Bonnes Vacances!

    With only 1 paid day off left for the year, I find myself thinking about the fact that the French have one of the most liberal paid time off structures of any country. My previous job offered 2 weeks of vacation after 1 year of service, and 3 weeks after 5 years. If you hung in there, you could make it to the 4 week level after 10 years. In my current position I have reached the 3 week a year plan, which is the max. And now, I am left with only one day to last me 4 months. How did that happen?

    I know I may run the risk of sounding a bit lazy in this post. It’s not that I am unwilling to work. I have always worked, since the age of 15. And I do realize that if I didn’t have a job to go to, I would likely while away the days watching HGTV, reading magazines and eating. I’d like to think I’d use the free time to walk the dogs, get to those as of yet undetermined home improvement projects, cook, clean, play housewife…but I know these are foolish pipe dreams. It would be me laying on the couch with a pint of Haagen Dazs, watching others tackle DIY projects for hours on end and worrying over my zero bank account.

    So work is a necessary evil, and I am indeed grateful to have a job in these difficult times. But that does not diminish my firm belief in life balance, in leisure time, in time to grow personally -without it being during those few fatigued hours after the workday is done, or squeezed into the hustle and bustle of the weekends.

    The French and I are apparently on the same wavelength. According to an article in The World Post last August, the French are guaranteed 31 vacation days a year. In fact, August usually begins vacation season in France, Spain and Italy, where many businesses and stores close down for the entire month.

    Sadly, the U.S. is one of the few countries where full-time employees are not guaranteed any paid time off…AT ALL. And according to the aforementioned article, 1 in 4 full-time U.S. workers receives none. I am proud to be a U.S. Citizen and wouldn’t want to live anywhere else in the world, but these statistics disturb me, especially considering all the stress-related health conditions we Americans suffer in the absence of relaxation. Heart disease is lower in France – is this a coincidence?

    So I’ll compromise…I’ll accept a minimum of 4 weeks paid vacation for all of us full-time employees. Take a week to spring clean the house, another to visit with and help the family, and a solid two weeks to completely unwind and recharge your battery, preferably high in the mountains or on a white sandy beach. (And no, vacation time should NOT be used when you are sick – those are sick days and a whole other animal…) Maybe I’m just a poor multi-tasker who can’t manage to do any of the above at the same time but I don’t know – reading Martha Stewart Living while watching Bath Crashers and eating my way through a pint of Chocolate Almond seems to come pretty easy…

Les Choses Douces

Sweet things…croissants, flan, macarons, tartes, mousse…The French have been more than generous in their culinary contributions, specifically pastries, cookies, breads and cakes. One of the simplest yet most exquisite tastes is that of a freshly baked baguette wrapped in brown paper and paired with a hot, steamy cafe au lait. Pittsburgh has three exquisite French bakeries, each of which has a different style and feel.

Jean-Marc Chattellier’s French Bakery – When my husband and I had our first apartment in Millvale, we lived three blocks from this simple, family-run bakery. The unassuming storefront was the portal into my first experience in authentic French pâtisseries. The proprietor has lived the U.S.since 1983, travelling from a small town in Brittany, and is a third generation baker. He specializes in macarons, the traditional meringue-based cookie, as well as breton cake and “buchta”, a nut or poppy seed roll. My personal favorite is the Kouign Amann. Unlike the wildly popular “CroNut” that hit the American baking headlines a couple of years ago, the Kouign Amann is baked, not fried, and much more delicious. It is made with all butter, no oil (need I say more?) but still has a crispy, fried quality on the outside. The inside, however, is soft and sweet and crossiant-like. But with much more butter and sugar. (Again…need I say more?)

La Gourmandine – When La Gourmandine opened a few years ago in Lawrenceville, the hipsters lined up. Owned by Fabien and Lisanne Moreau, also native French folks, the sign outside is a deep chocolate brown, with gold inlay and a beautiful, swirling cursive “G”…The sign is perfect branding for the divine pastries within – luscious chocolate-layered opera cake, tortes with edible gold filigree on top, the supremely thick, rich custard of the flan. Freshly baked baguettes are available daily and their homemade sandwiches offer a lunch option, too. My biggest issue is their hours of operation – I often want to stop on a Friday after work to pick up dessert and they close at 4:30, so I rarely make it. I’ve also found them to be out of product by the time I get there, but I guess that is the price paid for freshness. And don’t go by on a Saturday morning unless you are prepared to wait in a line down the block.

