A Super-Naturelle Night

I knew it was going to be a good night just as soon as Jenny eased her Smart Car into the impossibly tight space (with one intent onlooker just waiting for bumpers to grind) almost directly in front of Super Naturelle's new headquarters. We were a little late getting to the opening party for this vegan culinary school on a steep Montmartre back street, but there's nothing like a little rock star parking to shift one's perspective and get you amped up for a night of fun.

Jenny from super vegan resto My Kitch'n, about to make her grand entrance.

The Super Naturelle HQ is tucked into a corner of a typical 19th century Parisian courtyard, in a space that was once an painter's atelier. Today, artistry of a different stripe is performed here, and it has to do with one of my favorite subjects: Vegan food. I had no idea what to expect, but knew that I'd be meeting Ona Maiocco, the gorgeous girl behind the Super Naturelle brand. I'd interviewed her by email for Vegetarian Paris, but we hadn't actually met in person, and I was excited at the prospect.

What I definitely hadn't expected was for the soiree to be a who's-who of the vegan Parisian gliteratti. Stepping across the threshold and into the open and airy space, I immediately spotted Amelie Pieron, who hosts amazing pop-up vegan events in Paris and Montreal. (I was lucky enough to attend one of her raw events a couple of years ago.)  Next, I spied Marie LaForet, a blogger and cookbook author who's work I've long admired. Could it get any better? Well, there was Ona herself, more beautiful in person than in her lovely photos--and behind her, Sebastian Kardinal, the dapper dude/creative talent behind the vegan lifestyle blog Kardinal.fr and VG-Zone. Woopwoop!

Sebastian, Elodie, Jenny, and Marie strike a pose.

Ona, in the vivid turquoise scarf, holds court in her palatial digs.

Everyone was friendly, the food was hyper bonne (of course it was!), and the wine was HELLO it was wine so it was obviously splendid. Paris's vegan community needs to come together like this more often. Let's open more plant-based businesses so we have more excuses to make merry!

Isa Chandra was there, too!

Vegan powerhouses/local celebs Amelie Pieron and Ona Maiocco.

This creamy, nutty, chocolately confection was the best thing I'd scarfed down in ages. 

Pretty awesome: Lovely Ona kindly gave me a copy of her nearly-sold-out cookbook. I can't wait to make the Apricot and Lavender Creme biscuits ((swoon)).

In Love with the Loire

The wonderful, amazing, lovely Terresa.

Still life with mirabelle.

I can't sing my friend Terresa's praises loudly enough. She's really a remarkable woman: Kind, funny, full of life, honest, and a wonderful teacher and chef. Ever since we met two years ago, I've learned so much from her, both life lessons, and kitchen lessons. Because of her, I've expanded my culinary repertoire to include all kinds of things I once knew absolutely nothing about, including chick-pea flour cakes, olive oil pie crusts, and natural wines.

Whenever I write about vegetarianism as it relates to Paris, I have to write about Terresa. Her artisan cooking school, La Cucina di Terresa, is an undiscovered (relatively) gem that I wish more people knew about. She teaches small classes in her home to students from around the world, plus, she caters special events, does table d'hote dinners, and even hosts natural wine tours in the Loire Valley.

Those are the actual house keys to the old abode we stayed in.

The sweet little garden.

Terresa knows I'm writing this Vegetarian Paris guidebook for UK publishers Vegetarian Guides, and because she's a kind and generous person, she invited me to join her for a weekend in the beautiful Loire Valley, to see what her tours are about and therefore be able to write about them with some authority.

My train left Gare Austerlitz at 7:30 am and arrived in the little village of Onzain, near Blois, just after 9 am. Terresa had already done the day's shopping, so instead of heading to the market, we fortified ourselves on coffee, took a walk to the local boulangerie, then climbed in her little car and drove the 10 or so kilometers over windy, narrow back roads to her winemaker friend Christophe's home. Together, we would prepare lunch, drink wine, and enjoy the fruits of our labors.

So simple, yet so delicious: Terresa's eggplant tarte before entering the oven.

The vigneron had a rough year last year; a mildew killed nearly all his grapes. This year is looking much better.

These chickens, according to Christophe, get to live out their natural lives and are never, never turned into soup or something equally atrocious.

Christophe's daughter and I share the same birthday--and a fondness for food preparation.

Wandering the vineyard builds an appetite quite unlike anything else. 

