Today is Saturday, so of course there are errands to run and things to do. I could do these any day of the week, but it always seems that these things get put off until Saturday. We are having lunch with Ann today and we want to serve strawberries since it is the season. Ann is a friend/work associate of Helmut and she is going through cancer treatment. I can relate. She was out of the woods, but then things got a bit hairy and the cancer came back with a vengeance. She can't work but she is ironing shirts for us for a bit of pocket money. It addresses a big problem I have here with services here in Paris. In NYC, as I have mentioned, I call up the cleaners, I give them 2 bags of laundry and they return shirts on hangars and laundry in the bag. Nice setup. Nothing like that here, but it seems everyone has someone "come in" to do cleaning and pressing. This seems to work out and so Ann will be coming in to help us. Since she is not "help" nor a close friend, we are bridging the gap with lunch then work.
First stop is a haircut. I go to a little shop around the corner (literally) and Farouk cuts my hair. I always just walk in, since that seems to be the custom. Helmut had another person he used but it got to be that the barber needed an appointment a week in advance or more and this just didn't fly with Helmut, so he found Farouk. I feel a slight affinity with this barber; we are both strangers in a strange land. His French, of course, is much better than mine, but I still manage to make a joke or two with him. He does a good job, and it is cheaper than in NYC. It is often odd to look at myself in the barber's chair, as I seem to have less and less hair and care less and less about it. Well, it is done for another six weeks or so. Now on to Marguerite's.
Margherite's store is the green grocer in the neighborhood. The woman in the store used to be a bit abrupt. (The woman may be Margherite or not. Who knows if it is just the name of the store or her name?). I thought nothing of the abruptness (this is Paris, after all). Lately, Helmut and I have both noticed that she has become a bit more friendly and helpful. Perhaps we are no longer strangers (although Helmut has been here for 6+ years) or maybe she was yelled at once too often for rudeness. I ask if she has strawberries in, since I don't see them. She responds that she is waiting for the delivery and if I come back in a bit they should be here. Points for me for doing this in French; points for her for friendliness.
So, I finish up in Margherite's and head off next to the Pharmacy. I have developed a corn on my little toe. In NYC, this is easy to address. You walk into a drug store and look around, find the "foot" area and find something that will address it. Here, it is not so easy. These stores are very small and it seems much of the merchandise is behind the counter. Also, I don't have the vocabulary for this. Even Helmut wasn't so sure what a "corn" was. I described it to him and he says, "Oh, a wart." Well, not exactly, since warts are a virus and corns are just calluses. The cure for each will be quite different. I have had corns before and they are bizarre. It is like a small column of calluses on your toe and after a while, it hurts all the time. When they get removed (through an over-the-counter remedy), there is a small hole in your toe (very odd). Anyway, so Helmut was not helpful and Google Translate only gave me synonyms for maize, which I am sure is different. I have armed myself with enough words to try to explain this to the pharmacist ("callus," "toe," "(not) wart," "pain,") and I head in, ready to do battle. Well, all that was unnecessary. In this case the "foot" section was right up front and I could find something on my own. While in there, I got the aspirin-like pain reliever, Doliprane. It is strangely guarded here and only comes in small boxes. I thought I saw a large box of it and asked for it. Unfortunately, this was a powder version. That seems to be popular here: powder versions you mix with water and drink. Ick. Not for me. I get two boxes along with my corn removal kit.
My friend Phil, who spent time in Japan has told me I was probably still in the "translate" mode of speaking the language. At first I thought he was wrong, but since I found myself writing texts to friends and thinking "et" and writing "and" I think he is right on the money. Yes, I do rehearse, especially when I have to ask for something specific. I am hoping I can get to the place where it is all natural and easy. Not there yet. Petit à petit (little by little).
Last on my list was a bottle of wine. Easy enough; there are at least 4 different places within a 2 block radius, including the Monoprix (grocery store). (Quick aside: French has no concepts of "blocks." They refer to streets instead. I found that initially difficult, but I have adapted). I head to a new place whose name has not yet been posted, so I can't tell you what it is. We refer to it as the "gluten free place." It is not, in fact, gluten free, but they inevitably give you bulgar wheat with your main plate. Not a fan, and yes, I know that is full of gluten. It is just our shortcut name. His store was, until recently, a takeout Lebanese place, but they went out of business and it is now this little cafe. We enjoy a cheap lunch there and he sells wine and cheese to-go as well. He knows me and I wave as I pass during the day. We have a bit of conversation with me asking how business is and he tells me it is slow, but getting better all the time. I don't have the heart (or the vocabulary) to tell him I don't like the bulgar wheat. Maybe next time.
Back home for that lovely little lunch. Helmut has been cooking much more lately and I take it as a sign of our nesting together. It has been a very nice time for us both. I have been sharing the workload and making dishes I want to try or share and Helmut does the same. I sometimes want to cook to get a better version of something Helmut has cooked. For instance, he made his version of spaghetti carbonara. In my mind, this is fairly easy but very specific: bacon, parmesan cheese, eggs and pepper. Now Helmut had all the ingredients right (except his inclusion of a plethora of peas, which are not in the recipe), but how you put it together can be a bit tricky. For many cooks, the eggs can cook and you end up with scrambled eggs, bacon and pasta. Helmut solution was to put a raw egg yolk in the shell on top of the dry pasta on each plate and the cheese on the side. Well, when you mix that up with the pasta, it just glues it together. My friend Don came up with a ridiculously obvious solution: temper the eggs with a bit of the pasta water! Of course. This keeps them from scrambling and it then creates a wonderfully creamy sauce at the last minute with the hot bacon and spaghetti. So, I have taken over making of the carbonara (I hope). Or at least my recipe will be the one chez nous.
