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I sat down and smiled at Paul, my dentist, lips tightly together. "Et alors, Zoe?" That's one way of asking me what the hell have I done this time, I suppose, so I opened my mouth slightly to show...

.... go to www.myboyfriendisatwat.com for more.

This door is a paradox: old & bold on the exterior and steel & modern on the interior. I love the steel gray lacquer color on the front door and the intricate iron work on the gate with the magnifying glass. The mixed use building is across the street from the Luxembourg Gardens.

46 rue Vaugirard
Metro: St. Sulpice or Odeon

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I am pleased as punch to announce the launch of Eye Prefer Paris Tours, which are 3-hour walking tours I will personally be leading. The Eye Prefer Paris Tour
includes many of the places I have written about such as small museums & galleries, restaurants, cafes & food markets, secret addresses, fashion & home boutiques, parks, and much more.

I look forward to meeting you on my tours and it will be my pleasure and delight to show you my insiders Paris.

Check it out at www.eyepreferparistours.com

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In the Bastille there are many great bars but a dearth of slightly more, shall we say, glossy drinkeries. Le China's colonial décor reminicent of 1930's Shanghai and a beautifully lit interior make this perfect for intimate slightly fancy rendezvous.  Re-vamped by Jean-François Roux, (owner of Chez Janou by Place des Vosges) "Le China" (aka The China Club) has great cocktails and a Franco-Asian fusion resto upstairs.

Le China
50 rue de Charenton
75012 

01 43 46 08 09

You could be forgiven for thinking this was a condemmed building, far from the centre of town.  It's actually the facade of Argentinian restaurant Anahi.

Located in the Haut, Haut Marais, on rue Volta - closer to Porte St Denis and République than now chi-chi Square du Temple - Volta was actually a street that was classed as "insalubre" until recently. 

Now the old squat across the road is being tarted up but the entrance to this still popular-with-the-odd-Fashonista restaurants remains, distinctly, Verdegris. Inside it's old white and green edged tiles are reminisent of a public bathroom but apparently it was a Charcuterie in days gone by.

Photo by Armando Rampas

It's still on the meaty side of course with those Lomo steaks but I also scored a mean chicken and lemon brochette with pureed sweet potato.  My partner was not so happy when they brought an open (and off) bottle of wine to the table and when he complained the Patronne strode to our table (in Gold Comme des Garçons biker boots) and proceeded to make a huge show of bringing another bottle and loudly explaining why we were - wrong.

The waitress who had served us said that in this Maison, they open the bottles in the kitchen and just bring them out but we find this to be rather mauvaise foi.

The main draw here are the steaks but apparently, from those in the know, they are not what they were.  It still draws a sexy looking crowd, even on a Tuesday night.  According to one TripAdvisor forum post "Heureusement que la viande d'argentine est plus tendre que le service !" 

Still a force to be reckoned with and worth a visit.

Anahi
49, Rue Volta 75003 Paris

Tel: 01 48 87 88 24

Badaude's Joanna Walsh writing and illustrating for I V Y paris

Did I mistype that?

OK, I meant, Paris Plage. If you don't already know about it, it's a beach-based installation that occurs along the banks of the Seine every July and August. Sometimes, as I walk along the Right Bank, I look down from the traffic-choked Quais onto the top of people's heads. There are crowds of them down there at all times of day. What are they doing? So far this year, I haven't gone down there to find out.

But, late one August night, I have to get back from Rivoli to somewhere near Bastille. I could take the steaming, sweating metro, or I could walk along the lamplit Quai de Voltaire, dodging the cars that stream by in a neon blur. Or I could go down to Paris Plage and walk.

On a night like this, with outdoors as hot as a room with closed windows, and the city's heat trapped under its greenhouse-gas roof, shutting out the stars, there's no competition.

So I make my way down one of the staircases that lead down to the Quais of the Seine.

People are still dressed for day although it's 10.30pm, in short sleeved shirts and shorts. In the centre of the city, they really are dressed for the beach. But their faces are greenish in the lamplight, eerily underlit by reflections from the river. The effect is kind of, Tour-group of the Living Dead.

They are milling backwards and forwards in both directions. Which stream should I follow? I join the thick flow of the constant foule wandering toward the the Ile Saint-Louis. I wonder whether I'm going to come across a happening of some sort: some music, a reading or an art installation. I don't. Maybe I've chosen the wrong time of night. I walk for ten minutes; longer. For half an hour, but it's like a gigantic, aimless passagiata.

I start to watch for patterns in the crowd; trying to make sense of what's going on. I notice a group of Asian teenage boys, dodging between the plagistes with a Galeries Lafayette trolley full of bottled water. One of them detatches from the trolley and opens a little electrician's door at the base of a cast-iron lamp post. He takes out a half-empty bottle; a packet of pills. What are they?

