A couple of nights before we left for Paris my sister came to my house for dinner and told me she heard a story on NPR about this man in Paris that invites guests for dinner every Sunday evening at his house. “Do you want to go, sounds interesting, don’t you think?” This did sound interesting, it could be very interesting or not, but either way it surely would be an experience. Jim requested that anyone that wants to come to his house send him an e-mail and tell something about yourself, pressure was on to say something short and creative to get his attention. Waking up in the morning I opened up my e-mail and there was a response from Jim. He said that there was a waiting list for the Sunday night dinner which he added us to and we should call him at noon on Sunday to see if anyone had cancel making room for us. He also invited us for a glass of wine sometime during the week if we had time. I guess the e-mail sparked his interest.
I called exactly at noon on Sunday, Jim answered and said we were on, and he looked forward to meeting us at 8. After riding 3 different lines on the Paris Metro we arrive following his directions, taking a left and going 30 steps, then a right 11 steps, well, you get the idea, we arrived at the large green gates. He had given us the code to punch in which we did and the the gates opened to a long, very dark, crushed stone walkway. We continued with our directions in hand illuminated with our cell phone, we found his door. We were early, miscalculating how long the trip would take but decided that he probably could use some help, there were 60 people coming.
Paris is one of those cities that gets into your system and stays with you. There is something magical. Magical about the lifestyle, the fashion, the ease of movement, and the food. The food is simple, perfectly crafted, and delicious. I ate my share of eclairs, croissants, baguettes, steak-frites, souffles, crepes, ice cream, and croque monsieur’s. I ate whatever I wanted, when ever I wanted. Boulangeries are in abundance and sneaking in for an eclair or a mille-feuilles is a temptation I wasn’t about to pass up.
Like my ancestors before me and their great ancestors before them, I like love food. The members of the Santiago clan aren’t known for being particularly picky about their cuisine. Eat first, ask later (or ask while eating). But eating anything in China is like a blindfolded taste test. The labels are written in Chinese, so I sit and I poke and I prod.
New Year's eve has got to be the most over-rated holiday of the year. I'm
all about celebrating any holiday, even the ones I have never heard of
but I always dread New Year's eve. Something about being forced to stay
up late, wearing a sparkly, tacky hat and tooting a horn, trying to be
cheerful and chatty when I am actually dog tired from the Christmas
holidays. Otherwise the option is to stay home and feel depressed that
everyone else is out having a good time except for me.
I was 'off to see the queen,' the stewardess lingo we use when
working a London trip. I packed my tall boots, a few jackets and
scarves. I was invited to join a friend from London for dinner with a
small group at the famous old oyster bar "J Sheekey." I was, for once,
concerned about what I would wear as my friend, Tim is a famous London
tailor with a shop on Savile Row as well as shops all over the world.
He dresses David Beckam and Tom Cruise and I certainly did not want to
embarrass myself with some sort of 'get up' from my usual suitcase
wardrobe.