Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Mmm mmm good.
Yesterday night we ate cod liver spread on bread as an appetizer and had grain-flavored yogurt for dessert. Sometimes France is so weird.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Listin'
5 things the French do better than Americans:
1) Cheese, yogurt, and ice cream. Everyone knows to expect good cheese in France, but I'm telling you, folks, the yogurt is to die for. It's creamy and less sugary but somehow sweeter and more delicious than what we have in the States, and they have flavors that I wouldn't have thought would be good, but I would have been wrong. Pineapple is my current favorite. And all of the above goes for ice cream, too--creamy and smooth and perfect. Even the vanilla is enough to make you renounce your American citizenship. I thought about simply saying that the French do dairy products better but, strangely enough, they fail when it comes to the original dairy product: milk. They don't refrigerate it. It's all what my roommate calls "hurricane milk"; super-pasteurized, room-temperature milk in a cardboard carton. Bleh.
2) Dress themselves. While I'm not overly fond of the whole black-on-black-on-black thing that the Parisians are rocking, they undeniably dress better than us. Everyone, from the tiniest children to the white-haired great-grandmas, looks très chic. No sweats, no highwaters, no ratty tennis shoes, no belly shirts, no so-tight-they're-love handle-inducing jeans. And everything is age appropriate. Come visit, I promise you won't see a 35-year old in velour pants that say "Juicy" across the butt. Can you guarantee me the same aux Etats-Unis?
3) Show their students some love. Being a student in the EU is probably the closest I'll ever come to being treated like royalty. Things like museum entrance fees and concert tickets are pretty deeply discounted for everyone ages 18-26, and if you, like me, have identification that lists you as an art history student, lots of things are free. I only had to pay 13 euros for a card that gets me into the Louvre any time I want, and it's good for a year. It makes the buck-fifty I get off a movie ticket back home look like crap.
4) Architecture. Okay, I'm not an expert, but I can't help but compare the buildings here, especially the churches, to the ones in the States and wonder why we ever decided that steel was superior to stone, and bullet-proof nonsense better than stained-glass. I mean, seriously:
5) Drugs. I can't speak for the illicit substance scene, but the French have their pharmacies down pat. You can't walk two blocks in the city without spotting the neon green plus sign that marks a drugstore. My roommate went to the doctor about a foot injury and came back with a scribbled-over note with a prescription for, as near as I could tell, jibberish. All she had to do was hand it to the lady at the counter of the pharmacy and about two seconds later she was paying just 5 euros for both the medications she needed. Easy. Maybe a little too easy.
5 things Americans do better than the French:
1) Their hair. Well, the women at least. The French women all (exaggeration) have gorgeous Andie MacDowell-esque hair that they don't bother to do anything with, throwing it back in a ponytail or wearing it down but frizzy. And those who don't have naturally beautiful hair seem to have accepted their fate and given in without a fight. Maybe it's superficial of Americans, but it seems like we all work with what we have and put a little (or a lot) of effort into making our hair look the best it can.
2) Salads and Mexican food. I like salads. Back home, I've had great experiences with restaurant salads. So I ordered one here, figuring that, if the French are just better cooks generally, a salad here would be an even better experience than ever. Wrong and wrong again. Really, I tried it twice. The general French salad is just lettuce. No tomatoes, no carrots, no cheese, no croutons. Nothing but lettuce and dressing. That was the first mistake. So the second time I made sure to order one that sounded a little heartier, with chicken, cheese, and haricots verts. This is what I got:
Yeah that's a cold poached-ish egg on top of cold green beans on top of un-dressed lettuce, with some fried chicken and Kraft singles thrown on there. Never again.
The bad Mexican food I can't really blame them for, given their distance from Mexico. And I would just make my own but even the ingredients are either absent or inferior. Tortillas are a rarity, canned foods, like beans, are both expensive and a bit of a cultural affront, and cheddar and mozarella are virtually impossible to find. Chipotle may be the first place I hit once I'm home.
3) Bathrooms. Loos. Les Toilettes. Firstly, public bathrooms in Paris are all but nonexistent. And I don't just mean ones in parks and on sidewalks--those are sketchy and I'd be hesitant to use them anyway. Many stores, restaurants, museums, and even malls are without restrooms. And water fountains. I guess the two go hand in hand. The city should figure it has a problem when it's got men relieving themselves in the corners of metro platforms. Secondly, the bathrooms in residences are completely backward. They generally have a tiny closet with a toilet in it, and then a room next to it that houses the shower and sink. I don't know about the French, but it's my inclination to wash my hands after just having peed, not after showering.
4) Keep their hands to themselves. Maybe this is just a big city thing, but leave it to the Paris metro to make you wish you weren't a young woman.
5) Customer service. Nearly everything about Paris can be described as bustling, and many small boutique employees, especially at grocery stores and bakeries, don't waste time smiling. They expect you to get in, choose what you want, and get out. Even people whose title is customer service or information are sometimes less than helpful. Last week, I showed up late to my art class at le Chateau de Versailles. My class had already started their tour so, rather than wander around the huge facility trying to find them, I figured I'd see what help the employees could offer. I started with a guard, who told me to check with the people at the ticket counter, who sent me to the information desk, who sent me to the first floor of an office building. There, I told the guard that "J'ai un cours de l'histoire de l'art avec Valerie Bajou mais je suis en retard et je ne peux pas la trouver." (I have an art history class with Valerie Bajou but I'm late and can't find her.) "Tu as un cours d'histoire de l'art," he responded. Rather than addressing my problem, the guy took the opportunity to address my sentence structure, which had one determinant too many for his liking. I just about popped him one.
