Don't Buy Food from Strangers

Such is the maxim of any true farmer, not to mention the HomePage spread of my new, neighborhood favorite, Blooming Hill Farm. 

It started this a.m. with a craving, "Mom, let's drive over to Adam's Farm for a few fresh fuji's".

30 minutes for a few apples? ...you might easily guess her response. But then came a wise interjection of the ever-astute step-father, "Why don't you two check out that small, local farm, ummm, Blooming Hill I think".  And so it was. Only 5 minutes by car from mom's and I was giddy as could be, camera in hand. 

Sitting right off of Route 208 in Bloomingrove, New York, this intimate, family-run farm began 27 years ago under the leadership of Guy Jones, gardener gone farmer. And while the hidden drive indeed lends itself to a small, garden feel,  I was happily surprised to see that the dirt path expands into a much larger plot of land...160 acres large, there upon housing several lovely vegetable varietals, as well as a rustic barnyard market & restaurant. And indeed the barnyard made me smile. Colorful fruits and veggies spilling out of raw-wood boxes; a tantalizing aroma bursting from the sectioned-off kitchen; a rolling stream running through the back-garden restaurant. It was just enough to encourage my yelp to the passerby waitress, "I love this place!". She, in turn, grabbed my arm warmly, "Awww, I'm so glad!"

And as she continued to enlighten me, it seems I may very well have been late to the catch, but some of our favorite & farm-friendly NY chefs have long since been in the know. In fact, not only does the farm custom grow seasonal produce for various New York restos, but alternating, New York chefs also drive up & cook-up a monthly, candle-lit dinner for 50 lucky restauranteurs. Garden brunches are equally as exciting, with weekly imports of Balthazar's buttery croissants. And, as you may have guessed, Blooming Hill indeed partakes in Union Square's Greenmarket festivities. It's all great news to me.

But further still, and arguable the best takeaway of the day, Blooming Hill offers a 10% discount on CSA sign-ups, offering shareholders yearly access to a host of fresh produce as grown by Blooming Hill, rather than a single, seasonal crop as offered by the traditional CSA. 

In other words, it's a pretty cool opportunity to make a more dedicated contribution to sustainable food in exchange for a colorful feast of fruits & veggies. Ever was there a better win-win?

Well, I'm thus far only 1 bosch pear in, but make no mistake, Blooming Hill, my belly salutes you.

Blooming Hill Farm

www.bloominghillfarm.com.

1251 Route 208

Blooming Grove, New York 10914

(845) 782 7310

The Welcome Home BBQ

I was the hit of the party, or so they had me believe. The Actual Armstrong here: Grandma's twist on homemade arepas.

It starts with 8 ripe plantains, stripped and boiled until doughy. At the same time, finely dice 1/4 cup of green chives and 2 cups of mozzarella cheese.

Your plantains should be sufficiently supple after roughly 40 minutes of high heat, so go ahead and strain the boiling water and then have fun mashing up your plantains into a large mixing bowl. Throw in the chives and cheese and then hand stir until your plantain clumps look equally fromage-y. Salt to taste, then hand rolling your plantain dough into silver dollar-sized pancakes.

Pre-heat your frying pan over medium heat and pour in a thin pool of olive oil.

And alas, the moment we've all been waiting for, lay your plantain cakes into the pan and fry for about 3 minutes on each side or until golden and crisp. Let your cooked plantains cool on a paper towel lined dish. This will also help absorb any excess oil.

Easy, delicious, and just the touch of grandma that i'd been missing in my time abroad!

Adieu, Adieu... to you and you and you

From Paris to Austria, thank you little ones Von Trapp.

What more to do but celebrate and bid farewell to my beloved Paris, Parisians and expats alike? Choose the bar. The bedazzling clink of tonight's kir royale will forever resonate. 

One Option:

Le Grand Prairie, brought to us from la Bellevilloise as their way of saying, "There there, my little Parisian. Come sit upon my lawn chair and sip a mojito. You, too, will soon realize that remaining in Paris for August isn't really all that bad".    

