grandmother Archives - Reflections of Place

Le Roussillon Cafe

7th Arrondisement- Paris 75507

“Breathe Paris in. It nourishes the soul.” — Victor Hugo

Le Roussillon – 186 Rue de Grenelle, 75007 Paris, France

In the Rue Cler Neighborhood among the specialty food markets sits one of my favorite restaurants in this area. Le Roussillon Cafe, on the corner of Rue Cler and Rue de Grenelle.

It’s April in Paris and the weather is gorgeous. Le Roussillon Cafe is an open air restaurant, cooking in house with the freshest ingredients. The expansive windows when opened are like removing the exterior walls. My favorite tables line the open wall facing Rue Cler. You can people watch for a moment. People shopping in the street’s food markets, heading out, and some heading home. Sitting here you feel all of Paris. You feel the air of Paris on your face and you breathe Paris in. It nourishes the soul.

We ate here on several occasions on our visit to Paris. It was near our hotel so we’d stop here for beers during happy hour or a late lunch. This was the place we returned to for our last dinner in Paris. The Le Roussillon team welcomes you and they are friendly and helpful when choosing menu items. The food, house-made, is always fresh and delicious.

That last night I decided on Boeuf Bourguignon comme chez mamie / Beef Burgundy Stew – Like Grandma’s. Chunks of tender beef, carrots and celery in a rich beef burgundy broth.

Dished up in a bowl along side a serving of creamy mashed potatoes and topped with parsley and thin slices of red pepper for presentation. Served with crusty French bread.

You taste Paris. Belly Warming. It nourishes the body.

Oui, Bienvenue au Roussillon Cafe! & We will return for your speciality cocktails and desserts!

Please tell the chef ‘my compliments to sa mamie!’

à bientôt, j’espère!

“Paris is not a city; it’s a world.” — King Francis I

Be Well. Stay Safe. Much Love.

Grandmothers & Circus Peanuts

“A grandma is warm hugs and sweet memories.” Barbara Cage

Today I am grateful for the love of Grandmothers and Circus Peanuts. Yes circus peanuts!

Those orange marshmallowy nuggets of spun sugar molded into the fanciful shape of peanuts in their shell.

When I was a child and we visited my grandmother she always offered us the treat of two circus peanuts from a large bag. Sometimes these goodies were soft and squishy but it never came as a surprise if they were stale and hard.

Truthfully, I never liked the taste but their sweetness represented the love of my grandmother and the treasures were a gift from her loving hands. Two were the normal limit but for the price of a smile you could often win a third.

It’s been so long since I’ve touched my grandmother’s hands but every few years, spellbound, I buy a bag of circus peanuts. I eat only two and I close the bag. They taste no better than they did when I was a child but I am reminded of the love offered from the hands of my grandmother. So in tribute, I slowly reopen the bag and I feast on every circus peanut left in the bag. Loving memories wrapped inside puffy orange-ness. Devoured!

Grandmother’s Cornbread

After the funeral, nourishing plates of condolences brought by friends and neighbors are sitting on the table. Nothing looks good but the cornbread does offer a certain familiarity.

One bite, the memories gather, connect, conspire and fling me back in time. Not lost in thought but transported- body, mind and spirit. For a split second I am terrified. I have crashed at my grandmother’s feet in the middle of her kitchen. My Grandmother, on seeing her face and her hands I feel comforted.

Standing in her kitchen, butter beans on the stove, her cornbread still in the iron skillet. It’s been more than forty years since I would have eaten cornbread that she baked. If you had asked, I couldn’t have said if I had ever eaten cornbread that she’d made. I would have said-‘well of course I’m sure she made cornbread but I just don’t remember it.’

Now, nearly trembling, I offer it to my sister. “This is Grandmother’s cornbread, it tastes terrible.” Puzzled, she tastes it and nods, “It’s the bacon grease, it’s rancid.”

Bacon grease, that is the connecting memory. Sometimes saved too long and often used in baking cornbread. Someone is still baking their cornbread that way and offered it on a plate of condolence.

Memories, long forgotten, triggered by a taste. In an instant I had been picked up and plopped down in that other time; a little scary, but at the same time, a hug from the past. Enough emotion to quickly take my breath away and make my head tingle. For a split second , I am actually there. My heart is overwhelmed. I know I’ll be longing for her on my return, so I take her sweet smile back with me and now I carry it in my heart.

Be Well. Stay Safe. Much Love.