SpazzleNET

Energy bombs.  Ask any bartender to make you one, and I’m certain that his response will be, “What the HECK is an energy bomb?”

Any bartender except our friendly (and somewhat creepy?) Irishmen from the Corcoran’s Irish Pub, that is.

Melanie, Dan, Kevin and I decided to check out an Irish pub (surprise!) here in the Latin Quarter, which is about a 15 minute walk from my apartment.  We met up at the nearby metro stop and made the trek over, luckily snagging a table as a group of girls were leaving.  They had a pretty large cocktail menu that was overflowing with inappropriate, mostly sexual names: Sex on the Beach, Orgasm, and (the most repugnant and unfortunately my drink of choice last evening), Cunnilingus King.  We were all enjoying our overpriced, Parisian cocktails over several games of rock, paper, scissors, which is Kevin’s favorite game, particularly when drinking.  Quite merrily, Dan throws 20 euro at Kevin and tells him to buy himself a drink, and to order him something absolutely ridiculous.  Kevin, being the excellent friend he is, asked the bartender for the craziest thing he could think of, a request which he met with what we now know as the Energy Bomb.

The drink came in a series of three glasses: a double shot glass filled with Jagermeister, a mini-pint glass (ha, I don’t know how much it holds, but I’d guess it’s about 1/3 of the size of a regular pint glass) filled with Red Bull and vodka, and then a full-sized pint glass filled about halfway with a lovely mixture of gin, rum, and a bit of cranberry juice.  To properly consume this (highly alcoholic) beverage, you must drop the smallest shot glass into the mini-pint glass, then drop those two into the regular pint glass, and chug-a-lug until it’s all gone.

Dan sat staring at the three glasses, contemplating the impending results and most likely saying a prayer that he make it home (read: my apartment) and into bed (read: my couch).  With one final nod to the world, he began to drink.  Seconds later, he had finished his energy bomb.  Unsure of what to make of his expressionless face, Melanie and I scooted back a bit, fearing the worst.  After a minute, however, he let out a cackle and started laughing.  Success!

Over the span of a couple of hours, two more Energy Bombs were had by Kevin.  He earned Dan and himself two free sleeveless tees (in sizes suitable for a 12 year-old, pre-pubescent girl), two hats, and two bracelets.  Melanie and I also got some free stuff, but didn’t need to consume excessive amounts of alcohol; simply smiled sweetly and asked.

Overall, a fun night was had by all at Corcoran’s.

Today was pretty low-key.  I stayed in and worked on some of the reading assignments I have due tomorrow evening for my French class on the history of European politics.  Although the reading amount would have been manageable if it were in English, it wasn’t; everything was in French, and it took me several hours to merely skim the five articles.  It’s pretty frustrating, and I’m not really sure if it’s going to get significantly easier as the semester goes on.  We’ll see how it goes.

On a better note, Melanie, Dan, Kevin and I booked our trip to Belgium!  We’re leaving on Friday morning and getting to Brussels around 8:30 am, checking into our cute hostel/hotel place, and then exploring the city!  We’re thinking about spending all day Friday in Brussels, making a day trip to Bruges on Saturday, and then spending all day Sunday in Brussels again until our train at 8:30 pm.  I’m really excited for it; waffles, chocolate (hello, Godiva factory), and the Grand Place, which is supposed to be absolutely beautiful and quite “European.”  It will be my first venture outside of France, and I can’t wait.

Anyways, I’m off to upload some pictures.  If Facebook isn’t being its usual, finicky self, that is.  Bonne soirée!

Note: this entire entry is about food and beverages.  I know you love it.