Gaby et Jules – The newest of the French bakeries, Gaby et Jules is modern, sleek and the most upscale of the three. Owned by French ex-pats Fred and Lori Rongier, the proprietors of local French restaurant Paris 66, it’s slick, glossy red storefront is emblazoned with shiny silver lettering and high glass windows with a view inside. The L-shaped marble counter leads you past dozens of artistically designed pastries, created by famous pastry chef David Piquard. The deep pinks, oranges, greens and golds of the plump fruits are most sensuous. The decorations are elaborate  – edible bows, ribbons and jewels, delicately painted images – I nearly didn’t want to eat my opera cake – it was too beautiful. But I did, and it was magnifique.  Gaby et Jules is the most expensive of these bakeries, and for my money I would patronize Jean Marc or La Gourmandine, equally as tasty. But if you are looking to impress at a dinner party, Gaby et Jules is the way to do it, their designs worth every cent.

I know of no city as blessed as Pittsburgh for traditional family-run bakeries – French or otherwise. In focusing on the French establishments, please be aware I am not in any way discounting the burnt almond torte at Prantl’s, the blueberry pie at Pastries a la Carte, or the nearly perfect cupcakes and birthday cakes at the Oakmont Bakery (try their “Oakmonter” – its layers of chocolate cake, fudge, and cheesecake are heavenly). Even the locally-based supermarket Giant Eagle has some decent baked goods, especially at their Market District locations.

I have claimed in the past to not have much of a sweet tooth, being more of a salty-snack kind of gal, but the pâtisseries of Pittsburgh, I must say, have changed that. With each slice of flan, each piece of opera cake, each exotically flavored macaron, I become more and more a believer.

Les Chiens

 

Two great loves that the French and I share are dogs and good food. The former holds such a precious and integral place in my life that I wish Pittsburgh (and the U.S. in general) had a more welcoming attitude toward our canine families.

Don’t get me wrong – we Americans love our pooches. Otherwise, how would you account for the success of premium organic dog food and treats, expensive and exclusive doggy salons, lines of high-end apparel and toys? How would you explain the approximately $61 billion that we spend on our pets a year in this country alone?

My dogs are my children. I feed them, play with them, lavish them with baisers and put them to bed at night. They are eternal toddlers who rely on me for their well-being and happiness, as I rely on them for mine.

I have two dogs – a Border Terrier named Ozzie and a Puggle named Gaby. The summer months are filled with adventure for us – we frequent the city’s many gorgeous parks, walk under canopies of trees through different area neighborhoods, play in the backyard. They have a wading pool – a plastic purple kiddie pool that we splash around in on the back porch – and at the end of the summer some of the local pools allow dogs to dive in at the end of the season, before the water is drained. We’ve taken them to Pup Nights at PNC Park, where they can join other dog-fans in a designated area and enjoy a Bucs game.

When Old Man Winter arrives in the Burgh each year, he plants his feet and hunkers down for a nice long visit. Our walks become shorter and less frequent. More trips to doggie daycare ensue, two of our favorites being K-9 Kingdom in Wexford and The Dog Stop on Washington Blvd. But, the places you can take a dog indoors are few and far between.

Not so in France. Most restaurants welcome dogs (albeit well-behaved ones) – they can sit on the floor by your table or curl up in a lap or nearby chair. Hotels are much more accepting of canine travel companions – one that I would like to check out is Hostellerie La Farandole on the Cote d’Azur (my wildly active fantasy life, at it again…) You may not be able to take your pup into the Louvre, but some attractions will allow your dog to join you – Tuileries Garden, Jardin du Luxembourg and Jardin du Palais Royal to name a few.

Some neighborhoods in the ‘Burgh are becoming increasingly dog-friendly, specifically Shadyside. Many of the cafes and shops open their doors to dogs, and the neighborhood hosts several events benefiting animal welfare, including the annual Bark Shadyside Pup Walk. Check out Bark Shadyside! for more details on doggie-friendly establishments and events.

Right now my fur-babies and I are happy – tails are definitely wagging since the weather has broken and sunny skies are (sometimes) here again. Spring can be a rainy season and we do have raincoats, but we don’t like them very much…

We have several months of four-legged fun ahead of us, until the cold freeze returns.  But maybe one day we’ll escape the brutal Pittsburgh winter and take that trip across the pond. We’ll enjoy a hot, frothy cappuccino as we gaze out a cafe window at the City of Light, seen through a curtain of softly falling snow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Espoir Le Long de la Rivière Allegheny

 

Anyone who loves baseball has surely heard the expression “Hope springs eternal…” The expression comes from “An Essay on Man” by Alexander Pope:

 

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast;

Man never Is, but always To be blest.

