Free The Sweet Life in Paris: Delicious Adventures in the World's Most Glorious - and Perplexing - City by David Lebovitz

outdoor
pissotières
with Sanisettes, the automated self-cleaning toilets that are installed at various spots around the city. If you’re feeling nostalgic, there’s one
pissotière
left, the last malodorous holdout, way out on the boulevard Arago.
    Some give kudos to the Sanisettes for giving women equal opportunity to use the streets. Except every woman I know refuses to go in one. They’re also overclustered in the touristed neighborhoods instead of where the restof us need them most. No matter where you are, it seems the more urgent the need, the more likely you’ll find that the little illuminated button says the cabin is unfortunately
Hors Service.
    So why is it the French never feel the need to go? I searched for the answer from Romain’s mother, who raised four children in an apartment that has four bedrooms, but only one
toilette.
That means six people—plus the au pair—shared one bathroom for twenty years.
    “C’est pas possible!”
I exclaimed. She shrugged off my incredulity and said there were never any problems. I guess they coach’em right from the start, because if I had to share one bathroom with my two parents, three siblings, and a live-in sitter, I’d probably be better trained than I currently am, too.
    Although we find it funny, and at times excruciating, that French bathrooms are few and far between, they think it’s
très bizarre
that we drag guests on grand tours of our homes, which include the bedrooms and bathroom as part of the itinerary. And when you think about it, isn’t it a little odd that we invite strangers for a look at where we conduct our most intimate business?
    The French keep those rooms discreetly off-limits and there’s no “Come! See the rest of the house!” when you visit someone. Which is great, since you’re never subjected to people bragging about their wok burners or $6,800 state-of-the-art wine refrigerators stocked with California Chardonnay. Or maybe I’m just jealous, since I have nothing to brag about in my kitchen but a half-empty jar of molasses and a few bags of dried onion soup mix.
    It sure is nice not having to make your bed or scrub the toilet when company’s coming, though. Unfortunately, I have a few American friends who have the nerve to use the bathroom when they come over. And admittedly when I visit friends, even though I know the WC is off-limits, if I haven’t stopped first at a nearby building (inside or out), I sometimes do need to ask permission to go. Which is, I think, the least embarrassing of my options.
MOLE AU CHOCOLAT
CHOCOLATE MOLE
MAKES 1 QUART (1 L)
    Aside from a seemingly endless quest for water, one of our other cultural differences is Americans’ love of Mexican food. Authentic Mexican products aren’t available here. So like many Americans, I lug dried chiles, hot sauce, and corn tortillas back from trips to the States. Then I prepare elaborate Mexican meals that I hope will impress my Parisian friends.
    And how can you not love mole? Here’s my version, which everyone seems to like whenever I make it. Parisians seem to love anything that has chocolate in it just as much as Americans do.
    For any of those “If-it-doesn’t-take-ten-hours-to-make-it’s-not-mole” folks out there, give me a break since some of the items aren’t available in Paris. I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got. Because of that, this recipe has about sixty-seven fewer ingredients than the normal recipe and takes a fraction of the time to put together. But it tastes just like the real thing. So if you’re the mole police, please put away your handcuffs.
    10 dried ancho or poblano chiles
    ¾ cup(120g) raisins
    3 ounces (85 g) unsweetened chocolate, chopped
    1 ¼ cups (310 ml) water or chicken stock
    1 tablespoon canola or neutral-flavored oil
    1 large onion, peeled and chopped
    3 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced
    3 tablespoons (35 g) sesame seeds (reserve a few to sprinkle over the finished dish)
    ¾ cup (60 g) sliced almonds,