Tapas, Presents, and "Heaven Pudding"

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As I write these words, I am officially on Christmas vacation and home in the good ol’ US of A. I actually ended up with an even longer break than expected, because Laurence Chapelle had a training workshop all day on Thursday, so I didn’t have to teach any classes! This was kind of bittersweet though, because I would have loved the chance to say goodbye to my 4emes and 6emes at Clermont. Still, working fewer hours hasn’t made my week any less busy.

I spent a good portion of it finishing up Christmas shopping and cleaning my room to get ready for my big move. For the Canterots, I bought a bunch of clear glass ornaments and wrote their names on them. Hopefully Bacci won’t break them playing around in the tree…crazy cat.

Tuesday was a special 2 hour episode of ‘La Plus Belle La Vie”, aka the nightly soap opera that the whole family watches and to which I’ve consequently become addicted as well. Blanche had her baby, Ninon was almost killed, and Johanna had a disastrous cocktail experience. In the end, it was Renaud who was behind all the strange occurrences. Oh the drama! (None of which means anything to you, dear readers, of course….oh well, I’ll just let you wallow in your deprived misfortune for a while).

Wednesday was a Christmas party for all the language assistants Chez les Espagnols (at the Spanish assistants’ place). Everyone was told to bring a Tapas and a 5 euro gift for a white elephant gift exchange. In addition to the assistants, there were Mathieu and Mathilde, Eva and Jose’s hippie French roommates, and a few of their buddies as well. For my tapas, I made a roasted red pepper and goat cheese spread, and bought a loaf of olive bread to serve it with. My gift was a cute little set of tapas glasses that said “home” in Basque on them, with a picture of a house. At around 7 I went over to Georg’s to meet he and Helen so we could all go to the party together. I walked in to find he and Sam in the middle of an intense chess match and threatening to start another while Helen groaned on the couch and forbade them to do anything of the sort. Once Sam emerged victorious, he announced, “Ok, let’s go to Spain”, and we packed up and headed out. Georg wasn’t feeling too well because he’d apparently already sampled too much of his own cooking. Or, as Helen put it “you’re supposed to TASTE what you make Georg, not eat the whole dish!”

We walked across the hall to collect Becki, who was frantically making that full-fledged American Tapas staple….hamburgers. When we got to the foot of the chateau, the Spaniards were busy showing us how the whole tapas thing is really done. Eva made a tortilla, which is an egg and potato omelet. What we think of as a tortilla, the French call a “galette”. Once Anja got there, she and Georg started making “vin chaud”, or mulled wine. Jose and Karina started numbering the packages for the drawing later on. There was an interesting assortment of wrapping, because we’re apparently all too cheap to splurge for the real thing. Lots of newspaper and plastic bags to be found. Reiko got there late because her train had broken down between Biarritz and Pau, and it took awhile for them to be rescued.

So we all ate lots of yummy tapas, and then it was time for dessert, which was my other contribution to the soiree. I had made that good old Southern favorite…bread pudding. But this wasn’t just ANY bread pudding, no sir! I made it with “chocolatines”, or chocolate croissants, and then I added cranberries soaked in almond extract and doused it all in a brown sugar cream. Becki christened it “Heaven Pudding.” I’d made one for the Canterots as well, and judging by how much had been eaten when I got back that night, they must have liked it.

After the tapas, we had our gift exchange. You could either keep the gift you drew or exchange with someone else when your turn rolled around. Helen ended up with a set of English "memory" cards, for learning vocab, which led her to exclaim "what the heck am I going to do with these?" I was a little disappointed that I traded with 2 people and yet somehow still ended up with the same gift I’d started with in the end. What was it? A pig shaped air freshener. It could have been worse though. I could have gotten a can of dog food.

Thursday, I enjoyed my day off by wandering along the Gave (the river here) and snapping pictures of the snow-encrusted Pyrenees. I said goodbye to Karine and Bernadette, who are the two women that own the sandwich shop where I eat lunch most days. I came back and did some packing, and then had quite the surprise for dinner that night. Patrick had been telling me that they were going to teach me to eat “huitres”, or oysters. Seems he finally decided to make good on his promise, because I was confronted with a platter full of mollusks when I sat down at the table. Here’s the thing you may or may not know about oysters….They’re still alive when you eat them. This is actually imperative, because if they’re not, you risk getting sick from them. So how do you make sure a creature with no blink reflex or pulse is still alive? You squeeze a lemon on it, and if it squirms, you’re good to go. According to the French, you “gloop” your oysters. That’s to say, you slide them into your mouth whole right out of the shell. Once you’ve got your mouthful of mollusk, though, it’s essential that you chew the sucker to bits. Can’t have him squirming around in your stomach, after all. You’re supposed to drink wine with them, because apparently that helps kill them as well, but it’s not like the French really need an excuse to drink wine. Overall, I’d say they were pretty good. I managed to eat three before my imagination started running away with me. Not bad for a first timer.

