My Life in Paris: A Friend to Remember

 
My Life in Paris: A Friend to Remember

Theadora Brack recalls the extraordinary times she spent with her pal, Édith.

In anticipation, my red cowgirl boots were giddying-up as Catherine and I approached our friend Edith’s house near the top of the steps on the corner of Rue des Abbesses and Rue André-Antoine. These steps were once a frequent subject for Bohemian artists such as Maurice Utrillo and Alphonse Léon Quizet. It’s also where André Antoine founded the first free theatre, launching the little theatre movement.

Édith’s door was already open. Cat and I had arrived early to help her with last-minute shopping. Dinner at her place in Abbesses was always great fun and full of surprises. How many guests? Not sure, she said. But we’ve got plenty of roast chicken, potatoes, cheese and baguettes, along with red wine on the counter. Tonight’s mission? Greens, please, and that pink wine you’re so fond of, she said with a wink.

Dividing in order to conquer, I scored the salad greens as Cat raced to the Cave des Abbesses for the rosé. By the time we returned, Édith’s place was already buzzing with writers, artists, actors, musicians and opera singers.

Just dropping by

Always funny and generous, I can’t recall a time when Edith and her daughter, Fatou, were not available for a meal or a chat over wine. Whenever I’d propose a get-together, she’d reply: “When it is convenient for you. Your hour will be mine!” Her place always felt like home. And I wasn’t the only one to feel it. Often during a dinner, friends and jet-setting pals from all over the world would pop by, promise to visit for only a bit, then stay for hours.

Late one night, Cat showed up with singer and poet Sebka, who brought the gathering to tears with his rendition of Pierre Barouh’s Chanson pour Teddy. Caught up in the revelry under the dim kitchen lights, we all fell under Edith’s cosy, inspiring spell. From dusk to midnight, cheek-by-jowl around the table in her tiny kitchen, we’d eat, gossip, laugh, tell stories, sing ballads and play instruments.

A moveable feast

While cooking a few more courses for latecomers, she’d regale with us tales from her past. Édith had assisted Vincente Minnelli on film productions, photographed dancers at the Lido and met writer James Baldwin on a crowded barge on the Seine.

“Now, that was an interesting night,” she’d say, in her casually cool and discreet sort of way. “He was fascinating.”

Hailing from Marseille, Édith was a natural magician in the kitchen both for her master chef improvisational skills as well as her food-based hacks.

Sunburned? Lay fresh cut vegetables on your skin from head to toe. Fatigued feet? Soak them in cold wine. She knew everybody in the Montmartre-Abbesses neighbourhood, and not only fed them feasts, but supported anyone who needed loans, school tuition fees, or a free place to stay in her sky-lighted former furniture workshop. When she wasn’t attending her friends’ plays, concerts and exhibition openings, she gave free cooking lessons: cheese balls, miniature baked eggs, fish paste and other signature dishes.

Great French bake-off

Edith was a philosophical and opinionated foodie. Once I brought a pâtisserie-made strawberry tart from Chef Samie Didda’s Les Petits Mitrons to dinner. Despite its handsome pink box and blue ribbon, when she noticed the bottom was blackened, she set it aside for me to take back home. “Who buys a tart with a scorched bottom?” she said. She wasn’t convinced until the next day, and then she phoned me.

“Today I decided to make a tarte aux mirabelles,” she said. “But then the phone rang, and I forgot about my tart. It burned! I hate to waste things, so I ate it anyway. And it was really the best I ever made! Forgive me! Your chef Samie must be mad, but he’s also dynamic!”

It’s been just over a year since she passed away. Recently I found one of the last messages she sent me: “Tonight we attended an extraordinary production of Chekhov’s The Seagull at the Théâtre des Abbesses. During the play, I asked myself if Chekov would have liked it. But it was so lively, like a musical, a sad musical. Like life, sometimes.” Edith, you are missed.

Theadora Brack has lived in Paris since 2003 and is the author of the peopleplacesandbling.com blog.

From France Today Magazine

Lead photo credit : Édith in her salle de bain with its floor to ceiling mural, © THEADORA BRACK

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After 10 years at the American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore, Theadora moved to Montmartre in 2003 to write for the travel website Eurocheapo.com. She founded her own blog, "People, Places and Bling: Theadora's Field Guide to Shopping in Paris."

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