Dining Chez Véronique

This scene is repeated most days at Rue St. Roc. Véronique sets the table and she and her 90-year old mother sit down to lunch together. Otherwise, they are very independent and enjoy their busy lives. Lunch on this day was a beautiful, simple pork dish, a lovely salad and some vin rouge. Just a wee bit. Seems the French don't drink a lot -- just enough!

Madame belies her age. And she's not keen on having
her picture taken. She was very kind to oblige me.

I was a bit intimidated by Madame, actually. Not that she did anything at all to make me feel that way. To the contrary, in fact. She couldn't have been more welcoming. But I couldn't help recalling my experience 4o years ago when I was a 20-year-old in France. I was traveling with my college roommate, Lois Borgenicht, and we took full advantage of the hospitality that was shown to us by old friends of her stepfather, Warren Brandt. M. and Mme. Allard, people he had known during the War, I think, had a lovely restaurant, Le Mont Blanc, on rue Casimir-Perier (7th arrond.) My memory is that we sat with them almost every night for dinner -- quelle dinner!! -- and that I really learned French at their table, lest I fall asleep. A night or two before I was scheduled to leave, I committed a faux pas by stepping just inside the family apartment with a stranger (a young man I'd met in Strasbourg who was visiting). I hadn't realized this was NOT DONE, but, seeing Madame's expression, I knew I'd done a very bad thing. I stayed up into the wee hours that night, figuring out how to express to her in French how désolé I was. But when I went to see her the next day to apologize, she would have none of it. "La maison est fermé!" she said to me. I was mortified. Looking back, I'm sure I was a bit too carefree of a young woman and I didn't do what one should do to acknowledge the generosity they showed me. Madame Allard is long gone, but I hope she forgives me! The memory of this had me tripping over myself to be sure I was not in any way being rude to Véronique's mother . . .


I spent the rest of the day I was ordered out of the house staying warm by chestnut vendors. I probably could have done something less picturesque, but I was definitely into the drama of being a waif cast out onto the mean streets of Paris. There are still chestnut vendors here and there, but not nearly so many. Or maybe there are more in the dead of winter (more drama!) I didn't take this photo, but it tells the story a bit.

Back to 2009 . . .

One afternoon Véronique told me that company was coming on Friday. And that company was Mark Bittman (famously of the New York Times.) I'm sorry to say, I didn't know him. But when I told Jed that we were invited to have dinner and Mark Bittman was coming . . . MUCH excitment! Seems he's a fan of "The Minimalist". I Googled Mr. Bittman and came upon about 360,000 references. Where have I been?? He writes a great blog, Bitten, books (e.g. How To Cook Everything), he's on TV, the man is all over the internet in cooking videos. I guess I lived under a rock.

But no more.

He came over in the afternoon on Thursday to cook with Madame. He was her student. She very patiently showed him how to do it. She, like me, had no idea who he was. They made a chicken and leek dish which was heaven -- due to the freshest ingredients and enormous amounts of butter and cream. French cooking at its best. It's not fattening when you eat it in France. Véronique acted as sous-chef and translator.

Madame teaches Mark Bittman how to cook.

Dinner was scheduled for Friday night. I thought flowers would definitely be appropriate and stopped in at a tiny shop called Gilles Argalon (12 rue Moulins) and picked out white freesias (reminded me of California where Véronique and I became friends) and white roses, the better to make up for my youthful negligence of long ago. The young woman made a beautiful bouquet despite the efforts of the dog to bump into her at any opportunity.

A lovely bouquet . . .

. . . despite the dog. The ubiquitous French dog.

Here's how the fleurs looked chez Véronique

Jed arrived looking very dapper in his tweed jacket. Mark came with his old college friend, Fred. (Syracuse? maybe?) A very nice fellow. The five of us sat in Veronique's little parlor (also "my" room) having a drink, a nibble and fun conversation. Madame chose not to join us as she is a bit shy and doesn't speak English. (So much for my grand flower gesture!) It was clear English would be the language du nuit. We waited for Mark's wife (they married in 2008) Kelly Doe (who absolutely suits her sweet name) to arrive. Kelly is in Paris redesigning the International Herald Tribune and Mark joined her for the sojourn. Kelly's putting in very long hours; I gathered it was a rare thing for her to be able to have dinner so early -- 8:30ish.

Madame's Chicken & Leeks, with a little help from Mark Bittman

Dinner was divine. I tried not to be star struck (I'd traveled some distance groupie-wise since a day ago when I'd never heard of Mark Bittman.) It turned out that Kelly, Véronique and Fred were the most animated and entertaining -- aside from Jed and me, of course. Mark brought a tarte aux pommes he'd picked up at some patisserie which was sublime.

Jed, Fred, Véronique, Mark & Kelly after dinner

The evening ended with Jed and Véronique checking out
travel plans for Normandy on her computer in her office.