City Mouse/Country Mouse
London and the Cotswolds
City Mouse / Country Mouse. Aesop’s Fables (illustrated by Arthur Rackham)
Bienvenue and welcome back to Musée Musing, your idiosyncratic guide to Paris and art. Since I got back in Paris, I’ve been busier than ever. Conveniently, Passover and Pâques fell on either end of the same week. Passover was matzoh ball soup and salad, salads. For years, I have religiously followed Alison Roman’s recipe for matzoh balls. This year, I switched it up and followed Joan Nathan’s recipe that called for adding grated fresh ginger and grated nutmeg to the matzo ball mixture. The result? A nuanced, sophisticated flavor profile for my homemade chicken soup. My two salads were Alison’s. To symbolize the bitterness of slavery in Egypt, I thinly sliced fennel, then added lots of chopped parsley, lemon juice and more than a soupçon of horseradish. To symbolize the mortar Jews used for the buildings they constructed for the Pharaoh, I mixed thinly sliced apples with chopped walnuts, then dressed both with apple cider vinegar and honey. (Figs 1-3) For dessert, I bought a thick slice of raspberry-jam filled linzer torte from the boulangerie on rue des Rosiers that had the best hamantaschen. And I made matzoh crack (not to be confused with Christmas crack made with saltines, which is okay at Chanukah but not at Passover). I slathered homemade toffee on a sheet of matzoh then heated it in the oven until it was bubbling hot. I covered that with chocolate chips which when they melted, I topped with nuts and coconut flakes. That saw me through the week.
Figure 1. Matzoh ball soup, recipe for matzoh balls, Joan Nathan, soup, me and Alison Roman
Figure 2. Fennel, parsley, lemon juice and horseradish salad, Alison Roman recipe
Figure 3. Apple and walnut salad, Alison Roman recipe
For Easter, I bought frozen lamb shanks from New Zealand at Picard where everything is frozen and only what’s not processed should be purchased. My marinade was piquant and roasting the lamb on low for hours with quartered potatoes produced not only lamb that I could cut with a spoon but melt-in-your-mouth delicious confit potatoes. The bundle of white asparagus I bought at the marché reminded me of the bunch painted by Edouard Manet, which of course appears in Proust and about which I have written several times. (Figs 4, 5) I have sworn off praline for the foreseeable future, so praline filled Easter chocolates were not on the menu. Fresh strawberries sufficed.
Figure 4. Bunch of asparagus I bought at the marché, 2025
Figure 5. Bunch of Asaparagus, Edouard Manet, 1880
The week between those two meals was filled with walking and culturing. One day I walked to and from the American Library (19,000 steps) to pick up the book for next month’s mystery book club meeting. Another day, I saw the Agnès Varda exhibition at the Musée Carnavalet about which I am looking forward to telling you soon. Yet another day, I finally got to the Dreyfus exhibition at MahJ. (Figs 6, 7) My take-away from the Dreyfus exhibition: I’m surprised that France didn’t come up with the Final Solution before Germany did and it’s a wonder that the Pétain government didn’t find more ways to deport more Jews. Just awful but as the Trump administration tries to destroy universities based upon bogus accusations of anti-semitism, it’s important that I share it with you.
Figure 6. Le Paris d'Agnès Varda, de-ci, de-la, Musée Carnavalet
Figure 7. Statue of Dreyfus, Tim (Louis Mittelberg, called Varsovie) Courtyard, MahJ, 2003
I saw the final opera of the three I booked for this winter, ‘Don Carlos’. When I read that it began at 6:00 p.m. I knew what that meant. Nothing starts that early that doesn’t last forever. I was right. Five acts, two intermissions, a 5 hour marathon. I was so sure that I would leave before the second intermission, I didn’t bring snacks to tide me over. But the music was Verdi, the story was engaging and although the stage sets were mostly bizarre, I enjoyed the people sitting on either side of me and I’m glad I stayed til the end.
Back to England now. I didn’t tell you about one last place Kathy and I visited during our Oxford day - the Ashmolean Museum. Did you know (and if you did, why didn’t you tell me) the Bodleian is named after Mr. Bodley and the Ashmolean after Mr. Ashmole.
The Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology is Britain's first public museum. It was built when Elias Ashmole gave his collection of curiosities to the University of Oxford in 1677. In case you wondered, it’s the world's second university museum, the first is the University of Basel’s which opened in 1661. Depending upon your interests, you will find something to warm your heart, gladden your spirit, refresh your soul, and maybe all three. I found a “Leather civilian hat …reputedly worn by John Bradshaw as he presided over the trial of Charles I in 1649.” It reminded me of Thanksgiving. Powhatan’s Mantle, which the Ashmolean calls “the most important surviving artifact from the first period of contact between Indigenous North American peoples and British colonists of Virginia in the early 1600s” was also there. (Figs 8, 9) It is named for the chief of the Powhatan people, the father of Pocahontas, the girl who married John Rolfe and died in England, at age 21.
