It is no longer a mere curiosity.

Love-lock bridges have cropped up in various locations worldwide, and Paris is no exception. On a number of occasions, I have even had the honour of giving direction to the “Pont des Clés”, as one tourist put it. It has been talked about in plenty of columns and blog articles, some of the recent ones include:

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I have good reason to believe, in most countries of the world, my name gives a clear indication that I’m female, owner (or carrier?) of XX chromosomes. In the past, I’ve used the title “Miss” and “Ms” interchangeably and still there wasn’t an issue of mistaken gender even for someone who hasn’t yet met me in person to confirm that I look like one.

So imagine the great fun I’m having in France where Lilian, sans E à la fin, is famously masculine in nature. This country even proves it by putting forth a famous international export in the form of Lilian Thuram. Here, the pronounciation is not how you’d imagine it’ll be pronounced elsewhere. It’s a guttural-sounding “Lee-Leon” that’s correct given the orthographe.

Liliane is how they like to change things up here for me.

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I have a few favourite pastry shops that I inevitably drop by far more often than I should. Or than my bank counsellor would advise. Given there are a good few other great pastry shops aorund town, I definitely must widen my horizon but the problem is, I normally try to not overindulge when it comes to sweets consumption. That leaves the times when I have visitors. Since they can’t eat their way around Paris by pastry only (or can they? hmmmm…) the options get whittle down too quickly and far too easily. It’s always back to the old favourites.

Pierre Hermé
Pierre Hermé should really gives me a carte de fidelité. I live far too conveniently between his only two shops (for now) that sell pastries in Paris, and this year’s continuous launch of macaron of the month had me popping in and out more times than I can count. Reality hits when I could tell the macarons apart nowadays without having to consult the little chart they give and I have an entire set of glasses courtesy of the émotions I’ve eaten… I know, I know, I should lay low on PH for a little while.

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Barely a couple of weeks following its opening, Nico’s brother suggested that we met for lunch at “a sandwicherie near Poissonnière”. It was all rather mysterious and upon arrival, I was confused by the name City Café Sandwich but something clicked – I have just glanced through a café-bistrot recommendation a few days earlier and this was the place! Gourmet sandwicherie on Mondays and Saturdays, and restaurant serving fixed-menus from Tuesday to Friday, there is already quite a buzz surrounding this venture by Japanese chef Katsuaki “Katsy” Okiyama, formerly of Robuchon and l’Agapé.

Despite arriving at noon (it opens on Saturday at 12.30pm, although many articles I’ve seen stated Saturday opening hour at 10am or noon), a queue has started gathering outside Abri and when it came to our turn to be seated, there simply wasn’t a table available for 5 pax. There were only a couple of potential tables for 5-6, except they have been split to accommodate groups of 3-4. The rest which remained were tables for two.

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It has been a good many years since I last ascended the Eiffel Tower. If I recall correctly, the last time I went up would be in 2004 with Beejay (his 21st birthday present; a trip to Europe from Andrew and I!) but Andrew assured me it would have been 2006 when he was visiting Paris with me and his then new wife. Either way, 6 years, 8 years, those were a lifetime away. Fast forward and what do you know – us three siblings visiting anew together, them with spouses and kid in tow!

Given the fame of the Iron Lady, to have each deck of the tower filled with visitors is nothing new. But the number of pushy “photographers” trying to jostle for a spot of their favourite views, that’s a whole new level of crazy. It mattered not to them that they were pushing aside a lady carrying a young child but luckily my niece is pretty much the zen-kind of little girl, so she just looked at them curiously then got back to surveying her surroundings.

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It has been a well-charged fortnight with one visitor after another (it’s like we’re running a B&B, but free!) and this week, it’s time for a little family vacation. With my brothers and I living in different countries, a get-together for all of us has never been easy. We’d be so lucky if we manage to all be in the same place together once a year for a few days. Even more precious is when we could squeeze in a rare holiday within this period of time. They are in town to visit and I, for one, am very very happy!

