I still cannot conjugate the subjunctive. I forget that certain verbs must be accompanied by etre instead of avoir till after I've already uttered the broken phrase. Saying, "I've never seen/done that" is a constant pain in my butt, because I always flub it even though I know how it is supposed to go. In short, I'm not fluent... STILL!!! After four years of French at Sewanee, a semester in Aix-en-Provence, two years of French in high school, and this entire year here, and I'm still not fluent. Tant pis. I DO speak Toulousain though.
What I mean, is that I've picked up little things that they don't teach you in school. I've learned little ways of saying things so that I sound more french even if my phrases aren't correct. And I certainly feel more at ease with the language.
Afin (ah fen) means thus. The people here (and maybe elsewhere in France, I don't know) have shortened it to 'fin. They use it to help lead from one point to another. For an American, it's comparable to us using the word 'so' while telling an anecdote.
b'ais oui (bay wee): I've been told that this way of saying 'mais oui' has evolved from one hesitating just before saying the word oui and then not pronouncing the 'm' in 'mais' so that the movement from the closed to the open mouth actually pronounces the 'b' sound. This little phrase of agreement is most often (and ironically) used when one is emphasizing their point of view. For example, "You don't think it is really going to rain tomorrow do you?" "Mais (B'ais) oui (translation: Oh but yes!) , it will rain tomorrow, just look at the weather! There is 99% chance!"
**my friend Marie says that it could also come from "bah ouais" (bah weh). In France, instead of saying "um", they tend to say "bah". So perhaps the "bah" is the hestitation sound, followed by the more laid back way of saying oui (wee), aka ouais (weh)...either way, I've heard bah weh and bay wee here in Toulouse and I like it lots !!!
Voila (vwah la or wah la --- it's said both ways here) means "lo and behold/see here/see there/ta da/told you so/ as i said..." It means a lot of different things. I've learned that the French use it as a verbal filler kind of like afin ('fin) when trying to tell you something. It they arrive at a point and are hesitating upon moving to the next or feel lost for the moment, they will say "Voila" as a way of emphasizing and summing up what they were saying and giving themselves a moment to remember where the conversation was headed.
et alors (ay ah loor) means 'and so'. It is used exactly like afin and voila.
tch tch - this is a sound, not a phrase. This sound is the equivalent of "no, no" and it is used on kids and pets to dissuade them from getting into whatever trouble or mess they were headed toward.
Attention (ah ton see on) means "pay attention/be careful/look out/" and of course a host of other things as well. The prevailing idea of the word is to grab someone's attention to tell them something, so in that way perhaps the best translation is the militaristic call "Attention!". I've used this phrase to tell N. to be careful eating her hot food, to warn someone before running past them on the escalator, to grab the attention of an elderly person on the bus to an open seat....it's a great word!
C'est ca (say sah) means "that's it". I use this phrase to confirm, to correct, to question...it's like the chameleon phrase. For example, if a friend emails me to ask if we are indeed meeting at 8, I email back this phrase meaning, "yes, that's the correct time." Or, if I am not sure how to send a package at the post office, I can describe what I think the procedure is and end my description with "c'est ca", which is a way of asking if I'm correct or not.
I'm sure there are little things I'm forgetting, but those are the principle things that come to mind when I think of the progress in French that I've made this year.
~Tam in Toulouse
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Melanger prt 2
and continuing the list of little differences....
Bread: yes, yes, everyone knows that the French eat baguettes. This is true. What I thought was more interesting is that they HAVE loaf bread, really yummy whole wheat loaf bread and white bread here. They just prefer to eat the baguettes with their cheese and to prepare sandwiches on the baguettes.
Sodas: The sprite tastes more bitter here; the coca cola tastes sweeter.
Mailing Packages: Don't think you can show up at the post office, buy a shipping box, and send a sweet care package to someone. NO. Here, they have those boxes, but the cheapest one begins at 11 euros !!! You are expected to somehow have your own personal cardboard box in which to send things.
Meat: It is expensive here, very expensive. The people I know here eat meat about twice a week, a number far less than in America where it's unusual to eat such a small amount in that time.
Balance: Americans tend to talk about life in terms of extremes. We work toward being the best, having the best, knowing the most, etc. The French tend to think of life as a balance, and they talk about this balance non-stop. They have the philosphy that there is the time to work, but that leisure is also healthy. They eat lots of fruits and vegetables, but usually complement the meal with decadent desserts and wine. They speak of politics, religion, and literature with tangents about movie stars, food, and travel plans. They are neither too serious nor too fun-loving. They really strive for a balance each day, and I hope to keep that idea of balance when I return to the USA.
