To Welcome You (or Welcome Back) to Cassoulet Cafe

Below was my very first story about France on Cassoulet Cafe Blog, a few years ago already!  I'm going to recommence my blog with this post for those who are new here...Enjoy!

I have so many things to write about, analyze and discuss when it comes to France but I feel that I can't begin unless I get a relate our first days in France as expats.

I still can't believe I had convinced my husband to move to France, without him ever having been there even for a visit. Dreaming of something is one thing, but when it actually comes to fruition, worry plagues the fairytale in your mind and then gets replaced by nightmare scenarios. Mine was that Hubby would hate France and then hate me. So naturally, I wanted everything to be parfait when we arrived.

We decided to fly into Paris and then take a train a couple days later to our new home. We had two nights booked on Rue Cler in the 7ième arrondissement. For those not familiar with it because they haven't seen the PBS program that has made it famous, it is the stereotypical image we Americans have of Paris. A cobblestone street near the Eiffel Tower, lined with cafés, crêpe stands, flower and cheese shops, boulangerie, ....you get the idea. Top it off with a violinist on the corner playing classic French-film scores just for you, it all seems to be saying, "You're dreams have come true! You've made it to paradise!" It would seem.....

...Until we actually got to Rue Cler, by way of Métro, pulling our 3 spring loaded suitcases containing all our possessions in the world (well, on this continent), two gigantic backpacks, and a small child. Lugging and tugging, over the cobblestones. After having pulled all of that up and down several flights of steps and platforms the previous hour. Using public transport is cheaper than a taxi ride from Charles De Gaulle airport, but leaning on the side of "nightmare scenarios".

When we entered our hotel lobby, just a few long, bumpy blocks from the beginning of Rue Cler, we were exhausted, moody and stinky. Suddenly, I realized just what I had brewed up and convinced my poor little family to do! I started to cry uncontrollably. What if this didn't work out? We were stuck anyway! It was a burden I didn't want anymore.

At that moment, an American family came into the lobby, exuberant from their morning of touring, and tried to befriend us. They told Hubby how wonderful Paris was and they were sad to be leaving the next day. I hated them. They got to leave! I was here stuck for the next who-knows-how-long not knowing how we would survive this situation. And this was only Hour One!

After I scared them off with my sobbing, my husband consoled me and said it would all be great, he loved it so far. Ok, tears dried up, our room was now ready, time to shower, sleep and get emotionally stable again.

But when I got into the tiny room, went to use the tiny bathroom and then saw the flushing mechanism on the foreign-looking toilet (for those who don't know, the flushers in France are usually buttons or pulling devices on the lid of the tank), I started to get hysterical again thinking about having to flush like this for the next year. Ok, if you don't get the picture by now, I was completely irrational from sleep-deprivation, not making any sense, because back in The States I had raved to everyone about how cool French toilets were, because of their flushers!

After passing out and sleeping the rest of the afternoon, I awoke to Hubby saying he was going to go across the street to get some juice and snacks. He was eager to use his French independently. I was amazed but terrified he'd come back ticked off because someone was rude to him. I watched from the window above as he crossed the street and made a successful friendly purchase! He came back jazzed and ready to explore.

Late that night after soaking up the dazzling lights of le Tour Eiffel, we chose a brasserie near our hotel to eat le diner and suck down some vin français. Things were looking up. Of course wine will do that to you.

And then, the people at the table next to us seemed to be staring at us and with judgemental looks. I've been know to be paranoid about this, but I swear they were making a scene. It was a middle-age group of French men who were staring at us like we had just destroyed their evening. (Line from Shrek coming to mind: "It's rude enough being alive when no one wants you...") Anyhow, I was really uncomfortable and infuriated at the same time that they were gawking at us like we were barbarians. My anxiety peaked when I thought I heard the word "américains" in their conversation. Ok, now I had the proof! Turning to listen closer, I heard (in French), "Oh, look at me, I am American, I need my ketchup!" one said, and they all laughed hysterically in response. WHAT?! I didn't order ketchup. I hate ketchup. I kept listening, hearing stereotypical-American one-liners. It went on for several minutes. When they saw my expression, they laughed even harder. I wanted to leave, to check out of our hotel and hop the next flight back home. I HATE FRANCE, I screamed inside, French people are so rude!

act French!) and placed our order. The waiter, astonished that he was receiving the order in his tongue, smiled very lovingly as if to say "You showed them!" I'll never forget the shocked, open-mouth expressions of the men at the table next to us when they heard their language roll off my tongue, understanding now they I had heard it all. Sweet victory!

