I Can’t Bake.

It’s true, my personality does not allow me to bake. I am a fly by the seat of my pants type of girl and this is not conducive to baking. All of that measuring and precision is not for me. However, I do recognize a good cake when I see one. My cousin is a great baker, a temperamental baker, but a baker nonetheless. She usually makes all of Gracie’s birthday cakes and they are always amazingly clever. But what you have to go through while she is baking the cake makes it almost not worth it. Almost. Why are bakers always like that? They are probably just frustrated with all that measuring and precision but just won’t admit it, so it just festers inside of them and they take it out on unsuspecting cake eaters. But we still eat the cake so we are the enablers. I learned all of this from my friend Tom; he’s a therapist. We literally speak for hours a day about everything and nothing and solve all the world’s problems and wonder why everyone isn’t perfect like us. But anyway, back to cake and The Art of Entertaining.

To finish off a party, bringing out a cake, is just glorious. Just glorious! I prefer a homemade cake with homemade icing. It’s always a good idea to add a little “pièce de résistance” to your cake. Flowers, fruit or a supercool cake topper. Yes, I said it… Cake topper. There are some chic cake toppers believe it or not. Look look look…

 

And don’t forget the cake plate! Look look look…

 

 

 

If you want to see more fabulous cakes, cake toppers and cake plates, check out my Have Some Decorum Cake Pinterest board HERE

So on Saturday, we went to that fancy antique show I told you about. I have been to about, without exaggeration, 4 to 5 billion antique shows in my lifetime. This was one of the best. It even smelled good.

My husband and I got into a bit of a tiff/argument/discussion because I told him that I had heard that the antique show had so many valuables that it was insured for $50 billion. He disagreed and said, “Not 50 billion. Maybe 50 million.” My friend Tom, the therapist, always says to me, “Ellie, do you want to be right or do you want to be happy.” I want to be right so I said to my husband, “No, it’s 50 billion, douche bag.” When we got to the antique show, we went through the Graf jewelry booth and saw numerous flawless 50 carat diamond rings, in addition to Picassos, Mirós, 17^th century boiserie, Boulle furniture and Roman statues. My husband looked at me regretfully and said, “You were right. It’s probably $50 billion.” It’s so good to be right AND happy.

Here are a few photos.

 

 

On Sunday, we went to the “other flea market.” It was way out in the 14^th arrondissement so we took an Uber taxi. As soon as we got there I felt like “something was not quite right.” I couldn’t breathe very well so then, of course, I started to have a panic attack. When this is happening, I usually try to distract myself and I tried, I really tried to let the flea market be my distraction. Did not work. There were too many people, too much junk, the smell of french fries in the morning, and cigarette smoke mixed with sweaty French people. This has happened to me before. One year in Mallorca Spain, Diandra roused all of us at an alarming hour to go to the local farmers market. Within 30 minutes of us getting there, I was sitting on the curb, clammy, head hung low, sipping a Spanish version of Sprite and having a nervous breakdown. Why? Because Diandra bought Spanish ham at one stall and then a live bird at the next stall and then some cheese at the next stall. It was about 300°, we were hung over and the last thing you want to see is salami and animals co-mingling in repressive heat. I thought I was going to die. I should have known better yesterday. My husband tried to calm me down yesterday by trying to buy me something. This trick usually works but I didn’t even want anything. Except, now looking back, I really wish I would’ve had my wits about me because I really wish I would’ve bought these gorgeous yellow dishes. Now I’m going to spend a lifetime looking for their replacement. I did catch a glimpse of the stamp of the bottom. Martres France. There was also a little painting I should have bought but I didn’t have the energy to even take a picture of it. I just wanted to get the f*ck out of there. We summoned the Uber taxi. Nothing available. Apparently, Uber didn’t want to come to this flea market either. So we just started walking. My husband even admitted that he did not feel right at the flea market. We both decided that this flea market had bad mojo. We walked all the way home. From the 14^th arrondissement to the 1^st arrondissement! The only good thing about the day was that I saw these beautiful abandoned train tracks on our walk home. But besides that, the whole day was  hell. Note to self: stay in your comfort zone.

 

Stay tuned for the final installment (for now) of The Art of Entertaining. Hint: invisible tape.

*Thank you so much to everyone for their comments on something that we don’t know about each other! It’s fun getting to know everyone. What I really mean is that I’m glad we all hate the same things. Here’s something you don’t know about me. I never ever ever allowed Gracie to lick the cake batter because I was afraid of the raw eggs. Gracie learned the words “salmonella poisoning” before she could walk. She still hates me for that. My response: “Well guess what Gracie? Thanks to me you’re still alive.”

"Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises." – Pedro Calderon de la Barca

 

Just wanted to start today’s blog with a big Merci! Thank you to everyone who took the time to tell me that they enjoy my blog. Your kind words and well wishes for my blog, my health and my family are wholly appreciated. However, don’t be afraid, just because I’m a sicky-poo with ALS, to send me comments of another nature. I can take it. I actually encourage it. It’s a free world…express yourself, I do. But, thank you, nonetheless, for the good-natured comments.

