ragout recipe!

I know, I'm cheating. I put this on my other blog, just to see how I felt about the set-up I had going. I put up a recipe for ragout with green lentils & ham. Check it out! We just ate it for dinner, & I'm STUFFED. So good, healthy, budget-friendly & French!

muffins to ease the sadness

Bluck. The weather yesterday was absolutely terrible, and I'll be honest. I taught for an hour. The rest of the day was spent cleaning or sitting in bed reading "The Memory Keeper's Daughter", which has not been a pleasurable read. That with the rain cast a dark cloud over our apartment that no rainbow could peak through. The muffins I made perked me up a bit, but now I'm still sitting around asking Joe questions. Are we okay? When will we have children? How do you make sure your child is okay? Will you, if our child isn't "okay", give them to the nurse and tell her to take it away and then tell me that the baby died? (Sorry. I just spoiled the first 30 pages. No worries, there are 500 more to go.)

I'm a worrier. Books like this increase the worry and decrease the honeymoon happiness that usually floats around our apartment. Not good. Our apartment isn't big enough for the two of us and a bad mood. Today though, I put extra blame on the weather. Even Joe seemed to be under the same Eeyore cloud I'd found, sitting in his usual spot near the window clicking through articles and not willing to do much. We ate a quite dinner, read quietly and went to bed early. (Even Joe was asleep well before midnight.)

I made a big to-do list for today, trying to set myself up for two months of productivity now that classes are ending. To start: breakfast. Choco-coconut-strawberry muffins & strawberries with kiwi slices. Here is my first draft of the muffin recipe, though they're a bit lumpy and the batter is rather dry. I'm not sure how I want to adjust that. Regardless, they're moist enough and pretty tasty. (Plus dry batter is way easier to eat with your fingers.)

3/4 c sliced strawberries (that you then mash with a potato masher)
3/4 c sugar (less if it's raw or course sugar)
1/3 c melted butter, which is about 3 tablespoons
2 c flour
3/4 teaspoon each f baking soda & baking powder
1/2 teaspoon of salt
1/2 c coconut flakes (or here, coconut powdery stuff)

Mix the first three ingredients, then add in the rest and stir (or fold, since it's so dry) until well combined. Throw in 3/4 c (oh, what the heck, a big cup) of your favorite kind of chocolate all chopped up. I used dark, as always. There was a huge sale on it this week–five bars for three dollars. They're gone now. Maybe less of a bargain and more of a way to ruin your ab routine. Bake them at 375F (190C) for about 20 minutes. Eat while warm, or don't even bake them and eat the batter with a spoon. There's no egg, so no worry!

I think the end of classes is having a bigger emotional impact on me than I expected. Saying goodbye to a law class that I'd had for both semesters, I got teary eyed. It doesn't take much for me to cry, but thinking about my students, who I'd come to know so well & understand how to work with, facing intimidating professors in an even more intimidating university system switched me into big sister mode. I wanted to protect them, to do more for them. I wanted to stay with them and remind them that a bad grade isn't the end of your ability. It's just an adjustment: You have to relearn how to read the figures. You have to figure out what the grades really mean and what you can really expect–what they really expect from you.

They're all capable. I want to sit on their shoulders and whisper that to them. I want them to stick with it and use their law degrees to change the world in ways I know they can. I've heard their ideas–from human rights policy reform to adjusting hiring practices to limit race and gender discrimination in the workplace. These are the moments they need to remember–when they sat in a group of four and forced themselves to use vocabulary they barely knew to create original ideas about what law should be.

I'm leaving them. Toward the end of class, when they started getting excited and loud, I reminded them that they only had 20 more minutes to deal with me. Twenty minutes, then they wouldn't even have to think of me being on the same continent. I was startled by how much that statement affected me. I'm leaving them, and in a way it feels like abandonment. Like I'm failing them. Like they could, in some way, need me.

Then I remind myself that of the 30 professors I worked with during college, I remember four our five–or I remember names, but not their course. They have years left for the real professors, the mentors and the ones that matter, to step in & push the crazy, married American girl to the back of their minds like that one class I took on world civilizations that only met once a month. Who was that guy again?

I'll miss teaching. I'll miss walking into that hot room & shouting for them to be quiet. I'll miss fearing that they'll one day ask a question I can't answer. I'll miss them assuming that I don't speak French. I'll miss being inspired by them to make myself into a teacher I'd never imagined–never thought I wanted–myself to be. We did a lot of learning together.

canard à l'orange

Sabrina, a girl I've gotten to know a bit here in Nancy, goes hunting with her dad. There is a large woods behind our apartment, stretching off into the hills. I look at this woods now & wonder if this is where they go. We hear shots from time to time, & now I have a face that I like to put with them.

