Redstone Rendez-Vous

Redstone Inn:  One of Colorado's Best-Kept Secrets

Redstone Inn: One of Colorado’s Best-Kept Secrets

After having been away a month, I couldn’t wait to get back to Telluride.  I just wanted to sleep in my own bed with my two kitties and bury myself into the quiet of my little mountain nest.  The drive from Denver to T-ride is about seven hours and since I’m not much of a car person, I like to break it up with a stop at my brother David’s house.  He and his wife, Geri, live in Redstone, Colorado, a charming little town very much at the halfway point of my Denver/Telluride journey.  Normally I would stay overnight, giving us plenty of time to catch up; but the three of us were rather pressed for time, so they suggested we lunch at the Redstone Inn instead.

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More LoDo Love

Larimer Square in Denver's Lower Downtown

Larimer Square (photo courtesy of DMCVB)

My late-August jaunt was such a flash trip to Denver that I didn’t have time to hit my favorite haunts, most of which are located in LoDo, Denver’s historic Lower Downtown, a 26-block area between the main part of downtown and Union Station.  This section is fun to explore by foot so that you can best take in its abundance of high western Victorian buildings, many of which house interesting stores, art galleries, restaurants, bars and hotels.

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16 Sep 2008, 12:29pm
Colorado Denver Restaurants Romance & Relationships Shopping Travel:
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Night Out in Denver

I love visiting a place when it’s in the throes of a big happening.  It couldn’t have gotten much bigger recently in Denver during the Democratic National Convention.  The streets were buzzing with all kinds of people from all over the country, all over the world, in fact.  I had never seen so many fashionable looking people in the mile high city—the old cow town myth has certainly been put to rest!

After a short while though I was feeling rather alone in the crowd.  So I went and sought comfort at Tattered Cover, one of my all-time favorite bookstores and certainly one of the finest book emporiums in our country.  Their LoDo, or Lower Downtown, location pleases me the best; this worked out well since that’s the area where most of the Convention hoopla was taking place.

Fortunately just as I was beginning to tire from checking my e-mails from my cozy armchair at this most welcoming bookstore, I received a call from David Craig, General Manager of Hotel Teatro, Denver’s award-winning boutique hotel.  It was time for some distraction and I was more than willing to receive it from this charming man, certainly one of Denver’s most eligible bachelors.

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Adirondack Day Trip

On the Road to Paradise

On the Road to Paradise

It’s actually pretty hard to do a day trip to the Adirondack Park, the largest protected area in America as big as the Grand Canyon, Glacier, Yellowstone, Yosemite and Great Smoky Mountains National Parks combined. It’s also the largest National Historic Landmark in the country, yet much of the land within the Adirondack Park is privately owned including small towns, hamlets and islands.  This impressive land mass—totally void of a real city—is in the middle of nowhere.  But it is within driving distance of some 80 million people, so don’t expect to be completely alone in the woods.  Although that can easily happen, too.

Lake Placid, the town (and, of course, lake) that to me represents the heart of the Adirondacks, is a two-hour drive from Albany and Montreal and a five-hour drive from New York City and Boston.  (Although it’s only thirty minutes from I-87, also known as The Northway, if you forego the most scenic route.) The Park contains the Adirondack mountain range, some of the oldest mountains in America, verdant and thickly forested and best typified by a blue-green body of crystal clear water at their base.  The High Peaks, the most formidable mountains of the Adirondacks, are located near Lake Placid which is largely why this resort town became such a hub for athleticism and outdoor activities.  I find the history, culture and arts and crafts of the region to be immensely rich here as well, so that’s usually where I focus most of my attention whenever I venture into this part of the Adirondack Park.

I was stationed for a while at my parents’ summer home on Lake George, a thirty-two mile-long slice of spring-fed, glacier melt that borders the Adirondack Park to the southeast.  And even from there, a day trip into the heart of the Adirondacks represented some doing.  But my mom was always up for an adventure, a more than willing driver that loves to see new sites and revisit old ones.  So I only had to don my tour director’s cap and off we went.  It was a momentous occasion of sorts since my dad was joining us and as we commented halfway through the day, it was indeed the first time the three of us embarked upon a road trip together.  (In fact my love for places of tradition and charm grew out of jaunts to Vermont country stores and such with my mother when I was a young girl.  Dad was usually off working then and unavailable to join in our fun.)We drove the Northway a couple of exits up from Lake George and got off the highway to pick up Route 28 at Warrensburg, a sleepy little town peppered with antique stores.  I remembered when I bought a whole set of wicker porch furniture from one of the dealers for a song.