So, last night was pretty fun!  A few friends came over here for a couple of drinks, and then we walked to The Frog & Princess, a bar which has quickly worn out its welcome.  It was so crowded you could barely move, let alone get to the bar to buy an overpriced beer.  If I’m going to be buying such expensive beer, I would rather do it with some breathing room.  We were looking to meet up with a few friends, but since we didn’t seem them in the sweaty throng of people, we left and went to a nice Irish pub around the corner, called O’Neil.  It was much less crowded, the drinks were a euro or two cheaper, and we managed to snag the VIP table up in a loft area (we’re kind of a big deal).  We even managed to get serenaded by two incredibly drunk Frenchmen, one of whom decide it would be a good idea to jump and hang onto the rafters.  I have it on video, actually, so I’ll be uploading that on Facebook sometime soon.  We were all pretty tired when the bar closed, so we just decided to head back to my apartment and hang out a bit before crashing.  I think we set the record for the number of people sleeping here (who don’t live here): 5!  We’ll have to see if we can top it at some point.

Anyways, the next morning, we all woke up pretty late and talked over a couple of cups of coffee.  The topic of conversation turned to American diner food…pancakes, burgers, milkshakes and fries.  After about ten minutes of discussing this, we were all drooling and trying to figure out how we could get our hands on some greasy, American goodness.  Fortunately (for all of our sakes), one of us remembered a place that our friend Marina had told us about, called “Breakfast in America.”  The whole restaurant is  owned by an American and is based on the idea of the traditional American diner.  Since it was only a 15-minute walk from my apartment, we decided to go for it.

The restaurant was pretty crowded even though it was nearing 1 o’clock.  We ended up having to wait for a solid 40 minutes before we were seated, partly because the group of kids sitting at our future table saw us eying them and their food while we were waiting, thus encouraging them to take their sweet time.  One boy smudged chocolate on another girl’s face.  Cute.  Not.  Another girl was trying to construct an architectural masterpiece with her change.  Go learn to be a real architect.  The other girl was taking pictures of everything with her silly little camera phone.  Stop being a creep.  I wish I were kidding.

They eventually got their act together and stopped being idiots, and we were shown inside by a skinny, very American hipster boy.  We hardly had to look at the menu; we knew exactly what we wanted.  All six of us got ginormous cheeseburgers and greasy fries, a few of us got milkshakes, and a couple ordered a side of a pancake.  The boys even ordered Budweiser and NY Cheesecake for dessert.  Our waitress was making fun of how much ketchup we used, and rightfully so; we used almost an entire bottle.  It was as if we were never going to taste the delicious condiment again!  Entirely too full about an hour later, we paid up, each of us in agreement that the food and experience was worth every single penny.  Centime.  Whatever those silly little coins are.

After brunch, Kelsey and I rushed over to BHV, one of the big department stores here in Paris.  We had signed up to take a cooking class!  What were we going to learn to make, you ask?  MACARONS, of course!  It was pretty intimidating at first, because the class was conducted in French.  There were only 8 of us, and it was quite apparent after a couple of minutes that we weren’t fluent in French.  The chef instructor was very nice, however, and spoke a little bit of English, so he was able to help us out and translate key bits of advice and information about the recipes as we went.  Cooking classes are  generally based upon demonstrations, and watching and learning, so it ended up not being much of a problem at all.

We learned how to make three different kinds: vanilla, chocolate, and caramel with butter and salt.  It’s a pretty intense process and involves a lot of random kitchen utensils that I unfortunately don’t have here (or at home), and I don’t think it’s worth buying them while I’m over here.  I’m definitely going to pocket the recipes for my return to Boston, and I’m going to take the city by storm with my crazy macaron-making skills!  At least, I hope I end up with them after some more practice.  I put a picture above and to the right of mine and Kelsey’s macarons, which came out quite pretty, if I do say so myself.  They tasted just as delicious, too.  YUM.

All of this cooking and eating has made me tired though.  I’m off to take a power nap so that I can hopefully muster up the energy to go out later!  Have a good evenin’!

I was absolutely DREADING going to the National Archives this morning, especially because I’m usually supposed to have Fridays off.  I felt that it was bad enough that I was obligated to do something for school, but it was even WORSE that I had to be there by 9:30.  Meaning that I had to get up significantly earlier than I have been getting up for the past several weeks (save for the welcome program).  With all of this rage and bitterness just about bubbling to the surface, I readied myself and left, allowing my Parisian scowl to take over my whole disposition.

