the morning-after-quiche

I thought breakfast was going to be my last meal in Fayetteville. It wasn't. There were storms in Oklahoma - bad ones with tornados. So, I stayed another night. I had the breakfast of the century. A quiche with ham, asparagus, swiss cheese and tomatoes. It was divine. I had a wonderful soy cappuccino as well. Emily has been raving about this treasure since she's been at school, so I was very excited to indulge in some pastries, French style. Very bready and delicious. This place is called Little Bread Company - A must eat if you're ever in town.

Best quiche ever. I am so serious.

pasta faye

While I was in Fayetteville, I cooked a pasta dinner for some people. I'm sorry.. I have no recipe because I made it up and I NEVER measure. The dish had chicken, italian sausage, red bell pepper, white wine, chicken broth, tomatoes, onion, garlic, flat-leaf parsley, salt, pepper, parmesan, and a touch of milk and butter (secret weapons). Decided to call this pot of pasta Pasta Faye in honor of my friends at Ark. So thoughtful, I know.

Browning the sausage; Make sure to take the meat out of the casings.

Kind of a gross process, but it is a must.

After browning the sausage, remove and sauté the chicken in the same pan.

Cut into bite size pieces for easy chomping and quick cooking. Season with salt and pepper before.

Take the chicken out just before it is done. The chicken will continue to cook off the heat. In the same pan, add sliced onion, a can of diced tomatoes and sliced red peppers. Sauté for a while - make the onions sweat. Add a touch of salt. Then add at least 4 cloves of gaaalic.

After the veg (onion, pepper, tomato concoction) has reduced, deglaze the pan with some cheap white wine. Dry white wine is usually used in pasta dishes, but I don't think it really matters. Then add chicken broth (low sodium) and let reduce to a thicker consistency. Turn up the heat on that thing.

Once the sauce has reached the appropriate sauciness, add the chicken, sausage back in. Cook for about a minute. Add the parsley. Add the cooked pasta to the pot - NEVER add sauce to pasta, always pasta to sauce. Why? The reason is so that the flavors from the sauce get trapped inside of the starchy noodle. I used rigatoni - tube pasta; this kind of pasta is great for chunky sauces because the goodies get stuck inside the noodle.

Finished product.

Are you admiring the salad? You should. Emily made her famous fruit salad. Grapes, strawberries, romaine lettuce, and cucumbers. Italian dressing. Duh. So easy and always classy.

The eaters, missing Emily.

eatin', walkin' and talkin'

This is my driver. Her name is Emily. She drives my car 8 miles with the emergency brake on. Is that bad?

Yesterday was good. So good. Emily and I woke late and watched a few Pregnant in Heels episodes on E!, while she half-studied for her elementary math exam. It was at one o'clock that afternoon. This happened around 10am. Bagels and cereal in bed, but it ended up being far less crumby than one would think. I drove Emily to her final, and ventured across town in search for a Starbucks. I found one about ten miles away. Oh, the things I do for an overpriced iced/grande/soy/latte. So, I sat in the Sbucks for a good hour - trying to read some Nicholas Sparks novel Emily handed me before walking out the door. I read nearly 2 pages. Three times. Sorry Sparks supporters, but that shiz is bad. Overused verbs, daft dialogue. Eww. Call me snobby, but I prefer language that doesn't make my eyes roll.

Finally, Em called me to come get her. No idea how I managed to find her. We then made our way downtown Fayetteville - we had hunger pains. She took me to Hugo's. This place is known for American favorites, such as the Blue Burger (bluecheese), nachos, french fries, and of course the beer cheese soup. They also offered sweet and savory crêpes... yUm.

Hugo's is actually housed in an old speakeasy; this is an underground restaurant with glass ceilings. Em said during Prohibition, the ground level floor was covered with a rug, and then when night fell, the rug was removed so that anyone who entered could be seen from below. Just enough time to hide the gin and brew. Clever, eh?

View of ceiling from ground floor, not underground yet.

Deciding on lunch was difficult. I felt sorry for our sweet waitress. Emily and I are probably the most indecisive pair. Took us about 15 minutes to decide.

I chose the BLT on wheat, she chose the tuna melt, both came with chips and pickles; the pickles were spears. Didn't have time to take a pic of our lunches. They didn't last long on the plate. Though our choices were very boring, they were not trite. Totally fresh and original.

Reaction to the BLT.

