My seasonal allergies followed me all the way to Paris.  I guess it kind of makes sense…Paris does have an absurd number of parks, upwards of 400 (no joke).  I have been a bit sniffly all week, and was experiencing the occasional sneeze and wheeze, but I thought nothing of it.

Until this morning, when I woke up this morning in a rage.  Why, you ask?  Well, first, it was 5 in the morning (an ungodly hour for college students), and I had only just gone to sleep at 3.  Second, my throat was kind of closing up, and I was having a bit of trouble breathing (which I suppose is problematic?).  Third, I could not stop sneezing…I tried to keep track, but lost count after 20 éternuements in a row.  I had absolutely had it, so I let out a guttural noise (loud enough to wake Simone and Caitlin), emerged from my lit de pollen, stripped my bed and myself, threw everything in sight in our washing machine, and stormed down the treacherous spiral staircase to take a shower.  I spent a solid 20 minutes scrubbing my face, my body and my hair to rid myself of every last speck of pollen.

By the time I was done, I was so exhausted that I laid down on my completely stripped bed and fell asleep as the sun was beginning to rise over an apparently very pollinated city.

* * *

I woke up several hours later, somewhat more well-rested and less asthmatic.  I said goodbye to Caitlin, who was heading back to Bath, which is located about an hour outside of London.  I decided I deserved a reward for having been put through my allergy nightmare, so I wandered over to Gérard Mulot, which is one of the well-known and highly regarded pâtisseries in Paris, and is conveniently located 5 minutes from my apartment.  After eying all of the delicious breads and pastries, I settled on a rose-flavored macaron and une tarte à chocolat noir, a dark chocolate tart.  Like a good little girl, I put my tart at the bottom of my bag to save for later.  I couldn’t resist enjoying my macaron, however, and began to nibble on it as I made my way to one of the handful of pharmacies open on a Sunday in Paris.

After a 10-minute walk, I finally saw my lit-up green cross about 50 yards away, and began to speed-walk toward my final destination.  I threw open the door, and declared to the pharmacist (after a polite, bonjour madame, of course), j’ai besoin de quelque chose pour les allergies (I need SOMETHING for my allergies).  She was very sympathetic, and seemed to know exactly what I needed before I said anything.  I guess my cherry-colored eyes, puffy face, and raw nostrils were a giveaway?  She saw me gazing longingly at the Zyrtec, but instead pointed me towards the Humex, which was cheaper and apparently just as effective as the Zyrtec.  She started to ring me up for one pack (which has enough pills for one week) but I said, hold up, I need 2 more.  And thus I walked out with 21 pills, and I could not WAIT to pop one in my mouth and let it work its magic.  I swear I’m not a druggie.

Anyways, at that point, I realized I was close to the Marais, which is the lively Jewish district in Paris.  Chrissy and I ventured there a few weeks ago in search L’As du Falafel, which apparently has the best falafel in Paris.  It was unfortunately closed for Passover, but I figured I’d give it another shot.  As I neared the store, I began to spot people with pitas overflowing those little fried chickpea balls and instantaneously began to salivate.  I was ushered into line, given a ticket, and shortly thereafter was presented with my very own pita, which I then took to a nearby park to enjoy.

After my pita, I wandered into a museum, which happened to be the Musée Carnavalet.  I explored the museum for a couple hours, all the while learning about the history of Paris.

After the museum, I wandered back toward Île Saint Louis.  I wasn’t really sure why I was headed in that direction until I found myself waiting in line for la glace (ice cream) from Berthillon, which boasts Paris’ best ice cream.  I ordered my two scoops, one of praline and one of hazelnut, and of course had it topped off with some crème chantilly.  I decided I wanted to eat my ice cream on a bridge over looking the Seine and Notre Dame, and began my walk.  I realized two key things during this walk: a) I should have pulled my hair back and b) real whipped cream slides off the top of ice cream VERY QUICKLY.  I thus found myself in quite a dilemma, as my hair was whipping the ice cream with a vengeance, the whipped cream was simultaneously sliding off my cone and onto my hand.  It must have been quite a sight, and I could not help but laugh at myself.

Highly satisfied with my (less than nutritional) purchases of the day, I began the trek back to my apartment.  Upon my arrival, I collapsed onto the couch and took a much-needed nap.  Quite the successful day in Paris.

