One of the many perks (and quite possibly the best one) of my job includes priority access to many vente privées throughout the year.  A vente privée literally translates to "private sale," but saying it in English doesn't quite give off the same meaning as when I hear it in French.  I'd compare it more to a special few days when guests can shop a brand name at their leisure and pay for their items at a very generous employee discount.  Sometimes, this means that the sale will be full of past seasons' collections or off-colored and blemished items, but that is not usually the norm.

Last year, I attended my first vente privée in Paris, and it was such an adrenaline rush. Usually, a huge line forms before the sale begins, and depending on the brand's popularity, it could continue throughout the day.  Most sales are held in spaces or warehouses specifically designed and purposed for such, which means they are professionally staffed with people who run these kinds of private sales for a living.  Nothing but wallets and cell phones are permitted on the selling floor, so a mandatory coat and purse check is the first place to visit after showing your invitation and ID to the security guard at the door (once you've finally made it there).  Then, you grab a massive plastic bag and fill it with as many shoes, purses, wallets, and clothes your heart desires before finally sorting it out into "keep" and "sadly leave behind" piles.

There are no dressing rooms to try your clothes on, so oftentimes, you'll catch a glimpse at someone's undies or see people posing with their hangered treasures in front of the few mirrors available.  Most bags, shoes and haute couture items are placed on shelved walls guarded by staff members who stand in front of the shelves and behind a table of display bags.  You can usually grab what you want from the table, but if you notice something sparkling on the shelf, you can simply ask for it from the staff member.

As much as it all sounds like such a privileged and organized event, it can get pretty ugly.  I went to a sale a few weeks ago on its third day of opening (vente privées can last anywhere from one to five or more days), and could not believe the chaos that normally respectable ladies were causing ... for fabric bags, no less!  The staff can only stock so much on display, so the rest is left hidden "backstage" in cardboard boxes that don't give any indication as to what's in them. For deal-desperate shoppers, this means that as the day goes on, there will be more stock with possibly newer items available for sale, so, someone's dream bag could be trapped in a cardboard box and not come out until the end of the sale.  And, that's what these "ladies" were hoping would happen for them if they waited and pushed long enough.  Despite there being limits on how many bags and shoes can be purchased, these women had gobs of handbags well over the limit and had invited every friend, neighbor and cousin to come with them so they could amass the most stock possible.  I could barely stand the insanity, so I left empty-handed from that sale and swore to never again wait to come when the invitation is extended beyond the employees of the company (it's usually open to anyone with an invite after the first day).

There are a few "big" brands that everyone looks forward to but are really strict on the amounts of items you can buy and whether or not you can bring a guest (you usually can't for the popular brands).  And, as for the prices, well, they're quite good considering the brand that's being sold and the retail prices that the items would normally sell for.  But, these are expensive goods we're talking about here, so it's kind of just relative.

My job has definitely fed my desire for fancy purses and logoed shoes that I never really had so much before. Women at my office are often dressed head to toe in recognizable designer threads, so walking around in my Zara dress, H&M heels and Gap handbag doesn't turn many heads for the right reason.  And, mostly I'm OK with that.  I never buy everything I want, but I often rationalize my rare vente privée splurges by reminding myself that every Parisienne needs a nice handbag (or four) and that I won't have access to the sales once my work contract is up.  Now, rationalizing my need for three more handbags to Gui, well that's another story, and obviously, he's no longer sensitive to my so-called "need" to fit in.

So, my spontaneous trip back to the good ol' US of A seems to have pushed me back to the side of sanity, which is precisely what I had hoped it would do for me. I can't even explain how much of a difference it's made to my nerves to have a few consecutive days of real life family - drama and all - back in my life. Even pulling an all-nighter on the plane-ride back and going to work for 5 hours just after couldn't bring me back to the funk I was feeling before I left.

Besides soaking up the giggles and snuggles and cries and shouts of my loveable nephews, I also got a little "I-just-need-to-be-an-American-and-do-American-things" in while I was visiting my sister in midwest America. It ain't Texas, but I still managed to find a delicious plate of enchiladas, tacos, rice and beans to grub on pretty much as soon as my plane slid onto the tarmac. I made a few Target runs, browsed through the local Banana Republic, J.Crew and Nordstrom stores, grabbed a couple of Starbucks cinnamon dolce lattes (which haven't made it onto the Paris menus, yet), stopped by Michael's and an LYS to check out the yarn scene, ran through the Taco Bell drive-thru, and had breakfast and three lunches at Chick-fil-a. Oh, how I missed thee, Land of Liberty!