While I’ve always maintain the philosophy of playing tourist on a regular basis – you know, visits to various (lesser-known) museums and walking tours to explore different neighbourhoods – this time, we’re talking the major sights. We’re even talking chez Mickey! Ultimately, our schedule will be dictated by a toddler, otherwise known as my adorable niece. Lucky girl gets to visit Paris at 8 months old!

For now, as time is precious, I’m just going to share this one photo which I adore. Beejay took a series of these by stealth when I offered to hold Elise while her parents worked on snapping some holiday shots. I normally shy away from the camera and prefer to stay behind the lenses, but this works out really well and I think this photo will be printed very soon for safekeeping.

I’ll be back in a few days with more posts (accck all the drafts sitting there which I really really should get out!) and till then, have a wonderful week. :D

One of my favourite treats from the many boulangeries around is les chouquettes. Little airy puffs topped with pearl sugar, it is incredibly easy to munch down a packet of them within minutes and then feel a twinge of guilt for overindulging and/or not sharing. They can be bought on per piece basis (€0.15-0.20 each) or by weight (€2-3 per 100g).

I bake them myself from time to time at home, but given my (bad) habit of baking-by-guestimation, it can be a bit of a hit-or-miss exercise. Oops. When it works though, they are pure delights to behold and taste. The list of ingredients for the basic choux couldn’t be simpler – flour, butter, eggs, water and sugar – staples in pretty much any pantry for anyone who cooks/bakes regularly. In the case of chouquettes, of course one should not forget the pearl sugar to sprinkle over. In Paris, it can be stocked from G Detou.

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It still surprises me some day that I live in Paris. Not only that, time has also sneaks up on me. It didn’t feel that long ago when I flew into Paris-CDG with an overweight suitcase, battling my way up and down staircases of public transport system and my then new building (how come no one ever offered to help?), before collapsing into a studio apartment with a beautiful view of springtime out the window.

In between then and now, much has changed and many lessons have been sent my way, whether I asked for them or not. Some are glaringly obvious, others not quite so. These are lessons which Paris has taught me in the past 17 months (yes, already!) …

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For a while, in June and July, I was wondering if summer has decided to bypass us completely and transitioned from spring to autumn directly. There were plenty of grey skies, rainy days, and temperature hovering at miserable high 10s or low 20s. How unlike last year when my coats were practically kept in the cupboard between May and September… Eventually though, the crappy weather did yield in favour of sunshine and how I rejoice – time to celebrate with some spots of ice-cream tasting around town!

Grom

Grom has received a lot of love from my friends and I this summer. Following Anne’s recommendation last year, this gelateria has been a staple favourite and I’d happily take any excuse to swing by for some gelato. This summer, it includes introducing the boy to it, taking visiting friends over, celebrating friend’s new job and simply enjoying the sunshine. Of course, it’s a major bonus that I live relatively close to Grom (20 minutes walk), hurrah!

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I came across an article on BBC yesterday that discusses the use of “tu” on social media and how this is causing a cultural clash in France. But first, let’s pedal back a little for those who read the sentence above and went “what”?

What’s tu?

Or for the Malaysians, apa tu? ;)

We have it easy in English. When you talk to someone, you refer to the person simply as “you”. That’s it. It doesn’t matter if it’s address to one person, or several, or the age and rank of the person. However, in French, not quite so. There’s an entire quagmire to navigate here and a false move can quickly make you a social pariah to said offended person.

At a basic level, “tu” is you in the singular, and “vous” is you in the plural. Add on the layer of politesse, “tu” is now an informal you, used to address a friend, a colleague (but not a superior unless he/she is a friend or has ok’ed), a child or a family member/relative; “vous” is a formal you, used to address anyone you don’t know, someone older than you, someone with authority (bosses fall in this category) and someone you’re showing a level of respect (say, the President).

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