As I emerged from the metro, I was startled to see myself standing next to the Centre Pompidou, which is this big, loopy, and quit ridiculous building that is essentially “inside out.”  As soon as I saw it, I thought to myself, “well, if the rest of this day is terrible, at least I saw this absurd building.”  I made my way down the street, peering inside the bakeries, markets and butcheries.  I eventually arrived at the National Archives, and was taken aback.  It was an absolutely beautiful building, and the architecture was quite impressive.  I was 15 minutes early, so I awkwardly chatted with my professor until two other girls showed up.  By the time 9:45 rolled around, there were about 10 of us (5 were MIA), and our tour guide and her son came to greet us.

She introduced herself…and off she went.  She spoke so quickly that I found it hard to understand anything, except maybe every 17th word.  Which makes it quite difficult to get a general idea of what a person is saying, let alone fully understand.  Regardless, our little group followed her into the archives.  She led us up a staircase and through a door that said Acces Interdit (access prohibited).  I immediately perked up; I was being allowed somewhere that most people weren’t!  As my eyes adjusted to the lighting, I was astonished to find myself standing amidst a very large, cold library.  I looked around, and was excited to find on the book bindings dates prior to the French Revolution in the late 18th century.

As if it wasn’t cool enough seeing books from 1712, our guide led us into another section of the Archives and showed us a large, papyrus scroll dated 700.  Yup, that’s SEVEN HUNDRED.  As in 1,300 years ago.  It was INCREDIBLE to see such a thing preserved.  One of them was addressed to Charlemagne, King of the Franks!  And then, on top of all of this, our guide opened up a set of metal doors…and then another set of even thicker metal doors…and then finally a third set of doors, thicker than the previous two, to reveal the sacred set of French constitutions.  I saw the original constitution of the French republic, King Louis XIV’s signature and all.

After I returned from the Archives, I took a quick power nap.  Since it was so nice out, I decided to go explore the Jardin du Luxembourg, which is a gigantic, beautiful park that’s located 30 seconds from my apartment.  People go to the park to eat, chat, read, relax, and exercise.  I noticed that a lot of people were running, so I’m definitely planning on doing that myself once it gets a bit warmer out.  I can see myself doing some homework there, too…if I ever get into the groove of school again, which at this point, isn’t very likely.

Anyways, so I wandered around for an hour taking pictures and basking in the late-afternoon sun by the fountain in front of the Palais du Luxembourg.  I found myself doing some serious people-watching, as the weather, time and location were all perfect for doing so.  I saw an older man teaching a boy how to maneuver a little, toy sailboat in the fountain with a stick.  I saw a little girl and a little boy feeding breadcrumbs to the pigeons (which actually in my opinion, isn’t the most sanitary thing to let your children do…where was the mother while all of this was happening?!).  I saw adorable older couples walking hand in hand through the lazy shade of the trees.  I also saw an older man sitting in one of a pair of chairs with his arm draped around the other one, as if he was missing someone or something.  Something about the scene was so striking, so captivating, that I decided to take a photo of it (which I’ve inserted to the left).

I started getting hungry, so I decided to run to the grocery store to pick up some food.  I was craving shrimp, and I remembered making a pasta dish that was lemony and used white wine and garlic, so I picked up the ingredients I needed to make something along those lines.  Here’s the recipe I ended up using:

Shrimp Lemon Pepper Linguini

Ingredients:

• 1 (8 ounce) package linguine pasta
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 6 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/2 cup chicken broth
• 1/4 cup white wine
• 1 lemon, juiced
• 1/2 teaspoon lemon zest
• salt to taste
• 2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
• 1 pound fresh shrimp, peeled and deveined
• 1/4 cup butter
• 3 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
• 1 tablespoon chopped fresh basil

Directions:

1. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Add linguine, and cook for 9 to 13 minutes or until al dente; drain.
2. Heat oil in a large saucepan over medium heat, and saute garlic about 1 minute. Mix in chicken broth, wine, lemon juice, lemon zest, salt, and pepper. Reduce heat, and simmer until liquid is reduced by about 1/2.
3. Mix shrimp, butter, parsley, and basil into the saucepan. Cook 2 to 3 minutes, until shrimp is opaque. Stir in the cooked linguine, and continue cooking 2 minutes, until well coated.  Serves 4 people.

