The reissue of Carol Field's The Italian Baker is cause for celebration (see my previous post) but I am equally delighted about the publication of a few other Italian culinary books. One was published three years ago but I only just got around to reading it: Why Italians Love to Talk About Food by Elena Kostioukovitch (forewords by Umberto Eco and Carol Field, translated by Anne Milano Appel, Farrar, Straus and Giroux). I admit upfront my ignorance about the author --I did not recognize Kostioukovitch's name, but it turns out she is Umberto Eco's translator in Russian and she is an essayist, literary agent, and editor and she has been living in Italy (Milan) for over twenty years. The Italian edition of this book appeared in 2006, the same year she was the recipient of the Welcome Prize, given by the Russian National Association of Restaurateurs. So as Faith Heller Willinger says, this book is "essential reading for all Italophiles." Chef Tom Colicchio calls it "part reference encyclopedia, part social history, part love letter to Italy." I call it required reading as well, but also of the most joyful kind (I love that the final chapter of the book is entitled 'Joy').

In her foreword, Carol Field writes that "of course Italians like to talk about food. Italy is food, and the food is Italy...Italians talk constantly about food even when food isn't the subject. Bring up almost anything -- painting, trees, literature, landscape, history, people, religion, even taxes or politics -- and the vocabulary of food somehow finds its way in." Kostioukovitch already suspected this but after her years-long journey to every region of Italy it was soundly proven. She also discovered that "the more you know Italy, the more it becomes evident that each community has its "gastronomic emblem," namely, a dish or product that has been developed to perfection in that place." So in each chapter Kostioukovitch outlines the history and food traditions of each region and ends with lists of typical dishes and products. Throughout the book are other, more in-depth chapters on such topics as the sagra, olive oil, pilgrims, Slow Food, Jews, democracy, the Mediterranean diet, gifts from America, pizza, etc. There are no recipes, but there are cooking methods for meat, fish, eggs, and vegetables, as well as sauces and gravies for pasta and pairings of pasta shapes and sauces.

At the end of her Preface, Kostioukovitch writes that discovering and analyzing the Italian culinary code "have absorbed me completely, drawing me under its spell - just as I was drawn in so many years ago by the country that created this code, the Italy that I will never have my fill of discovering, and that each day increases my hunger for beauty and thirst for art. I know you will understand." Indeed, many of us do.

*

A different book because it does have recipes, about 250 of them, is The Country Cooking of Italy by Colman Andrews (foreword by Mario Batali, Chronicle Books, 2010). But right there on the first page of the Introduction is a quotation that brings the subject of Italian cuisine back to Elena Kostioukovitch's circle: "As they ate, they spoke of eating, as always happens in Italy" (Andrea Camilleri, The Shape of Water)

Andrews has been one of my most favorite food writers and cookbook authors for many years, but this lovely hardcover (featuring photographs by the renowned team of Christopher Hirsheimer and Melissa Hamilton, who also author a great paperback series of seasonal cookbooks that I love, Canal House Cooking) might be his best book yet. (In fairness, he also wrote a book in this series on Ireland, which I haven't yet seen, so it may be equally as good.)

Like Kostioukovitch, Andrews, too, has traveled to every region of Italy, and he learned that "many of the most famous "real Italian" dishes I had encountered, even in Italy, were twentieth-century creations -- and that even so definitive a food as pasta was not a daily part of the Italian diet until about a hundred years ago." He also learned a lot about the Mediterranean Diet, mostly while researching his terrific book, Flavors of the Riviera, in which he concluded that this Diet is more romanticized than real, and that it was "more the way people eat at Chez Panisse than the way they eat, and have traditionally eaten, around the Mediterranean"). I was pleased to read that Andrews also addressed something that I've been railing about for years to any of my friends and family who will listen, which is that "for the most part, Italian cooking in its homeland, I began to figure out on my trips there, was far simpler than the gussied-up Italian American interpretations of it." As Andrews also notes, American chefs and Italian chefs who come to the States "don't seem to be able to leave well enough alone." I have found this to be particularly true in California, where so many chefs (and home cooks) can't resist gilding the lily.

