My love affair with French cuisine - the philosophy, the history and culture, and of course, the taste - was neither nurtured from a young age nor drilled into me by strict training and formal coursework. It began with a wonderful friendship that was encouraged by a mutual love of music, food, and love itself.
We met each other when we were both in our early twenties, living on the same floor of the International House of Philadelphia. I was starting out on my first job after college, and she was a budding businesswoman from France studying abroad here in our very own City of Brotherly Love.
Our schedules kept us from spending much time together at first, but there was a mutual friendliness and understanding even in those early days. We discovered through a random conversation in the shared kitchen of our suite that we both loved music - she is an accomplished piano player and songwriter/singer, which was perfect - just who I was looking for since I wanted to continue singing and making good music after my college choir days had ended. The bond was further cemented swapping stories of love-gone-wrong woes, one early morning at a diner, after a late night out with our friends.
'But wait,' you are saying, 'what is this? I thought this was a food blog!' It is! Bear with me. We haven't even gotten to Paris yet!
I will be forever thankful to my friend for introducing me to the culinary delights and treasures of that most romantic and delicious of cities.
Have you ever had a moment of perfect clarity, an epiphany, the intensity so strong it remains with you and drives you to replicate it even years after it has already passed?
For me, that moment was spent with my friend in her kitchen in France. I had taken my first bite of baguette with Brie. But it wasn't just any ordinary baguette, and it certainly wasn't just any run of the mill Brie cheese. To me this was the real stuff, the bread crusty tender and fresh, the cheese - oh, the cheese! If I could find a way for you to experience that incredible awakening for my taste buds when the cheese started working its magic..I had never tasted cheese so heady, so complex, so utterly delicious it literally brought tears to my eyes. 'Now this is what it's supposed to taste like!' I remember thinking to myself.
My friend had smiled and said 'You've never tasted anything like this before.' She was absolutely right. That moment was my 'point of no return,' the fireworks going off in Remy's (the rat from Ratatouille!) head, and I will defend that moment as the singular point in time from which my current food philosophy originated. It's probably also when I started becoming something of a Francophile, but that's a blog post for another day :)
One of my colleagues from work, an older woman with three children, once shared with me a story about her eldest who had just returned from his first European adventure. She described how her son searched relentlessly for just the right kind of bread and cheese, simply because, as he had explained, 'that's how it is in Europe.' Told with a mother's endless patience, and a tinge of amusement at her son's persistence, I loved that story because that was me when I came back from my own trip. The cheeses found here, more often than not, were bland and pale shadows of their cousins across the ocean; the breads, largely consisting of heavily processed ingredients that most home bakers wouldn't have in their own pantries, often would taste 'off' and a bit gummy to me.
I believe everyone processes experiences just a little bit differently, uniquely suited to and shaped by their psyches, personas, and their experiences. Everyone remembers something slightly differently. On a trip to Paris, some may be awed by the architecture, some by the commerce, some by the landscape and scenery. That first trip, I was awed by the total sensory feast that was the food, whether it was the Ladurée macarons, the delicious ice cream in Quartier Latin, the red currants my friend's wonderful mother picked for me to taste, my first crème brûlée and savory crêpes. I would be amiss if I didn't tell you how delightful it was to eat my friend's and her mother's home-cooking. We used to cook for each other and share our meals in Philadelphia, where I would enjoy the elegantly simple and delicious foods she would prepare. That was just a preview before we got to France and I got to sample various dishes carefully made from incredibly fresh ingredients, many times unlike anything I had seen at home.
When all the glitter and rush of traveling to new places have settled, three things for me remain: the tastes, the people, and the sense of self that I inevitably keep discovering in new and strange places. All three of these are deeply connected and woven together. I cannot see these people all of the time, though I wish I could, because the distance and time difference make it too difficult. What I can do is carry a piece of them with me, and what they have given me, by incorporating some of their traditions and customs in my own daily life where it makes sense (and sometimes where it doesn't make that much sense, like the ridiculously expensive white asparagus I splurged on at Whole Foods last spring after a trip to Germany. Another post about that trip will have to be written, to try to do it justice!). Not to mention share these tidbits with you, my dear reader.
Food is incredible for the way it can bring people together, and for what it can teach you about yourself and the world around you. I know that many of you share this sentiment with me, and for everyone, may you always feel full and fulfilled after your meals (and maybe just a little tiny bit hungry for the next culinary adventure!).