Converted from a loft into a very colorful prairie, Le Grand Prairie is an awesome lounge space with a faux, al fresco feel, perfect for an evening cocktail with friends or else an afternoon session with your latest and greatest paperback. 

http://www.labellevilloise.com/

Second Option:

As an ode to my first 6 months in Paris, perhaps commemorate the farewell with a blast from the past: Le Perle, Paris' beloved grunge bar on Rue Vielle du Temple, just in the heart of Le Marais. Ahhh yes, many a weekend after weekend was spent at this fashionista favorite, sipping vin rouge after vin rouge, intermingled with  vodka tonic after vodka tonic. Memories.

Le Perle

78 Rue Vielle du Temple

Paris 75003

+33 (0) 1 42 72 69 93

Third Option and This Evening's Winner:

The infamous Andy Wahloo bar and lounge. Delicious cocktails and nifty, North African pop art aside, the venue is the perfect blend of laid back bar married with fun hipster scene. And with seating that spills out onto the backyard terrace, neighboring the darling "Derriere" concept resto, there's plenty of room for all the fashionably late comers. 

Andy Wahloo

69 Rue Gravilliers

Paris 75003

+33 (0) 1 42 71 20 38

Always and forever,  each and all of the above will remain near and, yes, very very dear. 

Eden in an Electrolux Box

Like many others, I was doubtful that the curators of Palais de Tokyo, one of Paris' ingenious modern art museums, would ever be able to fill the void per the June displacement of beloved Hotel Everland.

 

Leave it to marketing wizardry...

Sponsored by Electrolux, conceived by installation artist, Laurent Grasso, constructed by architect, Pascal Grasso, and manned by champion chef, Gilles Stassart, call it a hole in one, a pie in the sky if you will... literally.

Nomiya, named after the typique, micro-restaurants of Japan, sits high in the Parisian sky, up on the rooftop of Palais de Tokyo, offering a phenomenal view of an indisputably resplendent metropolitan. Kerplunk.

View aside, une belle experience vous attend...a beautiful, 3 to 4 hour experience at that.

A dazzling demi-sec champagne awaited the arriving guests. Lots of it. As does an adorably sassy maitre de whom chats up his 12 guests and later bestows porcelain spoonfuls of fabulousness upon his intermingling audience.

The aforementioned amuse bouche x 2 : First, diced kiwi in a wasabi glaze, topped by green fish roe, indeed a masterly blend of salt and sweet. Then, a delicate cube of creamy fois gras sitting upon a shaved wedge of a deep purple fig. I got a tad too excited about this one and potentially embarrassed myself before fellow guests. And alas, curse myself for not snapping a shot! It was difficult to maneuver with a handbag, champagne flute and overbearing tummy all working against me. 

Roughly 2 glasses and an hour's worth of good conversation later, the guests were seated around the sleek, white, rectangular table, Stassart all the white appearing entirely peaceful beside his lustrous, stainless steal laboratory. Correct: A one man show, concocted on the spot, served to 12 eager gastro fanatics, 2 with specific dietary needs which were well-minded. Be this perhaps normal to a New Yorker, I assure that is an extreme rarity in le France.

And then it arrived. The most polished plating that I've ever personally witnessed in the land of sardines. A rainbow of beet root and radish carpaccio laid along the equator of the rectangular plate, just beneath the two, finely sliced morsels of sardines, the entire medley drizzled in a wonderfully pungent olive oil. And nestled as a centerpiece, a petit dune of an airy, spice-infused mousse d'aubergine (eggplant) laid beneath a bouquet of bean sprout, adding just the needed crunch. Publics often balk at the thought of sardine swarms but this was nothing of the sort. The fish was wonderfully flaky and had a very delicately salted flavor, not in the least bit intimidating. 

