off on an epic voyage across Russia down to the Black Sea.  There was no sign of him on board but he must be 86 now and I suspect has finally swallowed the anchor.

When I got back to the flat Jackie was just finishing her notes and then started preparing one of her possible practical exam dishes, Sauté de Boef Strogonoff, Riz aux Légumes which was

made with love.  ~~~

We got our results for the ‘Wine Essentials’ exam yesterday.  Jackie got 84% and I got 85% (yesss), both good scores but I was a little disappointed with my tasting mark which was lower than Jackie’s even though our analyses were almost identical and I had paired the Burgundy wine with ‘Boeuf Bourgogne’ and Jackie had forgotten to match the wine with any food at all.  I suspect that she had developed a better rapport with the good professor as she laughed at his French jokes straight away whereas I had to wait for Deborah’s translation.  Anyway no more exams for me for a while whereas Jackie has one tomorrow and the big one, the practical, next week.  I have absolutely no doubt that she will easily pass both tests but she wants more than that, she wants to do well and I don’t blame her one bit.

The weather is pretty ropey at the moment; I suspect that it is much the same in the UK.  The morning was supposed to be better than the afternoon and I decided to take myself off and visit Château de Vincennes situated south west of Paris just outside the Périphérique in the former Vincennes’ Forest.  Much as I dislike it, the metro was the most efficient way to get there which is what I used.   Our local line has old, cramped, uncomfortable rolling stock but when I changed to Line 1 at ‘La Bastille’ the experience changed as well.  Now I was travelling on the newer trains with more room, better seating and the most unusual visual feature of no physical separation between the carriages.  This effect was like looking along the inside of a writhing serpent as the flexible tube rounded corners and dipped up and down declines and inclines.  It must feel much more secure late at night to be able to see the whole length of the train rather than be alone in a deserted compartment when the scary, drunken, skinheads/nutters/Corden Bleu students get on board.

Château de Vincennes is well worth a visit.  Built on the site of a hunting lodge the castle was started by King John ll in the 14th century and completed by his son Charles V who used it as the Royal residence.  The impressive looking keep is six floors high and dominates the surroundings in a most impressive way.  But whatever you do don’t pay €7,50 to go inside.  You are only allowed up to the second floor; there are no paintings, no furniture and no tapestries; just a few large, empty stone rooms.  I went round the lot in 45 minutes.  At the entry kiosk I complained about the lack of value for money and was asked, very politely, to fill out a lengthy, English questionnaire about my ‘visit experience’.  It took me almost as long to fill out the questionnaire as it did to go round their boring rooms, which I mentioned when I handed it in:  I think they got the point.

I sense a heavy revision session coming on this evening, so I will settle down with a bottle of wine and prepare to test Mrs H on her culinary knowledge.  And to all my keen drinking friends, you might think you are winos, but I’ve got a certificate.  ~~~

Haven’t a clue as to why today is a bank holiday.  I Googled the date but couldn’t find any French anniversary or anything quasi religious.  Wikipedia offered several options the most likely being the British ‘Bombardment of Kagoshima’ in Japan during 1863, also known as the “Anglo-Satsuma War’, presumably because they threw tangerines at one another.

Jackie was feeling a little de-mob happy after her first exam and offered to take me out to lunch.  Apart from one fluffed answer she thought that she had done reasonably well in this, the written part of her tests.  The big one, which counts for 70% of the pass mark, is the practical next Friday.

We chose ‘La Fontaine de Mars’ a Michelin one knife and fork in the 7 ème within walking distance of the flat. The restaurant was charming in a traditional French way.  It was open to the street but had a friendly inner sanctum with gingham table cloths and napkins.  The staff were polite and efficient and the whole place had a pleasant ambience sadly let down by the food and prices.  Even at lunch time there was no ‘menu’ option, only ‘à la carte’.  A dozen ‘escargot’ cost €26, that’s over £1.50 a snail in real money; perhaps they make them walk to the kitchen?  Jackie had ‘foie gras’ for a starter which wasn’t special and also expensive.  For our main courses Jackie had confit of duck which wasn’t as good as it could have been, I had the day’s special which was squid with chopped olives and a tomato sauce on a bed of mashed potatoes. The sauce was bland and the potatoes cold; not good.  Our chosen Burgundian wine was not in stock, we took the recommended replacement, a 2002 Chateau Montus Madiran.  Despite being carafed it took a good hour to get up to speed, the high alcohol content, 14.5%, initially killing off its eventual fine character.  I don’t blame the restaurant for that, but I don’t think we will be going back, there are too many others for us to try.  ~~~

On Monday Jackie will start her last week of ‘Basic Cuisine’.  Neither of us can quite believe how quickly the course has gone.  Her last two practical dishes will be ‘Jambonnette de Volaille et son jus au Madère, Pommes Poêlées Caramélisées’, (stuffed chicken legs with caramalised apples), and ‘Magret de Canard à l’Orange, Gnocchis au Fromage à la Parisienne’, (duck breast in orange with Italian cheese dumplings).  She will get marks for these although neither dish will figure in the final, practical exam on Friday.  This weekend she is just concentrating on the exam dishes.  We had the wonderful veal chops with ‘Grandmother’s Garnish’ last night and will have rabbit in mustard sauce tonight.

