I was in southern Italy for two weeks, which was indescribably wonderful, though I will describe it eventually in a travel story.
But I must say, it's a joy to come home to Paris. When my taxi crossed the Seine at Les Invalides, I remembered again that for a little while, at least, I live in the loveliest city in the world.
With me came my brother, John, sister-in-law Susan and niece Sarah, plus a bag of capers packed in salt from the island of Lipari, north of Sicily, which is where my Italian grandfather was from.
On July 4, my niece and I went to the market on the Boulevard Raspail, where we got the rest of the ingredients for a feast: pasta with capers, shrimp and sun-dried tomatoes, salad and appellation-controllee chevre cheese accompanied by cherries for dessert. Here's a piece of heresy: I like Italian food better than French.