Then we went walking. Up and down streets. These streets are different here. They are not level. They are steep angles. Hills. Yesterday, I opened my arms wide to shin splints. Oh, how I love those things. We went in various different boutiques and specialty shops. One of the favorites was Feather Your Nest (sorry, no website).

Inside Feather Your Nest

This store was adorable and evoked wistful nostalgia - all of the things were from or about France. Just another reminder of what I was getting ready for a year ago - a trip abroad. It is strange to think how fast time is flying by. When I say strange, I mean scary.

Kept walking. Made our way to campus. It was overcast, but the breeze kept the mugginess unnoticeable. Campus sort of looks like Univ AL - just without a quad and more hills, and less squirrels.

We played inside of the Chi Omega house for a while.

Look what I found inside.

This brought a lump in my throat and tiny tears. Being home, in the bubble of mundane suburban Dallas, I found myself getting upset that people around me - the bag boy, the policeman ordering tacos beside me, my favorite barista - are not heartbroken like I am. The tornado broke so many things, and they do not know this. Just goes to show that despite devestation, life will always go on. It is oblivious, just like the people in it. I must be conscious of this. But, these women of Chi Omega, they know. They have friends at Alabama and, so they know. They know about the people that lost things. Their concern does not go unnoticed, or unappreciated.

Emily and I appreciate flowers. We both have pet plants that we love very much. R. W. Emerson told us, "Earth laughs in flowers". We believe this. So, we then played in this petit garden. Emily is very savvy in the herbage department; she teaches me their real names.

Peonies are her favorite.

The closest thing to the Quadrangle (Quad) in Ark is called Old Main/Senior Walk/IDK? It is all confusing. Too many names and traditions, sound familiar? The University of Arkansas was established in 1876. The picture below shows the first graduates of the institution - there were like six. What.

All over the sidewalks around campus are engraved with the graduation year and every single graduate. Kind of cool, huh? We saw some people laying by their names, getting a snapshot taken, probably for their mothers and daddies.

Oh, okay - this is actually Old Main. "It's our, like, landmark or something. We point to it at football games when we sing the alma matter", Emily said. This was the last place we went. Then we went to WalMart and bought things. I cooked dinner for a few of the best people. More to post later. Emily just informed me that we are "going out" in a few hours. Oh, the life of college girls - too much mascara and not enough chap-stick.

reunited and it feels so good

After five hours, I made it to Arkansasassy! The drive wasn't too bad.. except for the 3 hours of disgusting construction and faded greenery in Okie. Not so pretty. But the rolling hills of Ark made up for it. Absolutely gorgeous mountain country. I now know why Emily decided to come to school here. It is so nice to get away from home. Oh, wait -- I've only been home for like ten days. Can't believe I'm finally here in Emily's natural state. Loving every minute of it. Went to a cute sammy shop for lunch called Loafin' Joe's - there's one in Fort Worth too. Fresh hoagie rolls and deliciously snappy pickles.

Em drove me around in my car for a while. Lots to look at - the downtown is adorable. Stores like Riff Raff and The Mustache totally make the town worth visiting.

Emily, TJ, this little freshman named Butters, and I tried to go to Chipotle. It was the grand opening and they were giving away free dinner for the first 500 customers... of course we were number 501-504. Thanks Emily. So, we decided to try out this new Greek restaurant called Kosmos. Delish - Teej and I both had the Chicken Souvlaki plates. Em had a Greek chicken salad.. didn't look as good as the Souvalki plates.

Okay, boys and girls.. I must admit that I am obsessed with another SEC college town. Fayetteville makes me miss my sweet home in Tuscaloosa.

familiar greetings & mum's day

Hello, one and all. If this is the first time you have stumbled upon this tacky blog - SALUTATIONS! To beat the boredom, I have decided to recreate my blog; I kept this thing while I studied abroad in France last summer. The title of my blog is: la vie au paradis; It translates into "life in paradise". Periodically, one must ask, "Is this still relevant in my life?" And the answer is, of course it is. My life is still paradise. Mostly joyful and wholly healthy.

And so, it is time. Time to write.

Because of the horrendous tornado that touched down in my favorite college town, Tuscaloosa, Alabama, I have been home since April. I want to write about the things I saw, the things I heard, and the things I did not want to hear. Takes some thinking to get the words to come out just right..

Not really sure of the direction this will go - perhaps rants and raves, pictures of weird things, cheerful thoughts and maybe even some sort of a food diary. At this point, it's still up in the air.

So, today, I start with a special shout out to the most fabulous mother out there - Hey Lynnie! Hope you enjoyed your special day!!!

