I hail from Michigan and was born in the Indian, then French, then English and finally American city with the French name, Detroit. The narrows or straits in question, the Detroit River. More particularly, I grew up outside the City in Grosse Pointe, which in this case does not refer to being on toe in ballet but a strip of land the juts into Lake St. Clair (Lac St.-Claire). The area was settled by the French in the 1800s with rows of elm trees running from the lake West protecting fruit orchards in between, referred to as ribbon farms. By the 1900s, Detroiters, now more prominently of English extraction, began to build summer homes there. With the invention of automobiles, street cars and macadam roads, the homes began to be winterized after WWI and businessmen would commute into the City by car, trolley, or by boat 8-9 months of the year.
My connections to France and the French have been traced through King Edward I who is descended by some six generations from Charlemagne. Haven’t done the work, but from there one might go back to the Merovingians. My initial exposure to French began in the 9th grade where I managed to get D's for 1 year and a half (a little too much “ faire l'école buissonnière”) before I went to Culver Military Academy and became serious about, in addition to girls and sports, academics. I was an early AP program French student, became motivated, an AP’ed in French and History into the University of Virginia. At Culver, I read Racine, Corneille, Moliere, Voltaire among others. I continued with French Lit at U.Va. for a couple of years. Regrettably, I never had a semester or year abroad in France. But, back in the day, when I was doing my Doctoral Research work in Turkey (for the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy), before my Turkish became sufficient to understand research and conversation in Turkish, I did find myself conversing with the head of the Family Law chamber of Le Court de Cassation in French for a year before we could effectively begin to talk about the law in Turkish during my second year (1978-79, Ankara). Interestingly enough, in another Karma, as a founder of Turkey’s first investment bank, under the aegis of Bankers Trust in NY, I found myself speaking some French, more haltingly I’m afraid, when representing Lafarge Coppée in what proved to be then the largest M&A transaction to that date in Turkey – the acquisition of a major cement company in Istanbul. Marilyn and I lived there with two children and two dogs from 1988-92, giving me a total of 6+ years living in Turkey.
Before going to Turkey, and before kids, Marilyn and I lived in northern Greece where we worked at America’s oldest continuously running mission school. From there we moved to Florence where I studied language (la lingua de Dante Allighieri e de Toscano) and Art History at the University for 8 months.
My favorite French cheeses are L’Époisses (favorite of Porthos of the Trois Mousquetaires) and DeGaulle’s favorite, Mimolette. Although Château Cheval Blanc ranks near the top of my wine favorite, at the end of the day I am a Burgundy man and uphold the tradition of “toujours les vins, jamais en vain”. Most memorable bottle, a Magnum of Les Grands Échezeaux ‘55 at the “21 Club” in NYC at my parents’ 30th wedding anniversary in 1974… Grandest French dining experiences were at le Taillevent à Paris and Laserre (with the retractable ceiling) where Marilyn and I enjoyed a 3-hour lunch after closing the French deal which included a sublime Gigot D’Agneau and a Marc de Champagne to to finish… Most memorable seaside meal, outside Monte carlo, on the Cote D’Azure - a Bouillabaisse to die for. Most memorable drinks, the Hôtel de Paris in Montecarlo between heats at the French Formula I Grand Prix in Monte Carlo where Jackie Stewart (a Scot) and his French racing companion, François Cevert came in 1st and 3rd (2nd Emerson Fittipaldi of Brazil). François died 6 months later (1973) at Watkins Glen in NY and Jackie promptly retired as the top driver of his era and became a race announcer for NBC.
I have also had the pleasure of riding horses in the Bois de Boulogne and flying a sailplane (1979) over Briard – the home of Brie cheese – while visiting my younger brother who was in cooking school at La Varenne (Paris). I have cooked with my sister, who was, back in the summer of ’82, an assitant chef at Buddy Bombard’s Hot Air Ballooning Society for a night in Vézelay (where St. Bernard helped launch the 2nd Crusade led by Richard Coeur du Lion). I have travelled from the Mediterranean to Provence (ask where and with whom to stay), up the Rhône Valley, to Alsace, the Loire Valley and Normandie - the home of that great elixir of life, Calvados (must be Vieux), and the le Caneton a la Rouennaise where our family friends, Paul and Julia Child (for whom I have cooked and she for us) fell in love with France and French cooking (sole meunière in Rouen got her hooked), Isgny butter, le fromage du Pont-L’Évêque…where we have beheld the extraordinary Bayeux Tapestry and have been to the sacred ground of Pointe du Hoc and the battlefields of Normandy, most recently a year ago with Ike’s grandson, David and wife Julie Nixon Eisenhower.
One of my favorite lines in French lit is from Corneille’s Le Cid: “L’amour est un tyran qui n’epargne personne”. Most appreciated French fellows include Charles Gravier, comte de Vergennes, France’s foreign minister who worked assiduously to convince Louis XVI to aid the American Rebels during our Revolution – sending among others, the Marquis de Lafayette, le Maréchal Rochambeau, Amiral De Grasse and du Portail who greatly assisted the American’s in bringing the war to a timely and advantageous close both at Yorktown and subsequently at the Treaty of Paris… One of the greater tragedies in France, the Battle of Agincourt where the flower of French nobility parished at the hands of Henry V and his forces – whose nobility had been intermarried with the Norman French since the Battle of Hastings… Favorite artist, Monet… Favorite museum, D’Orsay… I will sing from Maurice Durufle’s Requiem in Latin, the sublime Ubi Caritas et Amor on Good Friday. I have played the Jeu de Paume in Montreal, NYC, Boston, Philadelphia, London and Paris. Google that and see what the connection is to the Tennis Court Oath and Paris’ impressionist art museum after the WWII until the Impressionist Art Museum was moved to D’Orsay. Wonderful times with Marilyn and the children include a proper Burgundy tasting near the Hospice de Beaune and playing pétanque and sipping pastis in St. Remy. When calories and your liver don’t matter, sauteed foie gras is recommended. If in Bordeaux/Perigord area, have it with a cool glass of D’Yquem. If in Strasbourg, with a Tokay D’Alsace… Don’t get Aniko started on this. She’ll say that the French stole the grape varietal from the Hungarians back in the day.
The wildest time in France (my first trip to La Belle France, summer of ’69) came under the dubious guidance of the son of a French family friend that began with a bistro lunch where some of our tartare was shared with his boxer, a Scotch in a private home, dinner Au Pieds de Cochons near Les Halles with some and ended with a couple of girls at the Place du Tertre in Montmartre in the wee hours of the morning having cheap champagne, une glace à la fraise je crois, and a night time visit of Sacré-Coeur. But, that’s another story.
I am a man of many passions, not least of all le sujet de La Civilisation Francaise. Our daughter in particular, Margaret, has continued this affair, is fluent in French (some Arabic, Greek and Turkish as well) and most recently returned from working in Tunis for 15 months. There is much more to tell. Alas, I am beginning to prattle on like a French Troubadour recounting “La Chanson de Roland”. By now you are bored, or hopefully, ready for a glass of wine, un morceau de frommage, un peu de pain and a chance drift off to “ faire des châteaux en Espagne”. Bon appétit et bien dormi !
.jpg)