L’apprentissage de la Langue française

Today is a sad day for me.

After enrolling in two semesters of French Classes at a nearby school, and culminating with a score of (très bien!) 18 out of 20 in the A1 Level, you can imagine my eagerness to move on to the next step.  So, after the summer holidays, my friend and I walked into our next-level-french-class — all excited to begin another challenging, tongue-twisting, throat-groaning experience with the French Language.

After the first hour of this next level french class, I was literally stopping myself from doing something very un-french:  Staging a walk-out.  (Or — maybe it could have been so french, in fact?  Like a strike? Or a protest?).  Our teacher was a young french guy who sat on his chair, behind the teacher’s desk, from the first minute to the last (of a 2 hour/15 minute class).  He just talked, and talked, and talked (en français, bien sûr!).  Not a single word did he write on the board.  In fact, now that I think about it, he never even introduced himself!  Not exactly the best way to start your first day at school, oui?

Having come from a family of educators, where teaching runs in our blood, this was very painful for me.  How can you teach a language, actually — how can you teach ANYTHING — if there are no visuals?  No words written down on the board, at the very least?  I am a very visual person — and I believe in involving the most senses possible when trying to learn something. I needed a structure, a semblance of organization, rules clearly written on the board, word spells … the works!  I knew, by the end of the class, that this was going to be the end of My End.

375 Euros down the drain.

Or not?

Today, I made the resolution to not put that money to waste because I will use the same hours more wisely by home-schooling myself in French.  And that way, I know I will not be wasting my time by being annoyed at some person who lacks any dedication in his so-called profession.  (I mean, even when we were doing the exercises on the book, it seemed that it was the first time he was seeing those questions!??!  Like, do you think he just schemed over the book in the metro, on his way to his first teaching assignment?)

Perhaps it doesn’t help that our teacher in the first 2 semesters was such a great one — that anyone else fails in comparison.  Perhaps, but I doubt it.

When I started learning french 4 months after we moved here, it gave me some kind of confidence because I could now read and understand all the french signs around.  (Mind you, in a city which is rated as “the most visited city in the world over recent years” — you would think it would be tourist-friendly — i.e., signs in english?)  I could confidently go to the boulangerie, or to the grocery — and actually understand the labels!  Learning french also opened up new friendships for me (met some nice ladies in our class — who continue to be my “buddies” till now!).  And most of all, I am hoping, that it has inspired my 2 children to learn such a beautiful language.

So yes.  It is a sad day.  But I will overcome this wasted money, and I will spend the hours for the class, up to December 18, learning French by myself, in the comfort of my own home (yay! no walking to french class in the cold dark winter mornings!).

It’s a promise.  And hey, I might even share some things with you!  :)

Here’s something that at least brightened up my otherwise sad day.

Bonne nuit!  =  Good night!

Foodie-Not-So-Goodie #1: L’andouillette

I always considered myself an “easy” eater.  I can eat everything — except oysters.  Or so I thought.  Last night, my brother’s friend from San Diego came to Paris for a few days with his family… and we arranged to have dinner together. Being an ex-hotelier, with a vast background in Food & Beverage, it was quite a feat to decide where to bring him. His choice: either a typical French Brasserie or a good Moroccan restaurant with great merguez sausages.

We ended up in Julien, a beautiful old brasserie with a floral glass roof created between 1925-1930.  One cannot get any more french than this.  Escargot, Confit du Canard, Crêpes Suzette… the works.  We scroll down the menu and find that they are serving Andouillettes AAAAA.  Now, I have tried to order this at least 2 times before, in various other french brasseries, and each time, the waiter said, “Uhhmmm… non, non, non.  Mayy-bee?  Iz bettr? … You shooz somtin els?”

Each time, I believed the waiter and went on to order something else!

But not this one evening of celebration with my brother’s Grade-2-best-friend, Mr. F&B Man.  He was actually dying to have les andouilletes!  So I thought, well… if he is practically LOOKING for it all over Paris, and is just DYING to have it… then it must be good!  I also took notice of the 5 A’s beside the fateful word “Andouillettes.”  I figured — hmmm, that probably shows how premium this Andouillette must be!  He gets not only one Grade A, he gets 5!  So, voila!  We will have two of les andouilletes, s’il vous plait.