It taught me a lesson as well. Don't be an Ugly American, even if someone is being an Ugly Frenchman.

Tomorrow I go on to Part Deux: The TGV Tragedy! Vomiting, tractors, accidents and more Frenchiness. Sure to appeal to all sorts.

PS. All photos on this post have been taken personally by moi, except the Rue Cler photo, because I did not have time to find mine today :)

Cassoulet's First Homemade Macarons!

I'm in French Nostalgia mode, so I reopened my blog, and succeeded at my very first attempt to make La Duree style macarons today!

Coffee, Please!

This is a rerun of an early Cassoulet Cafe post...enjoy!

Let's have a little coffee talk. So I'll wait right here while you go pour yourself a cup. If you're not into coffee, any other hot beverage of your choice will suffice. But as for me, I'll be drinking un cafe'.

When we think of coffee, we tend to think of it as the Starter Fluid of the day; a warm companion that we can snuggle up to in the mornings before we face our day. We even go to great lengths to get a paper cup of it later on, maybe placing a group order for a colleague to pick up on her way back from lunch. Each cup check marked in code only a barista (or experienced coffee go-fer) could decipher.

However, in France, things are different. Coffee isn't just the drink, it's the activity. It's the act of sitting down to relax and watch the world go by. Ordering a coffee in a cafe translates into renting your own little piece of La Belle France for as long as you wish to be there. What a bargain! Chairs are strategically placed facing the same direction, lookin' at you kid! If you ever got a complex while touring in France thinking people were staring at you, you were right, they are! But it's not considered ill-mannered. C'est normale, as the French say. It's what you do. People watch.

So in order to rent yourself a slice of France, you just need to know how to order a coffee the way you like it.

My husband was shocked the first time he got a coffee in Paris. He successfully utilized his French lessons to order his favorite hot beverage. But to his dismay the waiter set before him a saucer holding the smallest tea-party sized cup he ever saw, containing a shot of black tar, garnished with a paper-wrapped sugar cube and baby spoon to stir it with. So, as if it was a shot of tequila, he tipped his head back and took one small gulp and voila! It vanished!

Then, he asked me, "Honey, how do I say "refill" in French?"

Now, at this point, anyone who is familiar with France is probably laughing right now. Everyone else, listen up! Refills do not exist in France. Unless you just want to order a whole new coffee and call it a refill to make yourself feel better. But it'll set ya back another 2 bucks or so.

So on his next "refill" he decided to use the sugar cube. It was so cute, wrapped up in decorative paper as if it were the smallest present in the world. He unwrapped it, then carefully lowered it into the precious few ounces of black goo and stirred it with the tiny spoon. However, the amount of sugar was disproportionate to the amount of hot liquid (Cubes big, Coffee Small). So he was in a quandary. Does he order more coffee to dilute the sugar? Or suck down the sickening sweet concoction and say goodbye to coffee in France forever?

Later, after learning there were indeed other ways to order coffee , he quickly honed his skills of ordering it with supplemental ingredients (milk or cream) to increase the volume, therefore extending his sipping pleasure. Café creme, cafe au lait, s'il vous plait.

Something you never see in France is coffee to go. Oh sure, you'll see American tourists in Paris lining up at that certain international chain to get their fix, but the French will be the ones using the tables and drinking from ceramic. Yes, the word "emporter" does mean "to take out", but just because it exists and is even advertised doesn't mean it's the right thing to do when it comes to coffee. I should know. I tried it, twice.

On a road trip from Paris to Brittany, we stopped at a little roadside cafe to counteract the drowsiness. When we walked in, we saw the sign "Café à emporter" behind the bar. I jabbed my husband and said, "Hey! Finally, a place that caters to American coffee drinkers!" So, in my best French I asked for 3 cups of coffee to emporter. The lady looked at me flatly and then said, "Je comprends pas, Madame." I pointed to the sign to explain, and she said, "Yes I understood, but why would you want it to go? Are you sure?"

