If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast. - Ernest Hemingway
It's been nearly three years since I've been to Paris and I found myself talking about the city a lot this weekend. I'm ready to go back. It's just not like anyplace else. Also, Hemingway is my favorite kind of writer: interesting, spare, and into food. Wordly, but pure American. I loved this book.
Which is what this weekend was. Well, not worldly. But interesting, sort of spare and full of Americana. We didn't do a ton except visit with people and buy all of Ikea's outdoor furniture, but it was a really great weekend nonetheless. Sunday, we went to the wine and herb event at Boordy winery, where the wine is sooooo bad but the atmosphere is fantastic. The place was full of screaming kids (including ours) and parents getting really strange sunburns. Afterwards, everyone came back to our house, where we had dinner and our first outdoor fire in a long time. We stayed up late, so we were all tired for our friend's cookout on Monday, but it was well worth it.
In less than a month, we go to the beach for a week (Bethany) with the same group of people. I should probably start sleeping now, just to store it up.
Unrelated (to my weekend, or to food in general): This Freakonomics post on the economics of the art world (contemporary art, in particular) is fascinating. It's triggered by the recent sale of Lucian Freud's Benefits Supervisor Sleeping. When I was in college, I saw a Freud exhibit a the Met. The paintings are sort of mesmerizing, but they're also really disturbing. I'm fairly immune to the shock value of art created for shock value's sake (Piss Christ does nothing to me) but Freud's work makes me truly uncomfortable, which helps me understand how contemporary viewers and critics might have reacted to work we consider totally mainstream today (like, say, Monet).
If you're at all interested in art or econ, read the post. You won't be sorry.