Chat, chat, chat… and suddenly, yay!  Our food! The waiter ever-so-gently lays the plate in front of me, and I see him from the corner of my eye, almost looking like … “Well, let’s just see how THIS goes!”  And just as I examine the plate before me, I get this whiff of… undescribable odour.  Like something I smelled once too often in the slimy metro stations of Paris.  Absolutely foul, offensive, and down-right repulsive.  Yep.  It was my bloody andouillette, nicely propped on a bed of french fries.  My order, plus my “seatmate’s” order  … the stench just doubling up in strength!

GAK.  I discreetly turn my head away from my plate to gasp for some air.

My daughter is happy with her Confit du Canard… and I try to be a good example by eating whatever it is that I order.  So, I try to be mature about it, and nonchalantly slice the sausage.  Unlike what is normally characteristic of most sausages, this one didn’t cut neatly into one slice.  No sir-ee!  When I sliced THIS sausage, the insides sort of crumbled, and on to my plate rolled these tiny little pieces of chitterlings.  Yes, chitterlings.  Otherwise known as:  diced lumpy pieces from the intestines of a very stinky pig.

I maintain my composure and quickly shove the chitterlings into my mouth, just like any mature adult would do.  Why prolong the agony, right?

Double GAK!  A real one this time.  I must have turned pale because I put my hand on my mouth, thinking that I was literally going to throw up!  I am not exaggerating.  This was N.A.S.T.Y.!!!  It tasted just as bad as it smelled!  Geeeeeeeeezzz, Louise!!!

I looked at my brother’s friend, Mr. F&B Man, and he was happily chomping on his andouillette — savoring every chunk, every flavor, every scent of it — just like it was an old friend.

I swallowed hard, very hard, and … just like a mature lady… I looked for the closest waiter and said, “Monsieur, un Confit du Canard, s’il vous plait.”

Believe it or not, Mr. F&B Man took my little piece of untouched andouillette… and wiped his plate, and mine, squeaky clean.  Now.  That’s what I call Superman!

P.S. Remember those 5 A’s?  Google will tell you that it is an acronym for “Association Amicale des Amateurs d’Andouillette Authentiques.” In English:  The Friendly Association of Authentic Andouillette Lovers.  Are you freakin’ kidding me???  I know what Club I’m not joining!

Another P.S.  Just to complete our education on l’andouillette:  During the colonial times in the U.S., hogs were slaughtered in December, and the preferred cuts of meat were reserved for the master’s use.  The remains, such as fatback, snouts, ears, necks, bones, feet, and intestines, were then fed to the slaves.   Cheap food, right?  The wealthier masters (to me, smarter!) though considered these inards so inedible that they were buried as garbage!

Uh-oh.  Garbage? I won’t even go there.  Nor the Swine Flu.

Morale of the Story: The Waiter knows best.

Next time you see something like this, pinch your nose and slowly walk away… just like any mature person would do! 

Foodie-Goodie #1: Saint Honoré pastries

Some nights ago, we hosted a dinner at home with two nephews of my DH and a very good old friend, AR — who was once the chief in charge of the fine dining restaurant at the Eiffel Tower.  My dear nounou-turned-cook was a tad bit pressured, knowing that she was going to subject her Asian cooking to one of the best chefs in town… but we were not worried.  AR is a very nice man who has a special place in his heart for discovering Asian cuisine!

He was happy about the Malaysian fare we prepared:  Malaysian Chicken Curry, Spring Rolls, Vinegared Salad (aged for 2 days), and my favorite match to the curry:  dried, fried, and crunchy “dilis” (tiny fishies!) and red native peanuts.  For the French, though, desserts are best when they are not home-made.  At least that’s what I read somewhere.  Your dinner guests are flattered when you take the trouble of (and spend the money on)  purchasing enticing les petites gateaux from the finest patisseries around town.

So that’s what we did.  I walked down to one of the best patisseries called “Carette,” established since 1927.    Yummmm!  A bit pricey in comparison — but well worth every cent.  The people behind the counter must have thought I was a looney because I came, bought 6 pastries, left … then came back 8 minutes later, to get another 4.  I figured 6 pieces might not be enough for 6.  It is always reassuring to have a little more than you need.  In pastries, and in life — in general. 

And this is when I discovered the best of the lot.  Among the Tarte 2 Citrons, the Opera, and the Tarte Framboises…the Saint Honoré was my personal favourite.  (But then again, anything that has generous amounts of cream will be my favourite!)