It was scrumptious.  But I must be off, the boys and Melanie are here and we’re heading out to the bars!  Bonne soirée!

I went to three more classes today.  My lecture class was in French and was utterly boring, although my professor seemed nice enough.  My Environmental Diplomacy class seems like it will be really interesting, even though it’s quite a bit of work.  My professor is a young guy who works for one of the heads of the environmental department of France, so he really knows what he’s talking about.  We’re going to be having different speakers come to speak to us each class on different issues regarding the environment and (surprise) diplomacy.  We have a good bit of reading to do, but overall, I’m excited for the class.

My evening class, called Politics of Biodiversity, kind of caught me off-guard.  I knew it was going to be interesting when my professor walked in 20 minutes late, his hair disheveled and his beat-up suitcase banging on the table as he rounded the corner to get to the front of the class.  He started rambling in French until he realized all of us were giving him a dumbfounded look; we were under the impression that the class was supposed to be conducted in English.  He apologized, and started introducing himself all over again, this time in the proper language.  He didn’t take any papers out of his briefcase, and asked us what we wanted to learn about.  We were all kind of quiet and didn’t know what to make of it.  He threw some ideas out there, we listened, and agreed what he said sounded good.  We’re going to be talking a bit about conservation science (hmm…?), why biodiversity has become such a hot topic, and wolves.  And bears.  Because wolves and bears are his specialty, and they are what France pays him to protect.  Right.  So after all of this happens, he asks us if he needed to grade us on anything.  At this point we all just kind of smiled and laughed; this course wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Talk about a shocker!  Almost everything represented the antithesis of what Sciences Po is all about: the rigid methodology, strict grading system, etc.  The only thing that even remotely resembled the typical Sciences Po class was the fact that we will still be doing exposés, although they will be in pairs, and they will be on topics of our choice.  Crazy.  I’m pretty excited for the class though; he’s really passionate about what he does, knows his stuff, and really wants to pique our interest on biodiversity and why it’s important.

Even though I get out of class at 9:15 on a Thursday, at least I will be loaded with information about wolves when I head to the bars.  I mean, what guy doesn’t like a good pick-up line about wolves?

I am curled up in my bed right now, cradling an unopened bottle of white wine in my arms while simultaneously examining another bottle of red.  I’m pretty sure this is a sign of an addiction, but let’s disregard that for the time being.  Since my arrival, I have bought 4 bottles of wine and tasted several more.  I think the red that I have right now has been my favorite thus far; it’s a 2007 Dauvergne et Ranvier from the Côtes du Rhône region.  It’s very smooth for a red, and I don’t mind drinking it without a meal, which is what I usually prefer when drinking a red wine.  The bottle of white I am currently clutching like a child also looks pretty good, and I can’t wait to try it.  I’m waiting until classes get out this week; it’ll be a celebratory bottle for surviving the first week of cutthroat classes here at Sciences Po.

So!  I absolutely LOVE my class called Food and Food Ways: A Social, Cultural and Political History of Food and Eating (aka my DREAM).  It’s taught by a Cornell professor who lives here with his French wife.  He seems pretty tough and old-fashioned, but he really knows his stuff and is passionate about food, food culture, and the role food has played throughout history and continues to play today in shaping the way people think, act, and interact.  I picked up my course pack, which is a hefty size, but all of the readings look incredibly interesting.  My professor described himself as Monsieur le Pain (Mr. Bread) because he loves studying bread and the way it is viewed, treated, and eaten in different cultures; we’ll be doing a couple of readings about that.  We’re also learning about the role of food in religion, how food relates to gender, and the role food plays in the economy and in the political realm.  Food is even closely tied to language.  Just think of the myriad expressions that somehow incorporate food: full of baloney (also properly known as bologna), sour disposition, pea brain, hunger after righteousness…the list could go on forever!

