My hands-down, all-time favorite dessert is, as a matter of fact, peach cobbler. I rarely eat an entire serving, but the sugary, doughy, crunchy-crusted peachy loveliness is what makes me most happy after a meal. And, I like it straight up - I've never been an à la mode kind of girl, and I tend to like things in their simplest form because all that extra nonsense is just cause for distraction. And I don't like to be distracted when I'm eating.

So, all these ripe peaches have been seducing me as I walk past them sitting on the counters of the lively market stalls - just begging me to take them with me to savor their juicy goodness. How could I to deny them their fair shot at making it into one of my might-be-disastrous cooking endeavors? Lucky peaches.

I can't remember where I got the idea for peach cobbler - maybe I was reminiscing about eating one of many Lenten catfish buffets at the Manchaca Fire Hall that I almost always followed up with a peach cobbler; or maybe it was the famous Hill's Cafe that I remember regularly going to when I was growing up. I don't even know if they serve peach cobbler there, but I must have been thinking about one of those comfort-food havens to remind me of my undying affection for a homemade peach cobbler.

Despite the soaring temps, I fired up the oven after scooping up a kilo (or something) of ripe yellow peaches, and challenged my craving with one simple recipe. It all seemed to be going well...until I got to the part where you have to pour the "batter" into the pool of melted butter. Easy enough, non? Well, yeah, it was easy to do, but the way it looked was not easy to stomach.
Blech! I thought I'd surely ruined a recipe this time - dude, why can't I bake with confidence? So, I reluctantly tossed it in the oven, set the timer and didn't even peak until I heard the "ding."

And that's when my frown turned upside-down, friends, and I saw and smelled the most delectable thing I've ever attempted to make in my life. It took everything I had to let it cool a bit before serving myself a heaping scoop of heaven. I even waited until after dinner to try it out, and boy, was it worth the wait! Gui decided he wanted some vanilla ice cream distraction, so I served him two scoops and he was a happy (stuffed) husband.

I ate this cobbler for an entire week - with coffee for breakfast, as dessert at lunch and dinner, with tea after dinner, for gouter, and as a meal replacement in and of itself. This will be on the table at the next Thanksgiving dinner, and I will be calling dibs on being served first.

As for my baking abilities, I learned a valuable lesson that I will remember for all future baking experiments ventures: the oven is a magical contraption that turns oozing piles of goo into yummy piles of perfection - never doubt its powers.

I snapped this picture of Gui last weekend at a friend's house. His face is not suitable for glasses, but these gave him an adorable nerdy look that makes me smile.

Sorry for not posting this week; I'm sure everyone's wondering what I've been up to...or not.
Actually, I haven't had anything of much interest to write about. After finishing my French classes and a week of preparing for and worrying about my carte de sejour, I've been stuck in a rut over what I should do with my free time. The obvious answer is to get with the job-hunting, but August is by far the worst month to try to contact businesses in Paris. There's even an advertisement all around Paris that's asking where all the Parisians have gone. I saw someone else put up a photo of the advert on their blog, but I can't remember who (I think it's official that I stalk entirely too many blogs). According to Gui it's a play on a football chant that gets shouted when the Paris team is sucking - kind of like "Where are y'all at now, Paris?" I think it's a really clever advertisement (although I can't remember the website it's promoting at the moment), and I still find it so amusing that people just up and leave this city for nearly an entire thirty days for a little respite from the norm. Our apartment is surrounded by lots of businesses and a few office buildings, so lately the neighborhood's been eerily quiet and parking spaces have been unusually superfluous.

So, expecting to find a job this month is really an absurd fantasy that I'm quickly finding myself getting over. Now that I have all this extra time on my hands, I'm trying to think of ways to discover Paris without feeling like a tourist. Monday was a completely wasted day spent indoors, cleaning, blog-stalking, cleaning and cleaning. But, on Tuesday, I took myself to Muji, which I'd heard is like a Japanese Ikea or something like that. I wanted to see what they had and maybe pick up some things that I still need in the kitchen - mainly cooking utensils. Well, I wasn't exactly blown away when I found my way to the little shop tucked behind the marché Saint Germain, but I scooped up a couple of low-priced items and decided to take a trip to my tried and true utensil shop down at Les Halles. There I found exactly what I needed and headed back home feeling successful after a quick frapuccino pit-stop at Stealmybucks. It's an indulgence I don't have often, so I don't feel guilty about throwing down 5 euros for a grande fruit-tea smoothie.

I came home rather early and hung around with Gui after work before I headed out for my first evening in Paris sans Gui. Emily is as lovely as a Georgia peach who, as we discovered over a couple of overpriced cocktails in the 16eme, has a lot in common with this misplaced Texan, including being married to a fabulous, grade A, slightly paranoid, americanized Frenchie. Girl talk in English is so much fun - we spent over three hours dishing about our lives, our history, our woes, our often unreasonable expectations of the fabled Paris life, and our rather happy existences. Our rendez-vous was loads of fun and a much appreciated breath of fresh air from my looming boredom. Thank God she appreciates alcohol-inspired French sign language.