The main course was delicious as well, though perhaps slightly less successful. Thin carves of a gorgeous, slightly pink lamb, crusted with breadcrumbs and shaved, sun dried tomato, all strewn atop creamed polenta, fragments of sun dried tomato and nectarous buttons of caramelized apricot. The polenta won me: beautifully buttered and creamed but still preserving an excellently grainy texture. As for the lamb, while I agree that it was a fine cut, I just didn't think that there was enough punch in the flavor to hold its own against the polenta, which instead merited a braised skirt steak or something of the sort. I was tempted to ask for salt but refrained, seeing as how I'd already once been modestly chastised for trading in my overly-acidic glass of white for an earthy and delicious red. Oh well.

And dessert: an adorable rondure of panna cotta, garnished with caramelized dices of nectarine and, interestingly enough, fabulously paired with doblets of sweetened, red pepper jus.

After espresso and a last lick of a licorice mashmellow, ever was there a happier dozen?

Joanna Hill, thank you thank you thank you for this unforgettable farewell lunch.

Countdown to New York

The last week of August, otherwise known to Parisians as the bitter-sweet last licks of vacation. “Le Grand Rentré” strikes in September.   

In my case, Le Grand Départ.  Today marks the 10…9…8… New York.

Unbelievable.

So many swivels, suppers, smiles, mascara smudges and unforgettable sights later, I could kick myself for not having had documented more along the way.

Truism: better late than never.

And so, a mad rush to make note of some oldies but goodies as well as some favorite new finds.

Waddle your derrière to Derrière, the fantastic, “nouveau French” newborn that lies just, hmm, derrière that fabulous Andy Walhoo bar and, currently undergoing renovations,  404 resto. 

Just off of  Rue Gravillers (Metro: Arts de Metier), enter through the intimate, cobblestone terrace and ogle all the pretty people, dressed precisely to evoke your overt ogle. Or, better yet, sneer at the undeserving folk who were able to snag your courtyard seat. But, ahh,  sigh of relief as you’re lead to your table in the front dining room, overlooking the terrace, the lounge/bar area, the centrally placed ping-pong table, and the more private, diagonally-back dining room,...hidden just under and to the left of the wooden stair case which escorts you to the various bedrooms of the second floor. Phew. 

Take a moment to think aloud enthusiastically, “How cool!”. It’s just what I would want for one of my future restaurants, or even one of my future homes: playful colors and original artwork scattered throughout;  vintage bookshelves lined with reading material;  mismatched, retro tables and chairs to dine upon;  and plush, upstairs bedrooms for sipping after-dinner cocktails. 

I'll admit my weakness for cool concept restos, but I can simultaneously acknowledge  failed menus in spite my affection for the spaces themselves... however unwillingly.  (Think Mama Shelter, as much as it still stings...)

Well well, Lookie lookie, Lucky little duck me. The menu was fantastic and I already have seconds reserved for this coming Friday. 

Hold on, I shan't get ahead of myself. The veggie apps were nothing to go crazy over. At the very least, they were fresh , beautifully plated, and seated alongside want-to-be creative dips. But the main courses were ever so exciting! 

Me : the most succulent of cuts, beef cheek or 'joue de boeuf",   prepared as a stew in a fabulous, rich-but-not-too-rich, tomato based sauce, served with baby potatoes and chopped carrots floating around for good measure. 

My poor, vegetarian neighbor: a gazpacho, though she swears it was a toothsome gazpacho at that. 

Diner # 3: baked turbot, served over a fabulous pesto-sauce, plated along beautifully roasted veggies. It was gorgeous just to look at. 

And Diner #4: thinly-cut lamb, hiding underneath a bed of sauteed wild mushrooms. Me-oh-my, how jealous I was of that particular choice. 

Sadly, we hadn't time for dessert, per the ever-so-Parisian, "one hour late to join the unfortunate friend".

Huff...

...until this Friiiiiiday!!! 

And yes, A Wonderful last 10 day they will be.

A UNESCO marvel

Agreed, we all know that beloved France is, in its entirety, a gastro capital and a picture-perfect phenomenon. But i'm still on a Dordogne-specific kick...