But then again, I don’t regret this decision…after all, it is 50 degrees and the sun is shining on all of Paris.  A celebratory occasion, I daresay.

I spent the morning walking around with my friends Marina and Elizabeth (the BC girl I met in Galway, who’s here visiting some friends this weekend), and we went into my new favorite bookshop in all the land: Shakespeare & Co.  It’s only a 7 minute walk from my apartment (isn’t everything?), and it has tons of English books, cute little chairs, a typewriter, and a couple of beds to lounge on.

After perusing the shop for a while, we started getting a bit hungry, and ended up finding a little gelato place called Delizie Follie.  The girl behind the counter was extremely friendly (clearly not Parisian) and let us try most of the flavors.  My parfum préférée (favorite flavor) was noisette (hazelnut), and let me tell you…it was incredible!  I had a bit of Marina’s pistachio and Elizabeth’s mango, and they were both amazing, too.  Marina went as far as to say it was better than the gelato she had when she was actually in Rome!  We spoke with the owner and the girl for a bit more and found out it was their first day, and that we were their first customers.  We felt honored.  And I told them honestly that I would be telling everyone about their fabulous gelato (which is exactly what I’ve been doing).

On the walk home, I passed the Monoprix and decided to pick up a baguette and some Boursin (on Kelsey’s recommendation, of course), as my attempts at becoming a cheese connoisseur have been lagging.  I also picked up another bottle of wine (I swear I’m not becoming an alcoholic) from the southwest region of France, in Cahors, which is quickly becoming one of my favorites.  I also really love wines from the Fronton region, but unfortunately I haven’t been able to find a good one since the wine tasting; I’m working on it, though.  Anyways, so the Boursin was delicious, and I think I liked it more than the Brie I had the other day (which was still very good).  Spreadable cheese is just a beautiful thing.

Since the weather has been beautiful all day, I decided to take advantage of it, and went to the Jardin de Luxembourg to do some of my reading.  I didn’t get very much done, but I did enjoy the soleil (sun) and the fact that tout le monde was relaxing and taking it all in, just as I was.

…and here I still sit, with an empty coffee mug, only 20 pages read, and the realization that I should probably start reading before I go to Marina’s later for a Sciences Po/Boston College wine & cheese party.  Oh dear.

…which is why I was exceedingly happy to go to the Marché aux Puces!  Marché aux Puces is one of the leading flea markets in Paris.  Kelsey, Chrissy and I were a bit concerned at first, for all we saw were creepy vendors selling bootleg designer bags & glasses, weird hats, and bizarre shoes.  We walked through the first set, somewhat amused, and eventually found ourselves among a huge section of beautiful antiques stores.  We ooh-ed and ahh-ed at this and that, marveled at some of the crazy prices, and discussed what we would be buying if we had an endless budget.

We eventually happened upon un magasin d’affiches (a poster store), which had old fashion magazines, maps from around the world, and other pretty Parisian images.  I was drawn to the map section, and ended up finding a beautiful, pastel-shaded map that depicted France in 1789.  I was incredibly excited about it, and knew that I simply had to buy it, get it mounted & framed, and hang it on my wall next year, so that I always have a little piece of Paris with me.

After an hour and a half of walking around, we stopped in a café called Le Voltaire for some café crème (espresso with milk) and warmth.  Realizing we were hungry, we finished up our coffees pretty quickly and went to a nearby crêpe stand, where I bought a sugar & cinnamon one.

We were pretty tired by this point, so we left the flea market and went back to our respective apartments.  I only got a few hours of sleep because I went out last night.  We actually didn’t end up going to the stock market bar (long story), but we went to the Moose again to celebrate a girl from BC’s 21st birthday.  I’m still obsessed with that bar; the cute Australian bartender was giving us free drinks every once in a while, which was a good treat.

Anyways, Kelsey and I decided to make some dinner this evening.  We went to two grocery stores, Carrefour and Monoprix, to pick up what we needed for a nice little feast.  We made a whole roast chicken, green beans with pine nuts, and Kelsey made the most delicious noodle kugel!  The chicken was quite an experience; it was my first time sticking my hand in a bird (woohoo!), and it turned out to be not nearly as gross as I thought and also ten times more delicious than a regular chicken leg or breast.  We used a Martha Stewart recipe, which called for lemon, garlic, some type of herb (we used herbes de provence), butter, salt & pepper.  Everything was just absolutely delicious.