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My Saratoga

Batcheller Mansion: A Fine Example of Victorian Architecture

Batcheller Mansion: A Victorian Gem

“You can either go to the Carousel or the Adelphi,” my mother said.  “But we’re not doing both.”  

It was amazing how even at the age of blankety-blank my mom could still make me feel like a child.  It’s a good thing we were such buddies, such devoted travel companions that she could get away with a remark like that and still leave me feeling totally unscathed.  This was our afternoon out in Saratoga Springs, a beloved town for all upstate New Yorkers, but perhaps even more so for me since I had lived here at one point in my life.  (It also happens to rate as one of the top destinations in New York state along with New York City and Niagara Falls.)

The truth is that I didn’t arrive in Telluride directly from Paris.  Toga-town captured my interest in between and I will always reserve a soft place for it in my heart.  It is a grand destination, distinguished largely by its hometown America charm and pristine and abundant examples of Victorian architecture.  Visitors have been flocking to Saratoga Springs for more than a century and a half, first for its mineral waters, later for its gaming.  Tourism has always been a big industry here, particularly in the summer when the town opens up the Saratoga Racetrack, the oldest thoroughbred race course in the country, along with the Saratoga Performing Arts Center, or SPAC, summer home of the New York City Ballet and the Philadelphia Orchestra.

Mom and I needed to go on one of our outings for it had been a while since we had experienced the kind of female bonding that best occurs over doing lunch, shopping or going for some kind of beautification together.  I was back east in the Adirondacks visiting my parents, so nearby Saratoga Springs, a town sometimes referred to as the gateway to the Adirondacks, seemed like the most logical choice.  Plus my mother and I wanted to go see Alan, my mother’s hair dresser of nearly forty years who works out of Saratoga part-time.  I planned our afternoon around our beauty appointments and except for lunch, I thought I’d leave the rest to chance.  Dad was to come along, too, a welcome addition to my well established dynamic with my mother, so I imagined there might be some kind of an attraction he would vie for as well.

 

Pastries from Mrs. London's

Pastries from Mrs. London’s

We made a direct beeline to Mrs. London’s, a lovely tea salon/bake shop that would easily rival Paris’s finest Right Bank pâtisseries.  I wanted to have a belated birthday celebration for my mom and I knew that Mrs. London’s was as much a favorite for her as for me.  The three of us sat primly at little marble tables, sipping iced tea and munching on delectable sandwiches.  We took turns hovering in front of the glass display cases, eyeing each and every pastry and cake in an attempt to make our selection for dessert.  We settled on the idea of sharing one luscious lemon meringue tarte amongst the three of us.  But at the same time, we ordered a pain au chocolat, a kouign amann (a buttery specialty from Brittany) and a rich, dark brownie to go.  

Edible Art

Edible Art

We also selected a Fire Bread, the creation for which Michael London, owner of Mrs. London’s with his wife, Wendy, is perhaps most famous.  This is a dense, crusty bread similar to France’s renowned pain Poîlane, which to me is best in the morning, toasted and smothered with butter and honey.

At Alan’s, I was fully debriefed on the current dining scene in Saratoga, one that can change as fast as the odds on a horse race.  (Fortunately only a couple of my favorites were scratched!)  Alan is a trusted source since not only is he a hairdresser, but he’s also a foodie.  Dad sat reading the sports pages throughout our discussions and blow dries.

Mom and I left nicely primped and decidedly eager to go somewhere to show it off.  Dad bestowed us with much appreciated compliments and told us that he didn’t care where we went next.  We contemplated shopping since Saratoga is known for its many quaint shops but none of us needed anything.  It was at that point that I envisioned a ride on the old-fashioned, wooden carousel in historic Congress Park (perhaps proceeded by a stroll through its beautifully manicured grounds), followed by a drink at the Adelphi, Saratoga’s landmark hotel.  

