The Trials and Tribulations of an American Renovating in Paris
Fixing up an apartment in a foreign land gives pastry chef David Lebovitz the ingredients for a new book
Renovating requires mastering a new language – of corbels and cornices, mullions and muntins, bay windows and bow windows. The jargon at every stage is hard enough to understand when it’s in your mother tongue, so imagine how confusing it can be when it isn’t.
As expat pastry chef and cookbook author David Lebovitz finds out, even the seemingly straightforward task of selecting appliances for his Parisian apartment gets complicated when a French-door refrigerator is called a réfrigérateur américain and when toilet seats as well as eyeglasses are called lunettes.
As expat pastry chef and cookbook author David Lebovitz finds out, even the seemingly straightforward task of selecting appliances for his Parisian apartment gets complicated when a French-door refrigerator is called a réfrigérateur américain and when toilet seats as well as eyeglasses are called lunettes.
Read it as an insider’s guide to living the dream in the City of Light. Or read it as a cautionary tale about a renovation gone unbelievably bad – one that’s thankfully leavened by 25 recipes developed in Lebovitz’s hard-won kitchen.
These frangipane plum-raspberry gratins, the recipe for which he shares below, can even be made in a toaster oven should your kitchen be temporarily out of commission.
These frangipane plum-raspberry gratins, the recipe for which he shares below, can even be made in a toaster oven should your kitchen be temporarily out of commission.
Photo by Ed Anderson
From renter to owner
Lebovitz moved to Paris in 2004 after almost 13 years working at the pioneering Chez Panisse restaurant in Berkeley, California, USA, and another five years writing cookbooks. It seemed a natural choice. “My life revolved around my cooking and baking,” he writes, “and in France, everyone seems to be either: 1) talking about what they had eaten, 2) eating or 3) talking about what they were going to eat.”
He rented a two-room apartment just under the hot-enough-to-melt-chocolate zinc roof of a Haussmann building near the Bastille for the better part of a decade before deciding to take the plunge and buy. He just wasn’t sure he could give up his panoramic view of the Eiffel Tower – the very view, he notes, that inept chef Alfredo Linguini enjoys in Pixar’s animated movie Ratatouille.
During his multi-year apartment hunt – hindered by the lack of a multiple listing service – Lebovitz had three items on his wish list. He wanted to find an apartment that was in move-in condition; on the top floor of a building with an elevator; and in the hip neighbourhood he had grown to know and love, where vendors at the Marché Bastille, one of the city’s largest open-air markets, had finally consented to let him pick out his own produce.
From renter to owner
Lebovitz moved to Paris in 2004 after almost 13 years working at the pioneering Chez Panisse restaurant in Berkeley, California, USA, and another five years writing cookbooks. It seemed a natural choice. “My life revolved around my cooking and baking,” he writes, “and in France, everyone seems to be either: 1) talking about what they had eaten, 2) eating or 3) talking about what they were going to eat.”
He rented a two-room apartment just under the hot-enough-to-melt-chocolate zinc roof of a Haussmann building near the Bastille for the better part of a decade before deciding to take the plunge and buy. He just wasn’t sure he could give up his panoramic view of the Eiffel Tower – the very view, he notes, that inept chef Alfredo Linguini enjoys in Pixar’s animated movie Ratatouille.
During his multi-year apartment hunt – hindered by the lack of a multiple listing service – Lebovitz had three items on his wish list. He wanted to find an apartment that was in move-in condition; on the top floor of a building with an elevator; and in the hip neighbourhood he had grown to know and love, where vendors at the Marché Bastille, one of the city’s largest open-air markets, had finally consented to let him pick out his own produce.
Before
Instead, he ended up with this spécial (translation: peculiar) ground-floor metal shop-turned-living space. At least it was in the 11th Arrondissement, not far from where he was living.
“It was one large room with a partitioning wall slicing it nearly in half,” Lebovitz writes. “Behind that wall was the bathroom. Wedged in next to it, by another clouded-over window, was a slim galley kitchen with a stainless steel benchtop, a menacing German black sink, a university dorm-size refrigerator and a surprisingly delightful enamelled French oven with a pretty crimson door.”
A garage had been converted into a bedroom, which Lebovitz envisioned as an office. Downstairs, a stone cave, or basement, under a stunning arch felt so toasty that Lebovitz imagined it as his bedroom sanctuary.
