"A Light exists in Spring"

Two incredible things happened today: I saw Gérard Depardieu and the sun shone for (almost) the entire day.

As I was leaving my favorite overpriced produce store (five euros a pound for...apples?  I permit myself this luxury because these apples are literally nirvana embodied in a fruit), my spirits were much higher than usual for a number of reasons.  First, the aforementioned sun had made an unexpected appearance; second, Stevie Wonder's "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" had come on my iPod, which not only improved my metro ride immensely but also reminded me that my country has a president who can dance (I'd like to see Sarkozy shake his booty.  On second thought, I take that back...).  In any event, I'm innocently strolling past the neighborhood cheese-monger, nirvana-apples in hand, when I pass by a rather plump Frenchman whose hair is unbelievably shiny.  "Well somebody used a deep-conditioning hair mask this morning," I thought to myself when, tout d'un coup, I notice that enormous nose!  I turn around suddenly, almost mauling a patron of the cheese-monger, and realize that the somebody is in fact Gérard Depardieu!  A few of the other commoners have noticed him, but no one is making a big deal (Parisians are similar to New Yorkers in that they consider themselves far too cool to be caught fawning over a movie star).  I stare for a minute.  His hair continues to shine.  His belly and nose continue to protrude.  He's surprisingly handsome for an old fat guy (let's call a spade a spade).  Then he hops on his motorcycle and is gone.  Sigh.

But let's return to the weather, one of my preferred subjects (oh dear: I fear the nirvana-apple does not fall far from the tree).  When the sun comes out in Paris, at least during the winter months, the natives become somewhat perplexed.  The reaction is somewhat similar to that of Louise (one of the beloved family dogs) when placed in front of a mirror.  She takes one look at her own fuzzy face, screws up her beady eyes, becomes swiftly disoriented, and then begins to howl with fury at the appearance of this intruder.  Of course, the Parisians are thrilled--rather than furious--at the emergence of the sun, but only slightly less disoriented.  We all emerge, squinting and blinded, from the dark tunnels of the metro.  It may be the same metro station we frequent every day, and yet the street will look oddly different, and we will wonder if perhaps we have made a mistake.  But no!  That's just the effect of over-dilated pupils (the result of living, for months, in the gloom of an hivernal Paris sky) being exposed to a sudden influx of light!

But science aside, the city really does take on a vastly different sheen when the sun comes out.  I had always heard that "Paris in the springtime" was dazzling, lovely, romantic, swoon-worthy.  I thought--having only seen Paris during the three other seasons--that everybody was probably exaggerating, just as they usually exaggerate about French cuisine.  I agree that French food can be fabulous--though it must be said that I have had more than a few unremarkable meals in Parisian bistros.  By contrast, there is nothing unremarkable about the appearance of sunlight after an obnoxiously long winter.  As the French would say, "J'ai fait wow!"  Everyone uncurls from inside their enormous scarves and voluminous coats.  I've noticed the smell: there is a hint of something soft and sweet--doux is really the mot juste--lingering on the edge of the breeze.  It's more of an undercurrent; your nose catches a whiff of it but before you can inhale, it's slipped away.  If you seek them out, you won't find the traces of Spring that are beginning to pop up.  They must be stumbled on accidently, rather like my glimpse of Mr. Depardieu.

And we are laughing.  I have spent the better part of the last three days giggling, howling, occasionally roaring with laughter.  There was my friend Mario's dinner party on Saturday night.  He cooked a delicious three-course meal, and all the guests chipped in with bread, cheese, wine, salad, and dessert.  In spite of the refined nature of the event, we were all laughing like maniacs before the first bottle of wine was finished.  You can imagine the raucous exuberance that ensued after bottle number three.  Suffice it to say that, by the end of the party, more than a few of us were rolling on the floor, giggling at a joke we couldn't even remember.  And then I ate crêpes with my friend Alex at midnight on Sunday.  Yes, I had class at 8am the next day.  Yes, they gave me a nutella crêpe instead of butter, sugar, and cinnamon.  And I have no idea what was so funny.  But I suspect it has something to do with that sweet perfume trailing the winter gusts.  Even in the Fnac--the Office Depot par excellence--while Quentin and I waited for almost an hour to exchange some speakers I bought, we were uncontrollably snickering under our breath like kids who can't stop laughing in the middle of the symphony (the French people in the exchange-waiting-area, which has the ambiance of the DMV, gave us dirty looks at first; then we made friends with the monsieur sitting next to us, whose sister lives in Pasadena!...I seem to attract Californians and Long Islanders wherever I go).

Though I will no doubt sound horribly pretentious, I must use this opportunity to share a delightful combination Mario discovered.  He mentioned to me that he had tasted some cheese--though he didn't remember its name--that went extraordinarily well with black cherry jam.  So off I went to my neighborhood fromagerie, whereupon I saw Gerard Depardieu, and asked for a cheese that would compliment black cherry jam.  I was given a salty yet soft brebis; the fromagère then convinced me to take some camembert; I was about to leave when he said, "Mademoiselle, I absolutely cannot let you leave without tasting our comté," and so I left with a sliver of that too.  So I'm no Julia Child; nonetheless, voilà:

Buy a loaf of fresh pain de campagne (preferably from a French baker and not from Safeway)

Pick up some black cherry jam (I suggest English brands; the know their jam from their jelly)

Go to a cheese shop and ask to sample their brebis; buy whichever tastes best

Here's the easy part: cut a slice of bread, smear with jam, add a slice of brebis on top et voilà!  Delightful.

So, in closing, I leave you with a Emily Dickinson poem.  This poem manages to describe Spring in its loveliness, but without all the obnoxious fluff (like bunnies and rainbows).  Moreover, the fact that even Emily Dickinson can strike a lighthearted note speaks volumes for the power and joyfulness of Spring.

A Light exists in Spring

Not present on the Year

At any other period --

When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad

On Solitary Fields

That Science cannot overtake

But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,

It shows the furthest Tree

Upon the furthest Slope you know

It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step

Or Noons report away

Without the Formula of sound

It passes and we stay --

A quality of loss

Affecting our Content

As Trade had suddenly encroached

Upon a Sacrament.

Well, gros bisous my rosy-cheeked cherubs.  I hope Spring is beginning to appear chez vous as well.