Then, a few days later on our way back to Paris one morning very early, we stopped at truck stop (no, i didn't know they existed in France either). It looked exactly like a 50's diner you'd encounter on road trip in the States. A long bar with bar stools loaded with big burly truck drivers. Surely, they would do coffee to-go for me here. As I confidently sauntered up to the bar, asked for "Trois cafes à emporter" (3 coffees to go) I heard all 10 truckers whip their heads in my direction and dead silence filled the place. The waitress stared at me. The truckers stared at me, holding their itty-bitty cups of coffee between their fat sausage-like fingers. At that moment, I realized that even big burly truck drivers prefer to drink their coffee sur place and out of a real cup.

I got what I ordered, even if was handed to me in a thin plastic Dixie cup which burned all ten of my fingers.

So the moral of this coffee-flavored story is, when in France, drink coffee as the French. Relax, sit down, take in the sights and sounds around you. This is why you came to France. But under no circumstances, even if it is advertised, order "Un café à emporter".

The Price of French Essence

I spent an insane amount for Essence in France on our trip. No, I'm not talking about the newest fragrance at Sephora, or the hottest brand of hair product. Essence does sound chic, especially in French, doesn't it? But for those who don't speak French or who haven't been to France, the price of Essence is the The Hot Topic today in America. Essence is the French word for something very exotic...uh....gasoline or petrol would be the appropriate words in English.

Yesterday I got a real bargain, I paid $4.21 for a gallon. Asking for $30 worth used to fill my tank "back in the day". Not yesterday. It took about 12.5 seconds to get that much petrol. The good news is my wait in the gas line has been cut down drastically.

But seriously, Hubby and I decided a long time ago that we will not complain about our gas prices, because they could be worse. They could be FRENCH. When we were in the Toulouse area in March/April of this year, it was $7.50 a gallon. The very best deal we got in France was 1.19 Euros/liter for gazole (diesel--unlike here, diesel is cheaper in Europe). It is now 1.49 euros/liter at the same pump as of a week ago (my friend gives me updates). That works out to about NINE DOLLARS A GALLON!

So I will not complain about the price of our gas for another four dollars per gallon increase. If I do forget my vow and I start to curse the final answer on the pump at my next fill-er-up, I will leave and promptly drive home and find my credit card statements for March/April '08, and I will look at all the $12o-ish charges that filled up our tiny Ford tank.

At least the bread and wine were cheap.

Evidence That French Women Do Get Fat...

...or else why did I see this?

Do you see what that sign says? CURVES. Yep, the very same sign that hangs in my little hometown hangs all over France. This photo was taken of a Curves in a tiny village about 20 minutes outside Toulouse. I assure you, these things are springing up everywhere over there!

Why is this touching a nerve? Well, first of all, let me preface this by saying I have not read all of Mireille Guiliano's book French Women Don't Get Fat. But I did see an interview of her on Oprah and something she said to Oprah has stuck in my head, waiting for my next trip to France to prove she was fabricating the lives of typical French women. She said that women in France do not go to gyms...and I am pretty darn positive she implied gyms don't even exist in France.

But I am here to reassure y'all that this is just not true. While I completely agree that there are many more fat people in America than in France, women in France are not as skinny as they used to be, in general. My French Friends also talk about weight and diet as much as my American friends. And can I just admit that at one dinner, I was the only person at the entire table to partake of the glorious cheese platter? Stunned, as the platter was passed to me last with a clean knife and un-cut cheeses, I asked why in the world was I the only one?! The women laughed and said, "Oh, we bought the cheese for you, ma cherie. We don't eat cheese anymore, because it is much too fattening!" Shocked, appalled and horrified, I took a slab of each of the 5 fromages. So impressed were my lovely dieting Frenchie friends, one of them sweetly said, "You are a real French girl, CC! Ok, I will have some cheese with you! You are so brave!"