Bread: yes, yes, everyone knows that the French eat baguettes. This is true. What I thought was more interesting is that they HAVE loaf bread, really yummy whole wheat loaf bread and white bread here. They just prefer to eat the baguettes with their cheese and to prepare sandwiches on the baguettes.
Sodas: The sprite tastes more bitter here; the coca cola tastes sweeter.
Mailing Packages: Don't think you can show up at the post office, buy a shipping box, and send a sweet care package to someone. NO. Here, they have those boxes, but the cheapest one begins at 11 euros !!! You are expected to somehow have your own personal cardboard box in which to send things.
Meat: It is expensive here, very expensive. The people I know here eat meat about twice a week, a number far less than in America where it's unusual to eat such a small amount in that time.
Balance: Americans tend to talk about life in terms of extremes. We work toward being the best, having the best, knowing the most, etc. The French tend to think of life as a balance, and they talk about this balance non-stop. They have the philosphy that there is the time to work, but that leisure is also healthy. They eat lots of fruits and vegetables, but usually complement the meal with decadent desserts and wine. They speak of politics, religion, and literature with tangents about movie stars, food, and travel plans. They are neither too serious nor too fun-loving. They really strive for a balance each day, and I hope to keep that idea of balance when I return to the USA.
Melanger prt 1
Here in France I've noticed differences in the culture here and the American way of life. I don't know that I've really blogged about some of the tiny things that you'd just have to live here a while to see first-hand... So now, I think I'll make a little list of various things to share with you.
Kitchens: every single French kitchen I've been in has been tiny by American standards. There is no room for more than one person to move about.
Food Labels: Not only do the labels here tell you the nutrition facts, but they also warn you not to snack between meals, they encourage you to eat a balanced diet with fruits and vegetables daily, AND they give you suggestions on what to eat with the item you are currently holding.
Bonjour: It is considered rude to not say "Bonjour" when you pass someone in the hall of the apartment building, when getting on a bus or entering a store, when it is your turn at the check out counter at the grocery store, to your waiter before you begin to rattle off your food/drink order, when your professor enters the classroom - I'm sure there are more instances that I am forgetting, but yes, "Bonjour" is a constantly uttered phrase here in France.
TV/video games/computers - the French haven't hit the technology obsessed stride that Americans have, and I'm so appreciative of that. Kids don't come in from school and plop down in front of the TV or the video gaming system or the computer. Some households I've visited don't have a TV. Other households don't have a personal computer. It's not a matter of money either, it's simply because the French are interested in people and doing things together and not staring at glowing boxes all hours of the day. When I tell Americans that I have no cell phone they tell me they couldn't live without theirs. When I say the same to a French person, the usual response is that it's a good thing.
Junk Food: I haven't been in a French house yet with junk food. Sure, there's a never ending supply of dark chocolate and nutella if you open the cupboard. Real junk food, like chips, soda, cookies, etc is avoided here in France.
Meal Duration: If invited to a nice dinner in America with friends, expect it to last maybe an hour. If invited to a dinner with friends or family in France, expect it to last between one to three hours depending on the occasion, the food, and the wine.
Window screens: It makes sense to me, with bugs in the summer, that it is normal to have window screens so that one can enjoy the breeze without the bugs. Yet, here in Toulouse, I've seen zero window screens. I talked to K. about this and she mentioned that one can buy window screens, but they don't come standard in homes.
Kitchens: every single French kitchen I've been in has been tiny by American standards. There is no room for more than one person to move about.
Food Labels: Not only do the labels here tell you the nutrition facts, but they also warn you not to snack between meals, they encourage you to eat a balanced diet with fruits and vegetables daily, AND they give you suggestions on what to eat with the item you are currently holding.
Bonjour: It is considered rude to not say "Bonjour" when you pass someone in the hall of the apartment building, when getting on a bus or entering a store, when it is your turn at the check out counter at the grocery store, to your waiter before you begin to rattle off your food/drink order, when your professor enters the classroom - I'm sure there are more instances that I am forgetting, but yes, "Bonjour" is a constantly uttered phrase here in France.
TV/video games/computers - the French haven't hit the technology obsessed stride that Americans have, and I'm so appreciative of that. Kids don't come in from school and plop down in front of the TV or the video gaming system or the computer. Some households I've visited don't have a TV. Other households don't have a personal computer. It's not a matter of money either, it's simply because the French are interested in people and doing things together and not staring at glowing boxes all hours of the day. When I tell Americans that I have no cell phone they tell me they couldn't live without theirs. When I say the same to a French person, the usual response is that it's a good thing.
