Pastry Wednesday: Noix au Caramel

Although I was trying out a new hairstyle, feeling pretty stylish, and wearing my leather jacket because it was absolutely luuuurvely outside, today still sucked marginally compared to other days of the week. Being inside staring at the FINALLY blue sky and smelling cigarette smoke wafting into the window (it is France after all, no fresh-cut grass smell for me) makes me quite depressed. So I decided that despite my overindulgence in Paris (baguettes) I would treat myself to a pastry. It's Wednesday, after all. I also really wanted to go outside instead of aimlessly wandering around the hallways like I normally do during the awkward break I have between classes. So I hopped out of my seat as soon as our professor started to say goodbye (I'd already rudely put on my jacket) and ran to the boulangerie. I found a new, more French place than the last one I'd been to, it was called the "Fournil Lumiere." I saved the bag like a dork.

I instantly gravitated towards the tarts. This was a tart kind of day. I was slightly overwhelmed by the selection, until I saw a brown one with nuts on top. Without even reading the label, I decided that I would have to try it. Brown meant it was either chocolate, or caramel, both of which I would be okay with. It turned out to be caramel and walnuts, like a really sophisticated candy bar. It was perfect. I couldn't contain my excitement walking back, and since I had been walking so fast, I got to class 15 minutes early. I plopped down on the floor outside the room (French girls NEVER sit on the floor, but this was an urgent situation) and broke off a little piece of the crust, before realizing I should probably take a picture. The quality of the photo is explained by the fact that it was taken on a phone camera by someone I barely know and isn't really good at focusing their camera, apparently. And it was probably 300 million times more delicious than it looks in the picture. It tasted like really rich, thick, homemade caramel with walnuts in it, in a tart. Basically what it was, and everything I'd hoped it would be. Dreams = came true.

Paris

View of the Seine in the evening
Basilique du Sacré Coeur

The hostel we stayed at! Interesting wall colors, but overall very good experience.

Awkward Metro Moments: Bus Edition

Since a bus is a type of transportation vehicle, I think it's acceptable to put this incident in the Awkward Metro Moments hall of fame. It was a bit different than most of my transportation woes however, so be prepared for a lack of awkwardness and an excess of terror (which is a strong word, but I'm trying to build interest, here.)

I was lucky enough to take the TGV on the way up to Paris, which, if you remember, is a very fast and pleasant ride. On the way back down to Lyon, however, I took the bus. I thought it would be a lark, going with my friends on a hilarious road trip where we didn't have to drive and could eat chips and sing all the way. There were chips and singing (on my part), but it was definitely not a lark at all. First of all, the bus is pretty sketchy. I've taken the Greyhound in the US, so I was prepared, but it was still a bit disarming. The people were normal, although unwashed for the most part. However, they had an unfortunate habit of taking other people's seats. I wish I had the language skills to argue in French, but even if I had, half the people on the bus didn't even speak it, so I figured it was fruitless. After much negotiating, my friend somehow managed to get us some seats together, and we were off.

The ride was mainly uneventful, and I even slept for a little while. The awkward/terrifying part came in the home stretch, when we had about an hour left to go before we reached Lyon. It was night by this time, and the bus had just gone through a toll area. But instead of speeding off like it normally did, it stopped. There was an official-looking man flagging down the bus. The bus door opened, and the man came onto the bus, shining his flashlight into everyone's faces. Turns out he was a policeman. I have a hard time recognizing the different types of law enforcement in France, but it was clear that this guy had authority. He got to the back of the bus and announced that we all had to get out, take all our bags, and get the rest of our luggage out from under the bus. We filed out, and by this time, there were several police cars and about 6 or 8 policemen milling around menacingly. All the people on the bus were now in two lines, facing each other, with their bags in front of them. I was internally panicking at this point, imagining all sorts of scenarios where we could potentially lose our lives. These were probably corrupt policemen, who would take our valuables to sell on the black market. Worse, I imagined a complicated plot in which terrorists disguised as policemen had flagged down our bus in order to kidnap us and hold us ransom until the French government forked over enough money. Many of us would die in captivity. Worse yet, they were just lining us up so they could shoot us all efficiently. My thoughts continued in this morbid direction until they brought a dog out.

It was not the usual drug sniffing German Shepherd. It was in fact, a Labrador, and completely unintimidating. It happily ran around smelling everyone's bags in a distracted sort of way, while a policeman ran next to it saying, "Tu cherches, tu cherches, tu cherches..." It was useful because this dog seemed to continuously forget that it was cherche-ing for drugs, bombs, etc. I started to think that maybe instead of killing us all, the purpose of this detour was to get some practice in for the sweet lab that reminded me of my own dog. It went back and forth between the two lines for a good 15 minutes, with the man pointing out people he thought looked suspicious for him to sniff more thoroughly. Unfortunately, he was blatantly biased against the passengers of color, and I wasn't the only one who noticed. After people seemed thoroughly annoyed, the policemen announced that all was well and we could get back on our bus. No explanation, no apology. I hate when thoughts like this cross my mind, but all I could think was, "This would never happen in the US." Maybe I'm spoiled, but I think it's pretty normal to give an explanation as to why you decide to flag down a bus that's not crossing any borders and make all the passengers stand outside in the cold for 20 minutes while you practice training your drug dog.