Each student has been given a list of ten dishes all of which they have prepared during the course.  As well as the above they include the awful ‘Poached Chicken’ (yuk), and the impossible ‘Boiled Hake’, (either the fish isn’t cooked or it disintegrates).  The school choose two of the ten and on the day each student has to pick a token and prepare the dish which corresponds to that token without reference to any notes.  As well as preparing the dish they also have to turn an artichoke, cook and plate it.  Guess what we are having with our rabbit?  Students who fail to complete the course or achieve a satisfactory grade are not allowed to start ‘Intermediate Cuisine’ until they have completed an intensive ‘Basic Cuisine’ course, heavy duty stuff.

The forecast for Sunday was mostly rain whereas Saturday was dry.  Having shopped at our nearly deserted market for rabbit and veal chops we took off for a look at Montmartre.  What a strange area, it’s like being in another country.  Whilst most of Paris, even the less smart areas feel prosperous and looked after, Montmartre feels a bit impoverished, slightly run down and very ethnic.  A large number of denizens were flocking round the unbelievably cheap clothing stalls at the foot of square Willette.  Women were rummaging through boxes of garments all priced at €1.99, it was like being at an outdoor TK Max.  At least I know where to go to do my Christmas shopping.

Evenings in rue Ernest Renan have been a bit of a problem unless we have been eating out.  Now that Jackie wants to practice her dishes at home our dining out occasions have become rather restricted.  After working hard at school and then preparing a meal at home all Jackie wants to do in an evening is flop in front of a film.  The Orange, video on demand service through the internet, is still pretty flakey plus the choice of videos with English dialogue as an option is quite limited.  They had been advertising the release of the must see ‘Gone Baby Gone’ for ages.  When we finally got access to it they hadn’t bothered to give English as an option.  This was the final straw and drove us to join our local video rental shop where we could rent the aforementioned film in English for €1.50 less than Orange wanted.  Great film but how spooky that the child playing the part of Amanda, the kidnapped girl, should be called Madeline.  ~~~

Jackie had a heavy day on Monday, two demonstrations and one practical meant an 8 a.m. start and a 6 p.m. finish.  I decided to fulfil a long term ambition and do my exploring afloat, not on the Seine, but on the Canal St Martin. 

The tripper boat company, ‘Canauxrama’ run a daily cruise from the Paris Arsenal yacht harbour to the ‘Bassin de la Villette’, 4.5 km north.  The first part of the trip is through a 2 km tunnel under Place de la Bastille and then follows the route of Boulevard Richard Lenoir to emerge beside a leafy towpath close to Belleville.  The first time we had taken Dorabella into the Arsenal in 1999 I had seen the ‘Canauxrama’ boat disappear into the black tunnel under Place de la Bastille and wanted to do it.  Jackie, you will not be surprised to learn, was not so keen.

Following a severe water shortage in Paris in the early nineteenth century, Napoleon ordered the construction of the canal to bring water from the River Ourcq, a tributary of the Marne just to the north of Paris, to the southern and eastern parts of the city.  Work started in 1805 and the canal was opened in 1825.  From the Arsenal there are eight, 3 metre locks to the summit and two swing bridges.

It was a cool, blustery day and I didn’t envy the skipper manoeuvring his shallow draught vessel in and out of the narrow locks.  The indifferent weather kept most of the punters away and I only had to share the boat with a dozen or so others when the capacity was nearer sixty.  Whilst the young skipper steered and handled the ropes in the locks, his equally young female assistant served coffees and kept us entertained with a bilingual commentary.  One of her stories, the authenticity of which I cannot confirm, was that in 1815 when the Russian, German and Austrian armies were marching into Paris close to the canal the soldiers would stop at roadside inns and demand food.  The Russians, who wanted to be served first, would yell out, “Bystro, bystro,” which is Russian for “quick”.  The smarter landlords soon cottoned on to this and started to advertise that their establishments served, “Bistro food”.  So there you have it, according to the ‘Canauxrama’ girl, fast food and the Bistro started in Paris in 1815.

