Why I Miss France: Reason #4

Oui, s'il vous plaît. 

          Missing France because of crepes is honestly just me being lazy.  While I was abroad, I learned how to make a mean crepe for breakfast, lunch, and sometimes dinner, so if the urge ever strikes me with, well... urgency, I can whip up a batch and find some Nutella and some bananas. But I also enjoy the easy availability of them being sold on every street corner, and the valiant crepe-vendor in Vieux Lyon who was always outside selling his wares, no matter if it was raining or snowing, or even midnight, which is drastically late hours for food in French culture. I miss jolly, mustached Frenchmen trying to guess if I want apricot preserves or something more drastic en flambé, with his predictions based on my outfit. (Apparently something about my scarf causes me to resemble an apricot kind of girl.)

A delicious but tragically over-priced crepe by a cafe outside Notre Dame in Paris.

          Although crepes can sometimes cost far more than they should, whether they're stuffed with ham and cheese or some fresh whipped chantilly, another wonderful thing about France is that if you go to a cafe and eat one by yourself, you're not the social leper you might be branded in America. In France, loners eat at cafes all the time, reading, thinking, or possibly even blogging. Rather than seeming solitary, they come off more as artistic, perhaps planning their next novel or composing a concerto, or at the very least brooding over some romance.  

          I wish I had a glass of Côtes du Rhône, a book, and a huge crepe on my plate, and a great view on the other side of my cafe window, where people could walk by and I could callously judge them based on their shoes. The caliber of people-watching here is just not the same. Perhaps that should be Why I Miss France #5?

Why I Miss France: Reason #3

One of the busy streets in the medieval part of town, Vieux Lyon.

          Although I didn't realize how much I treasured it at the time, I miss the French language. (Finally. Something on the list which is not food.) I studied French originally because I thought it was the prettiest language I'd ever heard, and living there only made me agree more. When I would walk down the crowded, urban streets of Lyon, I would be surrounded by all the French conversations around me, and I often shamelessly spent most of my commute eavesdropping on other people's conversations to practice my comprehension skills. Not only was my nosiness justified, I got to feel smarter just by keeping my ears open and my brain immersed. Although I have a hefty amount of French films on my Netflix queue now to fill the void, I'm afraid it's just not the same.

          But if you need any proof that the language is romantic, full of entrancing subtlety and sexiness, I offer you proof in the form of actor Bradley Cooper speaking French. Because oui, he speaks French, in addition to being well-dressed, handsome, and rich. What an overachiever. 

Why I Miss France: Reason #2

          Granted, there are some things France is missing out on: Dino chicken nuggets, Target, 24 hour breakfast restaurants, decent return policies, and Annie's Organic Bunny Fruit Snacks, just to name a few. But if I had to name something that France got absolutely, 100% right, it would be pastries.

Nutella-stuff croissants. Only one of many good French, carb-themed inventions.

          Before France, I didn't know that eclairs could be filled with mousse so light and fluffy that it would make me want to cry in delight. I didn't know that macaroons could be soft, or that so many different pastries could come in pistachio flavor. I didn't even know what a praline was, much less how it could be cooked into a tart. (It's a nut covered in a sugary syrup, by the way.) And now that I know, I don't want to go back, though I do wish my waistline would recede a little.

A bakery in Lyon. On the far left, those would be raspberry-flavored macaroons stuffed with fresh raspberries.  SO GOOD.

A fruit tart from Lyon.

          That tart was from the bakery across the street from my apartment. You know, just the sort of run-of-the-mill patisserie that's on every street corner. The sort of thing you can take for granted when you live in the culinary capital of the world. Now, in California, I live next to a bunch of other houses, and a field. Nothing is within walking distance, and I cannot think of a single bakery closer than one an hour away in San Francisco.  

          Excuse me while I sigh wistfully and drool.

Why I Miss France: Reason #1

                The cheese. Oh god, the cheese.

