Today I am writing from a chilly, but beautifully clear and sunny Paris, my second home and base for the present month. Already a week has passed, and as hinted in my last article, I promised to share with you my experiences here. I have decided to do so by keeping a food diary. Well, my journey began with a pleasant plane trip on British Airways, and a brief sojourn in London. The staff at Norman Manley are wonderful. I am really mad that Air Jamaica will discontinue the London route into Heathrow, speaking as a British-Jamaican. We are an important part of the Jamaican diaspora and many hearts are filled with regret based on the many conversations I have had with family and friends these past few days. Anyway, let me stop ranting and give you a taste of my Parisian life.

My first night in Paris, I had a surprise welcome from my friends Ketty and Najeth who prepared for me a North African feast of Kafta, which are spicy meatballs and a chicken, lemon and olive tagine that was absolutely divine. Throughout we drank a lovely Cotes du Rhone. This was topped off by a lovely strawberry and almond dessert which was marinaded in arome fleur d’oranger, a type of orange water, with a touch of sugar – remember, strawberries are a summer fruit and not so sweet this time of year – plus fresh mint. Light, perfumy and delightful! The meal ended with a comforting mint tea and I felt all warm and toasty. I fought off my jet lag to stay awake until quite late, slept blissfully and woke up refreshed.

The next day I ran a few errands and met my friend Greg for lunch in St Germain des Pres, the very chic district of the 6th arrondissement. We met at the metro, walked around a bit to catch up on old news and to get our appetites going as we were not yet quite hungry. By the time we found a café, the Relais Odeon, which was not too packed, but buzzing nonetheless, we were ravenous. Feeling in a good mood we ordered a bottle of Julienas with our tartare de boeuf avec frites and salade. The tartare had a kick with mustard, tabasco and capers with a hint of something tasting like barbecue sauce. Raw meat never tasted so good. We were too full for dessert, but finished our meal with green tea.

The Relais Odeon is on a very old street next door to the Café Procope, which is the oldest café of Paris founded in 1635. We didn’t go into Procope as it was filled with tourists and to me overpriced. However, the history is fascinating. The French Revolution was planned there, Robespierre was a regular as well as Piron, and the great philosopher Voltaire. It was also a favourite haunt of American President Benjamin Franklin.

A big part of French life is the apero hour where you meet friends for a drink before dinner and nibble on nuts or olives in a bar. I met my old friends David and Anne, who are fascinating intellectuals, over a few glasses of Kir, the classic aperitif, in the smoky Tribal Café on the Cours des Petites Ecuries in the 10th arrondissement. Although my lungs were about to give out inhaling second-hand fumes – thank God the no smoking in public areas ban comes into effect in this city on February 1st – my brain felt wonderfully stimulated after a lively political discourse from my descriptions of the recent elections in Jamaica to the current border situation in Rwanda, Uganda and the Congo, the divorce proceedings of French President Sarkozy and his wife Cecelia and the Turkish dismissal of the Armenian genocide. It is conversations such as these why I miss Paris so much. And of course, the Rugby World Cup and the crippling transportation strike which has forced me to rearrange my trip back to London for an important appointment. I was really annoyed, but for those of you who are intimately knowledgeable about the French, you know certain sectors of this nation love to go on strike.

After, we moved on to the 11th district to a restaurant called Ava Maria, which was pure kitcsh with pictures of the Virgin Mary, the Hindu God Ganesh, Buddha, and Chinese art adorning the walls and all sorts of tropical plants, a few booths and long, cramped tables which are typical here.

Music was playing in the background, funky ambient and world beat sounds. The food served here is fusion with Indian, African, Mexican and Brazilian influences, what the French like to call “world food”. I ordered Kirikou, the national dish of Togo. It is a spicy beef stew with carrots and turnips served with Basmati rice, and slices of fresh oranges.

It was served in lovely clay dishes. I only drank Badoit, a sparkling water as I was still buzzing from the Brazilian caipirinhas we imbibed while waiting on our orders. The portions were massive, so we all shared a dessert called All We Need Is Love, the house special – a gigantic, light, melt-in-your-mouth strawberry mousse on a spiced cookie base with raspberry coulis and fresh raspberries. As it was freezing outside, the waiter gave us complimentary shots of ginger-flavoured rum. I had forgotten how much one drinks in chillier weather in Europe, as I don’t drink as often in Jamaica.

Of course, my doctor here was not amused I turned up with a hangover and he told me in his strictest formal French how he was disappointed, but what the heck, I am on vacation after all! I had lunch later with my friend and his mother at Bo Zinc, in the elegant 16th arrondissement. They ordered a demi-bouteille, half bottle, of Brouilly since I told them how naughty I had been. My friend and I had the very delicious confit de canard, while his mother had andouilette de canard avec puree pommes de terre, basically a duck sausage with mashed potatoes, but everything sounds better and tastes lovely in France with their element of je ne sais quoi.

Last night, I went to my friend Isabelle’s birthday party. Again my multi-ethnic friendships played out in the food we ate. We ate Senegalese Poulet Mafé, which is also claimed by the Cameroonians to be theirs, a chicken stew made with peanut butter, onions, hot peppers, tomatoes and carrots; a Poulet Coco, chicken with carrots, onions and herbs cooked down in coconut milk which was made by a Cambodian friend of the birthday girl, so there was an Asian element to the African; and a lovely, garlicky tomato pickle which complemented both dishes wonderfully called Rougail from La Reunion island, a French dependency in the Indian Ocean. Martinican rum punch was served. I am guilty of tasting just a little bit for comparison’s sake and drank mostly water.

I hope you have enjoyed a little taste of the international flavours of Paris. I will be back next week with more.

Bon appétit et a la prochaine!

Jacqui Sinclair is a Cordon

Bleu-trained chef/food stylist & hotelier. She has worked in the world of food photography and film in Europe. A bon vivant, she is passionate about sharing her food secrets with enthusiastic home cooks.