Do you honestly think that I could go to Paris and not avail myself of the local seafood? Many of the brasseries had fantastic displays of freshly shucked oysters; clams known as amandes; raw mussels; baby shrimp in their shells; cadmium red prawns; whole cooked crab; chewy sea snails known as bulots and tiny blue-black winckles. We succumbed to their sirens song and soon found ourselves starring at a beautiful Plateau de fruits de mer; a gorgeous, glistening assortment of shellfish, or fruits of the sea perched high on the table on an ice-filled round metal platter. Accompanied with slices of rye bread, lovely French salted butter, quarters of fresh lemon, mayonnaise and mignonette, my companions could only drool and eat bread, as I spent 10 minutes capturing it from every angle with my camera. My wife is used to me discreetly photographing food at restaurants. We can’t eat steamed crabs (a Baltimore specialty) without me whipping out my faithful little canon elph. “Can I eat now?” is her common mantra. It has gotten worse since the daily painting started as everything is possible creative fodder.Trying to keep it fresh (no pun intended), I may leave Paris tomorrow and try something a little different. Stay tuned.