One day on campus, Sabrina came up to me. She explained that she & her father had gotten several ducks. They couldn't eat them all. Would I like one?

When in France, do as the French do.

Without a second's hesitation, I said yes–I would LOVE to try our hand at preparing duck, & it would be wonderful to know that it came from our region of France & someone we know instead of some nasty, polluting mega-farm. These are the conditions under which I allow myself to eat meat.

Hold the phone. This means that I have to touch a bloody duck & mess with it until its skin turns golden? I have to watch its blood thaw in a cold water bath all day? Yes, on both counts.

And I did it. We'd had the duck in the freezer for about a week, & I finally had time to dedicate myself to preparing it. Sabrina was kind enough to include her recipe for canard à l'orange (the traditional duck with orange sauce). Like most French recipes, it is a labor of love–one that connects you rather intimately to your meal over the several hours of preparing it.

Joe & I cleaned mushrooms, sliced onions, peeled carrots & prepared sauces while our duck's skin got to goldening in the oven. I did the duck myself: the draining, the slicing of its skin, the removing of fat. Thankfully, it came to us cleaned & ready for cooking. I just had to deal with looking at the neck. I'm not used to meat yet, having never really cooked it for myself (other than the few steaks Joe & I ate or the sausage I cooked for gravy).

The apartment was smelling great. We were getting hungry. The duck was sizzling & soaking up sauces. We took turns pouring spoons of the sauce back over the duck. The buzzer went. We set the duck on the table.

Then, we realized that we had not looked up how to cut the duck apart. We also have no knives, except for our "office knife" (a post about this little miracle man coming soon). It's sharp, trusty & ready for action, so we attacked the duck with it. The pieces weren't the prettiest. We had duck grease up to our eyeballs, but that golden skin & dark meat were so delicious I was about ready to pick up the carcass & chow on it for a while.

We also had loads of extra sauce with the vegetables, since there were only the two of us, which means the meal pulled double cooking duty: nice dinner to celebrate the official start of Christmas vacation & the base of a soup.

I ate slowly, mopped the soup up with our baguette, followed it with a warm cup of tea & felt remarkably accomplished for the night. We're set to try more French recipes over break, so I really needed this one to go well. My French food-cooking confidence is up 3 points. I'm ready for adventure...

...though I admittedly need to continue with prepared, rather bloodless pieces of meat. I stopped by the butcher to get some bacon for the sauce. Next to the lines of pork sausages & chunks of lamb were skinned rabbits with their eyeballs staring back at me. I needed a second to let the tears drain from my eyes before I could order the "cent grams de lardons." 

All I could picture was my poor little Baby, who is happily running around my parents' living room. What will I do without her? (So far without her in France, I've just been crying every few days & looking at the too numerous pictures I took of her.) But now I have this skinless image that has become what I see of when I think of her dying. 

Maybe I'll look up some meatless French recipes first?

P.S. I've started our Christmas album on my flickr. See the pictures here.

Let's talk about Metz

This weekend was a huge mess of travel, friends, unexpected work and too much food. It was capped off by a lovely visit to Metz with Lauren & Michael, whom we met via this blog.

Lauren & Michael are on the opposite side of the newly-married-moving-to-France experience: They'll be heading home in mid-December, so we're trying to get as many visits to each other in as possible. We have so much in common, & keeping finding even more, in the oddest places–this time, we learned that Michael know the fiancé of Courtney, who just posted about Joe & I.

We got into town, took a nice tour around the city (lots of pictures seen here). The highlight of the tour was a stop to the cathedral. Since they've had more than a year in Metz already, their tour put our little trot around Nancy to shame! They explained that the cathedral was two different churches at one time, but the walls between were removed to create one massive–truly unthinkable in size–cathedral. It is one of the largest in Europe, and it may have more stained glass than any in Europe.

One of the most captivating things about the cathedral were the panels done by surrealist Marc Chagall. Joe & I both have a strong interest in surrealism, so it was neat to see the name Chagall, which I could just recognize, come to life in such an amazing way for us. The panels' colors seem to blend and come to life in a way I didn't know was possible for glass to do.

It was also neat to see the cathedral under restoration. They're currently working on the middle, so with this full shot you can see the restored front half of the cathedral (down to each brick that was replaced) and what the decades of industrialization had done to the color of the stone. I was blown away by the difference. How lucky to see what the original stone looked like, and what a fascinating job.

