Saturday, November 28, 2009

Snapity, Snap snap.


After a successful and amazingly fun Thanksgiving and a Christmas market flooded with wackiness, with only my poor excuse for a memory and a sticky kitchen floor to show for it, I realized I have made limited use of mon petit camera in this beautiful city. I have spent many hours on different bedroom floors, in each city I have inhabited, remembering my best times through photos where we rode bikes for hours upon hours, hosted man pageants called mangeants, and jumped into pools, laughing the entire time. On one hand, I am content with being so engaged in the moment, that the thought of disturbing it to schlep out my camera seems counter intuitive to the fun. En fete, I remember how much the joy of pictures and the tangible components of memories actually bring. Collectively, their overwhelming-ness leave me smiling even stronger than some of the actual moments. The brunches I have spent in New York looking over the festivities of the previous night's debauchery, this time without the tequila goggles on, always remind me that photos help the good times stretch out to help cover the rainy days. So I guess I'll restart out my adventures with the visual in slow motion...this time using my friend/fellow teaching assistant's eye to show you around our Thanksgiving table. (Remercie a Ms. Amrita Raja)



The expandable table was set for 17 and menus (also compliments of Ms. Raja) falsely lead people to believe the night would be full of class. Thank goodness it wasn't.



We went around the table to say remercie en franglais. Family, friends, but mostly turkey were on the top of everyone's lists....and this is why....



Thanks to my roomies, Carole et Ombeline, we had a fresh turkey from Brittany to roast who just met the knife last week. Now, how many Americans can say that? It was first time attempting a turkey on my own, and at 7 kilos, it was quite the woman.


They were the only pictures from the actual dinner. I am a bit sad that I didn't take time to snap here or there, but that's yet another issue of balancing slash distribution of time that I've never attempted to understand very well. So this time, I let someone do it for me. Some memories are just too good to experience once. So thanks for documenting our thanks. It is much appreciated.

Friday, November 27, 2009

TARTE AU CITROUILLE???

At the risk of dissapointing my mother, as she will feel cheated for not receiving a personal e-mail as well as a new blog update, I have decided to sum up my Thanksgiving with my email response to her the day after remercie for having a pretty damn great excuse for not working, eating slash drinking all day long, and sharing this peculiar holiday with people you love:

you will love me FOREVER??? wow, trop cool maman! hehe....anywho, im stuck at the lycee right now for 3+ hours until my next class and i am completely exhausted from thanksgiving....i had work on Thurs from 830 to 1230 (so i got up at 530) then rushed home, shoved a couple green beans in ma bouche and some things in the oven....cooked until 8....and the party went off without a hitch. The french and the english speakers mingled until early morning and the rest of us didnt finish cleaning and dancing until 230....AND then I woke up at 530 again this morn and worked all day! but not one complaint from me because it was such a great night. It sounds like there were so many things to do, and there were, but for some reason it just didnt seem like it. Everything was relaxed and in order and I havent gotten any calls yet about people dying from undone turkey or bacteria ridden stuffing! A successful night indeed. I had a wonderful time, yes, seeing my roomates astonished that one would serve cheese BEFORE a meal, hollering across the table of 17 like the less than chic american I am, and having a great excuse to play fabulously shitty american oldies at dinner. But there is always something missing when the family isnt together on the holidays. The pumpkin pie tastes different (well probably because it wasnt out of a can), no one else dares to imitate dads elastic pants, no aunt donnas complaining about their pies being runny, not to mention not an ounce of sympathy for the poor semi vegetarian in the room. I missed you last night and your little shot glasses of wine....just thought i would let you know.

love you FOREVER also,

the dolly

Maybe Thanksgiving is about not only being with those you love, but remembering who is missing at the table. My Thanksgiving was a great one indeed, as one the one before in Costa Rica, and the one before in New York. Each year, I gather fond and new memories of sharing the American traditions, bizarre ou pas, with new family and friends gathered around some type of fowl, eating and drinking way too much.(which hopefully and usually leads to dancing...in true thanksgiving fashion...too much) But as I thanked my new family for being who they are, I begin to realize more and more...new or old, perfect or frayed, you just cant beat the je ne sais quoi about the real thing.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Flag Flailing

1 am. Thursday morning. I must awake in 4.5 hours....but alas the entire country of Algeria is outside my window celebrating their country's soccer victory. Why my window? Just lucky I guess.

A couple things I must say before they get lost in the black hole of my brain....like too many other good tidbits...