I look back at the crowd. They haven't noticed him. They're looking out for something else, hopefully, expectantly.

There's nothing actually happening.

I remember last year's Paris Plage when I spent one sweltering afternoon at Bassin de la Villette. Like tonight, it was crowded. I missed the baby dragon monster; I missed the Guinguette. I walked up and down the Bassin, through crowds of Parisians who, always seeming to know better, walked always in the opposite direction.

Back to night, 2008. All the watching I've been doing has changed the nature of what I'm seeing. There's a feeling of tension. Of expectation. Perhaps it's mine.

As a woman on my own in a crowd, I'm used to feeling like this. Like most women, I've been trained to look out for a bag-snatch, an assault; an indecent proposal; an incident of some kind. What's going to happen? I look at other walkers, their cameras dangling casually from their shoulders, rucksacks gaping open and feel smug. I'm armoured in my jacket (albeit light cotton) my purse slung across my body. If there's an easy target, it's not me. But I am the only lone female walker I can see. And where am I expecting the incident to come from? Are the crowd the threat or the mark?

I'm unprepared when it happens. A middle-aged, thin, ratty-looking guy with a guitar over his shoulder grabs me by the arm. What does he want? He pulls me towards him.

In a few seconds which seem like forever, the following thoughts go through my head:

He looks scruffy. Also arty.

I don't want to be prejudiced toward scruffy people I don't want him to think that I'm prejudiced toward scruffy people. Or artists (maybe he's part of the entertainment and I should actually be extra-nice to him). I smile.

A bit. Frozenly. He might, after all, be a purse-snatcher or a serial rapist.

After all, he grabbed my arm. That's a bit inappropriate, huh? It lends weight to the purse-snatcher theory. But he looks a bit Latin. Maybe grabbing is ok if you're Latin. Maybe he's just being tactile. I don't want to be uptight. And I don't want to be prejudiced against Latins.

I turn toward him. The effect of the smile and the not-smile is somewhat grotesque.

He asks, politely,"Tu veux m'accompanier au..?"

OK. So he wants a date. It always comes from the unexpected angle. When you're expecting an iron bar, a feather can topple you.

I start to reply. But how do you gently reject a man you just assumed was trying to rob you?

Furthermore, I have forgotten that, when I'm flustered, I can no longer speak French. Instead, I make a kind of face which expresses relief, gratitude, polite regret and friendly interest. It's not really one face but several different faces fighting for self-expression over the same set of features.

He get's the point. I'm a tourist. I don't understand. He claps me on the shoulder:"A demain! A la meme heure, hein?"

And I'm left, still floundering in his wake, as the vedette sails off into the night to find a more likely copain.

Paris in August: Tumbleweeds blowing through the smaller attractions. I had the Musee Nissim de Camondo pretty much to myself this month. It was the private residence of a banker family that originated in Constantinople. The father of the family was obsessed by late 18th century art and décor, and ...

Au Limonaire, billed as a bistro of wine and songs, is located in the Cite Bergere, a passage in the 9th arrondissement off rue Faubourg Montmartre. We arrived at 8:30PM so we could have a leisurely dinner before the entertainment started at 10PM. The bistro was typically Parisian with a ...

Gourmet’s September issue has just hit the newsstands in the States, and it’s all about Paris. Which reminds me, if you haven’t read editor Ruth Reichl’s memoir Tender at the Bone, do yourself a favor. I laughed myself silly. And I’ll never look at leftovers, or my mother’s Chicken Fitchburg ...

There is a crowd of people gathered around a small section of the circular pond in the Tuileries. They are snapping picture after digital picture. Murmurs arise from the crowd. I make my way through to see the celebrity. I will not be denied. Who is it, Britney, Lindsay? It’s ...

You are what you wear. “Je parle donc je suis,” American photographer James Startt’s name for his recent exhibition – and now his book – portrays both the message and medium: Regular folks, in the street, blaring out across their chests a mix of advertisements for themselves. Here is ...

Do you know the Charlot? At rue de Bretagne and rue Charlot, just by Le Progrés? There is something very clean about it. There are rust colored wax drippings underneath the shelves on the white tiled walls, as you’d see in a very old café, but if you look closely, ...

I unloaded my well-worn French verb conjugation book out of my bag. My dictionary I happily kissed goodbye to. I shut off any notion of knowing French whatsoever and boarded a plane to New York where I happily spent two New York weeks talking non-stop and joining in every conversation ...

The French, ever conscious of quality of life issues and firm believers in the pleasure principle, know that traveling and layovers suck. So last winter, they offered free UV light therapy to passengers traveling through the capital’s airports to lift their spirits and ease their pain. This summer, they thought it ...

