I have moved…visit my blog at www.fantasticfrance.wordpress.com

Watch out for Dog Poop, and other pet-ty things…

There is a little scrawny dog that lives in my “hood” here in France.  It exists on the second floor of the complex.  I live in a sort of Melrose type place where all the patios and terraces face on another.  And, wouldn’t you know it, the charming owner has taken it upon herself to leave that filthy mutt on the patio the entire day every day.

 Now normally this would not bother me because, who is home during the day?  Well, this unemployed house wife is for the moment, so I get to listen to that little creep all day.  I tried to get a picture for you, here is what I got.  Hard to see the dirty mutt but the neighbors were watching so I had to go quick and he was hiding behind the chair, click on the photo for a better look:  

Now, I guess it could be worse right?  It could be a bad kid, or two, that I had to put up with right?  Oh, wait, I forgot to mention that they live directly across from us, one floor up.  God bless the mother.  I would have killed not one, but both of those children if they were mine.  Augh.  And, what’s great it, she is a flash back to an era long gone in the United States, smoking moms.  Don’t see those much any more do you?  This one has a cigarette going at all times, unless she has a kid or some laundry in her hands.  Then it’s in her mouth.  I guess I would take to the bottle so I can’t really blame her.  Here is a picture of the screamers house through the window of my guest bedroom.

This brings me to a another petty thing here that is slightly annoying.  To the tourist they might even be barely noticable let alone interuptive.   First, there is dog poop everywhere, watch out!  You would think that people would take note of their dogs pooping in the middle of side walks and “walk” there dogs elsewhere, but not here.  I have heard they have adopted the “baggy” system in Paris, but that’s poo-poo here.

And while we are on the subject of pooping, I can tell you, for the first time, in all my time of traveling abroad, I came across a “toliet” that was actually just a hole in the ground.  What was most fascinating to me was, not that it was in a gigantic mega grocery store, but that there were three perfectly normal, flush-able toilets in the bathroom.  Mind you they didn’t have a traditional seat but a toilet none the less.  Who in their right mind chooses the hole??? 

Of course I left immediately, ran to my husband and asked, how on earth does a woman pee in one of these things?  To which her responed “Uh, I don’t know…”.  But then again he doesn’t know much about “girl stuff” in general.  I am dying to figure this one out.

And while we are flushing out the toilets here I might mention they are a bit different.  Some come equipped with two buttons.  Usually one bigger than the other.  And you guessed it, the small one is for “smaller jobs” and the bigger one is for “bigger jobs”.  We have one of these at our house.  Nice.  Very convenient.  I can say this, you want to give her a few pushes extra every once in a while because the idea here is not to “flush” so much as it is to bring clean water in.  I learned this after living here for a few days wondering why the bathroom never smelled all that great.  Now I just flush for fun. 

I found some interesting Toilet blogs while researching this subject.  For those of you who are “sensitive” to the subject, avoid the ”krapper” link.  It’s not for you.  I hope I don’t offend too many of you.  Webber I added the special link for you.  Check out some of this great toilet humor!

http://wheresthetoilet.blogspot.com/, http://www.saynotocrack.com/  or for the less sensitive types http://thekrapper.blogspot.com/

So, I gotta run, it time to flush!

Interested in finding out more about flushing in France or just want to get educated, check out this article.  http://gofrance.about.com/od/travelplanning/ht/toilet.htm If you do decide to read the article pay attention to the note about men and women sharing bathrooms.  It happens a lot so don’t be surprised.

Oh, and carry those little handy wipes just in case!

And one last thing, get use to saying toilet.   It’s universally understood.

Ciao~

Recipe 1: Legumes Farcis à la Provençale or Stuffed Vegetables (serves 6)

Here is my first attempt at a recipe.

Stuffed vegetables is a traditional dish in the region of Provence. When you see the word, Provençale, it will usually mean food or style of cooking in the southeastern region of France. Many of us in the states have eaten stuffed peppers in some variety so you are at least familiar with the concept.  The idea here is to buy fresh, including the meat if possible, and the dish is traditionally inexpensive because it is designed to take advantage of vegetables that are in season.

