One thing that is strange about France is that they really stick to their regional dishes. You know how some people will always order the lasagna at an Italian restaurant. I think a lot of Frenchmen are like that. How come I can only find Beef bourguignon in the Burgundy region? Does nobody else want to try this dish?
I'm at a restaurant with a group of 6 other co-workers and it comes time for dessert. There are four desserts: tarte tatin, chocolate mousse, creme brulee, and something I don't recognize. "What's that?" I ask. "It is hard to describe" I am answered. "Well, is it some kind of cake?" "Oh, no! It is not cake. It's more like custard." Then another co-worker jumps in: "It is not like custard. It has fruit! and it has sugar on the top!" Soon there is an argument going on about what this dessert is like. Finally, I say I am going to settle it. I'll just order it for my dessert. Nobody else orders it of course. Laurent smiles and says "I like Dave, he has no fear."
Excuse me? What's to fear? It's a dessert with sugar and fruit from what I can understand. In fact, when it does arrive I would call it (drum roll please...) strawberry custard layer cake. Oh my god! Wasn't that scary! And it was delicious, I didn't miss out on anything.
While dining at a place called literally "the carnivores place" Monica and I spotted, all right, maybe the right term is "could not fail to notice" this large man sitting near us eating what appeared to be an enormous pile of bones. It looked like something from the Flintstones as the bones were huge and piled high. Yes, he was eating bone marrow. Let's NOT get that... But little did I know that shortly thereafter when I ordered one of my favorite kinds of Southern French stews it would be topped with... a giant split open bone! Like a cherry for cavemen I guess. Fortunately, my bone looked like it wasn't split exactly in half and didn't have too much marrow. Just enough to scoop out and try it with my spoon. Well? OK. I'll try it... and it is fantastic! Now, I'm mad because I've been ripped off! My bone has barely any marrow! Ah man...
Finally, we are out one night with a Canadian couple who don't speak much French at all. After steering them away from a number of "dangerous" items, you know, brains, black pudding, etc. I notice something interesting. There is a soup/stew that has ingredients listed as "ear", "tail", "ribs", and something else I don't know. But my vocabulary is growing! I recognize a lot of words that I haven't seen in print except in my French lessons. This makes me like this dish. Hmm, well, the French eat it and it's in a soup so it's not like getting a fish with the head still on looking at you. Those things will probably be chopped and mixed into a savory stew. I order it and when it arrives it comes in this giant steaming pot. I slide my bowl over, reach in, and pull out... an ear. This is very definitely a cow's ear and it looks so much like a cow's ear that I have to laugh. "This is the most disgusting thing I've seen in my life!" I gasp/laugh. The table next to us starts tittering and I notice the man pointing me out to his girlfriend. Our whole table is staring at me as I transfer this whole, giant ear into my bowl. Well, I guess I should try it. I cut a piece off and taste it. I have to say, I now know what was going through Mike Tysen's head. Even though it has stewed for I don't know how long, my mouth is telling me "You are biting an ear!" But, the taste is actually not bad at all. I offer a bite to Monica and without thinking she eats it. Then immediately she smacks me! OK, maybe I deserved that, but she saw what it was, she could have refused. I don't know how to say it, um, maybe those with weak hearts should skip down to the next paragraph, but the last part of the ear where it attached to the head was really good. i can't believe I'm actually enjoying it. Next, I lift out of the pot... a tail. And you can clearly see the vertebrae and everything. The others are getting a kick out of watching me tackle my meal. Next thing out is totally unidentifiable and probably a key component of the cow digestive track. Our friend Brian says "It's like watching a fishing show. You never know what he's going to haul out next. Maybe an old tire!" While the tail was edible, I had to give up on the weird ringy thing since it was just too hard to get meat off it. Anyway, at least I left full and entertained our friends.
The next day at work while talking to Laurent, I mentioned that last night I ate an ear. Surely if he's impressed I'm willing to try a strawberry cake, this will get some reaction. But his response takes me totally by surprise. "Oh yes, and it is soooo good isn't it?" Clearly, I have a long way to go if I want to become French.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
What's in Avignon?
Avignon is a famous city for, um, something. Anyway, the name sure sounds familiar, so when Monica tells me we're going there for the weekend I'm all for it. One rental car and hotel booking in centre ville "within walking distance of attractions" and we're off.