Here is a quote from French Women Don't Get Fat that directly conflicts with all the real French women I know:

At the outset, let's state that French women simply do not suffer the terror of
kilos that afflicts so many of their American sisters. All the chatter about
diets I hear at cocktail parties in America would make any French woman cringe.
In France, we don't talk about "diets," certainly not with strangers. We may
eventually share a trick or two we've learned with a very close friend -- some
cunning refinement of an old French principle. But mainly we spend our social
time talking about what we enjoy: feelings, family, hobbies, philosophy,
politics, culture, and, yes, food, especially food (but never diets).
French
women take pleasure in staying thin by eating well, while Americans typically
see it as a conflict and obsess over it. French women don't skip meals or
substitute slimming shakes for them. They have two or three courses at lunch and
then another three (sometimes four) at dinner. And with wine, bien sûr. How do
they do it? Well, that's a story. That's the story. One hint: They eat with
their heads, and they do not leave the table feeling stuffed or guilty.

I asked my French Friends about their eating habits. The typical modern French family has either a heavy lunch or a heavy dinner. NOT BOTH. They call it "their main meal." I was asked several times by people when being invited for dinner, "Oh, will you have had your main meal at lunch? Or will dinner be your main meal?" so that they could decide if they should prepare something light or heavy.

I saw many more overweight people on this month in France, than I ever have. I such much more prepackaged and processed foods as well. And I also saw lots of dieting campaigns, calorie totals on packaging and diet food and drink.

In our town, Wal-Mart has a certain genre of customers. Pajama-wear is in at our Wal-Mart. Bras are not usually worn under PJs at home, so why would one put one on to go out? And you can't go out in PJ's without yer slippers. When we were in France, my dad kept saying "I don't see any Wal-Mart shoppers here!" Finally, I saw one at the Casino Marche' in Revel. In France, it's true that normally people dress up to faire les courses, or go grocery shopping. So this was a shock to see someone in giant sweats. But it's just another testament to me that French women can and do get fat, Mme Guiliano! And they also like their Curves!

Being someone who has struggled since I was a teen with "food issues", to put it in a nutshell, I really am disgusted by the notion from someone who has lived longer in America than in France (Ms. Guilliano said it herself) that there is a nation of women who just somehow "get it" and are perfect in form and mentally do not have the need or capacity to worry about their figures, nor what they put into their mouths. Though I don't wish anyone to have the relationship with food that I've had, I also am glad to see that women are women, no matter where they live.

We all worry about how we look, we worry about what we put in our mouths, and then there are times when we don't give a rip and we eat what we want and we just worry about it later.

French women aren't perfect and they come in all shapes and sizes. There, that makes me feel better. Ms. Guiliano needs to quit contributing to American women's complexes that are already there because of the media.

Now...anyone want to send me a box of macarons? I've got a bottle of Veuve Clicquot to wash them down with. :)




*Photo taken by moi, Cassoulet Cafe.

Honey, I Shrunk My Pants!

Did my pants shrink when we got home? Did my dryer dry them too tight? Why, oh, why do I look a bit different in my once-perfect fitting Loft jeans now that I'm home?
Oh yeah...it might have been all the cheese consuming that took place every day for 4 weeks in a row.
Could it have been the two raclette dinners in one week? Maybe it was the 70% fat Boursault that I was warned against, yet bought and ate anyway (think whipped-butter!). La Brique was my next favorite. Then there was the goat cheese wrapped in chestnut leaves and tied with a pretty little ribbon that made me splurge. The fig and walnut Boursin was also quite addicting. Perac, my long time fave, was consumed more times that I can count. And my parents brought back loads of cheese from Greece that we dregged in flour and then fried.
Then there were all the Petits Filous for breakfast, too many flavors that needed tasting. Chocolatines, brioche and homemade jams from my aunt also needed testing.
Then there were the rillettes de canard that became a new favorite food during this trip. Rillettes are basically meat and fat. Normally, I don't like rillettes, but the duck one was too die for.
I did try to counteract all that fat with red wine, naturally. And when we spent a few days in Spain, I could not pass up homemade Sangria, could I?
But I am sure my washer was accidentally set to "Hot" and it shrunk my pants. As well as my belt.

Wine in scrambled eggs? Why not?! We're in France! (Don't worry, we didn't!)