We’re also reading Michael Pollan’s Omnivore’s Dilemma, which is actually the book that piqued my interest in food culture, justice and distribution.  I read this book a couple years ago in my Global Sociology class, and was absolutely fascinated by the fact that so many of the food products we consume are made of corn.  I was also deeply disturbed by the statistic that pointed out that even though the amount of food produced in the world today is more than enough to feed every single human being, more and more people were going hungry each and every day.  I wanted to learn more about these issues, and I joined a group called Real Food at BC.  I also did a couple of projects on global food distribution this past semester, and am currently thinking about writing my thesis on the topic.

To sum up, I was smiling the whole time and found myself nodding emphatically after almost everything my professor said.  I don’t want to wait another week to learn more (ha, I’m such a dork)!  I have never felt so engaged or passionate about a class before; I think I have found my calling in life.  I NEED to be doing something that relates to food and the culture surrounding it.

As I finish my glass of wine, I shall leave you with the following thought-provoking, pro-hunter-gatherer quote from an Australian aboriginal: “Why should we plant, when there are so many mongomongo nuts in the world?”

I had another very Parisian experience today: I walked through my first marché en plein air (open-air market).  There are 20 arrondissements (districts) in Paris, and from what I understand, each district has at least one open-air market.  These markets are held usually once or twice a week, and you can find almost anything at them, depending on their size.  Apparently, the 6th arrondissement has three such markets, so I decided to check one out today on my way home from class.  I grew as giddy as a kid in a candy shop when I saw piles upon piles in rows upon rows of the freshest fruits, vegetables, cheeses, and meat.  My eyes raced over succulent cherry tomatoes, fire-engine red peppers and the largest cucumbers I have ever seen.  My nose tried to sort out all of the smells bombarding it; there were countless, pungent cheeses in this corner, smelly (albeit delicious-looking) fish in that one.  After walking up and down the aisles, I settled on the vendor who seemed friendliest and had the most reasonable prices and delicious looking produce.  I bought kilo upon kilo of vegetables to stock up for the week, and I can tell he and I are going to be the best of friends by the end of these next five months.  I found this picture of the market on Google; my apologies for not having taken my own picture; I didn’t have my camera on me today, but next time I go, I will certainly take a few and post them!

I also had my second class today, which was a French language class.  I was placed in level 3, which means I have a medium-strong grasp of the language (although at this point I am confident that I most definitely fall in the medium, rather than strong range…).  My professor is an kind, middle-aged man who is  unfortunately a major proponent of oral presentations.  We have to do two of them, ten minutes each, and the two I signed up for happened to be this month on the 16th and 23rd.  I’m not really sure what the topics are at this point, although based on the titles, one will be about how the telling of history changes it and the other will be about ‘Grand Paris’ and city life.  I’m sure I’ll be writing (aka complaining) about them as they draw nearer.

I made another Italian dinner this evening, and it was delicious (if I do say so myself…and I do)!  I have been craving sausage for the past few days, so I finally went out and bought some at Monoprix.  Here’s the recipe I used, because I KNOW you’re just dying for some sausage.

Italian Sausage with Peppers and Tomatoes

Ingredients

• 2 C uncooked, whole-wheat penne
• 1 tablespoon olive oil, 1 teaspoon olive oil
• 2 links hot sausage, cut into ½ inch thick slices
• 1 red pepper, cut into ½ inch thick squares
• 1 small onion, diced
• 10 cherry tomatoes, halved
• 1 (14.5 ounce) can tomato sauce (best with basil, garlic, and oregano)
• ½ t black pepper
• Pre-shredded fresh Parmesan cheese (optional)

Instructions

1. Cook pasta according to package directions, adding 1 teaspoon olive oil and a pinch of salt for flavor.  Drain pasta, set aside.
2. While pasta cooks, heat a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat.  Coat pan with 2 teaspoons olive oil.  Add sausage, cook 5 minutes or until browned, stirring often.  Add bell pepper and onions, and cook 3 minutes or until hot, stirring often.  Add tomatoes, sauce and black pepper.  Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer 5 minutes.
3. Place pasta in a large bowl.  Add sausage mixture and toss.  Top with cheese, if desired.  Serves 4.