Our driving directions seem simple enough as the highway heads directly into Avignon, but then it becomes a nameless street as we start to go between some castle walls on the left and a river on the right. Man, this is some giant castle! I think we've gone too far, perhaps we should turn off to the right, but it is a bridge and ... oh my god! That bridge across the river only goes halfway! I think we just missed being in a Chevy Chase movie... And now here's a "leaving Avignon" sign. What the heck? Where was Avignon? We turn around and head back past the walls and here comes the freeway and again we're leaving Avignon. Then Monica has a breakthrough - Avignon IS the castle. It's a giant walled city. We're in centre ville, so, we should go into the wall?
Sure enough, I turn off our 4 lanes and head up a tiny street towards the wall and pass through an arch into... A darling, quaint city. Now we are most thoroughly lost, but we can't help sightseeing as we drive around narrow one-way streets and try avoid driving up into the many pedestrian areas. Fortunately, it's around midnight and the streets are deserted.
Spying a group of police officers, I pull over and ask directions. The first guy is really friendly and says Oh, you are really close, just go down there, two left turns, exit the wall, go straight, you will see it. However, I politely wait for the old woman cop to come back from an office she is using to write directions for me. After about 20 minutes I think she has forgotten me, but she comes out with detailed step-by-step directions. No map, but plenty of landmarks, roundabouts, lights, etc. Very different from the first set of directions, but similar in that both are wrong, but her directions only forgot 1 roundabout and a right turn. And it turns out there is some Avignon beyond the walls and we are out there somewhere. The final scare was seeing this horrible, dilapidated building with the sign "Best Western Avignon" on it. We let out a cry of "Oh no! Don't tell me!" But there was an arrow at the bottom pointing down the street. I'm sorry, but this is NOT "centre ville" and the only thing "within walking distance" is a mugging. Oh well, it's bedtime. We are not going to think about the strange carpet stains.
The next day we drive back through the wall into what *I* would call "centre ville." The centerpiece of the town is the papal palace which towers over the buildings in the north end of the walled city. We begin ambling towards it past the tempting shops. Very soon resistance wanes, so while Monica shops for shoes, I duck into the tourist office to grab a souvenir map. Despite the palace being clearly visible and signs on every corner pointing to the palace, the clerk feels compelled to prove his value by scrawling an 'X' on the tourist office and drawing a couple circles around the giant cartoonish depiction of the palace on the map. OK, so I was horribly lost last night so I don't have a right to complain, but I think I can find the palace without this guy scribbling on my souvenir! Oh well, as Monica says, these things make it even more of a souvenir.
Avignon, or at least the portion within the walled section of centre ville, is really pretty. Even the parking garage has been decorated with a kaleidescope of clinging plants. We also found out that there IS a historic, partial bridge which has been there since 1171 (and unusable since 1668). So I was not seeing things. I'm not sure how many people have accidentally driven off the end, but during the daytime you'd have to drive over a bunch of tourists to do it, so probably not a lot.
Avignon is quite a lovely city, but there is also the beautiful provence countryside to explore just to the east - the Luberon area. I could tell from the look in Monica's eye that tomorrow we'd put some kilometers on the rental car. Oh well, bye bye Avignon, we'll visit you again some day.
Our driving directions seem simple enough as the highway heads directly into Avignon, but then it becomes a nameless street as we start to go between some castle walls on the left and a river on the right. Man, this is some giant castle! I think we've gone too far, perhaps we should turn off to the right, but it is a bridge and ... oh my god! That bridge across the river only goes halfway! I think we just missed being in a Chevy Chase movie... And now here's a "leaving Avignon" sign. What the heck? Where was Avignon? We turn around and head back past the walls and here comes the freeway and again we're leaving Avignon. Then Monica has a breakthrough - Avignon IS the castle. It's a giant walled city. We're in centre ville, so, we should go into the wall?
Sure enough, I turn off our 4 lanes and head up a tiny street towards the wall and pass through an arch into... A darling, quaint city. Now we are most thoroughly lost, but we can't help sightseeing as we drive around narrow one-way streets and try avoid driving up into the many pedestrian areas. Fortunately, it's around midnight and the streets are deserted.
Spying a group of police officers, I pull over and ask directions. The first guy is really friendly and says Oh, you are really close, just go down there, two left turns, exit the wall, go straight, you will see it. However, I politely wait for the old woman cop to come back from an office she is using to write directions for me. After about 20 minutes I think she has forgotten me, but she comes out with detailed step-by-step directions. No map, but plenty of landmarks, roundabouts, lights, etc. Very different from the first set of directions, but similar in that both are wrong, but her directions only forgot 1 roundabout and a right turn. And it turns out there is some Avignon beyond the walls and we are out there somewhere. The final scare was seeing this horrible, dilapidated building with the sign "Best Western Avignon" on it. We let out a cry of "Oh no! Don't tell me!" But there was an arrow at the bottom pointing down the street. I'm sorry, but this is NOT "centre ville" and the only thing "within walking distance" is a mugging. Oh well, it's bedtime. We are not going to think about the strange carpet stains.