I'll admit that it felt a little awkward being back at first - it's so much easier to be somewhere that doesn't require a bit of reflection about how to phrase a sentence before speaking. But, the awkwardness didn't last long and I fell back in the sadle in no time. The weather was pretty cooperative, save for the couple of nights of violent winds and rain that kept me awake. Luckily, it cleared up before Easter and I got to watch the boys hunt for eggs and fly kites.

I even got in a bear surgery while I was there. It's tradition for my dad to give his grandsons a bear when they're born, and they've become the boys' doudous, which of course means they take quite a beating after the years of being dragged around everywhere. Well, my nearly 6-year-old nephew asked me if I could stitch-up his bear (of the same age) in a couple of places because he'd had a bit of wear-and-tear. So, Dr. Auntie held a surgery and made Mr. Bear (as he's named) as good as new! I could tell my nephew was so honestly happy afterwards to see his Mr. Bear all fixed up.  But, he had no idea how truly grateful I was to be there to do that for him.  My last-minute planning couldn't have been better timed!

I've somehow never had to use the French word for efficient since living in Paris. But, yesterday I found myself searching through my pocket dictionary to figure out how to describe the unprecedented situation at, of all places, the préfecture. That's right, folks! I wanted to describe my visit to the préfecture as efficace! Of course, I arrived prepared - hot panini in hand, interesting book to read and my current knitting work-in-progress were all sorted in my bag in preparation for the long and nail-biting experience that never materialized. I finished my sandwich, knitted a couple of rows, and not even 20 minutes into my wait-time some brilliant woman decided to prepare the carte de sejours in advance for people who were there to pick theirs up - people like me! Only minutes later, I was walking away with a smile planted on my face and my freshly-minted card in hand. We won't talk about the fact that I'll have to start the renewal process in merely three months, or that I look like I'm holding back a toothy grin in my photo, because I just really want to savor this happy, hassle-free (and likely, once in a lifetime) moment as long as possible.

Things are also coming along swimmingly with the Christmas shopping. I never knew I could get so much done with my day until I tried to get so much done. Besides Gui's sister, we're done with his family, and apart from a few little things I plan on taking back for peeps, all the things that require treks across town or special ordering been taken care of. I plan on getting most of the stuff I'm missing from a last-minute trek to the mall and Target in Dallas or Kansas, which I'm sure is going to be a mad rush! I'm keeping a pretty thorough and strict list, though, so let's hope I don't get too sidetracked by all the glitz and glamour of holiday shopping at American stores while I'm there!

I'm also happy to report that my first knitting project is more than halfway done. It would be two-thirds done if I decided to stick with the three skeins of yarn I'd initially planned for it, but I've decided to add one more skein (if it's available) since it's not going to be as long as I'd thought it'd be. So far, I'm really pleased with how it's turned out, but being my first project and all, it's not without its flaws.

I still need to learn how to weave in my ends and cast off, but that'll happen soon enough, I think. Right now, I'm kind of obsessed with the knitting (etc.) website, Ravely and can't keep myself from dreaming about what projects I want to tackle next. I'm still so impressed by the beautiful work people are able to create with their hands and some imagination. I'd love to move on to a pair of simple socks or baby leggings next, but I'm not sure if I should be less ambitious for my second project. I'm thinking I'll be able to draw some inspiration and advice from the talented group that's meeting tonight at Aimee's, so we shall see soon enough.

I know it's my pessimistic way of reasoning, but I'm really hoping that things aren't going so well and so quickly because something's bound to go wrong next week. It would be nice if all of these little triumphs would lead to a culmination of smooth travels for us on Tuesday, but as that's kind of out of my hands, I won't worry too much about it now.

I haven't been much of a blogger these days, have I? Well, there's no real explanation except for maybe that I'm spending my blog time doing other things or that I haven't been all that inspired to write lately. Maybe it's winter in Paris. I just don't really like the cold. Or the gloom. And, there's been a lot of both around here lately. Talking to a girl in my phonetics class the other day, we decided that the reason why we feel like Paris is Russia right now is because we don't have a car in a relatively warm garage to walk to in the mornings. We have a metro station a 5-10 minute walk away from home as our destination at 7:45 AM, when it's recently been at or below freezing. It just ain't fun.