As you can see, I served it with a glass of red wine that I purchased today.  I think I’m well on my way to becoming a sommelier…

As many of you know, I have been trying for the past week to switch out of that cours affreux (awful class), Les Grands Enjeux Scientifiques.  Because Sciences Po has not heard of, or does not believe in having an add/drop period, this has been extremely difficult to do.  Fortunately, I managed to sweet talk the little French receptionist into switching me out of that class and into a different French lecture class (can I get a ‘merci Dieu‘ anyone??).  The class is called Une Histoire politique de l’ère des masses en Europe (a political history of the people of Europe).  It seems like it will be pretty interesting because it covers issues such as the two world wars and how they affect a people, the role of nationalism in state-building, and so on and so forth.  It also works out really well in my schedule; even though I no longer have those glorious four-day weekends, I still have Fridays off, and I don’t have class until 7:15 Monday evening.  This means that I can leave Thursday evenings or Friday mornings to travel, and don’t have to be back until Monday afternoon.  Almost as good as a four-day weekend!

Anyway, the switching of classes meant that I had the discussion aspect of the class last night (the other aspect is a lecture).  There were 17 students, most of whom were either French or English (who seemed they had been studying French since before they emerged from the womb).  My professor was a large, pretty intimidating Frenchman, who pointed out several times that he was a fan of the traditional Sciences Po methodology (read: LOVES exposés/oral presentations).  Although I understood most of what he was saying, I was still a bit intimidated by how well everyone else seemed to speak French.  We had to pick our exposé date, which is a really intense process; the professor reads off a topic and date (if you’re lucky), and before he even finishes his sentence, dozens of hands shoot up in an attempt to get the best dates and topics.  The French students have obviously have much more experience than us poor exchange students, who end up with the most inopportune dates and the least interesting topics.  I fared no better than most, and ended up with the Monday after our winter break, which means I will have that hanging over my head for the entire week.  I suppose I should just stop worrying about it all, as I can take one class pass/fail, and also…I’m abroad.  Grades and school work should NOT rule my life this semester.  Or ever, actually.  But particularly this semester.

I stumbled upon another stupid French policy today: the return policy.  Or should I say the lack thereof.  I bought what was supposed to be a pretty good straightener for 40 euros about a week ago, tried it, and realized it sucked.  Since I only used it once, it was still in fabulous condition, so I just repackaged it, threw it in its original back with the receipt, and trudged over to Galeries Lafayettes (which is a HUGE department store, and quite beautiful, too) with Kelsey.  After being shuffled around from cashier to cashier and waiting in line after line, I finally end up speaking with a grumpy guy at customer services.  I explained to him my problem, and told him that it didn’t work.  As soon as I said this, he took the straightener out of the box, walked his skinny, French ass over to the outlet, plugged it in, and said ça marche (this works).  He then refused to let me return it, exchange it, or receive store credit.  WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?  I feel like in America, you could return half a tube of toothpaste if you really wanted to.  I was très fâchée (very angry).  I think I’m going to try to sell it on e-bay; it’s not a bad straightener, it’s just not the right one for my hair.  PLUG: anyone want a BaByliss Wet/Dry Ceramic Straightener?  I’ll sell it to you for what I got it for…

Anyhoo, after all of this, we came back to our apartment and made some lunch.  I had cute little ‘tuna toasties,’ as Kelsey called them, which consisted of some fresh pain complet (whole-wheat bread) topped with balsamic glazed tuna, emmental cheese, and cherry tomatoes.  I roasted these little buggers in the oven, and they tasted absolutely scrumptious.