Andrews was impressed by the intensity of local and regional pride for food products and dishes no matter where he traveled in Italy. "They love eating -- is it an accident that in the language of their predecessors, the Romans, the words for "eat" (edo) and "be" (sum) share an infinitive form, esse? (Edo ergo sum?) -- and they love talking about eating."

But, on to the recipes! They are just so excellent, and of course the introductory notes Andrews provides for each one are always interesting to read. Recipes from Milan, Naples, Venice, and other large cities are not the focus here, but there are plenty from the countryside around them. Andrews notes he has tried to strike a balance between including familiar dishes (done right) and more obscure ones. But no matter where the recipe is from, Andrews was always mindful that "in Italy, at least in principle, the farm is never far away from the table." He also writes that though so many culinary innovations in Italy can be traced to ancient Rome or to wealthy noblemen and merchants, he believes that "all Italian cooking is in some sense from the country, from the region, from the land. This is the key to its identity. This is what makes it great."

Recently, I made the spiced cheese spread called Liptauer that, Andrews explains, comes from Trieste. It was such a refreshing change from the usual dips and spreads and everyone commented on it (the recipe has butter, fresh ricotta, paprika, mustard seeds, cumin, anchovy filets, chives, and scallions). But the others I've tried have also been winners: Rigatoni with Cauliflower, Polenta with White Beans and Kale, White Beans Tuscan Style, and Olive Oil Cake. But I've only just begun...friends are coming for dinner on Saturday and I already have so many pages marked with sticky notes.

Author and food writer Carol Field is a well known name among Italophiles. If you are someone who is just beginning to be beguiled by Italy, someone who has not yet read all the essential books in an Italian library, you will soon discover Field. But right now is a good time to start getting acquainted with her as Ten Speed Press recently published an updated and illustrated edition of her masterpiece, The Italian Baker.

I've been a huge fan of the first edition of this book, published in 1985 by Harper Collins, and I don't even bake bread, let alone bread sticks, pizza, panforte, panettone, or pandoro. (I do, however, make a lot of soup, and Field's version of the classic Tuscan soup, Ribollita, is to my mind the best one in existence -- though curiously, in the new editon, the recipe is called Minestrone Toscana even though it appears to be identical -- and her version of Tiramisu is without rival -- the key is that it's not made with ladyfingers but with chocolate pan di Spagna.) As I have often stated in my books, really good cookbooks are far more than collections of recipes: they're great resources for learning about language, culture, and history, as well as resources for learning about the foods you'll encounter on your trip. As Fred Plotkin, author of Italy for the Gourmet Traveler opines, "anyone who really, truly cares about Italy must read The Italian Baker." Additionally, if you love some of the culinary specialties you tried in Italy, you might be inspired to make them at home - to me, nothing is a better souvenir of a place than a culinary one. After I tried delicious Ricciarelli in Siena, I couldn't wait to make them at home, and Field's recipe here is a winner, as are recipes for Zaletti (those raisin cornmeal cookies from Venice), Baci di Dama (lady's kisses that I first tried in Milano), and Biscotti di Crusca (bran cookies spiked with rum).

"Bread," Field writes, "is such a basic part of life in Italy that every restaurant automatically sets it on the table and imposes a cover charge (coperto) to cover its cost. Almost every street in Italy's large and middle-sized cities seems to have at least one panificio (bakery) and pasticceria (pastry shop), and even tiny towns without bread ovens have a grocery store where bread is delivered warm in the mornings." It is significant then, and not surprising, that there are a great many Italian expressions featuring the word pane. Among my favorites that Field shares are Buono come il pane (as good as bread, said of a big-hearted, down-to-earth person); Dire pane al pane e vino al vino (to call bread bread and wine wine; to call a spade a spade); and Essere pan e cacio (to be like bread and cheese with someone; to be thick as thieves).

Field informs us that every day in Italy more than 25,000 artisan bakers rise early to knead their doughs and shape their loaves. "Knowing the story and tastes of the regional breads that come out of these ovens is like taking a trip through the Italian countryside. Saving and honoring them is like preserving the stone villages on the hillsides or their churches and frescoes, for saving the taste of the past keeps it alive in the present."