Some traditional vegetables used for stuffing (Farcis) are tomatoes (tomate), zucchini (courgette), eggplant (aubergine), peppers (poivron), onions (oignon) and you might see a potato every now and again.  There is a difference in vegetables here in France versus the states.  Everything is half the size. 

Here are some pictures from the market near my house.  You can see the sizes are different.  So that being said, buy smaller veggies, they are usually better anyway and we eat too much in general.

If you are going to make this dish, figure 1-2 vegetable per person and then buy the number of veggies according to your guests plus a few more, if you are doing onion and tomatoes which are my favorite! (Photo courtesy of http://www.cuisine-campagne.com) 

Here is a recipe you can follow that is pretty generic but gives you the basics. 

Road Trip (I) à Nice et Monaco

 So, as promised we going to talk a bit about driving here in France, and more importantly, my first Road Trip.  My husband invited me to go to Nice for a couple of days to have a look around seeing as how its a holiday here (Yes, I know, last week we had Monday and Tuesday off (Tuesday was Labor Day just like we do in the States), and this Tuesday we are commemorating the end of WWII in Europe).

So, back to the story at hand.  The Road Trip (I).  So the hubby has invited me to Nice (pronounced exactly like the word niece) where we can stay in the Military hotel for great price with a great location on the beach.  Here are some pictures of the hotel.

Given that the holiday season has not started yet, travel to the city should be easier and booking a room is still possible.  We’ll talk more about hotels in France another time…

 So, Sunday morning, the man of the house went to vote.  Voting is done here on Sunday’s so it doesn’t interrupt the work week.  We were on the road considerably earlier than we planned, which was great seeing as how we wanted to take the more scenic (and longer) route.  Off we go in our Twingo.  Yes that really is the name of our little 1999 Renault.  She certainly isn’t the Saab’s I have been driving almost my entire life but you gotta love a car called a Twingo.  And check out the brand name, typical European marketing, so fun. 

  

The past few days the tire was losing air so we said we would change the tires.  Then, like lots of people you get busy and forget.  So the day before our trip we spent the afternoon drinking wine and eating mussels and forgot all about that little Twingo tire.  No worries though.  We decided to hit the road on Sunday and keep filling it along the way, so off we go. 

About 45 minutes into the trip we stop to check the tire.  It was low again, so we fill her up.  On the road again…15 minutes later, you guessed it.  Whoa, hang on! We’re going down…  So there we are, beautiful day in southern France with our luggage on the side of the road, grateful for our little spare tire.  No harm done right?  We’ll change that little bugger and off we’ll go. 

I should mention, when I came to France a few weeks ago I feared this little old car.  I admit it, I am a car snob and I have spent my entire adult life driving new cars so I never had to worry about “car troubles”, or being stranded, hence the new cars. So, I was grateful that my husband was there to help out.

 Back to the tire.  So, the tire is out of the truck along with the luggage and various other items.  But no jack.  We have the safety triangle, safety vest, tire repair stuff, but no jack.  Now what?  No problem I say, call a tow truck and we will get this taken care of toute suite!  No, sorry, says my husband, it doesn’t work that way in France, especially on a Sunday.  You have to use a call box located along the route. There is no one to call.  The police don’t patrol the road because it is private.  Speed is checked by radar and the police are waiting at exits only.  And you can’t just call a tow truck.   You have to use the call box.  Period.

 DRIVERS IN FRANCE TAKE NOTE: Call boxes are located every 2000 meters (about 1.3 miles apart).  And, of course, you know where we are right?  Exactly in the middle.  What’s great is, they have marked on the ground, the number of meters you have to go, so as you are walking you know exactly where you are and how far you have to go!  We were at the 1000 mark. 

So the hubby decided he’d try his luck at waving someone down before pounding the pavement.  I of course am a skeptic.  I mean, were all taught to never stop for anyone on the side of the road right?  If you see someone in distress, use your cell phone to call for help!  But he wanted to try, so we waved.  And wouldn’t you know it, after 20 minutes we decided to lock the car and go by foot to the call box.  Just then, a truck stopped and a real French cutie offered some assistance.  Take note here reader, we never loaded the car back up, or locked it, this will be important later.