Junk Food: I haven't been in a French house yet with junk food. Sure, there's a never ending supply of dark chocolate and nutella if you open the cupboard. Real junk food, like chips, soda, cookies, etc is avoided here in France.
Meal Duration: If invited to a nice dinner in America with friends, expect it to last maybe an hour. If invited to a dinner with friends or family in France, expect it to last between one to three hours depending on the occasion, the food, and the wine.
Window screens: It makes sense to me, with bugs in the summer, that it is normal to have window screens so that one can enjoy the breeze without the bugs. Yet, here in Toulouse, I've seen zero window screens. I talked to K. about this and she mentioned that one can buy window screens, but they don't come standard in homes.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Good Times prt 2
Tonight, I met up with a dear French friend named Aurore. We sat ourselves at a cafe on the Place Capitol in the evening sunlight and gave our orders to the waiter. Then we dove into conversation.
I hadn't seen Aurore for probably over a month and had missed her a lot. She wanted to hear about Easter. I wanted to hear about her past and upcoming travels (she's been SO many places!). Our ice cream sundaes disappeared somehow; our beverages also. Before we knew it, an hour had gone by and we decided to move our meeting to her apartment.
When we got to her apartment, the first thought that sprinted into my head was, "WE ARE THE SAME PERSON" !!! Albeit, in two different bodies, living two different lives, residing in two different countries of course. As I looked around Aurore's apartment I realized that she and I had such similar taste. Rich fabrics in purples and oranges, candles, souvenirs from her travels, books and more books, were all arranged beautifully around the space. Her furniture was low and comfortable. There were great mismatched tables holding things from the computer, to the TV, to books. Even the arrangement of the furniture and the kitchen utensils was just as I would have arranged them had I moved in. Aside from just a couple of souvenirs that she had displayed, the space was me all over. She even had the pillows to match the bedspread that I had all throughout college!!!
Aurore turned on some Spanish music and helped me make fresh guacamole. After she served up some apple juice for both of us and arranged our Mexican snack on her gorgeous wood in-lay coffee table, we sat down (or rather, sunk into) her comfy furniture. While we ate our guacamole and tortilla chips, we talked about the difficulties of pronunciation in both languages and our favorite words in each other’s native tongue. We talked of education, religion, and racism. We talked about dance. I talked about cheerleading. We traded boyfriend anecdotes. The conversation flowed organically till long past the sun went down. For the second night in a row, I was treated to someone else’s cooking; Aurore prepared a simple pasta and hamburger meal with Provençal herbs. As she took our dirty dishes into the kitchen, I stole a glance at her cell, noting that it was already 10:30. Where had the past four and a half hours gone? Had she and I really been talking almost continuously since we met for the café at 6?
Following these thoughts was the feeling of disappointment. I didn’t want the night to end. I felt so at home in her apartment. I almost felt like I was back in America just hanging out with one of my closest friends – except that I obviously don’t speak French with my friends like I do with Aurore– I was so at ease and happy. The hours had slipped by while our friendship and understanding of one another’s culture had grown. Unfortunately, I knew that I had better go before the metro closed; besides, Aurore was leaving the next morning on a week-long trip and hadn’t packed. Around 11 we headed for the metro station, traded hugs and cheek kisses and more hugs, wished each other well for the upcoming week and weekend, and then parted ways. As I rode the escalator down into the metro, I thought to myself that I might just be as sad leaving France this year as I was when I left after study abroad my junior year. There may not be the same desire to stay and live the ‘French life’ as there was junior year, but there was the same feeling that I was leaving ones I loved behind; and this time that feeling was magnified. What an amazing night it was indeed.
~Tam in Toulouse
I hadn't seen Aurore for probably over a month and had missed her a lot. She wanted to hear about Easter. I wanted to hear about her past and upcoming travels (she's been SO many places!). Our ice cream sundaes disappeared somehow; our beverages also. Before we knew it, an hour had gone by and we decided to move our meeting to her apartment.
When we got to her apartment, the first thought that sprinted into my head was, "WE ARE THE SAME PERSON" !!! Albeit, in two different bodies, living two different lives, residing in two different countries of course. As I looked around Aurore's apartment I realized that she and I had such similar taste. Rich fabrics in purples and oranges, candles, souvenirs from her travels, books and more books, were all arranged beautifully around the space. Her furniture was low and comfortable. There were great mismatched tables holding things from the computer, to the TV, to books. Even the arrangement of the furniture and the kitchen utensils was just as I would have arranged them had I moved in. Aside from just a couple of souvenirs that she had displayed, the space was me all over. She even had the pillows to match the bedspread that I had all throughout college!!!