After the long walk around the city, we were ready for a good meal... and they delivered. We were treated to tons of great snacks, desserts (too much & then seconds on the train ride home) and one of their favorite French recipes, chicken fricase (similar recipe found here). They used Julia Child's recipe, and I was bright green with envy.

I had wanted to buy the cookbooks before we came, as I'm determined to understand French traditions & classic recipes, but the heft of the books made it impossible. It was great to get a small taste of what I'll be making all the time when we get home... & they knocked this recipe out of the park.

It was hard to wait through all the great smells–chicken, fresh herbs, tons of butter & warming cream. They even made their own noodles that morning, so every part of the meal was homemade.

To make a great day even better, they've decided to give us their small oven & the spices they've accumulated over their time here before they head back to the States. I can't wait, & I'm sure you readers can't either. It means I'll finally stop complaining about my limited cooking ability & recipe constrictions. After that, all Betz are off & we'll be spending a lot more time together in the "kitchen."

I cannot wait. I spent the train ride home (for the small portion I was awake) alternating between the first pages of Into a French Quarter & imagining what recipes we'll make first. Oh, did I not mention that we stopped by a book sharing shelf & scored seven books (Into a French Quarter coming from Lauren's previous finds)? I fell asleep with a very full belly & a very happy heart, as one always should when living in France.

it's beginning to look a lot like...

winter. But that means soon the Christmas markets will start. It also means that my students are already eager to share their Christmas traditions with me.

I've briefly mentioned some of the awesome things I'm gaining from my students. Last night was our first Monday Pub Night in a few weeks due to the break. All of the regulars turned up, & there were a lot of new faces, too. So many students come out to the Irish pub to practice their English that it's difficult for the lecteurs to talk to all of them.

One of my students that always comes but that I rarely get a chance to speak to had talked to Joe at the last Pub Night. She told him about her favorite Christmas treats–clementines, the fruit of Christmas, & chocolate-covered gingerbread. She said it's her family's traditional treat, & she wanted us to try them.

This week when she got to Pub Night, she pulled out a large, heavy, red box from her bag. "It's all in German," she said, "but they're a French thing." The box is filled wit the gingerbread Christmas cakes she was telling us about (see a picture here). Joe, being the responsible adult that he is, said he was excited to try them when we got home. I, being the fat kid hidden in a woman's body that I am, busted open the box & grabbed a heart-shaped cake.

I'm excited to bring this treat home, though I haven't quite figured out if the tradition began in Germany or France. I do know that they taste like your mom's gingerbread covered in chocolate that reminds you of those little Hostess donuts you buy at gas station's. I know this isn't the best description, but it was an unbelievable taste of home. The flavor reminded me of Mom (the gingerbread) & Dad (the donuts, which he loves... only he prefers the coconut).

The also serve as a great breakfast. Though we don't have clementines at the moment, we do have very tangy citrus juice. Awesome flavor combination. I guess it's the same idea as putting lemon pudding on gingerbread, which is how I remember eating it at home.

I'm trying to figure out the best way to bring this recipe home for my loved ones in the states next year. They're relatively cheap to cheat & buy on this site, but there are also a few recipes that look pretty great. Apparently, this chocolate/gingerbread combo is a hit (though I'll always be partial to ones completely coated in a thick layer of chocolate).

Here are the best recipes I've found so far:
1. Chocolate-covered Gingerbread Kids (for the young ones & young at heart)
2. a more elegant Chocolate Gingerbread (for the fancy grown ups)
3. a sinful Chocolate Gingerbread with Icing (for those, like me, that need chocolate in & on their cake)

fixing myself

Each Sunday, Joe & I spend more time making food, sitting down & enjoying it for a long time. Yesterday after Mass, we headed to the grocery store around the corner (luckily open until 1 p.m. on Sundays) to pick up some fresh supplies.

Apparently, this is a very common idea. After Mass, there must have been a parade of Catholics en route to the grocery. It was packed! People were reaching and grabbing for mushrooms or Belgian endive like it was Black Friday. We grabbed a couple of ingredients for this steak au poivre recipe, & I prepared myself to make my first French sauce.

I was excited for the time in the kitchen, because my awkward anxiety from lack of real activity had been exhausting me. I needed to get my hands going on something tangible, so before unpacking the groceries all the way, I was setting myself to work slicing mushrooms (which we added to the sauce) and preparing potatoes (to make home fries, not the recommended fries). My hands were flying. Bowls of fresh ingredients surrounded me. I was covered in raw meat juice (not something I'd usually be very happy about).