So during the “jacking up” process my husband thought he might have positioned the jack on a wire, so he readjusted it, and in three minutes we had our new tire and our cute French guy was back on the road with his jack.  We loaded up the car, had a good laugh and were ready to go. 

In the car we get buckled in and as we start the car it turns over and stops, …as in dies.  WHAT????  “Oh No” my husband says, in this way he has of saying “Oh No” with his French accent, that indicated he knew exactly what the problem was.  My first thought was, well if you know what it is you know how to fix it.  But he didn’t.  He assumed when he jacked up the car the first time he some how interrupted the fuel line.  So we spent the next 10 minutes trying to work this issue out.  No luck.  Then I thought, wait, I am a girl from the Suburbs of Detroit and we pride ourselves on knowing cars, I will call my step dad, mister fix it, he’ll have the right advice for us.  Never mind that its 5000 miles away and 7 am in the morning.  But, after waking him up and trying his advice we have no luck. 

Then, I am so brilliant, I have a thought… “Let’s try pushing the car and starting it in second gear!”  “Great idea” my husband chimes, “Let’s do it!”  I am so excited to get on the road again.  It’s been over an hour and it’s warm outside and the car does not have air.  So, I drive, and he pushes, and pushes, and pushes, and is now running with our little Twingo as I repeatedly try to get the engine to turn over.  Nothing.  Good thing is we are on a slight decline so the car keeps rolling.  My husband keeps pushing and we take the limping Twingo to the call box (a 15 minute journey with my darling husband pushing his heart out).  I didn’t feel too bad though, because he could use a bit of exercise.

Now as many of you already know, if you keep trying to start a car over and over again, eventually the battery is going to die.  I mean, it takes a lot of juice to get a car to turn over.  So somewhere between 700 meters and the call box, you guessed it, dead battery.  Oh well, what can you do?  We hobble our way to the call box and make the call.  Finally, recued.  When our tow truck arrives a tall blond blue eyed guy listens to our story of a flat tire, the car not starting and now the dead battery.  He asks Robert, “Did you do the little trick with the car keys, locking the doors?”, “Ops” says my man, “No, I forgot about that”.  As it turns out, these little Renault’s have a security system that will keep the car from starting if the car is shut off for a period of time without the doors being locked.  So, after we charged the battery, we locked then locked and unlocked the car, and voila!   She works… After paying 160€ Imagine, all we had to do was lock the car once and this whole story…

 I will say, in defense of mon cherie, he was thinking he’d done something wrong with tire jack when he propped up the car so he wasn’t really thinking about the security system…Oh well.  Off to Nice! Here we go!

 We arrived in Nice after a quick stop in Cannes for lunch on the beach.   

We got a look at some of the most famous hotels in Cannes where all the film stars hang out during the festival and the year.  These hotels are spectacular, and while the average you and me can’t afford the prices, it is still worth a look inside.  Tough life I know.  Of course we had our rosé and a short rest before hitting the road again (after a little incident where my husband misplaced his credit card).  The drive to through Cannes to Nice is incredible.  To your right (droit) you have the Mediterranean Sea, and to the left (gauche) you have the Alps with their permanent snow cover.  It is extraordinary really.  The drive long the water, the scenic route is a flat road, but the highway is very mountainous and gives you the sense that you could fall off into the Med’s blue waters.  

I will admit it was a long trip along the scenic route. It took us about two hours to wind our way to Nice in bumper to bumber traffic.  I cannot imagine what it might be like in the height of summer.  I have have travelled from Le Lavandou (the word for Lavander in French and the home town of my husband) to St Tropez, about 45 km, but in the summer and it takes hours.

The hotel in Nice is located along the water on Promenade des Anglais, viewed from the “Colline du Château”, and the photo is compliments of Wikipedia, not me.  What is so incredible is that there is a promenade or walkway that runs all the way across the city along the water, which is miles long a littered with cabana restaurants and a very rocky beach.  Sun bathers beware, you won’t find sand here.  Only rock.  But that should not deter you.  Nice is France’s second largest city and she is a gem!  Here is another view of this spectacular city, overlooking Le Chateaux.

