Food Narrative

My eyes scan the menu of the small Paris café and slowly widen in horror as I quickly come to the realization that this menu is in French. It's not that I'm surprised. I mean, I am in France after all. But most writing meant for the public in Paris is translated to about ten different languages, English being one of them. To be fair, I have mostly only been in the tourist-filled parts of Paris. But now I'm not. Which was okay, I think. Great, really. What's the point of being in a foreign place if you only stick to what's familiar? So, I continue to scan the menu, while still (admittedly) looking for something that sounds even vaguely familiar.

Pate de Canard?

Potage Créme de Cresson?

Cassoulet?

Coq au Vin?

Brie ou Créme Anglaise?

What is this stuff? I consider just going to the McDonald's down the street. I know, I know. Not very adventurous and pretty contradictory to my plan to not stick to what's familiar. But I don't know what any of this stuff is! What if I order snails or something? I'm not ready for that. Hm... I could eat two or three crépes for lunch instead. I look longingly at the stand across the street. But then I hear my mom's voice in my head telling me that crépes "are not a balanced meal" and that I should definitely get something from the restaurant I'm already at.

"Jessica? You gonna order?" I look up at my friends who I had forgotten were here while I was having an inner-crisis. I know it's rude, but if I order something I don't like, or doesn't look like anything I recognize,  I won't eat it.

"Uhh, yeah," I answer dumbly. I glance up at the waitress who is making no effort to hide her glare. I smile nervously and look back down at my menu. Salads! Salads are safe, right? I scan the list of salads and pick one I hope is safe.

Salade de Canard.

Well, there's no way I'm gonna try to say that one and offend the waitress even more. I mean, she's probably already planning on spitting in my food at this point. I point at my selection on the menu and hold it up to her. She scowls but nods and writes on her notepad.

***

When the food arrives, I realize the salad I ordered may not be as safe as I had hoped.

This isn't the salad I ordered. I didn't get a picture of it, but I remember it looked something like this.

I poke at the mysterious meat with my fork. It doesn't look bad or poorly prepared but... still. What is it?

"Looks like duck. Mind if I try?" one of my friends says.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"You asked what it was." Did I say that out loud? "I think it's duck. Can I try it?" My friend explains slowly.

"Oh, um, go for it," I nod.

My friend takes a bite and nods, confirming that it's definitely duck. Well, I've never had duck. No better time to try, I suppose. I cut off a tiny piece and slowly bring it to my mouth and start chewing. It's not bad. It tastes like chicken, but stronger and gamier. And greasier. And more expensive. Or maybe that's just because it's Paris.

With that, I decide to stick to McDonald's and crépes for the rest of my stay in Paris. 

Senses

When I first moved to Flagstaff, snow in the weather forecast meant putting on layers and layers I thought I would need to stay warm. It meant stepping out into the snow storm (when the weather forecast would actually be accurate) and feeling my face get chilled by the frigid air and the (literally) freezing snow. It sometimes meant losing feeling in my nose, lips, cheeks and fingers (if I had forgotten to put on gloves), only to have the feelings come rushing back in the form of a thousand little needles poking me all over my face and hands as soon as I'd step into a nicely heated building. It meant walking awkwardly to my destination to avoid slipping on ice (or anything else on the ground, really). Once indoors, it was usually less than five minutes before I'd have to take off some of the layers as it would suddenly be too hot to be wearing so many jackets and sweaters. Yeah. I looked like a freshman.

As I've said before, I love the snow. I have ever since moving to Flagstaff. But it does take some getting used to. You have to learn how to drive in it (hopefully not the hard way) and you have to learn that as long as you stay moving and don't stick your head in a pile of snow, you probably won't freeze to death. You have to learn that 20 degrees and snowing isn't that bad unless it's windy. Most importantly, you have to learn not to believe the Flagstaff weather forecasts until you see it.

Introduction

A picture of me, so you can put a face to the name (once you know my name, I suppose).

Hi, my name is Jessica and I am a 20-year-old student attending Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, Arizona. I am double majoring in Public Relations and English. I'd love to tell you I decided to double major because I'm an over-achiever who just loves learning but that's not completely true. I mean, I do love learning but that's not why I ended up being a double major. To make a long story short, it was to get a (partial) tuition waiver. But truth be told, I really do like both my majors (usually) and I could (probably) never choose between the two.

I am originally from Los Angeles, California. You might be wondering how a girl from a big city ends up in tiny (to me, anyway) Flagstaff. Well, there's a lot of reasons for that (yes, one of which is money) but I really am happy I decided to come here straight out of high school.

One reason being, I've learned how much I love snow and rain, which there isn't a lot of, if any, in Los Angeles. I love how the snow is so white it's almost blue when it's just fallen and how the freshly fallen snow sparkles once the storm passes and the sun comes out. I don't have a picture of sparkling snow but I do have a picture of the snow-covered forest of Flagstaff:

Sadly, I don't have any pictures of rain, mostly because it doesn't photograph well enough but what I love about rain is the sound and smell. Really, I love any weather that doesn't involve the sun, probably because sun is the only weather I've known for most of my life.

Moving on, I've also learned that family-owned restaurants have some of the best food.

Now that you know a little bit about me, I hope you enjoy my blog.