Saint Honoré is meant to be bought — not for the faint-hearted-wanna-be-home-based-pastry-chef!  It was named after the French patron saint of bakers, Saint Honoré (surprise, surprise!).  Its base is a flaky pastry dough, filled with thickened pastry cream.  On top of the cream filling is a layer of cream puffs, filled with custard, and dipped in a thin caramel.  And of course, on top of the little cream puffs, is yet another dose of more cream — flavoured with fresh vanilla!  Get it?  Cream, cream, and more cream!  Yummmm? O.U.I.

The last piece which I had for lunch today (left-overs must be eaten, right?) just deserved a parting shot (before taking its place on my hips).  Et… voila!

Saint Honore

La Liste

To all my fellow anglophones out there, this song might not make sense to you… but it’s a cute and catchy  song which was introduced to us by our dear French teacher.  Why?  Well, because its lyrics are just full of … … imperative verbs!  LOL.  We had to listen intently to the song and pick out all the imperative verbs:  find out their definitions, conjugations, and and and…!  If anyone is up for that challenge… start hunting for all 38 of them!  LOL!

And I am sharing it with you, because I do find it so frenchy indeed.  Also because I’ve been having this mental La Liste of things I would like to blog about as life has indeed been rolling on this side of the world.  Maybe this sudden rejuvenation has also been caused by the coming of spring?  Yeah, for sure!  No more heavy winter coats, no more brain-freeze-moments, no more icicle toes.  I feel the sun again! 

So… let this refreshing and loving song be the start of more stories to come:  La vie à Paris!

À bientôt.  (See you!)

My New Obsession

With weather that is constantly freezing (at least for my Asian skin!), see-sawing between -2 to 6 degrees, with snow and rain every now and then, I have found a new love:  Boots!  In any shape, size and color.  They keep my little toes warm, dry, and pretty!  Well OK… sometimes, they are just never warm enough… but they certainly provide me with some sort of shield against the cold.  I just love, love, love them… and wish we could wear them all year long!

With the winter sales on (yes, it is only in Paris where there are GOVERNMENT-MANDATED sales!)… this obsession is just further fueled, much to my hubby’s dismay.

Five boots since we set foot in Paris in September.  That’s almost 1.25 pairs per month.    Since a week ago, DH has declared a ban on purchasing yet another pair to add to my growing collection.  I have been good for two weeks now … although lately, there has been so much rain that I couldn’t help but think of … rain boots!  (And since the ban did not include “surfing” to salivate on them… my sister and I almost spent a whole morning commenting on the sumptuous choices available.  This newly discovered genre of boots:  Yummm!)

It’s almost a science when you go boot-picking.  I realized it is never a good thing to purchase this online (or so I keep trying to convince myself) because you have to actually FIT them to make sure they do not touch the back of your knees!  Also, since I do not have small calves, the circumference at the top of the boot becomes a critical factor!  So they may fit your feet… but you may have to go half a size more to get them to comfortably fit your calves, plus your jeans!  Then, there’s the allowance for the kind of socks you will wear with them:   How thick will your socks be?  Do you plan on wearing them with those cute warm fleece socks… like these beautiful ones from Hunter?

Yeah.  And those are just the socks.  Accessories, as they call it.

And Rain Boots?  Today… they no longer have to look boring.  Gucci, Givenchy, Jimmy Choo…. they all have their own version of rain boots that is sure to brighten up your rainy day!  My favorite ones for now are the classic Hunter’s (from good ol’ Scotland!).  But that’s just me.  Always on the safe and reasonable side.  These are my Hunters NOT!  Not yet.

Here are a few others that will definitely make a fashion statement!  Ed Hardy’s Rain Boots, Roxy’s Black and White’s.

Then, there’s Burberry’s take on ‘em rain boots — a simple, understated fashion jewel … or Sperry’s rugged paisley boots (my sis’ choice).

I can’t get enough out of fantasizing on these rain boots.  And somehow, this time, I know I won’t even need to drive a tractor nor own a cow to justify wearing them!

No wonder I love the rain!!!

A Weekend in Burgundy & Port Lesney

Our first weekend of work and play, sans kids.  Final destination was to spend a day with an old friend of DH who was turning 50:  a 2-star Michelin chef, super cool, headband-cum-leather-pants-sporting dude who shoots with the conventional film loaded on his 21-year-old Nikon.  He does not own an email address, does not work a computer, runs one of THE best restaurants in Nice which does not accept credit cards, does not have a phone, does not take reservations.  No menu, you eat what he finds in the market each morning.  Epitome of simplifying life.  Cool, right?