The Italian Baker was the recipient of an IACP award in 1986. Her other cookbooks include In Nonna's Kitchen (Morrow, 1997), Focaccia (Chronicle Books, 1994), and Italy in Small Bites (Harper Collins, 2004), which are also great reads and feature some wonderful recipes you'll want to make. But Celebrating Italy: The Tastes and Traditions of Italy as Revealed Through its Feasts, Festivals, and Sumptuous Foods (Harper Perennial, 1997) is one of her earlier books I consider essenziale, as well as The Hill Towns of Italy (Chronicle Books, 1997, with photographs by Richard Kauffman), which is a bit misnamed because the hill towns featured are exclusively in Tuscany and Umbria. But no matter: this book is lovely, and Field proves she knows much more about Italy than just its cuisine. As I note in my own book, Kauffman's photos are among the most unique I've ever seen of these much-photographed regions. He admits that he is a romantic, delighting in the past, "in the picturesqueness of a vanishing (or a vanished) civilization...With my camera, I avoid the roofs bristling with television antennas, the piazzas filled with Fiats (no easy task), and I strive to re-create, as best I can, the hill towns I saw some thirty years ago."

If you're already a Carol Field fan, you know I'm preaching to the choir; and if you're not yet, start reading one of her books -- The Italian Baker is a good one with which to begin -- and join the fan club!

Views from the verandah at Rainbow Tree villa, Treasure Beach, Jamaica (all photos by Peggy Harrison, http://www.peggyharrison.com/)

I am just back from my fourth annual trip to Treasure Beach (see last year's posts in the archive for more background information and photos) and this year Peggy Harrison, official Collected Traveler photographer, joined us with her husband, Rich. Peggy referred to the trip as "most relaxing vacation ever" and that is exactly why we keep going back. Not much has changed in Treasure Beach (also why we keep going back) but I thought it was great that a French family was staying at Rainbow Point (the smaller house that sleeps six at the other end of Billy's Bay) and another French family was staying at the house next to Rainbow Tree. Clearly, word of this special place is definitely spreading!

I read for the second time The True History of Paradise by Margaret Cezair-Thompson (Random House, 2009) -- my companion reading always has to relate to the places I'm traveling to -- and I quickly remembered how beautifully written this book is. Though you can't tell from the title, the book is about Jamaica (and Cezair-Thompson is Jamaica-born), but it is a novel that features historical events and dates and weaves together members of many generations of Jean Landing's family, as well as friends and lovers (there is also, helpfully, a glossary of Jamaican dialect at the back of the book). Cezair-Thompson is also the author of The Pirate's Daughter (2008, also Random House, also about Jamaica) which I haven't read yet but I'm going to seek it out very soon; but True History has been deservedly acclaimed: "...marvelously evocative...[conveys] a vivid sense of many worlds folded into one" (The Washington Post Book World); "Cezair-Thompson writes with such talent, grace, and confidence" (The New York Times Book Review) and "...the colorful and dramatic history of Jamaica is stunningly encapsulated" (Kirkus Reviews). I love so many passages in this book, but one in particular, a few pages from the very end, really sticks with me:

"She is the descendant, not of runaway Africans, but of African slaves. And not only of Africans but of English, Irish, Spanish, Jewish, Germans, and Chinese. Does this motley ancestry make her spirit a less able traveler? Does confusion of the blood cause the spirits to flounder and lose their sense of direction?" The character of Jean continues on by noting that her Cuban friend, Senor Rodriguez, of African descent, told her about something called egun iponri, meaning ancestors coming and going, living in and around a person. "He showed her an altar in his house dedicated to Yoruba gods and Catholic saints -- Shango, Ogun, St. Christopher. "No conflict," he told Jean. "It's all the same, all one spirit world." But they're not all the same, Jean thought, that's the glory. She realized then that she had always believed in egun iponri. The vastly differing voices are not a floundering but a steadying influence."

And now that I read that again I see that while it is a passage unique to Jamaica, it is also one for all travelers to keep in mind, as probably nowhere on earth do issues of race, religion, and culture fit easily into a neat and tidy box.

