The Joie Review: February 2025

A belated sharing of the shortest and slowest month but yet there was joy to be found.

February was a rather sleepy and short month. I managed to break my toe at the beginning of the month so I didn’t get around much. (And don’t feel too sorry for me because I do this at least 2-3 times a year.) Our kids had two weeks off school for the ski/Winter holidays, and I had big plans to finally make it to the Fete du Citron in Menton, but with a busted toe, plans had to be adjusted. Next year, hopefully, I won’t walk like a duck and can actually make it.

We sent my son off to ski camp with his friends while my daughter and I visited a friend in the countryside close to Fontainebleau for a few days. For the second week, I hid out in an abbaye outside of Dijon for a solo writing retreat while my husband took the kids to Switzerland.

I hope you find a few things to save that will bring you joy.

xx,

Ajiri

p.s. As I am writing and sending this at the end of March…I can’t believe in two weeks, we have school holidays again!

I found a rare set of manches à côtelettes—French lamb chop holders—at an antique shop in the countryside. I love a rare find, and this is a good one! I usually come across lots of carving clamps, manche à gigot d’agneau, but I’ve only ever seen these individual cutlet holders in silver books or old silversmith catalogs.

This set was made in the early 20th century in argent gaufré (embossed silver). The bodies are decorated in the Louis XVI style with stylized acanthus scrolls and coquille shells. Such a clever little dining tool—designed so guests could gracefully enjoy their meat without soiling their hands. You’d insert the bone into the clamp and turn the screw to tighten it securely.

I find these single-function objects from 19th—and early 20th-century tables utterly fascinating. I originally bought them for a client I source antiques for, but after a deep clean in which I soaked them in a silver cleaning solvent for too long, they developed a bit of rust, so they’re currently soaking in vinegar. Stay tuned… I will report back with the restoration results!

Rori Pizza
📍96 Rue Jean -Pierre Timbaud, 75011 Paris | Website
This spot is trying to bring that New York City pizza vibe where you can buy pizza by the slice. Most—maybe all— spots in Paris only allow you to buy an entire pizza. I went on a Saturday afternoon, and after seeing the epic crowd outside, I attempted to order the hot pepperoni and the potato pizza to go. They said it would be 100e and about an hour wait. I was utterly shocked, so I opted for four slices of each to take back to the family. It was still pretty pricey and a long wait, but it was delicious. I would go back with friends and sit at a table outside when it’s warm because the vibe is pretty fun and energetic, with pizza constantly coming out of the oven.

Elsass
📍153 Avenue Parmentier, 75010 Paris | Website | Instagram
This new Alsatian restaurant offers a gourmet twist on your typical sauerkraut and sausages. (Fun fact: Elsass means Alsace in the Alsatian dialect.) They’ve got an impressive wine list with over 150 bottles from the region and I tried a lovely dry riesling, which I usually avoid because I assume they are all sweet. The space once belonged to a crusty old car garage that looked more like a squat but now it’s the perfect giant space for big groups. Thomas and I had a cozy table for two and it was pretty easy to get a reservation. It’s still flying under the radar, but the food was genuinely delicious and the ease of getting a table was much appreciated.

Lately, I’ve been sneaking off on little solo writing trips to work on a book project. I love these escapes — but I need them to check a few important boxes: the place has to be beautiful, the food needs to be close (ideally just a few steps away), and there should be minimal distractions. That’s my formula. Restorative, inspiring, and easy.

For my latest trip, I didn’t want to drive — mostly because I’m one of those people who loves writing on the train. There’s just something about it. So I hopped on a train from Paris to Dijon, then took a taxi straight to the Abbaye de la Bussière.

I realized this is probably the fourth or fifth abbaye I’ve ended up at for a writing trip. I don’t specifically seek them out, but somehow I keep landing in these peaceful old places — and now I’m thinking I should probably do a little roundup of “Writing at Abbayes” soon, shouldn’t I?

This one was especially lovely. I found it just by searching for places within 2–3 hours of Paris by train where I could hopefully see gardens or water from my window — something soothing to look at while I’m working. And voilà, I stumbled across this place.

From my room, I had a view of ponies lazily munching on grass. There were cozy little reading nooks scattered around the hotel, and a big property to wander when I hit a block in my writing. I went in February, but I can only imagine how lush and green it gets in spring and summer.