Aurore turned on some Spanish music and helped me make fresh guacamole. After she served up some apple juice for both of us and arranged our Mexican snack on her gorgeous wood in-lay coffee table, we sat down (or rather, sunk into) her comfy furniture. While we ate our guacamole and tortilla chips, we talked about the difficulties of pronunciation in both languages and our favorite words in each other’s native tongue. We talked of education, religion, and racism. We talked about dance. I talked about cheerleading. We traded boyfriend anecdotes. The conversation flowed organically till long past the sun went down. For the second night in a row, I was treated to someone else’s cooking; Aurore prepared a simple pasta and hamburger meal with Provençal herbs. As she took our dirty dishes into the kitchen, I stole a glance at her cell, noting that it was already 10:30. Where had the past four and a half hours gone? Had she and I really been talking almost continuously since we met for the café at 6?
Following these thoughts was the feeling of disappointment. I didn’t want the night to end. I felt so at home in her apartment. I almost felt like I was back in America just hanging out with one of my closest friends – except that I obviously don’t speak French with my friends like I do with Aurore– I was so at ease and happy. The hours had slipped by while our friendship and understanding of one another’s culture had grown. Unfortunately, I knew that I had better go before the metro closed; besides, Aurore was leaving the next morning on a week-long trip and hadn’t packed. Around 11 we headed for the metro station, traded hugs and cheek kisses and more hugs, wished each other well for the upcoming week and weekend, and then parted ways. As I rode the escalator down into the metro, I thought to myself that I might just be as sad leaving France this year as I was when I left after study abroad my junior year. There may not be the same desire to stay and live the ‘French life’ as there was junior year, but there was the same feeling that I was leaving ones I loved behind; and this time that feeling was magnified. What an amazing night it was indeed.
~Tam in Toulouse
Good Times prt 1
I've had an amazing two evenings! I wanted to write them down before I was so far removed from then that the 'new' rubbed off and blogging about them seemed silly. At this crucial time here, aka my last week and a half, such evenings are what I'll remember probably better than most things. They'll be some of the last memories I make here... and so they are worthy of being blogged about.
Sunday evening I met two Americans for some food and conversation. I'd previously (and randomly) met them on the plane on my way to London. The friendship basically started upon finding out that they were from Austin, TX (and I love TX) and that we were all headed to London, and all living in Toulouse studying abroad. Instantaneously I liked these southern gents (Nick and Michael) with the same adoration of France/french.
So finally, after my exams and all their travels, we were meeting to really hang out. Inside Michael's apartment we settled in for a weird snack fest. I had brought the wine and cookies, they provided salsa, guacamole, and chips. The pairings were definitely off; rose wine with cheap cookies, then with salsa and guacamole, BUT we didn't care. The snacks were yummy and the wine was refreshing. As we munched through the cookies and finished off the salsa and guacamole it became apparent that we needed actual dinner. Michael graciously fixed "Michael's Meal" (aka rice, zucchini, onion, garlic, and bell pepper with a little bit of tomato sauce). Nick and I jumped in to chop things and feel helpful. The conversation continued through the chopping, through the simmering, and through the eating of Michael's Meal. Afterward, I washed dishes, Nick dried, and still the conversation continued. Frankly, I was quite surprised that these two guys were not only letting me ramble on and on, but they weren't complaining about me changing subjects every five minutes and they were keeping up with me as far as talk time went. Neither one lacked for words. After a few days to myself in my apartment I think I was on talk overload, binging on the English and the camaraderie.
From clean dishes we moved to Texas Hold 'Em. We played with centimes, mostly the euro one cent coins. It was ridiculous for me to be blissful. I was simply sitting in a studio apartment, playing an easy card game, talking about nothing important with new friends. Yet, I was blissful. By eleven thirty I was back in my own apartment thinking back on what a great time I'd had just hanging out with people sharing food, playing a game, and making conversation.
Sunday evening I met two Americans for some food and conversation. I'd previously (and randomly) met them on the plane on my way to London. The friendship basically started upon finding out that they were from Austin, TX (and I love TX) and that we were all headed to London, and all living in Toulouse studying abroad. Instantaneously I liked these southern gents (Nick and Michael) with the same adoration of France/french.
