Vacation Memories

We discovered Mariage Freres tea in Paris because our rented apartment was just down the street from their flagship store and tearoom in the Marais. We were enchanted and one day had a lovely respite there from the rigors of sightseeing. The surroundings are very "old world" and our young waiter was dead serious about our selection from their 800+ kinds of teas - no kidding, the menu was a bound book! When My Beloved ordered orange tea, the waiter replied with a long face, "Ah, bon, monsieur but we 'ave a problem with ze orange tea. A very grave problem." We traded looks of dismay. "We have three kinds of orange tea - and you must choose." From his voice of doom, you'd have thought it was Sophie's choice. That weighty decision duly made, we enjoyed our tea very much and purchased this little canister of Easter tea (The' de Paques) as we left.

When I opened the canister, I realized just how serious they are about their teas' freshness - inside the lid, which fits very tightly indeed, there is another lid even more precisely sized with a little button handle to help you ease it out.

On our way home, we flew through Heathrow airport in London where My Beloved picked up this tin of cookies as a sort of consolation prize for having to leave Europe. Recently, it all came together to enliven my afternoon after a morning of re-caulking the shower stall. I lead a very glam life at home, as you can tell. I filled my mother's silver tea ball from the fragrant contents of the canister, nuked some water to a fierce boil in the microwave (what else are microwaves good for?) and brewed myself a lovely accompaniment to some of the Harrod's cookies.

They weren't the very best cookies I've ever eaten but the tea was excellent and they were a reminder of a lovely vacation and how lucky I am, caulking gun and all.

Cassoulet

My brother's wife makes cassoulet that is to die for. She soaks her own beans, makes her own sausage from scratch, prepares all the other meats and ingredients, and presents us, when we are lucky enough to wheedle her into that much work, with a simply ambrosial dinner. I wondered if cassoulet in France could measure up.

The answer is, not quite. However, the cassoulet I enjoyed at the Auberge du Jarente, a Basque restaurant in the Marais section of Paris, was rich with sausage, beans, duck and pork and was very, very good. Both times I have enjoyed this tiny restaurant, the food has been excellent and the friendly patrons even more fun than the victuals.

The first time we ate there, two years ago, the lunch we ordered did not come with wine and we didn't think to order any - incroyable! to the two dapper French gentlemen seated at the next table. They struck up a conversation and remarked upon the lack of wine, insisting that we share their bottle! Who says the French are unfriendly? It was a lovely wine, too - Franco-American relations took a good turn that day.

This time, even though we had ordered wine, we met another couple from the Bay Area as well as a lovely family of Parisians who complemented us on our choice of domicile, saying that they had visited San Francisco and loved it. They complimented San Francisco on its fine food, high praise indeed from Parisians!

We toasted my sister-in-law as we enjoyed our cassoulet - nearly as good as hers and the bonhomie gave it just the right feeling.