I'm still taking my classes at La Sorbonne, which are coming to an end rather soon now. We have two weeks off for the holidays and then only one week of class in January before our big exams start around the 15th. Scary! Progress is slowly being made, I think, but I still have those days when my voice and tongue completely fail to work in any language. I am, however, finding that practice does make perfect, and the more I try to speak, the more I progress. Novel concept, I know. I had to go to our wedding photographer's shop today and as confident as I was about speaking to her before I got there, I felt like I stumbled over every other word once I was faced with actually speaking. Thankfully, she's incredibly sweet and patient (and hardworking, too - I heard her tell someone she'd be there on Saturday despite having family in town), so she indulged my choppy sentence structure with a smile and never once patronized me with corrections or funny looks. She also remembered my name right away, and reminded me how much she "adored" our wedding portraits. I remember when she was showing us the pictures for the first time, she kept remarking at how much the camera and light loved us. Flattery makes for good customers, I suppose, but she always seems sincere.

Besides my unceasing French lessons, we've been having quite the busy social lives of late. It seems that every weekend we've got things planned and even during the week, I find it necessary to check my calendar to be sure we're not "double booking" things. It's kind of strange. I think it's the upcoming holidays that have us so busy; since Thanksgiving and up until we head to the States for the holidays, it's a whirlwind of cocktails, friends, dinners and fêtes. Last weekend was completely filled with enjoying American food and drinks with new friends. We were celebrating the 200th episode of the Katia & Kyliemac podcast, which is frankly, quite a genius broadcast that these two creative geniuses host twice a week. (By the way, if you haven't checked it out and you're interested in expat life in France, you should give it a download.) They've got an amazing following of listeners who turned out from near and far to check out a live broadcasting of the historic episode, and we got to meet some really fantastic people and indulge in some really delicious fare in the process. Lucky us.

I've also (since last week) picked up a new hobby, which has been keeping me busy and often confused. It's knitting. My friend, Aimee has a beautiful tea salon in the 13th arrondissement of Paris where she hosts a weekly knitting group. She's a knitter (an amazing one, actually), and she offered to teach me and another friend to knit during the meet-up last week, and she did just that! I remember knitting and crocheting when I was younger - my grandma was always an inspiration for my creative side and she showed me once how to do it, but I didn't keep up with it as a hobby. Over the past couple of years, I've wanted to get more seriously into knitting - I've bought needles, yarn and a couple of books, and all I was lacking was a knowledgeable and patient teacher. Well, thank goodness that's exactly who Aimee is, and in between serving tea and soup, she gave me the introductory skill-set I needed to get started on my first project - a scarf. Since then I've been working almost daily on the piece, but every few rows I run into some kind of stitch-glitch and have to "frog," as they say, most of the work I've already completed. Still, it's been a rewarding and really fun hobby so far, and there's still so much I have to learn.

These next couple of weeks (THIRTEEN days!) are going to be pretty busy while we prepare for our trip to the US (and Gui's first American Christmas), but I plan on finding some time to blog. Christmas shopping is underway, and braving the cold is getting tougher and tougher for me. I just can't do it. All I can think of as I walk from my class to the metro is "home, heater, coffee; home, heater, coffee." We're trying to do some of our shopping online this year, though. Since we'll be arriving in Texas so late on the 23rd, we have to get most, if not all, of our gifts in Paris, which I'm not so happy about; besides having to brave frigid Paris temps, that also means that we'll be buying in euros and not dollars. I'm just hoping that the malls and Target will be open on Christmas Eve long enough for us to pick up any last-minute goodies. I seriously cannot wait!

