Life in Paris

Minor Discovery Explosions Every Day

Adjusting to life in a new home, after almost three decades in the former one, is a minor discovery explosion nearly every day.

For instance, one would think that after reducing belongings significantly and moving what remains here, everything would have its place, nothing would ever be lost. There are no nooks and crannies in a 1934 apartment that has been completely renovated, no “under the stairs,” nor “behind the couch”. In other words, there is no place to hide.

Wrong. Things can get lost anywhere, as we all know from fishing out one sock from the washer when we put in two. I have just spent an inordinate amount of time searching for a book that I know is here but cannot find. I am beginning to believe an invisible genie who loves to read came with the hardwood floors and stylish windows.

And take compost. I’ve always done it, dreading the moment when it was time to turn the steaming mass, which weighed as much as a Sherman tank. Today, I just plunk a biodegradable bag (a requirement) filled with kitchen waste into a receptacle supplied by the city. Thank you, Green Mayor. Of course, getting the filled bags, which are made of spider-web gossamer, from kitchen to compost bin can involve coffee grounds and lettuce leaves all over the sidewalk because the bags start biodegrading the minute they’re put into use. But what is a little stress and quick stepping in the face of contributing to the health of Paris’ gardens? (A Paris garden administrator told me the compost is used in city gardens. Everyone I’ve repeated this to tells me it is a lie, but I choose to believe it).

As someone who thrives on responsibility, I am still basking in the fact that I’m not responsible for every single thing in this building. For instance, the façade is being washed, and I didn’t have to call anyone to set that up. Imagine. It was on the calendar when I signed the papers to become an owner here. All I have to do is observe. And it’s been pretty fun to do that during the four weeks it took to put up the scaffolding because the owner of the neighboring apartment decided he wouldn’t let even one piece of it rest on his terrace. The solution involved city employees, an architect, and a duo of hardy women who represent our building frequently standing in knots outside and looking up. I am so grateful I had nothing to do with it that I made them all cookies.

And now life’s background music is the whooshing of power washers, which sounds bad but isn’t because the work begins at 9, then there is the morning break, lunch break, afternoon break, and stoppage of work by around 5p.m., which amounts to, roughly, two hours of noise.

There is also the simple pleasure of greeting neighbors on the stairs (so far, all pleasant), the kind people who hold the just slightly too narrow door as I manoeuvre my bicycle back to the bicycle shed, the delivery people who seem to love the vintage elevator as much as I do and actually bring a package to the door.

And while I don’t have my charming and productive garden, my window boxes come a close second. I’ve got gorgeously scented roses, thriving basil, sage, flat-leaf parsley, lemon and English thyme, and a bay tree that, though miniature, will soon produce leaves I can tuck into all my dishes. For now, robbing it feels like taking toys from a baby, so I am being patient. As for plate décor, geranium petals take care of that.

And soon, if all of my lobbying works, I will have a small plot in a community garden nearby. I’ve had my eye on this verdant corner for several years and wonder if I chose the apartment just to be part of it, because residence nearby is a criteria for entry. The gardeners meet regularly for poetry readings in the garden. Doesn’t that sound romantic?

Using the herbs in my window boxes has had me playing around with a basil and fava bean pesto that is so good I can hardly stand it. Of course I cannot grow the fava beans, but fortunately a local farmer does, and they are as sweet as garden peas. The recipe is here, for you to play with. Use the nuts you love (just about any variety works), the amounts of garlic and basil you prefer. I think you will love this, find many uses for it, and I hope to hear back from you on that score.

BASIL AND FAVA PESTO

This pesto is somewhat thicker than pesto without fava beans. If you use it on pasta (highly recommended), thin it with either pasta water or olive oil. You can use it as a dip, too for crudités, or serve it as a complement to any roasted meat, poultry, or fish.

1 fat clove garlic, peeled and cut in thirds

10 raw almonds

Large pinch of fine sea salt

4 cups (40g) lightly packed basil leaves

1/3 to ½ cup (75-125ml) olive oil

¼ cup peeled fava beans (from about 20 fava pods)

Pinch of piment d’Espelette -- optional

1. Place the garlic and the almonds in a food processor fit with a steel blade and pulse several times. Add the salt and continue pulsing until the garlic and almonds are finely ground. Add half the basil leaves and pulse until they are coarsely chopped, then add the remaining basil leaves and pulse until the mixture is combined and the leaves are coarsely ground. Slowly add the oil, and continue pulsing until you have a lovely, homogeneous purée which is the thickness and texture you prefer. Add the fava beans and pulse until they are ground and the mixture has thickened. Season to taste with salt (you can add some piment d’Espelette, too, if you want a tiny bit of heat), and add more oil if necessary to achieve the texture you prefer.

Generous ¾ cup (185ml) pesto