Paris, Paris on NewsTalk radio in SF: Fun interview!

Joel Riddell has taken over from Gene Burns on the long-running "Dining Around" radio show, now on NewsTalk Radio in SF... we had a great time talking about the City of Light, plus my events in SF (at Book Passage and the JCC SF).

Chicago Marathon of Sorts: We Survived

Talk about serendipity: we went out for an innocent morning walk and guess what happened?

Fog, mist, wind... gorgeous Chicago scenery...

We found our way across town from the former meat-packing district via the theater district...

to the Chicago River, now a park...

Evocative lakeside scenes, including ships, boats, joggers, bikers, geese...

Canadian Geese? No way: Chicago Geese! Alison tries to immortalize them before they can drive her off... take a gander at that goose...

Then we rounded a bend and could go no further without joining the crowd.

Were they really drinking beer and margaritas? I sure smelled hops...

The cops kept the runners company, reminding us NOT to run against the tide. Of course had we been in Paris the gendarmes would simply have arrested us as false marathoners, so we felt we'd gotten off lightly.

Paris, Paris in Chicago: Paris Following Us?

It started with the morning coffee at a roasting establishment and cafe called La Colombe, not 100 yards from where we were staying...

Real French Roast, better than most we find nowadays in the City of Caffeine...

It continued at The French Market, also nearby. Remind you of our favorite Parisian markets? Rue de la Gare... trains above, le marche' below, tres Parisien!



Then it was the Paris Opera Ballet, its banners dancing and flapping from every lamppost in town.

"Paranoia" is not the word; "surprise" will do to describe the feeling we had: Paris was nipping at our heels in Chicago.

I don't mean Paris the hero of myth. The Paris in question was the living, mythical place of everyone's dreams: Par-ee. Coffee, markets, dance...

Then it was the "potager"--no mere kitchen garden. A real, Chicagoan vision of a French potager... Art on the Farm!

In actual fact what really surprised us was the ubiquitous ghost of Gustave Caillebotte. It shadowed us through the Windy, Rainy City last week, from the local bank... (Elephant & Umbrella and... isn't that cute!? look what's behind!)

... into the Chicago Art Institute...

Hey, look at what I found in the gift boutique...

Plenty to learn about French Impressionism AND post-Impressionism... and no one knows more about it than the curators in Chicago, where the collection is big, big, big...

Talk about ubiquitous...


After our visit to the labyrinthine repository of Culture, we explored many other parts of Chicago and inevitably encountered droves of migratory Parisians (not shown--they sue!).


To continue the Parisian experience we had a reasonably authentic and entirely enjoyable dinner at La Sardine, a very Chicago-Paris "bistro" (I use the quotation marks because this little joint could hold within its walls about 10 normal-sized Paris bistros).

Halibut with green ears, very French!

One of my favorite whites, the mineral-rich Milly Lamartine by Les Heritiers du Comte Lafon. Magnifique!

By the time the jet-lag had worn off we realized we weren't really in Paris, Paris... but rather in Chicago, Chicago...

And that's when we decided to run in a kind of marathon. Actually, we didn't decide to run we HAD to run--for our lives. But that's coming up in the next installment of "Paris, Paris: Chicago, Chicago." Tune back in soon...

Chicago, Chicago! Largesse is the Word

Lunch at Charlie Trotter's was just the start... a kind of cultural and gastronomic marathon with Chicago writ large... I'm talking about more than a tale of famous chefs with massive egos.

Everything in and about Chicago was grand--gigantic, imposing, soaring, extra wide, extra large, extra friendly, extra solid, extra un-Parisian.

We were like characters in "Midnight Cowboy," starting up at all them tall buildings... I felt positively dwarfish, especially on public transportation, where the 6' 5" and 7' set seemed particularly abundant. Not basketball players: linebackers! Guys with fingers the size and thickness of sausages. Women who looked like colossal sculptures, totems, Magna Mater incarnate.

Speaking of sculptures, the public art was giant, sprawling, huge, overwhelming...

Did you say the Windy City? Lifting skirts and spirits?

Dinosaurs and mammoths seemed appropriate symbols, part of an artwork on one of the widest, longest, busiest viaducts I've ever crossed...

The servings of food in Chicago were giant sized, enough for two or three normal humans of the kind we consort with in Paris.

Alison had the chicken special: an entire chicken? We got a doggie bag--a Great Dane bag. The chuck lasted 3 days.

A little pizza, did you say?

I'm not ribbing you: this was obscene, but delicious... I fed off the poor porker for 2 days...

