the other.
‘I see the Jardin des Tuileries and the Opera, where, unknown to most passers-by, five hives on the roof above the stage house over 100,000 bees. During the season their search for nectar takes in not only the chestnut trees in the Champs Élysées, but the linden trees behind the Palais Royal, along with acacias and sophoras lining the Péripherique. Some even stray as far afield as the Bois de Boulogne.
‘You can buy the result of their labours in the Opera House shop and in Fauchon …’
‘Yes, yes, Pamplemousse,’ said Monsieur Leclercq impatiently, ‘that is all very interesting, but what else do you see?’
‘What else?’ repeated Monsieur Pamplemousse.‘Well, beyond the Opera and the Madeleine, across an ocean of blue rooftops and pink chimney pots, I see Montmartre, where Pommes Frites and I often walk together of a morning, and where long, long ago Saint Denis is said to have picked up his head after he was decapitated by the soldiery, and carried on heading north with it under his arm.’
‘How very inconvenient for him,’ said the Director. ‘It is a miracle he could see where he was going.’
‘There is a statue commemorating the fact,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse stoutly. ‘It is by the fountain where he supposedly washed away the blood before moving on.
‘Above all, I see a city where the old happily rubs shoulders with the new. Here and there on the surface, Monsieur Hector Guimard’s original fin de siècle entrances to the Metro still stand – there is one at Abbesses, again near where I live, while below ground, on the Météor line, high-speed driverless trains whisk passengers to and fro between the Gare St Lazare and the Bibliotech Nationale.
‘It is much like a very grand child’s play area contained within the bowl of the surrounding hills.
‘As for Pommes Frites, it is hard to know what he sees, or indeed what he is thinking. I suspect he is not greatly concerned with landscapes. I have often noticed when we are out driving that he is more interested in things immediately in front of his eyes; trees and lamp-posts, the occasional rabbit. At this very moment, for example, he is probably taking noteof the men playing boules on the Esplanade, or the lady who is going past with a Dandie Dinmont tucked under one arm …’
Realising the Director’s eyes had a somewhat glazed look about them, Monsieur Pamplemousse’s voice trailed away.
‘Interesting, Pamplemousse,’ said Monsieur Leclercq, ‘very interesting; particularly if you happen to be writing a guide book. You are, of course, absolutely correct when you say Paris means different things to different people. Allow me to tell you what it means to me.
‘In my mind’s eye I see well over a thousand hotels and restaurants listed in Le Guide . On a clear day, with the aid of my telescope, I am able to locate over one hundred that have been awarded one or more Stock Pots.
‘Sixteen of them have two Stock Pots. They include the oldest restaurant in Paris, La Tour d’Argent, which has been in existence since 1582; not so many years after the death of Christopher Columbus. It was there that an eating implement called the fork was first introduced to Parisian diners, and it is on record that the Duke of Richelieu once hosted a party during which a whole ox was cooked in thirty different ways.
‘I can pick out Taillevent in the rue Lamenais; under Monsieur Vrinat, without doubt the best run restaurant in the world. Nearby, I see Pierre Gagnaire, one of the more innovative chefs of our time, and with the further aid of the brass plate set in the balustrade,I can locate the remaining eight who have been awarded the supreme accolade of Three Stock Pots in Le Guide .’
Monsieur Leclercq broke off.
‘And that is only Paris, Pamplemousse. There is the rest of France to consider.
We should be proud of the small part we have played in their owner’s success, but it is a heavy responsibility
‘I see the Jardin des Tuileries and the Opera, where, unknown to most passers-by, five hives on the roof above the stage house over 100,000 bees. During the season their search for nectar takes in not only the chestnut trees in the Champs Élysées, but the linden trees behind the Palais Royal, along with acacias and sophoras lining the Péripherique. Some even stray as far afield as the Bois de Boulogne.
‘You can buy the result of their labours in the Opera House shop and in Fauchon …’
‘Yes, yes, Pamplemousse,’ said Monsieur Leclercq impatiently, ‘that is all very interesting, but what else do you see?’
‘What else?’ repeated Monsieur Pamplemousse.‘Well, beyond the Opera and the Madeleine, across an ocean of blue rooftops and pink chimney pots, I see Montmartre, where Pommes Frites and I often walk together of a morning, and where long, long ago Saint Denis is said to have picked up his head after he was decapitated by the soldiery, and carried on heading north with it under his arm.’
‘How very inconvenient for him,’ said the Director. ‘It is a miracle he could see where he was going.’
‘There is a statue commemorating the fact,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse stoutly. ‘It is by the fountain where he supposedly washed away the blood before moving on.
‘Above all, I see a city where the old happily rubs shoulders with the new. Here and there on the surface, Monsieur Hector Guimard’s original fin de siècle entrances to the Metro still stand – there is one at Abbesses, again near where I live, while below ground, on the Météor line, high-speed driverless trains whisk passengers to and fro between the Gare St Lazare and the Bibliotech Nationale.
‘It is much like a very grand child’s play area contained within the bowl of the surrounding hills.
‘As for Pommes Frites, it is hard to know what he sees, or indeed what he is thinking. I suspect he is not greatly concerned with landscapes. I have often noticed when we are out driving that he is more interested in things immediately in front of his eyes; trees and lamp-posts, the occasional rabbit. At this very moment, for example, he is probably taking noteof the men playing boules on the Esplanade, or the lady who is going past with a Dandie Dinmont tucked under one arm …’
Realising the Director’s eyes had a somewhat glazed look about them, Monsieur Pamplemousse’s voice trailed away.
‘Interesting, Pamplemousse,’ said Monsieur Leclercq, ‘very interesting; particularly if you happen to be writing a guide book. You are, of course, absolutely correct when you say Paris means different things to different people. Allow me to tell you what it means to me.
‘In my mind’s eye I see well over a thousand hotels and restaurants listed in Le Guide . On a clear day, with the aid of my telescope, I am able to locate over one hundred that have been awarded one or more Stock Pots.
‘Sixteen of them have two Stock Pots. They include the oldest restaurant in Paris, La Tour d’Argent, which has been in existence since 1582; not so many years after the death of Christopher Columbus. It was there that an eating implement called the fork was first introduced to Parisian diners, and it is on record that the Duke of Richelieu once hosted a party during which a whole ox was cooked in thirty different ways.
‘I can pick out Taillevent in the rue Lamenais; under Monsieur Vrinat, without doubt the best run restaurant in the world. Nearby, I see Pierre Gagnaire, one of the more innovative chefs of our time, and with the further aid of the brass plate set in the balustrade,I can locate the remaining eight who have been awarded the supreme accolade of Three Stock Pots in Le Guide .’
Monsieur Leclercq broke off.
‘And that is only Paris, Pamplemousse. There is the rest of France to consider.
We should be proud of the small part we have played in their owner’s success, but it is a heavy responsibility
Similar Books