The gorgeous, sweet little plums that would later become a sticky, scrumptious tarte.

Christophe's vines stretch on for about seven acres.

The day was splendid, in spite of spitting rain that kept us indoors most of the day. We prepared a wonderful meal of sweet and savory tarts and salads, and relished every bite with sips of Christophe's truly dazzling liquid elixirs. You haven't really tasted wine until you've tried natural wines; the vignerons allow their grapes to "express their individuality" and what you get is something almost magically delicious and not at all like the stuff you buy at supermarkets or even mainstream French caviste's. The wines are rustic and earthy and tingly and tasty, and they work particularly well with plant-based foods.

Our day ended at about 9pm, and the number of empty bottles we left behind was rather startling (though they weren't all full to begin with). The next day, however, I felt great and ready to head off on our next natural wine excursion.

I loved the beamed ceilings in Terresa's Loire Valley abode.

Terresa prepared a beautiful meal and whipped up a roaring fire to warm us from the outside in while the meal warmed us from the inside out. 

A late-night supper of butternut-and-homemade-almond-milk soup after a long day of wine tasting.

For my second and final day in the Loire, Terresa would take me to meet her dear friend Joel, whose winery sits on a verdant plot of rolling terrain ripe with walnut, peach, and plum trees. Terresa credits Joel--who has been tending vines here longer than most--with turning her on to natural wines, so it was with a bit of reverence that I exchanged bises with this maestro and sat down to the important task of tasting his wares.

Joel's wines have a much different flavor than his wine-making comrade Christophe's; Joel's are more fruity, intentionally more oxidized, and utterly more-ish in their own wonderful way. We tasted a white, rose, then a red--which I fell in love with and bought a bottle of on the spot. (I'd have purchased a case, but didn't want to lug the treasures home.)

Coffee time!

We shelled these beans and turned them into a delectable tomoto-bean-herb salad.

Hamming it up in the town of Pontlevoy.

A simple, wholesome and delicious lunch.

We thought we'd wandered into a park, and so began collecting and eating our "found" apples. Then we realized we were actually standing in someone's front yard. Oopla!

Terresa snapping photos of the local abbey.

After our tasting, we set off to visit the vines, stomping our feet as we marched through the tall grass to scare off any vipers that might be slithering about. We reached the vines, oohed and ahhed over their preciousness (and the fact that they were doing well, as opposed to last year, when grapes throughout the region were affected by a mildewy blight). The harvest would be later than usual this year, but at least there would be a harvest.

We passed a neighbor along the way who told us to look out for vipers. Not the thing a sandle-sporting city girl wants to hear on a day traipsing through the countryside!

Joel measures the alcohol content of one of his sparkling wines. Afterward, we drank the test material. Miam!!

The day at Joel's ended as it began at Terresa's: With liquid good cheer--only this time, it was sparkling wine instead of coffee. The fizzy, apricot-colored wine tasted of jasmine and minerals and luscious sunshine, and reignited that old Green Acres fantasy that's always there, just beneath the thin layer of common sense in my mind. "Ooh! What if I moved to the Loire, bought a little plot of land, and started growing grapes and plums and peaches?" I thought to myself. And then the thought was gone again, and we were off.

I Should Have Seen This Coming

I've made a big decision: I'm leaving France!

BUT. Of course, France is really doing her best, now that my mind is made up, to woo me back. She's rolling out the right weather (my ideal, in fact: Hot, humid, and sunny), for starters, which encourages everyone to put on their fun hats again and start making merry. 'Tis, at long, long last, the season of open-window dinner parties, cool drinks at terrace cafes, and festive picnics with food, drink, and good company aplenty.

A lotus-and-guppy garden.

Today, the gorgeous Emily of Paris Paysanne hosted an afternoon picnic at her community garden, which happens to be the coolest thing going in all of northwest Paris. The jardin started more than a decade ago with one "squatter"--a renegade green thumb who saw a fine patch of unused city property beside some abandoned railway tracks and decided to grow stuff on it. Today, it's a legit operation funded by the City of Paris and run by an association called Les Amis des Jardins du Ruisseau.

Ten points if you can spot the kale in this photo.

For the price of a decent bottle of wine, you can become a member of the garden community and make use of this pleasant urban green space. Tables, chairs, chickens, and bees are among the many things you'll find here. You'll also see some colorful shared-garden plots (each is the "property" of six gardeners) brimming with edible and ornamental goodies. I'm going to join, even if I won't be here long enough to enjoy it year-round.

