The other night, I had dinner with my buddy Chris Clarey (his columns in the International Herald-Tribune are must reading) at a fine Parisian restaurant, Le Flandrin, where I had a sautéed calamari appetizer and Risotto Aux Champignon, which I figured out was Champion’s Rice – ever notice how a few days in a country and you can actually start to figure out the language?
Anyway, they screwed it up – they bought me this stuff that was all sticky and it had little pieces of mushroom in it!
After that culinary adventure, my homing instincts became overpowering and a voice deep within me grew more and more insistent: Pizza, it called out, pizza, pizza. . .
So last night I ended up at the Pizza de Auteuil, where I had a nice salad and Neopolitan pizza with lots of anchovies (they're pretty good if you put enough salt on them. I was waiting for Chris and Matt and a few others. A French couple was seated next to me, and when the guy fired up a Marlboro Light I asked him to put it out. He took a swing at me and . . .
Just kidding.
We struck up a conversation. They were Frederic, a dealer in Art Deco objects, and media consultant Katherine, celebrating their one-month anniversary together. We got to talking and had a really pleasant time. They poured me a glass of their most excellent rosé (here’s a tip from International Bon Vivant Pete: Rosé, so frowned upon by arrivistes as a wine for the screw-top crowd, is a great fave of the cognoscenti).
I smoked one of Fred’s Marlboros and we finished things off with a few rounds of Grappa. They were a very sweet couple of abundant humor and wit. They’re regulars at the joint, and if I seem them again, I’m going to invite them to the farm, preferably during the Delaware County fair, so I can take them to their first demolition derby, or the barrel racing and team penning events.
This morning was nice and quiet; I strolled over to the site early, because a small group of us, including my long-time friend Alain Deflassieux of L’Equipe (that’s French for “Equipment” – see how easy it is?) Lisa Dillman of the LA Times and Doug Robson of USA Today (two of the best and most astute tennis writers around) were offered a sit-down with Nicole Vaidisova (I’ll post on her later).
The best time of day in a European city, I think, is early morning, when the shopkeepers are out sweeping the sidewalks, the small groceries are taking deliveries and stocking their displays for the day, and early risers are already sitting in cafes, drinking café au lait and reading papers, including L’Equipe (or, The Equipment.
So I'm gettin adjusted and finding my Paris groove quite nicely, folks. Must be the showerhead!
P.S. to Ruth: Your kids are smart. Those nominally water saving devices in the showerhead are called “flow restrictors.” Taking them out is the first thing you need to do if you ever want to actually get wet when you shower.
P.S. to Lanterne Rouge and others who have asked: This transcript issue is really bizarre. Jamie Morrocco, our man at ASAP, says that the FFT forbids them posting or even archiving the transcripts. Also, the FFT doesn’t even archive the transcripts, which most of us in the press room were fairly stunned to learn. We’re going to try to remedy that situation, but I can’t imagine anything will change in the next few days. Oh, it also appears that the FFT posts transcripts in English at its discretion, so if you’re looking for a specific one, it may not even be posted. Another puzzling decision.