1) Cheese, yogurt, and ice cream. Everyone knows to expect good cheese in France, but I'm telling you, folks, the yogurt is to die for. It's creamy and less sugary but somehow sweeter and more delicious than what we have in the States, and they have flavors that I wouldn't have thought would be good, but I would have been wrong. Pineapple is my current favorite. And all of the above goes for ice cream, too--creamy and smooth and perfect. Even the vanilla is enough to make you renounce your American citizenship. I thought about simply saying that the French do dairy products better but, strangely enough, they fail when it comes to the original dairy product: milk. They don't refrigerate it. It's all what my roommate calls "hurricane milk"; super-pasteurized, room-temperature milk in a cardboard carton. Bleh.
2) Dress themselves. While I'm not overly fond of the whole black-on-black-on-black thing that the Parisians are rocking, they undeniably dress better than us. Everyone, from the tiniest children to the white-haired great-grandmas, looks très chic. No sweats, no highwaters, no ratty tennis shoes, no belly shirts, no so-tight-they're-love handle-inducing jeans. And everything is age appropriate. Come visit, I promise you won't see a 35-year old in velour pants that say "Juicy" across the butt. Can you guarantee me the same aux Etats-Unis?
3) Show their students some love. Being a student in the EU is probably the closest I'll ever come to being treated like royalty. Things like museum entrance fees and concert tickets are pretty deeply discounted for everyone ages 18-26, and if you, like me, have identification that lists you as an art history student, lots of things are free. I only had to pay 13 euros for a card that gets me into the Louvre any time I want, and it's good for a year. It makes the buck-fifty I get off a movie ticket back home look like crap.
4) Architecture. Okay, I'm not an expert, but I can't help but compare the buildings here, especially the churches, to the ones in the States and wonder why we ever decided that steel was superior to stone, and bullet-proof nonsense better than stained-glass. I mean, seriously:
5) Drugs. I can't speak for the illicit substance scene, but the French have their pharmacies down pat. You can't walk two blocks in the city without spotting the neon green plus sign that marks a drugstore. My roommate went to the doctor about a foot injury and came back with a scribbled-over note with a prescription for, as near as I could tell, jibberish. All she had to do was hand it to the lady at the counter of the pharmacy and about two seconds later she was paying just 5 euros for both the medications she needed. Easy. Maybe a little too easy.
5 things Americans do better than the French:
1) Their hair. Well, the women at least. The French women all (exaggeration) have gorgeous Andie MacDowell-esque hair that they don't bother to do anything with, throwing it back in a ponytail or wearing it down but frizzy. And those who don't have naturally beautiful hair seem to have accepted their fate and given in without a fight. Maybe it's superficial of Americans, but it seems like we all work with what we have and put a little (or a lot) of effort into making our hair look the best it can.
2) Salads and Mexican food. I like salads. Back home, I've had great experiences with restaurant salads. So I ordered one here, figuring that, if the French are just better cooks generally, a salad here would be an even better experience than ever. Wrong and wrong again. Really, I tried it twice. The general French salad is just lettuce. No tomatoes, no carrots, no cheese, no croutons. Nothing but lettuce and dressing. That was the first mistake. So the second time I made sure to order one that sounded a little heartier, with chicken, cheese, and haricots verts. This is what I got:
Yeah that's a cold poached-ish egg on top of cold green beans on top of un-dressed lettuce, with some fried chicken and Kraft singles thrown on there. Never again.
The bad Mexican food I can't really blame them for, given their distance from Mexico. And I would just make my own but even the ingredients are either absent or inferior. Tortillas are a rarity, canned foods, like beans, are both expensive and a bit of a cultural affront, and cheddar and mozarella are virtually impossible to find. Chipotle may be the first place I hit once I'm home.
3) Bathrooms. Loos. Les Toilettes. Firstly, public bathrooms in Paris are all but nonexistent. And I don't just mean ones in parks and on sidewalks--those are sketchy and I'd be hesitant to use them anyway. Many stores, restaurants, museums, and even malls are without restrooms. And water fountains. I guess the two go hand in hand. The city should figure it has a problem when it's got men relieving themselves in the corners of metro platforms. Secondly, the bathrooms in residences are completely backward. They generally have a tiny closet with a toilet in it, and then a room next to it that houses the shower and sink. I don't know about the French, but it's my inclination to wash my hands after just having peed, not after showering.
4) Keep their hands to themselves. Maybe this is just a big city thing, but leave it to the Paris metro to make you wish you weren't a young woman.
5) Customer service. Nearly everything about Paris can be described as bustling, and many small boutique employees, especially at grocery stores and bakeries, don't waste time smiling. They expect you to get in, choose what you want, and get out. Even people whose title is customer service or information are sometimes less than helpful. Last week, I showed up late to my art class at le Chateau de Versailles. My class had already started their tour so, rather than wander around the huge facility trying to find them, I figured I'd see what help the employees could offer. I started with a guard, who told me to check with the people at the ticket counter, who sent me to the information desk, who sent me to the first floor of an office building. There, I told the guard that "J'ai un cours de l'histoire de l'art avec Valerie Bajou mais je suis en retard et je ne peux pas la trouver." (I have an art history class with Valerie Bajou but I'm late and can't find her.) "Tu as un cours d'histoire de l'art," he responded. Rather than addressing my problem, the guy took the opportunity to address my sentence structure, which had one determinant too many for his liking. I just about popped him one.
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