Bringing Down the White Picket Fence
A Couple's Quest to Live Globally
Happy 4th of July USA! You would be happy to hear that the cafes just down the street from our apartment are proudly displaying their red, white, and blue! They’ve got streamers, American flags, and lots of people, all with a good excuse to party and eat a cheeseburger! And Bruce Springsteen is here! It doesn’t get much more American than that!
As you can see, Bruce’s concert is complet, or sold out, and, sadly, we won’t be in attendance. In the middle of booking our little adventures to Lyon and Provence and planning for Paris, we decided to wait on making any other big purchases, including the tickets to Bruce. Poor decision on our part since he’s rocking the Bercy right now and we’re rocking out to our iPod.
In lieu of fireworks, the French construction workers began their noisy chaos on the building adjacent to ours at an early 7am, blasting us out of bed earlier than usual. We took it as an opportunity to grab an early espresso and a flaky croissant and escape the torturous calamity streaming through our windows.
We began our day with a leisurely walk down the market street of Rue de Montorgueil. Here any food lover can carefully select from a wide variety of fresh ingredients to orchestrate the perfect meal. Tucked between the bustling bistros and cafes, butchers busily fill their display cases with fresh cuts of meat, as fish mongers pile their shellfish and other catch high on ice. Fromageries waft with the fragrance of French cheeses, boulangeries bake and stock their crusty baguettes, and patisseries have filled their windows with bright macaroons, tarts, and other sugary confections. Produce stands line the sidewalks, brightly bursting with the colors of seasonal fruits and vegetables. A street of pure paradise for anyone who loves to cook and celebrate food.
While Rue Montorgueil does have a lot to offer, it is minimal in comparison to the old marketplace of Les Halles, the famous and now nonexistent central market of Paris. From the early 19th century until 1971, Les Halles bustled with merchants as they sold their food specialties under covered stalls from the wee hours of the morning to all hours of the night. Today, its nothing more than a Metro Station and a tacky shopping mall, bearing no resemblance to what Emile Zola described as “the belly of Paris”.
I tried to imagine the old Les Halles as we entered this very Metro station today. I’ll admit, I couldn’t. However, I have taken some time to peruse our coffee table book of black and white photos by Robert Doisneau, a photographer who captured the market in both its good and bad days. His photos are phenomenal and have given me a better understanding of historic Les Halles.
After breakfast we took the Metro to the 6th arrondisement to the Jardin de Luxembourg, a massive and beautiful private park of some 60 acres. Owned and operated by the French Senate, the park is beautifully maintained and strictly regulated. Between the perfectly manicured trees and the vibrant flower beds, Parisians can participate in a variety of recreational activities or just sit and bathe in the sun or read in the shadows of the trees.
If I were a child, this would probably rank as one of my favorite places in Paris. The jungle gyms are complex, the swing sets are double seaters, and the puppet show is a regular scheduled event. There’s even a small carousel! You can also sail wooden sailboats in the fountain in front of the Luxembourg Palace and chase it around with a wooden stick as you watch it sail. Good solid fun if you ask me!
After a long walk in the gardens, we returned to Les Halles, picked up sandwiches to go at Le Comptoir de Gastronomie, and retreated to our apartment for a quiet lunch. The sandwich was simple yet delicious with tender pieces of ham and a light tomato spread encased in a crusty baguette.
After spending a lazy afternoon reading, napping, and people watching out the window, we returned to Rue de Montorgueil for dinner. With plans to dine on a classic French staple of steak frites, we chose a bistro widely and highly recommended by other bloggers. While the service was friendly and the atmosphere pleasant, the steak frites were a huge disappointment, with the only satisfying part being the flavorful side of bourdelaise sauce.
So the fries were soggy and the steak was forgettable, but it didn’t ruin our day. We can’t expect every meal to be groundbreaking, especially in a city with thousands of places to eat and a world of varying opinions on each of them. Surprisingly, it is possible to have a bad meal in Paris!
After dinner we went to the wine shop to visit Claude, the only French person here who knows us both by name. He greets us like he’s known us for years. We love that, in just four days, we’ve sort of made a connection with someone here. Even his dog likes us…
Enjoy Paul’s photos. I may be the one trying desperately to paint a picture with just the right words, but he’s the one trying desperately to capture just the right light at just the right moment so that we’ll always have Paris…
I’ve got three important words for today: Willi’s Wine Bar. Today, after sleeping in late and missing breakfast, we set out in search of a good place to have lunch. Willi’s Wine Bar has been high on Paul’s list for quite awhile now and since I am always more than willing to get a little lost for good food, we went out in search of Willi and his all too cool wine bar.
