Paris 24 June 2016

After a run of really great places to stay, I must start today by saying, we are not happy with our place in Paris. It's noisy 24/7, with heavy construction from 7am, and then heavy street noise (I'm struggling to resist the racist wind that's blowing through Europe) from 4pm until about 4am. We are both tired, over-peopled, over-noised, and four more days seems like too many. We hope for a quiet Sunday.

We started our day today taking a bus, a big adventure for us. Much better than climbing down into a hole and screeching through darkness: up on the surface, you actually get to sit back and see things. We bussed over the Seine (still raging) to our luncheon appointment at La Ferme de Saint Simon, a restaurant that specializes in the day's best market finds. When Rochelle took this, I was being blown away by the Peach Soup dessert. Omigolly!

But, as you may be able to guess from the background, this was another museum day, and here at the end of the day, and our run of museums, I am most touched by Monet. Klee almost got me, but I come back around to the calming, mellowing affect of Claude's work.

Lunch first. Folks like us clearly amuse high-end restaurant staff. What in the world are we doing out here where the actual French eat? we belong in the tourist traps near the Louvre! I was way underdressed for this place across the street from the French Ministry of the Environment, but it was another hot day and I didn't care ...and anyway, Tu-Tu-Tun is a high class place!

Beautiful little raw tuna amuse bouches (1) and brown bread with butter (again!), a slice at a time, solicitously provided. We ordered the Market Choice lunch, a "formule" (like the "Menu" in Southern France.) My entrée was a paper thin white tuna carpaccio (2) perfectly salted and seasoned with crisp little apple bits. Rochelle started with another gazpacho (3), a French appropriation of the word to describe any cold savory summer soup; this one was based on cucumbers and granny smith apples flavored with mint.  My plat, supremes of chicken breast (volaille 4) was prepared Basque style, meaning carmelized onions in light tomato sauce gently peppered. Rochelle's was haddock (églefin 5) with gnocci and chantrelles in a delicate white sauce – "fish must swim." We like to exchange our plates halfway through, a practice the waiters pointedly ignore ...but not here. When we swapped fish for chicken, our amused waiter said, in perfect, British-accented English, "You must exchange the knives, too." Of course! In France, the fish knife is differently shaped than the meat knife, and one wouldn't even consider using one for the other! Dessert: For me, the star of this meal, and the thing I'm most likely to attempt at home: the fresh peach soup, with more of those wonderfully tart granny smith apple cubes floating around a scoop of intensely flavored peach ice cream (5). Rochelle's was a creamy flan with caramel sauce (6) that she deemed "too sweet" and so, always the gentleman, I devoured it. 

The current headliner here is Henri Rousseau, and the presentation was lovely ...and we were not allowed to take pictures. I have posted the picture opposite simply to remind you how wonderful Rousseau's work is.

I'm always looking for surprises in a new museum, and there were plenty here (like yesterday) ...maybe more surprisingly. Here (at right) is one, about 18 years before Klimt. It's easy to see how tightly integrated and self-aware the European art world is, and has been for centuries. What I think of as new and unique may well be the product of many insights reached by many, diverse artists.

There was a generous helping of Degas, including this lovely sculpture, of which there are copies; no surprise here.

The design below is part of the d'Orsay's Art Nouveau collection ... always surprising to me, even when I have seen it before. This piece I had not seen. The graceful characteristic art nouveau "whip" shape is certainly a key element in my own graphical consciousness.

We visited two museums this afternoon, so we could put our culture vulturing to rest for this trip, and spend the next couple of days experiencing the city and surrounds.

We walked across the bridge and into the Tuileries Garden and sat on a bench for a few minutes to rest our feet. Off through the trees I saw this unmistakeable sight ... can you name the artist?* There's only one sculptor whose monumental women are so magnificent.

Below the outer Nympheas gallery (there are two) in the Orangerie, our second museum today; there are two more images are in today's gallery. 

After the Orangerie, we walked back across the familiar bit of Paris, past yet again another of Napoleon's erections. What an egoist!