Quotes from David Lebovitz

Parisians are always in a big hurry, but are especially frantic if they're behind you. They're desperate to be where they rightfully feel they belong: in front of you. It's a whole other story when you're behind them, especially when it's their turn: suddenly they seem to have all the time in the world.

You never feel more American than when you leave America.

Spécial" is one of those elusive French words that means something (or someone) is...peculiar. The use of it is one of the rare times that the French are noncommittal about their opinions.

those immovable traffic barriers, which Parisians have nicknamed bittes (pricks).

disaster, a word that comes from the French des astres, or "from the stars.

Golden Delicious apples reliably hold their shape when cooked and don't exude too much juice, which results in a deeply caramelized round of apples on top of the buttery crust.

can heap on your plate! Okay, seriously, I always

Americans go into situations expecting things to go well. When they don't, we have meltdowns. The French go into situations expecting things not to go in their favor, so they're prepared when they don't.

Telling someone in France that they did something that was not correct is an affront to their honor, almost as severe as being told they're mal élevé, or "badly raised.

Sabah, an Arabic market that sits on the corner of the busy marché d'Aligre (see Resources, this page).

rond-point, the traffic circle that wraps around the very busy place de la Bastille.

One major reason I live in Paris is that I can visit Poilâne any time I want. Of all the boulangeries in Paris, Poilâne is certainly the most famous, and if I'm willing to brave the city sidewalks of the Left Bank, my reward is a rustic wedge of their world-famous pain au levain cut from the large loaves of sourdough lined up in the bakery,

eau de Javel, that universally loved liquid developed here in 1789 that's still dear to the French to this day.

Anyone in search of chocolate eventually makes the pilgrimage to Ladurée, the world-famous tea salon just off the place de la Madeleine.

kickplate" in French? An assiette à coup?

Although I considered not replacing the dishwasher and resigning myself to the drudgery of hand washing, my painter-pushing friend Randal slapped some sense into me. One day shortly thereafter, two hunky Frenchmen showed up at my apartment, muscles bulging and a fine mist of sweat glistening on their chiseled features. Which was great, but what was even more appreciated than their presence was the new dishwasher they'd hauled up the six flights of stairs.

CAKE AUX LARDONS ET FROMAGE BLEU

crêpe is made from white flour only. If buckwheat is used, it's usually called a galette, and

I attended a dinner party where the hostess kept the bottle of water sequestered under the table, guarded by her feet during the entire meal. Midway through dinner, completely dessicated, I could hold out no longer and summoned up the last bit of moisture in my mouth to form the words to ask for a sip. With some reluctance, she reached down to extract the bottle and poured a tiny trickle into my glass. Right after my ration was doled out, she screwed the top back on and stowed away the bottle.

crêpe de sarrasin. Confusingly, sometimes buckwheat (sarrasin) is called blé noir, so if you ask for a crêpe de blé noir, they'll understand perfectly what you're talking about.

The Bastille, where I live, is best known as the site where the infamous prison was seized and ransacked by the masses, igniting the French Revolution. Two hundred and twenty years later my doorstep is still the starting point for almost all the marches and strikes that happen in Paris. Fortunately it doesn't happen all that much. Just once a day or so.

So I asked the salesclerk for a jar of confiture de groseilles, which is pronounced "gro-zay." But with my less-than-stellar command of the language, I asked for "confiture de grosses selles" (which I pronounced as "gross sells"). The saleswoman's jaw nearly hit the counter: I'd ordered turd jam…make that big-turd jam.

Except a pot in French is not called a pot, but a casserole. Unless it has two handles, in which case it's a cocotte.

Don't you mean the Vierge Noire, the Black Virgin?" "Uh, yes. Isn't that what I was talking about?" "Daveed, a verge is a penis.