While we had an idea of which direction to walk in and what street to find, we didn’t realize there was a Rue de Croix Petit Champs and a Rue de Petit Champs in close proximity to each other. We now know they are not the same street and that Willi’s Wine Bar is indeed on Rue de Petit Champs, not the one with the Croix in it. However, after getting some good exercise along Rue de Croix Petit Champs and not finding what we were looking for, we did run into many fire engines responding to a fire call with ladders aimed high into the windows of an apartment. We passed this scene twice, dodging silver helmeted firefighters as they worked diligently in response to their emergency, and eventually figured out we were definitely on the wrong path.
Eventually we did find Willi’s Wine Bar and boy, am I so glad we did. It’s a tiny place with a bar in the front and small tables in the back. We were greeted warmly by the staff and chose a seat in the front at the corner of the bar. The lunch menu, which was quickly laid in front of us, was written completely in French and Paul and I immediately tried our hardest to decipher as many words as we could. We came up with a few words like asparagus and artichoke and salad, but beyond that, we couldn’t translate a thing. We must have looked just as bewildered as we felt because one of the waitresses came to our aid to translate each and every line of the menu. She was our hero, for sure.
The food at Willi’s Wine Bar was absolutely incredible. We both started with a salad, Paul chose the asparagus salad and I chose the artichoke salad. Both were superb and we couldn’t resist taste testing each other’s choices. My salad had a poached egg on top and, as soon as I broke into it, the yellow yolk streamed down over the crisp greens and artichokes and, mixed with the dressing, created the most perfect combination I’ve ever experienced. Of course, I sopped up every last morsel with the accompanying crusty pieces of baguette. Understand me now, the poached egg made that salad! Simply delicious!
Next came our main dishes-Paul got the lamb, I got the roasted salmon. Paul’s lamb was succulent, smothered in a curry-like sauce with couscous and vegetables. My salmon was roasted with the skin on leaving a crusty layer of flavor above the most buttery piece of fish I’ve ever tasted. When I cook salmon at home, I take the skin off. Here, it would be a sin not to eat it. Resting perfectly upon a salad of asparagus, tomatoes, and crisp greens, I barely came up for air. It was that good.
We concluded our lunch with two strong espressos, thanked our delightful translator for all of her help, and promised each other we would soon return. It’s funny because for weeks Paul has been talking about trying this restaurant and I couldn’t help but wonder- how Parisian is this Willi’s place going to be? So I did a little research and found that Willi was a dog, something close to a Bassett Hound, and God rest his soul, he’s buried just outside the door. Opening in 1980, it is apparently one of the first wine bars of Paris, and every October in honor of the bar’s opening, glasses of champagne are held high in honor of Willi who now rests below the gas meter to the right of the front door. Quite a story huh? I absolutely adore it!
After lunch we decided to open the wide windows of the apartment, put our feet up, and take in the fresh air. We also got the wild idea to try out the washing machine which looks so confusing we couldn’t bear to really look at it until today. There are two sets of directions for the washing machine, both of which contradict each other. It took a good ten minutes or so to even figure out how to open the door. I found out to simply hit the “porte” button and, bam, the door opens. What a relief! I’m not at all sure I put the powdered detergent in the right compartment, nor that I put it on the right temperature, or that I turned the dial to the right setting, but over an hour later our clothes were wet and, I think, clean. I’m not entirely sure. Dryers are hard to come by here and so the good ol drying rack is quite a necessity. So we set that sucker up right in front of the windows and, well, if the washer didn’t clean the clothes, the fresh French air certainly made them smell better!
You see that orange button? It opens the door! Who knew?!
So we conquered a little laundry today and we also took out the garbage, which we had been putting off because we weren’t so sure the procedures for recycling. So, despite Paul’s Internet search on garbage bins of Paris, he decided to take my advice and email the apartment owner directly in regards to the proper way to dispose of bottles and cans. The answer we received left us in hysterics as his response was exactly this “Frankly Paul, its not really clear for any one, including us. I think it makes no difference…”. Well, ok then. In the garbage they go. What a sense of accomplishment we felt by dinner time! We had conquered laundry and the garbage all in one day!