Lunch is over and I have some time to write today. I am in a bit of limbo as far as my work is concerned. I finished the last quilt, but I can't get it quilted and finished, since Helmut will be setting up a cocktail party for important people to see it. I am hoping something comes of it. In the meantime, I am working on the plans for my next quilt. More on that later. Maybe a nap would be a nice thing for today.
First stop is a haircut. I go to a little shop around the corner (literally) and Farouk cuts my hair. I always just walk in, since that seems to be the custom. Helmut had another person he used but it got to be that the barber needed an appointment a week in advance or more and this just didn't fly with Helmut, so he found Farouk. I feel a slight affinity with this barber; we are both strangers in a strange land. His French, of course, is much better than mine, but I still manage to make a joke or two with him. He does a good job, and it is cheaper than in NYC. It is often odd to look at myself in the barber's chair, as I seem to have less and less hair and care less and less about it. Well, it is done for another six weeks or so. Now on to Marguerite's.
Margherite's store is the green grocer in the neighborhood. The woman in the store used to be a bit abrupt. (The woman may be Margherite or not. Who knows if it is just the name of the store or her name?). I thought nothing of the abruptness (this is Paris, after all). Lately, Helmut and I have both noticed that she has become a bit more friendly and helpful. Perhaps we are no longer strangers (although Helmut has been here for 6+ years) or maybe she was yelled at once too often for rudeness. I ask if she has strawberries in, since I don't see them. She responds that she is waiting for the delivery and if I come back in a bit they should be here. Points for me for doing this in French; points for her for friendliness.
So, I finish up in Margherite's and head off next to the Pharmacy. I have developed a corn on my little toe. In NYC, this is easy to address. You walk into a drug store and look around, find the "foot" area and find something that will address it. Here, it is not so easy. These stores are very small and it seems much of the merchandise is behind the counter. Also, I don't have the vocabulary for this. Even Helmut wasn't so sure what a "corn" was. I described it to him and he says, "Oh, a wart." Well, not exactly, since warts are a virus and corns are just calluses. The cure for each will be quite different. I have had corns before and they are bizarre. It is like a small column of calluses on your toe and after a while, it hurts all the time. When they get removed (through an over-the-counter remedy), there is a small hole in your toe (very odd). Anyway, so Helmut was not helpful and Google Translate only gave me synonyms for maize, which I am sure is different. I have armed myself with enough words to try to explain this to the pharmacist ("callus," "toe," "(not) wart," "pain,") and I head in, ready to do battle. Well, all that was unnecessary. In this case the "foot" section was right up front and I could find something on my own. While in there, I got the aspirin-like pain reliever, Doliprane. It is strangely guarded here and only comes in small boxes. I thought I saw a large box of it and asked for it. Unfortunately, this was a powder version. That seems to be popular here: powder versions you mix with water and drink. Ick. Not for me. I get two boxes along with my corn removal kit.
My friend Phil, who spent time in Japan has told me I was probably still in the "translate" mode of speaking the language. At first I thought he was wrong, but since I found myself writing texts to friends and thinking "et" and writing "and" I think he is right on the money. Yes, I do rehearse, especially when I have to ask for something specific. I am hoping I can get to the place where it is all natural and easy. Not there yet. Petit à petit (little by little).
Last on my list was a bottle of wine. Easy enough; there are at least 4 different places within a 2 block radius, including the Monoprix (grocery store). (Quick aside: French has no concepts of "blocks." They refer to streets instead. I found that initially difficult, but I have adapted). I head to a new place whose name has not yet been posted, so I can't tell you what it is. We refer to it as the "gluten free place." It is not, in fact, gluten free, but they inevitably give you bulgar wheat with your main plate. Not a fan, and yes, I know that is full of gluten. It is just our shortcut name. His store was, until recently, a takeout Lebanese place, but they went out of business and it is now this little cafe. We enjoy a cheap lunch there and he sells wine and cheese to-go as well. He knows me and I wave as I pass during the day. We have a bit of conversation with me asking how business is and he tells me it is slow, but getting better all the time. I don't have the heart (or the vocabulary) to tell him I don't like the bulgar wheat. Maybe next time.
Back home for that lovely little lunch. Helmut has been cooking much more lately and I take it as a sign of our nesting together. It has been a very nice time for us both. I have been sharing the workload and making dishes I want to try or share and Helmut does the same. I sometimes want to cook to get a better version of something Helmut has cooked. For instance, he made his version of spaghetti carbonara. In my mind, this is fairly easy but very specific: bacon, parmesan cheese, eggs and pepper. Now Helmut had all the ingredients right (except his inclusion of a plethora of peas, which are not in the recipe), but how you put it together can be a bit tricky. For many cooks, the eggs can cook and you end up with scrambled eggs, bacon and pasta. Helmut solution was to put a raw egg yolk in the shell on top of the dry pasta on each plate and the cheese on the side. Well, when you mix that up with the pasta, it just glues it together. My friend Don came up with a ridiculously obvious solution: temper the eggs with a bit of the pasta water! Of course. This keeps them from scrambling and it then creates a wonderfully creamy sauce at the last minute with the hot bacon and spaghetti. So, I have taken over making of the carbonara (I hope). Or at least my recipe will be the one chez nous.
Lunch is over and I have some time to write today. I am in a bit of limbo as far as my work is concerned. I finished the last quilt, but I can't get it quilted and finished, since Helmut will be setting up a cocktail party for important people to see it. I am hoping something comes of it. In the meantime, I am working on the plans for my next quilt. More on that later. Maybe a nap would be a nice thing for today.
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