“I assumed that time had buffed the stones of the arch to a Louvre-like patina. But I had to guess at that, because I couldn’t see it. The entire arch had been papered over and hidden, except for a few places where the glued-on paper was peeling away,” Lebovitz writes. “While the old is generally celebrated in France, over the years, things like ancient stone walls, historic marketplaces … and even certain styles of kitchen sinks got furloughed because they reminded people of tougher times.”
Instead, he ended up with this spécial (translation: peculiar) ground-floor metal shop-turned-living space. At least it was in the 11th Arrondissement, not far from where he was living.
“It was one large room with a partitioning wall slicing it nearly in half,” Lebovitz writes. “Behind that wall was the bathroom. Wedged in next to it, by another clouded-over window, was a slim galley kitchen with a stainless steel benchtop, a menacing German black sink, a university dorm-size refrigerator and a surprisingly delightful enamelled French oven with a pretty crimson door.”
A garage had been converted into a bedroom, which Lebovitz envisioned as an office. Downstairs, a stone cave, or basement, under a stunning arch felt so toasty that Lebovitz imagined it as his bedroom sanctuary.
“I assumed that time had buffed the stones of the arch to a Louvre-like patina. But I had to guess at that, because I couldn’t see it. The entire arch had been papered over and hidden, except for a few places where the glued-on paper was peeling away,” Lebovitz writes. “While the old is generally celebrated in France, over the years, things like ancient stone walls, historic marketplaces … and even certain styles of kitchen sinks got furloughed because they reminded people of tougher times.”
Before
The gruelling year that passed between initiating the purchase and getting the deed gave Lebovitz ample time to arrange a home inspection (uncommon in France) and a medical screening (required there for a mortgage loan).
Lebovitz wanted merely to relocate the partition to enlarge the kitchen and reduce the size of the bathroom, and to open up and build out the basement bedroom to turn it into a proper ensuite. But according to the inspector, the apartment needed a complete overhaul that involved redoing the electrical wiring (there was a reason the basement was so toasty!), heating and plumbing; re-plastering and repainting the walls; and replacing the floors, front door and massive cracked windows. It’s a wonder Lebovitz passed his blood pressure test.
The demolition started in mid-December, and the contractor, Claude, assured Lebovitz that he would be cooking in his new kitchen by early March – good thing, as he had started a new cookbook.
The gruelling year that passed between initiating the purchase and getting the deed gave Lebovitz ample time to arrange a home inspection (uncommon in France) and a medical screening (required there for a mortgage loan).
Lebovitz wanted merely to relocate the partition to enlarge the kitchen and reduce the size of the bathroom, and to open up and build out the basement bedroom to turn it into a proper ensuite. But according to the inspector, the apartment needed a complete overhaul that involved redoing the electrical wiring (there was a reason the basement was so toasty!), heating and plumbing; re-plastering and repainting the walls; and replacing the floors, front door and massive cracked windows. It’s a wonder Lebovitz passed his blood pressure test.
The demolition started in mid-December, and the contractor, Claude, assured Lebovitz that he would be cooking in his new kitchen by early March – good thing, as he had started a new cookbook.
Photo by Ed Anderson
Chasing down the sink
Lebovitz could hardly wait to start on the renovation – especially on the kitchen and, most especially, on the appliances and fixtures.
“Appliances fill you with hope,” he writes. “They’re not just machines; a refrigerator isn’t just a place to keep things cold. I am at one with my refrigerator, and live and breathe everything that’s in it.”
In addition to a large refrigerator with a pullout freezer – a rarity in France but essential for someone who writes regularly about ice cream – his must-haves were two American electrical outlets for small appliances like an American ice cream cone press, a gas stovetop, a dishwasher and, above all, a large sink. “As anyone who has worked in a professional kitchen will tell you, the most important part of any kitchen is the person washing the dishes,” Lebovitz writes.
“Like many Americans, I dreamed of a kitchen with a French farmhouse sink. An expansive white porcelain model with thick sides and a deep rectangular basin big enough to swish around bundles of spinach or leafy Swiss chard, to make sure I got rid of any traces of grit hiding in the wrinkles of the leaves, or to wash baskets of colourful wild plums I might forage from trees on the grounds of a deserted estate…
“I wanted a sink wide enough to soak a baking sheet crusted with baked-on frangipane from a batch of croissants aux amandes, sturdy enough to withstand the weight of the largest cast-iron Staub roasting pot … and big enough to stack all the pots and cake pans I go through when recipe testing.”
