The French Twenty Fifth

Yesterday, astoundingly, was my third birthday since moving to France. Incidentally it was the best one thus far and not so surprisingly my oldest yet- 25. I'm officially half way through my twenties and there's definitely a shift of consciousness that comes along with it. The pre-25 20 birthdays were all very fresh, sexy, and dangerous. This one feels significantly more serious. 

I treated myself to a bike ride to the Parc de la Colombière where I visited the spring baby goats. So tiny! The size of cats and springing and jumping like popcorn. Little French kids were reaching their hands through the fence and feeding them bread and leaves.  In the evening, A took me out to a pretty extravagant dinner of six courses: escargot, tartar de beouf, echine de chouchon with heavenly mushrooms de Paris, a ridiculously rich cheese platter, avocado and citron sorbet, followed by a perfect port wine with a terimisu. Not to mention several to-die-for wines. Poor A, I clearly saw him break a sweat when the bill arrived. Luckily I was too tipsy and happy to feel guilty. My birthday present: a calcedoine ring. It's beautiful and it fits.  

Anyone who has been following this blog from its beginnings will know that this birthday is a vast improvement to the lonely lamentable situation of my first birthday abroad.(Entrapped with B in his messy, monk tower apartment questioning the decisions of my life- followed by dinner with some seriously unpleasant company which I payed for.) Ahhh. It's so true what the say about needing the bad to appreciate the good, though. Had I never suffered a birthday with B, or five years of mediocre relationship with K, for that matter, I'm not sure I'd know how good my situation is now. 

Juice and Smoothies

Despite the sweat inducing decision making going on in the apartment this week, I've been managing to divert a great deal of energy on health and healthy eating. This is an enormous challenge in France, one that I managed in The States, but am only now managing to grasp in non-veggie friendly Europe.

The two big steps to succes is that I've embraced juicing and blending. Several weeks ago I bought a juicer and followed it quickly by a blender.  Since then, by days have been going more or less like this:

Breakfast:

I've done a lot of reading about how liquids are the best choice for the morning. They kick start your stomach's engine and your metabolism after the night and are considerably easier to digest than solids. So! I start with green tea, followed by a juice: usually carrot, beet, ginger, lemon, a chunk of cucumber, and a few greens: either spinach or a romain heart. 

The result is very aesthetic and oh so good for you. Be careful with this though, get too creative with your juices and you'll end up with something that tastes pretty terrible, so stick to  recipes until you get the hang of it. 

Lunch: 

Since this meal interjects the more active part of the day, (usually,) I cut loose and allow myself something more substantial. Yesterday it was baked sweet potato topped with my vegetarian chocolate chilly. Oooo so tasty.

Dinner:

This is where things get really exciting: healthy smoothie time! Starting with a salad, (often chopped endive, walnuts and raisins,)  I finish off my my night with either a green smoothie or a "chaco-cado" smoothy: (banana, avocado, cacao powder, almond milk, maple syrup, and a handful of spinach.) 

I'd been dying to try this recipe since in the past weeks I've become an avid follow of The Detoxinista, and it was.. interesting, but not nearly as tasty as she lead me to believe it would be. But! On the bright side, I drank a whole avocado and an extra serving of leafy greens! My skin, hair, and morning flat tummy thanked me. 

Blogging From Abroad: Version 2.0

It's been a hundred years, much has happened, and at last I think its time for IFFTP to rise from hibernation, shake the snow off, and turn over a new leaf for Spring.

For those of you who are still around after the long hiatus, I've put a lot of thought into the fate of this blog and have decided that in order for it to continue it has to make some serious style and behavioral changes. When IFFTP began, I was a bit of a swinger set lose in the streets of France and made that more or less the topic of the blog. Times have changed though, and it would seem I've been roped into a domestic relationship. No longer is it practical to try and talk under cover about my sex life and not expect personal repercussions. (-And at times long, lame, hiatuses.)

So! Change number 1 is that I want to change the focus of my blog from sexual gossip, (sad I know,) to travel, eating healthy abroad, and the trials and tribulations of international relationship and romance. (They'll be some mild sexual gossip, of course, I can't resist a little from time to time.)