I never knew what an Indian summer was before I came to Paris. You can't watch the meteo on TV without someone mentioning the phrase. What it mostly means to me is that I can get away with wearing my summer-inspired clothing a little longer than I had anticipated, which for my Texan self, is most definitely a good thing. Today, walking into a shoe store in search of a pair of flats (boots? pfff, no boots needed this autumn), the shoe guy looked down at my dirty, t-strap, nude-colored flats with my naked foot peaking out from the sides and said "C'est toujours été, eh?" ["It's still summer, huh?"] Even after having him repeat his rhetorical question, I didn't quite understand what he was trying to say about my shoes and decided to respond with, "non, ils sont pas d'ici," ["non, they're not from here"] pretty much justifying that quizzical look he and his coworker gave each other after I smiled and casually walked off. It took me about three more seconds to finally translate and comprehend what his set of words had to do with my shoes, which also reminded me rather abruptly that French folks like to talk about the weather. In fact, riding up the three-person elevator with my neighbor the other day provided another interesting conversation about how much longer "l'été indien" would last, as well as how disappointing it would be if Obama lost the election (our elevator is obviously a little slow).

When I first arrived here, last November (geesh, nearly a year ago!), there was almost nothing to be done to assuage my body's rejection of the cold. I could barely stand to roll myself out of the warmth of my bed, and I dreaded the thought of leaving the house which required walking to the train station in less-than-freezing temps. Now, even though all the city's vegetation suggests that Autumn has arrived, the gorgeous temps and blue-blue sky suggest otherwise. I'm happy to leave the coats, scarves and boots at home in place of my short-sleeves, jeans and ballet-flats. Yet, I do wonder how much longer this lovely summer will be prolonged.

I've never lived in a place where Fall's presence is ever known - in Austin, Winter seems to come just a day after Summer, and that's not usually before December. I guess it's no wonder all this crazy good weather has got me thinking about life back in Austin - about barbecues and football; happy-hours and brunches. I guess back there, Indian Summers are just called Summer and days of good weather in the months before Christmas are considered the norm. I know I'll surely be missing many things about home come November, but if this Indian Summer holds out until then, I'm glad there'll be one less thing to be nostalgic over.

*updated 10/14 to include video: Thanks, Zhu!

Maybe it doesn't take a lot to make me happy, but for the past few days I've been finding myself quite content with a lot of things. We had dinner with Gui's dad the evening we got into town from La Rochelle. We were pretty pooped from the long drive and eventful weekend, but his dad insisted that we stop by for a quick dinner. We knew he had something up his sleeve, and shortly after we arrived, he handed us a box in a bag that contained these gorgeous knives.




He even had them engraved with our names on the blade, so we wouldn't have to share. Thank goodness, because you wouldn't believe how much dirtier Gui's knife is after eating than mine! They're absolutely beautiful and so sophisticated. We won't be eating with them daily - you're not supposed to wash the handle and they're just too fancy for the regular ol' meals we have around here. But, we'll be bringing them out for special occasions, for sure.

The Sunday chili I made had me all in smiles, too. We ended up eating it all throughout the day, polishing it off with a crisp cider while watching the Olympic games. I love chili, and this time I made it extra spicy which was so comforting on a gloomy Sunday.


I also finally whipped up some coleslaw, which I've been craving for weeks now. I couldn't believe how easy it was, nor how great it tasted!! Gui fell in love with coleslaw while living a summer in Texas and even he raved about it. I was happy to indulge, but much happier that I found another go-to recipe (I nixed the vegetable oil and added a little milk) to add to my personal repertoire.


I both smiled and grunted when I got this in the mailbox.

98% of our apartment is Ikea furniture, and our kitchen would be completely dysfunctional without the genius that is behind Ikea. We can never leave the store without a full basket of goodies for the house. Still, it makes me cringe that I didn't come up with the whole "build your own furniture" idea first.

My happy streak continued at the grocery store today, first when I spotted these:


And, then when I spotted this:

I've seen these corn tortillas before somewhere, but they must have been outrageously priced for me to have passed them up. Not this time! Now, enchiladas are on the menu for this week, so stay tuned!

And that strange cylindrical box is sodium bicarbonate, otherwise known as baking soda, which has been pretty hard to come by around these parts. I randomly walked by the salt section and saw this bright yellow thing reflected by the fluorescent lights and realized it was the golden ticket to the oatmeal cookies I've been wanting to try my hand at. I really hope it's the right stuff because I can't really understand any of the writing, which is in half Dutch, half French. If it is, it'll be more cause to keep smiling.

