Know Your Pastries!

So I’ve taken various photos of all the amazing pâtisseries we’ve/I’ve been eating, and why not throw them all here in one place. Alternate title for this post: If I Start Getting Fat In My Pictures, You Now Know Why.

And here we go:

Opéra

Le Divorce*
What a great name! A divorce between café and chocolat is a divorce I can support.

Crêpe chocolat chantilly

Moelleux amandes

Tarte aux fraises

Tarte Normande (poires, amandes)

Gâteau chocolat

Assorted

Millefeuille*

Réligieuse (café)

Tarte aux pommes

Assorted

Forêt Noire (Black Forest)

Tarte aux framboises

Galette des Rois: This one of the cheesy Pirates of the Caribbean galette I discreetly (or so I hope) just had to take, having spotted it sitting there in the super-ghetto supermarket near Flávia. Around this time of year this huge circular flaky, layered, buttery, delicious cake is cut into slivers and shared among friends or family (I've had it with my host family, real family, and friends - excellent), and whoever finds the little truc inside (it's a little figurine) gets to wear the paper crown and be the king (Roi) or queen (Reine). From the looks of it the one that comes with this one is pretty effing jazzy. We should have bought it.
See my post in late January about my cousin Sophie's party for further info on this topic.

Tarte aux fraises, éclair chocolat

Assorted

* contender for Favorite Pastry

A Massive Night: the HOLD STEADY à la Maroquinerie

There are nights I think Sal Paradise was right…

Despite being pretty sick and despite the rain and hour-long metro ride to the most random place to have a concert venue, I was very excited to check out La Maroquinerie to see the Hold Steady for the first time. They have since been catapulted to the front of my list… well, at least, nearer to it. Awesome show, and awesome venue! We finally stumbled upon the place, a little hole in the wall, with seemingly no one around, a little past eight and checked out the inside and got some drinks before we found a spot to watch the rest of the opening act. Not that it was hard to find a spot, at all – it was rather strange, there was a very small standing area, vacant, bordered by a small set of steps on three sides, which everyone was sitting on. No one was standing. The opening act was pretty mellow, though, so I guess it’s understandable – though all four of us (myself, Yotam and Niko, and another American we’d been talking to, a really nice guy) kind of looked at each other and back at the stage, and then back at each other again – when the Hold Steady came on stage and no one flinched or moved a muscle. (“Ummmm…..”) Thankfully, a few people got up and and stood at the front, and by the time they finished tuning their instruments, enough people had followed suit, and we joined them. We moved to the front after a few minutes too, as the crowd was so spaced out and scattered that there was plenty of room to move, and no one was standing on the right side in the front. It definitely wasn’t the packed, smashed, smoking, sweaty, jumping, flailing crowd that I’d imagined, but that’s got it’s good and bad points. It was intimate and awesome, and they sounded great. I didn’t get to hear First Night, but heard Stuck Between Stations, You Can Make Him Like You, Stevie Nix, Multitude of Casualties and Southtown Girls, so I was happy as a clam. I really liked every song they played.

Here are some shots of the band and Craig that I think pretty much capture the feel of the music and the night – the Hold Steady is a band you feel drunk just listening to, and indeed that’s a fitting sentiment, given the lyrics Craig Finn spewed and spitted out, while lurching over the microphone, teetering on the stand. If that thing had fallen I think he’d have gone down too. He stumbled around on stage, dropping his glasses, chucking his near-empty Heineken bottles on the floor of the stage, repeating lyrics without the microphone for emphasis (“High as hell!”) (“Positive!”), spitting while he shouted.

How’m I s’posed to know if you’re high if you won’t even dance?

If you get tired of your boyfriend’s friends, there’s always other boys, there’s always other boyfriends

Craig also enjoyed a little dancing (read: flailing) during the harmonica solo

If this shot doesn't capture the night, I don't know what does

Southtown Girls won’t blow you away… but you know that they’ll stay

And here’s the set list he accidentally kicked off the stage halfway through the show (but that I tastefully waited until after the set to pick up):

The lead guitarist Tad (I think) and I. We talked with him at the bar after the show for a bit – about how different the crowds are in Paris, for one thing (and how early shows start and end). It was only eleven at that point. He was very nice and down-to-earth, and asked about us and what we were doing in Paris. He told us their last show on the tour is going to be at the Templar in Dublin, and that it’s going to be great – oh man, I can only imagine.