And wouldn't you know that after making my trip to the marché this afternoon for some produce and such, I got an email from a girlfriend of Gui's friend inviting me to the piscine? So, this afternoon she swung by and picked me up in her car (quelle chance) and we headed in search of my neighborhood pool. Man, I never in my life knew there were so many rules for going to a freakin' swimming pool! And, man I never knew how popular pools were in Paris [banlieue] during the summer - geesh, don't people work? We got cut off in the line by a big, yellow tape barrier because apparently they were approaching their maximum occupancy of 700 people - yes SEVEN. HUNDRED. Luckily, we got in only minutes later and set off to go through the regular routine of taking off the shoes, finding and paying for a locker and showering before spotting a patch of grass for some seriously appreciated sunbathing. A ton of sun, a few dips in the pool, a few topless women, speedoed men, and another episode of showering (this time with soap and shampoo - yeah, that's weird to me) ensued before we called it a (great) day.

I'm still working on my CV and trying to keep up my French by talking with Gui and watching French TV, but I figure if everyone else can take August off, there's no reason I shouldn't also. I'm learning that boredom isn't so bad after all, so long as you've got a lot to do.

Now (besides my lower than generally acceptable French skill level), I have no excuse for being jobless anymore. After a patience-testing wait at the prefecture late this afternoon, I was handed a half-sheet of paper that's proof of my application for residency, and that I will use as evidence of my right to work in France until my actual card arrives - hopefully within the next three months (we'll see how that goes). It's funny because we actually had an appointment with the same woman who set the appointment in the first place, whose awful people skills and overwhelming rudeness we both were blown away with last time. She seemed fifty times happier this time and even made a few jokes and got us in and out within 30 minutes of our appointment time. We think it had something to do with her imminent three-plus weeks of vacation.

We asked a few questions, most of which were answered with "we don't do that here," but the most important question was the one about my eligibility to work. At first, we were told that I couldn't work with just a récépissé (which is just a receipt that shows I've applied for the residency permit), but after inquiring a bit, she told us that, in fact, I could work with it and that my eligibility would be printed on the document. Man, I wonder if I'd have the same eligibility if we hadn't been brave enough to ask?

All in all, it went pretty smoothly. We only had to wait a couple of minutes after our appointment to be seen, and would you believe it if I told you (speaking to those of you who've gone through this before) that we actually had everything they required for the application EXCEPT a copy of the stamp indicating my entry into France with my visa? Would you also believe that that was the only thing not mentioned on the list of required documents to bring? Luckily, we caught our guichetiere on a good day and she was kind enough to make copies for us without much hassle.

Now, I'm just waiting to get the information for the infamous medical exam. If I'm lucky, I might just get my actual cds a few months before I have to reapply for the next one. Ah, the French.

Geez, it's been a hot week! Yesterday, I went to a few Korean shops to buy some spices I've been searching for (with no luck), and had to help a dear old lady find her away around an arrondissement I'm not familiar with. Her face was beaded with sweat and she had to pull me into the shade while I searched my pocket map for the street she was looking for. We chatted a bit (she praised my French skills - yeehaw!) and I pointed her in the direction of her destination (I got the feeling she was reluctant to go wherever she was heading, but man, who wouldn't be reluctant to walk in 9,000-degree weather?). I realized, after talking with her, how much I enjoy practicing my French. Sure, it sucks when I don't have the right words to say, but it feels good to hear my progression and practice the phrases and words I've become familiar with.

So, I didn't stay out very long because, frankly, I was melting in the streets, and the stench of B.O. in the stuffy metro was making me gag. I came home, peeled off my sweaty clothes, threw on what's become my summer house-dress (an old, light, jersey dress) and hung out in front of the fan for the rest of the day. It was too hot to cook, so Gui and I had some tasty cold sandwiches for dinner.


Today was another scorcher and it took so much energy to motivate myself to get some pictures taken that I need for my carte de sejour appointment tomorrow. I also wanted to check into getting a haircut while I was out, but I couldn't stand the heat any longer than necessary and I headed straight back to the shade of our apartment and the coolness of our fans after snapping a sweaty, smile-less pic. It didn't get any cooler and there was no way I was turning on the oven tonight, so we spent a lovely evening in Le Marais enjoying a delicious fallafel and cold Corona in an air-conditioned resto. We wrapped up the evening with cold gelato at the Pozzetto counter where I enjoyed a refreshing watermelon sorbet cone (that I'll be going back for soon) and Gui scarfed down their famous hazelnut chocolate gianduia.