Detail from ‘The Resurrection of Lazarus,’ 1896, by Henry Ossawa Tanner (1859-1937), in the collection of the Musée d’Orsay, photo by Hervé Lewandoswki

'View of the Seine, Looking Toward Notre Dame' 1896 by Henry Ossawa Tanner, Michael Rosenfeld Gallery, LLC, New York, http://www.michaelrosenfeldart.com/.

Last weekend was filled with some wonderful treats: one of them was the very well done exhibit, Henry Ossawa Tanner: Modern Spirit, at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts -- the two images above are from paintings featured in the show. Tanner is not as well known as he deserves to be, but in brief, he was the son of a third generation freed man from Pittsburgh and a former slave who escaped to freedom on the underground railroad. Tanner decided at a young age to pursue his dream of being an artist, and he attended the Academy of Fine Arts and was fortunate to work under the best American artists of the time, including Thomas Eakins, who was to become a mentor to Tanner. In 1891, Tanner traveled to Europe, and he noted that in Paris, "no one regards me curiously...I am simply 'M. Tanner, an American artist.' Nobody knows or cares what was the complexion of my forbears. I live and work there on terms of absolute social equality." 'The Resurrection of Lazarus' was accepted in the Salon of 1896, and as the accompanying exhibit brochure states, "Tanner's career became international news...He won a medal and became one of only a handful of American artists collected by the French government." Among other works in the show I particularly liked are 'The Arch,' (1919), 'Christ and His Mother Studying the Scriptures' (1909; his wife Jessie and their son were the models for this painting, which is in the collection of the Dallas Museum of Art), and 'Interior of a Mosque, Cairo' (1897).

In the first edition of my Paris book, I included an entry on 'African-Americans in Paris' in the 'Renseignements Pratiques' section (renamed 'A Paris Miscellany' in my more recent edition). I wrote that "especially in the 1950s and sixties, but also for many years before that, there was an important community of African-American artists and writers in Paris. Richard Wright, James Baldwin, Chester Himes, Barbara Chase-Riboud, Henry Tanner, Langston Hughes, to name just a few, were all in Paris, a city where as Richard Wright has written, "your color is the least important thing about you."" I also noted that I'd seen a great exhibit in 1996 at the Studio Museum in Harlem entited "Explorations in the City of Light: African-American Artists in Paris, 1945-1965" and the accompanying catalog includes essays and excerpts about the Paris art word in the twenties and thirties. A related work that's also a good read is From Harlem to Paris: Black American Writers in France, 1840-1980 (Michel Fabre, University of Illinois Press, 1991), and a wonderful article to read is "Chez Tournon: A Homage" by Paule Marshall, The Sophisticated Traveler edition of The New York Times Magazine, 18 October, 1982.

My husband, daughter, and I took a different route from New York to Philadelphia, and we drove through the charming town of Frenchtown, New Jersey. The route happened to be prettier, more interesting, and a little shorter, but the reason we chose it is because my daughter has been pestering us to go a cafe called the Lovin' Oven, which she'd learned about from a show on the Food Network called 'The Best Thing I Ever Ate.' The "best thing" was a chocolate salted caramel pie ($6 a slice, $50 for the whole pie), and I can officially claim it was without doubt one of the very best desserts I have ever eaten on the planet. Though we only stopped to get slices of the pie to go, I took a sample menu with me and we definitely plan on having a meal there -- the menu is packed with local, seasonal dishes and looks fantastic. As writer Tammy La Gorce noted in The New York Times in 2010, the husband-and-wife owners Julie Klein and Mike Quinn "already had a loyal following" before they moved the cafe from Milford to Frenchtown. "The couple's commitment to cooking with local ingredients and to baking on the premises, including the beloved sweet potato biscuits, has earned it the devotion of locavores as well as those who never end a meal without dessert."

