Firstly a huge thank you to everyone who upgraded to a paid subscription this past week which resulted in over €300 donated to the United Nations Population Fund to send emergency birth kits where they’re needed most. It’s a drop in the ocean but everything we can do to help a mother have a safer birth experience helps. Mille mercis!
This week I made a muddle of the French language, confusing degustation (tasting) with deguisement (disguise), sending my small children to school in full costume when really they were supposed to take a plate of crêpes to celebrate carnaval, and entreprennent (to start something) with entrepreneur (business person/owner), among many other miscommunications. Mercury isn’t even in retrograde so I’ll just have to accept my incapacity to take in any more French. My brain is full.
I hit publish on the first episode of Motherhood Around the World after a steep learning curve during the editing process (most annoyingly you can’t listen to a podcast in the background while editing a podcast, which I hadn’t considered) and have been so moved by all your messages saying you’ve enjoyed it. Please listen and share with your friends and I promise to share more international animal noises each week. Coin-coin 🦆.
After several recent exhibitions the Musée National Picasso-Paris has rehung its permanent collection so I headed over in the rain for the opening party, wandering through and nodding seriously like I had a clue about any of his works. After getting my fill of colourful squiggles I scooted home on the bus to tuck the children into bed, happy to live in a city that has such a variety of cultural events so close to home.
I returned to Foire de Chatou ostensibly on a tour but mainly to collect the matching chandelier to the sconces I got last week, which is in an absolute state having been hastily lacquered by someone in the past. My husband remains unconvinced by it’s potential and I’m skeptical, but the opportunity cost of not buying it and having regrets later was too much to pass up so I’m patiently bringing it back to life with nail polish and cotton buds, one little metal flower at a time.
On Thursday night we celebrated my birthday with family over a seafood platter, which the fishmonger jazzed up by flecking gold flakes on the oyster shells, helping Paris maintain its reputation as a ridiculously decadent food destination. After the kids went to sleep I ate the leftover cake in bed while re-watching an old TV series and for a few minutes half-heartedly contemplated going nightclubbing before I put on my pyjamas and committed to middle-age.
I’d planned to organise a huge party, inviting friends from around the world and going all out to celebrate the big Four-Oh but somehow never got around to it, realising I’d rather see mes proches one by one. I’ve a bit of a reputation for being a birthday nightmare so my husband was on tenterhooks as the day rolled around, especially as I’d set him a rather specific challenge to book a weekend at a hotel that essentially only accepts reservations by carrier pigeon, but despite a few hiccups he pulled it off and we boarded the train down south with copious snacks and divertissements.
No sooner had we arrived at La Colombe d’Or then a Hollywood actress brushed past me exclaiming “this place is so f***ing cool” which set the tone for a magical stay. Every detail was special, from the Picasso we sat under at dinner to the fact we were assigned room number 16 for my birthday on the 16th (not a coincidence, I checked) and it deserves it’s own full article which I”ll write once I’ve had time to process it all. There was just enough time to admire the famous art collection and stroll the village of St Paul de Vence before dinner followed by a movie in bed which my husband slept through, waking at midnight when I “accidentally” elbowed him so he could say happy birthday.
On Saturday we visited Eze and got lucky with a table overlooking the sea to enjoy an unexpectedly wonderful lunch (we’d made no firm plans in advance, agreeing to see where the day took us), quietly chatting about whether we should move to the coast while counting sailboats down below. After a visit to the Fragonard boutique and a few minutes patting a perfect little daschund puppy we then headed for a stroll through Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat to Paloma Beach and finished up with coffee in the port.
Sunday commenced with copious amounts of coffee and some top quality eavesdropping in the hotel restaurant before a wander through the Fondation Maeght, admiring works by Calder, Chagall, Giacometti, Van Velde, Bonnard and a stunningly tiled pool by Braque. In the gift shop I got swept away and bought a new silk scarf, later realising it may have compromised my no-clothing-purchases-for-a-year challenge, but was a much more reasonable purchase than the book of engravings by Joan Miró with texts by Jacques Prévert priced at €20k so I’m calling it an accessory loophole.
I’m writing this to you from the train home, the coastline between Marseille and Nice shimmering in the late afternoon sun and Beyonce coming in loud through my headphones, full of gratitude for life and especially every single one of you who reads my little newsletter.
Have a great week,
- Emily
Cheese we’re eating this week:
Port Salut - a very mild, semi-soft pasteurised cow's milk cheese with a distinctive orange rind that was originally made by Trappist monks after they returned to France following the French revolution.
Comté - a semi-hard cheese made from unpasteurised cow’s milk from the Jura Massif region of France, this one was aged 12 months.
Camembert de Normandie - a raw cow's milk cheese with a soft bloomy rind. It’s protected in France by an appellation d'origine contrôlée (AOC) which means it must come from a specific area.
All 3 cheeses were from the local supermarket.
Real Life Paris Photo
Just a French ex-President casually strolling down the street. I won’t tell you who but the vespa helmet is a good clue.
Welcome to middle age.
Is that François Hollande?
Saltutations amicles.
A.
HAPPY 40th!! and congrats on your ability to coerce (sorry, steer;) your husband to such wonderful stays!!! I am happy you enjoy life among the sometimes arrogant and grumpy Parisians (I lived in Paris for 2 years, but without the support of French family)… it is a joy to read about it ❤️🍀