Since Thursday, Guillaume and I have been either hosting dinner chez nous or attending dinner parties with friends or family. Sometimes, it's really nice to have dinner plans already made to prevent the whole "what should we do for dinner" conversation. Usually, the conversation ends with a homemade dinner for just the two of us, which isn't really a bad thing anyway.

On Thursday, we spent some time in Gui's old 'hood, catching up with his childhood friends, including the two hosts who will be getting married next month in La Rochelle. We've been looking forward to their wedding since we were living in California, and as the big day approaches, I'm getting more and more excited about it. It will be the first time I attend a religious marriage ceremony in France, and I'm really looking forward to spending an entire day near the sea, celebrating the marriage of two people who've been together for what I think is over 8 or 10 years - something crazy like that! It was nice talking about upcoming wedding plans and hearing stories from the bachelor party that took place a couple of weekends ago. It's also funny to see Guillaume and his friends act like the boys that they grew up being - always trying to outdo one another in some, exaggerated, unnecessary way and calling each other by the pet names they came up with when they were pimply-faced 15 year olds.








On Friday night, we invited Gui's mom over for lasagne rolls and the not-so-disastrous-afterall apricot tart. The ricotta, spinach and prosciutto stuffed lasagne turned out really well and I even remembered well how to make a yummy bechamel. I'll never doubt myself again! While we were waiting for our coffee to brew, we busted out a birthday gift given to Guillaume from our dear friend, Baptiste. It's a juicer - a fancy red one - that we hadn't tested yet. So, we gave it a go, and voila, freshly-squeezed OJ was produced in seconds!






On Saturday, some other friends of Gui invited us to a dinner party at their place where we found ourselves in an exact replica of the house Gui grew up in. Actually, his old house was a few doors down from where we were dining, and besides a few minor cosmetic differences (i.e. paint color, flooring, etc.), the houses are identical. It was cool to imagine him growing up in the three-story abode, playing outside on the terrace as a child and blaring heavy-metal music from his poster-lined bedroom as a teenager. I also imagined there were many delicious tarts like the ones we dined on made nightly in his mom's kitchen for supper. Despite being exhausted from an early morning rendezvous at the marché, I partook in bit of French conversation and a ton of French tartes. I don't know why I don't make tarts more often - they're so delicious and not a ton of work since you can easily buy the pastry at any supermarket. I think my favorites were the bacon and onion tart and the goat cheese and three-pepper tart, but I found myself replenishing my plate more than twice with a simple vegetable salad of short-stemmed green beans, peas, carrots and mayo - a new salad that I'm adding my regularly-referenced recipe repertoire.






Last night, our soon-to-be-married friends came over to see our place for the first time and they stayed for dinner. This time, I made a shrimp tagliatelle that I adapted from a seafood spaghetti recipe that I've been hoping to test out. I got so lost in the moment that I didn't take any pictures of our dinner, but I did somehow manage to snap a shot of the ingredients I prepared for the pasta. The tomatoes were by far, the most important ingredient of the recipe and THE best sundried tomatoes I've ever eaten. I still have a couple left in the jar that I know won't last more than a day or two on the shelf - they were just phenomenal.



I was explaining to our guests that I'm still learning how to host a proper dinner in France. I told them that it's nothing like at home when, after my mom cooks up an entire meal, it's all placed on the table or counter for everyone to serve themselves, with things like "can you pass the mashed potatoes" and "did everyone get some beans" being shouted across the table. After living through a French Christmas, it's slightly the same idea, but as far as normal dinner parties go, it's rarely an entrée, plât, dessert, café type of occasion - at least in my circle of friends. We usually start (and end) with an aperitif, serve ourselves when the food is ready, eat on the couch, recliner, floor or other makeshift seat and talk about how great the food is, while someone occasionally makes a drink run to the fridge to see if anyone's drink needs replenishing.

Being slightly afraid of being the slightly awkward outcast, I find myself scrutinizing every detail of the dinners I attend in hopes of gaining greater insight into what's expected of me as a host. I've learned that it kind of depends on the company, the number of guests (and how intimate we are with the guests), the time of day and the reason for the occasion in the first place. Generally, I feel more comfortable in a formal environment even when it's not totally called for. I like serving the olives, crackers and mini-cheeses before starting on the entrée and so on. And, the after-dinner coffee and/or tea is my favorite part of the meal - I just need to scoop up another French press or tea pot to be sure I can accommodate all of my guests' requests. Desserts are not my area of expertise, so I'll have to work on finding a good go-to recipe that doesn't require too much effort so I can use it regularly.

After last night's dinner, I am feeling a little more confident about my role as "dinner host" here thanks to one of the best compliments I've ever received from someone enjoying one of my culinary creations. Gui's lifelong friend told me (in half-French, half-English) that the best cooks are those that have been exposed to a variety of different styles of food and cooking and take with them only the best things from each place, each experience; he went on to say that he could tell I was one of those people, or at least I was well on my way to becoming one. It's a similar sentiment that I find myself constantly reinforcing when I worry about my ability to integrate - I don't have to change everything about who I am to fit in, so long as I keep all the good parts.