I refuse to accept that no measuring cups was really at the heart of the sauce's thinness. I don't feel that I added to much stock or wine... I feel I've learned to use my eye as a measuring tool with enough accuracy to get by. I do, however, accept the blame. This is a solid recipe. I am not yet a solid sauce maker.

Now, I've mentioned before that I'm not very good at cooking rice or pasta. I'm generally not very good at boiling. I believe this is where my sauce broke down. In a hurry to not burn the potatoes or make Joe's stomach growl (or mine growl any louder), I tried to rush the sauce. I turned the heat up a bit to make the wine evaporate more quickly.

Fail. I added the rest of the liquid and set it all to simmering too quickly. The sauce was thin, flooding the plate and the herbed potatoes. I was disappointed. But, in the spirit of Julia Child, I refused to be beaten. The sauce was delicious; the meat was delicious; we were hungry & happy to share the meal. My hands were more at peace.

While Betty Friedan gives us this quote...

No woman gets an orgasm from shining the kitchen floor.

...and Ayn Rand describes preparing meals as a circular event leading nowhere & therefore an invalid way to spend one's time, I have to say that I get lots of pleasure out of doing the small things to make our lives easier, happier & tastier. But it was my choice, & this is the difference. This is the essence of feminism–the right to make decisions about where we work & what our role in the home is; to share the world fully with men. Dishes & food preparation were not prescribed to me. I found enjoyment in them for myself; I do it because it pleases me. I do it by choice–and feminism began as the push to give us these choices.

So today, I'll let Joe do the laundry while I read more Atlas Shrugged & prepare more lesson plans. We'll fix meals together & figure out more of what our roles are in this marriage, because they are not static; they are never assigned by anyone but we two. It's not an effort to get near 50-50. It's an effort to find enjoyment & purpose in the things we have to do, to share in them & feel we're working toward the same goal.

Next up in my French cooking adventures, I'll be even more bold. I've been a bit scared out of it by the small failure of the sauce, but I refuse to back down. French cooking tradition will not beat me! I'll be doing the most famous emulsion in the food world: mayonnaise. While I'd love to snag a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, it's too heavy for my suitcase; we'll instead be using this mayonnaise recipe from Alton Brown.

I know what you're thinking. "You're going to get fat. You just eat eggs, cheese, bread and a TON of mayonnaise." False. Well. Ok, false for now. We eat in moderation, and we balance mayonnaise with meals composed mostly of vegetables. Also, we could be eating this, & we're not. So there.

fall break: breaking down

This post would be more accurate if the heading read, "Bitching," but it doesn't, and here we are. Today, there  several things were supposed to happen. Like laundry. Like scrubbing the walls before we're eaten alive by some sort of mildew from letting our apartment get so humid. Like finishing my graduate school essays. (Not getting on myself too hard for that one–I've made serious progress.)

Instead, I have spent most of the day looking at this computer screen. I'm not completely complaining. I got a chance to catch up on my friend's blog. She's off doing really cool things that help a lot of people, and she's really outstanding at writing about it. I've caught up on my favorite source of creative nonfiction, Brevity.

I went through a (20 minute) phase where I realized that my life was in no way significant to the rest of the world & I have nothing truly unique to contribute. (After reading my friend's bog.) I went through a subsequent phase where I had a blast of childhood memories & realized that I must write it all down & save it until it connects to something else & forms that magical thing we search for in creative nonfiction, Relatable–or if I'm realyl lucky, Meaningful. (After reading Brevity. Funny how inspiration & self-inflicted emotional abuse work.)

I then decided to be really ambitious & start actually trying to publish more work. (So far, I've been lucky enough to get something in Ball State's literary journal, Broken Plate.) Joe's been pushing me toward this, but I'm embarrassed & afraid. Today, I submitted to two. I don't expect much, but I'm proud of myself for doing it.

This is when things started going downhill. I got on Poets & Writers' web site to look for a database of creative nonfiction journals. (Joe uses Duotrope. Duotrope pretends that nonfiction does not exist, but it's helped him a lot.) So it turns out I can find a ton of stuff to get rejected by on P&W any day, at any hour (check it).

So that was nice, but I wasn't really getting to the core issue that I'd been struggling since with waking up today. Something felt off. My hands felt restless. My feet were bouncing. I was struggling to stay in my chair, to keep my computer balanced on my lap through all of the tossing & turning I was doing–which then caused me to roll around on the floor, since the chair has wheels. I need something. I need to be doing something.