But before we reach the final destination, a quaint and beautiful chateau in Port Lesney, we take the opportunity to visit Burgundy.  But of course!  Vineyards, wine-tasting, picturesque scenes.  Home-cooked Escargot and Beef Coq au Vin for dinner, ending with a taste of their local cheese.  Yumm begins.

While in the area, we visited the Hospices de Beaune, also known as the “Palace for the Poor.”  Founded in 1440 by Nicolas Rolin, to house the poor and the needy.  A spectacular showcase of French architecture in the 15th Century!

Then, we finish off the 425 kilometer drive at our destination:  Chateau de Germigney, Port Lesney.  We join the birthday celebrant and his 20 some guests at a typical bistro just “down the road.”  An even yumm-ier lunch:  Frog Legs and Oysters to start, a huge beautifully-stuffed fowl, and the most mouth-watering dessert I have yet tasted:  a Paris-Brest.  A nice light pastry with whipped cream, with subtle hints of crunchy caramel and almonds.

The afternoon was then spent visiting another historical place — a castle built in the 1500’s, where a “village” was formed within its walls to produce salt.  The architecture of the building looked almost “modern” — a sign of a creator born way before his time.  The “village” was contained in a semi-circle lay out, with the Director’s house smack in the center.  Imagine living in a structure like so:

thanks to master liv for helping me edit this photo!

Dinner was the clincher:  a 7-course meal that necessitated 4 cigarette breaks, and 4 hours of emptying each plate of exquisite dishes prepared with such care and love.  Did I mention the matching wines as well?  Truly an evening of fine taste.  (I must add that those ciggie breaks had to be taken in the adjacent terrace, amidst the winds of winter, with frozen fingers, a cocktail dress, and only a pashmina to throw around my shoulders.)

Oh… it was a tough weekend indeed.  Especially when we had to eventually retire in a room that looked like this.

Life is certainly beginning to brighten up on this side of the world (despite the temperatures at -5 degrees)!

Weekend Rating:  9.5 out of 10. (Also because I managed to find my way home!  DH had to continue driving down to Cannes for business, so I had to take the TGV from Dijon to Paris.  I alight at Gare de Lyon, armed with my “metro instructions” all memorized, only to find out that Line Number 1 was “out of order.”  Panic… NOT!  Because I never leave home without my Metro map!  I figured a reroute and skipped all the way home, proud to be slowly developing into a more learned Anglophone.  Yay for me!)

One last P.S.

Can’t leave this post without a picture of  the loo.  I mean… how bloody cool is that?  How much french-ier can a french loo be?

His 15 Minutes of Fame

Tooting my DH, as captured on French Television news last Sunday.  For those who do not speak French, he is actually showing off our new home under construction.  That’s why you see the B’s on the ceiling.  LOL!!!

Seriously, the news feature shows the Hotel under reconstruction, Roland Bonaparte’s palace in the 1800’s.  Fabulous treat for the eyes… and truly a hotel opening to watch for!

P.S. Sorry IT people… but I can’t seem to get that “trial version” notation out.  Maybe the program’s price will be worth an investment if he ever makes it to the news again!  LOL!

Kicking in the X’mas Spirit at Champs Elysees

While DH was gone for the weekend, we decided to go on an adventure to visit the much-talked about Xmas lights at the world’s most beautiful avenue:  the Champs Elysees.  We alighted from the underground metro, jaws dropped, eyes wide open, big smiles on each of our faces!  There were flickering lights all around us, bluish in tone; the smell of saucisson and hot apple cider filled the air, and the people — lots of them just buzzing about!  Instant Christmas spirit in the air!  And did I mention, shops and shops on both sides of the road selling specialties from various provinces of France!  Wonderful wonderful feeling!

The highlight of our visit was the big snowflake of a ferris wheel.  It was the most high-tech one I have ever seen in my entire life!  Each “cabin” could fit 6 people comfortably.  Upholstered seats, a switch to turn on a lamp, speakers to listen to a man (in French of course) pointing out the historical sites around you.  Thank God the cabins were fully enclosed — otherwise at -2 degrees, we would have been ice sculptures by the time we reached the top!  Here’s how it looked from a distance.

But the best shots to see are the close-up ones — so you can see what I mean by “high-tech!”  Three men-in-black escorted the passengers into the cabins.  And strangely enough, one cabin was even marked as “VIP” with its windows heavily tinted.  Maybe that was the cabin that had the bar I was looking for … or maybe even some hot chocolate for the ride!