My sisters and I made this outrageous basket to fill with goodies for our mommy. We filled it with treasures from Anthropologie and Central Market. Then, we put the basket by the door - pretending like the Mother's Day Bunny had come to visit. This is how my sisters and I are: completely silly, always. It was truly delightful to see my sweet mother's face when she discovered the surprise.

(the basket is empty...doi.)

More posting to come later - I must pack my bag for a trip to see sweet Emily Claire in Arkansas. SO excited. I will keep those who care posted. Ha, get it?

contemplations

Okay, so I'm not in France anymore, but i have been thinking about my time over there a lot lately and I miss it. I miss it very much. I've been thinking about going back next summer.. where to? Possibly back to Tours. It would be familiar, but perhaps redundant. Maybe I need to go somewhere more posh like Lyon, or Toulouse.

I am watching the game and all I can think about is what my life used to be. It used to consist of meaningful conversations with a woman who knew little about my procrastination and severe genetic republican disorder. We sat together for dinner every night. We ate at seven thirty. I used to pass the day speculating on what would be set out for me to devour. The first week there was near silence while we ate. While she consumed the plat du jour, her eyes fixed on the orange plates, I would study her. The woman’s hair was kalamata olive and her skin was like almost burnt brioche. Her wrinkles were tightened corn silks. Teeth gray from smoke. She rolled her own cigarettes. Blonde tobacco and tiny sheets of paper sealed with a lick of saliva. Every night the food was different. Algerian, but always a fresh baguette wrapped thoughtfully in a tea towel. She made me roasted beef bones, with the marrow dark and purple, oozing out into the oils tainted with oregano and garlic. She liked the marrow. It reminded her of her mother and Algeria. The times before the war carried them away from l’Algérie.

When I left her after five weeks, she had tiny tears in the corners of her eyes, but when Jean-Daniel broke up with her, she cried. I was in my room and heard the door slam too early in the night. She threw down her boxy purse on the tile of apartment trois cent et un – trois, zero, un. Screaming Je suis fini, je suis fini avec lui. She was finished. She said he said nothing. Rien. They went for a drink and then it was finished. I did not have the words to console her. I did not know them yet. So, I made my Algerian woman tea and asked her to proofread my essay about the deserts in Saudi Arabia. She corrected my spelling and told me I had done well. I tried to tell her that he wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth les gouttes. Raindrops. I meant les larmes. Tears. That’s when she told me about the divorce and how it happened ten years before. He was in Paris now, she said. She didn’t love Jean-Daniel. They were just lovers, she said. The loneliness of the apartment was too loud, but Jean-Daniel filled the noiselessness with commotion, juvenile and exaggerated. My life used to be filled with awkward morning encounters of a tan, white haired Jean-Daniel, wearing a small floral bathrobe and now that was finished.

It used to be filled with early morning instant coffee and brisk walks past that tall, tattered medieval tower. I always thought it completely impossible that the bombardment of the first and second World Wars barely ruptured the stone, or brick or whatever it was made out of. I walked past that tower everyday for five weeks. Looking up. Pondering upon the idea of something protruding up so high, yet refusing to be hit.
I used to stop by the bakery across from the square, only when the night before prevented me from waking up in time for instant black coffee and plain white yogurt. The glass doors to le boulangerie were heavy from the pressure of the odor of sweet yeast and buttery flakes. The baker wasn’t friendly. She asked me what I wanted and that was all. No bonjour. No comment allez-vous. I used to think affability was an everyday necessity, especially in the baking industry, but really, it’s overrated.

my deepest apologies

(Christy, Me, and Alexandra on our last night on the streets of Tours)

I am so sorry that it is August 22, and I still haven't finished "bloggin'" about my miniature French life. I promise there will be entries very, very soon. These next posts will be different because they have had time to mature and marinate in my mind, which by the way has been overcrowded with unnecessary odds and ends lately. I expect nothing less than thorough and insightful archiving from myself, so let's hope that my intentions are somewhat attainable. À bientôt mes amies!

vouvray

That same day we went to a famous Touraine winery, Vouvray. We took a tour of the caves where the wine is stored, and then had a wine tasting. Perfect way to end the excursion.

Over eight million bottles are stored in the huge cave. The stone taken out of these old caverns was used to construct various châteaux and other buildings that can be found in the Loire Valley. After we toured the caves, we went and watched a video that did the wine making process no justice. The video was completely boring and showed how machines cork the bottles - I guess I had a very romanticized vision of how wine is produced, probably because I associate snobby wine with complication.