The soul, uneasy, and confin’d from home,

Rests and expatiates in a life to come.”

 

With the Pirates home opener upon us, we have reason this year, in fact, to hope. One of the few things I thank my first husband for is my love of baseball – one of our first dates was to a game at Three Rivers Stadium, before it was demolished to make way for the perfect American ballpark at PNC. I stood with him on the top of Mount Washington the morning that Three Rivers was imploded in 2001, along with a couple of dozen fellow mourners. On that morning, I don’t know if any of us could foresee a bright future amidst all the rubble and smoke or dare to hope for a team that would ever have a winning season again.

The longest losing streak in the history of baseball (20 consecutive losing seasons) was broken last year, when the Bucs ended the season 94-68. We cheered, we danced in the streets, we popped champagne  (to the dismay of many in the baseball world). Hope had sprung through and flooded the city again – the ice on the river had broken.

In France, you would be hard-pressed to find a baseball game with more than 20 or so spectators. A lot of Americans don’t even know they play the game in France, where soccer is the dominating spectator sport. There is a league, however, played by men who spend their weekdays working paying jobs and then devote themselves to baseball on the weekends, mainly playing double-headers to tiny crowds of mostly friends and family. They play with passion regardless of any respect or earthly reward.

We Pirates fans can relate to this, relatively speaking. Many of the last games at Three Rivers posted attendance in the 10,000 – 15,000 range, in a park that held approximately 50,000 people. Things improved in the new park, but many of the “fans” were just there to shoot the breeze with their friends, enjoy the glorious view, eat nachos drowning in synthetic cheese, and maybe have a few too many $9.00 brews.

But this new winning team has changed things. I had the extreme pleasure of going to a play-off game last season, and never have I been in any sports arena where the excitement was palpable, where I could feel the hope bursting from the fans like a geyser. I witnessed “joie de vivre” as I never had before.

We lost that day, but we won in so many ways last season. We will not be ridiculed this year, the die hard fans will not be casually tossed aside like jilted lovers. I will not be going to the opener tomorrow as tickets are scarce – and should I dare say coveted – but I will take my traditional half day off from work and watch it somewhere, with the other less fortunate hopers and dreamers. This is our baseball life to come – it may not be eternal, but we will live it…and love it…for now.

 

 

 

City of Bridges, City of Light

One of my dreams has always been to visit Paris. The artists past and present that have been inspired by it intrigue me – Hemingway, Picasso, Monet, Fitzgerald. The city beckons to me, tempting me to join their ranks. I will read any book or article about Paris. I will watch any movie or documentary about it (not just romance titles – spy thrillers, historical accounts, animated features, Julia Child cooking shows) – set it in Paris and I am there, if not in body then in soul, sipping a hot coffee in a sidewalk cafe.

Friends and family are quite aware of my infatuation…some encourage me to visit someday, some just smile at my wishful thinking, some buy me French-themed gifts, a few make rude comments about the French. A frequent question is “Why travel overseas when there are so many remarkable places to see in our own country?”

The last question used to confound me and almost shame me, as though I were an adulteress – yes, there are many places in the U.S I would like to see! My husband and I fantasize about traveling from shore to shore in an RV someday, in the tradition of his parents, who spent their retirement canvassing the country. I have never been to Washington State, Oregon, Louisiana, Hawaii, Alaska…I will make it to these places, too. But none hold the same allure for me as the City of Light.

I read recently that my hometown of Pittsburgh is dubbed the “Paris of Appalachia”. Like my infatuation with Paris, my enduring affection for Pittsburgh is no secret. I love its golden bridges, its winding rivers, the brightly-lit skyline opening up when you turn the bend into town at twilight. I have made its teams my teams, spending many an afternoon basking in the sun of PNC Park. Pittsburgh is a community of small towns stitched together like the unique patches of a warm, comforting quilt. As cities go, it is my first love…it is home.

But still, I long to make my love affair with Paris real.

So, in the spirit of all great love triangles, I am writing this blog as an homage to the city I know will always be mine…and a city that I imagine is waiting to be loved by me.