An American Girl in Avignon
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Humor in Hunger
April 10, 2009
Okay, so I have noticed a pattern. Dinner has progressively gotten later and later every night. The originally decided hour of 8:00 (which is late in and of itself), turned into 8:15, which turned into 8:30, which turned into 8:45, which lead to 9:10, and tonight ended up being 9:35. This seems like eons away from the time we have our traditional afternoon “goûter” after school each day. (Three o’clock is the hour set aside in France for a sweet snack.) Used to the American 5 or 6 o’clock dinner on the dot, Kristina and I are famished by an hour normally set aside for evening snacks. Sitting upstairs in our room, pacing, wondering when on earth the Morviellez were going to yell, “À table!” up the stairs while flipping our obnoxious buzzing light, we planned our mode of attack.
Realizing that is was 8:45, and we hadn’t heard hide no hair of the parents or the clanking of pots and pans, I decided to make my way downstairs, and pretend to have to use the restroom (in other words, hint that we were hungry). I turned on the buzzing light and meandered my way through the kitchen toward the bathroom, only to find Madame rummaging through the cupboards…and nothing cooking. Hmmm. Tempted to shout “Are we ever going to eat around here??” I restrained myself and instead asked in a nonchalant way that hinted I was wondering when the heck we were going to eat, “Diner ce soir??” She replied while rummaging through the pantry, “Je cherche quelque chose.” (I’m looking for something). Oh mon Dieu! To which I replied, forcing a smile, “C’est d’accord, si le dîner est plus simple ce soir.” (It’s okay if dinner is simpler tonight). I hoped that she got the hint that I didn’t care what we had, I just wanted something edible and quick. Well, at 9:30 we were finally called down to the table, and for some reason, Kristina and I found this hysterical. We were so slap happy from our hunger and irritation that we found everything funny. The dinner was a measly one dish: first thing we found funny, and the second thing we thought was funny was that when we looked beneath our seats, the cochon d’inde (guinea pig) named Zephyr was walking around on the floor. We both started laughing hysterically as the family stared at us, wondering what in the world was so unusual about a guinea pig being beneath one’s feet at dinner. Monsieur explained to us that he needed to exercise, because he was getting too fat (for some reason the family thought the appropriate time for him to do this was during dinner).
Sometimes you just have to laugh at frustrating situations instead of getting angry; it makes life a whole lot more enjoyable, which explains how Kristina and I found humor in hunger. I am happy to report that dinner the next night was at 9:00. Still late, but better. I still don’t understand how French people eat dinner so late every night, but I am trying to be open to another lifestyle. Thankfully, I and my stomach are beginning to adjust just fine.
Okay, so I have noticed a pattern. Dinner has progressively gotten later and later every night. The originally decided hour of 8:00 (which is late in and of itself), turned into 8:15, which turned into 8:30, which turned into 8:45, which lead to 9:10, and tonight ended up being 9:35. This seems like eons away from the time we have our traditional afternoon “goûter” after school each day. (Three o’clock is the hour set aside in France for a sweet snack.) Used to the American 5 or 6 o’clock dinner on the dot, Kristina and I are famished by an hour normally set aside for evening snacks. Sitting upstairs in our room, pacing, wondering when on earth the Morviellez were going to yell, “À table!” up the stairs while flipping our obnoxious buzzing light, we planned our mode of attack.
Realizing that is was 8:45, and we hadn’t heard hide no hair of the parents or the clanking of pots and pans, I decided to make my way downstairs, and pretend to have to use the restroom (in other words, hint that we were hungry). I turned on the buzzing light and meandered my way through the kitchen toward the bathroom, only to find Madame rummaging through the cupboards…and nothing cooking. Hmmm. Tempted to shout “Are we ever going to eat around here??” I restrained myself and instead asked in a nonchalant way that hinted I was wondering when the heck we were going to eat, “Diner ce soir??” She replied while rummaging through the pantry, “Je cherche quelque chose.” (I’m looking for something). Oh mon Dieu! To which I replied, forcing a smile, “C’est d’accord, si le dîner est plus simple ce soir.” (It’s okay if dinner is simpler tonight). I hoped that she got the hint that I didn’t care what we had, I just wanted something edible and quick. Well, at 9:30 we were finally called down to the table, and for some reason, Kristina and I found this hysterical. We were so slap happy from our hunger and irritation that we found everything funny. The dinner was a measly one dish: first thing we found funny, and the second thing we thought was funny was that when we looked beneath our seats, the cochon d’inde (guinea pig) named Zephyr was walking around on the floor. We both started laughing hysterically as the family stared at us, wondering what in the world was so unusual about a guinea pig being beneath one’s feet at dinner. Monsieur explained to us that he needed to exercise, because he was getting too fat (for some reason the family thought the appropriate time for him to do this was during dinner).
Sometimes you just have to laugh at frustrating situations instead of getting angry; it makes life a whole lot more enjoyable, which explains how Kristina and I found humor in hunger. I am happy to report that dinner the next night was at 9:00. Still late, but better. I still don’t understand how French people eat dinner so late every night, but I am trying to be open to another lifestyle. Thankfully, I and my stomach are beginning to adjust just fine.
posted by Catherine at 11:09 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home