I’m starting to get excited for tonight, too; Simone, Kelsey, Melanie and I have tickets to the Sciences Po rugby gala, and the boys rugby team from Columbia University will be visiting, too.  WOO, have to get ready!

We arrived in Galway a couple of hours later, and ours smiles grew as we stepped out into the sunshine in Eyre Square.  Our hostel, called the Kinlay House Hostel, was a “1 minute” walk from the station.  We checked in, dropped our luggage off and chatted with the desk attendant about the city, picking his brain about what we should do.  He told us to take advantage of the weather and walk along the coast, which is exactly what we did.  It was breathtakingly beautiful, and my nose was going crazy with the smell of the salty air; it reminded me so much of being at LBI with my family.  I found a little park, and went on the swings for a while (honestly one of the best decisions I have made in the past several months).  There is just something so peaceful and comforting about the easy gait of swinging; pump your feet just a little bit, and off you go, forward and backward, forward and backward, flying through the air.

We were both starting to get hungry, and we found a cute little restaurant on Quay Street called the Spanish Arch, which was apparently part of the Spanish Arch Hotel.  We ordered some tea to start, and I finally realized why exactly tea is such a large part of Irish culture; when I took a sip of this tea, I felt like I was home.  It was so warming, so nourishing, so…welcoming, almost.  Chrissy and I went through two whole pots, enjoying each sip more than the last.  We ordered some lunch, too, and both had seafood chowder and ham & cheese sandwiches.  The seafood chowder was the best I had tasted, with fresh shrimp and salmon, and a bit of chorizo, too.

Instead of doing intense sightseeing, we decided to have a relaxing day.  We walked around the city, perused the cute stores lining Quay Street, Shop Street, and the surrounding area, and strolled through Eyre Square.  Chrissy bought an adorable pair of red Keds (jealous), and we both got little pastries from Griffin’s Bakery.  Sometime in the late afternoon, we went back to the hostel to freshen up before dinner.

We talked to a different desk attendant this time, and asked him about the best places to eat a traditional Irish dinner (as if I hadn’t had enough stew already).  He recommended Monroe’s Tavern, and off we went.  I had another delicious Irish stew, this one with beef and a Guinness base; so tasty! I also had some brown bread and a pint of Bulmer’s (hehe).

After we finished our dinner and pints, we decided to head out to the pubs.  First, we went to the Quays (excellent recommendation by my friend Mike), which was a great, multi-level, traditional Irish pub with traditional Irish music.  While Chrissy and I were sipping our pints, I looked up and was astonished to see my friend Doug walking down the stairs.  It made me realize what a small world it is; out of all of the countries, cities, and pubs we could have been in at the same time, we were in the same one.  Crazy!  We had a nice chat before he went off to dinner.  After spending some time at the Quays, we went to another pub called Tig Coili, which my friend Stevie recommended to me!  We both loved this one, and tried a shot Kelsey told us about, called the Baby Guinness.  It consisted of Kahlua and Bailey’s…wow.  Party.  In.  My mouth.  It was the best alcoholic beverage I have ever tasted, which could possibly be dangerous if I decide to invest in a bottle of each of these.  After Tig Coili, we went to Taaffe’s for one last pint.  We were exhausted at this point, so by the time we had finished our beers, we decided to head back to our hostel.

On the walk home, I had a realization: my heart was made for Galway.  I had fallen head over heels in love with its quaintness, its charm, and its location on the coast.  The smells and the people simply made this incredible little city feel like home.

After breakfast, we met up with our group and guide for our tour of the Wicklow mountains.  We were going with OVER THE TOP Tours, which had great reviews because of its smaller sized tours; they could only take 16 people maximum due to their smaller buses.  As we drove through Dublin to leave the city, our guide told us a bit about Irish history, which I found absolutely fascinating.

Our first stop was a little town on the coast called Bray.  Our guide told us that it used to be a really popular vacation town several decades ago, but that it slowed down once people started going to cities along the Mediterranean.  It was still beautiful, and he made us tea & cookies for a late morning snack.

