...Continued from page 1

There was some odd stuff in the store besides the stuff I don't know what it is. For example, I saw some big slabs of good–looking peanut brittle. There was some music CDs too but these were beyond me. Ah, the vodka – there's a lot of it, and like on the Pushkin, it comes in different flavors and many colors besides none. Dennis won't be able to leave here without getting a variety pack.

There was champagne too, the stuff Germans call Krimsekt. It can be as dry as you like as I well know from drinking it in the first class bar on the Pushkin, but little of it would be as dry as the Café Metropole Blanc de Blanc. That I can still remember the six–packs of Krimsekt and kilos of caviar probably had something to do with the sea air.

Well, it's good to know that we can walk to our nearest Russian grocery store instead of going across town to those caviar boutiques at Ternes. I'll have to get Dennis to visit this place with a bundle of euros and help him carry it back.

In fact he said there's a new jazz place on the boulevard, up by the Closerie des Lilas. I said 'bye' to thephoto, krimsekt, ethnic doll ethnic doll and wandered over there and sure enough, the place is called Swan. It opens at 21:30 and is run by some New York type who dreamed of having a jazz joint in Montparnasse. The neighborhood of dreams is filling up with dreamers.

The shop is called Gastronomie Russe 14 but don't mind if the Web site seems to be 'under construction.' It the thought that counts. Find it at 130. Boulevard du Montparnasse, Paris 14. Then, if you are in the area you can pop over to the Swan Bar, at 165. Boulevard du Montparnasse, Paris 14, but after 21:30.

For do–it–yourself fans like Dennis, you might want to learn how to distill samogon. Many Web sites I looked at seemed to think that home–made booze equals delerium and blindness, but with some care and using the proper raw materials you can roll your own five–star hooch.

If you need technical aid you might turn to the pros, who say there is no great mystery involved with building a still.

Finally, the French ministry of health wants you to know that, "L'abus de l'alcool est dangereux pour la santé. A consommer avec modération." This is good advice no matter where it comes from.

Meet Einar Moos

The recognition signs were shades, yellow scarf and hat but I didn't see any of this around outside the Café Medard. So I went in and a checkered yellow scarf and a hat was over to the left, sitting on a stool. We pretended to recognize each other, exchanged hands, and I found another stool and perched on it.

If you are meeting someone like Einar Moos, who is wearing a yellow and black checkered scarf andphoto, einar moos a black hat, and does have shades hanging by a string nearly invisible against the scarf, it's hard to know where to start. Einar started in Valparaiso. He said it smelled like fish.

We don't know each other so we were having a meeting with no agenda. Einar grew up in rightwing dictator places in South America, had movie ideas filched in Hollywood, grew tired in New York, partied in Berlin and several other likely capitals and found himself in Paris, a town his says has more than enough layers of history to keep you interested.

Such as right here, near the bed of the Bièvre at the bottom of Mouffetard. "Shrimps," Einar says, "You could pick them up with your bare hands. This is where people settled, isolated from the northwest wind, lolling around next to the river with grassy banks with its free fish for happy–go–lucky Parisian peasants."

Then the Romans showed up and organized everything and this is how they are still organized. It's from them that we got all these soviet ideas, the ones those Russians filched and took back to St. Petersburg.

The café's doors are open to the outside air and I'm wondering if there are shrimp in the fountain outside. Besides being an Internet tycoon, Einar runs a swim club at Saint–Germain on Mondays and Fridays called 'Wazzaaapool.' It is a non–profit association.

I can't be sure but I have a feeling that the meeting we're having is about the downside of non–profits or associations, and both of us are on the same side, the down one. Einar tells me he has a Paris Web site called Parisiana and a blog and five or six other sites that he says are commercial.

Just in case I take Einar's photo. Just in case he takes mine, making sure there's a blond in the background. It's not my day off but I feel like it should be and I find it hard to concentrate on the non–profit idea.

Another feeling I have is that Einar might be the Roman Polanski of the Web in Paris. But he says he needs to pick up his son from school so we finish our cafés and off he goes, and I think how great it is to be in Paris on a warm October afternoon and not have to race to be any particular place at any particular time. It's too bad the Bièvre and its shrimp are gone.

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