Figure 8. Leather hat reputedly worn by John Bradshaw at trial of Charles I, 1649, Ashmolean Museum
Figure 9. Powhatan’s Mantle, early 1600s, Ashmolean Museum
From the Renaissance, there were two paintings that I love, a portrait by Ghirlandaio and a chase by Uccello. (Figs 10, 11) From the 18th century, The Choice of Hercules, by Paolo de Matteis commissioned in 1711 by the 3rd Earl of Shaftesbury, whose instructions to the artist were clear: show Hercules choosing Virtue over Pleasure, but only after a struggle. Choice was a leitmotif in many guises in the18th C. (Figs 12-14)
Figure 10. Portrait of a Young Man, Domenico Ghirlandaio, 1477, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford
Figure 11. The Hunt in the Forest, Paolo Uccello, 1470 Ashmolean Museum
Figure 12. The Choice of Hercules, or Hercules between Virtue and Pleasure Paolo de Matteis, 1711
Figure 13. David Garrick choosing between Comedy and Tragedy, Joshua Reynolds
Figure 14. Self portrait of Angelica Kaufmann choosing between Music (Pleasure) and Painting (Virtue)
On Saturday, we woke up bright and early and took the train to London. A quick tube ride and we were at the National Gallery for an exhibition entitled, ‘Siena, 1300-1350’ which some of you may have seen last year at the Met in New York.
A couple weeks ago, I told you that I preferred the muscular Tuscan tradition over the sweet Sienese tradition. This exhibition made me doubt my choice. (Figs 15, 16) The paintings by Duccio, the Lorenzetti brothers and Simone Martini made me swoon. (Figs 17-18) According to the gallery wall text, and my own eyes, these four painters, “(w)ith their exceptional technical and storytelling abilities, pushed the boundaries of what painting could be. Influenced by Byzantine art as well as Northern European Gothic art, these artist were narrative painters who excelled at representing the human experience.”
Figure 15. Ognissanti Madonna, Giotto, 1306
Figure 16. Maesta, Duccio, 1308-11
Figure 17. The Raising of Lazarus, Duccio. Notice the man wearing yellow next to the tomb, he covers his nose, Lazarus stinks
Figure 18. The Birth of the Virgin, Pietro Lorenzetti, Notice the nurse in red. She puts her hand into the water to test the temperature before she bathes the baby. Great plaid blanket on which Anna, the Virgin’s mother, recuperates.
It was a beautiful exhibition, one which easily counters the argument that if you’ve seen one Madonna and Child, you’ve seen them all. There are many differences, both subtle and obvious, that require only an attentive eye and a compassionate heart to see. In front of a painting of a nursing Madonna with a Child who just wouldn’t pay attention, (Figs 19-21) I chatted with two history/philosophy professors from the University of Tel Aviv. Both Americans, both worried about the fates of America and Israel. Me, too.
Figure 19. Madonna and Child, Duccio. Notice how the Child holds his Mother’s headdress
Figure 20. Madonna and Child, Simone Martini, see how the Child grabs his mother’s scarf with his pudgy hand and He stretches His toes on her on her wrist.
Figure 21. Madonna del Latte, While the Madonna holds onto her Child, He turns His head to see what’s going on.
It was time to eat and Katherine knew exactly where to go. The National Gallery café, because she had been hankering after their quiche. I’ve been hankering for beans for what seems like a long time now, so I chose a stew filled with them. Not exactly chili, but not far off, either. When the server asked if I wanted creme fraiche and fresh cilantro on top, I knew the chef knew what he was doing.
In the afternoon, we went to the National Portrait Gallery, for an exhibition of portraits by Edward Munch. The exhibition begins with the small naturalistic paintings of his student years and ends with the full-length compositions of his mature years. Although I was familiar with some of these portraits, like the ones of the anarchist Jan Haeger and the playwright Henrik Ibsen, there were many others that were new to me - emotionally charged portraits of people from his artistic and intellectual worlds as well as his patrons and collectors. These days, I can’t get away from Nazis, and this exhibition was no exception. There was a portrait of a Jewish scholar who, with his wife, committed suicide when Hitler rose to power. There was a portrait of Nietzsche’s sister, a committed Nazi who convinced the party to underwrite the Nietzsche archives. Among the self portraits, there is one of him in his garden, from 1942, two years after German troops invaded Norway and two years before his own death. (Figs 22-27)
Figure 22. Hans Jaeger, Edvard Munch, 1889
Figure 23. Henrik Ibsen at Grand Café, Edvard Munch, 1902
Figure 24. Thor Lütken, Edvard Munch, 1892. Look closely at the right sleeve to see a tiny couple, woman in white
Figure 25. Portrait of Felix Auerbach, 1906. In 1933, Auerbach and his wife, both Jewish, committed suicide
Figure 26. Elisabeth Nietzsche,She was such a committed Nazi that the party underwrote her Nietzsche Archive Edvard Munch, 1906
Figure 27. Self portrait, Artist in the Arbor, Edvard Munch, 1942
Before we left the museum, we toured the permanent collection, concentrating on portraits of the 21st century. Among them, a 2020 portrait of the singer Harry Styles in al ball gown by Tyler Mitchell and from 2021, Princess Catherine by Paolo Roversi, (Figs 28, 29) whose exhibition at the Palais Galliera last year was a revelation.
