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A Weekend in Deauville

One of my favorite movies growing up was Gigi, the coming-of-age story of a girl at the turn of the century who turns from schoolgirl to courtesan except the rich man she loves marries her rather than let her become a courtesan. As my father once told me, “You realize this movie is about pedophilia right?” Anyways, when she is but a schoolgirl he takes her to Deauville for a weekend by the sea with her grandmother. Whenever B takes me to Deauville, I always think of that movie and get happy.

Before we said our adieu to this summer, we decided to escape Paris for the weekend and soak up some sun in glamorous Deauville. I’m not kidding about the glamorous – it’s rich people’s playground, there are as many luxury stores crammed on Main Street as there are on Avenue Montaigne in Paris.

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I loved being near the ocean. It reminded me of home. Just looking at it always makes me feel like life is full of infinite possibility.

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B and I headed straight for the beach the minute we got there. It was immediately obvious that one of us grew up in California and was eager to feel the sand between his or her toes. It was also obvious that one of us grew up in the 13th arrondissement of Paris where the nearest body of water is the Seine, whose embankments are made of concrete. The latter refused to take off his or her shoes and spent his or her time gingerly walking around the water so as to keep them dry. I’ll let you guess which is which.

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On Sunday, we grabbed brunch at a place called Dupont avec un thé which impressed me when the waitress narrowed down their 200 tea options for me after asking me five questions. The Russian tea she picked out for me hit just the right spot. Plus there were pastry skewers. I mean really could there be a better beginning to a Sunday morning?

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After brunch we headed over to Trouville, Deauville’s seedier cousin. Well, at least it’s seedy until you hit the beach and the houses start looking like dream dollhouses.

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One of them even has my name on it! I almost climbed over the fence to let myself into my home, because clearly it belonged to me, but B held me back. Can you believe it?

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Because it’s so fancy, the beach does not permit gyrating naked torsos. In San Francisco, they used to condone it. Cultural differences!

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Before we went home, I insisted we get ice cream cones from Martine Lambert. She’s this artisanal ice cream maker who has two shops in all of France. One of them is in Deauville and one of them is on the rue Cler in the 7th arrondissement of Paris, a block from my old apartment. It used to be my special treat on sunny afternoons when I was grocery shopping. Here we come full circle, here we come…

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Too soon our weekend was over and we had to head back to Paris. A few weeks later they’ve turned on the heaters at my office and we complain nightly that our HOA hasn’t done so at home. But I think our memories from a delightful weekend at Deauville still keep us warm.

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Men Who Grocery Shop

I’m sitting at work and I have this post all planned out about our trip last weekend to Deauville but it necessitates pictures and those are at home. So, today I’m going to tell you a little story about delightfully endearing men whom their sigs have the fortune, and sometimes the misfortune, to send on grocery errands.

I live with a fantastic man who does not know how to use a salad spinner. I found a shopping “list” of his the other day and it had one item on it. It was coffee. That is the only grocery list he’s ever made. Yet he regularly questions my shopping lists. “Ma puce, we have lemons at home, why are they on the list?” “Because I need five and we only have three.” “Ma puce, I don’t think you can buy shrimp raw.” “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized we lived in communist Russia.”

Friday night we had invited five people over for dinner at our place. I left work at 7 PM and had to ask B to go buy the salmon for dinner that night. I had planned on making a nice big fillet with dill and lemon. So I get this text message around 6:30:

B: Do you want me to ask the fishmonger to cut the 1.5 kilos of salmon into 7 small fillets?

Two minutes later, B panicked: Ma puce, you have to answer otherwise I’m just getting a big block of salmon!

Me: No I just want one big fillet!

OK so I get home a little later and B asks if the salmon is what I needed because the fishmonger gave him a weird look when he said he didn’t want fillets. I take it out of its packaging and look at it. After a few seconds to absorb the fish on my butcher block, I ask him, in my calmest voice, “What were you thinking exactly when you bought this?” It is so NOT what I needed. It’s been gutted and there’s no tail or head but it is not one big fillet. It still has its fins, all of its bones, all of the cartilage. Google “gutted salmon” and you’ll see what I’m talking about.

No wonder the fishmonger gave him a weird look. I’ve never deboned a fish and I’m expecting five people in 30 minutes! Using three knives and a pair of kitchen scissors I manage to separate out most of the cartilage by, I don’t know, instinct and common sense?? I dispatch Baptiste to find the remaining bones with a pair of my tweezers. Covered in dill and lemon slices, no one knew what had happened but oh Lord, that man…

Thank you for doing the grocery shopping and for tweezing the fish my love.

 

Five Things

One of my favorite blogs does this thing where she posts her five favorite things at the end of every week. It always makes me happy to stop and appreciate the small stuff. In that spirit, here are mine for this week:

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Flowers in one of my favorite colors in one of my favorite places – a family friend’s country home.

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Fall arrives with a bucket of carrots in three colors at the Farmer’s Market.

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Makeshift lunch of ripe Brie de Melun on Eric Kayser’s cheese bread.

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A bright yellow candle we bought at Cire Trudon (making candles since 1643) which brightens up our beige mantle.

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My little slice of Americana at home: Starbucks chai tea latte + the weekend edition of the International Herald Tribune.

Have a nice week everyone!

And another job

Seeing as how I only blog once a month or something (monthly newsletter!), it’s only been like three blog posts since I announced I had a new job. With regards to the last one, let’s just say I’m right, I’m not a patient teacher, whether that be with students or my angry boss. Oh snap!

I was offered this really amazing opportunity to work for a digital communications agency. Basically I do THIS, this writing for the internet thing, for a living! There are a lot of days I feel in over my head because what I know about the Internet I learned in life, not in school or on the job. People say “Can you storyboard?” and I say, “oh yes, of course!” Then I sidle up to one of my lovely coworkers and say “So what program do we use to storyboard? Are there any templates you can show me?” Because that sounds so much better than “What’s storyboarding?”

It feels good to be learning and on important projects but so far it’s a lot of hurry up and wait because I’m only working on one client. First three days I worked non-stop for ten hours and then went home to do two more. Today I’m personal blogging from my office computer! See what I mean?

The people are amazingly nice though and have already made me feel at home. I get to go to work in jeans and sandals! And the office design is really cool. Here are a few pictures so you can better envision me in my work area:

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This roof makes the prettiest sound when it rains. Which it does. A lot. Shitty weather – Paris 2012. I was there. But that’s a different matter.

And here’s my desk!

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Note the Pantone yellow coffee mug, which I bought with B when we went to the Christmas markets in Strasbourg. Freelance designers keep coming in and trying to steal it in the morning. But I always steal it back off their desks. Ha HA! It sits right next to my AMERICAN breakfast tea. I may not have the American flag flying at my desk but it flies in my tea.