Today's gathering included a few bloggers like Emma from Burnt Cream, Kristen from The Kale Project, and my wonderful friend Terresa from La Cucina di Terresa. I'm going to miss these gatherings of smart, interesting, accomplished women (and men) when I'm gone. I think today's lesson, if there was one, is not to pine for losses yet to come, but to really make the most of all this city has to offer while I'm still here. I'm doing that, beginning today!

Emily''s an up-and-coming author who's specialty is Paris markets and organic cooking. I can't wait for her first book!

No one fully understood what the chicken story was, but I can tell you they are extremely cute and woolly, and really into personal hygiene.

One of my favorite Parisians, the lovely and talented Terresa of La Cucina di Terresa.

Shady tables, murals, greenery, and nice people=best community garden EVER.

Bastille Day Bliss

Is it possible to enjoy a patriotic holiday when one holds a strident non-belief in the very idea of patriotism? I like France, a lot, but I've never been a fan of flag-waving festivities--probably due, in at least some part, to the fact that where I come from, Independence day is synonymous with loud drunken louts, reckless handling of fireworks, and dead animals charring on a grill. It's also an excuse to drag out that poor old dead horse, 9/11, and beat it just a little bit more. Generally.

So while I'm not a big fan of nationalism and all the attendant sentiments, slogans, and activities, I do love a party, and for years, my curiosity has been piqued about the Bal des Pompiers or "Firemen's Ball." The word "bal" has always thrown me off; I can't help but imagine all the neighborhood Cinderallas coming out in full fancy-drag regalia, waltzing around the fire pole with Prince Pierre in his pompier finery. It's not like that, as it turns out, except for the fact that the annual Bastille Day celebration takes place in the local firehouse. All that's required of attendees--men, women, and children, is that they show up (in jeans, if you want), dance, and have fun.

Is there anything better than a bright blue sky at 10 pm?

There's no escaping big-screen TVs, even in the firehouse.

The crowd started to amp up with the arrival of the spotlights.

Red, white, and bleu--an Independence Day color theme for the masses.

The band kicked off with that wedding reception favorite, "You're my everything" by the Temptations.

Followed by "Le Freak." Now the party's getting started.

This might have been a Black Eyed Peas cover, or maybe Michael Jackson. The band actually shredded.

I kept my expectations low, but the music was a combination of practically every genre I love: Disco, pop, hip-hop. Think Best Cruise-Ship Band Ever. It was like that. Polished, visually stimulating (go-go dancers who changed costume between sets), and fronted by singers who were well-versed in between-song banter. I'd definitely hire 'em for my next party.

The party ended at 4 a.m. on July 14, Bastille Day. We didn't last that long. Around the time Cinderalla's coach would have morphed into a pumpkin, we were walking through the hushed Batignolles streets, taking in our neighborhood's beautiful architecture.

One of the prettiest windows I've seen yet in Paris.

We'd been promising the dog for weeks that we'd take her to the park to get her nature fix, and this Sunday we kept our word. After a lunch of Indian food and chilled rose, we cycled out to the Bois de Vincennes where it was hot and teeming with families and couples out picnicking. We rode to our "secret spot," through a forest of tall trees and across a field of waist-high grass, where we spread out our blanket and soaked up the sun.

On the way back into the city, we sought out and eventually found the local velodrome, built in 1896, and one of Hemingway's many cycling-centric haunts when he lived in Paris in the '20s. From here, we pedaled off back toward the converted railway line bike path. Somewhere in the 20e arrondissement, we heard live music and saw a crowd gathered outside a cafe. We stopped, locked up the bikes, and went in to scope out the live entertainment and indulge in a refreshing boisson.

The singer, who sometimes strummed a guitar, was accompanied by a pianist. Each tune they played seemed to focus on French quotidien life (I heard the words "boulangerie," "pain" and "vin" more than a few times), and harken back to the pre-war period. Most of the audience sang along. Even if I couldn't make out all the lyrics, I liked the music, and on this particular day, I didn't really mind if the songs were patriotic or nationalistic. If it can make a group of Frenchies smile, it can't be that bad.

This was a local crowd. Everyone seemed to know each other.

Manu, singing an old-timey number about St. Lazare. 

I couldn't understand all the lyrics, but everyone else did and sang along accordingly.