Down the Rabbit Hole

"L'oursin est un échinoderme globuleux, à la coquille hérissée de dangereuses pointes mobiles. Il est extrêmement recherché des gourmets, par sa saveur fine et iodée, avec un arrière-goût d'orange." (Source of this.) In other words, it's the ever-so-hairy sea urchin with dangerous, movable spikes that gourmets want very much to eat even though it tastes a little like feet, with an orange aftertaste. (rue Daguerre, 14th)

A huge bowl of couscous + a bowl of tagine + a grilled fish (dorade) per person = happiness. (La Baraka, 70 rue Daguerre, 14th)

An apéritif in the 14th, an auspicious beginning to a long and lovely day with friends.

This woman redefines whimsy. No... she leaves it in the dust, she blows it out of the water. (Tout S'Arrange/www.toutsarrange.fr, 11 rue Vavin, 6th)

The Musee du Luxembourg (19, rue de Vaugirard, 6th) is showing the work of Lucas Cranach (1472-1553), an artist of the German Renaissance. The French and English versions of the museum's website describe the beauty of his female figures as inquietant (French) and disturbing (English). I find that fascinant (French) and intriguing (English).

Is there anything more Parisian than a dog on velvet?

Henry Miller is quite the legend in Paris—Tropic of Cancer was published here in 1934, and deemed obscene by some in the U.S. when it was published there in 1961. Pennsylvania Supreme Court Justice Michael Musmann called the book “an open sewer” but Samuel Beckett called it “a momentous event in the history of modern writing.” (I can’t weigh in on this, because I’ve been too busy reading books about missing hamsters and science-fair volcanoes.) Anyway, I went with Mary Duncan, author of Henry Miller Is Under My Bed, to see an exhibition of Miller’s lithographs and paintings at Dorothy’s Gallery (27 rue Keller in the 11th near Bastille). We went to have a drink afterwards, because, much like “brunch,” “happy hour” is now à la mode in Paris. I had a five-euro Bloody Mary into which I dumped too much celery salt because they brought me an arsenal of condiments and I got a little crazy with it.

I don't know what exactly is being forbidden here.

Moliere, Moliere, everywhere, and not a drop to drink. (Rue de Richelieu, 1st)