My romance with The Stafford began, as love affairs sometimes do, with a blind date.   I’d phoned to make a reservation at one of London’s most touted hotels and when told they were fully booked, I boldly asked the reservationist “Where would you suggest your own friends and family stay in London?”  His voice became muffled as if he had put his hand over the receiver and he whispered, “The Stafford.”

Since then, I’ve never gone anywhere else – well, there was that one mistake.  A friend in Paris who frequents London knew I was scheduling a “I Know A Little Place” reconnaissance trip and said “You owe it to your readers to check where I stay; it’s listed among the chic boutique hotels, is centrally located, and offers a great value.”  After one miserable night I phoned The Stafford and they graciously welcomed me back. I did it for you, dear readers, but never again.

The Stafford describes itself as “Your residence whilst in London” but unless your home is a blend of traditional elegance and comfy charm, with people who anticipate your needs and desires before you are even aware of them and make you feel like their favorite celebrity, then The Stafford is better.

I always follow the same schedule.  After checking in, I head out in one of two directions.  Exiting the front of the hotel, I take the little passage that opens to Green Park and the shopping pleasures of Piccadilly, including the Burlington Arcade and Old Bond Street.    Equally tempting is the exit leading through the courtyard and the short walk to Jermyn Street.  Either way, must stops are Fortnum & Mason to pick up treats to savor back in my room and a book or two from Hatchard’s.

Examples of the staff’s commitment to their guests is demonstrated by the time I left my iPhone on the train the day before I was leaving the country.  I should not have panicked; I was at the Stafford after all.  They managed to retrieve it for me and send it on after I’d arrived home-– yes, they can perform miracles.

London, as we all know, is an expensive city, compounded by the currency exchange rate, but what you expend in pounds at The Stafford will come back many times over in pleasure.

The Stafford

St. James’s Place

London, SW1A INJ

Tel: 020-7493-0100

Fax: 020-7493-7121

Website: www.thestaffordhotel.co.uk

Praised as the “Master Colorist,” glamorous Parisiennes keep Joel Villard, and his salon devoted to color, on their private A-list. JV tells IKALP what inquiring minds want to know:

IKALP: Your best shopping bargain?

JV: One Sunday I was wandering down a small street in Montmartre and saw a sign for APC.  I went inside just to browse but right away found some beautiful trousers that fit perfectly.  They were 50% off the regular price and I grabbed 3 pairs.

JV: Luxury items, fashion, of course,  and fine linens, I particularly like Porthault at 50 Avenue Montaigne and Noel at 1 Ave Pierre in the Place de Serbie.   Often overlooked are the great items for cooks.  In addition to the famous Dehillerin, I also like Kitchen Bazaar.  There are several around town, I go to the one at 11 Avenue du Maine.

JV: From the time years ago when I first saw one in an antique shop, I’ve collected what the French call “Pyrogène” or “match striker” in English.  I find them charming and, happily, they are very inexpensive.  I also like wine glasses of all sizes and vintages.  However, I don’t like drinking champagne from stemmed glasses and prefer using tumblers.

Come along with IKALP as we check out some favorite shop displays from Right Bank to Left Bank.

Today’s pick, “Fabrice” at 33 rue Bonaparte, 7e, Metro: Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Tel: 01-43-25-57-95.

Just off the bustling boulevard Saint Germain des Prés in the heart of the Left Bank is a tiny street, Cour de Commerce Saint André, that describes itself as the place that made the French Revolution. Here’s where Dr. Gillotin perfected his device that launched Robespierre’s Reign of Terror. Famous revolutionary Danton (who later fell under Dr. Gillotin’s blade, as did Robespierre) lived down the street. Today, at 2-6-8 Cour De Commerce, on the very spot where Marat (later murdered in his bath by Charlotte Corday) printed and distributed the revolutionary letters of Danton and his friends, another kind of revaluation is taking place – an irresistible one for all lovers of chocolate.

When Perrine, manager of “Un Dimanche à Paris” greets you with “Welcome to Paradise,” she’s right. What better way to describe the world’s only (as far as we know) concept story that celebrates chocolate in all its deliciously decadent forms. We’re not talking here about just another sweet shop; this is what chocolate connoisseurs could only dream of until now – a restaurant that offers chocolate- spiced meals from start to finish ( you may choose to leave out the cocoa if you wish – but who’d want to?), the upstairs lounge where tea, and hot chocolate, naturally, are served daily, and brunch on Sundays, when most eating establishments in Paris are closed.

There’s also a glass walled kitchen where you can watch the chefs prepare their delights on site (no trucking in here). Anyone who can leave without taking home a selection of treats from the retail shop should have their pulse checked.

4-6-8 Cour de Commerce Saint André, 6e

Saint Germain des Prés

Metro: Odéon

Te: 01-56-81-18-18

http://www.un-dimanche-a-paris.com

Smitten with all this symbolism of spring, and good will, I gathered bunches of flowers from the extended hands until they formed a sizable bouquet and happily took it back to perfume our apartment.

Later, commenting to a French friend on the unexpected generosity of passersby being pressed with flowers, he interrupted with a roaring laugh, “I’m SURE those people were more surprised than you – those aren’t gifts, those flowers are for SALE.” He explained that since 1948 the flower festival has been associated with La Fête du Travail, a public holiday celebrating worker’s rights. On this day only, anyone can sell Lily of the Valley sprigs without the need for license or paying sales tax.

