Reading: Quinn's Book - William Kennedy
Thanksgiving: Last Thursday, as most of you Americans know, was Thanksgiving (or, as I and the 21st century will be calling it, "Thxgiving"). Now, the French do not celebrate Thxgiving for obvious reasons, nor do they even know about that it is one of the most important American holidays, allowing for Christmas music to be played, family to be eaten with and despised secretly, and the capitalist glory of Holiday Shopping to commence with Black Friday. So, upon my packing a bag full of wine, spices, money, and other ingredients, my host dad, staying home with La Grippe A (aka Swine Flu) asked me what the big occasion was and I responded jovially, "Thxgiving!"
I don't really know how to translate this into French, so I then said..."Le jour de...remercier?" My dad laughed, said he understood, and to have a good time skipping class (how did he know?? Must have been all the wine...). So off I went to my last day of Cinema where M. Bondurand had promised us croissants since he had to cancel dinner because of La Grippe A and we discussed our last film, discussed the class, listened to certain people in the class with no social skills prove it again and again saying things like "well, I mean, I easily understood the concept but I'm sure no one else did." (Just one of many examples.) Then came our last conversation class, where we tried to explain Thxgiving to Bondurand and people were really eager to explain things like sweet potatoes with marshmallows (he was frightened, and that's putting it lightly) and some people still think you pronounce 3rd person plural "EELS," and after 3 months in France you should really know that the "S" is silent. I, however, was in a chipper mood thinking about grocery shopping and cooking and was super-chatty in Convo, then more chatty once Sally came to meet Abby & me to go to The Grand Epiceries for international grocery shopping.
This grocery store was basically my idea of heaven. About the size of an average Home Depot and filled to the brim with bulk spices, teas, and coffees, international goods (from America to Laos and beyond), fresh bread, an enormous liquor/beer/wine section (including a 5,000 Euro bottle of champagne!), fresh fish, meats, and (of course) cheeses. I could have stayed there for the rest of my stay in Paris and been quite happy. We bought all the ingredients necessary for our afternoon of cooking (and the alcohol to accompany said afternoon) and snuck off to Saint Lazare to take the super-weird suburban train to chez Sally.
Upon arrival, we put on Lady Gaga, I donned an apron, and we commenced.
Our menu:
Stuffed Mushrooms with Spinach, Onions, Feta, EVOO
Cranberry Sauce w/ Cointreau
Sweet Potato Casserole w/ Marshmallows & Bourbon
Hand-torn French Bread Dressing w/ Walnuts & Dried Cranberries
Lemon & Butter-Rubbed Chicken w/ Roasted Onions
Pecan Pie
The next four hours are a blur of alcohol, iTunes playlists, burning ourselves (and our poor pie), and stubborn sweet potatoes (not yams!). Dinner was overall a large success with no major casualties (even the pie was pretty good!) and Sally's wonderful host family was kind enough to compliment us profusely on the deliciousness of our weird American traditions (i.e. soggy hot bread with stuff in it and MARSHMALLOWS wtf).
Normandy: On Saturday afternoon after sleeping my typical 13 hours, I woke to make myself a sandwich and some tea, thinking that my host mom for sure forgot that she told me that we'd be going to Normandy this weekend, since it was already the afternoon and she wakes up at 5h30 every day to go do things while I and her sons sleep. But she returned from the boulanger with 14 loaves of bread for a week of family life and was ecstatic that I had awakened, asked if I would be ready to go in an hour. Sure! I said. I packed, we took the train and chatted about "fifi" girls and lots of fun things that girls get to talk about, like the difference between a boyfriend and a lover or if there is one. It was nice to get away from the boys for a weekend, and I think for her as well since her entire life is her three sons, her husband, her job with lots of dumb ladies her age that act my age. She doesn't really get to have any girl time except on the phone with her sister.
We arrived in Caen after 2 hours on the train from Saint Lazare (each train station in Paris departs for a different direction of France based on where it is in the city, i.e. Gare du Nord goes to North of France, Gare Montparnasse in the south sends trains South, etc.) and walked to Marie's brother's apartment in downtown. It was raining and cold but we were jolly and I could smell salt in the air since Caen is a port city (holla). Marie's brother got a head injury in an accident about ten years ago and is subsequently mentally and physically handicapped, usually walking with a cane and unable to think of words and so will just point and use the same basic phrases. Kind of like me in French, actually. He was really fun and sweet and has a great sense of humor about his predicament, laughing loudly with Marie whenever he says the wrong word or she has no idea what he's talking about.
She and I walked around downtown, she showed me where her father had opened his first boulangerie, we smoked cigarettes and took pictures of city hall, saw some churches, a chateau, got pizza, watched a French game show, and "went to sleep" aka she coughed for three hours and I couldn't fall asleep. But the next day we went to the Caen Market and bought a big-ass fresh chicken, 2 dozen oysters, clementines, bread, and more bread. I lied to Marie and said that I had shucked an oyster before. I've seen them do it on Top Chef, does that count? But I reeaaaaallly wanted her to let me do it. So she did, and I did awesome. Shucked oysters like it was my job. I could have that be my job, actually.
We ate them raw for lunch with some potatoes and carrots and of course bread and butter and alcohol, as the French do on Sundays. Then we had a coffee, drove to the beach with her their 85-year-old father, had a beer and some brioche, came back to Caen and caught the train home, chatting like girls all the way.
It was nice to see a part of France outside of Paris and outside of the horror that is the group trip. Luckily, our last group event will be Saturday night in Montparnasse, and in between noon when my French exam finishes and 19h30 when we meet our group, I will be drinking, which will make everything about that situation more tolerable.
Saw Yo La Tengo with Abby on Monday night in Oberkampf. It was fun, we were pretty drunk, I met a cute British girl
This morning we took our "Promenades" test, upon which I'm pretty sure I knew not a single answer. Something about architects and intellectual movements of chateaus. All and all it was fucking stupid just like the fucking program construction so I basically didn't give a shit at all and made up a bunch of answers and laughed at them while everyone else in the room freaked out heavily. Pass/fail, bitches. Then we had to fill out an evaluation form on our host families (glowing reviews from me) and Sally, Abby, and I walked around until 12h when we could get some lunch somewhere. Then I came home, watched some movies, napped, went grocery shopping (brain food, y'all, i.e. French dark chocolate cookies, apples, some kind of crunchy thing, juice to ward off La Grippe), and now I am wondering what I should eat for dinner, what movie I should watch next as part of my studying for Cinema tomorrow morning, and responding to my CouchSurfing hosts in Marrakech & Amsterdam. All in all, thrilled.
Bisous!
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