Our friend Frank had a little sandwich... a mere snack...



No one was singing it but the tune was in the air... the words broadcast visually from a tall neon sign:

Chicago! Chicago!!

Even the weather was heavier than normal: giant rain drops, violent, powerful winds, a killer heatwave followed by freezing cold--the thermometers must be extra tough to survive Chicago's climate.

Helpfulness and consideration also grow to outsized proportions in this sprawling, vast megalopolis. The inhabitants take small, lost outsiders by the elbow--metaphorically, since touching doesn't seem to be big--and lead them to labyrinthine museums, restaurants the size of sports stadiums, or the unlikely entrances to the roaring "L" train system.

You call this a lobby? A dirigible could park in Renzo Piano's new wing at the Chicago Art Institute


Though Chicagoans appear by and large to be quiet, reserved people their city is anything but quiet. The "L" trains rattle and roar and swoosh around town day and night. We stayed in a wonderful place that was about 100 feet from the overhead. The term "juggernaut" took on new meaning for me.

The guy across from me on the platform was over 7 feet tall! I used a bullhorn to converse with him...


After the well-ordered, symmetrical, compact gorgeousness of Paris the bigness, brashness and blaring sound of rough-and-ready Chicago was the source of endless fascination: railway yards, pot-holed streets, highways and freeways carving up town, forests of skyscrapers, endless grid-block streets as wide as the widest turnpikes in France... horns blasting on every cab (were we in NY?), SUVs by the thousand, limos longer than French train cars.

We're going to rent a DVD of "Metropolis" and relive Chicago as we continue our book tour and photo events in California (and, later, in New York). As I write this a giant redwood tree is staring back at me. So perhaps the theme of our trip is gigantism...

More on Chicago and Paris soon...

"Paris, Paris" Reviewed by ENTREE travel news

It's always a pleasure when an esteemed colleague has fine words to say about one of my little books... in this case, The Little Book That Could... now steaming into its 10th printing...

This is from ENTREE, the insider's travel newsletter:

PARIS, PARIS: JOURNEY INTO THE CITY OF LIGHT IS A critically acclaimed collection of 31 quirky, entertaining, opinionated travel essays about the world’s favorite city by longtime Paris resident David Downie. Part of the prestigious “Armchair Traveler” series at Random House, legendary travel writer Jan Morris calls PARIS, PARIS “perhaps the most evocative American book about Paris since A MOVEABLE FEAST.” The San Francisco Chronicle says it’s “beautifully written and refreshingly original.” The Chicago Tribune notes that “the delightful and insightful essays in PARIS, PARIS “meld history, atmosphere and observations on Paris places, Paris people and Paris phenomena.” Most of all, this easy-to-pack paperback (or e-book) is full of surprises, refreshingly provocative, and hard to put down.

Paris, Paris, Chicago, Chicago, Charlie Trotter's

Larry Stone without bow tie and sommelier pin



Lunch at Charlie Trotter’s in Chicago

Happily jet-lagged and stunned by the sudden heat—about 30 C, meaning in the 80s Fahrenheit—we made our bumbling way across The Windy City to what our hosts, Chicago Gourmets calls “one of the finest restaurants in the world.”

The occasion: 15 years of gourmet adventures organized by Chicago Gourmets, 25 years (almost) for Charlie Trotter’s (he’s about to unhang the shingle), and the unexpected success of the little book that could: the so-far unstoppable Paris, Paris… Plus Alison’s photo show in Chicago.

What Charlie and company did not know and still do not know, given the torrents of words that were spoken (not by us): 2012 is also our big 25th year (mine and Alison’s). That was our “private” reason for celebrating.

Back to Chicago Gourmets and their intro to the luncheon (a bigger word than mere “lunch”): “For over 24 years, the restaurant [Charlie Trotter’s] has dedicated itself to excellence in the culinary arts. Charlie Trotter's Restaurant is innovative and progressive in the world of food and wine and has been instrumental in establishing new standards for fine dining worldwide. Charlie Trotter’s will continue dinner service until August 2012.”

“Innovative and progressive” means many things to many people. The surrealists thought they were innovative and progressive (and maybe they were, who knows?). The modernists did too. Chef Trotter (as his staff prefer to call him—oui chef!) is, it seems to this humble, long-traveled palate, both a modernist and surrealist (and an eclectic, in the New World tradition, which is an odd concept, isn’t it? “Tradition,” “new” and “eclecticism” all in the same sentence? That reminds me of the celebrated “institutionalized avant-garde” of yore, and some of the descriptions of the food we experienced at the luncheon).

