Review: An artful lunch in between Picasso and Rodin

Tavolino was a great midday find as my brother and I were between museums with our 2-day "museum pass" in Paris (Oct. 25, 2018). The pressure was on to get to as many museums as we could in our allotted two days! The previous day, we had clocked more than six miles, walking around Paris without taking a coffee or lunch break, and I was hangry by the time we got back to our AirBnB; with careful consideration, that would not happen again! So after plotting our trajectory for the following day, I searched online for a restaurant that would be a perfect layover, with the morning spent at the Picasso 

exhibit at the Musée d'Orsay and after lunch, the Musée Rodin and les Invalides.  

We were warmly welcomed at this small, cozy restaurant. I enjoyed linguini with scallops in a delightfully light, yet creamy, sauce with halved cherry tomatoes (please see photo below). My brother had the truffle ravioli which was flavorful but could have been warmer when served. The Italian rosé was perfect with our meals and with the still warm temperatures of this October. For dessert, my bro raved about the limoncello-soaked babas, and I had the café gourmand which included a biscotti, a tiny tiramisu (but not THAT tiny!), and a panna cotta topped with salt caramel that was incredible (see photo)! I requested a café allongé which was perfect with the gourmandises. My one critique is that the biscotti was wrapped in plastic rather than home-made; however, this ended up being convenient in that it was easy to save for later!
 

The food was tasty and satisfying and the service was welcoming, friendly, and attentive in a professional manner (ie, neither aloof nor overbearing). Although our reservation was for 1:30, we were not at all rushed to finish up and thoroughly savored our time there until about 3 pm. This was the perfect place, right around the corner from our next museum, to have a delicious and relaxing lunch. We were ready for Rodin’s jardin!

 

Update, May 2023: Tavolino closed during the pandemic, much to my disappointment. I had been looking forward to returning this most recent trip to Paris.

Résistez! "Votez correctement, Madame!"

The French follow the news from the States even if this is not reciprocal for the most part; I observed this is two different places of business this week in Paris. I needed to mail a few “thank you” cards to my cousins in Germany and pick up more post card stamps, so I stopped at our local post office yesterday, Oct. 31^st. Located on rue des Goncourt in the northern end of the 11è arrondissement, it is one of the friendliest places I have been to in France! I went in and stood in line and soon it was my turn. As has occurred all three times I have been there, it was a person I hadn’t seen before, and she was very helpful. (Why is there such a rotating cast of characters at the post office?) After allowing me to choose from several different possible stamps for Germany, she brought out the cubist Mickey Mouse post card stamps and the Lucie and Raymond Aubrac “Résister” stamps. I took two Mickeys and three résistance stamps, muttering that the latter were what we needed aux USA right now. The clerk started nodding her head and giggling. I said I hoped the elections next week would show some resistance, and she said she did too!

 

Then, on Thursday I went to the wonderful organic wine shop, Paris Terroirs, in my neighborhood at 68 rue Jean-Pierre Timbaud (11è) for a good bottle of red wine to take home to the States. The shopkeeper was very knowledgeable, not just about wines. I told him I was returning to the States the following day in order to vote on Tuesday. He asked me if that was in the "mi-termes" and I said "Oui, et c'est urgent que ça change la politique aux USA." He agreed and admonished me, "Votez correctement. Madame!" I told him not to worry, that most certainly, I would! The wine made it home unscathed and the midterms represented a big blue wave! Vive la résistance! Et le vin!

Mittwoch in Berlin: Pink Nails

After settling into our AirBnb in Berlin, my two-week old nail polish was driving me crazy - I never pack remover when I travel, fearing a toxic leak. I had noticed several nail places near our AirBnb so I knew where to go to get these nails taken care of. After Stuffy left to pick up his rental car, I headed out, across Birkbuschstrasse to “Pink Nails.” There was a sign outside with pink writing listing services and prices. (I love that the German word for price, preis, is pronounced the same as the English word. It’s handy.)

Inside, two slightly younger than middle-age women were sitting at pink nail tables. One of them was working on a client’s nails and the other was arranging salon things. Mirrors behind them had pink ribbons hanging from them. I greeted the women and had Google translate ready to show them: Können Sie meine Nagellack entfernen? They read this translation on my phone and asked to see my nails/Nagel. The one without a customer had curly bright orange hair, which must’ve been an error in the Pink Nails shop. Her multicolored floral tattoos were visible on her exposed shoulder as she took my hand and held it aloft at several different angles to examine the polish. She announced, “Das ist nicht nagelpolitur, das ist shellac.” I responded, “Nein, das ist nicht shellac.” Then the other woman got involved and she also concluded my nails were shellacked. I asked “Was ist das preis?” to have the substance taken off my fingernails, and my clinician asked, “Zehn? (10?)” and I nodded in agreement, asking if she could file them as well (a word that seems to be a cognate in German: feilen).

Thus, the work finally began. The foil came out, the cotton part dipped in pink-toned polish remover and applied to each finger.  My clinician and I spoke a mix of English and German to each other, becoming more comfortable with each utterance. She asked, “Wohnen-Sie auf Steglitz?” and I said no, “Ich wohne auf USA, Pittsburgh, PA.” She asked why I was in Berlin, and I told her because I have eine cousine here and I am auch a tourist. She told me her English was bad and I disagreed, telling her I wished my German was better. As she filed my nails, the dust fell into a cleverly-designed hole in the center of the table, covered with a craftsman-design circular piece of metal. She said she was never good with language, that she preferred mathematics or geometry. We finished up and as I thanked her, she thanked me as we agreed that we had understood each other, auf Deutsch und auf Englisch.                                          

It felt so good to have polish- or shellac-free, clean nails, shaped into perfect little squares. But most of all, it felt good to have had a rewarding interaction with a German woman who was striving to make the world a prettier, pinker place.