We had been back from Paris for less than a month and I was already “homesick.” I found my longing manifested itself in our little dinner of haricots verts, purée de pommes de terre et vin rouge. I adore green beans, and I have always loved that the French refer to potatoes as “the apples of the earth.” The red wine was, of course for me. I missed the small street cafés, I missed the lack of television screens blaring everywhere, I missed the quiet hum of conversation versus the incessant “ong-chicka, ong-chicka, ong” of that blasted techno “music.” And yes I missed seeing ash trays. They bring my childhood back to me and I can so remember the days of walking into a restaurant where my parents were always asked, “Smoking or non?” The French were not hunched over, buried in their iPhones. As much as I nearly worship mine, I ALWAYS put it away during dinner or socializing. Even I could spot the Americans a mile away. I missed my demi bottles and carafes of wine and the small water glasses. I did purchase a big blue carafe from Montréal years ago that I have used to hold our chilled, filtered water for the table. With startling clarity I realized that the plates and glassware in Paris were sized exactly as they were in the states in the ’70’s. Dear God that’s why people have struggled with their weight; they’re giving you at LEAST twice too much here. And I NEVER went away hungry in France. Food is not only a necessity; it is a culturally important experience as well. When you partake of someone else’s food, you are observing their customs. I found myself missing “hot chocolate” in the heat of summer as well as having it for breakfast. Pour-quoi pas?! The American author David Augsburger said:
“Theologically, the creation of chocolate demonstrates both the unity and the diversity of humanity. Wherever you taste it, in every country of the world, it is immediately recognizable. Other things, in every cuisine, are just food, but chocolate is chocolate.”
I would have to agree. I would know French chocolate from anything else, and I do not consider myself to have a sophisticated palate. I knew I was missing Paris.
