The Year Elsewhere

So I’ve been getting questions about food: two questions, in fact. One from each reader. (Oops, no wait, I have three. Grandma just won’t email me. Hi, Grandma!) Anyway, I love talking about food, so I figure this is one question I’ll actually acknowledge.

As I said before, I’m lucky that Mme is so nice and gives me four meals a week instead of the bare minimum three. False. It turns out that this was a big misunderstanding and that she thought my program was going to reimburse her for the extra meal. False again. If she gives me extra meals and chooses to charge (a practice which I fully support, by the way), it’s me who has to pay. I already knew that, which is what makes the entire situation even more frustrating. I have been repeatedly asking her if it’s alright that I’m getting an extra meal, and she keeps responding that really, it’s good, she wants to do it, but to be sure to tell my director (“Mme Sue”) that I’m getting that extra meal. And then I say, but why? Why does it matter if Mme Sue knows? and then she says because her paper says that she only has to give three dinners a week. And then she changes the subject. Finally, in a tizzy, she called up Sue to tell her directly that she has been giving me more meals, and Sue told her that the program doesn’t care, that she should take that up with me. Which she did, as soon as I walked in that night. Thank goodness Sue had prepared me.

ANYWAY…she still wants me to eat with her four times a week, but she wants me to pay 5€. It’s a really good price. If I went to a restaurant and I got this food for that price, it would instantly be my favorite restaurant. But the thing is, it’s not a restaurant. It’s…kind of like my home, in the tiniest way…so I politely turned her down on that proposition (“politely” in a foreign language means “I think I actually communicated clearly”) and told her that I really prefer to buy my own ingredients and cook. I like the experience way more than the product (except for cheesecake: what a lot of work, but it’s all worth it in the end. And pumpkin pie. I don’t think any culinary experience could top that product.). Which brings me to cooking, which was my mother’s question, and incidentally brings me to shopping for food, which was Marte’s question.

So I had the whole conversation with Mme about kitchen use and whether it would be alright to cook for the nights when I don’t eat with them. I don’t know what it is, but sometimes we do not communicate well. It’s a simple sentence in French: Est-ce que ce serait d’accord si j’utilisais la cuisine pendant les soirs où je ne dîne pas avec toi? (Would it be alright if I used the kitchen on the nights I don’t eat with you ?) It’s not perfect, sure, but I don’t think I mucked it up too badly. She looked at me and said, “That’s right, you eat here Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.” (This was before, obviously.) And I looked back at her and said, “Yes…but the other days…” And she looked at me and said, “Yes?...” (As an undisclosed wonderful person said when I was relaying this story, “Aha! That’s how the French stay so skinny! They don’t eat on the weekends.”) So I finally got the point across, and then she asked me what my friends here are doing, and I said that it depended on the family, and then she asked me if they paid, and I said that depended on the family too (the sad part is that I would probably pay her 5€ just to use the kitchen). And then she said that she didn’t think that would be necessary. I think I really threw her for a loop. I don’t think her previous students had ever asked her for that.

So I got to cook last weekend. It was a celebration. I went to the Géant Casino (the French Walmart, I’m ashamed to say) five minutes up the street and bought groceries on Friday night and came back to the house and stewed up some tomato with zucchini, shallot and spinach, and then added the concoction to couscous. It was a challenge though, I have to admit. Chopping vegetables without a cutting board: nigh on impossible. Mme was watching me cutting up the tomato in my hand, and she said, “I like watching you cook. You’re slow. You’re never stressed.” I tried to contradict her, but I was concentrating too hard. Then she left the kitchen to continue getting ready for her dinner party, and then I sliced my finger open. But only once, during the whole time. I’m like a pro. And then when I was ready to eat, she looked at my Tupperware container of couscous and vegetables and muttered, “I wish I were eating that.” Instead of the elaborate cheese tray she had prepared, and the tarts she had made during the day, and the cookies that she had laid out on the serving tray. I have to admit though, I’m glad I was eating it too. Then I asked if it would bother her if I put the leftovers in the fridge, and she told me no, but that I needed to wait until they were cold, or else they would break the fridge. Okay…

The next day, we had plans to make lunch at Amadou’s house, so we all (meaning, most of us), went to the Saturday market to get provisions. I love the market; it's taken the prized position of the coffee shop/scone experience of Salem. For those who know me in Oregon, that's a big step of committment. But it's a great way to start the weekend, and to get picnic fixings for lunch. View image
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It turns out that Amadou doesn’t know how to cook, although he proudly showed me the jar of vegetarian spaghetti sauce he had bought when we all went over. So he opened up his professionally-equipped kitchen to us, and we stormed it. We had been dreaming about the meal all week. We all get fed really well with our families, but there’s something to be said for having something in mind to eat, and then eating it. We decided that everyone should be in charge of a particular part of the meal, which wouldn’t really be that expensive. Lindsey took salad (she stole it from me, actually), Jen took the side dish, Susan took the bread and the cheese, and I took dessert, and that left the main course (ie meat) for Casey and Matt to split (to be honest, we kind of dictated). Except then Casey decided not to come, and Matt decided that he would much rather bring pains aux chocolat, avocados, and shrimp, which doesn’t usually work for a main course.

It all worked out though. Lindsey made a salad with mêche lettuce, apples, and craisins, and she and Susan collaborated to make a raspberry vinaigrette. Jen made roasted vegetables, with carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, and onions. It was the first time we’d had roasted vegetables since…well, probably since last winter. Mention “légumes rôtis” here and people look at you like you’re stupid a.) because of your accent, b.) because that’s probably not a good translation, and c.) because they don’t do that here. Mme makes boiled potatoes occasionally, but the others hadn’t even had potatoes here until Jen made them. View image

Then Susan toasted some wheat bread from the market, along with chèvre so fresh and soft, it was just like cream cheese, and Amadou let us use his favorite: Gruyère swiss from a specific vendeur at the market. This cheese is seriously the best I think I’ve tasted; it at least ties with Cougar Gold. Matt sautéed some shrimp, and served the avocados (and the pains aux chocolat). Amadou presented us with a rôtisserie chicken. We all ate our fill. Then the men watched some “football” while the girls did the dishes and prepared the dessert. I decided to make a compôte of apples and pears to be served with petit Breton beurre cookies that I had found at the market, 12 for 2€, which isn’t even that much, given the sudden economic downturn. We served it with some coffeeAnd all was good. And although Amadou swears he can’t cook, he can peel fruit like none other. Wow.

Willamette, you have prepared some good cooks. You should consider starting a culinary academy. Chefs always need some liberal arts training.

So I hope that answers the questions.