April 2025 Newsletter: Lee Miller, Ratatouille, and Parisian Light
From winter’s grip to a spring awakening of sorts
It’s finally spring in Paris. And after spending four winters here, you’d think I’d be used to the cold and darkness, especially after so many New York winters. But I’m not. It’s the darkness that gets me most—it drains me. Now, with the clocks sprung forward and temperatures rising into the 70s this weekend, Paris feels alive again. And so do I.
For new subscribers, a little housekeeping: on the first Monday of each month, I send a recap newsletter loosely focused on what I’ve been reading, eating, and where I’ve been walking in Paris. Here’s what I was up to in March.
What I read
I spotted The Lives of Lee Miller by Antony Penrose at the charming Smith & Son bookshop on the rue des Rosiers in the Marais, and of course I had to buy it. I’m drawn to stories of women who carved their own path through Paris (they give little old me hope), and Miller’s remarkable life captivated me.
As the only female war correspondent accredited to the U.S. Army during World War II, she photographed the battle of Saint-Malo, chronicled the liberation of Paris, and followed Allied forces through eastern France to the horrors of Dachau in Germany.
Fiercely independent and unyielding, she moved boldly through a male-dominated world. Her connection to Paris began earlier, as a model collaborating with Man Ray, and the book traces the city’s evolution from the bohemian 1920s to the Nazi occupation. Through Lee’s lens, Paris becomes a city of contrast: light and darkness, creation and destruction.
*I’m an affiliate of Bookshop.org and will earn a commission if you purchase via the link. Bookshop.org is a business that supports local bookstores—a cause I’m passionate about.
What I ate
Ratatouille may not be traditional late-winter fare, but I indulged in it not once, but twice last month. I’ve been working through Rebekah Peppler’s cookbook À Table, expanding my repertoire beyond the beef stew and coq au vin I mastered earlier.
During March’s lingering chill and darkness, I craved the bright flavors of summer—ripe tomatoes, colorful bell peppers—and this Provençal classic delivered.
The preparation was straightforward yet deeply satisfying. As I layered the vegetables, my little Parisian kitchen filled with the heady aroma of olive oil, herbs, and vegetables. Each ingredient contributed its own personality: the sweet sting of onions, the earthiness of zucchini frittering in the pan, fat tomatoes bubbling down to their essence. It was the Mediterranean comfort dish I didn’t know I needed—until I did.
Where I walked
As always, I navigated Paris on foot, my preferred mode of transport second only to the metro. But throughout March, my wanderings took on a singular focus: following the light. As I mentioned earlier, winter weighs on me, and March is a strange limbo—like mile 22 of a marathon. The finish line is near, but not near enough. I’m sensitive to light, and it often stops me mid-stride or draws me toward façades illuminated by a sunset.
One evening in the Place de la Concorde, en route to the Champs-Élysées, I stood transfixed as golden light transformed rush-hour traffic into something sublime. Another day in the Marais, I halted at a crosswalk, stunned by rose-gold hues spilling across a church.
This is why I love walking: the immediacy, the freedom to change course when inspiration strikes, the chance to witness fleeting beauty. In Paris, even the light becomes something you can chase and (occasionally) catch.
Paris is at her best in April. Each day now brings longer light, warmer air, and new discoveries that make this city both exhausting and exhilarating. Even when my feet ache and my patience wears thin, I remain grateful to witness another spring in this place I call home.
I hope you enjoyed reading this edition, and I’ll be back with another letter next week.
À bientôt (see you soon),
—Victorine