The next day we drive back through the wall into what *I* would call "centre ville." The centerpiece of the town is the papal palace which towers over the buildings in the north end of the walled city. We begin ambling towards it past the tempting shops. Very soon resistance wanes, so while Monica shops for shoes, I duck into the tourist office to grab a souvenir map. Despite the palace being clearly visible and signs on every corner pointing to the palace, the clerk feels compelled to prove his value by scrawling an 'X' on the tourist office and drawing a couple circles around the giant cartoonish depiction of the palace on the map. OK, so I was horribly lost last night so I don't have a right to complain, but I think I can find the palace without this guy scribbling on my souvenir! Oh well, as Monica says, these things make it even more of a souvenir.
Avignon, or at least the portion within the walled section of centre ville, is really pretty. Even the parking garage has been decorated with a kaleidescope of clinging plants. We also found out that there IS a historic, partial bridge which has been there since 1171 (and unusable since 1668). So I was not seeing things. I'm not sure how many people have accidentally driven off the end, but during the daytime you'd have to drive over a bunch of tourists to do it, so probably not a lot.
Avignon is quite a lovely city, but there is also the beautiful provence countryside to explore just to the east - the Luberon area. I could tell from the look in Monica's eye that tomorrow we'd put some kilometers on the rental car. Oh well, bye bye Avignon, we'll visit you again some day.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Passion
What is this passion I feel? It's completely inexplicable. Dave and I just got back from an amazing vacation to Northern Europe, but I was so excited to get back to France. Our last destination was Strasbourgh, which is in France, and I just melted into a blissful calm as soon as we got there. I don't really understand it. In the US, I dread going home. But here, I couldn't wait to get back to our beautiful apartment in Lyon. As we were driving through Lyon I couldn't stop staring at how beautiful this city is. And as soon as I walked into our gorgeous little place I melted. It's so cute and inviting. I didn't want to even go out to dinner. I cooked in! Which, for those of you who know me you know, that is a huge deal.
I can't help but wonder what it is about France that does this to me. It's kinda like being in love, with someone who you know you can't be with forever. It's irrational, but full of passion and joy and a desire to be with that person (La France) every moment of every day. I can't explain it, and yet I feel it so deeply. I actually had a discussion with Thea, my mother-in-law, about it. How is it that I can feel so strongly about a place where I don't belong? Why do I feel so happy here? Why am I so drawn in? It's inexplicable, but it's definitely there. I think I could live here forever.
This last weekend, in Brussels, at a Bed and Breakfast we were staying at, I met a woman at the breakfast table. It turned out that she grew up in Napa, just like me! And she went to college in San Francisco. We couldn't stop talking. It was great. It turns out that she came to Paris to take a year break from school, and she never went back. She's now been in Paris for 8 years. I've heard similar stories so many times. I happened to meet another person who came to Paris for a year on a project with her husband, and has now been in France for 35 years!!! What is the seduction of France? I have to admit, I wish desperately that my life would allow me to stay here, but Dave wants to go home, and my passion for him is deeper than my passion for France. But I will miss this place. I missed it while I was on vacation. I feel sad every time I think about leaving. I can only hope that one day La France and I will be reunited again somehow.
I can't help but wonder what it is about France that does this to me. It's kinda like being in love, with someone who you know you can't be with forever. It's irrational, but full of passion and joy and a desire to be with that person (La France) every moment of every day. I can't explain it, and yet I feel it so deeply. I actually had a discussion with Thea, my mother-in-law, about it. How is it that I can feel so strongly about a place where I don't belong? Why do I feel so happy here? Why am I so drawn in? It's inexplicable, but it's definitely there. I think I could live here forever.
This last weekend, in Brussels, at a Bed and Breakfast we were staying at, I met a woman at the breakfast table. It turned out that she grew up in Napa, just like me! And she went to college in San Francisco. We couldn't stop talking. It was great. It turns out that she came to Paris to take a year break from school, and she never went back. She's now been in Paris for 8 years. I've heard similar stories so many times. I happened to meet another person who came to Paris for a year on a project with her husband, and has now been in France for 35 years!!! What is the seduction of France? I have to admit, I wish desperately that my life would allow me to stay here, but Dave wants to go home, and my passion for him is deeper than my passion for France. But I will miss this place. I missed it while I was on vacation. I feel sad every time I think about leaving. I can only hope that one day La France and I will be reunited again somehow.
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