Riding the Carousel in My Dreams

Riding the Carousel in My Dreams

I had done pretty much all there is to do in Saratoga when I lived here except take a ride on the carousel.  (Although I had read a lot about its impending arrival, this revered treasure—which is now enclosed in glass—hadn’t been transplanted here until after I left town.)  My romantic notion of twirling on the carousel alongside my aging parents withered when confronted with the choice my mother presented to me.  I have a huge weakness for fine hotels and the Adelphi ranks among the most distinctive I know, so going there would, of course, be my first choice.  Be sure to visit Congress Park, however, when you’re in Saratoga since every acre of it has been laid out with great purpose and design.  The Saratoga Springs History Museum, housed in the famed Canfield Casino (which you can sometimes tour), sits right in the center of this handsome tract of land.

The three of us padded into the hotel and I was delighted to see that not much had changed since I last spent time here many years ago.  Actually I don’t think the hotel has undergone many significant restorations within the past one hundred years.  And to me, this worn and tired look only adds to its charm.  We wandered through the Victorian-era lobby, decorated with velvet settees and rich wallpaper and paused just long enough in the bar area to admire the room’s painted murals and fine spread of fruit, cheese and desserts including blackberry pie and carrot cake.  Already I felt like this was one of the last bastions of civility left in Saratoga, an elegant retreat that furnished the necessary accompaniments to both a glass of wine and a cup of tea.  

Lobby of The Adelphi

Lobby of the Adelphi

I was leading my parents toward the courtyard patio, a marvelous oasis populated with large and lush exotic plants and forest green Adirondack chairs.  I could remember seeing long, lithe ballet dancers draped over these chairs after an evening’s performance, but ballet season (July) had ended and most of the crowd seemed to consist of the horsey set that takes over in August.  We had passed a couple of garden rooms on our way out here, each one more prettily decorated than the next.  In the end, we settled for the open-air Courtyard Café where we could sit surrounded by dark green latticework trellises, gaze out onto the patio and listen to the trickle of their garden fountains.  

High Drama at the Adelphi Bar

High Drama at the Adelphi Bar

We sipped fresh fruit daiquiris and chatted about “our old days” in Saratoga.  We all had enjoyed doing a day at the races from time to time, especially if it meant dressing up and languishing over a long lunch at the clubhouse.  My dad talked about a poached salmon plate that he found particularly memorable.  All of us went more for the show and the fun of it than for the gambling.  With its two-storied grandstand, its cascading flower boxes, its supremely maintained grounds and racetracks, complete with a little lake in the center upon which floats a canoe bearing the colors of the stable that won the famous Travers race the year before, one was easily taken with the beauty of this historic landmark.  And then, of course, the magnificent thoroughbred horses, the jockeys dressed in brightly-colored silks and the crowd sporting everything from shorts and T-shirts to flouncy dresses and hats, provided a whole other source of entertainment.  

Reminiscing about this was bitter sweet.  I was quite sure my dad would never return to the races since clearly he felt more comfortable in less hectic surroundings these days.   (Even Mrs. London’s was a tad too noisy for him.)  We had talked about going to have breakfast at the track, one of my all-time favorite things to do in Saratoga where you can watch the horses train early in the morning and also take a stable tour and learn about the history behind this American institution.  (Founded in 1864, the Saratoga Racetrack perpetuates a long tradition of horse culture in the region through the actual races, the horse sales and the horse farms situated throughout the outlying area.)  In the end, Dad and I decided to postpone our date for breakfast at the track until next year.

Saratoga Summer Elegance

Saratoga Summer Elegance

We glanced over at the table next to us and admired a small group of fashionable people that had clearly just come from the track.  We could hear them bemoaning their losses and celebrating their victories over Martinis and large pots of Darjeeling.  Indeed it was the time of day when teatime and cocktail hour blurred into one.  I sensed that my parents were feeling somewhat wistful about missing out on this great Saratoga tradition of attending the races, world-famous meets held here but six weeks every summer.  I reminded them, however, that delighting in a fine hotel could be considered an even older tradition in Saratoga, especially since virtually all of them—some of the grandest in America—had long ago been torn down.  Thank goodness the Adelphi remained and amidst its tattered coverings, one could easily gain a whiff of Old Saratoga.  

Saratoga Springs is about a 45-minute drive north of Albany International airport.