We said hi to the keyboardist on the way out, who Yotam and I agreed was our favorite (and would have been Ween’s too, I imagine ;) . Craig was, as you can imagine, “passed out somewhere.”

And finally, me and my little hoodrat friends (L-R, Niko and Yotam.)

Great night!

Cultural Differences: Plus/Minus

There are those that I very much appreciate, and those that I find incredibly frustrating. A subjective ongoing list that I’ll keep updating as I go along…

PLUS:

-high value on conserving resources e.g. electricity, water, etc.
-education system: With the BAC, students are forced to have a much better general knowledge base before they enter college; students are left very independent (i.e. no homework – usually just a midterm or oral presentation, and final exam); and of course, university is basically free
-importance of leisure time: you deserve it! 36-hour workweeks and 6 weeks vacation in starting jobs? Yes.
-student discounts everywhere
-resistance to our impending culture of immediacy: you still have to at least sit down at the counter for a few moments if you want a cup of coffee before work, for example. Not a lot is open Sundays and not a lot at night, because people want to devote those hours to themselves rather than to working, and because people manage their affairs so that they don’t need everything all the time, like we do. It’s really nice to stop, take a breath, and learn to enjoy life a little more.
-popular music isn’t all crap
-smaller (i.e. much more realistic) portion sizes
-wine is cheaper than coke… and always good

MINUS:

-everyone smokes, everywhere – the newly enacted ban on smoking indoors has fazed the French perhaps even less than I expected it would.
-education system: all of college is über-specialized with very little electives if any, which also means that you can’t really change your mind without starting all over; since it’s free, facilities and professors are not necessarily as good; classes aren’t posted until the very last minute and often change or are cancelled at the last minute; students don’t care as much or have as much respect for professors (at least in my experience)
-resistance to our impending culture of immediacy: it’s freakin’ frustrating! I want my midnight coffee now and to go, so I can drink it on the run on the way to the library or somewhere to pick up a snack – Oh wait, neither of those things will be open either. We all burst out in laughter when Isabelle (from our program, who was taking us on campus tours) told us that the library at the Sorbonne closes at 7. Oh, Midnight Mug, how we miss you…
-concerts end and bars close early
-showerheads not affixed to anything but a hose
-tiny cups of coffee
-telephone service is hideously expensive
-there does not exist a sandwich without a copious amount of mayonnaise already on it
-tips are included in prices, so waiters don’t care too much about good service, and the idea of substitutions or special requests is unthinkable

Example:
“We’ll have a pitcher of wine…” (pitchers are on the menu)

“No pitchers.”

“Okay, how much is a bottle?”

“No bottles, just glasses.” (a glass costs practically the same as a pitcher)

“Okay… then I’ll just have a mango tea.”

“What?”

“A tea… Mango.”

“I don’t have any of that.”

“Um, alright, can I have a passion fruit tea?”

“No more.” (Um, can’t you just maybe tell me which teas you have?)

“Okay. A café.”

(Nods, goes away.)

Visite à Montmartre

Here’s an a-capella group I listened to while waiting outside the Abbesses metro stop for Susannah, who sang in French, English, and Spanish. Besides “chile con carne”, my favorite song was the first one I heard, mostly because of the chorus, which went like this: “You can be/ What you want to/ All I need/ Is to boogey down!” I found that amusing enough to put it up here.

After our lovely lunch (we split the best galette we’ve had so far), we met up with the group and were led around Montmartre by our lovely tour guide Sabrina. We’d both been before so it was nothing new but it’s always nice to promenade around the area, with its charming winding streets and humble restaurants and boutiques. It has a very local and friendly air to it – though bordered by the sex district on one end and less-than-beautiful Boulevard Barbès on another (which I’d already been acquainted with thanks to last summer’s two nights in “Friends’ Hostel” – oh, good times), it manages to stay rather quiet and inviting. You can imagine lots of Amélies living there. Here, indeed, are two very Amélie shots – the first a view of the carousel and Sacre Coeur in the background, and the second the café Les Deux Moulins, where she worked as a waitress in the movie.

Here’s a glimpse of later that night:

myself, Ray, and Flávia, the latter two of which are amazing dancers – when together, an event to be seen


mademoiselle Chelsea et monsieur Aaron

Embarrassing moments, translation issues, and other socially awkward situations

1. Saturday 1.20
   

So the first installment of this lovely series of embarrassment and awkwardness comes on my first day in France, when Madame’s daughter and husband (and ADORABLE little son, Thomas) come to visit for the weekend. I was a little groggy and out of it when I met them, since I’d just arrived from my red-eye flight, so when the husband said something and put out his hand for me to shake, I wasn’t exactly sure what he said but I guess I thought it was « Bienvenue » or « Bonne » -something, so I said « Merci ! » and shook his hand, and no wonder he’d looked confused, because he had actually said, as I realized later, « Benoit », which is his name. He was introducing himself and I’d said “Thanks!” and shook his hand. Wow.