And, Lovin' Oven is right next to (a part of the same building, actually) Two Buttons, the cool mostly Asian-inspired home furnishings store owned by Elizabeth Gilbert (author of Eat, Pray, Love) and her husband, Jose Nunes, who lease the space to Lovin' Oven (open Wednesday to Saturday 8 to 9; Sunday from 8 to 3; closed on Monday and Tuesday). If you're interested, Lovin' Oven is offering a great Valentine's Day menu with lots of choices for $60 per person. Note no credit cards or reservations are accepted, and it's B.Y.O.B. If you have to wait a while you can get lost in the cavernous Two Buttons.

If you, like me, are crazy for 'Downton Abbey,' you must read Lady Almina and the Real Downton Abbey: The Lost Legacy of Highclere Castle (Broadway Paperbacks, $15.99), written by Lady Fiona Carnarvon, Countess of Carnarvon. Highclere is the real-life castle that is the inspiration and setting for Downton Abbey, and Lady Fiona -- who maried the Earl of Carnarvon in 1999 -- has lived at Highclere for the past twelve years (though the jacket text states they've lived at Highclere for eight years, Lady Fiona notes in her Prologue that it's been twelve, and I've decided I prefer to believe that!).

The true story of Lady Almina, 5th Countess of Carnarvon, is positively fascinating, and much that happens in the life of Lady Cora Crawley in the PBS show is based on the life of Lady Almina, who is believed to be the illegitimate daughter of Alfred de Rothschild (there is no doubt who her mother was: Marie Wombwell, widow of a "heavy drinker and reckless gambler," Frederick Wombwell). Lady Almina truly was an exceptional woman, in many ways, but I was no less taken with her husband, George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert, who, quite remarkably, was with Howard Carter when he discovered the tomb of Tutankhamun on 4 November, 1922. As Lady Fiona notes, "despite the differences in the two men's social background, they were a formidable alliance and became great friends." Lord Carnarvon apparently adored the exquisite objects he and Carter were discovering, but again as Lady Fiona notes, the book he wrote with Carter about their five-year-long dig at Thebes was quite a serious work, published by Oxford University Press and illustrated with his own photographs (I think the book published by Routledge/Kegan Paul Library of Ancient Egypt in 2006, Tutankhamen and the Discovery of His Tomb, is a reprinted edition of this noted work).

In her Epilogue, Lady Fiona writes that Highclere today is an ensemble of characters just as it was in Almina's time. She met relatives of the former staff while researching this book and they helped enormously in shedding light on life in the 'downstairs' areas of the castle. "Today," she adds, "the Castle and estate still house families who have worked and lived here for generations. They pass down stories of predecessors. Retirement is possible but not mandatory. The new generation learns from the old. 'Newcomers' have worked here for fifteen or twenty years and 'proper Castle people' may stay for up to fifty years. Some people think they are coming to work for a short time and find it hard to leave."

I devoured this book, starting it one morning and finishing it late the next night, and I loved it. I think you will, too. And if you're traveling to England this spring or summer (for the Olympics, perhaps?) note that Highclere Castle is open to visitors! Online ticket purchases may be made beginning the second half of February, and ticket prices range from 5 to 16 British Pounds per adult. The Castle is closed until the 1st of April and welcomes visitors until the 15th of that month, then it's open on select dates in May and June, and in the summer it's open from 1 July to 13 September. The Highclere website features good visitor information -- with suggestions for accommodations and places to eat in the area -- and Egyptology links.

The other image above is of a special edition of two novels by Julian Fellowes, who wrote the screenplay for 'Downton Abbey' (Fellowes is also an actor, notably in the BBC series 'Monarch of the Glen,' and he won an Oscar for best writing, original screenplay for the film 'Gosford Park' in 2001.) My British friend Yvonne visited me last fall and when she found out I was such a fan of 'Downton Abbey' she asked if I'd read any of Fellowes' novels. I didn't even know at that time that he'd written any, so she sent me the British editions of Past Imperfect and Snobs (the U.S. editions sport different covers). I recently finished reading them and found them equally as engaging and I highly recommend them! Yvonne thinks Fellowes is particularly brilliant at portraying British class differences, and I completely agree. I was ignorant of the fact that such traditions as debutante balls, coming out parties, and strict seasonal wardrobes we inherited from the British -- I had thought they were uniquely American (and I'm not even sure these things are still popular, though they were still going strong when I started college in the late '70s). The main character in Past Imperfect, which is set in the present but recounts events from the late '60s, observes that "before the first war, among the upper classes, five or six changes a day, for walking, shooting, breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner, were de rigueur at any house party and three at least were necessary for a day in London. They observed these tiresome rituals of dress for the simple reason that they knew once they stopped looking like a ruling class they would soon cease to be a ruling class. Our politicans have only just learned what the toffs have known for a thousand years: Appearance is all. Why, then, did it die so suddenly? Because they stopped believing in themselves."