What's the frill in Dordogne when measured against the astounding beaches of the French Riviera or the  infamous vineyards of Burgundy and Champagne? Well, unbeknownst it to many, including myself until only a few months ago, Dordogne is also a historical jewel, an outdoor adventurer's chocolate elixir, and an artist's Camille Claudel. 

The area's roughly 60 prehistoric sites are, indeed, registered by UNESCO. The most notable MUST SEE's would certainly be the many caves of the province, home to the relatively recently discovered (20th C) Cro Magnum cave drawings, some dating back to 14 AD. Perhaps a pony sketch doesn't do it for you...well, take a moment to rethink. Those rhinoceros, mammoth and deer drawings date far back beyond even the Taj or the pyramids, realized in incredibly inhospitable, cold, black caves, by artisans who crafted their own tools out of animal furs and oils, and nevertheless painted with such impeccable accuracy and mastery. That's Not Nothing. 

I was most inspired by Le Cave de Rouffignac and Font de Gaume, both offering fantastic tour guides who know their shnizzle. Font de Gaum provides more intimate tours of 15-20 max, thus enabling a more personal experience as well as dynamic dialogue with individual guides. Ours did a wonderful job explaining the various hypotheses as to why these non-cave dwellers chose these particular caves for their chef d'oeuvres, as did he also explain the intricacies of various drawings, such as how the Cro Magnums used the natural curvatures of the cave to enhance the credibility of various paintings. Rumor has it that some of these drawings later became the inspiration to loads of Renaissance masters. I, myself, can't draw to save my life, but You should nonetheless be sure to check these caves out,  and be more certain to reserve in advance. 

Adventuring onward, Dordogne also proposes fabulous day-trips and activities. My favorites:

canoeing down the Dordogne amongst the most gorgeous valleys and centerfold French villages ...

trekking way up, up, up until reaching the Chateau de Beynac, a bold,  medieval chateaux from the 100 Years' War, overlooking a beauteous Beynac below...

hikking alongside a mini-waterfall in Carennac, yet another charming village... (And also take a peek at neighbors, Loubressac and Autoire).

And you already know that I'm keen on the menus of the region, but for other  hands-on, foodie adventures:

Toss some baguette and hazelnuts to a wild boar or two at a local rilette farm. Or, if you can handle it, visit a Fois Gras farm and watch how the geese are fed and fois gras hence cultivated. It's important to see it if you're going to later eat it. Or, if you can't swallow either of the above, a leisurely afternoon of wine tasting certainly never offended anyone...

That's all for me. Off you go...

Le Périgord Noir

One of my absolute favorite cultural differences:

A menu specifies that it's serving up duck, "slow roasted in its own fat", and your average American recoils and skips down to the pasta section. 

Le carte du jour specifies that it's offering duck, "slow roasted in its own fat", and you'll quickly notice the glimmer of anticipation in a Frenchman's eyes as he closes his menu and takes a sip of red. 

For those of you akin foodies, behold Dordogne, a carnivore's haven from the fois gras picket lines. I get it...gastro masturbation. Still, I don't know that i'll ever consign.

Divided into 4 Périgords, running along the Dordogne River in the south-west district of France, Dordogne is a true gastro marvel. I myself stayed in Sarlat-le-Caneda, one of the most charming, petit Villages that ever lived, and situated in a central hub of Périgord "Noire", the black representing the dense oak and pine wood of the region. The cuisine of the territory has long celebrated and thrived upon various indigenous ingredients: walnuts, truffles and porcinis, and sufficiently-sized grasslands used to raise the free-range geese which hence produce tantalizingly creamy fois gras, rilettes, patés and confits. 

(The other 3 Périgords be not begrudged: Périgord "Vert",  green to symbolize the region's vast and fertile grasslands; Périgord "Blanc", emblematic  of the limestone plateaux of the area; and Périgord "Pourpre", in reverence of Bergerac, the region's capital and renown wine producer).