For dinner after class, I met up with the three nicest, most fabulous girls ever, Kelsey, Melanie and Chrissy.  We walked down Saint Germain and Saint Michel a bit to get to the Latin Quarter, and ended up finding a cute restaurant called Le Menhir (note: the picture to the left was not taken by me; I found it on Google.  Once again, I didn’t have my camera on me…sorry guys!).  Their prix fixe (fixed price) menu looked pretty good and was reasonably priced, so I decided to go for it.  For my entrée (which actually means appetizer in French), I ordered soupe à l’oignon (French onion soup)…OH MY GOSH, I cannot believe I have never had it before!  It was just a bowl of gooey deliciousness, and it was pretty much a party in my mouth.  I could have left satisfied at that point, but I was just beginning.  Next came my plat principal (main course), which was le veau en sauce aux champignons (veal in a mushroom sauce) with a side of cheesy potatoes.  I paired it with a glass of Merlot, which tasted like an odd combination of grape juice and rubbing alcohol (description courtesy of Kelsey); not the best.  Anyways, I finished with an excellent raspberry souffle, which was doused in a vanilla cream sauce.  The girls and I also traded bites of each other’s dishes, so I got to taste some coq au vin, a savory crêpe, and a cheesy torte…thing.  The atmosphere of the restaurant itself wasn’t the greatest, in my opinion; the waiter wasn’t the most personable, and there was a cat that kept walking around and creeping up on us.  Overall thoughts: YUM.

I don’t know how to extricate myself from the passionate affair I am having with French food.

I never thought I would see the day, but at long last I have my own real bed!  With a box spring!  And mattress!  And even sheets, blankets and pillows!  I am so excited about it that I have spent the majority of today sitting and/or laying in it.  I was finally able to unpack all of my clothes and other things, too, so this apartment finally feels like home.  And as it’s my new home away from home, I suppose I should take some photos of it so that those of you who won’t be visiting will get to see my humble abode.  So, keep an eye out for those; hopefully I’ll get a chance to do that over the next few days.

Also, strangest coincidence.  Just the other day, I wrote about Marcel Proust’s sensory experience with madeleine cookies, and how the taste brought him back to his childhood.  I was making a salad for lunch today, and I popped one of the cherry tomatoes I had picked up a few days ago at the market into my mouth.  Suddenly, I was my eight year-old self again, standing in my driveway, sweating under the summer sun while watering our tomato plant.  It brought back so many memories; it feels like yesterday when my dad and I would bring in our home-grown tomatoes and put them on the dinner table.

Which brings me to another point…the produce here is so fresh!  Even though it doesn’t necessarily look as pretty as the supermarket, picture-perfect produce in the US, it has so much more taste and doesn’t need pesticides to grow.  I always thought I was allergic to apples, but it turns out it was just the skin of apples, and that was actually due to all of the chemicals we use to grow them.  I ate my first apple sans allergic reaction today, and it was glorious.  I guess I’ll have to start buying more organic produce back home.

As I mentioned in my last entry, Paris had several BC visitors from elsewhere in Europe this weekend.  Several girls came from the BC program in Strasbourg, and a couple came from the BC program in San Sebastian.  A couple of nights ago, they heard about a bar called The Hideout Bar in the 11th arrondissement, near where my friend Mike lives.  They checked it out and gave it the stamp of approval, so that’s where we decided to start off our evening.  We got there, and some fabulous American oldies were blasting from the speakers; it was (surprise!) in the style of a New York bar.  The drinks were relatively cheap (in Parisian terms), so I decided to order my first mojito!  For those of you who are not familiar with this drink, it consists of white rum, sparkling water, mint, sugar, and a bit of lime.  It was delicious, and I will definitely be trying a few more of those in the near future.

After we ordered our first round of drinks, we went downstairs and started a bit of a dance party.  It was really fun, until a few interloping males in the Latin fashion (as Myriam would say) attempted to join us.  After several attempts, our boys shooed them away.  As Mike said, he’s “6′ 2″ and a buck eighty;” few guys would mess with that; he has essentially filled the role of ‘champion blocker.’

After the bars closed at 2, we tried to get into a club called the Social Club, which would be open until 5am.  When we got there, they only let two of our boys in because there was apparently a dress code (nice shoes and jackets).  In addition to this minor problem, they were also charging an exorbitant cover that didn’t quite seem worth it.

