It's Better with Butter

Bonjour mes amies!
I am becoming more and more French.  I am getting quite good at brushing off beggars and solicitors.
So let's start today off right, shall we, with petite dejuener.  There is or was a custom of the French having croissant on weekends as a treat.  When I was at the bakery yesterday getting my baguette I also picked up two croissants hot from the oven.  I got home and popped them in the freezer.  I thawed one this morning, and it smelled and tasted oven fresh.
Oh.  And when I was at the cheese shop?  I also picked up some Beurre Bordier.  When I was researching my trip and its comestibles, I kept coming across this butter that everyone extolled to the skies.  It's artesienal butter made in Brittany although most of the milk comes from pampered grass-fed Norman cows.  I had to try it.  I got the demi sel with some sea salt.  There are also flavors like seaweed and Japanese citrus, which I think would ruin the purity of the butter experience.  I spread some on a piece of croissant.  Tasted. . . Eh?  Well, it's cultured, so it doesn't taste like normal butter.  I took a bite and the sea salt hit.  Ok.  Yummsy.  I see what the fuss is about.
I came home utterly shattered from jet lag and the heat.  I've sucked down a lot of water, so I'm feeling better.  And since it's July 4, I'm celebrating--the start of the Tour de France!
I keep wanting to say tube, but in Paris it's the metro and I took it out and walked a bit to the Musee d' Arts et Metiers, which exhibits inventions.  I'd not been before, but I enjoy this sort of exhibit.  For one thing part of the museum is the abbey church of St. Martin a beautifully restored late Romanesque/Early Gothic structure.  Hanging from the vaults besides Foucault's original pendulum are early French airplanes.  The things look like they are made of toothpicks and tissue paper--even the one Louis Bleriot flew over the Channel.  How did they dare?  Anyway there's lots to see.  I was delighted to encounter TelStar, which immediately dates me.  Anyone else remember when TelStar was the cutting edge of communication?  The rest of you can google it.
Then I took another metro and walked--by this time in blistering heat--to the Musee de Carnavalet located in the Marais, which is the Jewish district in Paris.  On the a side street on my way, I passed a building being guarded by four soldiers in body armor and holding some Very Serious weapons.  I have no idea what the threat was, but I did feel sad that one clearly existed.
  The Carnevalet, the museum of Paris History is lodged in Mme de Sevigne's old mansion.  If you don't know who Mme de Sevigne is, she was a French noble woman whose charming letters are a major source for social and cultural history.  The building is worth seeing just for itself and the delightful formal garden. I wandered the beautiful Rococo and Empire period rooms and enjoyed the paintings.  But it was hot, and my brain began to buzz with jet lag.  Time to come home.
I took the metro and made the mistake of changing lines at Chatelet.  Pro Tip:  Avoid unless you have no choice.  By the time you get through the tunnels and up and down stairs, you might as well have walked home.
So here I am comfortable watching stage one of the Tour and looking forward to that Contador-Froome-Nibali showdown.  I always root for Fabian Cancellara to take the first day's yellow jersey, but its an individual time trial, and he's got some formidable competition.   I feel for those poor riders forced to exert themselves to the limit in this weather.  The opening stage is in Utrecht in the Netherlands, but temps are in the 90s F.
I'm sipping some bubbly--no--not champagne.  It's expensive even in France, and I'd rather spend my euro on cheese and sights.  But France does make other sparkling wines.  I got some Cremant de Samur which is delightfully refreshing on a sultry day, and I didn't have to violate my five euro rule!
A demain