The seats are up, the ville is transformed and Paris is as ready as she’ll ever be for the Olympic games, starting on Friday 26th July. The city motto is Fluctuat nec mergitur (tossed by the waves but never sunk) which seems appropriate for the opening ceremony that will parade down the Seine at a stately pace, with animations happening on bridges timed to boats that have been able to practice one single time as some genius created a scenario that only works under ideal conditions. So French.
In advance of the games the city has been weirdly quiet this week as tourists who aren’t travelling for sport get out of dodge and those coming to spectate not yet arrived, at least on the left bank, which became more and more inaccessible as the security code system came into affect (a rigorous vetting process requiring proof of address plus the promise of your first born child, or simply a reservation at a restaurant in the red zone).
With warmer temperatures I spent most of the week either at home with the shutters closed (the surprisingly effective Parisian version of conditioning), at the gym counteracting the cooler air with overheating from the bare minimum of exercise, or hiding in the butter fridge at Le Bon Marche. I deigned to leave my comfort zone to collect my mum from the airport and was amused to notice the whole place smelled of fresh paint without any obvious signs of painting, as if a thousand elves have been making tiny touch ups every night.
Last minute holiday preparations included forcing the children to try on all their summer clothing to see what still fits, a mani & pedi so my hooves don’t upset fellow travellers (at Biguine on Rue du Bac, can recommend), dithering about my swimsuit options (which seems so important until you actually get to the beach and realise no one cares), intense spring cleaning and fixing all the house niggles to make sure guests staying while we are away have a pleasant time (yes we’re renting during the Olympics, this isn’t my first rodeo).
With all my ducks lined up we finally left the city and headed south to the land of lemons, Menton, a pastel coloured village near the Italian border where I was sad to miss the opening hours of the Musée Jean Cocteau but very impressed with the pirate ship playground by the beach. After a simple dinner of crêpes at Fleur De Sel (celiac friendly, I had the cheeseburger crêpe and it did not disappoint) it would have been rude not to try the local lemon sorbet so we obliged while the kids took a spin on the merry go round, before an early night for all.
My husband’s a fan of slow travel so after 5 trains and an overnight stop we finally reached out holiday destination in Italy. Along the way my mum asked why, with so many gorgeous places in France, we were leaving the country and my honest answer was twofold: 1) because Italy has better gluten free food and 2) because I need to not hear French for two weeks. My brain doesn’t seem to mind that I can’t speak a word of Italian and goes into sort of stand-by mode where the constant stress of making grammatical mistakes is replaced with the bliss of being totally inarticulate.
Within 15 minutes of arriving I was enjoying my first holiday nap, followed by a swim at the beach. To increase the prospects of the children sitting through dinner we gambled with dessert first and won, the chocolate gelato tiding them through a wonderful meal of seafood risotto overlooking the water, eaten in our salty swimsuits. My daughter shocked the table by announcing Italian bread is her favourite so I’m expecting Interpol will arrive shortly to confiscate her French passport but apart from that it was a blissful start to the holidays. I’m signing off for a few weeks of family time and looking forward to catching you up once I’m back.
Have a great few weeks,
- Emily
Cheese we’re eating this week:
We were cleaning out the fridge this week so we ate a mish-mash of any cheese left over including some (sadly) unidentifiable odds and ends from one of my clients also leaving town for summer, which were excellent and now I’ll never find them again.
Nutella Cream
With a birthday cake to decorate and no motivation I turned to crowd pleaser Nutella cream to do the job, and when I posted it on Instagram I had so many questions I thought I’d share it here (yes it’s as easy as it sounds).
Whipping cream (minimum 30% fat)
Mascarpone
Nutella
Whip the cream until it is as stiff as possible (but not turning to butter!)
Add in the mascarpone to give the cream a bit more body and keep whipping.
Toss in about half a jar of Nutella in and stir until just mixed.
Bon appétit!
Real Life Paris Photo
As far as I know there’s no carpooling lanes in Paris so what’s going on here?
Have your daughter come to Venice where the bread is ghastly and she can redeem herself 😉
Have a delightful vacation!