How low will it go? It’s the talk of the town. Some expat friends think it will continue to drop. Others say it will level off and not plummet to the heavenly rates of 2002.

70% off? I thought the sign in the window of the St. Germain boutique Infinitif was a hallucination. Drastic price reductions are typically only seen in July and January, during “soldes” periods sanctioned by the government. But inside the shop, women’s clothing, including the items in these pix, was marked ...

[UPDATE: As I said before, I was sure this wasn't an isolated incident.  It never is with these thieves.  Well, Haalo of Cook Almost Anything did the leg work on our behalf and found four more photos this Jasper guy blatantly ripped off from other innocent bloggers.  If you thought I was harsh on him before, what are you thinking now?]

So, it appears I've found yet another web content thief worth writing about.  Remember that Voncigars dude from last year?  That content-cribbing, picture-stealing, all-in-all contemptible person?  I decided to call him on it publicly last year when I discovered he stole content from not only Chez Pim but Chubby Hubby and tons of other food blogs.  Other bloggers who found he helped himself to content on their sites too joined the fray, and not long afterwards the thief abandoned his blog, never to be seen around the web--at least not the foodie web--since.

Imagine my surprise a few days ago when I woke up to an email from a Chez Pim reader called Ellen (thanks Ellen!) pointing me to a website called Live from Jasper's Kitchen by one Jasper Mirabile.  Ellen said she saw a picture that was first published here on Chez Pim on that blog.  I, of course, went to check it out.  What d'ya know, there it was, my pop tart picture from last Tuesday.  Well, my picture, but cropped so that the focus is dead-center (how predictable!) and the color revoltingly over-saturated (easy on the Photoshop there, chef).

Before you jump on me, no, I'm not claiming I invented pop tarts, nor do I think myself the first to make a homemade version with butter pie crust and a few dollops of good jam.  It's all pretty obvious to those of us who bake a lot--not to mention I used to buy them nearly every weekend at the Frog Hollow pastry shop in the city.  I just put the idea on a blog post and illustrated it nicely so those of you who don't bake as much can take advantage of my trials and errors. 

That is the spirit of the sharing web, you know?  We take good ideas and we expand on them, and then put them back here in the public sphere so others can take them even further.  The sharing web is also a linky web: we give credit when one is due.  Other bloggers have done just that:  Barbara over at Winos and Foodies made her own version, Slash Food posted about it, Esther showed us hers (which are much closer replication of actual pop-tarts than mine) in her French kitchen, and it's even been stumbled upon.

But no, Jasper the chef didn't even bother telling people the photo wasn't his.  And, yes, Jasper the chef wrote about it as if the idea had just occured to him out of clear blue sky.  Why Jasper the chef even wrote an official-looking recipe, calling for store-bought frozen pie dough and precisely four tablespoons of Strawberry Preserves for dem lil' tarts.  Nicely done, Jasper the chef.  Very. Nicely. Done.

You might be wondering why I am writing about this, giving hundreds more hits to his blog than his usual stats.  Well, I'm doing this because, just like the Voncigars episode, I don't think I should just sit by letting people steal my stuff without crediting me.  I don't think anyone should either.  And in case you still think that linking to a thieving blog and writing a post exposing the theft is giving them free hits they didn't deserve, go google the term "Voncigars" and see what comes up on the serach results, then you come back and tell me if this is worth it.  Go ahead.

By the way, these thieves don't usually strike just once, so you might want to check his archives and see if he's stolen from you too.  Don't tell me I didn't warn you.

P.S.  Here you go, a comment from Haalo about another theft by the same chef Jasper dude.

===========================

Jasper has form - he stole a panforte photo from me and has passed it off as his own. His apologies are worthless.

Posted by: Haalo | Aug 18, 2008 6:49:00 PM

===========================

We have a stuffed government, a country that wants to divide into two or three pieces - I'm not really sure how many, and yet what do those who want to try and unite this country do? Hang out the...

.... go to www.myboyfriendisatwat.com for more.

Friday was mine and Vincent’s third anniversary of moving to Paris, but for some reason I was not in a celebratory mood and in the August pre-vacances doldrums. A new friend, Soloman Lam, who I met through my blog, made plans to go to a restaurant that had live entertainment in the 9th arr. near the Grands Boulevards. Soloman, a law student from Toronto, was living here for three months and working as an intern at the Carnavalet Museum. It was his second to last night in Paris and he wanted to do something festive so we thought this was a good place to celebrate my staying and his going.