I was mortified and could see that vendors must have been too astonished to protest as I swept up their wares. At least there was no subsequent knock on the door from a policeman coming to arrest the Lily of the Valley thief; but I wasn’t taking any chances. The next year I tried to make amends by purchasing from every outstretched sprig-holding hand in the neighborhood. Now, we’ve moved to a different neighborhood and today, thankfully, there were different vendors who did not witness my earlier crime. However, I’m still trying to pay my debt. One vendor with an impressive display of tattoos, holding delicate bunches of flowers in vise-like hands, was especially happy for me to take his entire inventory.

Shortly after we got back to the apartment, there was a knock on the door. But rather than the overdue gendarmes, there stood Martine, our all-caring concierge, smiling and holding out a fragrant bouquet of Lillies of the Valley.

When Odile Heiller, owner and founder of the Village Voice, Paris’s English-American bookstore, describes a book as a “must read,” no person in their right mind would pass it up. Not only because Odile and her domain are a center of gravity for the city’s Anglophone artistic and literary community, but because she has perfect pitch for matching readers and books.

Once home with my copy of “Cooking for Me and Sometimes You: A Parisienne Romance with Recipes” by Barbara-jo McIntosh, I read – actually devoured – the book from cover to cover in one evening. Barbara-jo, if you are listening, I felt I was right there with you: tasting and testing our way through some of the city’s best pastry, bread, cheese, wine and specialty food shops, sharing walks through my neighborhood on the Left Bank, savoring the lights on the Seine at evening, and always, enjoying the chic and simple dinners in your apartment. You captured it all in a book that is as much poetry as prose.

Barbara-jo shared so much of herself and her Parisian sojourn, that I wanted to know more about her life as a food professional. Her story can be viewed on her Books to Cooks website, where her Vancouver store features cook books, wine books, international periodicals as well as rare and out of print books. A food-focused reading club, events, and cooking demonstrations go on throughout the year and the store’s blog, invites everyone into the friendly conversation.

Take Odile’s advice – whether you are a cook, a lover of Paris, or just someone who appreciates a charming read, “Cooking for Me and Sometimes You” will leave you with the same warm satisfaction as a good meal with a friend. Who could ask for more?

ANYTIME is good shopping time at Paris’s (and maybe the world’s) best flea market. But if you want to avoid the usual crowds aim at a time, like now, when the Spring calendar in France is full of holidays and the tourists are not yet in full force. Yesterday was one of those days; my friend, Connie, and I took Metro line #4 to the Porte de Clignancourt station just north of Paris in St. Ouen . To reach the Marcé aux Puces, with its fabled 2,000 dealers covering 18 acres, we walked about 5 minutes on blvd Ornano toward the Peripherique (the ring road around Paris) turning left onto the rue des Rosiers, the Flea Market’s main street. (check our I Know A Little Place iPhone app for detailed directions).

We were limited to a few hours since Connie was headed for a chateau weekend with friends in Normandy, so we headed straight for two never-fail market stops: Paul Bert and Serpette. The best shopping always seems to come when, rather than a specific item, your mind and eye are unencumbered and you allow yourself open to possibilities.

In Serpette, we lingered and savored the new finds at old favorites: Olwen Forest for vintage costume jewelry coveted by celebrities and Alain Zisul at Le Monde De Voyage, for perhaps the best collection of Vuitton trunks and luxury luggage (see “People You Need to Know”).

Then, it happened; as the French say Connie had a “Cri du Coeur.” There it was – it called to her, it sang to her from the glass display case of a porcelain stand – a 1940s coffee set (complete with 8 cups and saucers) in a vibrant yellow with whimsical dark blue polka dots and stylized flower motif. How could she have lived so long without it? After some bargaining (best accomplished with fewer competitors) it was packed carefully and we were off. I’m thinking about going back soon to follow up on a discontinued Chanel bag I spotted at Alain’s before it’s gone – a common fate for those who hesitate. (Unless you are a dealer, the best hunting hours are from around 10am to 6pm Saturday and Sunday, with some stands closing earlier).

To be invited to her Tony Duquette homes in Paris and Venice was to be assured of mingling with an eclectic mix of artists, designers, Bohemians, and dignitaries – as long as they were interesting, they were friends of Dodie’s.  To know her was to be astonished, as echoed by John Galliano who remarked, “I was simply bowled over by her sense of style” or fashion illustrator, Glady Perin Palmer, who described Dodie as “By far the most imaginative, original dresser I’ve ever met.”  Let me add a few personal remembrances of my own.

Her husband John told me of a time early in their marriage when they were getting ready for a formal event and he found Dodie at work removing pink bows from a billowing while lace gown.  As they left, John complimented her dress queried why anyone would have covered it with the bows.  Dodie confessed “It was a night gown.”

Dodie’s jewelry could look like found objects and she turned found objects into jewelry.  At a soirée in Paris, Dodie arrived with her throat encased in chunks of green stones that looked like sea glass, but were, in truth, unpolished emeralds. Dodie would have enjoyed them equally and worn with the same flair had been glass. Another time at her home, she draped, and artistically knotted, a length of silk of the most delicate rose color over the front of a tweed suit.  The contrast of the sweet with the tart was captivating and when I asked where she’d found it, she said it had been ribbon that wrapped a gift she’d been given. Artists give us the gift of seeing through their eyes – a fresh vision of the world.  That’s what Dodie did with fashion – she turned it into poetry.