2. Monday 1.22

Embarrassing moment #2 happens chez Starbucks, which I hate to admit I went to here in Paris – but in my defense, it was my third day here and I was going through major coffee withdrawal, and besides, it was interesting to go and take note of the differences between the two countries’ Starbucks. And I haven’t been back since and as of now don’t plan to. Anyway, I got to the cashier ready to order my drink, with the right French words for ordering my latté that I’d repeated in my head fresh in my mind and ready to use, so I was a little taken aback when one of the two young guys at the register said « Ça va ? » (“how are you”), and in my daze and flabbergastedness I once again reverted to « Merci » : apparently when I find myself in peril I give thanks, and this strategy really hasn’t worked well so far. The cashier turned to the guy next to him (there were kind of two people at the same register) and smiled, knowing now that I was a foreigner – who else would say “Thanks” to someone who asks you how it’s going? He probably thought I didn’t know any French but was pretending to understand. I then laughed at myself and admitted my French wasn’t great yet, to try to smooth over the situation a little, and then moved on and ordered my drink, while they continued smiling.

3. Monday 1.22
   The crêpe man signals for my hand, after I took a picture of Flav and Betsy with crêpes, and I give him my camera thinking he’s volunteering to take one of all of us and enthusiastically say « Oh, Merci!! », but then realize, as I try to give it to him and he doesn’t take it, that my camera is in the same hand as my money, and what he actually wants is the 5€ bill to pay for my crêpe. Everyone got to see that one… it was pretty funny.
4. Tuesday, 1.23
   Walking out of the supermarché, Susannah says: « Il faut marcher vite » I say: « Fromage vite?!? Quoi ?!? » (“We have to walk fast” / “Fast cheese? What?”)
5. Tuesday 1.23
   On the metro, there were three of us sitting in one of the booth-like sections for four, Susannah, Flavia and I, and next to me was a tall, somewhat older, kind of sketchy looking guy who definitely seemed like he was listening to our conversation, which had been mostly in bad French. Then he started talking to us, I think addressing Susannah, and I’d been impressed and jealous that she’d understood what he’d said, as she laughed after he spoke. He went on and on, and turned to me, and made little gestures, and on… and Flavia and Susannah smiled and laughed and I eventually said apologetically, when he addressed me, that my French wasn’t too good and he said to them, « Ah, elle n’est pas française? », and continued and they laughed, and I caught a few words (« rigoler/des femmes/laide/belles ») and Susannah was signaling to me, pointing to her cheeks on her face, and so I thought he was saying something about how beautiful women smile, and ugly women are women who don’t ever smile, so I thought they were all trying to get me to smile, and I did, and said I thought I understood… anyway, when we got off the train and I asked what the crap he was talking about, it was revealed that neither Susannah nor Flavia had understood barely a single word he’d said either, but had just ever so smoothly gone along and laughed at everything anyway, and were trying to get me to do the same. I’m… such an idiot.
6. 1.25.07 Susannah was telling me what cigarette packs say in France: she said « Fumer Tue », but I heard « Fumer Tout ». So I was like, “What? Wow, ‘smoke everything?’”, when in reality, it was “smoking kills.”
   

7. 1.28.07
   Note to future grocery shoppers while on vacation in France, weigh your fruit in the fruit department before you leave it. That is to say, before you wait in line at the register, get to the cashier and start to realize what you’ve done when she turns your bag of pears over in her hand, sheepishly say “no” when she can’t find the price sticker and asks if you’ve weighed them while staring at you skeptically wondering what kind of idiot you are, head back to the fruit department with your bag of pears, have them weighed and price-stickered, wait in line again, and re-hand your fruit over to the cashier who then lowers her head and raises her eyebrows a bit, remembering you from a few minutes earlier and still wondering what’s wrong with you. Stupid foreigners…
8. 2.6.07
   Not really an embarrassing moment but so could have been: I was trying to describe “boyfriend” to my host mother, and I asked, does one say “petit ami”? That’s what I’d been taught in french class but I figured it might be the case, as it often is, that what they teach you comes right out of those 1980s textbooks and videos (gotta love Robert et Mireille…) and doesn’t really work with today’s world. That was indeed the case, as she told me that a « petit ami » is « quelqu’un qui on emmène à son lit » , meaning literally, someone you bring to your bed. She said if you use « ami », it’s a bit more ambiguous, that is, it could of course refer to a friend, but you’re not really saying what type of relationship it is. When you say « petit ami », however, you are blatantly indicating that this is someone you “take to your bed”. Therefore we laughed and I continued my story with « mon ami »… anyway, c’était marrant (it was funny), and definitely could have made for an awkward situation in front of a different audience.