Au Limonaire, billed as a bistro of wine and songs, is located in the Cite Bergere, a hidden passage in the 9th arr. off rue Faubourg Montmartre. We arrived at 8:30PM so we could have a leisurely dinner before the entertainment started at 10PM. The bistro was typically Parisian with a dark red façade and beat-up tables and chairs outside with lively people having drinks. We sat inside and had a suitable two -course dinner for 25 euros a person including an excellent red wine. The show started at 10:30PM and the first act was a trio, two female singers/musicians and a male musician. Their catchy name was Juja Lula and their smooth, modern, but definitely French style matched their name. Next up was the gorgeous Romain, a crooner who strummed the guitar, killing me very softly with his sexy, smoldering looks. He had the rare soft but also strong sound of the old-fashioned French pop singers even though his music was totally contemporary. His melodic and haunting voice swept me away. We all swooned over him and when he recited a poem he had written, we almost melted on the spot.

Romantic Romain

Yannick Delaunay, more of a folk/pop singer, closed the show and did a few sing along with the audience songs. Although he had a pleasant voice, he was no match for our sweetheart Romaine.

We left at about 12:30PM and we showed Vincent the Follies Begere theater. We stared at the art deco palace in all its old glory and imagined a bygone era of showy but tasteful showgirls, classy singers, and of course Josephine Baker swinging her then scandalous bananas.

The evening lifted my spirits and I thank Soloman for getting me out of my doldrums.

Au Limonaire
18 cite Bergere, 9th arr.
Metro: Grands Boulevards or Cadet
Tel 01.45.23.33.33
Open 8PM
www.limonaire.free.fr

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I am pleased as punch to announce the launch of Eye Prefer Paris Tours, which are 3-hour walking tours I will personally be leading. The Eye Prefer Paris Tour
includes many of the places I have written about such as small museums & galleries, restaurants, cafes & food markets, secret addresses, fashion & home boutiques, parks, and much more.

I look forward to meeting you on my tours and it will be my pleasure and delight to show you my insiders Paris.

Check it out at www.eyepreferparistours.com

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Big turmoil Sunday: several trains traveling from the South to Paris were delayed. That, in France, is scandalous, believe me! What happened? There was a problem with the catenary between Marseille and Nice and some people had to wait up to... 10 hours to go back home. I was in one of these trains, but was lucky enough to be delayed only 40 minutes. No harm ;) And I really enjoyed my 3 days in the south (in Languedoc, more precisely).

Ok, these are not pop-tarts exactly, how about just-like-pop-tarts-but-without-the-stuff-you-can't-spell (or say)?  It's super easy, all you need is a good butter pie dough and delicious jam of your choice.  And if you're one of those who think a great pie is all about a good crust--I am of course one--these pop-tarts are perfect for you.  These pop-tarts are filled with just enough delectable jam to punctuate the flavor without obscuring the buttery, flaky goodness of the crust.

I've been having so much fun making them (and eating them) lately, I thought I'd share a few tricks I picked up along the way with you so your pop-tarts come out perfect every time.  Like this one in the picture just below--a "pop-tart" filled with homemade Reine Claude plums and vanilla beans--which I polished off in three seconds flat right in front of Lulu's at the Octagon in Santa Cruz.

Start with the pie crust recipe you're most comfortable with.  If you haven't got one, you can check out Pie Crust 101 over at Deb's Smitten Kitchen, or Shuna's very thorough post on pies, or even Ms.Martha herself.

Break off a piece about 75g by weight.  Flour the pastry board or your countertop well.   

Roll the dough into 8'x6' rectangle, working gently and slowly so you get a good rectangular shape.

Brush off excess flour.  It's generally a good idea from this point on to place the dough sheet onto a piece of parchment paper so it can be moved pretty easily.

Pick your favorite jam from your cupboard and spread it generously on to one side of the dough, leaving about an inch margin on three sides.  I like to use jams that are a little bit on the thicker side, as they tend to be more intense and can easily be pressed in between two sheets of dough.

Fold the dough in half, making sure they match the other edge perfectly.  Press down along the edges to seal the dough pocket.  If your dough had trouble sticking together, try dipping your fingertip into a bit of water and wipe it along the inside of the seam, then press the dough down again to seal. 

Take a fork and use the tines to press the dough together, creating a nice pattern around all the edges but the folding seam.

Trim off the excess, uneven dough edges.  I use a pastry scraper, but you can easily use a kitchen knife.

Brush the top with egg wash and sprinkle raw sugar over the top.  Cut a few vents along the top of the pop-tarts.

Et voila!  Bake in preheated 400F (about 200C) oven for 18-20 minutes, depending on the amount of sugar in the crust and many other factors.  I'd recommend checking at the 15-min mark and continue to keep your eye on them, and take them out of the oven as soon as they are nicely golden brown and not too brown on the crimped edges.