Hello lovely readers! Please pardon my tardiness in getting this newsletter out the door. If you follow me on Instagram and kept up with my stories earlier this month, you know that I went on a magical, whirlwind trip to Paris. As you’ll read in the mini word essay below, it was meaningful for me on a number of levels, both personally and professionally. Of course, there were so many memorable bites and sips, so I’m planning to follow up with a separate newsletter all about what I ate and drank in Paris. Be sure to scroll down for a small sampling though, an amuse bouche if you will, as well as book recommendations and links to recently published articles. Thank you for being here!
PERSPECTIVE: a mental view or prospect. A visible scene. The interrelation in which a subject or its parts are mentally viewed. The capacity to view things in their true relations or relative importance. (Source: Merriam-Webster)
No matter where you travel, the simple act of stepping out of your everyday existence offers the chance to enter into a new state of perspective. To take in scenery or people or buildings that are unfamiliar, or to revisit familiar places with the added perspective of time passed.
Returning to Paris offered both for me. A homecoming of sorts, to the first city I called home at age three (though it was the fifth city I had lived in), and the place I returned in my twenties to pursue fashion business school studies. This trip allowed me to look back and consider anew how my perspectives then shaped who I am now. Certainly, I’ve time travelled with my words, as I try to commit to the pages of my memoir the stories and foundation that Paris gave me: a home, a love of food, attitudes toward appetite, pleasure, love. But it was something else entirely to re-experience it so viscerally.
In certain places my soul sighed with recognition: in the Montorgueil neighborhood, there was the laundromat I schlepped my clothes to as a student, wheeling my suitcase of dirty laundry through the street like some domestic walk of shame. There was my favorite cafe, the one with the globes on the ceiling and the best salad with warm goat cheese, the Italian restaurant with excellent yet affordable homemade pasta, the fruit stand where I ogled baskets of plump fresh figs, the fish monger, the butcher—it was all still there. And the famous patisserie that I at last set foot into to sample pastries and seasonal tarts, allowing me to create new taste memories. The street still hummed with the daily vibrations of other people’s every day lives, and my body seemed to sync up to it, falling into their rhythms alongside them.
In my childhood neighborhood, in the 16th arrondisement, the bakery where I bought fresh baguettes with my mom still stood. The pastry case at À La Flûte Enchantée was no longer at eye level, but I had a new vantage point from which to consider the tarts, éclairs, and sweet treats. I bought a strawberry tart, and a pain au chocolat (for old time’s sake), and strolled to Jardin du Ranelagh where I had once played in the park, ridden the carousel, learned to rollerskate, and attended puppet shows with my dad. There were no weekday performances, so I peered into the shrubbed over fence, remembering the hard wooden bench on which we sat, while I fished gummy cola bottles out of a paper sachet and watched Guignol bop other characters with a baton. I sat by the famous statue of Jean de La Fontaine, a French fabulist and poet, depicted with the fox and the raven from his tales (in English it’s often the tale of The Fox and the Crow). I FaceTimed my mom so she could share the moment. I took a bite of the tart, ripe berries dusted with sugar, my teeth sinking into the sweet creamy custard as the buttery crust yielded easily to my delicate bite. Nostalgia is a powerful conduit of taste and appreciation.
Everywhere I went, it seemed the Eiffel Tower followed me. Looming large from a boat tour on the Seine, glowing and reflecting off the river in the distance from a pause on Pont Neuf, peeking around the corner from a bakery, on view form the exit of the fashion museum Palais Galliera. It felt comforting, somehow, like seeing an old friend.
It was especially cool to come back to Paris as a food writer, on a trip organized by Art in Voyage around the theme of retracing Julia Child’s footsteps through Paris, 75 years after she first arrived. (Special shout out to my Canadian travelling companions, Val and Shelley, and our charming, knowledgeable host Isabelle, founder of the food tour company Paris & Bourdeaux a Dream.) Julia Child was someone who also had their appetites awakened in Paris, who leaned into their gourmand tendencies and embraced their insatiable curiosity. What would Julia have thought of dining at Le Jules Verne at the top of the Eiffel Tower, I wonder? I think she would’ve been delighted, unfettered by the sneaking suspicion that it was all too terribly cliché to love it so much. I’d like to think she’d marvel at the choreographed service, the creativity and presentation of the dishes. I imagine her asking the servers how chef Frédéric Anton made the beet gelée that cloaked a tender langoustine ravioli wreathed with an airy Parmesan cream sauce tinged with truffle.