There are almost an infinite number of places to eat in Paris. It's definitely my kind of city. I love trying new restaurants, new cuisines, new dishes, and even the same oldies but goodies (funny how that phrase now reminds me of the SATC movie I finally got to see this past week). But, sometimes, I get a craving for something that I can't find here. I know all transplants like me are familiar with the longing for peanut butter and Hershey Kisses and a chili-dog - sometimes it's the only thing that can satisfy a nostalgic pang, even if it's something we'd never regularly crave back in the States.

For me, when I'm missing home, like I was today, I crave Tex-Mex. In my book, there is absolutely nothing better than a "Combo plate" with rice and beans. It really is a cuisine I've never grown tired of. Unfortunately, it's not common fare here, and when I do stumble upon a self-proclaimed Tex-Mex joint, I usually find it to be serving more interior Mexican or Baja-Californian food than what I grew up calling Tex-Mex. Still, after paying 20 euros for a couple of tacos and a margarita, it usually does the trick and my craving is cured for the moment.

Thinking that I'd be able to reproduce my own nostalgic meals for a fraction of the price eating out, Gui and I stopped in at one of the local American shops in town a couple of weekends ago to scope out the place. Sure enough, they had what I was hoping to find (even if it wasn't in a familiar brand)! Presuming I'd found the answer to my occasional craving, I enthusiastically scooped up a can of refried beans, checked out the price and let out a sigh of disbelief. Nearly 4-euros for a freakin' can of beans - processed and all?! Knowing that I'd probably not find a bag of pinto beans anytime soon to do my own, I kept the can, carefully chose a few other over-priced items that I knew I wouldn't regret taking for later cravings, and we left the store before the 5-euro box of Jiffy mix or the 8-euro bottle of no-name pancake syrup could entice me any further.


Since then, I've decided I'll treat myself to an overpriced can of beans only for dire situations in the future, but it made me happy today that I was able to somewhat satisfy my obnoxious appetite for nachos. I still can't find decent tortilla chips here, so I opted to make a semi-7-layer dip using the beans, the jalapenos (from that same trip), some mimolette cheese (which tasted so much better than the weird "cheddar" they were selling at Monoprix), crème frâiche and fresh tomatoes and avocados. Gui couldn't get enough of the dip (that's my true Texa-frenchie) and I'd say that the 4-euros were well-spent. I haven't tried the "Original Texas beans" that I also bought at Thanksgiving, but I'm saving them for my next craving - maybe when it's for barbecue.



On a side-note, Gui and I are off to La Rochelle Thursday morning for a wedding. It's going to be a long drive, but I'm looking forward to this mini-vacation which I'm sure will include tons of eating (we're told there will be regional fare served, which means seafood - yeah, my fave!), and lots of trying to speak French. Luckily for me, there will also be beaucoup of champagne flowing.

I've been going to the same couple of grocery stores since we moved into our apartment. There are two of the same chain stores within a two minute walk from our place - one that's open every single day until 8pm - and another much larger store about a 10 minutes walk away. So, when I need something in a hurry or something I forgot to grab at the marché, I hop in the elevator and make my way down the street to the neighborhood grocer. Before I discovered the wonders of marché shopping, I was going to the grocery store nearly everyday, sometimes more than once a day. Actually, my abilities to grocery shop could be added to my CV under Hobbies and Interests if they were considered on par with, say, wind surfing. (And why shouldn't they be?)

Shopping at the same small retailers over and over again, one will begin to run into the same people over time. There are usually only one or two cashiers at any given time (even though there are four checkout lanes at one store), and I've only seen about four different cashiers during my separate trips. What I've come to expect from my cashier is simple: a monotonous bonjour, a rare glance in my direction, and an occasional complaint about another customer from some of the more social cashiers. The odd socializer tends to be in a noticeably happier mood than the others, and offers a genuine smile from time to time. I appreciate that, but I don't usually change my routine when checking out, regardless of the cashier - I say bonjour, try to make eye contact, shine a closed-mouth smile and bid farewell with a merci, bonne journée, au revoir!