How hard could it be to find such a sink, along with a pull-down spout, that wasn’t still installed in a French farmhouse? Lebovitz brushed up on his sink vocabulary – there are at least six words for the fixture in French – and scoured plumbing stores and catalogues. When he finally found what he was looking for, made by Porcher, it was out of stock everywhere.
Two months later, he tracked down an unused one on the French classifieds website Leboncoin. It was a 2½-hour drive away, but that beat lugging a sink on the train or ferry from England, which he had begun to think was his only option.
Chasing down the sink
Lebovitz could hardly wait to start on the renovation – especially on the kitchen and, most especially, on the appliances and fixtures.
“Appliances fill you with hope,” he writes. “They’re not just machines; a refrigerator isn’t just a place to keep things cold. I am at one with my refrigerator, and live and breathe everything that’s in it.”
In addition to a large refrigerator with a pullout freezer – a rarity in France but essential for someone who writes regularly about ice cream – his must-haves were two American electrical outlets for small appliances like an American ice cream cone press, a gas stovetop, a dishwasher and, above all, a large sink. “As anyone who has worked in a professional kitchen will tell you, the most important part of any kitchen is the person washing the dishes,” Lebovitz writes.
“Like many Americans, I dreamed of a kitchen with a French farmhouse sink. An expansive white porcelain model with thick sides and a deep rectangular basin big enough to swish around bundles of spinach or leafy Swiss chard, to make sure I got rid of any traces of grit hiding in the wrinkles of the leaves, or to wash baskets of colourful wild plums I might forage from trees on the grounds of a deserted estate…
“I wanted a sink wide enough to soak a baking sheet crusted with baked-on frangipane from a batch of croissants aux amandes, sturdy enough to withstand the weight of the largest cast-iron Staub roasting pot … and big enough to stack all the pots and cake pans I go through when recipe testing.”
How hard could it be to find such a sink, along with a pull-down spout, that wasn’t still installed in a French farmhouse? Lebovitz brushed up on his sink vocabulary – there are at least six words for the fixture in French – and scoured plumbing stores and catalogues. When he finally found what he was looking for, made by Porcher, it was out of stock everywhere.
Two months later, he tracked down an unused one on the French classifieds website Leboncoin. It was a 2½-hour drive away, but that beat lugging a sink on the train or ferry from England, which he had begun to think was his only option.
White, wood and steel
Despite the enormous popularity of aubergine in French kitchens (the colour, that is, though the eggplant is also popular), Lebovitz’s was to be mostly white, wood and stainless steel.
The existing black cooktop and stainless benchtop would remain along the windowed wall, flanked on the left by open shelves and on the right by his precious sink, set a little higher than normal to save his back from hours spent washing dishes.
The existing little oven with the crimson door was ultimately done in by its fancy finial-tipped brass handle. Knowing that the handle would look out of place in the renovated kitchen, Lebovitz visited the French manufacturer’s showroom in hopes of getting a handle in stainless or chrome, but he was told he would have to buy a whole new oven. At the suggestion of his contractor, Claude, Lebovitz ‘sold’ him the oven so that he could buy a new one for the space under the cooktop. Trouble was, Claude never paid up.
Despite the enormous popularity of aubergine in French kitchens (the colour, that is, though the eggplant is also popular), Lebovitz’s was to be mostly white, wood and stainless steel.
The existing black cooktop and stainless benchtop would remain along the windowed wall, flanked on the left by open shelves and on the right by his precious sink, set a little higher than normal to save his back from hours spent washing dishes.
The existing little oven with the crimson door was ultimately done in by its fancy finial-tipped brass handle. Knowing that the handle would look out of place in the renovated kitchen, Lebovitz visited the French manufacturer’s showroom in hopes of getting a handle in stainless or chrome, but he was told he would have to buy a whole new oven. At the suggestion of his contractor, Claude, Lebovitz ‘sold’ him the oven so that he could buy a new one for the space under the cooktop. Trouble was, Claude never paid up.
Photo by Ed Anderson
The open stainless shelves, from restaurant supply company Nisbets, would come in handy to hold Lebovitz’s vintage copper and Le Creuset cookware (he had become hooked on Leboncoin) and his favourite translucent Cambro tubs.