1. Tonight I enjoyed the France/Ireland soccer match at a Frenchie's apt. Four french guys to three American girls. I loved the odds. I was greeted by my friend Alexi and an obviously Asian man, whose first words were, "You are American? Look at me (he points to his face), I am Chinois." Yeah dude, I got that. So rewind, 3 french guys to 3 American girls. Still better than anything NYC had to offer. After 4 pizzas, shit ton of wine and beer, sexual french-english translations, and France's victory, my friend Katheryn and I sang and danced down the street to Brucey Springsteen. My victory dance for France was in English.

2. On the metro I got a glimpse of a restaurant called P.F.C. (Paris Fried Chicken) I laughed and then I cried. I've lost all respect for you Paris.

3. I decided I had some energy to burn, so I got off three metro stops early, hoping to take in a beautiful, peaceful, Paris at night. So, this is when I can across the country of Algeria at the Arc waving flags, running through the streets, screaming, flailing, you name it. Police are everywhere right now, and being the only female on the streets, it was the first time Ive been a bit frightened in Paris. Thank god, I was thinking these people didn't have it in them. Ill think youre going to be ok Paris. I guess it just took a few immigrants and a soccer game. Hey, whatever gets the job done.

So, Im not tired, but Ill kill (not literally...if anyone from the french government is reading this) my students if I dont get more than four hours of sleep.

A demain? dinner party, cranky adolescents, and my favorite boy...i mean conversation class. a la prochain.

Monday, November 16, 2009

I fought the Law and the Law Won

The Law being liquids.

I had a glass of wine and a pitcher of hot chocolate for dinner last night. And then played MASH and danced to wonderously shitty American music. You can take the Stein out of the US but, hell Im still a Stein.

Today in a nutshell:

1. I began just like the previous 3 mornings....with the Bobby Fuller Four incessantly playing in my head. After trying not to slap a bunch of French primary school students who NEVER grasp that Italy translates to Italie....I boarded the wrong bus, rode around the beautiful Parisian countryside for 1.5 hours and then walked another 30 to the bus station. The bus driver who so graciously helped me out, then continued to so graciously try and get my number. I answer, "Je comprends pas." When in doubt, play the stupid American card.

2. Nothing to eat since breakfast at 6:30 am, and my stomach reminds me it is now 1400h. I made my way to grab the best falafel ever, and the cute falafel man calls me his girlfriend and then orders the chef to give me free fries. Apparently he has no idea who his girlfriend is, since I would clearly like a side of vegetables instead. The French want you to become fat. Im sure of it.

Tonight: drinks and food as a base and then who the hell knows. I love that.

Have to go "tutor" a 6 year old who corrects my French and teaches me German.....blahhhh. I should have started with animals.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Nostalgia

Its true. I miss my family. Duh. I perpetually miss California, no matter where I am on the globe. Duh, its flippin awesome. I miss my friends. Again duh, they're unbeatable. But alas, I didnt expect this one..... I MISS NEW YORK.


It all came to a culmination this morning, checking my e-mail before an early brunch, I received an email from THE A-rizzle “Ariel” Rosner. It was just a quick hello from New York with a iphone snapshot (what the f...you have an iphone???) of Babycakes, my all time favorite bakery, delivered straight to me in Paris. How cruel! I havent missed New York in a very long time, but I miss it desperately now. And of course, these feelings would undoubtedly start with emotions only a vegan bakery could be responsible for. It made me miss my friends who traded lunches for the vegan sweetness, the brunches, the harshness, the teas, the parties, the non-stop excitement that is like a drug and is always easy to leave, but hard to stay away from. I miss my co-op, English speaking dive bars, Saturday hat outings, running to give friends 5 minutes long hugs au lieu of a bisous, vegan restaurants, and even hipster posers. There is a charming grittiness, a feeling of no one giving a shit but at the same time not fooling anyone about their true agenda, an edge, its own special beauty with a bouquet of ridiculous memories only new york could have produced. Dont get me wrong...I love Paris. For now. But, it could never be home. Its like this grand vacation, where I work, but not really, and was extended because you couldnt possibly end it after a week, or a month. No matter how much NYC could drive me crazy....I want it back so bad. The good times were just too good.

Sometime in January I will drag myself to see “New York, I Love You”, when it will finally reach Paris. I will become even more nostalgic, like anyone always remembering the wonderfulness of a far-removed place, pushing the harder times to an irretrievable space in the mind. Dont get me wrong, I would never...well almost never complain about Paris....but hey Im allowed the miss New York too. Of course its more the people I will always miss from anywhere, but its the place that pushes you a little harder to make things happen. In Paris, I am being shown a new language, art & culture, and how to enjoy one thing for a shitload of time. It tries to show me how to be a lady, but come on, once a Stein always a Stein. New York pushed extremes...California is just simply and always will be home. But New York, I miss you.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Please Tell Me This Was Not a Date

I know I promised that my next post would be an on-going extraction from the awesomeness of my vacation...but I just felt like talking about something else, so viola. And yes, the "viola" is used just as frequent as you may think en France.