After a while, we were once more cruising along the coast and eventually started our ascent into the Wicklow Mountains.  Before we knew it, we arrived at Guinness Lake!  It was absolutely breathtaking; the lake was black, and the narrow, sandy beach provided a contrast to the lake, making it indeed look like a pint of Guinness.  It was set in a valley with mountains behind it, and supposedly the property right by the beach is owned by a descendent of Arthur Guinness, who started the company.  After this, we drove a bit further along the road and came to Glenmacnass Waterfall, which was more of a trickle than waterfall, but beautiful nonetheless.

Next, we went to the Monastery in Glendalough, which was pretty cool because it was built in the 6th century by St. Kevin.  We walked through the old settlement and made our way around the two lakes.  Again, these lakes were located in the midst of the beautiful Wicklow Mountains, and the views were incredible.  We took so many pictures, and Chrissy and I actually ended up making friends with a couple of Scottish guys.  We asked one of them to take our picture, and he looked at my lens, and playfully said I was a “disgrace to camera owners everywhere” because of how dirty it was.  We both laughed as he proceeded to whip out his lens cloth and some other handy tool he used to give my lens a good thorough cleaning.  EVERYONE IS JUST SO FRIENDLY.

On our way back, we drove around the largest man-made lake in Western Europe, which I thought was pretty neat.  Apparently the guy who built it (can you build a lake? I don’t really know how to phrase that) didn’t even bother to knock down the houses that remained, and instead just let the water bring them to ruins as he filled it.

We returned to Dublin around 5:45, and even though we were exhausted, we managed to sprint to Queen of Tarts.  We had a dinner scheduled for 6:45, and Chrissy wanted to make sure she got a little taste of heaven before we left for Galway.  The two of us decided on apple scones, which were just as delicious as the carrot cake I tried yesterday.  Happily munching on our scones, we walked toward The Brazen Head to grab a pint before our special dinner.  The Brazen Head is the oldest pub in Dublin, and it was also my favorite.  It had a smaller, cozier atmosphere than some of the other bars we went to, and the bartenders were extremely friendly.  We nursed our pints of Bulmer’s while waiting for 6:45 to roll around, and when it finally did, we made our trek up the stairs to our special dinner: Food, Folklore and Fairies!

I read incredible things about this special dinner performance.  Not only was the food supposed to be amazing, but also the stories and the storyteller himself.  The little dining room was candlelit and gave off such a cozy atmosphere, and Johnny was so welcoming!  He told us all about the history of the Irish potato, the famine, and Irish migration.  He regaled us with tales of Irish fairies and the role they have played throughout history.  He poked and prodded at our imaginations as he recounted other stories that have been passed down from generation to generation for hundreds of years.  Throughout all of these stories, I was eating a delicious, traditional Irish meal of fish cakes, stew, and apple pie.  I could not have been happier.

Hours later, we emerged with full bellies and the intent to grab a few pints before heading back to our hostel!  We walked toward the Temple Bar, and stumbled upon a fun-filled pub called Mulligans.  We had some more Bulmer’s and enjoyed the live (American?) music while chatting with some Londoners and Irishmen.  We then moved on to the Temple Bar itself, which was so incredibly crowded that it was difficult to move.  I actually wasn’t the biggest fan; on top of the crowd, the bartenders weren’t that friendly and it was difficult to get a drink.  At least we checked it out, though!

We strolled back to our hostel, and I was so exhausted that I’m pretty sure I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Anyways, we finally boarded the plane, and as we took off, I marveled at the adorable innocence of children around the world.  In front of my, there was a little English boy telling his mother he thought that clouds were the consistency of cotton candy.  Behind me, there was a boy telling his father that he wanted to be a professional traveler when he grew up.  They were both so adorable.  I didn’t get a chance to listen to them very much, because within minutes, I was passed out, most likely with my tongue hanging out and a wee bit of spittle beginning to form at the corner of my mouth (kidding…sort of).