“A country-style kitchen tugged at my cooking roots, having cooked at Chez Panisse, where legs of lamb roasted over an open fire and fruits were baked in actual Provençal pottery,” Lebovitz writes, while a pared-down contemporary style appealed to his desire for “wanting everything in a kitchen to be in precisely the right place, so the saucepan, scale and stand mixer were exactly where I expected them to be when I needed them.”
“I decided that my new kitchen would combine the best of both, although I know from experience that there is no way to organise gadget drawers or pot lids, no matter how many online articles … promise otherwise.”
The open stainless shelves, from restaurant supply company Nisbets, would come in handy to hold Lebovitz’s vintage copper and Le Creuset cookware (he had become hooked on Leboncoin) and his favourite translucent Cambro tubs.
“A country-style kitchen tugged at my cooking roots, having cooked at Chez Panisse, where legs of lamb roasted over an open fire and fruits were baked in actual Provençal pottery,” Lebovitz writes, while a pared-down contemporary style appealed to his desire for “wanting everything in a kitchen to be in precisely the right place, so the saucepan, scale and stand mixer were exactly where I expected them to be when I needed them.”
“I decided that my new kitchen would combine the best of both, although I know from experience that there is no way to organise gadget drawers or pot lids, no matter how many online articles … promise otherwise.”
All-purpose island
Across from the black cooktop, Lebovitz planned for an 2.4 x 1.5-metre island – “larger than the pastry counter at Chez Panisse that three of us worked around while we made desserts for hundreds of people a day.”
In addition to being a place to roll out dough and make recipe notes, the wood top needed to serve as a dining table. There was room below for more storage and a 90-centimetre oven plus a washer and his très américain dryer.
Across from the black cooktop, Lebovitz planned for an 2.4 x 1.5-metre island – “larger than the pastry counter at Chez Panisse that three of us worked around while we made desserts for hundreds of people a day.”
In addition to being a place to roll out dough and make recipe notes, the wood top needed to serve as a dining table. There was room below for more storage and a 90-centimetre oven plus a washer and his très américain dryer.
“To me, functionality is the best design and I’d let the elements, and their purpose, speak for themselves,” Lebovitz writes. “I decided to get my cabinets at Ikea because they carry plain white ones and the price is right.”
After eight trips to, and three meltdowns in, Ikea – one after a 4½-hour wait – he wasn’t sure this had been the right move.
After eight trips to, and three meltdowns in, Ikea – one after a 4½-hour wait – he wasn’t sure this had been the right move.
Floor drain to the rescue
Before
Expanding Lebovitz’s kitchen meant shrinking the main-level bathroom.
“Lining the walls of the soon-to-go bathroom, as well as both walls leading down to the cave, were hundreds – no, thousands – of random postage stamp-size pictures clipped from magazines and newspapers over the years, held firmly in place by staples that had rusted to the walls,” he writes.
Before
Expanding Lebovitz’s kitchen meant shrinking the main-level bathroom.
“Lining the walls of the soon-to-go bathroom, as well as both walls leading down to the cave, were hundreds – no, thousands – of random postage stamp-size pictures clipped from magazines and newspapers over the years, held firmly in place by staples that had rusted to the walls,” he writes.
The strangely papered walls, the elusive kitchen sink, a stinky fridge and a missing cookbook manuscript – these are mere footnotes in the tale of Lebovitz’s harrowing renovation, which proceeded at an escargot’s pace and cost a roi’s ransom (but fortunately not Lebovitz’s life). Eventually, he needed to move in, even though the apartment wasn’t done.
“Claude and the crew were working in the basement, connecting the water line. In the meantime, I was making do with the [shower] in the demi-WC, carefully hosing myself down with the hand sprayer,” Lebovitz writes. “Of all the decisions that I made during the entire renovation, putting a drain in that floor was the best of them. Because it was going to be a longer time than I ever imagined until I got to use the actual shower.”
“Claude and the crew were working in the basement, connecting the water line. In the meantime, I was making do with the [shower] in the demi-WC, carefully hosing myself down with the hand sprayer,” Lebovitz writes. “Of all the decisions that I made during the entire renovation, putting a drain in that floor was the best of them. Because it was going to be a longer time than I ever imagined until I got to use the actual shower.”
Frangipane plum-raspberry gratins
If you’re coping with a makeshift kitchen during a renovation, as Lebovitz was for part of his year-long renovation, comfort yourself with this recipe from L’Appart. The individual-size desserts can be made in 1-cup ramekins and baked in a toaster oven. The recipe serves four.