It's odd because I feel like I know these people, like we're almost acquaintances, but not quite friendly. Once, while walking through the metro station at Pont de Sèvres, I saw one of my regular cashiers walk past me. We glanced at each other and I think we both realized we knew the other and from where, but weren't quite sure what to do, so we simultaneously flashed a "hey, I think I know you" smile and went on our merry ways. Today, I had to pick up a few things I needed for dinner, including a bottle of cassis which is always "locked" behind a glass case. I rarely buy things behind the glass case (although I'm thinking of changing my habits after I noticed a pretty bottle of tawny porto at a crazy good price), so I forgot that there's a little bell you have to ring to get some assistance. I went up to a cashier who regularly checks me out. She's not a socializer; she doesn't even give me a glance most times, and whenever I realize I don't have enough cash to pay with she grunts and huffs when I ask if I can pay by card. So, I asked her if I could get some assistance with the bottles in the case, and she reminded me to ring the bell first. That was the most I'd ever spoken to her. I went through her line when I was ready to check out and as other American transplants will know, you bag your own groceries here and sometimes the guy in front of you is really, really slow with bagging his stuff, but the clerks just go ahead and ring up your items which get mixed up with his and then you have to wait until the guy's done to start bagging your stuff, and the cycle continues. Well, I was waiting, my cashier was blankly staring at her screen, while the guy in front of me bagged his shiz, and as I was leaning to check the total I owed, she busted out with a loud "FIVE SEVENTY-TWO" - in English. At first, I didn't realize she was trying to make a joke, so I just kind of smirked and dug for my change. Then, I told her in French that I must have a really strong accent, and that's when the tides turned and she started doing what she's never done before - being friendly. We chatted about my accent while finishing up the transaction, and for the first time, I walked away from that grocery store with a smile. It's amazing what a little friendliness can do for your day - and I'm hoping it continues.

This morning, Gui and I started the day a little earlier than normal for a Saturday and headed out to the marché. I checked to see what markets would be open first because I've learned that in Paris, markets are always open at different days and times. So, we headed up a few metro stops from our station to the Marché President Wilson - how fitting.

The morning air was crisp and cool and the market shoppers were out in full force today. But, we managed to find everything we came for and even a few extra goodies. I'd been wanting to pick up some seasoned black olives, a few spices, melon (which is really in season right now) and some onions (I've never seen a decent one at any supermarket here). We also scooped up some loose mint tea, a bag of sea salt and some almond powder. And, after getting a mouth-watering whiff of the rotisserie, we unhesitatingly picked up half a bird and a bag of drippings-soaked fingerling potatoes. The smell was literally like crack - I couldn't get enough. With haste, we headed home and dove into the most succulent rotisserie chicken lunch that I've ever feasted on. Midway through the meal, I announced that I would never again eat an HEB rotisserie chicken and reflecting on that statement now, I'd like to adjust it and say that I'll never again eat any rotisserie chicken unless it smells as good as that one. I think (and hope) we've created a new Saturday ritual chez nous.

After once again screwing up a perfectly perfect recipe because of my conversion miscalculations, I decided I'd have to hit some Stateside people up for a set of standard American measuring tools. But, then I started thinking that it might be kind of presumptuous to ask my friends or family to just up and ship some American-esque things off to me (which isn't a cheap, simple or time-efficient request) without some kind of incentive.

So, I came up with an idea. I'll do a swap! I don't know if they already have that kind of thing available on the internet - I know they have swap-sites and clubs, but I'm not sure if they involve only sending things that the person on the receiving end doesn't know about. I propose to put out a list of things I'd like to have, and then return the favor for something you might like to have from Paris. It's not really a novel idea or anything, but I think it's a good way for me to feel like I'm returning a favor for someone who's willing to go out of their way to help me out a bit. Also, I'm not asking the whole world to send me something - just maybe my peeps from back home. (You know who you are!) I'm hoping this might keep my mom from going crazy with all my requests for books, foodstuffs and random things from home. (Sorry, mum.)

As for that baking disaster - it's still in the oven, so I'll update (with pictures) after it's done. We're having my mother-in-law (that word is still weird for me to say) over for dinner tonight, so if the dessert is ruined, I'm running of to the boulangerie at the corner!

I spent the better part of my day browsing through Les Soldes in the happening part of town today. It's funny because even though everything's on sale here, it's all still so expensive. I really need to get used to the idea of living with Euros. Since I can't work yet, I was only looking for things that we really "need," like, for instance trousers for Gui. He "needs" another pair because he's getting tired of wearing - and I'm getting tired of seeing him wear - the same two pair in rotation each week. So, I scooped up a pair of new slacks and a couple of very well-priced dress shirts for him from his favorite shopping destination, Zara. I hate going in there during soldes, though. I barely took two steps into H&M before busting a U-ey outta there. It's so. crowded. And this is in the early afternoon when everyone should be working...or studying...or something.

