Passion, Paris.

This entry will fall outside of the normal for my recent blogs. The pictures won't be in chronological order, I won't tell you what I did (save for a very special meal), and I won't be cataloging any activities.

I'm going to go out on a limb and wax philosophical for a bit.

When I travel, no matter where to, I'm really searching for the feel of a place. Sometimes, this feeling comes swiftly, leaving no trace of doubt over the personality of the city. But in the case of France, and especially Paris, our timeline didn't allow me to catch of glimpse of her inner self until I was already back home, back in my routine.

She moved me. I feel lovelorn over her, like she were some brief glance in a subway shared with a stranger, one that seemed a little too familiar. When people ask me about my trip, I've started feeling a pang of heartbreak over Paris, a feeling that I wish I could have assuaged by staying longer, if only by a day, just one more brief tryst.

I may try to pretend we have some deeper connection, but I never got the chance to know her, and that hurts.

She made me feel, she made me think. Upon reflection, Paris changed me in a fundamental way.

Now, I'm starting to grasp the implications of Paris, the deeper meaning of my journey and what drove me there in the first place.

Passion.

It's more than a feeling, more than a driving force. It is at the core of what I am, and what I want to do with my life. Without indulging in it, working for it, succumbing to it... everything would be a lie. I need to chase this far fetched and treacherous dream, or I will never be whole.

Too dramatic? I dare say not. Passion produces the most spectacular pieces of our world. It carves marble into sculpture, puts ink to paper (or finger to key), and builds cathedrals and pyramids. Passion gives life meaning, makes it our own, makes it worth living and fighting for.

Passion, emotion, and the need to express drive us to change the world around us, to create. It is at the core of being human. I can see and love the inherent beauty in the natural, a perfect strawberry, a prickly chestnut, but passion drives one to an irresistible need to affect these things, to make them ours. Better? No. Different? Yes.

Passion to me is the core of art, that indefinable thing that causes us to feel.

Is the chestnut art?

Is graffiti art?

A photograph?

Is art within the soul of its maker, or does it appear only to the one who experiences it?

Some are driven to the incredible task of building cathedrals, drawn towards the heavens by the mighty aspirations of their earthly builders, an innate need to create. I often stand in silent awe of these works, whether they be paintings, architecture, sculpture...

Or something far more worldly. Who's to say that striving for perfection in the every day is not art? (Piment d'Espilette peppers) Does it not take passion to create something so... humble? Perhaps not on the level of the great artists who built Notre Dame, but to me it is art, nonetheless.

If art is in the heart of the beholder, what does that make food? Sure, we can eat for mere sustenance, but we can eat and experience food for many other reasons as well, and it's hard to deny the effect on our psyches.

Perhaps to you, they're fresh, wriggling crayfish, and nothing more. But the moment I saw them slowly crawling on their final, icy bed, I was a child again, in knee-high rubber boots, pulling them wriggling from the stream near my childhood home.

Destined for butter and garlic, the escargot to me are tiny reminders of a crisp spring evening on a farm in central Italy, I vividly remember contemplating one of their brethren clinging to the dewy wire of a chain link fence.

Art reminds me of the relative unimportance of the self. Something so beautiful, from the hands of an unknown sculptor... so broken, and yet; perfect and complete. She meant so many things to so many, each with their own unique emotions to her. She means something independent of her creator, she was born of passion, and begets passion in those who have the fortune to gaze upon her wind-swept grandeur.

Sometimes art is fodder for postcards and tiny pewter replicas, but this shouldn't detract from its importance, not in the hearts of those who still feel new things from it, who are joyous to be impressed by something so iconic.

The ability to sate such a mundane thing as hunger with something transcendent, something transitive, something surprising.... that to me, is art. And sometimes, great artists open your eyes to every facet of your own passion, by immersing you in theirs.

L'Atelier de Robuchon, Paris.

Carrot and orange soup, with a fresh punch of cumin, and a sprinkle of Piment d'Espilette.

Caviar, potato, smoked eel, horseradish cream.

Heirloom tomatoes, olive oil from Provence, sumac, edible flowers.

Duck fois gras, coco beans, turnip chips.

Mushroom cappuccino, soft poached egg.

Red mullet, pistachio oil, olives, tomato.

Suckling lamb (only fed mother's milk), thyme, roasted garlic, potato puree.

Paris-brest pastries, orange gelee, praline mousseline.

Valrhona Araguani chocolate. Ganache, flake, cookie.

Perfect espresso, rich, chewy caramel candy.

Part of the genius behind the perfect meals I've experienced at three of Chef Robuchon's restaurants now is the incredible team he has pulled together to create and execute these amazing meals. Every single one of their staff exudes passion, and I can only hope to one day be able to make people who eat my food feel the way I did while eating theirs.

Passion.

Passion is the driving force that compels me to go out on a limb, hop in an airplane, exhaust every option, and yearn for the future. It can make me so frustrated, with myself, or the world. I exalt in my triumphs, and brood in my defeats, and yet, none of the travails have made me less wont to strive for the highest goals I can imagine, even if I am never so fortunate as to reach them.

In the end as well, I have a love for people. The beings who share passion with me, in all its myriad forms. Whether I have known them for all my life, or met them in passing, they're beautiful creatures, even at the times that I may despise individuals of them.

We share, we unite, we hurt, scorn, love, inspire, and every other possible action, and that is what makes us so incredible.

And they're all so amazing.

Until next time, ciao.