I have to admit though, it was still pretty funny once I was sure we weren't going to be robbed, kidnapped, or shot. When we were going back on the bus, I saw one of the passengers ask take a picture of the dog, and the policeman agreed. So that was nice.

BONNNNNNJOURRRRR PAREEEEE

"BONNNJOURRRR PAREEEEE!!!!!" is not what I first said upon arrival in the City of Light. In my head, possibly, but in general I try to pretend to be more cool than that. This welcoming phrase was in fact shouted inches from my face by a strange man while walking down the street. Initially, I was quite alarmed; this man probably got his kicks from frightening tourists. Also, how did he know I was a tourist? I try so hard to blend in here, and I wasn't even wearing my backpack. I was slightly offended. However, I decided to take it as a welcome gesture from the city (which really hadn't gotten off to a good start with me anyway, if you remember the metro door incident previously mentioned) and plodded on to my hostel.

Before this, I'd spent several lovely days with my roommate from Mizzou, where many pastries and baguettes were eaten. The lovely thing about baguettes is that they're only one euro. In Paris, this is about the cheapest food item you can find. Let me tell you, Paris is expensive. Food was expensive, but more importantly, drink prices are RIDICULOUS. Happy hour prices in Paris are more expensive than regular drink prices in Lyon. Every night that I went out (and there were not many of these, mind you) I wondered and really hoped that Parisians have heard of pregaming, for their sake. However, the food was good. And those one euro baguettes were to die for. M and I had a very nice lunch by the Seine with baguettes, meat and cheese and were ecstatic about it. Also, once you find the places run by foreigners who cater to cheap tourists, you'll be okay. I don't know why, but these are the best-priced places. I had a gyro with unknown meat for only 4.50 euro (plus fries), and it was the best gyro I have ever eaten in my life. I wish I knew what kind of meat that was, though.

In the middle of the week I left M's to stay at the hostel with buddies from Lyon. It was centrally located, close to the Notre Dame, clean, and had a free breakfast with really good coffee. We spent every day out for about 12 hours, and walked most everywhere. We walked up the Eiffel Tower, down the Champs Elysees, up Sacre Coeur, down the Seine. Needless to say, my feet have been hurting for about four days now. It was worth it. Now that I'm back, though, I appreciate Lyon a lot more. Paris was lovely, but exhausting. I'm glad to be back.

Awkward Metro Moments: Paris Edition

Je suis arrivée a Paris! A new city means awkward moments. On top of this, the size and confusion of Paris absolutely guarantees even awkward-er moments. Shortly after my arrival, I was unfortunate enough to have a near-death (not really, but it was really embarrassing) experience on the Paris metro.

After a pleasant ride on the TGV (which stands for really fast train in French) I arrived at the enormous Gare de Lyon station. My lovely friend M eventually found me wandering around the main floor and we proceeded to take a very long and complicated route back to her place, where I'd be staying for a few days. The Paris metro is about thirty times more complicated than the one in Lyon. Not only do they have more lines, but not all of them connect, some are fast, some are slow, some are above ground, and some below (that rhyme was accidental but I'm keeping it). All of the entrances are different and there are multiple checkpoints where you need to re-submit your tickets. My Lyon metro pass is useless here and I didn't have any tickets, so I had to hop in behind M after she scanned hers. I realize this is illegal and I can get a ticket if I get caught, but it was only for one night. Checkpoint after checkpoint, I would manage to get in behind her with no difficulty. And then we got to the last checkpoint.

I forgot to mention the kind of luggage I took on this trip. To France, I took one large wheelie bag, one satchel, and one giant backpack. The "Oh, you're backpacking across Europe, aren't you?" kind of backpack. It's green, and in my opinion, quite stylish. Since I'm only in Paris for one week, I brought just my backpack. At the train station however, I became quite envious of all the chic French girls and their tiny wheelie bags that follow them obediently without knocking their heels or catching on things. I was even more jealous I got to this particular checkpoint in the metro.

It was quite busy, and many people were coming and going through the scary sliding plastic doors. M scanned her ticket and went through, and so did I. But my backpack did not. It was stuck between the doors. I immediately commenced panicking to such a degree that some valiant soul behind me tried to pry the doors open, but to no avail. I was convinced that I was going to be trapped there FOREVER, and would most certainly die. Worse, be caught by the metro police, who patrolled around looking for rule breakers such as myself. The man behind me kept pulling on the doors, audibly struggling and making weight-lifting type sounds, and I just sort of thrashed around trying to free myself. There was a long line behind me, and people were yelling in French that I didn't understand. Would I ever get out? This ordeal lasted about thirty seconds, which doesn't seem that long, but to me, it was FOREVER. It was one of those occurrences that you think is going to only last a few moments but just keeps going, and going, and going... It was quite scarring. Eventually someone, (not M, who was staring uselessly at me) thought to re-scan their card to let me out, and I scurried away after thanking the nice man for saving me.