That said, I've just returned from the South of France, Perpignan, from visiting with my boyfriend's parents. (Formally known as TMI, now known as "A". Gasp!)  The train home today returned us to the snowy, cold and gray region of Burgundy that we presently call home. Statistics show that Dijon saw an astounding 12 hours of sunlight in the month of July- Astounding because I'd personally guesstimated it to be much less.

While in the South, we visited Eus, known as one of the most beautiful villages of France. Pretty enchanting. Especially the feline inhabitants. 

Posts to come: 

1: I'm probably getting legally married for passport benefits in a mere few weeks. Serious case of cold feet inevitable. 

2: I'm starting a juice fast wednesday to evacuate 2 years of french toxins

3: I'm randomly visiting my radically anti-establishment middle school professors on an impromptu adventure to Crete in several weeks. 

The South, Spain, and The Fish Crisis

One week down in Perpignan, and though I've spent a good deal of time on the couch, in bed, and in the reading chair while TMI works in the vineyard, the time here has also been embellished lightly with some perfect Southern France and Spain exploration. 

Last Tuesday I went with TMI's mom to work and had a day to myself wondering the walled medieval city of Carcassonne. It felt a bit like Disney Land with the streets all stuffed and colored with flamboyant summer shirts and hairstyles of plump aging tourists, but the novelty of the scene was worth it.

Thursday TMI's mom took me yet again on an adventure and we crossed the border into Spain and spent the late afternoon in Gerona. Loved it. We sat under flowery trellises and sipped melty melon flavored shave ice-like drinks.I think we were supposed to be female bonding, which I tried sooo hard to do, but the language barrier is still fighting our having a comfortable relationship like a feral cat on a leash. 

The weekend the whole family went back down to Spain, this time to a town called Figueres, where TMI and I explored the Dali museum. We kept very close to one another and I adored exploring the inside of all those slides I'd seen while studying art history in college.

In other words I've been managing alright in the occasionally awkward 2 weeks in Perpignan with TMI's parents situation. But, just to complain about something, we have been eating A LOT OF MEAT. As in, every day, every meal. Before moving to France I'd been vegetarian for several years, namely because I couldn't handle the violence of eating something that once walked and talked- picking bones and avoiding fat has always made me squeamish, but also because I'm a strong animal rights advocate. I'd been handling the meat eating well enough, but last night,(and I know you guys are gonna barf at my wimp out factor here) we had fish, the kind where it's the whole fish, gaping mouth, steamed eyes and all, on the plate.

I picked around the bones and tried my best not to look at the face.. the little teeth, the white eyes, etc, and I was trying to work my way around the vein covered spine, when I pulled at it and a slimy red fish brain slipped out of the head. That was it. Trying not to attract any attention, I tried to pile the fish in a way that looked like I'd eaten it and left the table the first chance I got. It was a big reminder that for a year I'd been doing something I didn't feel good about; but also that I'm ashamed of not wanting to eat meat and afraid that TMI won't be able to understand.

Please, Spice Up My Life

How weary I have grown of the mild cream and butter flavors of France! I'm desperate for cinnamon, turmeric, ginger, clove, basil, masala! Spices!!! I made the grave mistake today of daydreaming of a world of zesty veggies: Indian food- and I nearly went mad. My body is aching for zest. Burning for spice. Hungry for heat!! Citrus! Peppers! Uuugghhhh. A girl who found her earliest culinary loves in Thai and Indian cuisine should never have chosen French as her heart's lacking language. 

In desperation I sent a message to a friend and San Francisco dweller begging that she send me a flat rate of boxed Indian foods. Incomparable to restaurant quality of course, but oh so much better than nothing. 

Lately I've been facing a heightened awareness of the lack of flavor in my life. I went on a quest to not 1, not 2, but 3 super markets seeking jalapenos, a grocery store staple in the states, but couldn't find the elusive buggers anywhere. Here food is seasoned with butter, salt, oil, herbs; garlic occasionally, but the slightest pick to your tongue you are hard pressed to find. My desire for saucy spicy burritos; steaming coconut curries, and colorful vegetable stir fries has just about pushed me out the window and to an un-timely and overly dramatic death. 

And I wont even mention Kombucha. !!!

First person to mail me a spicy care package gets an authentic Eiffel tower key chain. who's in? Anyone?

