diner en blanc, philadelphia

Since I’ve been trying to get invited to the Diner en Blanc celebrations in Paris and New York for years now, I was overjoyed to find a new Diner en Blanc pique-nique coming our way in August! Here are some photos from the event.

How fabulous! My day finally came when I can fest with others who splurge on smelly cheese and appreciate the timelessness of white as a fashion statement.¬†Diner en blanc is the most refined event to come to Philadelphia since Tory Burch’s birth in 1966.

Diner en Blanc is all the rage because of its secrecy. Invite only, you must pack a picnic. No jest: large baskets, cumbersome tupperware and champagne glasses encouraged! The location is kept quiet (a pop-up party at City Hall? Rittenhouse Square? Art Museum steps?) until the final moment, when throngs of picnic-goers show up basking in the glory of inclusion.


Let me (french wanna-be, cheese enthusiast, lover of clean, classy fashion) be your guide to Diner en Blanc Philadelphia (the above sandwhich was created by me during a real, Parisian picnic at the Cinema en Plein Air).

The Ultimate Philadelphia DEB picnic basket:


Please, I am willing to do anything to attend this event (baking? picnic basket building? I’ll even use my trusty Schwinn to transport your items the night of the event to avoid mussing your white frocks!). Send love to a wanna be Frenchie in Philly. Invite her to DEB and make her dreams come true.


around philly

I have been absolutely loving urban life.

After living in the countryside for a year, I’m back and ready for action. My little orange Schwinn bike was my last step: although not as good as “Anna Karenina” (my baguette-sticking-out-of-basket antique blue French bike), she does the trick for rides along the Schuykill.

I have been seeing Philly from all sides: beer running club by the river, French get-togethers at the Sofitel in Rittenhouse, weekends in No Libs and empty Memorial Day Weekends at Headhouse Market eating all the cheese.

I’d have that day again.


My mother’s last words were to be careful in sin city. I somehow had no trouble abiding by her advice, as I acted as more of a scared puppy trying to avoid noise, flashing, and crowds for the majority of the trip. As we were flying in, I longed to be dropped off in the mountains and gorgeous gold deserts we passed by. Instead, we landed on the strip.

I got to Vegas and got the taxi-cab spiel about the greatest city in the world. Movies were mentioned, the fanciest hotels, the city that never sleeps. The car door opened and the doorman commented on the lightness and portability of my bag. I told him real women pack light, and could he please take me to the lobby so I wouldn’t get lost. I got lost anyway.

Vegas is the land of frivolousness, of course the gambling and the drinking, but also the expense of indulging in just about anything. Shopping, massages, entertainment, partying: it seemed to me that some people live for that kind of stuff.  I weaved my way in and out of the casinos, watching ladies in bikinis deliver drinks at 9 in the morning.

I tried to envision it, and if I had a million dollars, I would book a room at Caesar’s Palace for a week with four of my besties (yes I said besties). We would rock bikinis and drink cosmos in the pool, just like another episode of Sex and the City.

Instead I snuck out before the conference to read at the pool before any hungover 20 year-olds could block my sun rays. Vegas just wasn’t my cup of tea, but I’m glad I saw it, even though I was forced to listen to “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” jokes from my co-workers for a solid month.