After a long Easter weekend we returned to the city in our rental car on Monday morning and snagged a park just outside the Jardin des Plantes, poor Noisette in her handbag as dogs aren’t allowed in this particular park (or indeed throughout most parks in Paris, a little twist of irony for a dog-friendly city with over 300 000 of them). The cherry blossoms welcomed us branches laden with fuchsia petals forming a magnificent wall of flowers stretching to the sky and we gently played “would you mind please possibly maybe taking our photo if you don’t mind, we’ll of course take yours after” with some other nice visitors.
On the drive home from the countryside we paused to tie knots in our Sabzeh (the little patch of grass we grew from lentil seeds for our Haft Seen), made wishes for the year to come and tossed it into the Loire to celebrate Sizdah Bedar, the 13th day of the Persian New Year. Over the 13 days it grows in your house it collects any negativity and releasing it into running water symbolises new beginnings, and a release of energy from your home. The day also coincided with Poisson d’Avril (the French version of April Fool’s Day) where the aim is to stick paper fish on the back of unsuspecting friends and family, so we let the kids “get” us all day.
The Monday public holiday was lovely at the time but meant only 4 work days which is practically impossible when you’re a people pleaser and also have 3 kids, so it was head down for the rest of the week trying to juggle everything I’d committed to, with some rather large balls dropped along the way. There were school outings drenched with rain, missed packages that will never be recovered from the post office and it took me nearly a week to call my mum as promised (sorry mum). I edited podcast episodes at the hairdresser, drafted emails at my daughter’s ballet class and resorted to switching my phone to greyscale (awful, can’t find anything on my phone anymore and it’s really rather depressing) in an attempt to recover some of the time I fritter away online. I even multitasked at a friend’s house over dinner, alternating questions about syncing files between online editing programs with compliments on the amazing meal.
During a spare hour I met up with the lovely Carol Gillot of Paris Breakfast, which we’ve been trying to make happen for 2(!) years now. Unknowingly picking a meeting spot that was also the starting point for a huge protest my bright pink coat came in handy as a beacon, and we soon had warm drinks and were sharing stories about moving to Paris and our creative projects (Carol sends out beautifully drawn art monthly) before she walked me through the park to pick up the kids.
And finally it was the weekend, which meant two weeks of school holidays (French children get approximately 2 weeks every 6 weeks, which is a juggle for parents) and there were bags to be packed and dog worming tablets to be given before our trip to the glorious little island of Île de Ré. I’ve uncharacteristically got no plans for the duration of our visit apart from the occasional ice-cream, catching up on some half finished books and some light cooking.
At the market I bought our first gariguette strawberries of the season, locally grown and sweet as sunshine. It took me at least 18 months after I arrived in France to fully appreciate eating seasonally (before I moved here I’d never even thought to check where something came from as long as it was convenient and if I did notice a label it was more as a passing curiosity than a thought with any weight behind it) and now I wait patiently for white asparagus, the first mirabelle plums, plump scallops on their shells and heirloom tomatoes, not to mention anemones, mimosa, magnolia, peonies and dahlias. Living in France has changed my habits and educated my taste, both literally and figuratively.
On Sunday we rented bikes in the local village right as the rainclouds rolled in so our islandwide adventure was put on pause. I spent the afternoon reading and writing instead, with frequent pauses for hot mugs of tea, the dulcet tones of Peppa Pig drifting up from downstairs where the children couldn’t believe their luck on unlimited screen time.
Have a great week,
- Emily
Cheese we’re eating this week:
Chabichou du Poitou - a semi-soft, unpasteurised goat cheese formed in a cylindrical shape.
Donut d’Helene - a raw milk goat’s cheese with a light dusting of ash that’s round with a hole in the middle, hence the name.
Caprice des Dieux - which means "Whim of the Gods" is a soft-ripened cow’s milk cheese made from pasteurized milk. Its distinctive blue packaging can be found in almost every supermarket across France.
The Chabichou du Poitou and the Donut d’Helene were from the market in Île de Ré and the Caprice des Dieux was from the local grocery store.
Real Life Paris Photo
They only built one “skyscraper” in central Paris before they learnt their lesson…
I am obsessed with your coat! It should have it's own substack - it's that cool!!
I’m exhausted just reading your week in the life of … but thank you for sharing it, makes me happy to hear your news 🥰