The downside of the evening?  Freezing toes.  I thought I would be the first person to suffer from frost bites in Paris!  I found myself wishing I had just bought the same Ugg boots as my two kids — whose toes were all warm and toasty.  Now I am convinced that I just need one of ‘em — no matter how bulky or unflattering they look on a 40+Vat- aged-woman.  The sheep fur on the inside, I read, helps to regulate your body temperature (you’re supposed to wear them without socks!).  When I read this, I thought, “yeah — right” but after that evening on Champs Elysees — I was convinced, it just has to make it on my next To-Buy List!

By the time we went home, numb-toes and all, we had:  survived 2 Toboggan rides, purchased fluffy warm slippers for my nanny and my son, won a toy from a “fishing game,” and sampled some warm apple cider.

Just enough to make the Christmas spirit kick in.

Oh, I should add that we spent the evening with Fenna, my DD’s good friend from our KK days, who came to visit for the weekend.  My DD was just so touched by her visit — a sweet sweet reminder of their simple, lovely days.

Back to Earth on the 63rd Day.

2003 Snow in Paris by Paul Flaggman

This is cause for celebration.  This is enough reason to go back to my much-neglected blog.  All because last Sunday, the 23rd of November, my daughter and I saw snowflakes falling from the sky.  For the very first time in our entire life.  Whoooopeeee!!!

We alighted from the underground Metro, just after Sunday mass, and grumbled under our breath because it was raining.  Again.  And it was cold, unusually cold.  Then, we both suddenly realized that the rain didn’t feel like rain because it seemed heavier … and no longer transparent.  It was white, more solid than wet.  It was … SNOWING!  Little specks of white dots falling from the sky!  Falling, not straight down like rain does … but falling like they were flying down, swinging in all sorts of directions, like little parachutes finding their own little spots to land.  It felt magical, fairy tale-ish, and just plain unreal.

My daughter and I looked at each other and screamed, “It’s snowing!” — and instinctively, we pulled out our phones to take pictures of our first Snow Experience.

And that is why I am back.

To tell you about our first snow experience along Avenue Kleber.  And to also tell you… that our “nanny-turned-cook” has finally arrived last Friday.  Which is why I have been reunited with my computer, which is why I have my life back, which is why I am happily blogging again.  Enough of this “Domestic Goddess” Wanabee dream.  Housework simply spoils the brain.    Hahahaha.

So much reason to celebrate.  I hope I will not be gone for such a long time again.  Ever.

My First 7 Days.

Bienvenus a Paris!

We made it.  Through the 15 hour plane journey, the 60 kgs excess luggage, the visit to our apartment, the kids’ entry into school. Our first 7 days were … challenging, in many ways.  It is one thing to visit Paris as a tourist who immediately immerses himself into the surrounding magnificence of the city.  It is another thing to visit knowing you will have to make it your home. The priorities in both cases are just completely contrasting.

Before you can even begin to feel at home, you will have to:

1.  dive (not drive!) into the dreaded corrida at the Champs Elyssee roundabout with at least 12 exits, while giving the millions of pedestrians the right of way and spotting the traffic lights which are 6 feet above the ground (why couldn’t they make it higher for everyone to see?)

2.  learn to eat a french baguette every morning without gaining half a kilo a day

3.  master saying “Bonjour” and “Bonne Journee” at every encounter

4.  go to the supermarket and decipher each product in French (how the hell do you know when something is low-fat?)

5.  squeeze yourself into the Metro like a sardine while guarding your purse (after learning its in’s and out’s, of course)

6.  make a firm resolution to learn the language (i will get to that… one day…)

7.  watch your 4-year-old son board the school bus for the first time in his life without tearing

8.  tell your daughter things will be fine when she comes home from school on the first day, culture-shocked about how the other kids her age were preoccupied with cigarettes, hang overs, getting stoned, and belly rings

9.  figure out the 12 various product codes that you will need to buy to construct one Ikea cabinet

10. drive to Ikea by yourself!

Yes, life is not a bed of roses when everything around you is just so overwhelming.  But I will try to focus on living life in Paris just like a tourist would, only after I have learned to make it my home.  It’s a long journey ahead, and all I need to do is take one step at a time.  C’est la vie.

from Paris Mix 08/moon.dreamer