Last night I had another, this shit only happens to Stephanie Stein moment. I got invited to a soiree to be a plus one with a new "friend" named Marc from where else but the English/French conversation class. Best mix of people....EVER. I decided to accept, because well, why the hell not. So Marc proceeds to drive me 40 minutes outside of Paris, to a peculiar looking suburb that looks more like that shitty town in the middle of no where than I actually want to admit. And you may ask why leave Paris for a party on a Saturday night when this is practically the equivalent of leaving NYC for jersey city? Well, that's a damn good question. The ride there was interesting to say the least. Marc spent most of his time shuffling between techno cds, the clutch, his french excuse for a garmin, and when he wasn't too busy doing these handful of un-necessities, he was kept busy twitching or scratching something that didn't really itch at all. We continue to try and speak, although i think he finds it hard to speak English and be coked out at the same time.

Party. Hmm....I enter and meet about twenty 30-60 year olds who immediately gawk at me because I am American. And not in a good way, mind you. We drink, we eat, and after these people are really wanting to let loose so they push aside the tables and begin to dance to shitty American music of which of course they have no idea what is being sung about. Some just move side to side, others (who have had too much punch) are literally jumping up and down while kicking and talking to me in English like I am a half death three year old, and yet other 55 year old Italian men are convinced that I am their girlfriend. Sorry man, you smell. Oh yeah, and you're as old as my father, but not nearly as funny. Of course I dance with this strange congregation of people, and of course my date is the ONLY person sitting on the couch reading a philosophy book. Half way through the party he decided it was necessary to pull out his purse and start reading. Hmmmm...ok.

1 am rings and I am ready to get the fuck out of this place. Mark starts up the car and his tourettes again and cant seem to find the freeway. He starts talking to himself in French and jerking the car in 30 different directions. I was too tired to keep my built up laughter any longer. When he finally finds the freeway some cheesy American oldie comes on and he starts singing the chorus in his franglais...."can you feel the love tonight". Holy shit, get me out of here. There is some crazy french man serenading me in his beat up car to an Elton John song that is on the same disc as 20 techo songs. And an hour ago he was reading a philosophy book while telling me he could have gone to 5 other partys that night. Ok. YOU'RE A PSYCHO. This shit only happens to me...I need to start saying no to people when they ask me to go somewhere. Finally I get home at 2am. I had to laugh. And then I had to shower.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Me Back Now

So I'm back. I'm just back from being given 10 days of paid vacation after working a little less than a month of my rigorous 12 hour work week. The U.S. does not quite have a good grasp on this fantastic method yet. It is more like we'll give you 260 days and apres a prize of 10 days is rewarded left to worry about what craziness one might fit in with the only time for oneself. Now that just isn't right.

My vacation started by my little sis Shaina tagging me in Paris and scurrying away to Ferrara, Italy to have me find her in return. My cousins (Susie & Schmitty) catch up with us there and then allied with me back to Paris. It was quite a whirlwind, but left me happier than ever after seeing English speaking family ….even if I did give up my bed for a yoga mat. The awesomeness of the past week is quite overwhelming, so I will separate them into a couple different posts. First, of course, in true Stein fashion:

Food/Drinks:

Start: Ferrara Italy

1.Breakfast at the hotel is very telling of what Ferrara is like. They love you through their food. The spread at the “continental” breakfast included three types of cereal, three types of croissants, fruit, eggs, juices, breads, cured meats, cheeses, cafes, etc etc. Yes, this is breakfast, and yes it is never too early to eat cured meats apparently. Schmitty rejoiced while Susie and I rolled our eyes. We later made up for the lacking consumption of lunch meats by taking as many nutella packets as we manage without weighing us down too much while running from breakfast patrol.

Break for what fancy pants Shaina calls Drinking Chocolate. I had to remind her that we are American and we call this stuff hot chocolate pudding.

2.I don't understand how these Ferrarians make any money. Well, at least in the restaurant business. Not only do they pile on food and practically give it away, but this is THE common method of doing business. We're not just talking special occasions, and if we are, then everyday at 5 or 6 o'clock is Thanksgiving. Welcome to the “apertivo”. Early evening marks the time for folks congregate at their local cafes to have a cafe or a drink. And after ordering a drink, then they bring you free food. We are talking cheeses, breads, olives, pastas, sweets, chickpea baked deliciousness, and more. I don't get it. Its like they feed you because they don't want you to eat dinner and give them money. But then you do. And then you get dessert.