Since our lunch was so fulfilling, we decided on snacking on mini toasts and camembert cheese for dinner. The cheese here is incredibly intense and has stunk up our tiny fridge like a pair of dirty socks, but thank goodness, it tastes nothing of the sort. It is no wonder most French meals end with a cheese course. It is truly addicting!
Later in the night we returned to Ile St Louis for the famous Berthillon ice cream and to capture more photos of the beyond exquisite Notre Dame cathedral. Berthillon ice cream and sorbet is the perfect treat on a warm and beautiful evening in Paris. Paul and I both indulged in cones with single scoops-I chose apricot and he chose dark chocolate. I highly recommend the apricot sorbet. Not too sweet with just the right tang, the apricot flavor will make you sing. I promise.
Later, we stood on the Pont De La Tournelle overlooking the Seine and listened to a choir below us, picnicking and melodically singing in a large group along the river. They entertained for an hour or more, singing and swaying, sometimes dancing, surrounded by blankets and a plethora of food. I love how these people live for having a good time in the simplest of ways.
I said to Paul today, “This experience is going to change my life, you know that right?” And he quickly agreed. To see this world outside of yourself, to witness how it’s lived beyond they way you are used to living it, well, that’s never a bad thing. In fact, it may just be the best of things…
Dinner was so good tonight that Paul was frequently caught dipping his bread into my crock of cassoulet. Surprising since he was sure he wouldn’t like cassoulet and opted for foie gras ravioli instead. And while his ravioli was tasty, it was also very rich. My cassoulet, on the other hand, was right on and, as a result, Paul is already planning his trip back to Le Comptoir de la Gastronomie so he can enjoy his very own crock of cassoulet. I’ll admit I was also eyeing up my neighbor’s meal and will be returning to get my own plate of massive shells of escargot.
Cassoulet consists of large white beans, several types of meat, vegetables, and spices all combined and cooked in a pot over one or two days. I guess you could compare it to a stew. Exactly the reason Paul didn’t want it. He’d rather go hungry than eat anything that resembles stew. This, however, was much better than stew. Served in a steaming hot crock, tonight’s cassoulet included beans, sausage, ham, and an incredibly tender piece of duck still on the bone. Round this out with crusty pieces of baguette and you’ll find yourself scraping the bottom, savoring every last bit.
After dinner we strolled over to Notre Dame and returned to my favorite part of Paris-Ile St Louis. Paul took me to the little island of Ile St Louis on our first visit and I couldn’t wait to go back. Here you can join the locals as they congregate along the Seine, sitting at the edge, having picnics, drinking wine, socializing, and waving to the boats as they go by.
Paris is beautiful at night and Paul couldn’t wait for it to get dark so that he could capture some photos. We had quite a wait though as it didn’t get dark until 10:30pm! So what did we do to pass the time? We joined the locals at the edge of the Seine. Next time we will come more prepared…I’m thinking cheese, a baguette, and a bottle of wine…
Despite the sunshine that lit up the city well until 10pm last night, we turned in early unable to fight the exhaustion any longer. Earlier in the evening we watched most of the Euro 2012 final soccer game huddled in front of our miniature flat screen while munching on mini toasts with black olive tapenade. It was quite a relaxing and quiet way to spend our first evening in Paris.
Although we both slept well, our bodies have not yet adjusted to the 6 hour time difference. As a result we were both wide awake at 2am, tossing and turning and craving more sleep. We did, eventually, fall asleep again and awoke at 10am to a Paris alive and churning with people.
Feeling refreshed and ready for a new day, we made our way down to the cafe below for some much needed French espresso. Here espresso is served in tiny porcelain cups, perfectly placed on a matching porcelain saucer. Coffee here is rarely portable and is meant to be enjoyed sitting in one place with good china. No paper cups, lids, or coffee collars here.
Since dining in a cafe is supposed to be a relaxing experience, waiters and waitresses will let you sit at your table for as long as you wish. We find this to be a delightful change of pace from the US where most restaurants are looking to turn over tables as soon as the last morsel of food is swallowed. When you have finished your meal and you are ready to leave, you just ask for the check (l’addition). Don’t expect to get the check quickly either. This morning we waited up to a half hour for a check for two espressos. This may sound totally frustrating, but its not, especially when Paris surrounds you.