 

 We have talked about French painters in another earlier blog, so I will keep the theme here for you and tell you about Henri Matisse (painter, sculptor), who lived in Nice from from 1918 to 1954 and many of his painting were inspired by what he saw looking out his window.  Here are some paintings of his you might have seen before;

That night we dined along the rue de France, in the old city, where 10′s of restaurants sit side by side along the street. Forget dining inside, there are literally hundreds of sets outside and it the most exciting place to be.  We dined on traditional Provincial food (I had stuffed veggies, recipe to follow, while my Husband had fish soup.  Fish soup is a favorite of the hubby but not of mine.  It is strong so buyers beware.  It is served with Parmesan cheese and croutons, along with a spicy mayonnaise that is intened to be spread on the crouton and deposited into the soup the way you would with Bouillabaisse.  I will tell you another story about fish soup and Bouillaaisse another time.  

After a good night of rest, we hit the road for Monaco.  The drive out of this city, heading east is spectacular.  Truly one of the ,most beautiful things I have ever seen.  Winding roads take you higher and higher then bring you back down to the most heavenly blue water.  Just outside of Nice is a little area that holds the small villages of Villefranche and Beaulieu sur mer in a must stop for coffee (un café) or lunch.  It’s like a little paradise.  Get out and walk around these little water spots. They shopping was great.  The rest of the drive to Monaco proved to be just as spectacular.  Monaco however doesn’t reauire more than an afternoon of your time.  Be prepared to walk up hill and up stairs.  This place caters to the rich and famous and tourist.    I don’t have much to say about this area, however they were preparing for the Formula One race and would venture back to the city for this event if only for the parties!   Here is a photo from the top of the chateaux where the royal family lives.  The views are spectacular!

After lunch we headed home to Toulon and arrived safely just a mere 2.5 hours after we left.  Our little Twingo did great and I am feeling better out our next trip in two weeks to Montpellier!

Let’s go Shopping for Food! And a little about the apéro

Okay let’s talk grocery stores, markets and food.  Man this is heaven let me tell you…

First let’s talk about the stores and their selection.  It’s incredible really.  As an American the grocery store has become a place where quality takes second place to convenience and quantity. Not here. Nope.  There are aisles of Dairy Products, aisles…  I mean, more kinds of yogurt than you can count, and cheese??? I counted 300 before I even finished.  There are 10 types for every one kind of cheese.  For instance, J’adore Goat Cheese.  I had 20 to choose from before my husband showed me the “good” stuff.  Who knew?

We shop at a store called Casino, but goes by other names in the Family like Geant (pronounced like Giant).  We also shop at CarreFour which is similar to Meier’s stores or Super Walmarts where they carry everything from food to house and garden.  However, one thing you won’t find in the grocery store, pharmaceutical products like Advil and the likes.  That’s a whole different shopping experience. 

 Like many things in France I find their marketing and branding to be charming and always playful:

Like many places here when it comes to shopping with a cart, even the first steps are different.  For example to get a cart (with wheels) you need 1€.  You put the euro in the lock and the cart comes free, and off you go. (You,ll get that euro back when you return the cart by taking to the designated area and connecting back to the other carts…think carts at the airport and you get the concept).

 Next let me tell you about this other little place they have called Picards: 

This place if fabulous.  It like a gourmet frozen food market.  This stuff is fantastic.  Everything you could ever want in prepared food, gourmet style.  You seriously never have to prepare a meal again.  You want it they have it…Even Sushi.   And it’s great.

I have been told by a few people that this behavior of mine of buying everything in site that I have never had or seen before is normal.  I think they even have a name for it, it’s something like Shopping Madness.   This gives a whole new meaning to the frozen pizza.

 There is another tradition here in France and much of Europe that many of you have heard about.  It more an art form really, and it the art of taking a drink at someone’s house before the dinner.  Much like cocktailing in the states but with some defined, but not written rules. 