So finally, after my exams and all their travels, we were meeting to really hang out. Inside Michael's apartment we settled in for a weird snack fest. I had brought the wine and cookies, they provided salsa, guacamole, and chips. The pairings were definitely off; rose wine with cheap cookies, then with salsa and guacamole, BUT we didn't care. The snacks were yummy and the wine was refreshing. As we munched through the cookies and finished off the salsa and guacamole it became apparent that we needed actual dinner. Michael graciously fixed "Michael's Meal" (aka rice, zucchini, onion, garlic, and bell pepper with a little bit of tomato sauce). Nick and I jumped in to chop things and feel helpful. The conversation continued through the chopping, through the simmering, and through the eating of Michael's Meal. Afterward, I washed dishes, Nick dried, and still the conversation continued. Frankly, I was quite surprised that these two guys were not only letting me ramble on and on, but they weren't complaining about me changing subjects every five minutes and they were keeping up with me as far as talk time went. Neither one lacked for words. After a few days to myself in my apartment I think I was on talk overload, binging on the English and the camaraderie.
From clean dishes we moved to Texas Hold 'Em. We played with centimes, mostly the euro one cent coins. It was ridiculous for me to be blissful. I was simply sitting in a studio apartment, playing an easy card game, talking about nothing important with new friends. Yet, I was blissful. By eleven thirty I was back in my own apartment thinking back on what a great time I'd had just hanging out with people sharing food, playing a game, and making conversation.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
The Countdown begins at 10
Ten days. Starting tomorrow, I have just 10 days left in France. When I think about it, I visited London in 5 days, so 10 days in Toulouse should be plenty of time (on top of the 8 1/2 months I've been here already) to soak up the city and pull into myself wonderful memories to cherish always. But 10 days seems alternately like too little time and like the never ending home stretch.
Today I begin to pack. The weather is gorgeous outside, but I won't be venturing out to appreciate it. No, today is the day that I stay inside and begin to sort through my stacks of papers. I will put all my clothes into my suitcase. I will sort books into those that go and those that need to be sold second hand. I will do laundry so that it can be packed. I will finally send those post cards that I bought way back in October.
Why am I packing if I have ten whole days left? Well, my apartment is a mess. I like to think that I'm subconsciously 'spreading out' my things to make it seem like I still live here for a while. That 'spreading out' consists of piles of dirty clothes and dishes and school books and papers. The 'spreading out' only makes it look like a very messy frat boy lives in my place...not the intended effect. So, now I'm going to face reality. I am going to pack my things as much as I can - toiletries will stay out and a few electronics - and I'm going to make my apartment reflect the fact that I'm leaving in ten days.
Aside from packing, I've been asking myself what in the world I'm supposed to do with ten days of no obligations. Do I sleep in, relax outside in the sun each day and have a picnic lunch? Do I spend my evenings in cafe's or restaurants sipping French wine and watching the people? Perhaps I should go to the English book shop and buy some classics, spend some afternoons in the park, transported into scenes from Jane Austen? What does one do when one is trying to hold tightly to a place?
I know that I will tutor this Tuesday and next. I know that I will see three year old N. and her sweet mother, K. I know that I will treat myself to a movie at the cinema. I know that I will meet with a Miral professor or two. I'll pay some bills and shut down some accounts. I'll visit the bakery, the pizza shop, and the mini supermarket multiple times. Maybe the key to holding tightly to a place is just living out the days as normal. Maybe in doing the mundane I'll be engraving my way of life here into my memory.
~Tam in Toulouse
Today I begin to pack. The weather is gorgeous outside, but I won't be venturing out to appreciate it. No, today is the day that I stay inside and begin to sort through my stacks of papers. I will put all my clothes into my suitcase. I will sort books into those that go and those that need to be sold second hand. I will do laundry so that it can be packed. I will finally send those post cards that I bought way back in October.
Why am I packing if I have ten whole days left? Well, my apartment is a mess. I like to think that I'm subconsciously 'spreading out' my things to make it seem like I still live here for a while. That 'spreading out' consists of piles of dirty clothes and dishes and school books and papers. The 'spreading out' only makes it look like a very messy frat boy lives in my place...not the intended effect. So, now I'm going to face reality. I am going to pack my things as much as I can - toiletries will stay out and a few electronics - and I'm going to make my apartment reflect the fact that I'm leaving in ten days.