Good stuff. I eagerly await this Sunday's episode of 'Downton Abbey' -- whether the deja blue Super Bowl lineup is over or not!

I've been unable to stop thinking about the Costa Concordia tragedy these last few days. It's just so hard for me to imagine, and the ship's sinking is just one reason why I have never been on a cruise (there are other reasons, to be sure, namely that I am not a boat person -- typically within the first five minutes of being on a boat I begin to feel nauseous -- and also because I view most cruises fit for what my friend Mitchell refers to as "sheeple"). I am filled with sadness for the people still missing and for those already declared dead, and I know the survivors will be haunted by the ordeal for a long time.

I am also wondering how this catastrophe will affect little Isola del Giglio. Those of you who've read my Tuscany and Umbria book know that my husband and I visited there on the recommendation of a friend from nearby Porto Ercole, and we positively loved it. It was mid-summer and the weather was as gloriously sunny as in the photos above, which I have copied from the Isola del Giglio tourist office website (I did not see any copyright notice referenced and the photos to do not appear to be attributed to anyone, so I share them freely and offer apologies to the photographer who took them).

Besides the island's natural beauty and easy-going style, particularly memorable for us was the fact that we did not run into a single other American tourist. The island is simply not on the typical Tuscan short list. Also memorable for me was that I purchased a pair of blue, plastic sandals from a vendor in Giglio Porto, the bustline harbor where the boat from Porto Santo Stefano pulls in. A lot of beaches in southern Europe are rocky, and Europeans have for many years worn plastic sandals to protect their feet going in and out of the Mediterranean. So I was happy to have my own pair and when we got to Campese, popular for its wide beach, I put them on and dove into some of the clearest, turquoise-colored water I've ever encountered. Promptly, the sandal on my left foot slipped off, and I watched it descend for a few seconds before I yelled at my husband to dive down and fetch it. Some Italian boys who witnessed the whole scene also dove down. Because the water was so clear the sandal seemed within reach, but after several minutes everyone gave up, and I was feeling rather bereft. I told Jeff that I would just have to go back to that vendor and ask him to sell me one sandal, to which Jeff scoffed. When we returned to the harbor area I found the vendor and tried to explain what happened, but there was a language barrier and it was clear to me that he didn't really understand what I was saying. However, he did understand that I only wanted to buy one sandal, and he made it clear that he would not sell me only one. So of course I bought another pair. And I still have them and wear them to this day.

Giglio is a mere 8 kilometers long and the majority of the island is uninhabited. Legend has it that when the Tyrrhenian Venus emerged from the waves of the sea, seven gemstones fell from her tiara, and turned into the seven islands of the Tuscan archipelago: Elba, Capraia, Giglio, Gorgona, Pianosa, Giannutri, and Montecristo. There are a number of wonderful hiking paths on the island, an impressive castello on a hill, casual places to eat, places to stay, and four great beaches.

As I say I have no idea what the future holds for the island, but I was distressed when I read an e-mail note sent to me by a friend who knows the island quite well. He in turn shared an e-mail note he received from someone who knows the island even better -- as he noted, the Costa Concordia "sank in waters I know like the back of my hand. " The rest of the message read as follows:

"The simple truth about the crash is the following: the varied captains of the liner were in the habit of "showing off" the boat to the islanders of Giglio. In fact, the mayor of the island had even congratulated just this past August a previous captain for the "honored spectacle" of bringing the ship so close to the island. The rock from which I have dived many times is a mere 50/60 yards from the coast and is linked by a chain of rocks quite large which protrude like small islands and are very visible to the naked eye. Pure incompetence!"