You Ain't Nevah Had Sushi..

..Until you've had Hawaiian sushi. Teri chicken, water cress, and avocado roll. Article 1 of important things to do while home is now completed.

Chocolate Chili

After many an experiment, the world's best veggie chili has been created in my tiny French kitchen. So good, in fact, that I can't not share what I've learned with the world. If you're in the mood for a dark, thick, zesty and healthy chili that will frankly blow your socks off, follow these simple instructions:

1) chop your veggies: half a zucchini, 1 large tomato, 1 yellow onion, a pile of mushrooms, 1/2 red bell pepper and 1/2 green bell pepper, 2 cloves garlic

2) toss em all in a big pan or wok with olive oil and saute till cooked.

3) pile them into a big pot with a can of kidney beans + juice from the can

4) if you want meat, (totally not necessary) save some veggies in the pan and saute some ground beef with em- then add to pot.

5) THE SECRET INGREDIENTS: add a heaping table spoon of unsweetened cacao and a can of beer to the pot. (seriously)

6) Half a can of tomato puree

7) Spices: a butt-load of cumin and oregeno, a pinch of paprika, pepper, shallot, a dash of red cayenne pepper, and half a cube of beef bouillon.

8) Now stir it up, then let it simmer for 45 min to 1 hour.

9) Impress the heck out of your friends and family.

Weight Gain Complaining

The above image illustrates what 9 months in the land of butter and cheese can do to a person. The preceding photos are from two different modeling shoots from my hay day mere months before coming to France. The last is a horrible hit of reality which assaulted me from a pack of paparazzi new years eve photos. Dear God!

As I've mentioned, before France I was a valiant vegetarian and veggie-holic. Here my rabbit life style was seemingly impossible to support and I adapted meat, and, while often being fed by friends and family of the significant other, have also had to embrace a constant supply of "veut-tu un dessert?" "la fromage?" "Ce soir on va manger la raclette!" And other thin-killing assaults.

Looks like a slippery slope to me. Since I'm planning on living in France long term I'm gonna have to figure out how to stay healthy in the land of temptation and all that oozes and melts... and fast!

Snow

Well, after all that scurrying and worrying, the plans have changed and yet a few more French adventures (and naps and sex and boredom and challenges) lie ahead. The airline prices never went down and I wasn't able to cushion my emotional turmoil with a return plan before Christmas, so it appears I will be in France with TMI and his family after all. It will be my first Christmas without warm Hawaii sand and temperate outdoor dinner parties, and the consequential homesick of this reality has been pelting me like a sudden hail storm, but the good news: I will be here until February and thus have time to endure necessary French exams, scary phone interviews, and essay writing that could get me into a Masters program here in Dijon; granting me the ever sought after student visa and means to come back to the country I love. This means I can weather the 18 hours of flight time without attempting lost-love-themed suicide in the bathroom.

So this means my first Christmas day with my significant other's family, possibly a New Year's adventure in Prague, (which could require all night partying, death, and sharing a hostle room with 5 French guys) and a ski trip in the Alps. Probably all wrinkle inducing but at least blog material, right?

Last but not least, yesterday I ate raclette with TMI and two of his friends. It's this crazy grill + cheese melter thing that you put charcuterie and maybe mushrooms on while cheese melts- than you sort of pile it all together on potatoes on your plate in one big fat festival of social weight gain. I don't know if it was the comfort food or just common sense, but Mr. J finally eased off a bit and the happiness that's supposed to come from good love seems to be peeking out from all that icy insecurity and worry. There's still a lot of snow shoveling to do, I mean, but hey at least there's hope.

French Pizza = Yes

I'd like to put it out there that France has a serious leg up on Italy when it comes to the eating-pizza experience. Here's why: huile pimentee. Olive oil with hot red peppers, rosemary, thyme, and garlic steeping in it. Aka, spicy ecstasy in yum form.

I know what you're thinking- pizza is oily enough, can I please not add more slick to that which all ready stains my napkin orange? I too thought this. Until I experienced the multiple orgasms that come after dousing a pizza in this stuff till its basically drowned and gone to heaven. Pizza in France is now one of my most favorite pass times.