Lauren, my American friend here, & I found cooking classes, but we've yet to register for them. Perhaps there's some subconscious fear at work here? I know that this is what's really getting to me. That, and it's the craft season. I should be carving pumpkins, decorating cookies, making paper chains, painting Christmas ornaments. I should be baking goods to plump up my friends to help them get through the winter. But I am sitting in my apartment with nowhere to go that doesn't require me to spend money. My eyes are tired from so much reading & staring at letters. (But I'm wearing my glasses, guys. I promise.)

My hands have nothing to dig into. They're not even getting to hold a pen as it cruises down the page of my notebook. I'm all digital lately. When I started to admit that this is what's happening, I was getting ready to ask Joe if we could go do some Christmas shopping. I then looked at the date & knew this was not a good time (& wouldn't be for at least another month) to ask this question.

I did what I always do in these moments: I scanned the Internet for recipes & began a list of French cuisine that I'm going to make in our apartment before we move out. I keep tossing around the idea of getting groceries–justifying shopping as a thing to do, making it better by saying it's only for the necessary foodstuffs. I keep looking at recipes & preparing ingredient lists that I could build into our food budget, so that we can try something new tonight. Like steak & pepper sauce, which I used to get nervous at eating because I hated meat. Like corn fritters, which I've never THOUGHT about making. They're FRIED, for Pete's sake! And this is me. I'm afraid to eat two cookies in a month.

I want to warm up. I want to busy myself with a productive activity. I want to trick myself into thinking that anything is productive. I want to feel like I'm able to accomplish something after the nervous emotions that come with writing & the idea of publication. I also want my family & the space we share in my parents' kitchen. I want a table covered with sprinkles & my little cousins decorating pumpkin-shaped cookies. I want family, & if I have to, I will make them with flour & sugar & a skillet instead of an oven.

fall break goal 2: new recipes

Today, I'm taking a break from social media (with the exception of this blog post) & e-mail writing to focus on my graduate school applications. So close! I'm also doing day two of the One Hundred Push Ups challenge, which I've now challenged Joe & my sister to join in on... we'll see what happens.

As I mentioned in my previous post with the new pasta recipe, I'm really trying to teach myself some new recipes.

I'm a nervous person. I get anxious, stressed & over-worked on a regular basis. I create to-do lists, goal lists, grocery lists & lists of lists. I'm so good at list-writing that I tend to make them too long, stressing me out before the day has even begun.

To balance out the frightening, heavy things on my to-do lists, I give myself baking & reading breaks. Pouring myself into a story or pushing my hands through the dough of a recipe work to calm me down like nothing else can. So when I'm frustrated with reading in French, I get more frustrated that I can't bake anything. I curse our two hotplates.

I've been looking for new ways to calm myself down–yoga, 100 push ups, knitting. So far, I got too busy for yoga & didn't want to spend the money on yarn. I'm failing at keeping myself calm. I knew that nothing was going to replace my traditional meditative activities, so I've been researching dessert recipes & even knew meal recipes (though making desserts & treats for people is the best feeling to help me lower my stress level). Here enters recipe number two of our fall break: pain perdu, or French-style French toast.

Pain perdu literally translates to "lost bread." French bread has no preservatives, so after a day without eating a baguette, you've made yourself a nice doorstop. To use the old bread, the dip it in vanilla-infused sugar, milk & eggs. Sound familiar? It's similar to our French toast, but that recipe is traditionally Spanish*. You guessed it. If it says "French," it's probably not. (Like French fries, but who would want to say "Belgian fries"* and lost the nice alliteration?)

This is the recipe I used. It's in French, but it's simple: 1/2 liter of milk, 2 eggs, 50 g of sugar + 2 packets of vanilla sugar (or 60 g of sugar + 1 tsp vanilla), 6 chunks of old, thick bread, 100 g of butter. You know what to do from here.

Now, I don't even pretend to understand how much a gram of anything is. I do know that I make a mean batch of French toast, so I cut the proportions in half, because 1/2 a liter is way too much for six pieces of bread! I just guessed until it look about right.

Similar to the milk, you're looking at a lot of butter.

A lot.

Do not be alarmed. It is France. You've watched Julia Child. You knew this was coming. Cut the butter back, but make sure you've left enough to leave a decent layer in the bottom of the pan so that these soggy chunks of sugary, milky flour are really frying.

Joe was still asleep when I turned on the coffee maker & dropped in the first slices of bread. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I'm hoping the sweet butter scent mixed with the coffee that wafted up at me made the early morning wake up pleasant. I know that it was pleasant for me.

People tell you this, but you don't believe it until you really do it for yourself: everything cooks better with real butter. Everything. Joe & I have been cooking with a lot of butter lately, because it's easy to find fresh, inexpensive & unsalted, unplayed-with butter here. The creamy, sweet flavor & golden brown coating it gives foods is unparalleled.