www.giglioinfo.com

The image above is the cover of a gift catalog/magazine (that I’m certain was expensive to produce) from La Grande Épicerie de Paris in Le Bon Marché department store (38 rue de Sèvres, 7th arrondissement). I picked it up in December of 2009, and though you can’t tell from the image, you can actually turn the serrated wheel at the right so that the colors change in the cut-outs of the gift boxes. I think it’s such a beautiful publication that I can’t bear to get rid of it, and besides, looking through it reminds me that La Grande Épicerie is a fabulous one-stop shop for wonderful culinary gifts (for others, but also for yourself!).

It also reminds me how much I love Paris’s grands magasins (department stores), and how often I tell people not to overlook them. It’s not just about the shopping: Galeries Lafayette, for example, has a gorgeous, mosaic glass domed ceiling that is every bit worth seeing as any other Parisian landmark, and the façade of Au Printemps was registered as a historic monument in 1975. In addition to Galeries Lafayete, Au Printemps, and Bon Marché, the other grands magasins include Bazar de l’Hôtel de Ville (BHV) and, formerly, La Samaritaine, now closed. In some ways I liked La Samaritaine best of all. The store was founded by Ernest Cognacq and his wife, Marie-Louise Jay (yes, the very same names associated with the wonderful Cognac-Jay Museum in the nearby 3rd arrondissement, housing one of the finest private collections of 18th century painting and objets d’art). Cognacq reportedly began selling ties on the Pont Neuf at a site previously known for a water pump located under an arch of the bridge. The pump provided water to the community from the early 1600s to the early 1800s, and it bore a bas-relief of the biblical Samaritan woman drawing water for Jesus at the well. I suppose Ernest and his wife had no trouble thinking of a name for their store when it opened in 1870. La Samaritaine was enormously successful until the 1970s, when it began operating at a loss, and it closed in 2005. I didn’t buy many things there but I loved the store for its rooftop café, Toupary (I love that pun!). I always heard the food was mediocre so I only ever had coffee and wine there, but what I came for was the view, which was spectacular and gratuit – everyone was welcome to come and look out at the Seine and the rooftops and beyond. Luxury goods company LVMH now owns La Samaritaine, and in 2010 it was announced that the Japanese firm Sanaa had been chosen to redesign the property. A 450 million euro project – apparently the largest privately funded construction project ever undertaken in Paris – will turn the former store into a luxury hotel and three adjacent properties will be dedicated to offices, shops, 95 apartments, and a nursery.

On nearby rue de Rivoli and founded in 1856 is BHV (that’s pronounced BAY-AHSH-VAY and it was abbreviated in 1982), which also has a rooftop terrace that practically nobody seems to know about. I discovered it quite by accident, and I couldn’t believe my luck – besides me, there were only three other people up on the roof and the view, while not as great as at Samaritaine, was still terrific. There is not a café here, which is probably why few people know to come up. The stationery department and the sous-sol (basement, which is devoted to hardware and kitchenware gadgets; you can buy cool stuff you can’t find in the States here, like drawer pulls and knobs that say “chaud” and “froid”) are the only areas I’ve ever bought anything.

Galeries Lafayette (founded in 1893) and Printemps (founded in 1865) are neighbors on the boulevard (Haussmann) so they’ve long been fierce rivals. I like just standing in the Lafayette Coupole building with its Belle Epoque architecture, but I also like the Home building (across the street) and, of course, Lafayette Gourmet (though in my opinion it is not nearly as appealing as the Épicerie at Bon Marché). Also, there are free fashion shows, which can be great fun, every Friday at 3:00 on the 7th floor in the Coupole building. A man named Jules Jaluzot was the creator of Au Printemps, which had an unfortunate start when a fire destroyed nearly all of the original building. But when the store reopened, in 1883, it was unique in two regards, according to the store’s website: it was the first to have electricity, and the first to have set prices for its merchandise (bargaining had been customary, but according to Catharine Reynolds in ‘Paris Journal: The Great Department Stores’ [Gourmet, October 1993], the practice of fixed prices was begun at Bon Marché). Believe it or not, a second fire occurred in the early 1920s, but since that time the store has been spared further destruction (and underwent a major restoration in 2006). My favorite place to be in Printemps is the Brasserie, which features a gorgeous, Art Deco cupola. And the 9th floor offers an unobstructed view from the Opéra to the Madeleine and from the Eiffel Tower to Montmartre.

