Bonjour Madame

Sound track of the day:
He was the baby of the class, you
He really didn’t know that one and one was two
And two and two were four

Current Temperature: I’m off to Madrid and the rain looks like it’s going to finally let up. You’re welcome France.

Culture clash: The name of the school near us is called Lycee de Jeunes Filles. Doesn’t that sound lovely and so French? Well the translation of that into English is School for Young Girls. Now isn’t that just a big advertisement for pedophiles?






The antique market at Marchee Notre Dame is a lie. Antiques were nowhere to be found. Scattered sparsely and sadly across the market grounds were stalls of fake designer hand bags, variations of blue jeans, and random basics like socks, and belts Imagine if someone rounded up all the vendors in Herald Square and said, “guys, why don’t we just band together and create a market so we can trap people all in one place and confuse them with the word marchee.” Needless to say, I scanned quickly and moved on.

On the bright side, as a result of being in the square I learned that les halles, or the markets inside the surrounding structures, selling daily essentials such as bread, olives, wine, meats and cheese are open later than the outdoor food market. I still haven’t yet figured how to ask for olives. I’m working up my nerve to say “Je veux deux cent milligrams d’olive.” I’ll know by the facial response if it’s right or not.

People in France have a very nice sense of propriety. Sometimes that can seem insincere or pretentious, but on an everyday basis, it’s lovely, charming and it makes you feel connected in a way. When you pass your neighbors they will actually say hello bookended by an appropriate title. Upon entering the building or elevator you may receive a “bonjour madame,” “bon soir madame,” and after making a purchase at the bakery the counter girl will say “merci, au revoir madame.” These minor pleasantries do just that, make your life pleasant. The elderly gentleman on our floor, after departing from the elevator says, “bon nuit madame.” I flash an inner smile, and maybe sometimes outer, at these encounters and respond the best way I can, mostly by mimicking the greeting. That is, until I realized that the days of mademoiselle are over. I’m a fucking madame now!

On tonight’s menu:
Spinach tortellini with olive tapenade and pine nuts
Chicken wings
Roasted zucchini

Chateau de Grauzils Cahort