4. Gelato. Tourjours. Everyday. All the time. The owner greeted us with a painted on smiled so big and honest that you knew the gelato couldn't be anything less than fantastical. Each day this woman gets up and makes her gelato from scratch. By charging just under 2 Euro for quite a generous portion, and like all other peeps in the food business here, she makes little profit....I am sure of it. But, here, money seems to take a backseat and pleasing others is the primary aim. The loves what she does, and she does it well. We talk to her for some time on our last day, with people on one side who know no English and in return people who know zero Italian. But we smile, and it isn't faux, and we we try to understand each other through flailing our melty gelato-covered hands. We take off on our bike gang just happy that someone cares. Even if it is means wearing loose clothes for a day or two.

Paris

1. Meeting up with one of Schmitty's co-workers from back in the US of A and his friend, we were directed to Le Pain Quotidien for Brunch on Sunday. The place was extremely familiar, as they have a few scattered throughout NYC, and the rest of the world. Although I have never spend so much time in any restaurant back in New York. We enjoyed the company so much, I think we began to forget about the food but enjoy it at the same time, if that makes any sense. We discussed the many differences between Americans and the French, debunked a couple stereotypes and confirmed a few others while laughing and of course sometimes crying. From time to time just remember make looking forward to your food as much as your company and vice versa....and make it last as long as you can. For the French this is a social hour, a feeding hour; a time of luxury developed from something you need to do anyway. Only here do you pay twice as much for a cafe if you want to sit. Because you will sit for hours.

2. The French got me at their first croissant au buerre. The Italians got me at pumpkin ravioli with nutmeg. But no one does a home cooked vegetarian feast like the Codoni-Schmitt-Steins. On our first full day in Paris, I showed Susie and Schmitty the amazingness of the French outdoor market. The endless stands filled with fresh vegetables, chickens (de-clawed and de-feathered, unlike my frigo), wheels of cheese, whole fish, flowers....basically anything you might possibly need for one killer dinner party. The cousins were surprised to find how friendly the French were; everyone was patient and helpful....especially the lady who gave us ballin advice on a great brie. Of course there is always one in the bunch and this one was the damn ginger lady who basically told me to screw myself. Fine. Ill make some other ginger lady 50 cents richer. But that didn't stop our supreme glee from smelling and perusing the market while buying up all the veggies for the upcoming veg filled dinner we desperately need after way too many apertivos and gelatos. As a shout out to my Californian roots, we snatched brussel sprouts, pumpkins, spinach, carrots, and potatoes to make up our veggie meal. Brie de mieux, a baguette, and a bottle of wine later we were finished. We baked oatmeal raisin cookies and c'est la vie....we needed that one. My roommates laugh at my semi-vegetarian ways, but they secretly want in. I mean how can you find anything better than roasted root veg? God, I'm California. And I love it.

3. Their last night, we head out to a recommended restaurant by a local and my friend KK joins us as well. We found the place after searching for 30 minutes in the rain and jumping into a few puddles. The restaurateur took a liking to me over the phone when I incorrectly placed my reservation as StephaNIE and not aStEPHphanie. She is currently my favorite funny French person so far, calling Scmitty a baby when he couldn't finish his cheese and me bizzzare for trying a piece of fromage blanc avec mon chocolat gateau. She truly made the night even better if that was possible. She never gave us look to indicate that we were stupid, ignorant Americans, but rather joined in our our fun. We were happy to have another practically at the table. Schmitty sprang for the ultimate French meal complete with foie gras, steak tartar, and fromage. Everyone enjoyed our three hour meal, except maybe the other Parisians listening to our boisterous laughter and the sight of our sharing of foods. It was a blast, and not only did no one look at us strange for hanging out until almost midnuit, but we had trouble getting the check.

4. The Grand Finale: Singing and Dancing as we pop open Champagne at la Tour Eiffel on the hour. It began to sparkle and we enjoyed a beautiful night in Paris. Paris at night is so beautiful I even forget that its fucking cold. The cousins made the night even better hand selecting a bottle of “golden” champagne at the Paris' answer to Target. It was DELICIOUS. A few macarons later we commence singing and dancing like the boisterous Americans we are so proud to be.

Coming Soon: Dance/Music/Enteratinment......You don't want to miss this one folks.