Taste the Rainbow

During my days here in France, I sometimes find myself  reflecting on my initial abroad experience in Florence, Italy.  As my time in Florence was a short-lived four months and a saddening four-and-a-half years ago, I often forget the incredible times I had in such a romantic and historic city. That is - until I am reminded of them. 

I had one of these reminders just the other day as I strolled down one of the many cobblestone paths in Quimper and a sea of brightness caught the corner of my eye. I turned my head to be mesmerized by a swirl of colors resting in a squeaky-clean glass case outside of a storefront. The first thing that crossed my mind? 

"Could it be? An Italian cafe in Quimper?" I was happily stunned to see a gelato case this far away from the land of Vespas and carbohydrates. 

I did a double take, though, and I realized - far from canisters of Stracciatella and Nocciola, this case held something much more French: Macarons.  Oddly, it was the first storefront case of macarons I have ever seen.  I looked into the case and tried to decipher the flavors - chocolate, vanilla, cafe, pistachio, raspberry - or was it currant? 

The more I've been walking the streets of Quimper, the more macaron displays I see. It was then that I recalled moments of discovering Florence one beckoning gelato stand at a time. The difference between these two delicacies is obvious, perhaps - While both can be dairy-based with milk (gelato) and egg whites (macarons), one is served cold while the other is just slightly chilled. One is a meltable dessert requiring a spoon, the other consists of a layer of jam, cream or ganache sandwiched between two wafers. 

But, there do seem to exist a few common themes: 

1. Resplendent colors that can instantly bring even the "just coffee" dinner party attendee back to his or her childhood days of discovering sugar. 

2. Evidence of a sweet-tooth "brand image" for the country's natives, tourists and a population like me -  those who hope to sway somewhere in the middle.

And I was trying to picture what the United States would be like if it had this kind of constant: Something that could cause u-turns and lines of unsatiated palates. 

As I glanced down at my cafe au lait, I realized - maybe we do. While we may have vetoed the rainbow, we did settle on an appealing forest green and on an iconic, long-haired Mermaid who, seemingly on every street corner, boasts flavors of hazelnut, vanilla and chocolate. 

 . . . Well, at least the attempt is there. In the meantime, I'll stay right where I am.

"Lost in Translation" (part I)

Introduction to "Lost in Translation" Series

I feel that during my time here in France, there will be many occasions when words, sentences, and ideas get confused, slurred and flat out misunderstood. I intend to document these moments to reflect on daily encounters with friends and strangers, demonstrate the difficulties of language barriers and ideally, create a sense of embarrassment felt for myself and others. Please enjoy.

 The other night, my newly found friends Bea (of Spain), Maggie (of Pennsylvania), and I went out for an after-school (how I love being able to say that once again!) drink.  We decided to head to the Vingt et Unieme (the 21st), a chic, slightly upscale cafe meets lounge resting on the foot of the Cathedral Square. 

An hour and a half, one Irish coffee and two blonde beers later, our afternoon sojourn was coming to an end. Bea and I, umbrellas in tow (umbrellas are the Amex of Brittany), started our paces uphill as we sent Maggie on her way into Centre Ville. Just as our backs turned, Bea called out to Maggie, "restes-toi!"

"Hm?" Maggie responded, as she whisked around. "You want me to stay?"

A flutter of confused looks followed these statements. "Quoi?" Bea said. 

"You're asking me to stay?"

Bea, in her charming, Spanish accent, replied in her near-perfect English, "No, I mean - you seem tired. So..."

My and Maggie's laughter interrupts Bea, as we both realize her, completely logical, mistake.

"Reposes-toi," Maggie corrects her, smiling. "Unless you really do want me to stay?" We all smile, exchange "I've been there" looks, and part ways. 

And for every night to follow, Bea and I ditch the tried and true "bon nuit" and head to our bedrooms opting for her incorrectly-used and much more laughable phrase.  

And I Felt Like Carrie Bradshaw...

Alors. I had my first week of classes this week, and....

They went well...I think.

My first class consisted of students in their second year of lycee, or high school (15- to 16-years-old). 

Marie, the English teacher, got the attention of the students, and I promptly took her seat at the head of the class. I introduced myself, slowly and clearly, in English. (Ah. English. As I get further acquainted in a small, old town in Brittany, the word is nice -  even to type).

I gave them the basics: age, native city, degree, reason for being here, hobbies, interests.

A hand is raised.

"Yes?"

"Do you like New York?"

I thought for a second, and I responded, "Yes - I love it, in fact. I'm not from there, but -"

"What do you like in New York?" The student relayed back.

"Oh. Well, I don't know - I've been there only twice, but it's full of excitement, nightlife, fashion..."

"It is the city that never sleeps?"

"Yes, yes it is called that. And Chicago is really quite similar-"

"How late is the pubs open in New York?" Another student demanded.

I took a breath. "Some bars in New York don't even close," I said. "And in Chicago, there are some really fun bars that stay open until 4:00 a.m."

For the first time since I took my seat, I could have heard Breton crickets. Until,

"Have you been to Guggenheim Museum?" A girl in the front row asked.

At this point, I think my face was resembling nothing short of Jim Halpert's immediately after pulling a prank on Dwight Schrute. You know the look.

All this NYC talk had inspired me to feel just slightly like Carrie Bradshaw as she stood and spoke to single women about dating tactics, when she, really, had no idea what to tell them. Unfortunately, unlike Carrie, I couldn't sweep all of them from school grounds and take them back to my glorious city of Chicago on a Ferris Bueller-type-expedition, so I did the next best thing.

"No, I haven't," I responded. "Though I would love to. Which reminds me - The Chicago Art Institute has just created a Modern Art Wing, and it's fantastic. Also - who here has ever tried, what we call in English, deep-dish pizza?'"

You Say Ugal-ee, I Say Ugal-ay...

Being in France, I'm surrounded by some of the finest foods in Europe - and quite possibly, in the world. Every corner I turn, I'm surrounded by creperies, fruit stands, rows of bottled cider (avec d'alcool, one assumes, in the region of Bretagne). So why is it that my mind sometimes wanders, if only for a second, back to the seemingly less-inspiring foods of Kenya?

In my two-week sojourn in Africa, I was fortunate enough to sample some of the most authentic of plates: Matoke (plantains that are peeled and then steamed on top of their stalks, resulting in a yellow, potato-type consistency), chapati (while its true origin is in India, this wheat flatbread with a gyro-style thickness is plentiful in Kenya), githeri (an original of the Kikuyu Tribe and a melange of beans and maize) and here's the clincher: Ugali. 

Consisting only of maize flour and water, ugali had me at, "Hello...

...Can you pass the sauce?"

Ugali is possibly the simplest of Kenyan's dishes in terms of both preparation and "wow" factor, and may often be confused with a colorless Play-Dough (especially after seeing the kids at Jamii school roll it up and form various geometric shapes). But, while we may not admit it, I think we all sampled a little Play-Dough as children and, just maybe, enjoyed it. 

Paired with fried cabbage or githeri, ugali can turn quickly from "pass" to "pass it over." But the main purpose of this plate in Kenya? To fill. And does it ever. 

As I sit at this beautiful French cafe, sipping my Perrier, I realize - I'm hungry. And no more than two hours prior, I enjoyed a delicious "salade poulet" (tomate, oeuf, concombre, poivron, coleslaw, melange poulet, taboule, gruyere). 

So, here is where I'll turn my taste buds off for two seconds and just admit it: I miss flour and water.