..And today was a rather wonderful day! Here's why: I am now the proud (but also pretty nervous) owner of A: a French bank account, and B: a French apartment. That's right! They keys shall be placed in my hands tomorrow morning! If all goes well, that is. (Time has been showing us that it tends not to, but positive thinking is in fashion these days.)

Secondly it was an incredibly warm and beautiful spring day, and evidently, love is in the air because not one, not two, but three Frenchmen conjured some reason or another to stop me in the streets. The first two ditched upon discovery of the language barrier but the third graced me with the serious and sensual phrase: "J'adore votre accent.." Welp. The day suddenly earned 10/10 for happiness points.

On a completely unrelated note, last night I had a dream about M's that ended in getting pummeld by the backhand of his angry wife. Ok universe! Enough with the subconscious karma stp! It did leave me wondering what disasters (and delicious non disasters) were avoided by moving to France, though.

No Thank You Croque Madame

A French grilled cheese: aka, a croque madame. The lesson learned here is that I am never, EVER, going to eat this again. Especially, ESPECIALLY, only two hours before dance class. This thing is heavier than eating a stick of butter and has more fat in it that you can shake a stick at. Creamy French cheese and ham all melted together with an egg on top.

Still no news on the appartement, and I'm about ready to go wild animal on the agency. Paris on Monday, now to go throw up!

The French Twenty Third

It's my birthday! ..And a lonely one. I've thus far spent the day cooped up in B's gross apartment feeling sorry for myself and avoiding his unpleasant face at all costs.

The good news! Maybe. I'm moving out of here at long last! I have found a studio. No larger than a walk in closet, mind you, but free of rotting shrimp shells and boasting some charming workability. See for yourself:

Oh! And, amusingly, guess what I see out that window?? Could you believe it, it's B's windows across the street! Yup. All the searching and I find my studio right across the street.

So back to the birthday. I spent most of it moping  so finally I convinced B to "take me out" for dinner. At the restaurant, all he did was stare vacantly into the distance while he twirled his hair. He is a compulsive hair twirler by the way. It drives me crazy. And if he cant get his hands on his hair, he does it with the hair on his neck. Always lovely while sitting in a restaurant. It's a little disconcerting, actually. It's just a little more obsessive than natural human habits. It absolutely can not be stopped.

I had a a great plate of salmon, but was unpleasantly surprised afterwards to learn from B that I was paying. Great. So now my eyes are tired from a day of intense feeling sorry for myself. ..But adventure is on the way! I can feel it!

Rapunzel

Frustration x 1 billion. I'm trapped in a medieval tower staring longingly out the window at the world beyond. Too bad my story's been told all ready or maybe I could make some money selling children's novels.

In a rare turn of events, B took me out to a cafe where we had a drink with his friends. THANK YOU GOD. It was the first time he's seen his contemporaries since I arrived in France a month ago and I practically clung like a sea urchin to the female in the bunch, talking her ear off in my French/English melange. Not only am I desperate for interaction beyond boring B, especially female, but I love sitting with a bunch of young people chatting away in French!

that little white umbrella on the right is where we sat and where I froze to death and contracted cancer via second hand smoke.

So what have I been doing to my better my life? I've joined a dating website, that's what! What's the plan?? Solicit the affectionate eye of another naive French man to later break the heart of gently so that I have another place to live. It worked the last time, right? Brilliant.

But seriously, that's only one of the for-the-most-part-pathetic efforts I have launched to stimulate a more exhilarating life abroad. I think I should get myself to Paris. So I've begun emailling students and other people my age I've found through social networking in attempt to create a support web, so that I may find a place to live / stuff to study / tasks to accomplish in the great city of romance.

In other news the sky is blue outside! And I HATE being inside when the sun is outside! Honestly I can't understand people my age who can sit inside all day in front of the tv/computer. (cough cough B cough cough) You know what kids? when you're old, that life is your only option. Sitting home alone without functional legs or eyes or ears or people that want anything to do with you. I'll watch tv then. For now, I'm in France, and I'm not gonna sit around waiting for my hair to get long enough for a prince to climb up. I'M GOING OUTSIDE!!!

Oh yeah, and look! A salad. B makes them. I've decided it's the only plus to living with the frustratingly boring guy.

Its got potatoes and a wedge of raw ham. How French!