 

I was smitten with a host of the restos of the region, but the one which most stood out: Le Petit Manoir. Set-up in a gorgeous, 15th Century hotel particulier with a private garden to boast, and with a menu marrying the area's indigenous fortés with creative, Asian twists, the dining experience was indeed a memorable one. To our delight, the restaurant offered a delicately plated trio de fois gras as an amuse bouche. We moved on to an extremely rich, truffle fois gras as a shared starter. The fusion chimed in with the main courses, myself relishing a juicy, rare salmon prepared with ginger and sesame and plated with sticky black rice.  My step father's plate stole the prize. Fluffy, shrimp ravioli bathed in a fantastic, mildy sweet sea urchin sauce, comparable to a delicate hoisin of sorts. Mom went the whole 9 yards with more duck, this time confit, and incredibly tender as a confit should be. 

Dessert, if you can believe it, sweetened and moussed fois gras served in a petit demi-tasse as a creme brûlée accompaniment.  A potential heart attack on a plate but deceivingly light upon the palate. And every indulgent bite was well worth it.

Le Petit Manoir

3 Rue de la Republique

24200 Sarlat

tel: +33 (0) 5 53 29 82 14

http://www.lepetitmanoir-sarlat.com/lepetitmanoir-sarlat/Accueil.html

Foodies unite: add Dordogne to your travel checklist, or at the very very least, spread the good word. 

(I'm a fool for not taking pictures of the dinner but I promise to get better! In the interim, one of the restaurant's garden as well as another 2 the infamous Sarlat farmer's market!)

Terrazzo Magnifico!

Santa Lucia, a traditional, Neapolitan song per Wiki. 

Or, more importantly, Rome's most precious resto-terrazzo: triangular, tree-lined, candle-lit and lovely.  Absolutely lovely. 

...and a menu to boast (albeit for a price). 

superbly grilled veggies

elegantly-plated, homemade pastas  

bass baked whole in a fabulously-thick salt crust...A Full inch thick at the very least! 

lobster served whole with tentacles long enough to shake hands with your kind neighbors. 

and

gracious waiters who don't mind snapping a few shots of you and your dinner guests. 

Santa Lucia

Largo Febo 6 (Piazza Navona)

Roma 00186

+39 06 68 802427

Ruins to Rooftops

Scale your way up the ivy clad walls of the city and behold the stealthy treasure of Roman rooftops. 

My 2 favorites:

I'm not in the habit of calling home over a Radisson hotel. Nonetheless, it must be said that NY's outposts could learn a thing or 2 from this lavish locale. Minimalist, sleek decor and a swanky rooftop bar + resto + pool. The Romans got it right when they appended a separate leg for the kiddies. 

Go for a quick peek and an afternoon cocktail,  or else dish out 20 euros for a towel, dip and half-a-day loll. 

Radisson Blu es Hotel, Rome

Via Filippo Turati 171  

IT 00185

+39 06 444 841

http://www.radissonblu.com/eshotel-rome

For a sip of more old world charm, noodle your way over to Hotel Raphael, buried amongst the lovely, little maze of cobble stone lying just minutes away from Piazza Navona. A uniformed gentleman will escort you up, up and away. Brace yourself for a chin-drop and several sighs as you're seated at one of the candle lit tables (Go after sunset). The bar tenders serve up a delectable selection of cocktails and munchies while the hotel serves up one of the most brilliant views of a truly exquisite Roma. 

Raphael Hotel

Largo Febo, 2 (Piazza Navona)

00186- Roma

+39 06 682831

http://www.raphaelhotel.com/en/Welcome-to-raphael-Hotel-in-rome.htm

Another quick Salut to London town...