Figure 28. Harry Styles, Tyler Mitchell, 2020
Figure 29. Catherine, Princess of Wales, Paolo Roversi
For some reason, a statue in front of the National Gallery caught my eye. (Fig 30) I recognized it immediately, a replica of the marble statue of George Washington by Jean-Antoine Houdon, in the Virginia State Capitol in Richmond. When I investigated, I learned that because Washington never told a lie and because he vowed never to set foot again on British soil, the statue is set in soil from Virginia. I also learned that this statue is one of 25 that have been dispersed worldwide. This one has been in Trafalgar Square since 1921, well before I started visiting London. How is it that I never noticed it before?
Figure 30. George Washington, bronze statue, after Houdon, Trafalgar Square, London
It was warm and sunny and too early to get the train back to Oxford, so we walked over to Neal’s Yard Creamery which I have visited on nearly all my trips to London. Yes, I know I live in a country with more than 1000 different cheeses but no cheddar, well no cheddar that is not imported from England. So, I bought a few to take back to Paris. (Figs 31-32) Now, I’m looking for a bottle of Branston Pickles to enjoy with them.
Figure 31. Neal’s Yard Dairy, Farm Cheese and Produce from the British Isles
Figure 32. My patient and helpful server at Neal’s Yard Dairy
The next day, Sunday, we traveled to Charlbury, a village in the Cotswolds. (Figs 33, 34) I have heard of the Cotswolds, but I never visited, well at least not knowingly. The Cotswolds, as you probably know, is located in central south west England. A most picturesque place, celebrated for its charming villages, undulating hills and cosy country pubs. One source says that although each town and village has its own identity, all have two “defining Cotswold features: golden stone and rolling hills, the ‘wolds’.” As we drove to Charlbury, we passed Blenheim Castle and stopped at a pub outside of town, where probably 3/4 of the town’s inhabitants were also eating.
Figure 33. A bit of Charlbury, Cotswolds
Figure 34. St. Mary’s Church, Charlbury. I love to walk through a cemetery on the way into the church
When we arrived at Charlbury, we wandered along village streets and ventured into the countryside before arriving at St. Mary’s Church for a 3:00 p.m. concert by the Oxford Concert Party. This group was celebrating the end of 33 years of performing in hospitals and hospices, schools and prisons. A concert of their own music was moving and joyful. It was followed by Benjamin Britten’s one act opera, Noye’s Fludde. (Figs 35, 36) Intended primarily for amateur performers, mostly children, it is based on a 15th century miracle play. As the program advises, “A feature of the play is the depiction of Noah’s wife as disobedient … and sinful in contrast to the grave and obedient Noah.” As I watched Noah’s wife (who was falling out of her dress) and her three cronies, called the Gossips, drink and dismiss Noah’s warnings, I felt uneasy. It’s not the kind of lesson I want any girl or boy, cast member or audience, to learn. It needs to be updated or eliminated.
Figure 35. The Oxford Concert Party musical group’s last concert after 33 years
Figure 36. Noye’s Fludde, One act opera by Benjamin Britten. Noah’s wife middle left, in pink, after she got on the arc
Monday morning, bright and early once again, we were on our way to London. First stop was the Wallace Collection which I have been visiting for years. Its permanent collection includes among other hits, Fragonard’s Swing. (Fig 37) We were here to see a temporary exhibition by a contemporary artist whose work Katherine knew but I didn’t, Grayson Perry, an English artist celebrated for ceramic vases and tapestries as well as cross-dressing. He creates works that dissect British "prejudices, fashions and foibles.”
