The painter and his family, Karlshrue 1966

The introduction to this blog has a story relating to my dad’s cooking in Paris. It’s also a story that my mother shared with us kids, namely the family lore of art and cooking.

My father, who was a painter, met my mother, when he was working in a Paris kitchen as a cook. As she remembers it, one night she came in. That evening, my dad forgot to clean the ends of the  green beans. My mom complained. He responded by inviting her out to the movies. In a few years, those green beans and date would deliver moi (me). 

Anyway, recently I found a book written by my father’s biggest fan, art collector Dr.Jurgen Thimme. In the book, he captures this period in Paris with a story about my dad. Here’s a passage. 

“But one cannot live from selling a few canvases and drawings,without knowing hunger and despair in all stages. For a certain time, Shapiro saved himself by cooking meals in his studio for friends, artists and students. For ten francs you could dine at Shapiro’s, six courses, wine included, dance to the music of Brummé and his harmonica or talk all night long. His studio smelled of New England oyster stew, Indian curry, Polish meatballs in cabbage leaves. His studio is told to have been famous in these days the tourists arriving in Paris to be led to the “Restaurant Shapiro.”

Sounds romantic, no? Cheers to the memories of my dad and love to my lovely mother.