After our morning at the cafe, we went in search of a grocery store to pick up some bottled water and snacks for our apartment. While I do plan to cook meals during our stay here, I hope to get most of the ingredients for those meals at the local markets, bakeries, and cheese shops. The grocery stores are small and seem to be more useful for those quick and convenient purchases like orange juice, bottled water, and mini toasts. One can never have too many mini toasts.
Next we took a walk in search of the Jardin des Tuileries, the beautiful garden that leads to the entrance of the Louvre. Here you can grab a chair and sit with your feet up at one of the many fountains or stroll down the beautiful tree lined paths. The grass is so green and so perfectly manicured it almost looks fake.
Though this is a very crowded and touristy area at midday, we still ventured over to a favorite cafe we ate at the last time we were here. All we wanted was a croque monsieur, a simple ham and melted cheese sandwich. The cheese, robust in flavor, is melted on the top of the bread, while a thin slice of ham rests between the two slices. This particular cafe, La Terrasse de Pomone, serves this classic sandwich with a green salad topped with a light mustard-like dressing. Using your knife and fork, sink your fork into the greens, then a piece of the sandwich, and what you get is heavenly. Just be sure to keep your eye on the goods. The pigeons are frequent customers here and find the menu quite satisfying if you are willing to share.
Upon exiting the gardens we walked right into a carnival. Since we’ve never been to a French carnival, we decided to take a walk through it. We are sure glad we did! It was absolutely hilarious and definitely entertaining.
While some parts resembled a typical American carnival with bumper cars and fun houses, other parts were totally unlike anything we’ve ever seen at a carnival. For example, the phrase “personal bubble” takes on a whole new meaning for us now after seeing this:
This particular attraction was called le magique bulles, translated “the magic balls”. Basically, you sit at the edge of pool, they drape plastic over you, then blow it up with air. Then they dump you and your personal bubble in the pool where you can roll around and bump into other people’s personal bubbles. It was definitely fun to watch.
We were also pretty surprised that this carnival brought its own log flume. Imagine that, a portable log flume! While all of the attractions were fun to look at, they also looked clean and quite safe. I would challenge Paul to a round in the personal bubble tank, but I’m pretty sure neither one of us is coordinated enough not to hurt ourselves.
We had a pretty healthy walk back to our apartment in the Les Halles district. On our way we looked for a restaurant, Le Comptoir de la Gastronomie, that I had researched and wanted to find. It is small and serves some French classics like caussolet and foie gras, both of which I cannot wait to try. Attached and right next door is a small market which sells various meats, wine, jarred cassoulet and other tasty treats. We plan to head over there and snatch a table for a late dinner tonight.
Paul plans on taking some photos in the evening light tonight. And, just in case you are wondering, we have snuck a few peeks of the Eiffel Tower from afar. It is just as beautiful from a distance as it is up close.
I cannot believe we are here and am already eager to show our moms around when they arrive. I’ve fallen completely in love all over again, just like I did the first time I was here. Except this time, I’m not gushing about a ring and a tower, but immersing myself in the culture of Paris, taking it easy, and enjoying every minute with my husband, who started this whole thing, right here…
From our little Parisian space, three stories high in the 1st arrondissement (we’ve got some serious steps), Paul and I have finally begun our much anticipated French adventure! We are bubbling over with curiosity, but too jet lagged at this very minute to do much about it. We are tired, yet totally intrigued. We are stuck between the physical need to take a nap and the yearning to explore the city waiting just outside the grand and majestic windows of our apartment. We are totally in love with the view and the beautiful breeze. It’s a cool and refreshing 70 degrees today!
We began our long awaited journey to Paris yesterday afternoon. We flew out of Newark airport on Open Skies by British Airways. Open Skies was commonly considered a “boutique” airline which provided passengers with a business class only experience for a business class price. Luckily, for us, the company made a change and this June refurbished the inside of their planes with a new plan and new seating categories: Biz Bed, Prem Plus, and Eco. Thanks to the addition of the Eco seats, we were able to afford a more personalized and intimate flight to Europe. We now believe this is the very best way to get to Paris.
Open Skies serves the Newark to Paris route aboard a 757, a much smaller plane than most transatlantic flights. And while the boarding, the flight itself, and the deplaning were quicker than any other airline we’ve flown with, the turbulence was practically intolerable. For me, that is.
