There was a heartening moment on the weekend when Peter and I were sitting in Le Progrès on the rue de Bretagne having an afternoon pause as the lunch crowd was beginning to dwindle. Perhaps a dozen or so tables were still full with a few families and several couples, all tucking into their steak frites and salades composées while solving the problems of the universe through endless talk. It suddenly dawned on us, as we observed from our spot in a corner, that not a single person was looking at a mobile phone or even had one visible.

This is not what we’ve become accustomed to. The current addiction to the equivalent of crack in 6-inch by 3-inch electronic form is apparent everywhere you look. People can’t walk down the street without holding their phone like it’s a mother’s hand; they can’t sit in a restaurant without plunking a phone down right beside them like a new fiancé; they’ll take them to bed and actually respond to texts that land at three and four in the morning. That’s the new normal. And yet, on that day, in that place, there wasn’t a single mobile device in sight. It made me wonder if perhaps a silent tipping point hasn’t just slipped us into the dawn of a new Zeitgeist. Dare one hope?

The amount of walking we’ve been doing lately has been off the charts. One day, entirely by accident and even through periods of rain, we clocked 21 kilometres because we were so enraptured by the parts of town we were discovering.

We didn’t sit down to lunch until well past the usual hour and, by the time we did, we had to settle for the nearest café before we fainted. All the usual menu suspects were on the slate: soupe a l’oignon, steak frites with Béarnaise sauce (ahem, so called), smoked salmon tartine with one of those limp salads dressed in the same industrial vinaigrette you find all over town… Chewing our way through it, Peter asked, “Why is it so hard to find an honest lunch?” I had to smile, because back in the days when I was reading a lot of the English food writer, Elizabeth David, that question was a constant of hers. She was always in search of “honest” food, and overjoyed whenever she found it. You might remember the famous line from her book on Mediterranean food: “It is honest cooking, too,” she wrote, admiringly. “None of the sham Grande Cuisine of the International Palace Hotel.” Maybe we, too, have come full circle in that respect. Enough smoke and mirrors; all anybody wants right now is an honest lunch, which is to say good food, prepared simply but skillfully, and at a fair price. How hard can it be?

What’s your idea of “an honest lunch”? The title of one of Elizabeth David’s books of collected essays was An Omelette and a Glass of Wine. That hits the nail on the head for me.

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Mind you, things can’t always be plain. One of the great characteristics of French cuisine and talents of a French cook is the art of garnishing. Whereas an Anglo-Saxon will put, say, a pile of mash and a sausage on a plate, stand back and be satisfied, a French cook will come along and immediately drizzle some sauce around and top the dish with chervil. They always go one step further in this country, and it’s that last unexpected flourish that makes a dish an absolute delight. I’m thinking of a parsnip soup I had at a lunch last week, which was drizzled with coriander and chili oils, and topped with fresh coriander, but then also scattered with poppy seeds. The fine crunch of seeds positively made the soup!

A similar touch of flair caught my attention recently in a restaurant where I ordered a scallop and pear carpaccio. It was adorned with “hay oil,” the taste of which I don’t remember, but then also with toasted buckwheat (sobacha). The crispness of those grains was everything against the silky coins of scallop and crescents of fruit. They were what allowed for the dish to become more than the sum of its parts. Now I’m also recalling a cold pea soup from last spring that was garnished with blanched fresh peas, micro-thin radish slices, pea sprouts, toasted hazelnuts and miniature buttered croutons. It sounds over the top and yet it wasn’t in the least. It was beautiful to look at and exciting in the mouth.

Here are two books I can recommend, which have nothing to do with France, but which I’m reading because they relate to cultures that, like the French, have valuable things to teach us about food and life:

Marie Kondo’s latest, Letter from Japan, is a series of essays on Japanese values and culture that shed light on her philosophy of living, and that spark ideas for how we might incorporate them into our own lives.

John Zubrzycki’s The Shortest History of India is a feat. There’s no country on Earth with more languages, religions, and contradictions, yet he somehow spoons out a digestible synopsis in about 250 pages. It’s an excellent starting point for anyone trying to make headway into that world. (Incidentally, The Shortest History of Japan and The Shortest History of France are also available in this series of books by Old Street Publishing.)

We’re all looking for gifts this time of year and, what with the cost of shipping, especially overseas, some online options are always useful. I can personally recommend the following:

21 Days of Online Face Yoga:

Polina is one of the most sensible and grounded teachers of face yoga on the Web. Her new 21-day programme is going to be in my virtual stocking this year. Here’s a sample video from her YouTube.

A reliable colour analysis that will make clothes shopping easier and more economical for the rest of your life:

I used to think that getting colours done was hokey but, after signing up for a session with Giulia and Alessandra a few years ago, I’m a convert. It makes shopping so much easier when you know which shades suit you and which won’t. Now, when I walk into shops, I scan by colour alone and don’t even bother looking at racks with clothes that, no matter how well they might fit, ultimately won’t flatter me. I’ve avoided buying no end of garments that would have ended up in the back of a closet never worn. Here’s a sample from their YouTube channel.

Of course, another nice gift available online is this newsletter! If you know someone who cares about civility, good food, conversation, and good company, then why not invite them to join us at A Place at my Paris Table for a weekly dose of good living and good vibes?

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Wishing you a cozy and cheerful month ahead,

Laura x

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