 The apéro, which is the familiar form of apéritif, refers to a drink, generally alcoholic, served before the evening meal.  In some case the drink is already chosen by the host, and here in the south of France and all over in general you will find people drinking Kir Royale (Champagne cocktail, very yummy) or Ricard/Pernod or L’anis or a Pastis which is a licorice flavored drink.  Here are some pictures so you can go out and buy yourself some… But remember to mix with ice and water to taste.  Usually it’s a 3:1 ratio.  The 1 being the booze. 

  Along with the apéro a snack is served, often pistachios, chips or cashews. Or, you can even have small cakes or canopes, tapas or even cheese.  This is how I get you back to the topic at hand of Picards. They have all these great little appetizers all ready to go for your little apéro.  We now have boxes and boxes of them.  It’s embarrassing really.

One more small note about all apéro food…It’s never consumed like a meal.  Usually the host will put out only a small bowl or plate for the group.  Just enough to wet your whistle as we say.  Oh, and getting drunk during the apéro is poo-poo’d.  Save it for later. 

 We’ll talk more about this topic of food, and the art of eating later…Right now I have to make my espresso!

Welcome to France…Est-ce que tu aime du Rosé?

 

I have been in France now for a little over a week.  While I have not ventured out on my own, I have had a busy few days.  First let’s start with all the champagne these Frenchies drink, Oh La La.  Since you’re new to French the question above, ”Est-ce que tu aime du Rosé?” Is simply asking, Would you like some Rosé? 

So, many of you are wondering where I am, so let’s talk for a minute about where I am exactly and then I’ll tell you a bit about the wine in this region.   I am in France.  France is in Europe.   I think we’re all clear on that.  When I say I am living in France, people naturally assume that it’s Paris.  But I am far from it.   Observe, if you will, the map:

    I live in Toulon, which is in the south eastern part of France. The area is known as Provence, or the Cote d’Azur or the French Rivera.  We are situated right on the Mediterranean sea to the right of Marseille.  My apartment is in a little place called La Seyne sur Mer.  

Some of you are familiar with the area because it is close to places you know, like St. Tropez and Monaco and Cannes where they hold the film festival every year. 

Toulon is known for its large military port, which is the French Navy’s war port for all of the Mediterranean, is also a marina for private boats, and the embarkation spot for places like Corsica and Sardinia.  Toulon is also bordered by Mont Faron(542m,) in the background, which is seen here to the far right.  It’s a rather squared off  flat Mont as you can see: 

Some of you might know the region because it was heralded but some very well known painters like Cezanne who painted in Aix-en-Provence and thought it had the most beautiful light in the world.  Here are a couple of paintings of Cezanne which give you a good idea about the colors here in the south.

                           

Okay, so now we’re getting to the topic at hand, the Rosé.  And I know you know what I am talking about…Yes, pink wine.  In recent years it’s practically been forbidden in the States to drink it because it’s consider unsophisticated wine.  Please don’t be alarmed. This is not White Zinfandel or Grenache, Alors! This is the real deal, and it’s the celebrated drink in the south of France.  It’s everywhere and the French are often found drinking it in abundance.   And, I can be found drinking it for lunch and dinner now. 

It is slowly becoming more chic in the states and you can typically find good ones at stores like Whole Foods and other gourmet grocery stores. 

 So, let’s have a quick Rosé lesson.  It’s called Rosé because, well, it’s pink.  And, Rosé is the word for pink in French.  See, you’re already learning French.  It is served well chilled on a summer’s day or any day really, (I mean you’re in France do you really need a reason to drink?) and is a great light wine for warm summer evenings;  And, it is a great match for just about any food.  Now, when you think Rosé you are probably thinking, sweet.  But don’t, because that isn’t the case.   They are light though, and are considered to have low to medium amounts of alcohol which lends itself to drinking lots!

Want to know more about rosés?  Try a few of these websites and articles: www.drink-pink.com, http://www.taunton.com/finecooking/pages/c00070.asp , www.rose-wine.com

More later on French customs and culture around drinking…

 À bientôt

Michelle