After that, I bought some tickets. They're really expensive, but I don't care. I will do almost anything to avoid another experience like that again. I'm sure one day I'll look back on this and laugh. One day.

Pastry Wednesday: Croissant

Hey all,

I want to apologize in advance for the following blog, as it will most likely be very boring. How's that for an attention-getter? I'm sure my past English teachers would not approve. However, it's 10:30 pm, I had class for 9 hours today, and I'm tired. The most I managed to do was eat a croissant, and I'm going to tell you about it. There's another writing faux-pas, telling the audience what you're going to write about. I'm really sorry.

Today, I brought two clementines to school, thinking that between 10:30 and 4:30 they would be enough to sustain me until I could rush to a bakery somewhere and get my Pastry Wednesday pastry. I was wrong, obviously, I don't know how I thought two measly clementines would possibly be enough to eat for six hours. I was originally only going to bring one until I thought, "no, let's be indulgent and take TWO! Walking on the wild side, today." Generally, sitting in three hour long each classes in painful enough, especially when they're titled "Tocqueville and American Democracy in the Internet Age." Sitting in these classes is even more difficult when you're starving. After listening to my stomach growl for about an hour, at break time the girl next to me said concernedly with her hand on my shoulder, "don't you think you should go eat?" But with ten minutes, the only thing one can do is eat a room temperature clementine that's been sitting in their bookbag for some hours.

FINALLY, my half an hour break between classes came, and I literally sprinted off to a street where I knew somewhere there must be a bakery. I had a hankering for an almond croissant, but the first one I found only had plain. I was so hungry I bought it anyway (only .75 euro!) and ran back to my next three hour class. I took about twenty minutes to eat it bit by bit, savoring every buttery morsel. (I definitely didn't tip the bag into my mouth to get the last crumbs or anything) I don't know if it tasted so good because it was actually good, or because I was in the beginnings of starvation, but either way, it was delicious. I liked that bakery a lot, and plan to go next Wednesday. They had some interesting looking tartes.

I'd tell you about croissants, but let's be honest, you all know what they are already. And I'm going to bed.

Pastry Wednesday: Cannelés

It's Wednesday! Pastry Wednesday blog is up! This is not a miracle, but a result of having to wait for a new episode of "Modern Family" to load since the internet in my room isn't exactly the best. I really have nothing else to do.

For the past month, I've walked past a stand on Rue Victor Hugo that has these intriguing tiny cake things. Every day, I would fantasize about what they would taste like, what kind of cake they were made of, etc. Based on their appearance, I guessed they were some kind of yellow cake, perhaps drenched in honey or caramel. I did not research what I soon discovered were called "cannelés," as I was under the impression that all French pastries are delicious and you can't go wrong with something that's probably cake and probably dipped in honey.

I purchased one of these darling little guys for 1.30 euros. "Should I get two?" I pondered, but then realized that it was "Pastry" and not "Pastries" Wednesday. I really can't afford a second seat on the airplane back for my soon-to-be massive bulk. Anyway, I excitedly went over to a bench, sat down, and took the first bite of the supposed "cake." Quelle surprise! The cannelé was in every way the opposite of what I thought it would be, and NOT in a good way. First of all, it did not taste like, cake, honey, or caramel. It tasted like rum. And not a nice rum flavor that reminds you of Christmas and rum balls and spice cake, but a stale, sickly rum flavor that reminds you of a certain time(s) when upsetting amounts of rum were consumed. Secondly, the texture was all wrong. It was almost like a giant crépe was put in a mold, and came out gummy, chewy, and eggy. It was not cake. Nothing at all like cake. It was so terrible I almost didn't eat all of it. However, I tried to convince myself that it was just so unlike what I had fantasized about for a month that I didn't know how to process it.

Completely disillusioned, I scoured the internet for answers. What I found was in fact, very helpful. These pastries, fully named "Cannelés Bordelais," are quite rare due to the fact that they are very difficult to make correctly. According to numerous blogs, they are supposed to be caramelized and crispy on the outside (due to ingredients like BEESWAX) and soft and custardy inside. This is nothing like mine, which wasn't crispy at all, and seemed to have the same gummy texture throughout. I read the blog of a woman who tried for months to get them completely right. (here's a link, it's a really interesting blog, actually: http://chezpim.com/bake/canele-recipe-method)

Based on this thorough research, I've decided that my cannelé was defective, and I'll scour Lyon for the perfect one. I refuse to believe that something that looks so delicious can taste that bad. Like people, pastries should not be judged by one sub-par member of their species. I'm no pastryist.