And of course — the food. There were two restaurants on the property, which felt like such a luxury. One was a casual bistro, and the other was a one Michelin star restaurant offering either a four- or seven-course tasting menu. I treated myself to that on my last night. Most days, though, I stayed tucked in with room service for breakfast and lunch. It was perfect.

Abbaye de la Bussière
📍21360 La Bussière-sur-Ouche, Burgundy, France | Website
A former 12th-century Cistercian abbey turned luxurious Relais & Châteaux country retreat in the heart of Burgundy. There is a bistro, a Michelin-starred restaurant, little corners and couches to sink into, and plenty of areas for bucolic strolls. It’s a deeply restorative escape. If you want to visit areas around the hotel, they can organize wine-tasting tours or a visit to a local artist’s atelier.

Getting there: There are direct trains from Paris to Dijon that take just an hour and a half. From Dijon, you can either take a 30-minute taxi ride to the hotel (approximately €60–80) or rent a car directly from the station.

From Rick Rubin’s The Creative Act: A Way of Being (Canongate Books)
from the Submerge (The Great Works) chapter, pages 49-50

Broadening our practice of awareness is a choice we can make at any moment.

It is not a search, though it is stoked by a curiosity or hunger. A hunger to see beautiful things, hear beautiful sounds, feel deeper sensations. To learn, and to be fascinated and surprised on a continual basis.

In service of this robust instinct, consider submerging yourself in the canon of great works. Read the finest literature, watch the masterpieces of cinema, get up close to the most influential paintings, visit architectural landmarks.

There's no standard list; no one has the same measures of greatness.

The “canon” is continually changing, across time and space. Nonetheless, exposure to great art provides an invitation. It draws us forward, and opens doors of possi-bility.

If you make the choice of reading classic literature every day for a year, rather than reading the news, by the end of that time period you'll have a more honed sensitivity for recognizing greatness from the books than from the media.

This applies to every choice we make. Not just with art, but with the friends we choose, the conversations we have, even the thoughts we reflect on. All of these aspects affect our ability to distinguish good from very good, very good from great. They help us determine what's worthy of our time and attention.

Because there's an endless amount of data available to us and we have a limited bandwidth to conserve, we might consider carefully curating the quality of what we allow in.

This doesn't just apply if your goal is to make art of lasting significance. Even if your goal is to make fast food, it will likely taste better if you experience the best fresh food available to you during the process. Level up your taste.

The objective is not to learn to mimic greatness, but to calibrate our internal meter for greatness. So we can better make the thousands of choices that might ultimately lead to our own great work.

I know it looks like just a photo of a radiator, but I found joie in getting up early to sit in my friend’s little countryside kitchen—reading or writing while watching the morning sun cast soft shadows on the wall. It felt peaceful, and unexpectedly moving.

I also started a paint-by-numbers project (you can spot it in the corner), something I now do in the mornings while listening to birds or an audiobook. It might sound a bit odd—or even childish—but since I wasn’t blessed with the gift of painting, this felt meditative and joyful in its own quiet way.

So... paint-by-numbers in the morning it shall be.

I challenge you to find a quiet ritual that brings you joy—something small, personal, and just for you. Whether it’s morning journaling, reading a few pages of a novel or some poetry, birdwatching, paint-by-numbers, or even a puzzle with your tea, let it be something that grounds you and brings you peace. I highly encourage you to keep your phone far, far away. Share some ideas for the community in the comments.

I shared a few of my favorite shops in Paris over on The Relisher.

After reading The Postcard by Anne Berest, I needed to know more about her and this book.

My son is currently having some learning difficulties in school and this book has really helped me realize just how different boys are.

I somehow also ended up in a hole researching how kids are taught to read and landed on this podcast. There are too many episodes so I am only halfway through but my goodness!

Finally finished what is now my new favorite book on creativity and what I will be gifting so many friends.

Bring your own touch of beauty to our next issue! Share a photo of your styled tables, cherished antique finds, or anything that brought you joy and inspired beauty this month. Include a short 2-3 sentence blurb about it and you might see it featured in an upcoming newsletter!

---

Off to work on a round-up of Spring/Summer 2025 exhibitions for paid subscribers to check out! xx, Ajiri