Days 1 and 2---Getting Out of the USA

We were supposed to leave at 8pm. Getting the-heck-outta-Dodge proved harder than just hopping the plane and flying away. Our group was 7 people and our checked luggage was 14. We arrived in the airport huffing and puffing and glad to finally get under way. Much to our dismay, the counter agents were waiting for us, already apologizing profusely before we could even hear what was about to happen. Apparently fog in SFO delayed the flight down there, which meant we would not make the SFO to Munich portion. And guess what? There was not another flight until 24 hours later. Irritated, upset and tired, I explained that we payed EXTRA to have this night flight and minimal layovers. They said they'd do anything, even reroute us. I insisted that we get rerounted through a more reliable airport, PDX. We still couldn't leave until the next day, so I said they should upgrade us to Business Class. She said she'd try.

Long story short, the reroute worked in the way that we didn't have fog to contend with. However, it added a seven hour layover in Frankfurt! Not to mention having to reload our luggage into vehicles, drive to a hotel, check in with our luggage, check out again, with our luggage and drag it into the airport a second time. UGH. We asked if we could atleast get a one day pass for the business lounge. Nothin' doin'. I really think we deserved the Business Upgrade.

So, after a tiring night in a hotel (paid for by United at least), we returned to the airport to get our boarding passes to find that some of us did indeed get upgraded to Business.

However, the rest of us got this end of the plane.

How did that happen? Maybe because my mom was a lot more patient with the counter lady than I was. Or because we were traveling with kids. At any rate, I'm glad my parents got to enjoy the completely horizontal seats with full body massagers and first class cuisine. How do I know how good it was? The wonderful flight attendants on Lufthansa allowed us to switch seats and hang out with the upper crust ;) I love Lufthansa. I hate United (but that will be the last day of this trip).

So, we were arriving 24 hours after we were supposed to, but at least we were getting there. The gite owner was informed and she had a cake, bread, and coffee waiting for us. The gite was more than we expected and the owners were the ultimate nice people. We were about 1 hour outside of Toulouse, among the vibrant yellow fields of canola and bright green wheat grass. If you ever had a vision of the South of France, this was it!

Back in Civilization

We just arrived home at 2am this morning. I can't believe I can turn my laptop on and get an actual internet connection! We did not know, but the gite did not have internet or phone service. We were in the boonies. Not even dial up. Oh yes, France Telecom was phoned and promised to have it up and running in two days...I knew better. They arrived 1 week before we left, hooked up the line, but didn't bring the ADSL stuff, and blamed it on a bad filter. I guess in France, the filter is always to blame, from what everyone told us.

So, hello! It's so strange to be posting, and I don't even know where to begin. We had a great time, with frustrating times, and fun times, and sad times and joyful times. It was a success! And I seriously ate my way through our trip. Thanks to the long, steep staircase in the gite, I burned off the fat as fast as it was shoved into my mouth. :) Speaking of the gite, it was not what I expected. It was SO. MUCH. BETTER. The owners were wonderful, and the gite was beautiful, and the setting was breathtaking.

So, as I have jet lag and am a bit out of it at the moment, why not post some questions you are dying to have answered, and we'll start off that way, shall we?

Oh, first things first, I had several macarons, some were good, some were disgusting. But they are spendy and there are millions of other pastries in France that are 100 times better. As well, I got nauseated each time after eating one, even the minis. But I think my favorite was a big pistachio one from Paul. It was like eating a pistachio flavoried brownie. Yum!

Ok, ask away!!!!

Bon Voyage!

I'm sending myself off to France today...

....but I know y'all* are wishing me a bon voyage too. :)

See you on the other side of the pond!

*That's for you, LBR! ;)

More Flowers from France

I struggled to get up this morning, the time change seems to be killing me this time. But as I sipped my coffee and opened my inbox, I was happily greeted with another flowery letter from Mme Gite-Owner.

Here is the direct translation:

Before your departure, before your takeoff to France, I'm coming to wish you a very good trip. I know that the trip is a little long, especially for the children. But in general, children suprise us by their adaptation. We have often been astonished by their patience in airplanes, and their ability to play and sleep....it will be fine.

If you have need of anything, any service at all, don't hesitate to let me know.

We send you, from France, our warmest thoughts. It is with joy that we say to you now, "see you Saturday!"

Beautiful trip to the family,

Mme Gite Owner

Cassoulet's First Book Review!