All hail Liberty, the incredibly cool and cultivated Tutor home (or homes, rather) turned luxury concept store. With designers ranging from A.P.C to YSL, a medley of  beauty products, a fine selection of home decor, furnishings and eccentric knickknacks, and a whole other slew of nifty gifts for him or her, the establishment is an absolute wonderland to the shopping connoisseur.  And for those whom hedge the fence on the ole',  inconspicuous price-tag flip...the plump L never stopped anyone from sampling the splendor of a host of delicately curved and surprisingly comfortable steel armchairs,  vintage bobbin chairs, or postmodern plastic stools. 

Opened on Regent Street in 1875 by founder, Arthur Liberty, the establishment has long-since been a favorite of the international and British elite. Being personally new to the catch, however, I've still got a case of the residual giddies.  

Pigeons and jello-mold! 

Lost and Found

I shudder to stutter...a-a-a-bsent a-a-again. 

3 blinks and 4 months later, my time in Paris is wrapping up (sigh, sigh, smile, stomach flip). 

Otherwise, a whirlwind of visitors and travel. 

Start present and noodle my way backwards, with a few  gulps and skips along the way. 

London bridge is falling down but the Brits have alas scaled the culinary mountain and joined the likes of New York and Paris chefs at the peek. 

The bait: 

Fegus Henderson pulls off anything but awful offals at Saint John's Bread & Wine, gastro pub extraordinaire.   Applaud for nose to tail, served up tapas-style. All the better to share with you, my dear. 

Succulent ham, finely shredded  and tossed around with runner beans, plated beside a flavorful, runny duck egg. 

Smoked eel served with a finely spiced horseradish cream.

Cripsy strips of pig skin, plated in a salad of chopped and sauteed cabbage and a few other goodies. 

How ever can this be matched?

And then along came Tapa Room, the downstairs, casual dining version of the upstairs, fine-dining sister resto, The Providores. Under chef and fusion genius, Peter Gordon, the lunch offered up a serious palate party,  with a host of flavors, textures and accents ranging from spicy chilis to sweet fig purees to toppings of toasty, black sesames. 

Rosemary polenta sticks served with sauteed wild mushrooms, aubergine wedges, baby potatoes and caramelized onion, served beside a chive and mascarpone mousse. Polenta is often an audience pleaser but this polenta would bring audiences to their knees. 

Ground pork speckled with mint, toasted coconut, chile paste and pomegranate seeds, laid upon a vibrant, green beetle leaf. Elegant plating and creative flavors to swoon over. 

Last, less innovative perhaps, but still worth a mention: cypriot lamb and bulgar wheat kofte served with an orange and olive salad, paired with a pomegranate- and molasses-infused Turkish yoghurt. I applaud a chef who gets me excited about curdled dairy 

...i'm aware, my tragic flaw ;)

All considered, Me, Happy as a clam. 

St. JOHN Bread & Wine Spitalfields
94-96 Commercial Street
London E1 6LZ

tel (+44) 020 7251 0848

http://www.stjohnbreadandwine.com/

The Providores and Tapa Room

109 Marylebone High Street

London W1U 4RX

tel (+44_ 020 7935 6175

wasted on wasted

http://www.rollogrady.com/angus-julia-stone-house-of-blues-32509-2/

before that baguette goes stale, Quick! P & J or good old bread and butter?!?!

For the next time you find yourself gritting your teeth and furrowing your brows, perhaps you'll find this of some help...

http://www.hunch.com

and a bit of background for you --> http://www.caterina.net/archive/001169.html

spread the good word.

and another visual, non sequitur, just because because because ...

tickled silly like in the days of silly puddy...

down south in Cesme ...gobble...

I vwill get you.

gulp.

Damn these leashes.

these are a few of my favorite things

Gyms are an anomaly, but La Gym Suedoise  has an ever-expanding assembly of largely-uncoordinated persons in tights 

L'epicerie welcomes Dogs and bikes alike, but the bike garners more attention 

Medjool dates on every corner, casting spells, rendering you incapable of holding-true to the signed accord between you and your belly

Floor to ceiling windows in every room and across-the-courtyard neighbors whom unabashedly watch you sway and grand jeté to bermuda highway MMJ in the wee-hours of dawn

Only 4 hours away from Istanbul and grilled calamari in adequate abundance 

(long live the "!")