I bring this up, because I hate the debate about which is better for you: margarine or butter? While it's true that margarine has no cholesterol*, it also true that most margarines have a long list of ingredients that aren't found in nature.

I wish I could find links to the studies I've read that support this, but stay with me for a minute. It's touched on here. The problem with these miracle, low-calorie, zero-carb replacements filling the shelves is that their put through long chemical processes to get that way. We haven't had time to study what these products do to the human body. Our body is working on them in some way, but if it's not burning calories to turn them into energy, then is it storing them? Can they be converted into energy, since calories are how we measure a food's energy potential?

This is all I'm saying for now: Look at the perception we have of French obesity rates versus American obesity rates. Look at the prevalence of fast food in each culture. There is a lot to be said for focusing on moderation & natural foods with shorter, comprehensible ingredient lists instead of opting for the trendy packaging that says, "Don't you look smart? This candy has no sugar & no carbs!"

Remember: Those frozen TV dinners were once fashionable, too.

fall break goal 1: new recipes

There are a couple of recipes that I am determined to cram into this week. That means some extra grocery budgeting, but since we're not traveling & since my main goal for this year (err... outside of French fluency) is to increase my cooking abilities.

Joe loves pasta. This is partially because he has a genuine affection for Italian food (namely pizza) & partially because we could afford it when we couldn't afford much else. I don't get very excited about pasta. I've recently discovered that this is because I like my pasta al dente... but I am not good at boiling things, so it's never done properly. (This is why Joe always makes our pasta & any dish involving rice.)

So, after seeing a grocery list on a friend's blog that include ingredients for pasta carbonara, I decided to try the recipe out. I love dairy, and Joe loves black pepper, so the cream-pepper-egg-cheese sauce seems like a good fit. Then after some recipe searching, I discovered that many "traditional" carbonara recipes opt for white wine instead of cream. We decided to try that–an excuse to try more wine, eat less cream & taste a whole different style of pasta.

Here is the carbonara recipe that I settled on. But more important than finding the right recipe for me this time was finding the right set of tips. I wanted this pasta to be perfectly al dente, & I wanted to make traditional Italian food in the traditional Italian style–not just with Italian ingredients. I found two Italians that helped me get my things in order (one & two). Here are the main things to take away:

1. Do not rinse your pasta. Let the starches stay, & throw the noodles into the sauce. This helps the two bind together, & you don't get that pool of water on your plate (the other thing that made me dislike pasta). This means that the salt you add to the water really will make the pasta better, because it pulls out even more starchy goodness.

2. Unless otherwise noted, the cooking time on the box is for al dente pasta.

3. Don't throw the flavor out with the pasta water! Before draining the noodles, add a few tablespoons of the water into your sauce. Drain your pasta & throw it back into the pot it cooked in; pour the sauce over the pasta.

Success! The pasta ended up being a rapid-cooking pasta made mostly of quinoa (found in the fair trade section, so a bit unconventional). We also tried to cut down on the bacon & cheese weight by throwing in a LOT of steamed (ok, boiled lightly since we don't have a steamer) cauliflower. It went perfectly with the recipe & meant we needed a lot less pasta.

Next up: graduate school applications, but more importantly the classic pancake (filled with fruity bits & nuts, like I gorged myself on at Heartland Café in Chicago). I wish I could do fig galettes, since figs are everywhere here. I'm going to find a way to whine about not having an oven in every post.

Goal for tomorrow morning: start on the fitness track again. By Christmas, I want to be doing 100 push-ups & 200 sit-ups.

married. friends.

It's hard to pass a day without someone responding, "Oh, you mean boyfriend?" when I mention my husband. No, I'm married. We're in our 20s. We're not evangelical Christians. We're not ready to settle down. We're still out having adventures, figuring out what our life's purpose is, thinking about the next step.

This weekend, we got a chance to be around another young, American married couple who are bombarded by the same questions. We both give the same answers: It's nice to come home to your best friend after a day of being in a culture you don't understand; it's exciting to have two people looking for their next step & figure out where those two points come together.

It was our first time hanging out with another married couple–a married double-date of sorts. And it was our first time trying to show people around Nancy. We stuck to the Medieval part of town, walking along the Grand Rue lined with quaint shops & cafés. Unfortunately, the Catholics were out in a fervor doing some mission work, so we got asked about 10 different times if we wanted to stop into the cathedral for a presentation and cookies.

I told them I'd see them at mass tomorrow, and we went ahead to Place Stanislas for a coffee and a Diablo–this was actually interesting, because I said, "Diablo menthe" and the waiter said, "Strawberry?" I was confused. My response to confusion is smiling and nodding, so I got strawberry. Equally refreshing... but bizarre.

