I have been a fan of David Lebovitz and his work for quite some time--ever since I discovered a link to his blog. Most, if not all, of the ice cream recipes I have offered on this blog are from his book, The Perfect Scoop and I love reading his Room for Dessert and Ripe for Dessert. One of these days I will actually cook something from them.
Now I have a new book to love and I think it may be his best yet.
The Sweet Life in Paris records his adventures living and working in Paris for the last six years. His wry observations had me laughing out loud and had the people around me wondering what could be so funny. His candid descriptions of what he loves and finds not so lovable about Parisians should be required reading for anyone traveling to that glorious city. I find that Americans take umbrage too easily when visiting foreign countries. After reading The Sweet Life, you understand that the French ,especially Parisians, just do things differently. You'll have a much better time if you just adapt.
Perhaps because I am attempting to learn French, I found his chapter, "Too Many Ways to Say the Same Thing," riotously funny. He tried to take a French class, but feared for his life from the bullying teacher. So he dropped out and decided to learn as he went along from his friends and neighbors. He came to regret his decision.
"My greatest gaffe in French t a social event occurred at a chic dinner party with people I didn't know. I had just returned from a trip to Italy and was describing how terrific it was. I'd climbed high in the mountains of Piedmont to see Oropa, the magnificently situated sanctuary famous for its Madonna Nera, a black Virgin Mary who inspires cultlike worshippers. It's an inspiring spot, no matter what your faith, and pilgrims and tourists flock there from all over the world to head up the winding mountain road, then up a formidable number of stairs to see here. (The hot chocolate and pastries they serve in the adjacent caffe are additional incentive to make the trek, too.)
"Hoping to impress everyone with my highly cultured and richly detailed description of the lovely lady herself, I contributed my account: 'Up in the mountains in Italy, il y a une verge noir. C'est magnifique! People come from all over the world to worship it. They kneel before it and pray to it.'
"As I'm talking, rambling on and on and on in my impeccable French, I notice everyone looking uncomfortable and glancing around at one another, taking a renewed interest in what's on their plate, rather than what's coming out of my mouth. But like a high-speed TGV train, I keep going, picking up speed: 'You drive up this long winding road and when you open the door, you see it and it's really, truly incroyable. It's surely one of the most famous verges in the world.'
"I fail to notice anyone getting as worked up as me about this icon, until Romain leans over, 'Don't you mean the Vierge Noire, the Black Virgin?'
" 'Uh, yes. Isn't that what I was talking about?'
"'Daveed, a verge is a penis.'
"I know my version of the story would have received a better reception in different company, but perhaps I was a bit hasty in dropping out of French school. I'm just happy he stopped me before I went on about all the pictures I'd taken of it, from every conceivable angle."
He teaches you how to dodge Les Bousculeurs and how to become one yourself if you're brave and immune to insults. You learn where to find the best hot chocolate in Paris and how to work your way around a cheese plate. I consider these last two pieces of knowledge essential for civilized living.
Finally, there are some wonderful recipes at the end of every chapter.
Every word in this book is delicious. After you've read it, let's make a date for lunch at Au Pied de Cochon to talk about our favorite chapters.
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