Another pic from the "fumer tue" night, at "Le 10" at Odeon, otherwise known as Sangria Bar.

Mémorial de la Shoah

« Si le monde savais, nous étions liberés ! … La liberté refleurira… »

David and I spent two hours that easily could have been three or four this afternoon at the Mémorial de la Shoah: the Holocaust Memorial. It’s interesting that the French use the word « Shoah » to describe the event, which literally translates to “catastrophe”.

The wall of names, reminiscent of the Vietnam memorial where I’d otherwise be home, stands to preserve the legacy of those who perished at the hands of the Nazis during the Holocaust.

The Holocaust, selon moi, is one of those things/events in history you think you’ve been told about a hundred times, that you think you know all about, Yes, yes, the Holocaust, it was terrible, inhuman. But I was reminded that not only do we (or at least I) easily forget the magnitude of exactly how terrible and inconceivable a genocide like this was, but we assume we’ve been told all that there is to know – which can never really be true. I was surprised at how much I learned today, and we only made it to two and a half floors’ worth – there are still three more. In a nutshell, I was just overwhelmed, being reminded by placards, paragraphs, posters, videos, and pictures how horrible a human being, and worse, a group of human beings, can become, and what they can do to one another – and could not begin to imagine how it must have been for those who experienced it first hand, and how something like this (in terms of a genocide) could ever be forgotten, denied, or worse, repeated again in history.

Just a few interesting things I learned during the visit:

The memorial acknowledged that at the beginning, there wasn’t a lot of aid or support for the Jews from France, that the Vichy government delivered Jews under 16 years of age to the German occupiers, and that the responsibility and culpability of the Vichy gov’t wasn’t recognized until 1995, finally, by President Chirac. I just found it interesting how frank and forthcoming the museum was about France’s shortcomings in this.

There were operations (notably Operation 1005) after the war devised by the Nazis (or what was left of them and their supporters, I guess?) to destroy proof of the mass destruction of Jews, such as planting a forest to camouflage a concentration camp site, or using a machine like this one to further break down the remains of the burned corpses that were left.

Le Mémorial des Enfants – 2500 photos of children deported from France, 1942-1944.

Daily rations in the Warsaw ghetto, 1940, after the occupation and regrouping of Jewish communities into centralised ghettos:

Allemand (German): 2,613 calories
Polonais (Polish): 699 calories
Juif (Jewish): 184 calories

The quotes at the very top come from an interview with a Jewish woman who survived the Holocaust. She had said with hope, when the horror began, “If the world knew, we would be free! Liberty will flourish again…”

Le Week-end à Saint Malo et Mont Saint Michel : Part One

Our orientation weekend trip was to Bretagne (Brittany), a region on the northern French coast. We arrived at our adorable hotel (pretty sweet deal) just outside the small, old walled-in town of Saint Malo. The streets were cobblestoned and filled with restaurants, boutiques, and of course patisseries. It’s a touristy town because you wouldn’t really want to live there, but for a weekend, it’s lovely and a lot of fun. We checked in and tout d’abord (right away) scattered into the town to find a place for lunch. We all had galettes (crêpes salées, or, lunch crêpes – filled with things like meat, cheese, and eggs, rather than crêpes sucrées – jelly, sugar, chocolate, etc.) since it’s a specialty of the area.






As Susannah cleverly commented, this photo is indicative of our respective identities: Flavia the rockstar posing in the window, and me, the nerd, consulting the map in the info packet they gave us. Of course.


there's always time for a patisserie break


Hailey and I in front of one of said boutiques.

We then met up for a tour with Sabrina, starting atop the fortifications around the town, and descending to the beach, climbing up steps onto giant hills with beautiful views.





la plage


yotam, oliver & ray






admiring the town


girls in black jackets with colorful scarves, atop a grassy hill in the French countryside: myself, Susannah, and Hailey


the Susannah kick-back laugh… classic.