Having passed the front of the ‘Hôtel du Nord’, where the 1938 film of the same name was set, we entered the ‘Bassin de la Villette’ and cruised gently on to the start of the Villette Park.  This enormous area contains the ‘City of Science and Industry’ and the ‘City of Music’, which houses a collection of over 900 instruments dating from the 17th century to the present day.  I will return to these two once the tourist season has ended. 

Just before the ‘Periphérique’ ring road crossed the ‘Canal de l’Ourcq’ our boat turned round and headed back, past the entrance lock to the Canal St  Denis  and on to the ‘Canauxrama’ quay in the Bassin.  It had been a good outing and an entertaining way to spend half a day.  I suspect that I will have to do a river trip on the Seine soon just to keep my sea legs.  ~~~

The quality of our evening’s entertainment has gone up several notches now that the first two seasons of ‘The Sopranos’ has arrived courtesy of Amazon Sarl.  We missed the start of the series when it first launched on UK TV and despite the excellent reviews decided to stay clear of it on the grounds that one can’t watch everything.  Now that we are desperate for quality entertainment and are down to the last season of the ‘US Office’, absolutely wonderful, catching up with Tony Soprano has been an inspired choice.  The first three episodes were devoured in one evening so we are going to have to ration ourselves very carefully

Jackie’s young Canadian class mate, Sarah, who’s been an absolute poppet, is off to London next week before flying back to Vancouver after the Cordon Bleu graduation day next Thursday.  We are off to Dinant at the weekend to see our friends Mary and Alexandra, and the chances of socialising with Sarah are becoming very limited.  She suggested that we had dinner together tonight and as one of our local, ‘must try’ venues, Bistro Hubert, had just re-opened after their summer break it became our venue of choice.

Sadly, the very pretty Bistro Hubert was let down by the quality of its expensive food.  The dishes were beautifully presented but either lacked any taste or had too many conflicting flavours to be enjoyable.  To cap it all we were served a bowl of spinach which hadn’t been washed properly and was full of sand; my teeth are starting to ache just thinking about it.  But we had a good evening as Sarah was excellent company.  She told us that she is going to move to Hong Kong later this year and as well as completing her accountancy course is thinking about opening a tea shop and put her Cordon Bleu skills to use by selling cakes and pastries.  She was very keen that we go and see her but I think that Jackie’s long haul flying days are over and we will have to wait for Sarah to come and visit us in Pin Mill; perhaps she could open a tea shop there.  ~~~

Jackie had her last class on Thursday morning and we spent the afternoon going over the exam recipes.  Armed with Jackie’s comprehensive notes I would read out a recipe name and Jackie, with nothing other than a list of ingredients, would recite the preparation method, cooking times, temperatures and presentation:  we did this for all ten dishes, very hard.  Just to make things even more difficult the exam dish has to be made for four servings instead of the two that has been the norm for the course sessions.  On top of all this they won’t necessarily be standing in their usual places in the kitchen.  The chefs have constantly been telling their students that a large part of successful cooking is getting to know your equipment, some hot plates get hotter than others, ovens don’t all reach their temperature at the same times.  It is therefore important to understand these variances and make allowances for them.  To make the students use different ovens for their exam seems an unnecessary complication.

For supper we had ‘Roast Duckling with Turnips’ which gave Jackie some more practise in preparing a bird, which will also be useful for two chicken dishes and for turning turnips, a fiddley and time consuming exercise.  It tasted wonderful but she only has a one in ten chance of that being the exam dish.

Friday morning was dark and wet, hopefully not a bad omen.  We walked to school under umbrellas with me carrying Jackie’s case of freshly sharpened knives.  I left her there not sure who was feeling the more nervous.  Three hours later I was back just as the students were emerging from their kitchens.  They were all looking pretty relieved and in Jackie’s case rather exhausted.  She had been given the veal chops with Grandmother’s garnish which she knew well and felt that she had done reasonably well.  It was not her best effort she said, as her potatoes were overcooked on the outside and undercooked on the inside and her artichoke was definitely undercooked but she was satisfied with her chops, jus, garnish and overall performance.  She thought that Sarah had done exceptionally well.

Sarah thought that we needed an instant celebration and suggested going to Songsan, a nearby Korean restaurant for an early lunch.  I can’t remember the last time we refused a lunch invite and were pleased to agree.  She quickly rounded up fellow students Apichit Sastri, a young man from Thailand, Young-ji Kim, from the Republic of Korea, and Curene Lo, from Hong Kong to join us.  It was good having Young-ji with us as she helped us with the menu and made sure that we understood what we were ordering.

It was a good lunch party and made us realise what a small place the world is.  Here we were, five nationalities, siting round a Korean table in Paris discussing books, films, travel and of course food.  Apichit loves cooking Thai food so he is definitely going to get an invitation to practise his skills in 8, rue Ernest Renan next term.

