e.k.buckley

History of War in Food

Ethnic Paris Cookbook and Charlotte Puckette

I met chef and author, Charlotte Puckette, on the job I did in Paris last week.  I have no idea what would have happened without her.  She hooked us up with all the food needed for styling the shoot, and without her native knowledge my boss and I would have been hard pressed for time and energy, let alone for resources without a real French speaker. 

She's published a fantastic cookbook detailing the obscured food trends in Paris - all the ethnic corners one may not have the opportunity to pick up on. 
link to amazon::: Ethnic Paris Cookbook

Level Vodka styling job in Paris

I went to Paris last week.  A job changed from here to Paris at the last minute, and on Sunday I heard tell that the budget allowed me to be on it in Paris, and that I'd fly out in two days.  I'd never been there.

It was insane:
I worked TU, got home, got my bag and went to the airport for a flight that finally left at about 1am.  We got to Paris around 2p their time, left the airport straight for the photo studio - in Marais, the fucking hipsteriest place in Paris, which was SURREAL - and worked until about 1am (no sleep no food) in the gorgeous 14th century courtyard building.  We then went hunting an open cafe to eat, had a great ham and cheese and got to the hotel to check in around 3:30am.  Up at 7am, worked until about 1am, out for food, falafel this time, bed at 4am, up at 7am, work until 8pm, find out that I have to find a new place to stay for my last night, and change my ticket to leave a day early.  Plans to visit my folks in Geneva fell through at the last minute.  And I was kinda starting to hallucinate from no sleep and lots of advil.  Of course I get the added pleasure of her-monthliness for the trip.  Natch.

SO. I'm in paris with no place to stay for two days.  And no sleep.  Hooked up with the assistant on set we hired for local help, who thank GOD had dropped her triplets on daddy that weekend and had spare beds and a big heart.  Loved the shit out of her house, went for homemade sausage, walked to the eiffel tower, looked at the seine, it was AWESOME.  That morning we got up super early to go to the coolest market i've been to in my life times, like, infinity.  Clignoncourte (think that's a butchered spelling) flea market - 200,000 visitors daily.  It defined my friend, Claire.  Everything was beautiful, perfectly decayed, gorgeous, so french, i DIED.  I didn't buy a thing.  I thought about breathing into a paper bag.  I was so overwhelmed.  Then, since I couldn't get the late flight, I raced to the train to get to the flight home at 4pm.  And Then - - - - - -

Charlotte Puckette, my impromptu host & savior,  asked if I'd return to house sit her kitties in August, maybe paint a mural in her kitchen.  I'm floored, she's got a 7 story insane place in the 7 area, right by the Eiffel tower, and I tell her I'll let her know if I can pull it off. She has since mentioned she might be able to hook up a quick show event for art. 

Since i hadn't slept AT ALL and missed an entire night somewhere in there of sleep, the surreality had a literal aspect.  I WAS kinda in a dream state.  Which I love double about it, though I would have requested that next time I don't start my period two hours prior to flying to paris.  So no sleepy, mucho advil, streaks of light, paris.

Get to the airport, changed my flight the night before and nearly had to pay a grand (in euros) to get home on the 6:50p, but took the free change to the 4pm.  Get to the 4pm flight and was offered 300 euro voucher to go on standby on the 4 and take the 6:50, the one i wanted before but would have been charged 1000 euro.  I learned that the word Irony is the same in French, EE-roe-NEE.

Now, i have half my ticket back and a free place to stay.  I'm working on getting a show there.

that was paris.

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