 

Continuing my obsession with dishes, today let’s take a look at French faience. In particular, French green faience.

Definition of faience: [fahy-ahns] noun. glazed earthenware or pottery, especially a fine variety with highly colored designs.  

As I mentioned the other day, my mother and I found, at the Parisian flea market (Marche aux Puces), a rare set of 18^th-century French green dinnerware. We were at the flea market on the first buying trip for our antique shop in Santa Barbara named, Circa. More on that later. Anyway, we saw the dropdead gorgeous set of dishes in a dealer’s booth…but he was closed! Typical. There was no way we were going to leave that booth without those dishes. So we waited…and waited…and waited. My daughter, Gracie, was with us and she was about to lose her mind waiting for this antique dealer to show up. What seventh grader wants to sit around a flea market waiting for some Frenchman to finish his lunchtime quiche and salad and 4^th glass of red wine for the day, only returning to begrudgingly sell her mother overpriced stupid green dishes? The only reason Gracie didn’t shoot me on the spot was because we promised her chocolate crêpes and a trip to Bonpoint in Paris for a new dress (obviously, Gracie can be bought). We work on a bribery system in my household and it seems to work.

The dealer finally showed up, opened up his little shop, and invited us inside. This particular seller only deals in vaisselle (dinnerware). His entire shop was floor-to-ceiling dishes. Dishes that you would commit crimes for. The shop was so jam-packed that we could barely make our way through…my favorite environment ever. I could have bought everything in the store, but we were on a mission for those green dishes. The set was complete, including dinner plates, salad plates, soup tureen, sauce boat, covered dishes, platters and dessert bowls. They were truly remarkable and in perfect condition. We asked the price. “Uhh, excusez-moi, how much did you say they were?” They were a small fortune, but we bought them anyway. Don’t feel too bad for me, I more than quadrupled the price when I sold them.

We had a private soft opening party for friends and family for our shop. Within five minutes of the doors opening, the dishes were sold. Sold, paid for, gone. I knew they were special. They were sold to one of my favorite interior designers. A few months later, lo and behold, they showed up on the cover of Veranda. This is a good lesson to learn to always go with your instincts, trust your intuition, and stay focused on the prize.

 

 

So what’s the big deal about these dishes? I have tried to do some research, but have come up short. There is not a lot of information on them. Maybe a reader out there has more information? If so, please send it my way. There is a sort of similar set available on 1^stdibs.com HERE.

 

 

 My mother was a little depressed that we sold them so she then decided to find the next best thing…a quality reproduction set that she could use as every day dishes. My mother ordered them in green and a warm yellow from a pottery factory in the South of France called Souleo de Provence, formerly Terre E Provence . The same family of producers have been using the same method of manufacture since the 19^th century. The style she chose is called Louis XV. She ordered about 5 billion of them, of course (I’m not kidding, I saw the old invoice today and she ordered 292 pieces). They are very heavy and the colors are super rich. You can order them HERE.

 

 

Okay, because I’m not a total snob, I’m going to tell you where you can also buy them fairly cheap, but only if you promise to mix them in with your good stuff. There is a company called Le Cadeaux in Los Angeles that sells these dishes in lots of colors, dishwasher safe, oven safe and virtually unbreakable. I’m rolling my eyes as I write the word “dishwasher safe.” However, they are not too shabby and will do the trick. You can buy them HERE.

 

More of my favorite dishes tomorrow… Hint: tobacco.

A toute!

Charmant Cerisiers de Monet

 

So, I tend to get a tad bit obsessive over things. Pretty things. Mostly decorative objects. I admit it, I like stuff, but I am extremely particular about what kind of stuff. One of my obsessions is dishes (service, china, dinnerware, tableware, place setting…whatever you want to call it). I get this from my mother and she gets it from her mother. It’s a familial dysfunction. My mother is not the type of woman who has a place setting for 8 or 12. She has a place setting for 30 or more. It’s like we can’t stop until we have every single dish of a particular pattern ever made down to the sauce boat (I don’t use the word gravy boat because that’s disgusting). My current obsession is a particular pattern called Cerisiers de Monet. I won’t stop until I have the complete set… 12 times over.

A little history… The pattern was designed by none other than artist, Claude Monet, himself. He was inspired by his Japanese cherry blossoms, hence the name, Cerisiers de Monet. They were manufactured by the foundry Creil et Montereau in France (the dishes are also known as Creil Montereau Japon). The foundry has been in existence since the 1700s. Monsieur Monet used the set as his everyday dishes, which is what I shall be doing from here on out…

 

 

My obsession started after a visit to Monet’s Garden in Giverney, the gift shop in particular. On display was Monet’s entire Cerisiers reproduction dish set by Havilland Limoges available for purchase. I decided I would take that inspiration one step further and one pocketbook deeper and search for an antique set…obviously. Mission accomplished. A few weeks later I was at the flea market in Paris with my friend, Heather from Habitually Chic. As luck would have it, one of my favorite dealers had a tea set available…circa 1900. Years ago, for our antique shop, we had bought a complete set of 19^th-century French green faience from this particular dealer. More on that tomorrow. I negotiated with the dealer a bit because I’m a professional for God’s sake, and because most of my money has to be allocated to my stupid caregivers who, by the way, try to poison me. More on that tomorrow. I managed to get the price down to a doable price. €300 for a 21 piece tea set, complete with teapot, sugar bowl, creamer, tea cups and saucers and these charming little covered bowls (not sure what they are for).