Saratoga Racetrack, www.nyra.com/saratoga

National Museum of Racing and Hall of Fame, www.racingmuseum.org

Saratoga Performing Arts Center, www.spac.org

Mrs. London’s, 464 Broadway, 518-581-1834, www.mrslondons.com

Alan at Limelight Salon of Saratoga, 24 Hamilton Street, 518-580-1007

Saratoga Springs History Museum, Congress Park, 518-584-6920, www.saratogahistory.org

Adelphi Hotel, 365 Broadway, 518-587-4688, www.adelphihotel.com

More of My Favorite Restaurants and Cafés in Saratoga

Caffe Lena, 47 Phila Street, 518-583-0022, www.caffelena.org; folk music and more.

Chez Sophie, 534 Broadway, 518-583-3538, www.chezsophie.com; fine cuisine in a sophisticated setting.

Chiante Il Ristorante, 18 Division Street, 518-580-0025, www.chiantiristorante.com; wonderful Italian restaurant with a happening bar.

Circus Café, 392 Broadway, 518-583-1106, www.circuscafe.com; casual dining served up in a Big Top setting—a must for kids.

Country Corner Café, 25 Church Street, 518-583-7889, www.saratoga.org/countrycornercafé; great place for breakfast if you can find a seat!

Four Seasons Natural Foods, 33 Phila Street, 518-584-4670; www.fourseasonsnaturalfoods.com; a favorite for healthy food and products both to enjoy here or to go.  I would often eat here with Mana, my yoga instructor, whom I ran into recently at their outdoor seating. Enquire about her here if you want to experience one of the best yoga classes ever!

Lime, 7 Caroline Street, 518-584-4315, www.limesaratoga.com; fun Caribbean food.

Sperry’s, 30 1/2 Caroline Street, 518-584-9618, www.sperrysofsaratoga.com; a Saratoga classic.

My Old Shopping Haunts

De Jonghe Jewelers, 470 Broadway, 518-587-6422, www.dejonghejewelry.com; original designs of the finest quality.

Lyrical Ballad, 7 Phila Street, 518-584-8779, lballad@nycap.rr.com; seller of rare and extraordinary books and prints.

Menges & Curtis Apothecary, 472 Broadway, 518-584-2046, www.mengesandcurtis.com; quality beauty products and gift ideas in an Old World setting.

Putnam Street Market Place, 433 Broadway, 518-587-3663; www.putnammarket.com; fine comestibles and wine, including delightful dishes to go.

Saratoga Shoe Depot, 365 Broadway, 518-584-1142, www.saratogashoedepot.com; shoes, accessories and clothing for all as well as a plethora of gifts—all at discounted prices.

Saratoga Trunk, 493 Broadway, 518-584-3543; www.saratogatrunk.com; high-end women’s fashions and accessories including hats!

The Art District on Beekman Street

The Art District on Beekman Street

Worth Checking Out

The Art District on Beekman Street emerged within recent years as a happening place to shop and dine.  I especially like it since it’s not at all touristy.  (Broadway, the main street of Saratoga, does become a little too much of a scene for me during the thick of the summer season.)  This is an historic neighborhood, originally primarily Italian, where Al Capone and Lucille Ball once hung out (although perhaps not at the same time!)  There are some nice art galleries here to explore.  My mom and I dined to mixed reviews at Gotchya’s (www.gotchyas.com) on a separate occasion. You might fare better at The Beekman Street Bistro (www.thebeekmanstreetbistro.com), although I don’t have any firsthand reports. For more on the Art District of Beekman Street, go to www.saratogatourism.com/vcstuff/beekman.

Saratoga Countryside

Saratoga Countryside

For the Outdoors You

I became more in touch with sports and how regular physical activity can benefit you so much both physically and mentally when I lived in Saratoga.  (Remember I was coming off of living eleven years in Paris where for me exercise consisted of a stroll in the park or a walk in the countryside.)  This is where I launched myself into cycling and discovered that some of the best road riding in the country lies less than a mile out of town.  Think of all of those horse farms and rolling hills!  I also loved to ride out at the Saratoga Battlefied, a beautiful parcel of countryside steeped in history.  Closer to town, it’s fun to hike, picnic or just poke around at the Saratoga Spa State Park, a National Historic Landmark, which is indisputably quite picturesque.  In the winter, I would sometimes cross country ski in this park and then swing over to Mrs. London’s for a hot chocolate and a croissant.

Blue Sky Bicycles, 71 Church Street, 518-583-0600, www.blueskybicycles.com; shop here to outfit yourself for your cycling, rent a bike or obtain information on the great rides in the area.