After our three hour lunch Jackie just wanted to go home and sleep.  Later tonight we are going to ‘The Frog & British Library’, an English pub, restaurant and micro brewery for the Cordon Bleu student party.  Not all the patisserie students are going and Sarah got one of their tickets for me.  She pointed out that as the school have already paid for the ticket it is better that I use it rather than it go to waste; what fine logic.  ~~~

The venue for the Cordon Bleu student party was situated in the south east corner of Paris, right next to the French National Library, hence the name.  It was a typical modern disco pub, with large leather sofas grouped around low tables, a long bar and a floodlit micro brewery in one corner with a ‘to be avoided at all cost’ dance area in front of it.  The light beer was very passable and at 4.2° not silly strong; I managed to keep standing for most of the evening.  The finger food buffet was excellent, as well as plates of tasty sandwiches, there were lightly battered fish chunks with proper chips and mini cheese burgers with French fries, the diet took a right old battering.  The music wasn’t too loud to talk over and there was a very pleasant and welcoming atmosphere.  Even Jackie, who was a reluctant attendee, was pleased to be there.  I was quite sad when she saw me starting to sway, and I don’t mean in time with the music, and steered me away from the stunning young women and guided me back to rue Ernest Renan.

I didn’t feel quite so sprightly this morning and am glad that we are having a quiet day before driving to Dinant tomorrow to see Mary and Alexandra.  We need to back by next Thursday when it is Graduation Day and Jackie will find out just how well she has done over the whole term.  Then her next term, Intermediate Cuisine, starts at 8.30 on the 1st of September and off we go again.  ~~~

We drove to Dinant in Belgium on Sunday to see Mary and Alexandra and spend four days relaxing, eating and, of course, imbibing the odd glass of wine before returning to Paris for Jackie’s Graduation Day on Thursday.  Alexandra put us up in her hotel, La Courrone and insisted on giving us all dinner on Sunday night.  Alexandra’s partner, Henri, who used to teach cooking in Dinant’s college, was keen to hear about Jackie’s experiences at the Cordon Bleu.  When she told him that she was sad not to be doing patisserie as well as cuisine he offered her a day in La Couronne’s kitchen with his patisserie chef son.  She was absolutely thrilled and spent the whole of Tuesday making loaves, bread rolls, cakes and pastries.  I can sense some pressure to let her do a term or two studying patisserie at Le Cordon Bleu, but we will try and slip a bit more boating in first. 

Whilst Jackie was up to her armpits in pastry, I was given lunch by the amazing Mary who celebrated her 92nd birthday at the beginning of the month.  She had assembled some wonderful patés, Bayonne ham, cheese and prepared a salad.  I was asked to choose a wine from her impressive collection and spotted a 1998 St Julien from Bordeaux.  When I suggested that she saved that for a special occasion she said that if she saved it any longer she might never get to drink it so would I please open it.  You don’t need to go on a Cordon Bleu wine course to recognise perfection, it was superb.  Dinant has become a very special place for us as we are always made to feel so welcome there; the only problem is trying to return the endless generosity.

Back in Paris it was graduation time for the Cordon Bleu students of Basic Cuisine and Basic Patisserie.  The Winter Garden had been turned into a lecture theatre and most of the chefs attended to address the students and award the certificates.  Students were called out in alphabetical order to receive their certificates and if they were in the top five this was also announced.  Jackie was fourth, which I thought was excellent as many of the younger students are training to be professional chefs whereas for Jackie it is just a hobby. But she was slightly disappointed and felt that she had not done as well as she could with her exam dish.  So there you have it, there are three better cooks than Jackie, why do I stay with her I hear you ask?  Two of Jackie's group were also in the top five, Mari, the Finnish girl was first both in cuisine and patisserie, a splendid result and the lovely Sarah was thrilled to be third. 

After the awards we all retired to the main demonstration room where the chefs had prepared a most amazing buffet and served us all with champagne.  It was worth doing three months in Paris just for the party. I can’t imagine an end of term feast at Hogwarts being any better.   And then all too soon it was time for the sad bit, saying good-bye to the students who are not staying on for the second term including Sarah who has looked after Jackie so well and been excellent company on our all too few social occasions.  We hope we see her again.

I trusted our Orange Internet box to record the European Grand Prix from Valencia which it did perfectly, although it wouldn’t have mattered much if it hadn’t as apart from Mr Raikkonen trying to drag his refuelling rig round the circuit it was a dull race and the circuit had all the charm of an industrial estate.  Mr Massa looks like a champion in waiting.  His metronomic fast laps were truly amazing and more than Lewis could match.  The only potential flaw in Felipe is his performance in the wet.  So let’s hope for rain at Spa, a proper motor racing circuit.

To read about Jackie’s second term, “Intermediate Cuisine” please click here.