Food rambles

During December there is an outdoor ice skating rink in front of the Hotel de Ville, which is the town hall. We're going to go tonight after Richard's school - I have already boasted about what a whizz at skating I am, so time to put my €5 where my mouth is. We've planned to have supper at L'as du falafel, which is a fast food restaurant which serves THE FALAFEL OF YOUR DREAMS, it is so delicious, and lovely bowls of frites to go with. Last night I woke up in the middle of the night and starting looking forward to my falafel, and then thought of words which sounded a bit like falafel, and how strange that they all mean similar things - like all thoughts at that hour it seemed fairly important. So tonight, I don't want a pfaff, a kerfuffle, a palaver or a hassle, I just want a falafel. Someone told me this morning that palaver doesn't sound like falafel, but that is clearly just unsupportive.

At the risk of banging on about food a bit, we had a wonderful meal on the weekend. We went with Alex and Lily and a friend of theirs and Richard's from London to a restaurant near the Place d'Italie called Chez Gladine. When we arrived there were hoards of people standing outside in the freezing with plastic cups of vin chaud, and Alex put us on the waiting list. It was utterly packed, I've never been in a restaurant like it, there was no room to move with people standing four deep round the bar and leaning over tables where people were eating. When we sat down and got involved with the menu and watching other people being served we could see why - the prices were cheap and the food was wonderful. HUGE servings of traditional Basque food. We all had ordering anxiety as the menu was hard to decipher, and every time you thought you'd decided some dish was carried past you which made you reassess what a salad or an omelette should be, and you'd start all over. I had duck magret with potatoes and salad and it was wonderful. The service was fast and jolly; you felt that in London it would have been the most stressful job possible, but here the attitude was - you want a table, you'll wait, you'll be crushed, it's worth it, you'll be nice to us or we'll ignore you - and this seemed to work a treat.

On Saturday we visited the local zoo, the menagerie in the nearby Jardin de Plantes. For school Richard needed to decide on an animal to be, so we went along for research. At first he was taken with the cochon d'indes (guinea pigs). There was a big enclosure with low fences full of rabbits and guinea pigs and intruding pigeons. Lots of children keep running up crying "regarde les cochon d'indes les cochon d'indes!" and being really excited, which I thought was touchingly easily pleased of them, and made other inhabitants like the big cats and the orangutans seem a bit de trop.

There is also a good reptile house with small reptiles and amphibians, and a larger one with crocodiles, one of which was apparently found abandoned in a Parisian apartment. (At least, that was his story, doubtless he had eaten his master.) There were four enormous Galapagos tortoises who, according to Philippe, get amourous every day at 5pm. We were there at 4 and Richard was sure one of them was eyeing up the other, but I reckon he was just getting nearer the light. Suddenly I looked up and there was a pair of sloths hanging out on a branch above us. There was no cage for them because I guess for sloths to stage an escape takes about 3 weeks - they go to the loo once a week and that is the only time they go down to the ground. The zoo was started in 1794 so is one of the oldest in the world, and during the Prussian Siege of Paris in 1871, all the animals were eaten by starving Parisians.