My friend Christy!

le château de chenonceau

Every Wednesday, most students at the institute get out at noon. This half day provides us with extra time to go on institute organized excursions - among other things. Last Wednesday I got to go see le Château de Chenonceau. I have been learning about this château probably since ninth grade. This famous castle has occupied pages in every French textbook I have ever used. Everyone in my group got to come on the trip, so it was fun for us to reunited again. The château was constructed in the eleventh century over the River Cher (the other river in the Loire Valley). The complex and intricate design of the structure is amazing, I can not imagine how it was constructed. The front of the castle was under reonvation, so that was sad, but the rest of the building was incredible. The gardens are fabulous as well.

This is the chapel that is located inside of the château. Sadly, the original stained glass windows were blown out during the second world war.

This wing of the château was used as a hospital during WWI - there is a plaque on the wall commemorating the lives lost in the infirmary.

I learned that this castle was also used a means of escape during the Nazi occupation of France. Since the château could also be used as a bridge, people would flee to the other side of the river that still remained free.

sunday morning mass and cake

YESSS, I know that I am a week behind on posting, but I literally come home from school, do homework, eat and then fall asleep - so naturally, posting is not on my daily to-do list - even though it should be.
LAST SUNDAY after getting in at midnight from the Mont Saint-Michel excursion, I woke up early and met my two friends, Christy and Alexandra for a Catholic mass at Cathédrale Saint-Gatien. Alexandra is a devout catholic and Christy and I were curious to see what all of the commotion was about, so we decided to join her. There is a BEAUTUFUL cathédrale right here in Tours that was constructed sometime between the twelfth and sixteenth centuries in the Romanesque style. The reason why there is such a huge time gap is because the cathédrale was burned down and destroyed a couple of times. The facade of this building is absolutely breathtaking. I had only been to mass one time before (during confirmation), so I was confused the whole service (partly because it was all in French). There was a very pious and lavish aura to the entire duration of the service that I can not even begin to describe. I felt like I did in Sacre Coeur, completely quiet and unguarded in front of the Lord.

After mass, I came home to a delicious Algerian meal in the midst of construction. Malika was making these crêpe (really thin pancakes) pouch things. They were filled with a cooked chicken, onion and parsley mixture and right before she sealed the pouch with a dab of water around the edges, she broke an egg. She then sauteed the pouches in some olive oil until the egg was cooked (with the yolk still pop-able) and golden. Once you cut into the pouch, the yummy runny yellow part of the egg came gushing out. It was delishhh.

We also had sliced tomatoes and BREAD - the french eat bread for literally every single meal - breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, dessert....

AND for dessert - yogurt cake (Malika called them little cakes, but I call them muffins). She says she makes cake every Sunday.

mont saint-michel

Last Saturday a rather large group (probably 150+students) took buses to Mont-Saint Michel. It was about a four hour bus ride.. there and back. Good thing our bus driver was a stand up comedien/chanteur (singer), so the bus ride wasn't as bad as it could have been. We had to meet for departure at 6:45AM. It was a little rough waking up but so worth the trip. Mont St. Michel is located in the lower Normandy region of France. The landmass was once a bay, but it has now been eroded into a tidal island. In the past, when it was high tide, the island was virtually unreachable by foot, but now there has been a causeway constructed that joins the island to the continent. It is thought that Mont St. Michel dates back to 709 when a bishop (Aubert, of Avranches) had an abbey built in honor of the Archangel, thus making the island a perfect place for pilgramage. It's a tiny city within itself. In the tenth century more people moved onto the island, creating a small village below the abbey's walls. It was a really pretty day - when the sun was out. Since we were on the Atlantic Ocean, the wind was freezing. After we went up and in the village and abbey, we made our way to Saint Malo for dinner. The walled city can be found situated on the English Channel in Bretagne (Brittany). This ocean village was also invaded by the Allies on D-Day. It was definitely an enchanting city, but I seriously could not appreciate it because I was unable to tear my attention away from my chattering teeth.

(view from the top of the mont)

(the steeple of the sanctuary - we were so high up, we were in the clouds!)

l'Institut de Touraine

Such cute little school!! There are people from all over the world studying here. It's a French language institute so French is the only language spoken between teachers and students, as well as between students. I'm taking 20 hours of classes per week. It it isn't that horrible, but it is exhausting thinking, speaking and writing in French all day in class, and then to come home and continue to speak French.
(Kim, Megan, Christy, MOI et Jennifer)