The Final Stretch

Newsletter 1.21.2024

Bienvenue and welcome back to Musée Musings, your idiosyncratic guide to Paris and art. Since my San Francisco sojourn was meant to have ended last Thursday, I have a sense of being here on borrowed time. Like a mini-vacation tacked onto a longer one, one that I was surprised had ended so quickly! But it was too difficult to leave, especially when the welcome has been as warm as the weather. Alas, there are some downsides - I won’t get back to the Sophie Calle show again before it closes. Which is a disappointment since I am definitely obsessed with how she makes life, mostly her own life, into art, even the painful stuff, even the embarrassing stuff. Stuff that happens to everybody but everybody else mostly doesn’t want to talk about it, let alone exhibit it at the Venice Biennale or the Musée Picasso. Thankfully, I will be able to see the Antony Gormley exhibition again, at the Musée Rodin. Part II of which is today’s post. I have become just a wee bit obsessed with Gormley, too. I am beginning to sense a pattern here.

Even though Ginevra and I did make our own galette des rois again this year, I was looking forward to eating a ‘professionally’ made one once I got back to Paris. But, in France, galettes des rois are legally sold only in January. After that, any similarity between frangipane stuffed puff pastry and galettes des rois is strictly intentional. But the name is gone. A quick call to Erin solved that. I’m bringing her products from her favorite L.A hair dresser and she’s going to pick up a galette des rois for me at French Bastards.

French Bastards? Here’s how the name came about. One of the three French Bastards, Julien, to be precise, worked a long time ago at a restaurant in Australia. Apparently, “the chef (affectionately) referred to him as ‘the French bastard.’” It’s the name he and his mates chose when they decided, in 2019, to open a boulangerie in Paris. The original one is in my neighborhood but others have popped up in other parts of Paris, one is a quick walk from Erin’s place in the 9th. Their sense of humor goes beyond the name. While everyone else is hellbent on establishing their bonafides by the length of time they have been in business, The French Bastards declare that their boulangerie was ‘Fondée Hier’ (founded yesterday). (Fig 1) But they’re serious about their multi-grain rustic breads. They won’t trancher it (slice it) because they say it’s not good for the bread. Despite that inconvenience, I recommend the bread whole(grain) heartedly and the lemon meringue tarts, too - only because they are perfect. I bought a traditional galette des rois there a few years ago, classically perfect. They also make exuberant, limited edition riffs on the classic each year, which are only available for a few days at Epiphany (January 6) but I’ve never been in town to try them.

Figure 1. French Bastards Boulangerie- Pâtisserie - Maison Fondée Hier

I hope I will be over my jet lag in time to shop during the winter soldes (sales) which are on through February 6 this year. Shopping is at its best and most competitive by then, with double markdowns making prices almost reasonable.

Thank goodness I’ll be there for Bon Marché’s annual extravaganza, by which I mean when an artist takes over Bon Marché’s glorious main space and creates something marvelous. This year, Daniel Buren the master of stripes and squares will be there. (Fig 2) Calling his offering, “Aux Beaux Carrés: travail in situ,” it’s up until 17 February.

Figure 2. Columns of Buren, Cour d’Honneur, Palais Royal, Paris, Daniel Buren

This past week has been one of both cultural and culinary accomplishments. You won’t be surprised that one of the cultural accomplishments involves Proust. I am nearly finished with Volume 3 of A la recherche du temps perdu, Le Côté Guermantes (Guermantes Way). Proust’s Narrator is a bit older but not much wiser than in the previous two volumes. He falls in love, he becomes obsessed, he falls out of love and can’t remember why he was obsessed with this or that woman in the first place.

There’s a really touching section as the narrator describes his beloved grandmother’s decline and death. Having lost two people not so long ago, Proust’s description of the downward spiral was very moving and very well observed.

The Dreyfus case creeps in everywhere in this volume. Inevitably, I suppose since Proust wrote it as Emile Zola was found guilty of criminal libel for publishing J’accuse, his open letter to the President of France, accusing the French government of antisemitism and falsely convicting Alfred Dreyfus. And Captain Dreyfus was still on Devil’s Island, on trumped up charges of treason. There are heated discussions at the narrator’s friend St. Loup’s military barracks and virulent although mostly discrete, antisemitic comments at salons and dinner parties hosted by arrivistes and aristocrats. Cruel comments about Proust’s Jewish friend, Bloch abound and Odette’s, (Charles Swann’s wife), vicious antisemitism, in spite of, or perhaps because her husband was a Jew and a Dreyfusard. Those were dangerous times, as are our own.

But what I was waiting impatiently to read in this volume was a passage about asparagus. Which I knew would appear at a dinner party given by Oriane, Duchesse de Guermantes, with whom the narrator had been obsessed for hundreds of pages. The narrator finally gets invited to attend one of her soirées.

The description of the party, but mostly the rumination of the Narrator, go on forever. I was beginning to think that I had missed the passage as I waded through the verbiage. But, after the dinner guests are finally seated, (delayed because the narrator took so long looking at the art collection) the Duc de Guermantes, next to whom the narrator has been seated, begins to rail against a painting that Charles Swann had encouraged the Duc to purchase. It is a painting of asparagus by Elstir.

