It Was A Good Week For Mail

First I received this gem from Stephanie, who has fought a gallant battle against the international post system to get some treasures to me.


And it was worth the wait! Inside were one-of-a-kind photo sets from her spring weekend in Paris, plus a gorgeous photo zine, hand-bound by Lady Land herself.


A few days later I opened the mail box to find a treasure of uniqueness of grand proportions. My friend Colin in New York sent me a photo book of Coney Island, which itself is amazing, but it's the letter he sent with it that really rocked my socks off.


It's a 5-page letter that runs over notebook paper, a Metro newspaper, and this great book he found on the subway.




As he said, it's like a new kind of art, although these days any kind of hand-written letter is an art in itself.


Big, big, big smiles all around! Now I get to write back...

Awaiting Your Arrival

L'Ambassade, Montmartre

A Tale of Two Dads

This Father's Day I'd like to pay tribute to two men who've helped make me who I am.


This Dad gave me my brown hair and brown eyes. He taught me how to bait a hook and play Blackjack and make hot chicken and dumplings and Key Lime pie. I treasure memories of going catfishing with him finished with sunset-lit Klondike bars, or digging crawdads out of the bucket he was holding, or sitting beside the fire pit at our cabin in Heber, or proudly holding up a 17-pound carp he taught me how to catch (and let me reel in myself) at Apache Lake. He taught me to always wear sunscreen and a seatbelt, and that you get more out of your shampoo if you put some water in the bottle. He was my first Final Cut Pro teacher. When I tell him about my future plans, I can always hear a (loving) concern in his voice, but he never tells me not to do what I want.



This Dad (Pops, as I say) taught me about Harry Nilsson and George Harrison and Miles Davis. I treasure memories of waking up to his band playing "Brown-Eyed Girl" in our E-Room (the loft space in the house reserved solely for his instruments and rock and roll memorabilia), and surfing with him in Hawaii, and making blueberry pancakes as he makes chorizo and hash browns on Christmas morning (wearing a Santa hat, of course). He values a good French press. When I call the house in a panic, he can always tell whether I'm crying and puts my mom on the phone pretty much right away. He very nonchalantly convinced me to ride my first real roller coaster. When I started crying as he drove me to the airport to come to Paris, he calmly said, "Hey, when you start to worry, just tell yourself, 'Just havin' some pizza, learnin' about Cuba.'"


I could go on about both of them. But suffice it to say that these two fathers, while completely different, are embedded in my heart. They've both helped to shape my tastes and my personality. Together they've set the bar high for the man who will be the father of my children. I'm so, so grateful to have both of them in my life, because while too many people don't even have one decent dad in their lives, I'm lucky enough to have two phenomenal ones.

love,
*jenna*

French Bachelorette Party

I miss Shannon.

Conference

This One's For Stephanie

... who loves post boxes.

Well, I Never Thought This Would Happen.

8:30am at McDonald's Paris. I will admit, quietly, that it was not a nightmare.

Rue Mouffetard

There have been a few random, gloriously sunny days recently in Paris. One of them was last week, when I explored the Latin Quarter and splurged by having a couple of beers while writing an article for Girls' Guide to Paris and enjoyed the people-watching and the architectural details of the area, made so lovely by the warm glow of the sun.

















Just lovely.

Setting

Not a bad view at all for a bit of reading on the terrasse with a glass of rosé.

Garçons

Color of the Moment

Just so you guys know, a vivid blue teal is the color of the moment. It was on every. single. girl I hung out with last Friday night (including myself).


... not to mention in the stairwell I climbed (only 7 flights up).


Though the color may already be on the way out. When I marveled to Elsa about how I was seeing it everywhere, she sighed in frustration and said, "I KNOW. I've been wearing these pants" (the ones you see above) "for three years and suddenly everyone is wearing the same thing."

Life is hard for a fashionista!

Dad's Hot Chicken

Over Christmas I had my dad teach me how to make his famous hot chicken. This is one of those meals that's simple but so familiar to me, it's like tasting Arizona. It's like being at my dad's house and hanging around the kitchen while my brothers wrastle in the living room.

It's basically fried chicken with Red Devil sauce, but since I'm greatly inexperienced at cooking meat items, I paid close attention and took notes. Imagine my delight when he sent me TWO bottles of Red Devil and a handwritten recipe!

I finally gathered the bravery to try it out the other night. I'm not up to "bird de-boning" quite yet, and it was just me and two dude friends so I used simple chicken breasts. I figured I could turn any leftovers into some fab baguette sandwiches.


By the time came to pour on the sauce, my mouth was watering at the familiar smell of the spicy, vinegary sauce.


I was so busy with the chicken that I asked Nico to make the mashed potatoes in our blender. Too much milk made it potato soup, which was actually not too bad to mix up with the chicken on the plate.

Ah, the taste of home. I used a little too much sauce, but otherwise it came out pretty close to Dad's.


As much as I love wine and wine country, this was not a wine kind of meal. I paired it with a blonde Belgian ale, perfect to cool off the hot night and the hot chicken. Adrien said he liked it, and though Nico couldn't stop suggesting ways to improve the sauce (I definitely heard the word "ketchup" and "sucre" in there), every last bite of our six chicken breasts got eaten in short time. No sandwiches this week!


Finally! I conquered a meat-based meal. And now, a new dish to add to my repertoire.

N'Importe Quoi. (Whatever.)

Here's what happens at an "experimental art performance" night in Paris from 4pm-12am.







(note: these final two photos were taken as a sunglasses-wearing Jesus was hoisting a cross into the air while several scantily-clad ladies waved pyrotechnic batons and laughed, while a statuesque lady wearing a brain-hat shot a fake gun into the air.)



I love how that girl looks like she's about to roll her eyes and say "gag me with a purple spoon," or its French equivalent. I'm trying to master that nonchalant, skeptical look, although I feel I've been practicing it my whole life. N'est pas?

Round About 9pm

not too much, yet never enough

Let The Light In

Belle Belleville

I spent some quality time last week in the beautiful Belleville neighborhood.




It was a lovely, sunny day, and all the cool kids were out, hanging in the graffiti'ed, sloped streets of the quarter. If there were no seats outside the bar, they (we) all just sat on the curb.






I cannot get enough of Belleville's vibrant, colorful mess of wall art.


And les beaux françaises.

Pasta À La Jenna

You guys, I'm totally a chef. I even invented a dish - the one you see above. Do you want the recipe? It's incredibly easy to make (obviously, I made it).

Sautée some diced garlic in olive oil while you boil pasta (I used farfalle).
Throw a whole mess of chopped basil and chopped mint into the garlic/olive oil.
Quarter some cherry tomatoes whilst the basil and mint goes all wilty.
Toss the tomatoes into what's now becoming a "sauce."
Put in some salt, pepper and (if you want some spice), red pepper flakes (thanks Mom!) and a squirt of lemon juice to brighten up the flava. Toss toss toss.
Dump the farfalle in and toss, toss, toss, and then throw a generous amount of grated parmesan on and toss, toss, toss.

Sprinkle more on individual plates if desired. Serve with your cheapest bottle of red wine.