 

With my OCD in full drive, I searched the flea market for any other dealer with Cerisiers de Monet. The gods were smiling upon me, because right around the corner, I found a set of 98 pieces! Unfortunately, the price was €3300. Guess I’ll have to hold my breath a little bit longer. A couple weeks later, my husband surprised me with a trés chic bracelet. My bitchy response? “Uh, were the dishes not available?” I would rather have these dishes than my expensive ALS medication. I mean that sincerely.

 

Just last week, I watched two French movies from the 70s, about stylish old school French families and in both of the films were those dishes! So, I decided that if I can’t have all of the dishes at once (boo-hoo) then I would slowly build my collection. Luckily, for you and I, this is possible through the magic of eBay. However, you can, if you must, buy a complete brand spanking new set from the Monet gift shop, but I don’t recommend it. There’s something so charming, so unique about having an antique set, even if there are a few blemishes. Don’t you agree?

 

Now that I have opened this Pandora’s box…tomorrow, let’s look at another favorite type of dinnerware service. Hint: “vert.”

Antique Cerisier de Monet/Creil Montereau Japon Here

New Cerisier de Monet/ Creil Montereau Japon Here

A toute!

"Oh, I Get by With a Little Help From My Friends…"

I could not put a higher value on my friends. Let me explain… So, in continuation from the last post regarding this stupid feeding tube issue, I once again survived. The doctor had said he would be arriving at my apartment at 9 AM to do the procedure. I spent the entire previous evening stressing myself out. By the time the morning came, I was in full tilt stress. Since the doctor would be coming to my bedroom to do the procedure, I decided the smartest thing to do would be to make my bedroom a tranquility suite. Soft lighting, warm blanket, favorite Diptyque candle, Yves St. Laurent movie soundtrack playing, current Architectural Digest ready on the iPad, and my headset ready to go with my theme song… Queen’s Under Pressure. Additionally, I recruited a very special French friend, Ann–Lise, my chic friend Heather from New York in her cute blue pajamas and my daughter to be there for moral support. I also had my Grace Kelly look-alike friend, SB, on speakerphone from her house in Switzerland. It was a packed house. Furthermore, my friend Debbie, her children, and her sweet, sweet parents organized a prayer request! I was well covered. I could feel all of their love and support all the way from St. Louis.

When the doctor and nurse arrived, they couldn’t believe their eyes. Who are all these people and why are they here? My doctor knows full well what a nut job I am so he agreed to let everyone stay. French doctors and nurses are not the most gentle people on the planet…. So, prior to their arrival, I researched how to say in French “be gentle.” Additionally, I bribed the nurse and the doctor with delicious macaroons. So after we got that settled, my time to stall was over. There was no going back so let’s just do this thing. The nurse took off the Band-Aid and I started screaming, “Be gentle! Be gentle!” The doctor started to open the box with the new tube in it, and my head started to spin. I saw him fill a syringe with water and I thought I was going to faint. I decided just to look at my friends and my daughter and try to distract myself. The doctor started to touch me and as soon as I started work myself up into a full cry it was over! It was over in less than 8 seconds! I didn’t even have time to cry! I didn’t even have time to look at my new Architectural Digest! It was actually very anti-climatic. I expected more. I deserved more. Just kidding.

So now what? The doctor told me to rest and let the new tube heal. Boring. I’m in Paris for God’s sake. So I did what every good girl does after a little mini surgery… I went to the Marché aux Puces, the flea market! Yeah, I did. You know how people say to de–stress you need to go to your “happy place?” My happy place is the flea market looking at furniture

Me at the puces circa pre ALS

Paris 1958 Le Marche aux Puces.

 So off I go to the happiest place on earth with my caregiver. It was a beautiful sunny day and the flea market was bursting with treasures. 18^th century gold mirrors, Napoleon III gueridon tables, chinoiserie blue and white vases, Provence style baskets, antique dealers sipping wine in the sunshine, a French Bulldog asleep on an antique fauteuil, stupid Americans asking, “Combien,” rock crystal sconces, antique paisley and trés belle faience. Heaven! I honestly think I deserve some type of award for most likely being the only girl working a flea market the day after a new feeding tube. Oui? I was all proud of myself and feeling rather grand when who do I see as I turn the corner? My doctor! Busted! I was totally busted! I know he was thinking, “Well Well Well, if it’s not the little drama queen strolling the flea market the day after her procedure.” The good news is that this is the first time he has seen me out of my pajamas and without mascara running down my face from being a big fat crybaby.

 To sum up the latest adventures… I have learned that the moral support from my friends is what gets me through these hard times. So, thank you all of my friends and well-wishers. Secondly, I have learned that the flea market is a special refuge that is distracting enough where I feel like I am almost normal again. So merci Marché aux Puces.