Saratoga National Historical Park (The Saratoga Battlefield), 518-664-9821, ext. 224, www.nps.gov/sara

Saratoga Spa State Park, 19 Roosevelt Drive, 518-584-2535, www.saratogaspastatepark.org

Book Picks

Any of the Jacobs Burns Mysteries by Matt Witten; he was a fellow author when I lived in Saratoga and all of his stories are set in the Spa town.

“Saratoga:  Saga of an Impious Era,” by George Waller

“Saratoga Springs:  An Architechtural History, 1790-1990,” by James Kettlewell; I was friendly with James when I lived in Saratoga.  He was the most distinguished Art History professor associated with Skidmore College, which is also located in Saratoga.

“Saratoga Trunk,” by Edna Ferber and Stuart M. Rosen; my absolute favorite which is a terrific movie as well!

9 Sep 2008, 12:00pm
New York Travel:
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Riding the Rails Along the Hudson

All Aboard to View the Hudson River!

All Aboard to View the Hudson River!

I haven’t traveled many Amtrak routes in my life, but I have taken one of the most scenic—the one that stretches along the Hudson River in upstate New York—many times over.  The two and a half-hour ride from Albany, New York to New York City first held me in rapt attention when I was about eight years old.  This was the occasion of my first trip to New York City, a landmark moment I experienced with my mother.  We boarded in Albany, just across the river from Troy, the town where I grew up.

Ever since that initial train trip, I have been transfixed by the beauty of this route, one that cuts through predominantly unspoiled countryside where development is sparse and wildlife is plenty.  It’s always a good idea to board early so you can claim one of the window seats on the Hudson side since business and leisure travelers appear decidedly smitten with the views as well.  Then—no matter what the season—you’ll witness some of our country’s most resplendent scenery unfold before you.

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Gallery Going with the Ladies from Larchmont

I met my friend Jane fresh out of college when we worked at the Pucker Safrai art gallery together in Boston.  In addition to being incredibly smart, creative and witty, Jane’s always very up-to-the-minute with everything from the latest cooking utensil to this season’s hottest nail color.  (That happens to be Opi’s Moon over Mumbai—a sort of lavender grey—one of those small, yet necessary tidbits I learned when she teased me about my freshly applied ruby red, aptly named After Sex.  I thought that shade would be fun and fresh with my summer togs, but what’s a mountain girl to know anyway?)  So when Jane told me about a planned excursion to Neue Galerie, one of Manhattan’s more recent additions to the arts scene that showcases German and Austrian art, I jumped at the chance to go along.

Our outing was to include Jane’s friend, another very snappy gal from Larchmont, her mother-in-law and Jane’s daughter, a lovely young lady in her mid teens that I later discovered had clearly adopted her mother’s interest in the arts.  Both Jane and her friend looked particularly chic in stylish dresses that would have also worked well for a sophisticated garden party.  (Jane aptly dubbed her cream-colored linen shift very Frieda Callo.)  Standing there in my well cut jean bermudas and colorful, clingy top, I was almost sorry I hadn’t taken it up a notch.  Thank goodness I wore my beautiful, glass beads.

“You look very mountain-like, MB,” Jane observed without an ounce of snootiness.  She tossed me a purple pashmina.  “Here, that’s perfect.  Just the right touch of namasté.  You’ll need it for the museum.”

I had grown accustomed to a life without air conditioning in Colorado and was constantly amazed that the A.C. was cranked so high in other parts of the country.

We chatted excitedly the whole drive into the city.  I learned that women in Larchmont were very possessive about sharing their babysitters’ names and numbers, a seemingly disconcerting matter for Jane and her friend.

“That’s how it is with French women and their recipes,” I explained.  “Most only do a few signature dishes and they don’t like to share their recipes for fear that their spécialités might show up at someone else’s dinner party.”

We all scoffed at that.  “Yes, I was even convinced at one point that one of my former sisters-in-law would deliberately leave out an ingredient or two so that her recipe could not be duplicated.  I would make these cakes that would be total flops,” I trailed off.