Friday, I gave the Canterots their ornaments that I’d made, which they all loved. I also made each of them an acrostic in English with adjectives for each letter of their names. Laurence especially liked that her “U” was Urbane, Everyone agreed that Elsa’s “L” was “Lively”, and Patrick was in complete agreement that his “K” was “knowledgeable”. Christine and Patrick gave me a beautiful picture frame from Amsterdam. They’re going to move what’s left of my stuff down into the studio while I’m gone, so when I get back I’ll be all ready for life in my raspberry oasis.

Saturday morning, I said goodbye to everyone, and Elsa and Christine took me to la gare so that I could catch my train to Paris. Now let’s remember….it’s me….traveling. There are going to be some interesting stories. First of all, my bag, while not enormous, was deceptively heavy. Two bottles of French wine will do that for you. I manage to lug it onto the train, and wedge it into the luggage racks, and then I go to find my seat. Turns out my seat is next to an adorable little old man from Lourdes who has his gorgeous Siamese cat, Choochie, traveling with him. She’s beautifully well behaved, as well, and so I have no problem sharing the seat with her. About half way through the 5 hour trip, I doze off, and wake up to feel something prickling my legs. Choochie has decided to crawl into my lap. “She doesn’t do that with just anyone!” her owner tells me, “but if it bothers you, you let me know!” I assured him that it didn’t, and I was just very careful not to touch my eyes and set off my allergies. The train pulled into Paris, Monparnasse, and then I got the joy of dragging my suitcase through the Paris Metro system, which for the most part lacks elevators and escalators. My bag almost got stuck in a turnstile once, but other than that, I managed. I don’t know why people say Parisians aren’t friendly. I had several of them help me lift my bag up stairs. Maybe they just figured it was quicker than waiting for me to do it one step at a time.

So I get out to the Charles de Gaulle train station, where a shuttle is supposed to pick me up and take me to the Charles de Gaulle Hilton, where I’m staying courtesy of Mom and Dad’s Hilton rewards points. So I wait, and I wait, and I wait some more. Forty minutes later, it becomes apparent that the Hilton shuttle is not coming. I try to take a cab, but the guy tells me he’s only taking passengers for Paris, but that I can easily walk to the Hilton from where I am. Turns out he was right, it was just around the corner. Wow, I felt dumb. The hotel was absolutely gorgeous. The fluffy bathrobes alone were reason enough to want to move in.

The next morning, I decided to try out the “executive suite” for breakfast. It was on the 8th floor, and only accessible with your room key. I was feeling pretty VIP, I have to say. They catered to both the French (with bread, vienosseries, fruit and jam), and the English (with eggs, mushrooms, and sausage). American breakfast cereals were relegated to a far corner, which I found funny. I made sure to be at the airport 3 hours ahead of time, which turned out to be a really good thing. The line at passport control was ridiculous. It took an entire hour to get past the checkpoint, and then security was another half hour. I amused myself by picking out the differences between American and French travelers. The first place to look is always the shoes. Once on board though, the flight was uneventful. A few crying babies, and grossly inedible airline food, but nothing I couldn’t handle. If you need further proof that it’s a small small world, the french woman sitting next to me on the plane was continuing on from Philadelphia to go to Greenville, SC. Her brother works for Michelin. I got my Christmas wish in the fact that for once, Philadelphia didn’t loose my luggage on a direct flight.

So here I am, back home and reunited with my family for a lovely Christmas. Wherever you are, whoever you with, if you’re reading this it’s safe to assume you’re pretty important and dear to me, so I wish you all a Joyeux Noel, Bonne Fetes, Merry Christmas, and a Blessed Holiday Season full of love.

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Photos

Assistant Christmas Party
Everyone enjoying our yummy tapas

Like and Egyptian...
Jose gets in touch with his inner dancer

Yay Presents!
Santa came! Or was it le pere noel?

My studio!
Finally, I have some photos