The evening was capped off with a trip to the viewing deck, all of Paris lit up on a clear, black night. It must’ve been almost 20 years since I’d stood here last. Still, a feeling of enrapture came over me, gratitude and elation coursing through my veins in equal measure, chasing each other to create an electric tingling that reached to my fingertips. Trying to preserve the magic, I futilely snapped dozens of photos. Looking back, this is the one that struck me most. With wide-eyed appreciation, casting my lens straight up, knowing I was rooted in place. A feeling of freedom, of being held, in a way. Maybe the word is nurtured. When we are so in our element and truly satiated, we can consider a new perspective, to face a new personal challenge of rising every higher. All the while finding comfort in where we are, knowing that we can still continue reaching for the top.
Memoir Updates
I’m waiting to hear back from two agents on my book proposal (fingers and toes crossed, please!) and will continue researching and querying agents. My goal is to query up to 100 agents by the end of the year and, if I don’t land an agent, to gather as much feedback as possible. If I need to tweak the premise or consider a different way to position and sell the book, I’ve decided that’s a next year project. I feel strongly that I owe it to myself and my story to try to sell the memoir as I’ve written it, and to validate for myself and others that our personal stories carry enough merit and weight to warrant publishing.
Published Articles & Media Appearances
Lots of local ink this go-round!
For The Roanoker, I wrote about Gladheart Wine & Brews, a Roanoke bottle shop that has added artfully roasted coffee to their craft beverage line-up. I learned so much about the roasting process and am exciting for them to offer cuppings so that I can sample for myself what a “unicorn coffee” tastes like.
My latest dining review for The Roanoker allowed my taste buds to travel to Vietnam as I slurped bowls of pho and bit into crackly-crisp egg rolls at It’s Pho Time. Besides the thoughtfully crafted and delicious food, this restaurant represents a story of family legacy and making heritage recipes one’s own.
From Pizza To Pretzels, Food Pop-Ups Are Making Roanoke's Dining Scene Shine
For The Roanoke Rambler’s special food and drink issue, I wrote about why pop-ups are as important as ever to a city’s dining culture’s growth, and the new food entrepreneurs who are finding it a viable business model for making their mark in the Star City.
Also for The Roanoke Rambler’s special issue, I covered the new and notable Roanoke restaurants that you need to know about. Roanoke friends—have you eaten at any of these spots yet? What are your impressions and favorite bites and sips? (Can confirm that the popularity of the Banana Bread Bowl at Fruits & Roots is well-warranted.)
Books, Bites & Beverages
Books: So many! I recently finished The Guest by Emma Cline which was a delicious escape but I found the ending totally confounding. Still, it’s the rare occasion when that doesn’t preclude me from recommending it because the way she captures the multi-faceted dimensions of the characters and place (it’s largely set in The Hamptons) is just so well-rendered. I’m now reading and enjoying her novel The Girls which was a best-seller and critically acclaimed. I’ll report back! I also bought too many books at Shakespeare & Company in Paris, but reading Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast is helping to keep my heartache and hunger pangs for Paris at bay.
Bites: I think I could easily dedicate the next two newsletters to all the memorable things I ate in Paris, but here are snaps of the bites mentioned in my essay above. I promise more will be coming soon! From left to right: a mini tarte aux fraises from À La Flûte Enchantée (my childhood bakery), a buttery, flaky kouign-amann from Stohrer (the oldest pâtisserie in Paris), and the langoustine ravioli with beet gelée and Parmesan cream from Le Jules Verne.
Beverages: I’ve lost track of the number of wonderful beverages, wines, and cocktails I sampled in Paris, so I’ll have to do a more comprehensive round-up in the next newsletter. But it’s hard to beat a coupe of Champagne raised to toast new friends and celebrate the views of Paris and all her majesty from a private boat tour on the Seine.
Wow, that is such a cute look. Love your skirt! Also appreciate the food pictures. :)