Entrance to Galerie Neue

Entrance to Neue Galerie

We laughed and commiserated about about some of the more tedious aspects of life until we pulled up in front of a handsome mansion on the upper east side.  By now we were starved, so we decided to lunch first and look later.  Entering the Café Sabarsky at Neue Galerie was like stepping into  a fine dining room in Vienna.  Dark wood paneling, wooden floors, floral-covered velvet banquettes, little marble café tables and heavy draperies wrapped us in an Old World warmth that we soon realized was more important than ever with the A.C.-induced Arctic chill that blasted us as soon as we walked in the door.  We settled in and began to order coffees and lunch.

Café Sabarsky

The five of us almost hurried through our selections of goulash soup, smoked trout, Weiner Schnitzel and salads in anticipation of the desserts to follow.  (We had already scoped out gorgeous cakes and tortes on the long, marble sideboard on the other side of the room upon entering.)   A rich assortment of treats was later served up with more coffee and in my case, hot chocolate, the perfect accompaniment to an Apfelstrudel on a cold winter’s day.  (Instead of complaining any more about the frosty air, I decided to make it a good excuse for being extra decadent.)

Grand Staircase

Grand Staircase

Finally we were ready to stroll through the exhibition rooms.  We delighted separately, all together and sometimes one-on-one in viewing the many fine works on display here from original furnishings to superbly crafted jewelry.  I paused at great length in front of a glittering painting by Gustav Klimt.  Clearly some of the finest examples of Austrian-German creativity were prominently featured within this nearly six-year old museum.  Neue Galerie is a small gem whose jewel box-like interior is as alluring as the goods inside.  Our hearts had been warmed by all the beauty we took in within this elegant space; our bodies were glad to meet the hot summer air outside.

Neue Galerie New York, 1048 Fifth Avenue, 212-628-6200, www.neuegalerie.org

Café Sabarsky is open for breakfast, lunch and dinner (and for lots of tea, coffee and drinks in between) everyday but Wednesday; 212-288-0665.

6 Sep 2008, 4:18pm
French Life Girl Talk New York Restaurants Travel:
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Franco-American Girl Talk

I was to top off my time in the West Village with my dear friend Michèle, another single woman and une vraie franco-américaine, raised by a French mother and an American father.  Plus she has lived almost equal time in Paris and New York, so she clearly has a handle on both worlds.  For us to meet in New York was a particular treat since she had always been one of my friends from Paris.  I was relying upon her more and more for updates on la vie parisienne.

We tucked ourselves into the corner banquette at Alexandra, another one of the West Village’s charming little restaurants on Hudson Street.  After ordering salads, soupe à l’oignon gratinée and a couple of French Chardonnays, we jumped right in to one of our favorite subjects:  zee French.

“So how are the French doing these days?”  I asked.

“They’re still complaining a lot, but they do continue to enjoy a nice quality of life,” she replied.

“It sounds as though not much has changed since when I lived there.”

Our conversation soon shifted to French men, a far more interesting subject.

“I hope they’re still very charming and that they have remained as attentive as ever toward their women,” I said.

“French men do know how to flirt,” Michèle replied.  “But there’s often nothing behind it.”

“Flirting does make life more fun,” I added.  “I miss that about France.  I don’t think there’s enough flirting here in the U.S.   I always enjoy a titillating exchange.”

“Well I guess men on both sides of the Atlantic still know how to whip out the charm to seduce,” Michèle added.

I pondered this last comment for a while, replaying certain recent encounters in my head.  

“And do French men continue to maintain mistresses?”  I asked, changing the subject just enough so as not to delve headfirst into my own litany of love relationships.  At least not right away.  “People always ask me about that here in America.  I think that’s something that fascinates Americans about the French.”

“That is still more of a reality than a myth,” Michèle answered reflectively.  “I think it’s class specific.  It’s more open and accepted in the haute bourgeoisie.  Many French people live separate lives and are very frank about it.  I know a lot of people that do this.”

“I guess in America people go ahead and split up despite the financial and emotional consequences,” I ventured.  “In France, people live it out until they sort it out.”

We continued chatting about the differences between the French and Americans, a big frame of reference for us both.

“So what else is new?”

“You’ve heard the French are crazy about Carla Bruni, right?”  Michèle asked.

“Oh yes, I know.  I’m not that much out of the loop.”

Alexandra, After the Girls Were Gone

Alexandra, After the Girls Were Gone

 

Alexandra, 455 Hudson Street, 212-255-3838, www.nymag.com/listings/restaurant/alexandra

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