I guess I should stop using the pronoun “we” now since I am the one with the flying anxiety in this relationship. Paul handles turbulence like a roller coaster enthusiast. I’m just waiting for the day he puts both arms in the air and howls with excitement. I, on the other hand, would rather endure a trip to the dentist for a root canal than fly on a plane. I believe I used the phrase, “I’m petrified” quite a few times on this particularly bumpy ride. I also held the hand of the French lady sitting next to me. I’m not kidding either. Paul and I were not assigned seats next to each other. We both sat in aisle seats with Paul sitting directly behind me. Although we considered requesting a change in our seats, I suggested we keep the arrangement as assigned. My logic was that if Paul sat behind me instead of next to me I would have to behave myself and would not be able to bury my head in his lap or grip his arm while whining uncontrollably. It was a good plan and while I didn’t bury my head in to the lap of the lady sitting next to me, I did hold her hand. She held my left hand while Paul held my right hand from behind me. It was the worst turbulence I’ve ever encountered on a plane. The jolting from side to side and that falling feeling…ugh.
When we landed a quick 6 hours after departing Newark, I was relieved and practically in tears. I was so grateful for the lady sitting next to me who spoke little English, but could understand how fearful I was. Her smile and the way she would just put her hand in mine was the most genuine encounter I’ve ever experienced with a stranger. It just goes to show that you don’t need to speak the same language to understand when someone needs your help.
Our plane arrived into Orly airport an hour ahead of schedule and since our iPhones do not work in Europe (thanks a bunch Verizon), we were unable to notify Ray, the apartment owner, of our early arrival. We grabbed a cab and found our apartment with ease. Thankfully, Ray was tracking our flight and met us at the apartment earlier than scheduled.
Our window decor!
Our apartment is perfect, and after only being here a few hours, we strongly suggest getting an apartment rather than a hotel when visiting this gorgeous city. We’ve got a small kitchen overlooking a spacious living area, a huge bathroom, floor to ceiling windows, lots of closet space, a washing machine, and a hair dryer that does the job right. I’m extremely thankful for that small miracle.
After taking a short nap and fighting the battle between fatigue and hunger, we took some much needed showers, and headed out to explore the neighborhood. We took a short walk and then returned for our first Parisian meal at the cafe, Le Paname, conveniently located just below our apartment. I had a beautiful salad with crisp veggies topped with a fresh and perfectly cooked piece of salmon while Paul had an equally delicious and crusty sandwich of ham, chicken, egg, and bacon.
Before returning to our new temporary residence, we took a short walk to look for a store where we could purchase some snacks for later. We found an adorable wine shop with a lovely shop owner who spoke English and helped us purchase affordable bottles of wine, olive tapenade, and toasts. It was just what we were looking for.
So here we are, sitting at the window, feet up on the ottoman, indulging in olive tapenade and fighting to keep our eyes open.
We hope to blog as much as possible. Feel free to leave comments and keep in touch with us. Paul will be chronicling the adventure with his camera while I try to put into words what its like to live in Paris.
I’ll end this post with Paul’s words: “Hopefully these pigeons don’t come flying in the window…”
This is our “terrace” as I like to call it. The place where Paul and I spend most of our summer days taking a break from the stressful demands of the school year. You can usually find us just inches from the water, lounging in our Tommy Bahama chairs, each of us with our noses stuck inside a good book.
Behind us, in all its grandeur, sits Convention Hall, a building with a story I’d love to hear. If buildings could talk, this one might have a lot to say. Its witnessed a shipwreck, the circuit, the crowds, the abandonment, and now the transformation. All the while still holding on to the intricate details now long forgotten by modern architecture.
There is a history hidden behind the tall and salty exterior of Convention Hall. A history that can only be told by generations before mine. All while a future is currently being sculpted. Listen, whenever you can. And love Asbury Park…
http://asburyparksun.com/convention-hall-in-all-its-haunting-beauty/
Indulging on my first trip to Paris.
Lately, I can’t stop thinking about baguettes. I think about coffee, croissants, and cheese a lot too. But mostly, I’m consumed by baguettes. I’m eager for that warm, succulent taste of crunchy French perfection I experienced on my last visit.
We are living in Paris this summer in the 1st arrondissement. We’ve had our little Parisian residence picked out and reserved for almost a year now. As you can see, that’s left a lot of time to dream about loaves of bread. I’m constantly curious and always wondering what the name will be of our favorite cafe, where we’ll pick up fresh ingredients for our picnics along the Seine, and just how many times I’ll blunder the French language.