Even more bizarre is how we came to be friends with Lauren & Michael, two Americans finishing up their year and a half living in Metz, a town close to Nancy. Lauren knows Ashley, blog superstar with success on (never)homemaker, from high school. I asked (never)homemaker to throw me onto their blogroll. Lauren then found me there, checked out the blog & found out that we have a ton in common.

Meet Lauren & Michael of Metzing Around.

Lauren went to the Culinary Institute of America, so we share a passion for cooking (the difference being she really knows what she's doing). I was really excited when she offered to bring some food for dinner. The original idea was to picnic, but they the autumn weather came back after a sunny streak. We moved back to the apartment to eat the pan bagnat–"wet bread" in the Niçard (Nice/Southern France) dialect. I love sandwiches, and I love tangy flavors. This tangy sandwich (filled with what is basically a niçoise salad) is absolute heaven. I'm excited to travel so that we can pack it to bring along.


Michael is an engineering student at the Georgia Tech campus in Metz, the reason for their travels. He & Joe had fun talking about science & soccer while Lauren & I talked about cooking, Food Inc, Michael Pollan & how to feed a family safely... among other things, but you can tell which part got my blood pumping.

When Lauren found me, she started noticing odd things that we have in common. Like Michael growing up in a small town close to where Joe & I went to school AND in a small town (Russia) near the town where I grew up. Then we were married at the same age, came to France quickly after & are in love with French culture.

Unfortunately, our new friends are moving back to the states in December. In a way, this makes things even more exciting–what other similarities will pop up? Where will we each end up? Will we visit each other? How long will it take us to set up the homesteads we want?

a good, good day

Today is the greatest day that I have ever known.
-Smashing Pumpkins, Today

Well, yesterday was. It started with the mail. Joe and I have been checking the mailbox an average of three times a day for the last three weeks, and we still hadn’t seen any sign of our bankcards. But on Tuesday, there were two cards in the mailbox—birthday cards! My family has an insane ability to find cards that are perfect for people, and they’re now hanging on my wall.

When I read the birthday messages, I knew that things were going to sort themselves out. I set myself to chopping up zucchini for lunch, a dish I’d been craving as I started to get more homesick. If you dip the zucchini slices in flour, then dip them into egg before dropping them into the hot oil or butter, they fry up with a taste that reminds me so much of my grandma’s fried pumpkin blossoms. I miss Ohio.

While I was dropping zucchini slices into the pan, Joe arrived with the bread for our lunch and a special surprise, our favorite pastry. I don’t want to give too much away, because we’re still trying to figure out what all is inside this guy. All I know for now is we’re eating for too many of them, and the green sprinkles on top make me feel like I’m five years old.

And it just kept going! After filling ourselves with pastries, we walked to the bank and found out that our cards were ready, had been ready for an unknown number of days. We activated them, walked out the bank doors and right into the discount stores: cleaning supplies, slippers (to stay off of the dusty hardwood floor finally), a clothes drying rack, a winter coat, ideas of cell phone plans. It felt glorious!

On the walk home (walking quickly so that the pizza we snagged wouldn’t get too cold in the surprisingly chilled evening air), I felt like we were finally living here. We’d tried it the American way: go to the bank everyday until you get what you want. Ask and keep asking. We tried it the French way: wait, then ask, then wait for something to happen. Now we just need to figure out what questions we should have been asking, what to ask next and how to keep our electricity on.

I led a discussion group for students that want English practice yesterday. The assigned topic was “stereotypes.” They told me that I should be obese, that I love fast food, that I make horrible movies that they love to watch, that I can’t find any other country on a map. They told me that they are smelly, rude and distant. I disagreed on all accounts. I’m learning how to find the warmth in French people. It’s all in the asking.

You are required to ask for help. They work on the assumption you know what you’re doing. But you also have to ask in the right way—in the end, what is it that you really need to happen? How can the person you’re talking to give it to you? Then you have to really listen—not just because it’s another language, but because there are tons of details in the way they say things that help you figure out (1) what you should absolutely do and (2) what you can get around and do your own way.

So we’re really living now. We’re learning the system, which I admit would take more than the year we have here to really understand. We’re getting reconnected to the world outside our apartment and the library room where we steal Internet. We’re navigating, floating now with more than just our chins above the water.

foooood

Joe & I have been enjoying the change of seasons, especially when it comes to our eating habits. This past weekend, we spent our Sunday afternoon in Lunéville (more pictures here). They were celebrating their agricultural phenomenon, the potimarron. I love many things about this: small-town festivals, gourds, fall colors, fall flavors, French people gathered in large numbers.

