Pigeon Marnier

Pigeon Marnier

                The gray buildings didn’t stretch high into the sky, but they certainly demanded attention and respect. It was clear that every brick, every window, and every speck of imperfection – though few and far between - told a story. Some of the stories were decades old, while others held the secrets of past centuries that we will never completely know. The cobblestone paths struck my feet with the sorrow of the starving revolutionists marching to Versailles, only to be told my Marie Antoinette to eat cake. The grids of Denver and Chicago had not prepared me for the star layout of Paris, and I was nearly late to class on multiple occasions because my quick morning runs had turned into long morning mazes.

                I had spent two weeks in Cannes prior to my arrival in Paris, so by the time I got to The City of Lights, much of my homesickness had been pushed aside by culture surprise, which is different than culture shock, because I was happy to embrace the differences between the French and the Americans. My first night in Paris, I looked out at Quai des Jemmape, which fed into the Seine, and watched snow fall gently into it. “Magical” was the only way I could describe it to my American family and friends.

                March 21, 2002. It was nearly spring break and Mom was visiting from Denver! She needed a vacation after her surgery in early January where doctors took nerves from her tongue and put them in her neck in hopes that the right side of her face would be a little less paralyzed from the surgery to remove her acoustic neuroma that had also left her deaf in one ear.

                I met her at the airport and whisked her from the outskirts to the center of the city on le metro. We were staying in the Latin Quarter while she visited so that she could have the most Parisian experience (of course, that’s where all of the other tourists stayed, so maybe it wasn’t the most “authentic” Parisian…). The balcony view from the seventh floor was as postcard-esque as one could ask for, and we enjoyed it nightly with a glass (or bottle) of some of France’s most famous beverages.

                Le tour Eiffel is an unbelievable sight, and depending on the route one takes to get there, it can be either beautiful or ugly and clunky. I wanted her first exposure to this famous landmark to be positive, so we exited le metro two blocks away. We walked up the steps, passed by the Gypsies playing their accordions, and I could see my mom doing the same thing I had done: scan the sky for a glimpse of the World Fair monument. But you cannot see it until you walk down this street and turn on that one. By the time we turned, she was so eager to see it, she was nearly drooling.

                Voila! She stopped in her tracks, just as I had done, and her jaw dropped in utter amazement. How could something so tall and amazing hide so easily in this neighborhood of old apartment buildings? Genius!

                We stopped at the first crepe vendor we saw, and she ordered the crepe she had been craving since I had first described it two months prior: Crepe au Grand Marnier. Her mouth watered as I ordered for her, and when the man handed it to her in the wax paper, I thought she might fall over.

                “Merci,” we said as we turned our attention back toward le tour. I could feel myself glowing inside and out, knowing I had created for her the experience of a lifetime with the presentation of the monument and a cuisine unlike any you could find at the mall.

                Just then, a breeze swept by and yanked at her snack! We gasped and she reached toward it, but before she could grab it and before it hit the ground, someone much hungrier snatched it away! Pigeon! A rat with wings devoured her liquor crepe, and there was nothing we could do but watch in shock!

                I offered her some of my crepe choco nutella, or to go and get her a new crepe, but she wasn’t interested in either. Was she pouting? Of course not! My amazing mother was laughing so hard that she had to sit down! Instead of being mad about the unfortunate circumstances, she decided that the pigeon was in greater need of that crepe than she was!

                What an inspirational woman, my mom. Wind took her crepe, and she was happy that at least a dumb bird was well-fed.