Aside from packing, I've been asking myself what in the world I'm supposed to do with ten days of no obligations. Do I sleep in, relax outside in the sun each day and have a picnic lunch? Do I spend my evenings in cafe's or restaurants sipping French wine and watching the people? Perhaps I should go to the English book shop and buy some classics, spend some afternoons in the park, transported into scenes from Jane Austen? What does one do when one is trying to hold tightly to a place?
I know that I will tutor this Tuesday and next. I know that I will see three year old N. and her sweet mother, K. I know that I will treat myself to a movie at the cinema. I know that I will meet with a Miral professor or two. I'll pay some bills and shut down some accounts. I'll visit the bakery, the pizza shop, and the mini supermarket multiple times. Maybe the key to holding tightly to a place is just living out the days as normal. Maybe in doing the mundane I'll be engraving my way of life here into my memory.
~Tam in Toulouse
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Texas meets Toulouse
I have never cooked texmex before. I guess technically what I attempted for one of my adopted French families Tuesday night was mexican. I'm not entirely sure what it was... but I know that it turned out surprisingly well for my first foray into western food !
In the tiny five ft. by five ft. "U" shaped kitchen, lacking many of the American utensils and appliances that I was used to, I managed to prepare an enchilada casserole, quesadillas, and fresh guacamole that I was proud of. I'm skipping over the preparation part because it was sheer madness trying to fix the three at once with only one cutting board, one skillet, and a teeny tiny oven the size of a microwave. Adding to the craziness was a lack of counter space or preparation space. About one foot on the table was free and about a foot on the counter. I never thought non-cooking me would care about kitchen space, but this french enchilada experience taught me that a tiny kitchen is a hindrance. It amazes me (and annoys me) that the French, renowned for their cuisine, stick with teeny tiny kitchens.
Anyhow, luck was with me Tuesday evening, and the end result was delicious. The guacamole needed more spice (jalepenos would have been perfect), the quesadillas needed more cheese, but the enchilada casserole (complete with red enchilada sauce from TX and sharp cheddar cheese) was perfect ! My french student, his girl friend, my adopted French mother, and the father all chowed down on their foreign food with moans of 'happy tummy' pleasure and many compliments to me.
They tried unsuccessfully, but with much humor derived on my part, to memorize the names of the dishes. The poor little girl was gulping water throughout the meal because the food was so 'spicy'. (In truth it was no spicier than something from Taco Bell, which as an American knows, isn't spicy at all) I felt slightly bad for her when she decided on a second helping. I think she liked it though, despite the spice, and the guacamole helped tone it down for her. The father bravely tried the store bought, Ole el Paso brand salsa. He couldn't handle the heat, instead choosing the guacamole to dip his quesadillas into. Everyone cleaned their plates (even their second helpings) !!! I couldn't have had a prouder moment here I think... good times indeed!
~Tam *texmex chef in residence* in Toulouse
In the tiny five ft. by five ft. "U" shaped kitchen, lacking many of the American utensils and appliances that I was used to, I managed to prepare an enchilada casserole, quesadillas, and fresh guacamole that I was proud of. I'm skipping over the preparation part because it was sheer madness trying to fix the three at once with only one cutting board, one skillet, and a teeny tiny oven the size of a microwave. Adding to the craziness was a lack of counter space or preparation space. About one foot on the table was free and about a foot on the counter. I never thought non-cooking me would care about kitchen space, but this french enchilada experience taught me that a tiny kitchen is a hindrance. It amazes me (and annoys me) that the French, renowned for their cuisine, stick with teeny tiny kitchens.
Anyhow, luck was with me Tuesday evening, and the end result was delicious. The guacamole needed more spice (jalepenos would have been perfect), the quesadillas needed more cheese, but the enchilada casserole (complete with red enchilada sauce from TX and sharp cheddar cheese) was perfect ! My french student, his girl friend, my adopted French mother, and the father all chowed down on their foreign food with moans of 'happy tummy' pleasure and many compliments to me.
They tried unsuccessfully, but with much humor derived on my part, to memorize the names of the dishes. The poor little girl was gulping water throughout the meal because the food was so 'spicy'. (In truth it was no spicier than something from Taco Bell, which as an American knows, isn't spicy at all) I felt slightly bad for her when she decided on a second helping. I think she liked it though, despite the spice, and the guacamole helped tone it down for her. The father bravely tried the store bought, Ole el Paso brand salsa. He couldn't handle the heat, instead choosing the guacamole to dip his quesadillas into. Everyone cleaned their plates (even their second helpings) !!! I couldn't have had a prouder moment here I think... good times indeed!
~Tam *texmex chef in residence* in Toulouse
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