Before I knew it, the pilot was announcing our arrival in Dublin.  I got off the train and felt a smile bubbling up.  Everything was in English!  It felt as if a burden had been lifted from my shoulders; I hadn’t realized how stressful it was to constantly be thinking in French and trying to figure out how to ask for directions, advice, and suggestions from people, until I no longer had to do it.  In addition, I saw these weird, shimmering white things on people’s faces…teeth?  Could it be?  Were people actually…smiling?!  Yes, genuine smiles, even early in the morning.  Hell, even the simple thought that I was in Ireland was enough to put that large, dopey grin on my face.

I hopped on a bus to get to the heart of Dublin, and just missed the walking tour I wanted to go on.  I managed to find the tourist information office and grabbed a map and some brochures.  I thought I knew where I was going, but as I’m directionally challenged, I ended up on a random street corner, holding my map upside-down (and probably inside-out) trying to figure out where I was headed.  I must have had an absolutely bewildered look on my face, because a kind-looking older man came up to me and said, You look like you could use a bit of direction! To which I responded YES PLEASE!  And with that, kind old Jerry began leading me to the bus stop, which was easily a 10-minute walk out of his way.  We discussed some Irish history, the best places to grab a pint and eat fish & chips, and he was the nicest stranger I’ve encountered in months.  I mean, geez, ask for directions in Paris and you get scowled at!  Talk about a difference!

Anyways, I got on my bus (thank you, Jerry) and was off toward Kilmainham Gaol.  I made it just in time for the guided tour, where I learned a lot of interesting things about both the jail and Irish history.  The jail was built in 1796, and operated as a prison for around 130 years until 1926.  Our tour guide told us that children as young as seven years old were imprisoned for crimes such as petty theft, which I still can’t get over.  I’ll spare you the rest of the history…

After taking some spooky photos in the jail, I made the 15-minute walk to the famous Guinness Storehouse!  I was overwhelmed by how tall it was – seven stories, and shaped like a pint of Guinness to boot!  The tour itself was self guided, and I learned all about the ingredients in Guinness (barley, hops, yeast, water!) and how they are combined to make the perfect pint.  The tour culminated in a free pint of Guinness in the Gravity Bar, which is the 7th floor of the building.  It offered amazing views of Dublin, so I snagged a seat by the window and looked out onto the city sprawling in front of and beneath me.  It was incredible.

I slowly enjoyed my pint, and eventually decided to make my way from the Storehouse to my hostel.  After a lovely 40 minute stroll through Dublin, I arrived at Isaacs Hostel.  Chrissy had actually done the research on hostels, and I must say, she did a great job.  It was located only 5 minutes from O’Connell Street, and about 10 minutes from Temple Bar.  The hostel itself was really nice, new and clean, and the desk staff was extremely helpful and friendly.

After I dropped my stuff off, I decided to explore the city some more.  I walked down O’Connell Street and peered into the storefronts (English bookstore? SO AMAZING).  I walked by the beautiful Trinity College.  I walked down Dame Street, and “accidentally” stumbled upon a little pastry shop Kelsey highly recommended, called Queen of Tarts.  I knew I simply had to go in, so I ordered some of their famous carrot cake.  I (very carefully) shoved it into my purse to save it for after dinner (pretty sure I looked ridiculous carrying around a piece of carrot cake, but…well, that’s just me).  Carrot cake upright in tow, I decided to check out Beshoff on O’Connell Street.  This was the fabulous fish and chips place that Jerry recommended earlier in the day, so I had high expectations.  I ordered the cod and chips (even though I think Jerry told me the haddock was where it was at), and was very pleased with the delicious greasiness of the meal.

With a tum full of fish and chips, I decided to head over to the Celt on Talbot Street to wait for Chrissy, who was due in within a couple hours.  It was an adorable little Irish pub with live music and great beers on tap.  I tried Cashel’s, which the bartender told me was similar to the Bulmer’s I originally ordered.  Lo and behold, I discovered my affinity for cider!  I had a few pints and ended up talking to the bartender and to a Scottish girl and her mom.  I still can’t get over how friendly every one is!  After a few hours in the Celt, I was feeling pretty sleepy, so I headed back to the hostel.  Chrissy made it eventually, and the two of us decided to call it a night so that we’d be recharged and ready to roll for our tour of the Wicklow Mountains early the next morning.

After less than 24 hours in Dublin, I was already wondering why I didn’t choose Trinity College instead…

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 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 left, 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 centime.

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’!

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 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…