Andy Smallman

Back last summer, when we first arrived in France and wanted to make homemade tacos or burritos or anything that might sound remotely Mexican, we had to get creative with spices and get lucky finding tortillas. As an example, when Romain came to visit us when we were in Pornichet last July, the Mexican food stars aligned and I put together a fine taco dinner. He seemed to really enjoy it (or was just being his usual polite self). But I’m thinking he started talking up that Mexican meal. You see, soon thereafter I started seeing “Old El Paso” brand Mexican food kits on the shelves in the large grocery stores. And by “on the shelves,” I mean a single package tucked away somewhere on a bottom shelf. But, hey, it was progress. Now just look at today’s photo, taken about two hours ago at Leclerc! The Old El Paso offerings have spread from the bottom shelf to the top as well as out wide. Mexican food has made it to France (or at least the quick-to-fix store-bought variety for lazy chefs)! Old El Paso even made it to a coveted end aisle display. And of great significance, the brand is now being stocked at our small neighborhood grocery store, the U Express.

Yeah, that’s right. I’m taking the credit (maybe giving a little to Romain).

The work on which I’ve been reporting about our neighborhood grocery store’s exterior remodel continues. On February 15th I referred to this work as a “facelift.” We had no idea how significant of a facelift it would be, nor how long the facelift would take to complete. On February 22nd I talked about the glass-enclosed entrance that had been added. In today’s photo you can see the fancy panels that have been added to either side of the entrance, attached to the vertical posts to which I made reference on March 13th. Melinda suggested this morning that the panels and the posts combine to form a kind of nature scene, something like trees. The posts are trunks and the panels imply leaves. I can see that, but I doubt that you can from this photo. I suggest trusting Melinda, though. She’s pretty sharp when it comes to things like this. In fact, she spotted the installation of some kind of decorative lighting behind the panels. I’ll be sure to get a photo of that and tell you all about it once it’s activated.

I know. Yawn, yawn, yawn. But, hey, it’s interesting to us!

You may recall meeting Alice back in January. She comes over on Monday afternoons for an English lesson with Melinda and me. As you can see, we’ve progressed to the point in learning a language that involves juggling. I think I was out sick during that lesson when I was a kid, but I’m glad to say that didn’t stop us from making sure Alice didn’t miss it.

I asked her what her parents thought of our unconventional English “classes.” Last week’s involved going to a park and kicking, throwing and catching a soccer ball. Another one a couple of weeks back involved watching a short film. Today’s had to do with juggling and playing Go Fish (not at the same time, but, hey, we’ve still got more weeks ahead of us). Anyway, her parents said that she was lucky. I think that meant that juggling beats the heck out of worksheets.

Alice is a quick learner of English, as is undoubtedly obvious from this photo. She picked up juggling fast. No, wait a second. She already knows how to juggle. Today’s lesson involved her trying to teach ME, her explanation being completely in English. That makes more sense. Now I can occasionally juggle (and catch) two balls. As Alice says, “Right, left. Left, right.”

One of the common things Melinda and I find we are saying to each other is some variation of, “Wow, that person was so nice.” I don’t know who started the stereotype / gross generalization that the French are not friendly, but we’ve found the exact opposite to be profoundly true, so much so that we’ve started to think it’s a French government plot designed to keep unfriendly foreigners (i.e. the “ugly American”) away. As Washingtonians (and specifically Seattleites), we are familiar with the friendly conspiracy among residents to keep quiet about the incredible virtues of one’s place of residence for fear too many people will want to move there.

Case in point about friendliness, this Frenchman. He’s dressed as a city worker and was busily taking care of his job duties recently near the Château des ducs de Bretagne. Melinda and I were seated on a nearby bench and had just finished sharing a sandwich when he walked over. He saw that we were holding some trash and graciously offered to take it from us to throw away. This may sound small but it really was remarkable in its thoughtfulness. I could tell similar stories about workers in all kinds of stores, people on the street, neighbors, people to whom we’ve been introduced…

First, I have to admit that we (read: I) didn’t eat the quail eggs yesterday. I’m having them tonight as part of a salad. Once we got everything rolling with dinner last night, especially when Melinda made herself some scrambled eggs of the chicken variety, quail eggs had less appeal. She didn’t want leftover duck-lentil stew, I guess, even though it’s just as good, if not better, the second time (like possum stew, right Scott?). Anyway, I just got back from a quick walk to our neighborhood store. It’s a glorious evening, in the upper 60’s. Our next door neighbor, who spends the weekend working on motorcycles, & I chatted for a few minutes (in French). He has a daughter in Montréal where, he said, it’s minus 10 degrees (celsius). We’re at 19 (celsius) in Nantes. We agreed that we like it here.

The baguette in my hands is warm from the oven. And I’m wearing a backpack full of groceries (remember, the stores are closed on Sundays so I picked up some produce and chicken for tomorrow). I also picked up a small can of coq au vin. I just can’t help myself. Coq au vin… in a can… It has such a nice ring to it.

Oh, one more thing. Chloe is trying to forbid me from bringing rabbit into the house for the purpose of consuming it. I may have to try it while she’s at school.

I realize that I quite often post about the crazy food items I find (pig brain, which I did NOT try, being the craziest I’ve seen, at least according to me). Yesterday at the store I spotted hard-boiled quail eggs in the “exotic foods” section, part of the meat department at Leclerc. While at the store I couldn’t remember the English translation for “cailles” (quail, I now know), but decided to buy them anyway. They will be offered as part of tonight’s dinner, along with the leftovers of the week and a caprese salad I am fixing. I may add the smoked duck I bought with the quail eggs, perhaps as part of tonight’s apéritif. It is Friday, after all, so I’m thinking we should up the food experimenting a notch.

