Sitting in Silence

I recently attended a dinner party with some young, French professionals. Twenty-something's milled about drinking wine from plastic cups and snacking on sausage with cheese as they discussed politics and operas they'd recently seen. It was surreal only because it wasn't what I expected when I was invited to have a dinner with a friend-of-a-friend and his cousin. 

What I imagined as a small, quiet affair was anything but. The passage of time was marked by food and conversation and it was all really charming. 

That said, I spent the majority of the time feeling anxious. While this group of established friends talked about climbing the job ladder and getting their Master's I tried to look really cool in the corner--hoping the red wine wasn't staining my teeth. And what's worse, I managed to exhaust the brunt of my go-to French phrases in the first 10 minutes. After that I was left with my backup tactic in instances of prolonged French speaking: offering superficial insight on a conversation at 45 second intervals to the effect of,  "well there you go," "I know!" "That's cute," "where's the toilet?" 

Everyone was extremely nice though, and my novelty as an American helped buoy me among the party guests. One conversation that struck me was with a charming fellow named Eloi who had studied for three years in America getting his Master's. He'd also spent time in Brooklyn (and had the red flannel to prove it). I asked him if he experienced any culture shock during his stay? He responded that only one social custom really caught him off guard. It took Eloi almost a full year to understand the concept of  "hanging out."  "People would invite me over and we'd sit on a couch and do nothing. I had no idea what was going on."

I looked back at him blankly. What's there to get?

That's the point. Eloi explained that in France there is always an occasion for getting together. Whether it be coffee/tea, aperitif, amuse-bouche (pre-dinner snacks) or a night cap. In fact, the French have partitioned happy-hour into so many distinct parts that you can always find an excuse to get together post 5pm. As he said this I reflected on my own time in France. And I was like, "WHOA!" Every time I'd met up with a French person it primarily revolved around eating or drinking. 

For the comparison, I thought back to the states. Sure we like to get together and do stuff, but just as often there will be no premise to socializing. In American we actively invite someone over and then continue to go about our day as if we were alone. The only difference being that we can enjoy that pleasant, social sensation of being with another human for a couple of hours. My social life in middle school revolved around going to my best friend's house while we took turns watching each other play video games. Yea I thought. Hanging out is sort of weird. And I love it! And apparently so does Eloi, who is a big convert to the custom. Sure, some might suggest that sitting in silence with your friends is the opposite of healthy, but I think it's quite romantic. Like Uma Thurman's line to John Travolta in "Pulp Fiction."

And even more interesting was the fact that here I was, at this harmless (dare I say delightful)  dinner party, and I was a wreck. These tiny, unspoken rules of society are so ingrained that you don't realize you've exited your comfort zone until someone offers you a plastic cup of red wine and asks your opinion on the opera of Aida. "She had things pretty rough. But boy could she sing."

My (exhaustive) List of French Things

In my first few weeks of living here I've noticed several differences between the United States and France. The first to strike me were the fact that France doesn't have the sexy green M&M and also Castle is very popular. Here's my extensive list (so far) of other peculiarities. Check back often:

*Everything is closed on Sunday. I asked a French friend if this was for religious reasons (I was under the assumption that France was a pretty godless country). "No" he replied. "The French are just very lazy." 

*Street signs in France are more of an afterthought than a signpost.

 It's as if the city itself is saying, "oh, you don't know where you're going? Too bad. Try harder." Street signs are small blue placards that are attached to the outside of buildings. And they're really small-

That is if you're even lucky enough to find a street sign amongst the pageantry of stimuli vying for your attention. Sometimes there's nothing there. It's special.

*Pharmacies, on the other hand, are incredibly easy to find. I don't know what medieval tradition this dates back to, but whenever you're in need of some european Advil or bandaids you simply have to look for the glowing plus-sign. The street signs could learn a lesson here...

*When you go to the gym you have to bring your own workout towel. This is a tiny detail, but still striking to me. Also gyms in France kind of have the ambiance of a gay club. Lots of flashing lights, bright colors, and electronic remixes of Kelly Clarkson. 

*Rollerblading is still cool here. So much so that I just happened to stumble upon literally hundreds of roller blades while walking along the Seine. This was reassuring to my 90's sensibilities--much like Mighty Ducks or Saved by the Bell.

*While the sexy green M&M is nowhere to be found, France still has Crispy M&M's. Which is huge in my book. I imagine they made a deal with Mars in the early 90's to keep the crispy M&M in exchange for giving up all peanut butter products. 

*At the Laundromat you pay a flat rate for the washing machine, but for some reason, to use the dryer you pay in increments of six minutes. This makes absolutely no sense to me. 

*Bagels are kind of popular-

They're also super expensive and bad. Extra demerit points for the grammatical error. 

*That said, the pizza is pretty good-

But you have to buy a whole pie. The idea of buying a "slice" is as foreign as pasteurizing the cheese that's on it. This is purely a cultural oddity since they obviously have the tools to sell slices. I mean they use heat lamps to keep the pastries warm! This is one American export that would make a killing.

*The French (and UK) equivalent of a drunk slice of pizza is a kebab--often lamb, beef or chicken. 

*They make up for the lack of drunk pizza with drunk-

massages. Seriously. It's a weird and thriving industry. If you can get past the fact that a stranger is gripping your thigh like a Shake Weight, it actually seems kind of nice.

*If you're looking for milk and eggs in the supermarket don't waste your time in the refrigerated section. More often then not they're chilling (figuratively) in the cereal aisle. This confuses my mother to no end.

*They do yogurt and pudding like a boss-

It's a thing of beauty.

*Butter is good. REALLY good. So good that most products proudly boast the quality (and quantity) of their butter-

This is just a small sample of the "pur beurre" crowd. They are a proud and gluttonous group. 

*I just thought this was beautiful. I apologize in advance.

This is America

While staying with Geoffrey and Arnaud I had the pleasure of visiting a French restaurant. Most of my experience in France has been with home cooked meals. That felt sort of right to me (i.e. very French) so I was excited to see what dining out was like. 

It looks like this:

And also a lot like this:

Since we wanted something quick, but didn't want to opt for fast food (MdDonald's has monopolized France, but the first Burger King is opening this month) we settled on a something both inexpensive, but with the amenities of fine dining (chairs and waiters). This idea, of course, is an American export.

Buffalo Grill is best described as the love child between T.G.I.Fridays and Applebee's--if the baby was conceived at a tailgate... on top of an indian burial ground. 

The restaurant as a whole is an effort to reduce "America" to its smallest, most essential parts. Obviously there's a lot of Native American imagery-

But also pinball-

It's like the founder of the restaurant watched a bunch of cowboy films and then accidentally popped in "Tommy."

All of that I can look past though. At least the chosen details--while anachronistic and tangential--are accurate. What really gets me is the dessert menu-

OK. They got the brownie with ice cream right. Fine. But that's like knowing that Eskimo's live in igloos (am I dating myself and being slightly racist? Who knows!). Pancakes on the dessert menu? Nice try but that's firmly a breakfast staple! Although I get why that my be confusing. It is basically a cake...But sorbet! Yogurt! 

Nice try Buffalo Grill but those aren't the makings of an American dessert. I'm calling you out!

But they really did get the brownie right. Seriously. It was delicious. 

Face of Education

Today I sat in the Teacher's Lounge of the high school I work at dipping a day old pancake in a plastic espresso cup filled with hot chocolate while reading a back issue of New York Magazine from July (the "cheap eats" edition). 



Don't believe me?

I teach children. It's a crazy world we live in.


PS: I've made approximately 2 teacher friends.