Figure 37. The Swing, Fragonard
The exhibition includes lots of information about the woman the artist becomes but it was too much for someone being introduced to this artist for the first time. So I concentrated on his ‘riffs’ on works in the Wallace Collection. (Figs 38-40) I discovered a piece, a chest of drawers, called The Great Beauty (La Grande Bellezza), the title I knew from a 2013 Italian film. According to Perry, it’s an open altarpiece, covered with female miniatures, like those in the Wallace’s collection, conceived as a celebration of friendship. (Fig 41) I was delighted by the reference to this film, one that Nicolas and I watched for his film class. Nicolas loves this film and when we were in Rome a year or so after we first saw it, we decided to visit the sights that the protagonist of the film, a writer named Jep, visits. This approach to sightseeing with Nicolas has proved to be the best way to get him to places he might not otherwise be willing to go. For example, Bruges. We got him there by promising to go to all the places that Colin Farrell went in the film ‘In Bruges,’ including the Pizza Hut on a cold and rainy night.
Figure 38. Grayson Perrry’s riff on The Swing, tapestry
Figure 39. Mme Pompadour, Boucher
Figure 40. Grayson Perrry’s riff on Mme Pompadour, tapestry
Figure 41. The Great Beauty, Grayson Perry, named after the Italian film of the same name
Just minutes from the Wallace collection is one of the many Yotam Ottolenghi cafés in London. It was the dining experience I had been waiting for all week. Except for Ottolenghi’s unexciting restaurant in Paris, I have never been disappointed by an Ottolenghi meal. Most of the space in this cafe is devoted to take away. We ate with other diners who had no home or office to go to, at the one long, communal dining table. I chose 4 salads for 25£. (Figs 42, 43) The food was good but not great. Later that evening, eating the same food in Katherine’s comfortable dining room, the flavors were more distinct, the textures more varied, in short the salads were delicious. It proved once again that I’m a take away girl. I have always preferred excellent food and the comfort of home.
Figure 42. Ottolenghi, Marlybone, London
Figure 43. My four salads, among them, in front, 'Roasted aubergine with tyrokafteri and walnut salsa’ and at right, 'Green bean "Caesar", radish, capers and mint.’ Beyond, Katherine’s broccoli salad which she declared undercooked and uncuttable
Since we had a while before our timed entry to the Courtauld Institute of Art. I suggested that we to go to Burrough Market. But it was Monday and it was closed! I would have killed one of my kids if we had gone somewhere at their suggestion and they hadn’t made sure it was open. Katherine was very kind and didn’t say a word - I can only imagine what she was thinking. I wanted to go to Burrough Market specifically to find a scone like the one I had passed up that first day in Oxford, at the Vaults, for which I had been searching in vain the entire time I was in Oxford…..and London.
We walked from Burrough Market along the Thames to the Courtauld to see the exhibition, ‘Goya to impressionism, Masterpieces of the Oskar Reinhart Collection.’ It’s a Swiss museum outside of Winterthur. The paintings in the exhibition seamlessly fit with the Courtauld’s own. It was like old friends meeting up after many years’ apart. Although there are many examples I might cite, the paintings by Manet, Cezanne and Van Gogh were the most telling. Two paintings by Van Gogh, from the Reinhart Collection, are of the hospital where Van Gogh had been a patient following his breakdown and the mutilation of his ear. Van Gogh’s Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear is in the Courtauld’s collection. I don’t think I have ever been to the Courtauld before. I was delighted to discover this wonderful collection of masterpieces. (Figs 44-50)
Figure 44. The Café, Edouard Manet, Oskar-Reinhart Collection, Switzerland
Figure 45. A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, Edouard Manet, 1882, Courtauld Institute of Art
Figure 46. Still life, Paul Cezanne, Oskar-Reinhart Collection, Switzerland
Figure 47. Still life with statue, Paul Cezanne, Coutauld Institute of Art
Figure 48. Courtyard of Mental Hospital, Vincent Van Gogh, Oskar Reinhart Collection, Switzerland
Figure 49. Mental Hospital Ward, Vincent Van Gogh, Oskar Reinhart Collection, Switzerland
Figure 50. Self portrait with head bandaged from self inflicted wound, Vincent Van Gogh, Courtauld Institute of Art
As Katherine drove me to the train station the next day, we made one last stop. At the Vaults for me to get a scone (with clotted cream and raspberry jam). And to see the Antony Gormley statue that Katherine had forgotten to point out during our day in Oxford. Turns out, the statue stands on a roof overlooking Radcliffe Square and the Vaults. (Figs 51, 52) I took the scone home and savored it, slowly, for the next 4 days!
Figure 51. The manager of the Vaults holding the objects of my heart’s desire - scones!
Figure 52. Standing statue on roof, Antony Gormley, Oxford
My take away from this trip is that I sure won’t wait another 7 years to go to London again. But I felt the the same way I felt when I lived in Australia. There are always hassles in a foreign country, a different language ups the ante and makes it more of a challenge. I’m glad I chose to live to Paris. Gros bisous, Dr. B.