I haven't been to La Marais in a while, so I was happy to take in the loveliness of the neighborhood again. Gui's cool aunt lives around there and I was wishing she didn't have to work so she could have joined me in my (un-) shopping spree. I came away with two very reasonably priced tank tops, but my biggest treat of the day was stumbling upon this:

Yes, boys and girls, that's a very fake Pinkberry in the middle of Paris' 4th arrondissement. Myberry (with two little dots above the "y" in "my") is the latest copy-cat in the yogurt (or non-yogurt) hype brought on by the famous Pinkberry. I'm not gonna lie - I love Pinkberry and I would have eaten there every single day when we lived in Long Beach if Gui didn't give me the stare every time I asked(and if I could have afforded it). So, I walked past this place, giggling to myself, snapped a photo, walked some more, then turned right back around and indulged in a "0% fat" Myberry yogurt with mango and strawberries (they didn't have Cap'n Crunch).


And, it was GOOOOD! I'm glad I indulged because I inexplicably forgot to eat lunch (must've had something to do with all the half-price stickers on the walls) and didn't have another bite until sometime around 5pm.

I've never baked a bread before, so I've always been impressed when while staying with Melynda and Brian, there was already a loaf of banana nut bread baking away in the oven by the time I was ready to start the day. Brian always said it was easy to make, so I decided to give it a shot when I started getting sick of looking at my black bananas on the shelf.

As my first bread baking endeavor ever, I was a little worried about how it would turn out. I had all the ingredients I needed on hand except for baking soda. I knew from an earlier baking experience that I'd need to look for tiny pink packets when I went to the grocery store, but I somehow forget exactly how to say baking soda in French. I knew it was something, something chimique. So, when after searching high and low at least three or four times around every single aisle in the store, I still couldn't find what I needed, I asked someone. French folk don't really seem to be approachable, but I've figured out that all it takes is being really nice and smiling to get a positive and friendly reaction out of them. (I know I'm generalizing, but I've yet to find an exception to that generalization, so when I do, I'll be sure to let everyone know. It's pretty much the same idea with everyone, everywhere, except that in places like the US and Italy, people in general seem more approachable.)

So, I asked in my best French where I could find the soudre? chimique...je ne sais pas...le poudre pour faire le pain, mais pas le farine [in english: soudre (non-existent French word) chemical...I don't know...the powder to make bread, but not flour].

He responds, farine de mais? (Me, not really understanding) oh oui, oui, je pense oui. [Yes, yes, I think yes.]

(He motions toward the corn meal.) OH, desolé, pas ça. Il est un poudre chimique. [OH, sorry, not that. It's a chemical powder.]

(He's looking more and more confused.) Pas le farine? [Not flour?]

(Me, giving up.) Non, mais c'est pas grave. Merci beaucoup. [No, but it's OK. Thanks a lot.]

(Him, relieved that I'm going to leave him alone so he can get back to work) De rien. [You're welcome.]

I decide to take one last look at the disproportionately small section where the flour is to make sure I didn't miss anything. Sure enough, tucked waaaay back behind an empty box was an entire tray of levure chimique Alsacienne. I gave a little chuckle and snapped a photo so I could prove that the little pink packets were hiding in the back of the shelf for no one to find (except my memory card wasn't in my camera and I don't know where my cable is to connect my camera to the computer, so sorry, can't post the pic).

When it was finally time to make the bread, I realized I didn't have a loaf pan to bake it in, so I improvised and used the smallest ceramic baking dish I have. It was interesting to convert everything into grams. I used a hybrid of two recipes, and I know you're not supposed to in baking, but I tweaked the recipes a bit and even added a spoonful of Nutella just because. The end result was decent - Gui loved it , but next time I'm going to chop the walnuts up a bit more and definitely use a loaf pan - it makes a difference. And I might use a bit less sugar next time since the Nutella is so sweet. Overall, it was a success and the perfect breakfast this morning with a cup of pressed coffee.