We met each other when we were both in our early twenties, living on the same floor of the International House of Philadelphia. I was starting out on my first job after college, and she was a budding businesswoman from France studying abroad here in our very own City of Brotherly Love.
Our schedules kept us from spending much time together at first, but there was a mutual friendliness and understanding even in those early days. We discovered through a random conversation in the shared kitchen of our suite that we both loved music - she is an accomplished piano player and songwriter/singer, which was perfect - just who I was looking for since I wanted to continue singing and making good music after my college choir days had ended. The bond was further cemented swapping stories of love-gone-wrong woes, one early morning at a diner, after a late night out with our friends.
'But wait,' you are saying, 'what is this? I thought this was a food blog!' It is! Bear with me. We haven't even gotten to Paris yet!
I will be forever thankful to my friend for introducing me to the culinary delights and treasures of that most romantic and delicious of cities.
Have you ever had a moment of perfect clarity, an epiphany, the intensity so strong it remains with you and drives you to replicate it even years after it has already passed?
For me, that moment was spent with my friend in her kitchen in France. I had taken my first bite of baguette with Brie. But it wasn't just any ordinary baguette, and it certainly wasn't just any run of the mill Brie cheese. To me this was the real stuff, the bread crusty tender and fresh, the cheese - oh, the cheese! If I could find a way for you to experience that incredible awakening for my taste buds when the cheese started working its magic..I had never tasted cheese so heady, so complex, so utterly delicious it literally brought tears to my eyes. 'Now this is what it's supposed to taste like!' I remember thinking to myself.
My friend had smiled and said 'You've never tasted anything like this before.' She was absolutely right. That moment was my 'point of no return,' the fireworks going off in Remy's (the rat from Ratatouille!) head, and I will defend that moment as the singular point in time from which my current food philosophy originated. It's probably also when I started becoming something of a Francophile, but that's a blog post for another day :)
One of my colleagues from work, an older woman with three children, once shared with me a story about her eldest who had just returned from his first European adventure. She described how her son searched relentlessly for just the right kind of bread and cheese, simply because, as he had explained, 'that's how it is in Europe.' Told with a mother's endless patience, and a tinge of amusement at her son's persistence, I loved that story because that was me when I came back from my own trip. The cheeses found here, more often than not, were bland and pale shadows of their cousins across the ocean; the breads, largely consisting of heavily processed ingredients that most home bakers wouldn't have in their own pantries, often would taste 'off' and a bit gummy to me.
I believe everyone processes experiences just a little bit differently, uniquely suited to and shaped by their psyches, personas, and their experiences. Everyone remembers something slightly differently. On a trip to Paris, some may be awed by the architecture, some by the commerce, some by the landscape and scenery. That first trip, I was awed by the total sensory feast that was the food, whether it was the Ladurée macarons, the delicious ice cream in Quartier Latin, the red currants my friend's wonderful mother picked for me to taste, my first crème brûlée and savory crêpes. I would be amiss if I didn't tell you how delightful it was to eat my friend's and her mother's home-cooking. We used to cook for each other and share our meals in Philadelphia, where I would enjoy the elegantly simple and delicious foods she would prepare. That was just a preview before we got to France and I got to sample various dishes carefully made from incredibly fresh ingredients, many times unlike anything I had seen at home.
When all the glitter and rush of traveling to new places have settled, three things for me remain: the tastes, the people, and the sense of self that I inevitably keep discovering in new and strange places. All three of these are deeply connected and woven together. I cannot see these people all of the time, though I wish I could, because the distance and time difference make it too difficult. What I can do is carry a piece of them with me, and what they have given me, by incorporating some of their traditions and customs in my own daily life where it makes sense (and sometimes where it doesn't make that much sense, like the ridiculously expensive white asparagus I splurged on at Whole Foods last spring after a trip to Germany. Another post about that trip will have to be written, to try to do it justice!). Not to mention share these tidbits with you, my dear reader.
Food is incredible for the way it can bring people together, and for what it can teach you about yourself and the world around you. I know that many of you share this sentiment with me, and for everyone, may you always feel full and fulfilled after your meals (and maybe just a little tiny bit hungry for the next culinary adventure!).
No comments:
Post a Comment