But I am straying from the extremely luxurious premises, and the premise of this post, which is, you would like to know what we ate and drank, whether it or they were good (or more than good), what the service was like, whether Chef Trotter smiled or chaffed at the bit, or bit us, threw us out on our ears, etc…

All of the above and none occurred: it may well be that Chef Trotter did not notice we were there. As guests of honor, this was a unique experience: invisibility! Gladly the cheerful and generous and thoroughly professional Don Newcomb, Jim Price et al (there’s “Al” again!) of Chicago Gourmets coddled and toasted us, not that we deserved it… The staff were exemplary, a cross between an English butler and a French maître d’, with a sprinkling of pure Chicago kindness.

Not known to be a man to shy from crowds Chef Trotter was certainly a presence, and we were delighted to have been allowed into his handsome, comfortable and atmospheric establishment. Unlike the food deliveries, we actually entered the front door, were welcomed, and provided with perfect service throughout a 3-hour extravaganza. It reminded me of the Dionysian fetes of old—meaning our days in France and Italy as correspondent and photographer for the glossy magazines of old. Before Internet gutted the “old paradigm” like a fresh tuna…

Which brings me at long last to the menu: First on the multipartite list was charred skipjack—that’s a kind of tuna—with ponzu & fresh fava beans. (Unlikely, surprising, delicious). Reportedly the slivers of the holy tuna we received were carved off a large fish. Some of the jumbo Chicagoans wondered about this, but their remarks were good natured. This was a fine way to stimulate the appetite, as a Parisian guest might say. Bien, très bien.

The vinous match: Cava "L'Hereu-Reserva" Raventos Blanc 2008. Swarming with micro bubbles, light, a good choice (but you’d expect that, given it was chosen by the World’s Best Sommelier, Larry Stone, who was a constant, garrulous and charming companion to all).

Next up: unagi terrine with grapefruit, red curry & Kaffir Lime. The vinous match: Riesling Kabinett "Zeltinger Sonnenuhr" Selbach-Oster, Mosel 2010. I will admit to being taken aback by the exquisite flavor of this seemingly impossible marriage of ingredients (I loathe grapefruit, by the way), and the wine was exceptional. It was as robust as a Riesling can be, without the cloying qualities of some, and the dangers of many.

Part Three: steamed halibut with green almonds, acorn-fed Iberian ham & lemon balm. The halibut was also reportedly a large specimen, though seen through my lens (I zoomed) it must’ve been distorted by the laws of perspective. However, so scrumptious and unexpected were the combinations of flavor, savor, aroma and texture that the tiniest morsel was enough to satisfy us. (Several such morsels would’ve satisfied us too, editor’s note). The nectar: DeLille Cellars "Charleur Estate" Columbia Valley 2009. I remember liking this, very much, but if I were to describe here my description would be mere invention. Somehow the several centimeters of liquid in my glass evaporated before I could form an opinion.

The meat course: Broken Arrow Ranch antelope with toasted espresso, crumbled oats & boudin noir. As all of you know, boudin noir is a black blood sausage, made from pig’s blood. As we jokingly said at the time, the antelope bounded off our plates (one diner observed that gazelles bound, antelopes lope but whether that’s true or not I can’t say). The Rioja "El Puntido" Vinedos de Paganos 2006 was, I can confidently say, a perfect match to the toasted espresso and boudin noir, a true antelope or gazelle of a Spanish red.

Dessert was bipartite: Granny Smith Apple & Greek Yogurt with Pistachio & Tarragon Toffee-Glazed Banana Financier with Candied Hazelnuts, Date Jam & Frothed Pineapple followed by Criollo Cake with Parsnip, Red Wine & Candied Vanilla. This time I’ve left in the Capitals as per the menu.

Again, utterly unexpected, the size of commemorative postage stamps and remarkably successful in a modernist-surrealist vein, both desserts were to die for (though I had no desire to unhang the shingle in that moment).
To accompany these delicacies, whose titles alone make the head swim: Samos "Anthemis" 1999, a sweet Greek wine about which our fearless sommelier told us much… By then this reporter-guest-of-honor was blissfully wandering in a surrealist landscape dotted with modernist constructions, which recalled the surreal, modernist, bizarre cityscape of the Windy City, a great city peopled by startlingly friendly, helpful, and enthusiastic people, most of whom are 7 feet tall. But that’s for another post. Merci Chef Trotter et al, thank you Chicago Gourmets! For more photos: visit my Facebook page and check out the Charlie Trotter album