Yipes! It's October. Where did the time go? I've been eeking out every last bit of summer in France, heading out of town on weekends, including the last one, where the temperatures slid down to 4ºC (39ºF), which I guess means I can put away my Speedo (er, not that I have one…) – but you get the drift.
To hold on as long as possible, I've been stockpiling nectarines from my market, until they finally gave way to Quetsches (Italian prune plums), then apples and quince. And just as quince hit the markets, I opened my copy of Jerusalem, by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi, and landed on their recipe for Lamb-Stuffed Quince with pomegranite, which I made for dinner. It's an unusual dish, using quince as a vessel for seasoned ground lamb, which I served to some friends as we traded stories about locking ourselves out of our apartments.
In Paris, locks are formidable and if you lock yourself out, calling a locksmith will set you back about a thousand bucks. Yes, really. I've locked myself out twice, and although a friend has a spare key, the last time it was 9pm and I was wearing my shorts (before the temperature drop) and slippers, because I was emptying the garbage and, of course, I didn't have my phone or my wallet.
So that was me, hopping over two métro turnstiles with my fuzzy footwear and baggy shorts, hoping I wouldn't get stopped by a ticket controller. (Or worse, the fashion police!) Fortunately I made it without getting arrested, but I'm very careful about making sure I have a key with me at all times from now on.
The fellow who was having dinner at my place with his girlfriend wasn't so lucky. He was in the middle of, um…l'amour…with someone (a previous girlfriend, at her place) and ran downstairs in his skivvies to get a preservatif from the machine in front of the drugstore, just outside. The door shut behind him and he was out there for a couple of hours, in his undies, on the busy rue de Rivoli. (He didn't know what apartment she was in so didn't know which bell to ring.) The story was hilarious to us..and now that time has passed, probably to him..but I'll let you come to your own moral conclusions about the story.
So folks, if you're in Paris, keep your wallet or phone with you at all times. And maybe a preservatif as well. Better safe, than sorry - since you don't want to be caught with your pants down, either.