There is a lot of discussion in Proust literature about the identity of Elstir. But in this passage, he is definitely Edouard Manet. According to the Duc, Swann “was determined that we should buy a Bundle of Asparagus. In fact it was in the house for several days. There was nothing else in the picture, a bundle of asparagus exactly like what you’re eating now. But I must say I declined to swallow M. Elstir’s asparagus. He asked three hundred francs for them. Three hundred francs for a bundle of asparagus. A louis, that’s as much as they’re worth, even if they are out of season.” (Fig 3)

Figure 3. Bunch of Asparagus, Edouard Manet

This passage was my gateway to Proust. I was in the bookshop of the the first Proust exhibition, the one at the Musée Carnavalet, when I came upon a book by Eric Karpeles, called Paintings in Proust. I already knew the story he recounted, that Edouard Manet painted a bunch of asparagus for which a wealthy art collector gave him 200 francs more than the price. The next day, the painter sent the patron a canvas on which he had painted a single asparagus spear, with a note explaining that this one had slipped from the bunch. (Fig 4) But it wasn’t until I read Edmund de Waal’s ‘Letters to Camondo’ that I learned the art collector’s identity. It was a relative of de Waal’s, Charles Ephrussi, (Fig 5) who, with his uncle, Charles Haas, (Fig 6) was Proust’s model for Charles Swann.

Figure 4. Single Asparagus, Edouard Manet

Figure 5. Luncheon of the Boating Party, Renoir. Charles Ephrussi is the man in the top hat in the back. In another passage in Proust’s 3rd volume, Ephrussi is criticized for wearing formal wear at a casual luncheon

Figure 6. Cercle de la rue Royale, James Tissot. Charles Haas is the figure standing in the doorway on the right.

According to Karpeles, “Proust fashioned a tiny morality play” about this painting of asparagus. The Duc de Guermantes, for all his money, doesn’t have any taste. He can’t discern quality and can’t see the value of paying for a painting of asparagus when you can buy asparagus, especially early in the season, for so much less.

My other accomplishment was reading Ann Patchett’s newest book, Tom Lake. It is breathtakingly beautiful and beautifully simple. The story takes us back and forth in time, from thirty or so years ago to the present moment in the life of the narrator. She is a farmer’s wife and the mother of three grown up daughters. We are in the narrator’s head as her three daughters prod and plead with her to tell them about the years she was an actor, and about a famous actor she knew. She shares some events with them, many more with us. Some of the revelations and asides she shares with us are startling, some are shocking. We learn about the choices she made and the ones that circumstance made for her. The underpinning, the leitmotif of the book is Thornton Wilder’s play, Our Town. Do you know the play? Here is Pachett’s ‘Author’s Note, “I thank Thornton Wilder, who wrote the play that has been an enduring comfort, guide, and inspiration throughout my life. If this novel has a goal, it is to turn the reader back to Our Town, and to all of Wilder’s work. Therein lies the joy.”

Reading a book by Ann Pachett poses a real dilemma. You want to read it quickly for the story. You want to read it slowly to savor the prose. The savoring has to win out. For me, Ann Pachett’s prose are like the highest quality 72% dark chocolate. I was sad to finish this wonderful book, to say good-bye to these characters.

About the culinary accomplishments. This week they are many and they are all thanks to Alison Roman. I became a paid subscriber to her newsletter, called The Newsletter so I can listen to her podcasts, called Home Movies, without commercial interruption. This past week, I have been happily perusing and cooking from her most recent cookbook, Sweet Enough, (a dessert cookbook) and her first cookbook, Nothing Fancy (unfussy food for having people over). When I get back to Paris, I’m going to buy them both and maybe her third cookbook, too, called Dining In. I do peruse the recipes I get daily from the New York Times but it is so satisfying to thumb through a really good cookbook full of doable recipes for the home cook which also has beautiful photographs.

The most challenging dish I made was Pozole.(Fig 7) A Mexican friend of mine often regaled me with tales of the pozole his mother made for his family every Christmas. I probably love it so much because I love anything with corn in it - tortillas, tamales, polenta. This is how Alison describes her version of pozole, “…(I)t’s thicker and more stew-like, I’ve sort of combined the red and green versions by adding tomatillos to the chilies (for body and acidity), while also adding cabbage to braise alongside the pork (for more texture and a welcomed sour-braised-cabbage energy..)

Figure 7. Homemade Pozole, Alison Roman recipe

On a windy, rainy day, it was the perfect seven hour project. The scariest part was making the chili paste with dried guajillo chilies, garlic and onions. The most time tedious part was searing the many, many 2” pieces of pork that the butchers at Gus’s cut from the 4 pound pork shoulder I bought. Tearing the cabbage, cutting the tomatillos, adding them both to the broth and then tossing in the hominy near the end, was all very easy. I served it with all the right garnishes - shredded raw cabbage, thin slices of radishes, chopped cilantro, tortilla chips and lots of lime wedges.