We plan to welcome the mishaps, find joy in the blunders, and blog about it daily. Join us in Paris…as soon as the school bell rings.
Perfection in a cup!
Paul’s photo of DUMBO was chosen as Travel Channel’s Traveler of the Week!!!!
Paul and I have submitted entries to the Conde Naste Traveler Dream Trip Sweepstakes! Please help us become finalists by following the links below and clicking the “like” button under each photo. You can vote on each photo once a day. Photos with the most “likes” are more likely to become finalists. We can only imagine how much fun we could have on a trip worth $25,000! Thanks for your help!
http://www.cntraveler.com/cs/sweepr/dreamtrip/details.html?id=25741
http://www.cntraveler.com/cs/sweepr/dreamtrip/details.html?id=25623
Washington, D.C.-Day 2
On Sunday morning, with coffee in hand, we made our way over to the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial. It was early and quiet, which made the whole experience even more emotional than I could have ever imagined. Welcomed with words from Dr. King’s 1963 speech “Out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope”,we entered the memorial by walking between two towering boulders. Dr. King waits just beyond the massive entrance. Carved into an enormous slab of stone, with arms crossed, Dr. King faces towards the Jefferson Memorial, as if he’s looking out over the Tidal Basin. Surrounding the sculpture, an inscription wall displays many of Dr. King’s inspirational quotes, all beautifully engraved and perfectly placed.
Looking up at this powerful piece of stone, I was scared to imagine what our world would be like without this courageous man. It was a moment of reflection on where we are and how far we’ve come. However, almost daily, I am reminded that intolerance still exists in this country and, I can only hope, that Dr. King’s message will never be forgotten. I also hope that children all over the world visit this memorial and feel what I felt as I read those quotes and stood, so small, beneath him. He is a true example that one person can inspire millions just by standing up for what they believe in.
Just across the bridge from the Dr. King Memorial is the Holocaust Museum. While it wasn’t our original intention to combine these two emotional visits back-to-back, it worked itself out that way.
The Holocaust Museum stirred many feelings inside of me: anger, sadness, disgust, and fear-to name a few. I felt emotionally exhausted by the time I walked out of the building and into the chilly Washington air. There were many questions racing through my mind: How could people treat other people in such a horrific way? Why did this have to happen? How do I properly convey this to the children I teach? How do we make sure this never happens again? I’m still not sure how to answer.
If there is one museum to visit in this world, this one is it. In fact, I suggest all human beings take a walk through this place. It won’t be a pleasant visit, but it will be necessary. Necessary so that we as a human race don’t ever allow something like this to ever repeat itself. I thought I knew what happened during the Holocaust. I found I was sadly mistaken and had a lot to learn.
After a morning of inspiration and sadness, we took the subway back to the hotel. Again I have not learned to compromise fashion for comfort and, as a result, my feet were not cooperating with me at all. Luckily, the Washington Metro is a quick and easy alternative to walking. Furthermore its safe and clean which is always a bonus.
After a short rest at the hotel, we decided to head out for lunch and take our chances on a restaurant I picked at random: Capitol City Brewing Company. The atmosphere proved to be just what we needed after the morning we had. We were able to eat and relax while watching the Knicks game.
All of a sudden the world is in love with the Knicks. Its Lin-tastic from what I hear. I love basketball. I’ve played it at the varsity level, I coach it at the middle school level, and I love watching it at the college level. Yet I’ve never been entertained by the NBA. Perhaps all this Lin “hoop” la will give me a reason to give the NBA another chance. Even Paul is into it which shocks me.
While dining at the Capitol City Brewing Company, one of the bartenders approached us and asked us where we were from. He said we looked strikingly familiar to him, but he couldn’t place how he knew us. When he realized we were from NJ, his face lit up as he exclaimed that he was the former Manasquan High School assistant wrestling coach. Since my husband was the former Belmar wrestling coach, the connection was made instantly. Paul had coached many of the wrestlers that went on to wrestle at Manasquan. Can you believe how small a world it is we live in?
Since we had so much to talk about with our new-found acquaintance, we spent most of our afternoon at the Capitol City Brewing Company. This also afforded me some time to talk Paul into going shoe shopping.