On a gloomy day, last Thursday, with nothing special having happened all day, I was complaining of boredom when I heard the familiar screech of a brown delivery truck coming to a halt in front of my house. We all ran for the door, each hoping it was something for us personally. It was my turn, though. My name was on the package! I opened up the well-travelled cardboard box and this is what it contained:

I love books, especially of places I've been. I was excited to view the photos in this one, but honestly I didn't have high expectations for it. I like coffee table books, but most of them never have enough information to satisfy my "who-what-when-where-how" inquisitive mind. And let's face it, books on Paris are becoming a dime-a-dozen thing, what with Ross single-handedly curbing the appetite for Parisian paraphernalia.

I wasn't feeling so well, so I changed into my pj's right away and settled into my red papasan chair with the book, thinking I'd get through it in about 15 minutes at the most. I was wrong.

Historic Photos of Paris, by Rebecca Schall, is a visual timeline of Paris dating back to the mid-1800's. Each photograph is clearly explained, with dates, events and background. Each chapter (time period) begins with a rundown of the historical happenings and photos to back it up. There is sufficient reading to be done, fortunately. One of my favorite photos is this one:

It is Paris as it was before it became the epitome of chic-ness we now associate it with. It was the slums. It was a disease ridden, rodent infested, City of Filth. Trash, raw sewage and who-knows-what freely flowed into the water supply, resulting in countless deaths. Aren't we glad that changed! This book shows us the changes as they took place through intriguing photography that gives us a crystal clear picture that is most definitely worth a thousand words.

Another favorite photo is this one, documenting the historic flood of Paris in the early 20th century.

Only in Paris can walking across a plank look so glamorous!

This book kept my interest and I found myself sad when I reached the end. I love history when I've been to a place. I was able to recognize places in the photos that my own two feet have tread, but decades and even a century later.

This is a must have book for any Paris lover. If you wish to see more pages, click here to see a short video. Enjoy!

Changing Our Image Overseas

Looking into the future two weeks, you've just caught a glimpse of us.

Yes, we are changing our image a bit. Here in the USA, we have the "Soccer Mom" look goin' on in our Honda Odyssey. When we land across the pond, we'll be having our chariot waiting for us at the airport. No, we won't be getting a cute little Smart Car, or even a Mini Cooper. We will need even more elbow-traveling-room with extended family along, and we'll get it (and then some) in this Renault Trafic Passenger Bus.


Just look at all the room we'll be havin'! It's like the Odyssey on steroids. No one can yell, "Stop touching me!" and be believed that their seat mate has been making contact. They'll have to resort to "Stop looking at me!" during the month abroad. To me, this looks more like an Airbus than a Renault.

Which brings us to the issues: How in the world do I think we will ever find a parking space now? Toulouse, as most big cities, has parking issues. And not just parking, but narrow streets that may or may not be wide enough to accommodate anything larger than an early 80's Peugot 206. Some streets are only wide enough for a bike and a baguette. Finding spots the length of a Smart Car is even hard. We have no hope in centre ville. This baby will have to be strictly for road trips.

And how will we react when we go to fill this baby up at the pump the first of many times? At around $7/gallon, it's gonna hurt. Bad.

And does this mean that we officially will have the "Rugby Mom" look goin' on? I wonder if Soccer Mom Van translates in French culture.

I think not.

Three Weeks!

Three weeks! That is all I have left to get my act together! I have been shopping non-stop (mostly without progress). I am trying to find gifts for everyone, plus get some much needed things for the trip. I am also working on two memes that I got tagged for, and hopefully I'll have them up tomorrow.

As I mentioned before, I got some great jeans. Well, then I went to Loft later and found the perfect pair of jeans! Why didn't I just start there first? I can't return the other pairs, as I have already washed them. Anyone want some DKNY cute jeans for cheap? ;) Much too long on my short legs. As usual. So the Loft jeans I got in Petite, and they are the perfect length for me, and are a nice dark blue, with flap pockets. But, I need some shoes to go with. I have boots, but can't wear boots every day on cobblestones. What would you suggest? Cute, but comfy, please.