And I made dessert. We had so many Meyer lemons from our neighbor, I knew it was going to have to be lemon something. (Fig 8) Alison’s recipe for lemon cream pie was perfect. Here’s her explanation for why lemon cream and why NOT lemon meringue.“While the lemon (lean, acidic) merely tolerates meringue, it truly needs the whipped cream (rich, fatty) to cut through, to round it out, to make the slice balanced and complete.” And it’s not dollops of plain whipped cream that you decorate the pie with, but whipped cream mixed with either sour cream or full fat Greek yogurt. I went with the yogurt. It made me feel virtuous! Oh, the crust was easy peasy too - a pressed-in one of crushed Biscoff (do you know Biscoff biscuits, I had never heard of them). But I read the ingredients labels on the two other choices - Nilla Wafers and Graham Crackers, Biscoff seemed to be the healthiest, so Biscoff it was. Delicious!

Figure 8. Homemade Lemon pie, Alison Roman recipe

After that meal, I needed a meat break so I froze the pozole and made some vegetarian dishes for the next few days. Again, Alison to the rescue, with chickpeas and frizzled onions with feta cheese, roasted broccolini with lemon and parmesan and roasted beet and toasted walnut dip, which I served with raw carrots. (Fig 9).

Figure 9. Lentils with onions and feta; broccoli with lemons and parmesan; beet and walnut dip, all Alison Roman recipes

Dianne asked if I made chicken stock from last week’s rotisserie chicken. Not wanting to sound too economical, I didn’t mention it. But yes I did. And made Pho. Following Samin Nosrat’s recipe, the soup was delicious. And since there was no more chicken, I substituted firm tofu which was even healthier. (Fig 10)

Figure 10. Pho, Samin Nosrat recipe

In addition to the vegetable and salad boxes from Dirty Girl, we’ve been walking to the market a few blocks away for the citrus and farm fresh eggs that the nut guy brings (don’t ask, I don’t understand either) and the berries from the berry guy. (Fig 11)

Figure 11. Citrus and eggs from the nut guy; berries from the berry guy

Our walks have taken us past a house on Lake St. where Santa is either still trying to get in or still trying to get out. (Fig 12). And through Golden Gate Park where there is music and dancing on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. (Fig 13)The January plantings at Queen Wilhelmina’s garden are gorgeous (Fig 14) and so, of course, is Golden Gate Bridge. A house I walk by in nearby Sea Cliff has a huge painting (Fig I5) that I recognized but couldn’t remember the artist, until I saw a similar canvas by him at SFMoMA, (Fig 16). Finally, I can’t remain virtuous all the time, so I bought a Coconut Cream Tart from Tartine on a walk another day. (Fig 17)

Figure 12. Lake Street Santa stranded

Figure 13. Lindy & Swing Dancing in Golden Gate Park

Figure 14. January Planting at Queen Wilhelmina’s Garden, Golden Gate Park

Figure 15. House I walk by in nearby Seacliff. Look at painting on wall on left

Figure 16. Painting by Clifford Still, 1959 at SFMoMA

Figure 17. Coconut Cream Pie from Tartine Bakery, Sunset, San Francisco

So, that’s what I’ve been up to this third week of the new year. Thanks so much to those of you who have been kind enough to send in comments. I am truly grateful. Gros bisous, Dr. B.

New Comment on A Home of our Own II

Hi Bev, A Very Happy New Year to you. I love your 'musings' , they give me much pleasure & I look forward to them. It was fascinating to see what Charles converted & designed. We architects can be too precious, Lots of love Jen, Melbourne, Australia

Your accounts of the deep remodels and re-inventions of your various abodes put me to shame. I only remodeled a house once, a though it was only a superficial remodel (no walls were moved) I did do things like plaster over a rustic-style fireplace, replace the rug in the dining room with a hardwood floor, and cover the white painted walls with a designer fabric wall covering. But what a huge difference those cosmetic changes made in the feel of the house. Mark, San Francisco

New comment on Art as Life, Life as Art :

I so enjoyed your take on Sophie Calle. I read it AFTER seeing the show. I intend to return a second time. Martha. Paris

New comments on Delayed Departure: Thank you for the creative walks and recipes! I ope you save date chicken bones and veggie scraps for stock. There are ways to make meals without a huge outlay of funds..less processed food is a good thing. Glad the weather in SF is nice for being out. I just remember a lot of very cold days and nights in January and also one night with 'magical' snow and deer on the outskirts of the old Oakland Navy hospital grounds, Dianne

I just read your latest article about the exhibit at the Rodin. I swear its like taking a fabulous course in art history. ( actually all of your “musings” are like that to me). I also  love what you manage to do with “ leftovers”.  

The SFMOMA sounds like a fabulous museum. It sounds like an enormous space. I have only been to MOMA NY, Deedee, Baltimore

Sorry you didn’t get into the Yayoi Kusama exhibit….I would’ve liked your take on it. I fell in love with Kusama after your photos of her Paris dots, etc. But disappointed in the SF exhibit which was about 2 minutes in her color boxes( nice but so brief) and a sculpture on another floor. Didn’t think it was worth the $$. Still love her and your newsletter. Liz, San Francisco

Dear Beverly, thanks for the reminder where the term “martial arts” comes from!