Let me preface this by saying I almost never ask Paul to go shopping. Wait. Correction: I almost never ask Paul to go clothes shopping. I may beg and plead for his company at the grocery store, but that’s it. Usually, all other shopping trips are with my Mom. However, my feet were throbbing in pain and I just hoped and prayed that if I closed my eyes and believed hard enough, a Payless shoe store would instantly appear at my feet. I didn’t need anything expensive, just comfortable.
After leaving the restaurant, I dragged my not entirely thrilled husband to any store I could find that sold shoes. I did find a Payless, but I didn’t find shoes to suit my needs. Nor did I find shoes at Banana Republic or Macy’s. Although in a moment of desperation, Paul did pick up a pair of Coach shoes and said, “these look good’. I agreed, but knew I would never get away with the price. I instantly flipped them over to show him that shoes covered in the letter C have a big C attached to them. He was grateful for my honesty.
I decided to suck it up and be tough and make it through the rest of my trip in the heels that I brought with me. For two reasons: I couldn’t take Paul’s resistance to shoe shopping anymore nor could I find anything remotely appropriate for what I had packed. If I am going to live in Paris this summer, I need to invest in a good pair of walking shoes.
At night we visited the Dr. King Memorial again to capture some nighttime photos. Paul also took photos on the Mall of the Capitol in the distance, as well as the view of the Jefferson Memorial from a nearby bridge. Since neither of us were very hungry for dinner after our grand lunch at the Brewing Company, we decided to have a small snack at the Hay-Adams as a celebratory end to our last night in D.C.. It was a wonderful way to warm up after walking in the cold and we found ourselves ordering a cheese plate and a crock of French onion soup. We even made a toast to Joel and wished he was with us to show us around.
Farewell D.C…
The next morning we packed up the car, made our way safely around Dupont Circle, and into a lovely residential section of Washington, D.C.. There we found a quiet and secluded section of Seventeenth Street that sits near Rock Creek Park. On this little stretch of road adorned with perfectly manicured lawns, sits the former childhood home of Dr. Joel Shappirio. For a minute I could imagine my mother-in-law pulling up to this very place to meet Joel’s family for the first time. It must have been very exciting.
After saying goodbye to the footprint of Joel’s roots, we headed towards Annapolis for a short visit. Although I lived in Maryland for so long, I am strangely unfamiliar with the Annapolis area and found it an intriguing place to explore. Of course, my only goal was to find a great place to eat and my appetite was set on finding a great shrimp salad sandwich.
Shrimp salad is one of those Maryland menu items that I eased into over time. I remember the first time I sat at the same table with a person eating a shrimp salad sandwich. I just couldn’t wrap my head around mixing shrimp with mayonnaise and couldn’t imagine how it would ever be appetizing. Then, one day I decided to try it. Now I’m obsessed. It’s truly one of my favorite sandwiches and best enjoyed in the state of Maryland. I have yet to find another state that can make it the way they can.
I did some research before we got to Annapolis and found an address for a waterfront crab house with good reviews. When we arrived to historic Annapolis, I asked Paul to put the address in the GPS. When he did, he noticed it took us way out of historic Annapolis and was quite a distance from our current location. Since we weren’t eager to get home, we decided to check it out.
We drove out of historic Annapolis, past the Naval Academy, across a bridge and into a residential area. The GPS took us through curvy back roads and through housing developments. We were sure we had the wrong address at this point. Something told us to keep going, even though we were sure there would never be a waterfront or crab house at the end of the route.
Then, out of nowhere, there it was. A little hidden gem at the bottom of a hill that goes by the name of Jimmy Cantler’s Riverside Inn. I’m so glad we decided to follow our instincts because this place has won my heart. It reminds me much of J’s Oyster House in Maine, a small local establishment with a lot of family history.
The staff was exceptionally kind to us and the food was marvelous. I got my shrimp salad sandwich and ate every last morsel on my plate. Paul had a delicious crab cake sandwich. We enjoyed our lunch while talking with an older couple who often visits the restaurant by boat. Coincidentally, we discovered the man spent his childhood summers in Asbury Park and Spring Lake. Another reminder of how small this world is.
I can’t wait to return to Jimmy Cantler’s Riverside Inn on a warm summer day. I have plans to sit outside and feast on crabs while looking out over the water.
In conclusion, our President’s Day Weekend was well spent. It was just what Paul and I needed. A winter weekend getaway, just the two of us.
Here’s to where you grew up Joel! It’s quite a place.
Love,
Your son and daughter-in-law.
Bringing Down the White Picket Fence 