Ingredients
1. Preheat the oven to 175°C. Butter four shallow 1-cup gratin or baking dishes.
2. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter and sugar on high speed for two minutes. (You can also beat it energetically by hand in a medium bowl if you don’t have a mixer handy – for example, if it’s in a box somewhere underneath a mound of other boxes under a plastic tarp.)
3. Add the egg, then add the ground almonds, almond extract, rum and salt. Beat until smooth.
4. Divide the almond cream among the four dishes and smooth the tops. Arrange the plum pieces in concentric circles in the almond cream (this is the frangipane), pressing them down to embed them in the cream. Place the raspberries between the plums and gently press them into the cream.
5. Place the fruit-filled dishes on a baking sheet and bake until the gratins are browned across the top, about 25 minutes. Remove from the oven and serve warm, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or sabayon.
Variations: You can use 340g of sliced peaches, nectarines, fresh apricots, poached pears (blotted dry) or quartered fresh figs in place of the plums. Pitted cherries, blueberries or blackberries can be used in place of the raspberries.
If you’re coping with a makeshift kitchen during a renovation, as Lebovitz was for part of his year-long renovation, comfort yourself with this recipe from L’Appart. The individual-size desserts can be made in 1-cup ramekins and baked in a toaster oven. The recipe serves four.
Ingredients
- 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature, plus more for the baking dishes
- ¼ cup sugar
- 1 large egg, at room temperature
- ½ cup ground almonds (sometimes called almond flour)
- A few drops of pure almond extract
- 1 teaspoon rum or kirsch
- Pinch of salt
- 6 medium ripe plums, pitted and cut into eighths
- 1¼ cups fresh raspberries
- Vanilla ice cream or sabayon, for serving
1. Preheat the oven to 175°C. Butter four shallow 1-cup gratin or baking dishes.
2. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter and sugar on high speed for two minutes. (You can also beat it energetically by hand in a medium bowl if you don’t have a mixer handy – for example, if it’s in a box somewhere underneath a mound of other boxes under a plastic tarp.)
3. Add the egg, then add the ground almonds, almond extract, rum and salt. Beat until smooth.
4. Divide the almond cream among the four dishes and smooth the tops. Arrange the plum pieces in concentric circles in the almond cream (this is the frangipane), pressing them down to embed them in the cream. Place the raspberries between the plums and gently press them into the cream.
5. Place the fruit-filled dishes on a baking sheet and bake until the gratins are browned across the top, about 25 minutes. Remove from the oven and serve warm, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or sabayon.
Variations: You can use 340g of sliced peaches, nectarines, fresh apricots, poached pears (blotted dry) or quartered fresh figs in place of the plums. Pitted cherries, blueberries or blackberries can be used in place of the raspberries.
Photo from Crown
Lebovitz’s books
A professional cook and baker for most of his life, Lebovitz has written eight books and kept a blog since 1999. His revised and updated guide to making ice cream and frozen desserts, The Perfect Scoop (Ten Speed Press), came out earlier this year. L’Appart: The Delights and Disasters of Making My Paris Home, his prequel to My Paris Kitchen: Recipes and Stories (Ten Speed Press, 2014), was published by Crown in November 2017.
Tell us
Have you had a similarly hellish experience with your own renovation project? Tell us all about it in the Comments below.
More
Want more? Check out last week’s Copenhagen Houzz Tour: A Bold New Look for Nordic Style
Lebovitz’s books
A professional cook and baker for most of his life, Lebovitz has written eight books and kept a blog since 1999. His revised and updated guide to making ice cream and frozen desserts, The Perfect Scoop (Ten Speed Press), came out earlier this year. L’Appart: The Delights and Disasters of Making My Paris Home, his prequel to My Paris Kitchen: Recipes and Stories (Ten Speed Press, 2014), was published by Crown in November 2017.
Tell us
Have you had a similarly hellish experience with your own renovation project? Tell us all about it in the Comments below.
More
Want more? Check out last week’s Copenhagen Houzz Tour: A Bold New Look for Nordic Style
Photo by Ed Anderson, used with permission from Lebovitz’s ‘My Paris Kitchen’ (Ten Speed Press, 2014)
Pastry chef and author David Lebovitz, pictured, writes with humour and horror about the linguistic and cultural challenges – and stunning incompetence – he encounters while buying and fixing up his 80-square-metre Parisian apartment, a former metal shop on the Right Bank, in his new memoir, L’Appart: The Delights and Disasters of Making My Paris Home.