We walked around town for a bit before finding our way to the castle's garden and into the stretch of open cobblestone where they were holding the festival. I couldn't get over how many different kinds of gourds were for sale–and jams made from the gourds! And honey infused with gourd flavor! And soup for sale! We sat down with a warm bowl of soupe de potimarron, made fresh from local products and on sale for a euro and a half. (I feel like I stole something.) 

It was like a dinner theater: Across from us, a man were breaking wood to heat a brick oven while another man prepared the rising dough to be proofed, baked and tossed around on one of those huge wooden paddles. The customers came up and, in their particular way, asked for the bread cooked exactly to their liking. Well done. Still squishy. Fresh from the oven. As old as possible. The heat from the oven and the excitement of the families for their fresh bread let me forget how cold my toes were in their little flats. 

After eating, we headed out to snag some Where's Joe's Head? pictures. Be sure to check out the seasonal updates, including our most challenging picture yet!

Joe & I have been keeping plenty warm in our apartment as well. We discovered that our little heater (basically a space heater, since our studio is so "compact") does not require gas! Cha-ching. We've been lettin' her run when we're home, sticking a towel at the door to block the draft & remembering to turn down the heat at night and when we leave for the day. How responsible are these adults? When we still feel an extra chill, look at the sun coming in the window & curl up with our coffee. Joe snagged this great picture of it.

Last time we went to the fruit and vegetable store, we noticed that they had switched to their fall wardrobe, too. We've started to buy heartier vegetables, more roots and dense foods. The goal is to rotate them and have something new each week, so that we can fall in love with as many foods as possible. This week: our first batch of Brussels sprouts for the year. They were blanched, sautéd with walnuts in butter and then tossed with the stinkiest blue cheese ever. Obviously, we smelled great afterwards... but if this side dish doesn't warm your belly & heart, I don't know what will.

Time to go buy bread for the day.

8: busy, but enjoying it (change)

Yesterday was an incredibly busy day. And I loved every minute of it. I was running around the house–in the kitchen, chasing Baby around the bedroom and relaxation in the TV room...

My sister and I have started doing yoga together, with a video that I just got (and is the best I've seen so far). We tried Jillian's yoga, which is not yoga and is actually terrible and miserable and made me like her less. So Chloe and I spend 40 minutes a day with Rodney Yee, a professional ballet dancer, on the TV and stretch across the floor. We look silly. We laugh. We relax. We feel better.

A lot of things made me feel better yesterday, actually. Like spending four hours scraping old caulk from windows with my dad and fiancé. Like making iced red tea with raw sugar. Like cleaning up the whole kitchen and chugging a glass of freshly filtered water. Like being home while Joe went back to work and making tons of food to surprise him.

We've talked about this. I don't like the idea of the expectations put on women–to provide the home life. I want it 50/50. And it is. We both love coming home to the other's surprises, whether its him making me green beans or me cleaning his apartment. Or in the case of today, it was me making Garlicky White Bean Crostini. (I forget where this recipe comes from.)

I put together our food processor, which always reminds me of the Silver Monkey. Then, I tossed this inside:
1 15-oz can of Cannellini (white kidney) beans
2-4 garlic cloves
3 tablespoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/4 teaspoon sea salt + 1/4 teaspoon pepper
2 teaspoons fresh basil, chopped (my homegrown basil, I might add)

I pulsed this until it was a chunky mixture, then I tossed it in the fridge. It will be put on top of thinly sliced, lightly toasted baguette (hence the "crostini").

Joe and I love finding recipes with beans, since neither of us enjoy eating meat really. Ok, we enjoy it but we don't trust it. This is my soap box and I will stand on it firmly. So beans are a big source of our protein, healthy fats, fiber and fullness. This is a new recipe for us. I suggest adding a little spice, since the white kidneys are a bit bland... maybe oregano to bring a more Italian flavor or cumin for a smoky spice. (I would put cumin on absolutely everything if people let me.)

A million e-mails and wedding details got sorted out... and I'm fighting the urge to decorate the shelter we will have our rehearsal dinner at. I saw a great spread on Design*Sponge (something I stare at too frequently), and I'd love to have a similar casual feel. We'll be at a park, surrounded by playgrounds and ball diamonds, so it would work out nicely. We just don't want to invest the money, but part of me is saying, "So what? Have some fun with it." We'll see. For now, I'll just get back to finishing the place cards and thank-you card early addressing. (Again, we're so so efficient.)