Speaking of food experimenting, near the quail eggs and smoked duck, but not technically in with the exotic foods, was rabbit. I really want to try it but the rest of the family is against it. I spotted a small cut of rabbit meat, all vacuumed sealed and ready for me. It looked kind of like a chicken breast. But I didn’t buy it. The quail eggs and smoked duck were enough for this trip. Oh, and the steak tartare, of course.

Two things to note today. First, this self-portrait was taken a couple of days ago when Melinda and I were in the center of town. We spent some time at the Passage Pommeraye, another of the famous landmarks in Nantes. It’s referred to as a shopping mall, but I have to say that I find that to be a complete insult to its beauty and charm. I mean, can anything be called a shopping mall that was built in the 1840’s? For you US history buffs, that means it was around before the Civil War, before Lincoln was killed. That means it’s been around since before Chloe was born, too! Hard to imagine a shopping mall pre-dating Chloe… Okay, okay, most malls in the Seattle area pre-date Chloe. But Abraham Lincoln? None in Seattle, I dare say.

Okay, second, what do you think of the Polaroid effect on today’s photo? Melinda and I have been working on the launch of our Kind Living project (the first newsletter goes out on April 1 – sign up here) and she wants the images we use to have a vintage feel. She found this nifty little photo manipulation software called ToyCamera that fits the bill and I used it on today’s photo. Pretty cool!

Ella said she’s been wanting to “dine” at a lunch truck and today seemed like the perfect day. First, it’s Wednesday so she only has a half day of school. On top of that, it’s a beautiful day today, in the mid 60’s, making eating outside ideal. Third, well, I guess I don’t really have a third, unless you think hanging out with Melinda & me and meeting Chloe at the edge of the University of Nantes campus constitutes another reason that made today a perfect day for dining at the lunch truck. You’ll have to ask Ella.

So, yes, this particular lunch truck sets up right on the edge of the University of Nantes campus, just a few strides from the tram stop Chloe uses to get to school. Initially, it was just going to be Ella, Melinda and me but while we were on our way Chloe called and was able to join us. She recommended the “L’Americain Avec Frites,” saying it was excellent. Apparently, that was enough to convince all of us so I ordered four, not really knowing what to expect. It turns out to be a baguette filled with a hamburger patty cut into quarters and french fries. That’s right, the American sandwich is made up of hamburger AND fries on a baguette (are you getting this – the fries are ON the sandwich). I referred to it as the anti-Atkins sandwich.

So you know, I’d order something different next time we dine at the lunch truck, maybe the cheeseburger listed on the menu. I think when eating a hamburger/french fry sandwich I need me some cheese. ON the sandwich.

Please meet Aurélie, my French professor. Actually, she works in our favorite neighborhood bakery and is quick with a smile when packaging our pain au chocolat, pain au raisin, baguettes, croissants, and a myriad of other things that make up the RDA of pastry items in France. She has also been extremely friendly these many months to Melinda and me, always putting up with my broken French, helping set my straight when I refer to a baguette as a “he” instead of a “she.” I bet you didn’t know that a baguette is female, did you, while bread itself is male. (Oh, if you think assigning gender to objects is funny, you really should find the David Sedaris essay “Me Talk Pretty One Day” from the book of the same name. Melinda, Chloe, Ella & I listened to it at dinner not too long ago and not only practically choked on our food but nearly lost bladder control. It’s that funny, especially if you are an American in France.)

So, yes, Aurélie helps me with my French. Today’s lesson involved learning that if you want your loaf of bread sliced you ask for it to be “trancher.” You see, today I asked for it to be “couper,” which means cut, as in, “Can you cut my bread, please?” It got the point across, sure, and Aurélie was very nice about it and all. I mean she could have taken a knife and cut the bread in half, right? Instead, she even explained that the machine used to slice the bread is called a “trancheur,” hence asking for the bread to be “trancher.” Maybe Freddy Kruegger wants his bread “couper.” Me, I like mine “trancher.”

Being born in Nebraska in the 1960’s, the idea of “designer” anything may be beyond me. But living with Melinda, let alone living in France, I think I’m getting lots of opportunities to learn. This afternoon Melinda and I ventured out in order to experience the beautiful springtime sun. We ate a delicious sandwich in the center of town, next to the fountain at La Place Royale (go look at this link and you’ll see a photo of the fountain – we literally were sitting at the foot of it, what would be smack dab in the center at the bottom of the photo). Having soaked up some sun, and having watched a man next to her eat some fancy frozen treat, Melinda had a hankering to finally try what we’ve been told is the best fancy frozen treat in the world. Off we went to the shop.

Again, I’m from Nebraska. I was born in the 1960’s. My family ate something called “ice cream.” We bought it in the freezer section at a place called “Safeway.” It came in a “carton.” We took some out with an “ice cream scoop.” If I was lucky, I got an “ice cream cone” (otherwise I ate it from something called a “bowl”). Those are the terms I know.

The shop we entered looked more like a Starbuck’s than a Baskin-Robbins. It had maybe 10 flavors, all beautifully arranged, not 31 messy cardboard canisters packed in ice and served to you by an overworked teen. The workers in this shop were professionals. Both greeted Melinda and me with a “Bonjour, Monsieur-Dame” and were only too eager to serve us. Stymied by not finding “Orange Sherbert,” I passed but Melinda got a “petit” of two things I cannot pronounce, let alone spell, a tiny dish that cost 3,30 € (which based on today’s USD/Euro exchange rate is something like $1000, I think). I didn’t see the phrase “ice cream” anywhere in the store. They serve gelato al naturale.

Go on, learn more about it yourself. The shop is called Amorino and they even have a Facebook page (of course). Oh, and whatever you call what they serve, it IS really, really good. Melinda shared some.