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I’ve got a post coming up this month about all these AMAZING cheeses…
I had an official meeting last month to get my French ID card renewed. In spite of a reputation that doesn’t involve being efficient, the French government can surprise you as more and more public services go digital. Some of those services, however, now require a sleeker digital French ID card to access them. Unlike in places like the U.S., a driver’s license in France isn’t acceptable as an official ID. In most cases, you’ll need to present your French ID or passport as acceptable proof, and no one wants to carry around their passport all the time.
Things don’t always go smoothly, though. I’d been trying to renew and replace my card on the website since last April, filling out the lengthy information form with everything, which includes where your parents were born and on what date. A Swedish friend who moved here was perplexed when he had to do that for his Carte Vitale, the card for his health insurance. “Why does it matter when and where my parents were born? The card is for me.”
You kind of get acclimated to stuff like that and it vexes the locals, too. (Although they’re used to it.)
But every time I hit the “Send” button, I got an error message and had to start all over. I probably tried twenty times before finally giving up. At the beginning of 2026, I decided to start all over again. When it still didn’t work, I called and the woman on the phone said that I needed to use le navigateur Edge.
I knew of Chrome, Safari, and Firefox but never heard of Edge, and when I typed it into my computer, a spammy web page turned up. I was baffled that a website would only function if using a browser that no one’s ever heard of, that doesn’t even have its own website. After a thirteen-minute conversation, she offered to make an appointment for me. In a country where information is currency, and non is often the default, it was like the gates of heaven opened up and decided to let me inside. (I often think they make things hard on purpose so that when you do succeed, you forget about everything you went through before it and fall in love with the country all over again.)
I picked an early appointment, wisely, so the office wouldn’t be backed up when I got there. The convocation (appointment notice) I received said that if I was late, my appointment could be canceled…but also it could be canceled if I was early. (Yes, French people find these things funny, too.) Bakers are always on time but often, early. Which I was. However, they waived the penalty and told me to take a number and a seat.
In photos for official purposes in France, you need to look as unhappy as possible. If there’s any hint of happiness, your photos (and entire file) will be rejected, hence me doing my best to look like a hardened criminal.
I’ve been to enough of these meetings to know that one mistake - a stapler used instead of a paper clip, a bit of a tooth showing in a photo, you didn’t bring your mother’s birth certificate, professionally translated and stamped by the town hall where she was born, dated within 3 months of your meeting(VitalChek becomes your best friend, but you do hold your breath waiting for the documents to be mailed to you, only exhaling when they are actually in your hands) - your whole file, the one you’ve been working on for a year, can be rejected.
I am a pro right now and had everything in order. To make matters even better, the guy behind the desk was lovely. (And so was the woman at the front desk, who didn’t kick me out for being early. I felt like buying her a box of chocolates.) I did make one mistake, though: I thought Paris was a ville (city) but it’s also a commune. I thanked the fellow for correcting it, and he replied, “That’s what I’m here for.”
A friend later suggested he was an actor, but even though it was cold, grey, and rainy in Paris that day, I left my meeting that morning in a particularly heightened state of euphoria. I was going to celebrate by tackling the local Ikea, but then I thought about it and…nope, that would be pushing it.
Last month a bunch of friends descended on the city for WineParis, a huge trade show for people in the wine and spirits industry. Not only did I get to see a lot of friends and make some new ones, I got to try a lot of wines. At one tasting (above), at Paris Wine Co., I think there were over two hundred bottles open for tasting.
One of my favorite cocktails, a riff on the Martini called an Alaska.
I also went to an event at the Chartreuse store in Paris, a place that flies under the radar for some people. Located close to where the monks got the original recipe in 1605, which took them another hundred years to figure out how to make, the shop is a must-stop for Chartreuse fans and lovers. They have all the bottles you’re looking for in stock, plus a display of vintage bottles and herbal teas made from mountain herbs; guided tours, tastings, and cocktail workshops are also offered.
Last month was also Pineau des Charentes month, or as one might call it, “The French apéritif that more people should know about…but don’t.” It’s one of my favorite French apéritifs and was another reason I wrote Drinking French, to give lesser-known bottles a shout-out so people weren’t stuck on Lillet. (Which few people in France know about, or drink. The one time I ordered a Lillet at a café, I was brought a glass of le lait - of milk.)
I got to meet some really cool people and make new friends while working on that book, which is a bonus when you’re writing a book on a totally different subject than what you’re usually writing about. I’ve kept in touch with Amy and her husband, Jean Pasquet. He comes from a family that’s been making cognac and PdC for generations, and his wife, Amy, originally from North Carolina, was folded into the family business and now is the head of the organization, Comité National du Pineau des Charentes, which promotes the drink internationally.
So when we met up for dinner for pizza at Oobatz, I brought a vintage bottle of PdC (in the middle, below) that I found at a bric-a-brac store in the south of France.
A bottle of Pasquet’s 18-year-old Pineau des Charentes and their excellent organic Cognac, next to my bottle of vintage PdC.
Jean estimated my vintage bottle to be from the 60s, which didn’t seem that old, until I did the mental math and realized the bottle was sixty years old. I’d brought it to the restaurant and let the staff and sommelier taste it, since I think vintage spirits are meant to be shared.
The rest of last month marked us getting closer to spring. February is always a crapshoot in terms of weather, and mood. January is the hardest in Paris since it’s grey, cold, and the days are short. But by the end of February, it gets lighter earlier, and days stay light longer. My Meyer lemon tree has a few flowers on it as well as a few little lemons poking through.
I got a lot of, um, conflicting input about how best to get the most fruit — pick off and discard one-third of the immature lemons to let the others mature, pick off two-thirds of the immature lemons to let the others mature, don’t do anything and let the tree decide, etc. I’ve tried different strategies over the years, and none seemed to be better than the other. In the end, I got two lemons last year but fingers crossed this year I’ll get a few more.
Everything else in the garden got attacked by slugs last year and thanks to an overload of input, I tried absolutely everything (yes, from beer to nematodes to copper to eggshells), but a fellow with a huge, mostly organic garden in the countryside admitted to me that the only way he found to kill slugs was via a non-natural solution. So I was relieved that it wasn’t just me.
We’re not out of the woods yet, but as pears and fall fruits fade away at the markets, I pulled some figs out of the freezer and made a delicious fig galette with frangipane. I used the recipe from Ready for Dessert…
…swapping out the apples in the recipe in the book with fig halves.
Everyone who’s bought the book has been super happy with it - yay! - but if you haven’t joined the in crowd of people who’ve gotten their copy, there’s a recipe on my website that you can use.
Yes! That was fresh asparagus, along with a poached egg, that I was served last night in a restaurant here in Paris.
While I patiently wait for strawberries and spring fruits and berries, and celebrate the arrival of asparagus, I’m going to cross another place off my bucket list: Taiwan, where I’m heading later this month.
A friend who has an ice cream shop in Paris filled myWhat’sApp with pins for places to go, and eat. I’ll be seeing a friend whose family lives there, so letting him take the reins, but looking forward to all the delicious foods I’ve been reading about in Taiwan — although I may pass on the stinky tofu. I do like durian, a fruit which has a particular fragrance that’s off-putting to some and revered by others, so maybe I’ll give the tofu a try…
Some of the differences between moving to and living in the UK vs. Netherlands vs. France, in terms of bureaucracy, health care, and finding an apartment. (via Alex & Beyond)
[Sidenote: I’d say that’s likely true outside of Paris, but quite a few updated bistros and brasseries have opened in Paris that are quite good. Unfortunately, some of the lower-pricedbistros andbouillons haven’t maintained their quality or standards.]