Tomorrow, Gui is taking a half-day to come with me to the prefecture for my carte de sejour appointment. With luck, I'll be receiving my récépissé that (ideally) allows me to work until I receive my actual carte de sejour. I'm not holding my breath that anything will go smoothly because, let's face it, that's my new reality and I'm fine with taking the bad with the good...for now. I'm just hoping they have working air-conditioning in their office because then if everything goes wrong, at least I'll have gotten a satisfying respite from this unrelenting heat...

Note: Sorry for all the food posts lately...it's what's been keeping me busy!

So, I've discovered that my favorite cake to bake is chocolate cake. After receiving an intimidatingly simple recipe from my MIL, I gave it a shot and ended up with a delicious, soft and fluffy chocolate cake. I've never made a chocolate cake before - not even the boxed kind, not brownies, not cupcakes, and now that I have this trusty recipe, it's going to be a regular around here. I only had three eggs on hand, so I just reduced everything a smidge (except for the chocolate) and it turned out perfectly. Since there weren't any instructions on baking the cake, I took the advice of one of my favorite food bloggers and figured it was ready when it was ready.

I can't wait to try it as a moelleux au chocolat next time, and I'm totally going to look for a recipe for crème anglaise to dress it up a bit, too (as both were so kindly suggested). This time around, it's been a delicious dessert and the perfect accompaniment to café au lait in the morning.

I find myself noticing more and more ways that I'm becoming like my mom. For instance, I often scoop up a box of Frosties (Kellogg's Frosted Flakes) when I'm craving a bowl and rarely eat them after I've gotten my fix. There's something about those sugary flakes with milk that reminds me of hanging at home with mom. As I start to open up to the world of baking, I notice that it brings about a sort of reflective nostalgia to be in the kitchen baking a cake for no reason at all. My mom used to (and still does) always do that.

"Why are you making cookies, mom?"
"Oh, just because. I felt like having some oatmeal raisin cookies."

I can't wait to get my hands on some oats to try my hand at her soft and gooey oatmeal cookies! A lot of my mom's cooking comes from improvising with what's on hand. I'm not really good at that yet, and I haven't been cooking long enough to know what to sub if I'm missing an ingredient for a recipe or something. Last week, I really wanted to make some rice with the drumsticks I bought for baking. My mom often makes baked chicken rubbed simply with a bit of salt, pepper and flour and serves it with freshly steamed rice and corn or some other vegetable. Even though it's a meal she probably threw together one day out of what she found in the fridge and pantry, it's one of my favorite and most nostalgic meals. As I was preparing to make the rice, I noticed there were still a couple of delicious sun-dried tomatoes swimming in their jar and I decided they needed to be rescued from their loneliness. Trying to recall how my mom makes her famous Spanish rice, I attempted my own version of rice by adding the oil from the tomatoes, the tomatoes chopped and some purple onion along with a few spices. As the smells started to mingle and the pan sizzled, a wave of memory hit me and I was transported to my mom's kitchen, sniffing the air, humming an "mmmmmm" and telling her how good her rice always smells.

The meal turned out perfectly and I know my mom would have loved the rice - it was really amazing. Still, being the ever-so-impatient lid-lifter, I couldn't make the rice cook fast enough! I giggled to myself as I thought of her telling me to "quit lifting the lid because it's almost ready!"

While Gui's cousins are on vacation for a few weeks, we're keeping their cute cat, Mephisto at our place. He's really a lovely cat, but I think he's finding it a little hard to adjust to his new, temporary home. Unfortunately for him, Gui and I live on the sixth floor (5eme en français), and since we don't have a balcony or a proper sitting area outside (like he does at home), he doesn't get to hang out much in the outside world. I feel really bad for him. Every time he goes to an open window, we have to scare him away for fear he might attempt an accidental suicide. And, it's far too hot these days to keep the windows closed during the day.

I don't generally have good luck with pet-sitting cats, having had one die under my watch (the cat had complications from a previous ailment that I didn't know still persisted...it was a devastating experience for me), and my temperament around kids and animals tends to be hyper-sensitive to any possible dangerous scenarios - I let my fears become theirs, so, taking care of a homesick cat is seriously stressful for me.

During the first few nights, he'd sometimes start meowing sadly and loudly which would keep me up for a while trying to figure out what to do to make him better. Gui could see my frustration and suggested a change of scenery. At 5AM the best we could do was show him the stairwell, which actually suited him just fine. The meowing stopped and he's been in slightly better spirits since.

Now, we're taking him out to the stairwell for some regular change of scenery. I've also made a few adjustments to our furniture arrangements and added a mosquito screen to the window rails to prevent any accidental base-jumping, but I'm still paranoid as ever over his whereabouts during the day and his safety while we're away. Too bad it's so impossible to comfortably have a dog in Paris because now more than ever I'm sure we won't be having a cat.