On April 1st–along with Mary–came the tourists.
It really was striking: suddenly we were completely surrounded by a sea of poorly-dressed non-French-speakers, and I am sorry to say that we were caught off guard.
They’re right, though. This is a wonderful time to be here. The weather is stunning. Look:
Mary arrived with allegedly receding strep and an unshakable desire to watch a French film, even though we warned her. “God, that was so long-winded,” she said when she called to let us know that she was not, in fact, dead in in a gutter somewhere.
“It was all in French,” Nick remarked. Which, really, probably explains it.
It was a nice visit, though: she came with me to the market, and we went with her to the Conciergerie, which tends to have amazing photography exhibits (she wanted to see photography; it was either that or play Google® roulette). We did not, unfortunately, manage to then stop over at Sainte-Chapelle, the church next door with the amazing stained glass, because did I mention all of the tourists? The line was stretched down the street. Luckily, they appeared never to have heard of the Conciergerie, because we had the place nearly to ourselves.
It has photography and it’s where Marie Antoinette was kept before being executed. The line of tourists had no idea what they were missing.
Mary provided me with an excellent excuse to get my very first pastry from Dalloyau, and was gratifyingly impressed with her own. She also was able to witness our baker recognizing me–when I go in now, the woman just turns around and grabs a baguette, calling out “Une tradition!” in a sing-song. It’s wonderful.
She hunted for Cassis Mentos® with me, finally conceding that they may really have been a limited run. We sat in cafés and impressed her with handmade Easter candy. And just as I was, she was smitten by the idea of food items flavored with flowers. Actually, that reminds me:
Caroline’s Violettini
2oz gin (I used Gordon’s)
1oz violet liqueur
0.5oz dry vermouth
splash of unsweetened lime juice
Mix all ingredients in a cocktail shaker full of ice, and strain into a martini glass. Garnish with fresh or candied violets if you are Martha Stewart.
In the meantime, I am getting a touch anxious about Easter. It’s our first holiday living together, and I want to establish family traditions. When I suggested that we go to church on Sunday, Nick stared at me like I had two heads–in fact, it was similar to the look he gave me when I announced my intention to dye eggs, or considered aloud the idea of making baskets for each other.
It’s okay. I’ll wear him down.