May 8, 2012 by Tory Hoen
Last spring, every food-following Parisian had their sights set on one restaurant: Rino. After it opened in February 2010, chef Giovanni Passerini’s cozy, modern bistro quickly became the place for innovative, market-driven fare at reasonable prices. At the time, nearly every review was favorable (if not positively glowing); a year later, we stopped in again, for lunch this time, to see whether Rino has lived up to the hype.
The restaurant is tucked away on a fairly unsexy street in the 11th, and offers clean and unfussy décor, suggesting that here, the focus has always been on the food. As soon as we entered, we noticed a team of busy line chefs, chopping and arranging dishes in a small open kitchen.
In the tradition of Le Chateaubriand, Le Chapeau Melon, and Les Papilles, Rino offers a set menu (with little-to-no choice) that changes daily based on available ingredients and the whims of the chef. Luckily, Passerini’s impressive training (he previously worked at Arpège, Le Chateaubriand, and La Gazzetta)and innovative instincts mean that culinary missteps are rare—he has an innate sense for how to make seasonal produce shine in dishes that draw on tradition but play up surprises.
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Posted in Restaurant Reviews | 5 Comments »
April 13, 2011 by Tory Hoen
When I arrive in Paris, it never hits me all at once. Rather, the realization that I’ve returned to my city-of-choice creeps up on me via small encounters, random observations and chance interactions. And when I finally realize where I am—Paris!—I begin to wonder, “Why did I ever leave?”
We’ll leave that question for another time, but for now, here’s how I know I’ve arrived.
1. I forget how to tell time, and relinquish the notion of scheduling. On my most recent visit, it took me a full 36 hours to realize that daylight savings had occurred. It didn’t help that when I had arrived a few days earlier and asked my boyfriend, “Where’s your clock?,” his response was: “There is no clock. I’m your clock.” Well, it turns out he’s a very unreliable clock—albeit a handsome one.
2. Everyone is buzzing about the same new spot.
Candelaria storefront on the rue Saintonge (Lost in Cheeseland)
Of course, this happens in every city, but in New York, the buzz is more liberally distributed. Paris’ slower rate of restaurant turnover means you can literally watch the swarm of foodies descend on the newest (and hopefully well-prepared) hot spots. This time around, it was all about Candelaria, which is to restaurants what the mullet is to haircuts: simple up front, hidden party in the back.
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Posted in Food, Parisian Living, Restaurant Reviews | 16 Comments »
October 25, 2010 by Tory Hoen
Merce and the Muse – coffee and cakes – Erica Berman
Those who have lived in Paris know: we are endowed with a magical power.
Once you’ve been a Parisian (or a faux Parisian), you automatically have the ability to cast a spell over any American you subsequently encounter, simply by sprinkling key phrases into conversation:
“Well, when I lived in Paris…”
“I used to live in Paris, so…”
“In Paris (I used to live there)…”
“…reminds me a little bit of Paris, but…”
Yes, you will sound slightly (or completely) pretentious. But more importantly, you will elicit a distinct blend of jealousy and awe from whomever you are addressing, because quite simply, you have lived their dream. In fact, you have lived many an American’s dream.
From this side of the Atlantic, the darker realities of Parisian living (endless strikes, French bureaucracy, the exchange rate, the French attitude) cease to exist. It’s all fresh-baked baguettes and macarons and aimless strolling and sunsets over the Seine and, of course, L-O-V-E. Continue Reading »
Posted in Parisian Living | 26 Comments »
June 18, 2010 by Tory Hoen
I’m recently back in New York from Paris and am suffering a particularly acute bout of withdrawal. I think part of the problem is that the structure of my days changes completely when I cross the ocean. On the European side, time expands and flows and I rarely even know (or care) what day it is. Here, on the rational side of the Atlantic, I’m over-scheduled from morning until night. It goes something like this.
New York Day
• Wake up when my alarm goes off (or when my upstairs neighbor’s alarm goes off—the perils of living in a poorly insulated industrial loft).
• Go running, as need to expend all energy for the day before settling into a chair for the next ten hours.
• Eat cereal. Healthy, practical cereal.