 

My Rendition of a young writer's plea in a time of need

Mandy,

Apologies for my silence with respect to your previous email, something or other along the lines of suggested writing exercises or difficult times...? Anyway, I'll have to read it more closely tomorrow.

In the meantime, I'm eager to let you know that I've decided to take the position! I'll spare you the details of the other, more lucrative offers that had me a tad addled this past week. Suffice it to say, I'm finally certain that Spruce is the right place for me. Beyond the fact that I'm wild about the magazine, I was utterly bewitched by the perfect placement of the door knob on the very door leading into your office. Feng Shui is dire for developing young writers like myself.

Ok then, so seeing as how it's already Thursday and I can only imagine you as tizzied as I am for next week, I suppose it best that we dive right into logistics.

That said, what time shall I be there on Monday morning?! I do hope it possible for you to take my 25-minute commute into consideration. 

Moving forward, there's also the dress code to consider. I typically pair jeans with a polo button-down and the like. Should it be necessary, however, then I suppose I can approach it from a more classic, wrinkle-free, Keith Olbermann angle. Or perhaps you prefer I bop to a more beatnik tune, given Spruce's L-train location...? I happen to own an authentic, "Where's Jimmy Hoffa?" sweatband from the 1970's, so I'm sure that the rest will thereafter fall into place.

Lastly, you mentioned that Spruce would provide meal tickets for two of the local delis but you truly needn't fuss. I'm an adamant fan of dinner leftovers and less enthusiastic about the conditions of most "make your own salad" bars. On the other hand, this does raise an important question: the office has a refrigerator, correct? I do hope so. I'm sure I needn't explain that this very detail dictates which genre of lunch might be more suitable as opposed to others, which would thereby determine what I decide to cook-up for the previous night's dinner, which could potentially, altogether alter one's entire Whole Foods experience. You understand, halibut versus challah, cashew butter versus curried beef. These things simply can't be overlooked.

Ok then, I think that about wraps it up for now but do let me know if there's anything pending on your end. 

I look forward to your reply and very much look forward to getting started! Don't hesitate to call anytime before 8 p.m. tonight or else 9 p.m. tomorrow evening. 

Again, many thanks,

Seth

Deyrolle! Devout vegans beware...

Deyrolle...taxidermy at its absolute finest!

...not that I would really know.  

Nevertheless, I stand firm that this place is simply stupendous and thus deserving of some really exceptional superlative, even when ranked against all of the other groovy, motif  'magasins' of the 6th arrondissement. 

The space itself is courtly and sleek and comes with a sense of humor. Tiger -maple and glass display cases line the walls and cloak the tables of the second floor, spotlighting a collection of methodically-arranged butterflies and other small-type specie: algae, crustacea and an insect-ae or two.  

And then, tigers and bears and lions and such !

... better than the zoo, which I find terribly depressing, reptile section aside. 

Each piece more masterfully done than the next, I simply couldn't resist a sneak stroke of Mustafa's nozzle, that which preserved a phenomenally credible appearance of moisture, thus conjuring images of an upwardly swooping tongue after a savory snack.  

And then there's the collection of quipster silk-screens... Any one would make a nifty birthday present for a beloved friend with a sense of humor and a good amount of available wall-space. 

And alas, behold the garden section. My mom would have a ball and even I, less the horticulture-type, found myself wanting to make a purchase from the selection of rustic pitch-forks and potting vessels.

Huff. Truth be told, I left the store with a sudden urge to skip home....also hoping that I, too, might one day own an adequately-sized,  Parisian-apartment in which to house a stuffed-zebra...or perhaps an ostrich at the very least... 

Sigh...

Such discipline, such discipline...

I've been caught in a whirlwind. NY, Paris, Istanbul, Paris, bike riding, bike riding, bike riding!

....full-time employment? 

In due time.