But back to Au Bon Marché (as it was originally called, in 1852, by its founder, Aristide Boucicaut): I think it has the jewel in the department store crown with the Épicerie. I have spent a lot of euros (and former francs) here buying chocolate (the Valrhona selection is far more extensive than what is available in the States, plus there are always several brands that I’ve never heard of; and I also bought a chocolate watch for my daughter!); dragée chocolate almonds covered in gold, silver, and copper (typically only available around the December holidays); Kusmi tea (again, lots more varieties on offer); a box of marrons glacés; A.O.C. olive oil from Nyons (among my most favorite); exotic salts; smoked salmon; and even an accroche-sac, one of those gadgets that you slide over a table edge and hang a handbag on (mine is “decorated” with the Epicerie website, http://www.lagrandeepicerie.fr/).

If you’ve read this far and are wondering if I’m just rambling on about the grands magasins for seemingly no good reason, in fact I’m doing so because January is one month of les soldes (sales) in Paris and I know a number of people who plan trips around these big sales. Les Soldes are nationwide and state-regulated, and, according to the authors of one of the best books about France ever written – Sixty Million Frenchman Can’t Be Wrong by Jean-Benoît Nadeau and Julie Barlow (Sourcebooks, 2003) – they predate the discovery of America by at least three hundred years. Nadeau and Barlow note that “the police set the dates and supervise the sales across the country: stores are only allowed to have sales from mid-January to mid-February and from mid-June to mid-July. To hold a sale outside that period, merchants have to obtain special approval from the police. The rest of the year, small shops and big retailers can’t so much as offer a rebate without facing the wrath of the law.” I have read, however, that due to the faltering economy, the government has recently been allowing stores to mark down merchandise outside of les soldes. The Winter 2012 sales begin next week on 11 January and run for six weeks, ending on the 14th of February.

As each week passes, prices are slashed further, so it’s possible to get an outstanding bargain, even on designer items. But as with sales anywhere in the world, it pays to be knowledgeable about pre-sales prices to determine how good (or not) a deal you’re getting. Savvy shoppers will visit the stores in advance of the sales, especially to try on clothes for sizing – it will be a madhouse once the sales begin, so if you already know what size to buy you will save valuable time. Waiting until the end of the sales is not necessarily advantageous for clothes shoppers as by that point there will be limited sizes available. If you’re not going to be in Paris but you’d like to take advantage of les soldes, the bigger stores – notably the grands magasins – ship outside of Europe (I’m not sure of the policy for smaller boutiques), and if you are comfortable with an all-French website, check out http://www.1001bonnesaffaires.com/, which is excellent.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention another of my favorite features of les grands magasins: their restaurants and cafes! Whether you are actually shopping or just walking by one of the stores and feel like taking a break, don’t overlook the dining and picnic possibilities these stores offer. For the most part, what you’ll find is far better than anything in North American department stores, even at the coffee bars, and you’ll have an array of choices. Author and writer Peter Hellman, whose piece “Why We Love French Wine” is in my Paris book, has thoroughly investigated Paris department store dining over the years. I used his piece for the travel section of The New York Times – “For Hungry Shoppers in Paris,” 28 January, 2001 – as a primer for several years, but his more recent piece – “How to be a Gourmet in the Paris Stores,” The Wall Street Journal Online, 29 July, 2010 – may be of more interest.

Lastly, I close with a sentence worth keeping in mind from a very useful book by Susan Swire Winkler and Caroline Lesieur, The Paris Shopping Companion: A Personal Guide to Shopping in Paris for Every Pocketbook (Cumberland House). “In a culture where style of life is a source of national pride and pleasure, shopping as the French do is an invaluable approach to understanding French culture.”