• If have time, stop for an espresso at Euro-favorite Cafe Gitane. Pretend to be Parisian. It’s not the same.
• Brave the Canal Street crush, which involves dodging aggressive pashmina vendors and dozens of dawdling tourists.
• During overcrowded subway ride, contemplate moving back to Paris for the thousandth time. Listen to Serge Gainsbourg to twist the knife in my heart even more.
• Get to work. In essence, I like my job, but I have such restlessness and A.D.D. that it kills me to think I have to spend a day in a chair, when I could otherwise be spending it roaming quiet Parisian streets.
• Post-work, sprint to event / drinks / dinner. Inevitably show up late. Friends annoyed, because they won’t give you a table in New York until all party members arrive. Friends even more annoyed when I accidentally double air kiss them.
• Then stay out too late.
• Then go to bed, way too late.
Paris Day
• Go wandering. On my last trip, I loved heading south from Belleville, crossing the Canal St. Martin, and conveniently finding myself at Du Pain et Des Idées, one of Paris’ best rustic boulangeries.
• Decadent pain au chocolat in hand, I begin my loitering for the day by lounging on the edge of the canal.
• Get restless, so wander through the Marais, stopping at Cafeotheque for a café du jour, before strolling across the Pont Louis-Philippe to the Ile St. Louis, where I install myself at the western tip of the island and gaze off into space for a while.
• When restless again, meander to the Left Bank, stopping to take in the Institut du Monde Arabe, and then strolling over to my old neighborhood, where I stop in at the market at Place Monge and the traiteurs along rue Mouffetard. One shop owner still refers to me as “la plus belle” whenever I see him (I’m always up for some good French-style ego-stroking).
• Inevitably end up lounging by the Fontaine des Médicis, stopping in for macarons at Pierre Hermé, poking around Repetto, and making a pit-stop at Deyrolle (to fuel my inexplicable taxidermy obsession).
• Before you know it, it’s time for an apéro. Convene with friends at Le Baron Rouge for wine. Everyone will be late; no one will care.
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Posted in Parisian Living | 15 Comments »
April 2, 2010 by Maggie Battista
Paris parties are the best sort of parties. They incorporate my most favorite food groups – cheese, bread, wine and sweets – and my first Paris party was not lacking for any of these. The cheese plate looks small above, but it was immense and attacked repeatedly.
The homemade gougeres were, also, quite cheesy. This very full platter disappeared all too soon, which put a big smile on the face of the maker of these puffy, savory pastries. Continue Reading »
Posted in Food, Parisian Living | 6 Comments »
February 12, 2009 by Haven in Paris
This website, chock-full of interesting cultural tid-bits and recommendations, is like a crash course in life in France. Whether you’re looking to understand how French cell phone contracts work, trying to find American organizations in France, or simply want to figure out why it is the French are obsessed with McDonald’s, this site is brimming with resources for Anglophones in France.
Posted in Arts, Parisian Living | No Comments »
January 24, 2009 by Haven in Paris
Photo Erica Berman
Written by Jen Holup
Technology can be, at the same time, a great aide and a great adversary to modern urban living. Yet, rather than search for a generalized answer to this dense question, the most effective measure we can take is simply to ensure that we use technology critically and slowly in our everyday lives.
Since September, I have survived in the cosmopolitan city of Paris without a cell phone. My initial reasons for eschewing the mobile were entirely economic. On my previous trip to France three years ago, I estimate that I must have spent hundreds of Euros over a six-month period on prepaid mobile cards- it is difficult to acquire an affordable monthly plan for a short stay. After passing my phone off to a fellow student (and warning him about the conscientious use of the prepaid cards), I began to consider the true worth of those six months of convenient pocket communication. I asked myself what I had really used the cell phone for over that half year. Rather than a tool to facilitate work, my cell phone existed solely for the convenience of text messaging and a few brief phone calls to arrange evening plans. In this way, I realized that I felt I had needed my cell phone in order to stay in touch with my social network. Each time I ventured to the kiosk with 50 Euros in my hand to buy myself 3 weeks more “what’s up?” textos, I must have been internally convincing myself that this purchase would ensure a continued connectedness to my friends. But could I not have just as easily gotten by with a landline and the Internet?
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