After much deliberation, we decided to head home.  The metros close at 1:30 on the weekends, so we got on line at a taxi stand.  Unfortunately, hailing a taxi between 2 and 3 is an absolute cauchemar (nightmare), because all of the bars in the city close at 2, meaning that all of the people in the city are trying to hail cabs.  After waiting outside in the freezing cold and the snow flurries, Melanie managed to chase a cab (quite literally and quite a distance) and we decided to split it and take it back to my apartment.

Our cab driver turned out to be the nicest French man ever!  Melanie and I had a great chat with him as he maneuvered his way around the taxi-filled streets of Paris.  He pointed out the Louvre and a few other monuments, all the while explaining why it was so difficult to hail taxis between 2 and 3; we were both ecstatic to have carried on a long, real conversation with this man.  Already in a good mood, we were pleased to see that the ten-minute ride cost less than 10 euros.  We were also pleased to find a loaf of bread, jam and cheese waiting for us when we finally reached my apartment up on the 5th floor.

On a less alcoholic note.  I met up with Melanie and her roommate Ivie, and we decided to go to the Eiffel tower.  I guess in retrospect, Saturdays aren’t the best days to go; it was SO CROWDED, and the lines were insanely long.  Since it was so cold, we decided not to climb it, so we just took some pictures, walked around, and froze a few fingers off (no big).  I went back to their place afterward, and we watched some high quality television in French…MTV!  We ended up watching an episode of Next and one of Made, both of which helped me pick up some useful French slang.  On my way home, I stopped by Melanie’s local boulangerie (bakery) to pick up a fresh baguette.  I’ve tried a LOT of baguettes in the past two weeks, and this was by far the BEST I have tasted thus far!  It was so doughy and egg-y and delicious, I couldn’t keep my hands off of it.  If any of you come to visit, I’m certainly taking you there, unless I find a better place…

Speaking of bread…I’m gonna go fetch some and lather it up with some fresh confiture (jam).

Last evening was un soir parfait (a perfect evening)!  Kelsey invited her friend Chrissy over for dinner, and thus we decided to have our first dinner party here in the apartment.  Kelsey found a Giada De Laurentiis recipe for balsamic glazed chicken (I’m drooling just thinking about it all over again) and also an Ina Garten recipe for string beans with garlic.  We walked over to Monoprix to pick up some of the food we needed, which was actually a bit stressful; it was incredibly crowded, the lines were very long, and I felt as if everyone was passing judgment on the things I had in my little basket with wheels.  Also, the aisles are much, much narrower than what I’m used to, and thus it’s a hassle to pass someone or to stop in the middle of the aisle to investigate canned peas.

We triumphed, and arrived home shortly before Chrissy herself arrived.  She presented us with a delicious bottle of wine, one that I believe her French “grandfather” recommended to her.  We put it in the fridge to chill, and began to prepare our dinner.  Everything turned out amazingly, and we had quite a feast.  It truly enjoyable spending time with them because we have so much in common; we are all foodies, sommeliers-in-training, and love reading and writing blogs.  As Chrissy said in her blog (which, by the way, you simply must read…it’s hilarious, even if you don’t know her!), I felt like I “found my people.”

Today was a most uneventful day, and I feel rather guilty for my lack of activity.  I slept until 12, woke up and saw that it was pouring rain, decided to shower, and then sat around in our living room all day watching a combination of CNBC in English (ha) and game shows in French.  It’s not that I didn’t have big plans, because I did.  I wanted to go to Galeries Lafayettes to return a hair straightener that I bought, and then I was planning on checking out the Musée d’Orsay with Kelsey and getting crêpes (because I have only consumed TWO in the entire time that I’ve been here).  Oops.  Note: the picture to the right was not taken by me; I found it on Google images.

Tonight should be fun, though, as there are some BC people visiting from Strasbourg and San Sebastian, and we’re all meeting up at the bars and then most likely going to a club afterward.  Should be fun!