          Not only were an extreme variety of high-quality cheeses inexpensive, they were easily found everywhere, whether at the rare grocery store or the much more common fromagerie. If you went to a French person's house, there was guaranteed to be a cheese course, which I always looked forward to with pleasure, even if I acted like a nonchalant asshole accustomed to luxurious cheese and said pretentious things like "Ah, this wine it makes a fine pairing." The American in me, used to Kraft-level, transfat-infested cheese was "teehee!"-ing like a three year old and fighting the temptation to stuff some in my fake Prada bag.

            There was the gruyere which covered the croque monsieurs, the emmental (actually from Switzerland, but shhhhh) grated into a big pile and thrown into scrambled eggs in the morning, or the heavenly chèvre chaud, or hot goat cheese, sometimes lightly fried, always heavenly, and completely unlike Greek or American feta cheese for reasons I'm powerless to describe as I salivate. 

A delicious chevre salad I had in Amboise, which I will never forget. :(

          I'm powerless to do anything but prowl the fine cheese aisles of Whole Foods in search of overpriced French import cheese to slake my proverbial cheese-thirst. (In retrospect, I could have just said hunger, to simply things, but for some reason I really felt a need for that metaphor.) Until I find my chèvre chaud substitute, I'll be dipping my strawberries in Nutella, pathetically longing for the food in my pictures, hoping that each crepe I cook and consume will banish some of my cheese-nostalgia away.

The Things You Miss When You're in France

          When I first got back to the US at the end of April, I was excited, happy, and ready to be home. I had a really cute puppy on the way, friends, boyfriend, and family to see, Vegas plans to plan, an iPhone which I very much missed using, and the entire genre of Mexican food to be reacquainted with. As a matter of fact, when I had a layover in Washington DC, I ran to the nearest mediocre Tex Mex place that I could find for anything with beans and cheese and wrapped in a tortilla as soon as my passport was stamped.

A tender moment between my burrito and me.

          "Oh, you bad, bad boy," I told the burrito as I devoured it  ferociously. My dad, who had accompanied me on my voyage, clearly regretted his decision as he cleared his throat a lot and uncomfortably avoided looking at his crazy daughter, who was enthusiastically spilling salsa all over herself in the terminal with a slightly frenzied expression on her face, letting out blissful exclamations like "Oh, the guacamole... Sweet, sweet guacamole..."

             Being surrounded by English was warm, comforting, and so blessedly simple. No more having to figure out how to say what I wanted to say, or wondering if I should use the formal or the informal, the masculine or the feminine; I could just talk. I was also once again surrounded by fat, poorly dressed, loud people and felt slim and stylish in comparison, even in my baggy, airplane-riding ensemble. After so much being "shhhhhhh"-ed on buses for talking too loudly, being stared at for wearing shorts when it was hot (what do the French have against that, anyway?), I was finally in my element. With access to In-n-Out as a bonus.

               Within the first two minutes of touching down on the soil of my homeland, I swear to god, I saw an obese, mustached cop eating a donut, being propelled by one of the moving sidewalks. "Ah, America," I thought to myself. I'd have said it out loud, but my mouth was stuffed full of pico de gallo.

Catch-22

Brief reference to cookies = Excuse to post this picture.

          What is it about computer solitaire that makes it so frustrating when you don't win, but when you do win, you feel absolutely no sense of accomplishment? You lose five games and win the sixth, and you expect to feel rewarded for your efforts. Instead it just feels like I wasted precious moments of my life. Like I need to get outside, to speak to people and feel the sun. 

          But I can't stop playing within the allotted time that would be ideally used for productivity or socializing or building a decent base tan. I'm not sure why. All day I've been making cookies, catching up on Parks and Recreation, and playing stupid computer solitaire.
          I lose and I feel defeat. I win and I feel like a loser. 

ABORT, ABORT

Boyfriend: "I just saw a headline that says 'Vaginal Steam Bath Finds a Place Among Southern California Spa Options."

Me: "Hmmmm. What does that mean?"

Boyfriend: "I don't know. I'm going to click on it."

Twenty seconds of suspense later:

Boyfriend: "The first word was 'pungent.' So I stopped reading."

- - - 

Number two on the Weird Article Title ranking goes to: "Fearsome Lawn Ornament Shot Dead by Cops." No joke.