An American Girl in Avignon

23 avril
Ah, the joys of French cuisine. The French are vraiment experts in two areas: food and wine. Being the domestic person that I am, my idea of cooking involves sticking something in a microwave and pressing start, or dialing the nearest Chinese takeout place. And my knowledge of “good” wine involves finding something cheap with a cool name and a pretty bottle. In other words, I never cook, and I know nothing about wine. Yet, being in France is slowly changing my attitude towards cooking and fermented grape juice. I am beginning to acquire a taste for them both. Monsieur M. is constantly trying to educate us about the joys of French wine, and I think his efforts are beginning to pay off. According to him, if the wine is good, it will pleure (cry) when you swirl it (meaning that a dripping residue will trickle down the sides of the glass as you swirl it around), and it must be from France, of course. Oh, and never, never, never leave water in the bottom of your glass before pouring the wine in it, or mix water with wine: it is considered insulting. The Provencal wines and champagnes come in wider shaped bottles – symbolizing their locality and high quality. I know that we are allowed to bring 2 bottles back with us: one of wine and one of champagne (that amazing stuff we had at Easter…that is decided) pour moi. As to which kind of wine, that is still up in the air, but I know I will use my new-found knowledge to make the decision. Thanks, Monsieur M.

As for cuisine, today, we had l’atelier de cuisine at the Halles to test our skills in the kitchen. (The Halles is a large indoor marketplace in Place Pie with arrays of fresh produce, bread, fish, pastries, pre-made goodies, and even artwork – just waiting to be bought!) We were split into three groups: one prepared the pork, the other made the apple tart, and the last, mine, whipped up some ratatouille (yes, the dish made famous by the Disney-Pixar film with the cooking rat :) ). I was surprised at how much I actually enjoyed shopping for - and then making -the food. In a strange way it was kind of enjoyable. My inner Stepford wife was finally coming out! Who knows, maybe I’ll take up cooking when I get back home? I’ll have to learn eventually someday – although I am currently capable of making some mean stir-fry and am a master at the microwave, coffee maker, and telephone.

The list of ingredients were in French, bien sur, so it took some time figuring out what exactly it was we were looking for. Since I had not had supermarket vocabulary since French 2 in high school, this made things more difficult. For example, what the heck is a courgette? I assumed that it was either cabbage or cauliflower; since I knew carrot was carrotte. Nope, it was a zucchini…see what I mean. So after hunting the fresh food stands, we boiled tomatoes to peel, chopped veggies, made the sauce, and cooked away. It was actually kind of fun, although it was sheer to torture to have to sit and smell all of the food we had just made, knowing that we had a long walk ahead of us before we could eat it. After the pork was finally done, we packed up our culinary creations, grabbed a baguette and something to drink, and headed to a park for an outdoor picnic. Sitting in the sun, while smelling the Irises, and then deciding to go play on the seesaw with Rachel, made me forget all about the mounds of homework I had waiting for me back at the house. I was going to go to the island and have some fun!

The island in Avignon, Barthelasse, is a strip of land just off the main part of the city that can only be reached by the ferryboat over the Rhone. The ferryboat picks up one load of people, crosses the river, unloads, picks up another group, travels to the other side, and so on and so forth, all day long. Thankfully, it was free. When we reached the island, Meghan, Kristina, Kyle, and I joined Lance, John, Melissa, and Brad for some sunbathing, wine, and cards.

While sunning ourselves, a man with a professional looking camera approached us and asked if we wanted to be in his documentary about springtime in Avignon. Of course we said yes; how exciting! Who doesn’t want to be in a movie? He asked us (while recording) what our names were, where we were from, and what came to our minds when we thought of spring. My lame answer was papillons and fleurs (butterflies and flowers)…which is true, but if only I knew more French vocabulary, I wouldn’t have sounded so lame. After I heard Lance’s answer of “vert” (the color green), I felt a little better. Of course he was kidding, but the man filmed us bursting out laughing after his response…and then reverting back to English. He left quickly after that, but said he would use our responses. I’m not so sure if I believe that…haha. I think our film star days are over. But hey, I guess we all have the right to claim our foreign stardom, and say “I’m famous…in France.”