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.

So, despite what I thought, my last baking endeavor was not a complete disaster - although, I did still forget one key ingredient.

I was attempting to make this "Easy Jam Tart" that was recently posted on one of the blogs that I stalk. I didn't have any cornmeal so I stuck with the recipe that it was originally adapted from and used only flour. But, after combining everything, the dough seemed so sticky. I went back to reread the recipe and realized that somehow I used 100 grams less flour than I was supposed to. After a little cursing, I added the missing flour into the dough, but not having mixed the added flour with the baking powder and salt, I was worried about how it'd turn out. I also don't have a springform pan, so I was worried about how that might affect the baking process.

Not being a baker and all, this easy tart wasn't as easy as it should've been, but after it came out of the oven, I breathed a small sigh of relief. It seemed to turn out just fine. After a delicious dinner of lasagna rolls and salad, I nervously served it up to my (French) mother-in-law and received a round of compliments. The apricots were super sweet, so having forgotten to add the token cassonade to the crust (grrrr), I was a little relieved that the key ingredient wasn't missed so much. Now that I have my shiz together, the easy jam tart just might live up to its name next time around.

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 thought I had more videos than I actually did, but the only one I do have isn't so great (all you can hear is wind, so maybe you should turn your speakers down if you decide to check it out).

I had such a blast and going through all the pictures reminded me how much we got to do and enjoy during our short stay. I can't wait to do it again!

We spent the holiday weekend with friends in Normandy. The last time I was in Normandy was on my first trip to France - two years ago. This year, we were able to visit with our old friends from Texas and a couple of friends who came to visit us last year in California. It was really cool catching up with everyone, and it was as if time had never passed. I love that.

I discovered a few things about myself while visiting Normandy, too. 1) My new favorite sport is bike-riding, and I plan on entertaining myself with a few rides a week in the huge park just near us...once I find a bike. 2) I no longer think that the only place in France I can live is Paris; give me familiar faces, sea and sand and I'll pack my bags and head anywhere around this lovely country. I can't express how great it was to be back around good friends. I even spoke French for 90% of the weekend without wearing myself out. 3) After eating three glorious meals a day, I've found myself spoiled rotten but totally motivated to keep up the habit. And finally, 4) I can make a mean mayonnaise.

I couldn't upload all the pictures (and videos) tonight, so you'll have to wait until tomorrow for the album. For now, here are a few of my favorites from a perfect weekend.

It's a well-known phenomenon that while riding the metro you will almost certainly come in contact with some bizarre, odd, or otherwise foreign person. This happens daily. Usually, it's a smelly guy in a suit who's late to work, or a couple talking in a language I've never heard before, or a dude who gets off at every stop and yells some indiscernible chant at his fellow-riders as they descend the metal tube.

Today, I sat next to two very normal-looking guys who were transporting a few bags of market produce. I opened up my book, preparing for the long and dull ride to my stop and kept about my business as usual. Just as I was starting to get back into the juicy bits of the story, a loud clucking noise sounded from just next to me and the plastic bags at the feet of my fellow passengers started moving violently about on their own. Everyone, including me, cocked our heads in the direction of my two neighbors who started wrestling with the bags. A few seconds later, a beak and red-colored head peeped out from the bag and let out a loud "Cluck!" Apparently, these guys had picked up more than bananas from the market and were taking some chickens (or maybe they were hens) home (presumably) for dinner tonight. I couldn't help but laugh out loud, and when they saw that I found it amusing, they began laughing with me. I couldn't decipher what they were talking about before or after that because they weren't speaking French (like that would make a difference anyway) or English or any other recognizable language, but I asked them in French if I could take a picture of their fowl, and they happily obliged. Not wanting to impose too much, I snapped two very quick shots and ended up with these:



We laughed a little more at the incident and carried on with what were doing before the distraction - they continued their conversation and I dove back into my book. Then, something happened that is also a well-known reality of metro-riding. A woman came by to beg for money - I, being engrossed in a book, was all but ignored by the woman, but when she spotted the fresh goods being transported by my poultry-carrying friends, she asked them if she could help herself to a banana. One of the guys had already given her a few coins, but the other guy leaned over and pulled off a banana for her. She thanked him a few times and stood by the doors awaiting her stop. A few seconds later, still conversing with each other, the two guys filled an empty sack with a bunch of bananas and a few mangoes and handed it to the woman. She, nor I, nor the girl opposite me could believe the kind gesture we'd just witnessed.

Here, especially, I find myself on an eternal quest to suppress my over-active, highly-sensitive emotions, and it took everything in me to allow only a single tear to fall. It probably sounds silly, trite even, to become teary-eyed over such a natural and daily encounter. But I find more and more that kindness like this is rarely depicted in the streets (or metros) of Paris. My thoughts are that this has something to do with tradition, and even I have become less sympathetic after hearing people (my husband included) paint a malicious and deceitful, mafia-like picture of the poor and homeless population in Paris. It isn't easy for me to say no to someone when I have the means to say yes, but I feel like it's what's expected of me here. After today, though, it seems clearer than ever that I can still fit in as a Parisian without abandoning my humanity.