So I bought some Burt's Bees gift packs, Tips and Toes; one for my aunt and one for a friend. It has cute travel sized tins of the good smelling stuff, everything to give yourself a yummy smelling mani/pedi cures. I was so overly curious about all the products that I opened one of them to test them all out. They passed. Now it's mine! :)

I was reading Les Masson's blog today about Carmex being a wonder-product in France, so I'm wondering if I should get several and give them to friends over there? Can they not get tingling lip stuff there? Speaking of, I also got some Soap and Glory brand limp plumper for myself for the trip. This was no small feat, as certain Targets have ripped them off the shelves because of the name. Check out the link to see the name, if you are unfamiliar. Anyhow, it is addicting stuff! It is the feeling of touching your tongue to 9-volt battery, except all over your lips. It doesn't tingle, it zings! Oh la la....

I'm also in search of a new HG foundation, ditching my mineral makeup because I'm so dry this winter that it hasn't been flattering at all. Don't get me wrong, I'm still a mineral makeup gal, but it just does much better on my olive skin in summer, than my pale-olive-dry-30-something-winter canvas. I have a friend at the Clinique counter, so I paid her a visit. After reading MakeupAlley reviews, I was convinced StayFit was the HG in Clinique. She protested, advising me to go with the Repairwear. I bucked and stuck to my guns. She made a perfect match in Stayfit, applied with a Lancome foundation brush. I bought brush and fond de teint, went home on a high, went into the bathroom mirror to admire....and saw a dark orange face, with a bonus makeup line (one of my most gigantic pet peeves!)

I reapplied the next day, perfect match and 30 minutes later I was as orange as a tween-girl trying Cover Girl for the first time.

I went back and returned the Stayfit, and got samples of the Repairwear. I must admit, it wears great, looks good and doesn't turn colors. But it just isn't my HG. (Why can't I look like the MAC girls? Each time I go to the MAC counter, those girls have the ultimate faces. THE look I have always wanted to achieve with my foundation. I bought a MAC foundation last year, and after a month of using it, I was broken out worse than ever.) I also bought some Smashbox Photo Finish (Light) to try with the Repairwear and it made me look like I dipped my face in oil, about 20 minutes after application. Thank goodness I only bought the sample size.

Maybe I'll go back to the Clinique counter in Toulouse at Galleries Lafayette and buy the line of Clinque foundation I fell in love with over there, unavailable in the USA.

Until then, I'll keep shopping. Could y'all please give me some gift ideas for my women French Friends? Something small, something typical American, and something they can't get there.

I'm off to MakeupAlley...and then to bed.

Bonne nuit mes amis....a demain!

Flowery French to My American Ears

Yesterday, I received an email from Madame Gite-Owner regarding our stay. As I had dealt with a lot of gite owners before we finally chose this one, I was always impressed with this particular lady. Madame Gite-Owner was always so pleasant and....flowery.

Other gite owners answered me matter-of-factly, some even rudely! Others tried to persuade me to change our travel dates and chose their gite (because it wasn't open yet for the season when we needed one.) But Madame Gite-Owner always asked me how we were doing, told me my French was wonderful, and even wanted to meet my relatives who live in a village nearby.

Interestingly, this gite was the very first one I pulled up last year when I was trying to convince my parents that we should all do this thing. It was the gite that made changed my dad's mind about going to France (he didn't even come visit us when we lived there, if that tells you anything.) I looked at hundreds more gites after it, but we always came back to this one.

My uncle called and talked to Madame Gite-Owner and reported back that she indeed seemed very lovely and legitimate.

So the email I received yesterday was really no suprise, and it made me smile everytime I thought about the last paragraph. So I want to share it with you. Now, I'm going to translate this a bit differently. Instead of the idea being translated into how we would speak English, I want to translate what my American English ear "hears" when reading French. A literal translation, if you will.

"....You really need to think of your trip now. You must to count on 10-12 hours on the aircraft...so we are offering you the calm and tranquility of our home and the countryside, and I am hoping that the sun will accompany your stay here, so that you can rapidly recover from the due fatigue that you will have because of the jet lag; and get the maximum benefit from your vacation in France......" --Mme Gite Owner

I suppose if I were doing a translating job, I would say she meant: "I'm sure you have a 10-12 hour flight ahead of you. Don't worry, you'll have peace and quiet when you get out here in the country and hopefully we'll have some sun while you're here, so you can rest up from jet lag and have a great vacation." ---Mme French-to-American English Translator

I prefer flowers.