here's a good idea? take a pretty purple eggplant and a few zucchini, slice them up, marinate them in fresh olive oil, sea salt, and herbs, roast them over an open flame...and then toss them in a bowl and go at 'em with a Magic Bullet to create the perfect French meal: Jell-O a'la Provence. these French made goop out of everything -- leftover poultry innards (chicken liver pate), fish eggs (caviar), smoked salmon (salmon terrine), and even their pancakes are a little stretchy and slimy (crepes). oh, and most goop was served cold. 
i thought the British had the Euro-reputation for bad teeth, so i am unsure why the French feel the need to make meals fit for Springfield Retirement Castle. i actually like chewing my food. and i like all of those items listed above. maybe the blender is the dirty little secret of Le Cordon Bleu.
my traveling companions kept commenting, as they slurped their jellied caramel creme desserts, on their inability to deal, not with the (really fantastic) flavor of cuisine française, but the texture. which brings up a little bit about said companions.
i like meeting people; sort of like i like doing jigsaw puzzles. you know when you meet someone, and you just barely break the surface? it's all polite small-talk and "where are you from?" you mull over facades and first impressions, twisting around the pieces. i found it really nice to take a gamble with some girls that i didn't know all that well and spend some time travelling with them. i learn so much about myself and what i value, whilst having a great time learning about them. the little journey we make from fuzzy impression to multi-dimension.
i won't go into too much detail, but it was fun to reveal -- preferences (things Brent-sized), favorites (pearls), hobbies (playing ball), and memories (getting it -- a new car for Christmas that is). and we all prefer red wine. perfect!
oh, and the question we've all been waiting for: Are the French really assholes? actually, not the ones we met. everyone was so helpful and friendly. no fewer than three people helped guide us through the many 18-point-Austin-Powers-style turns through the medieval streets of Arles. our wine guide was polite and fun. a group of French teens pulled over and gave us directions when they stopped beeping and realized we weren't retarded, but lost. sure, every culture has assholes, and the Parisians have a reputation of being some of the worst on the planet, but mostly these Provencal French folks were happy to host us in les sud de la France. but we had 10 boobs on our side, too.
and now i can order a coffee with milk in three languages. i'm cafe fluent!
i thought the British had the Euro-reputation for bad teeth, so i am unsure why the French feel the need to make meals fit for Springfield Retirement Castle. i actually like chewing my food. and i like all of those items listed above. maybe the blender is the dirty little secret of Le Cordon Bleu.
my traveling companions kept commenting, as they slurped their jellied caramel creme desserts, on their inability to deal, not with the (really fantastic) flavor of cuisine française, but the texture. which brings up a little bit about said companions.
i like meeting people; sort of like i like doing jigsaw puzzles. you know when you meet someone, and you just barely break the surface? it's all polite small-talk and "where are you from?" you mull over facades and first impressions, twisting around the pieces. i found it really nice to take a gamble with some girls that i didn't know all that well and spend some time travelling with them. i learn so much about myself and what i value, whilst having a great time learning about them. the little journey we make from fuzzy impression to multi-dimension.
i won't go into too much detail, but it was fun to reveal -- preferences (things Brent-sized), favorites (pearls), hobbies (playing ball), and memories (getting it -- a new car for Christmas that is). and we all prefer red wine. perfect!
oh, and the question we've all been waiting for: Are the French really assholes? actually, not the ones we met. everyone was so helpful and friendly. no fewer than three people helped guide us through the many 18-point-Austin-Powers-style turns through the medieval streets of Arles. our wine guide was polite and fun. a group of French teens pulled over and gave us directions when they stopped beeping and realized we weren't retarded, but lost. sure, every culture has assholes, and the Parisians have a reputation of being some of the worst on the planet, but mostly these Provencal French folks were happy to host us in les sud de la France. but we had 10 boobs on our side, too.
and now i can order a coffee with milk in three languages. i'm cafe fluent!
1 comments:
Glad to hear you guys had a good time, despite the less-than-appealing or appetizing cuisine. Aaron and I must have really lucked out with our meals in Arles because we did not end up with a single jello-fied dish. Maybe his year of two of French in high school really did pay off for us. At least you can't go wrong with cafe and vin(o)!
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