ballzzzz

In the midst of my seriously reflective entry last Thursday, I completely forgot to divulge the more lighthearted bits of my week. First off, I FINALLY got to try the restaurant in Chaumes-en-Brie. Okay, I should give the town more credit---there are actually three restaurants and a kebab place (yet no stop light….how French, more restos than stoplights per square mile). Michelin and Zagat are seriously missing out by not stopping through for some pizza.

But seriously, Bibione provided family entertainment on more than one level. First of all, the kids were super pumped about going out to dinner. Know what’s even funnier? They both wanted to order hamburgers from an Italian restaurant. I chuckled to myself thinking, “how American”…every little kid I know, no matter how delicious or exotic the kids menu cuisine may be, wants the hamburger or chicken nuggets. Fact of life.

Second of all, we got to witness some of Chaumes’ citizens at their finest. I’ll add as a disclaimer for Alain—who seemed slightly concerned about misrepresentation of the French—that the behavior we saw was very uncharacteristic of the French who normally comport themselves in a sophisticated manner. Anyways. We had just sat down to our table and ordered drinks when an older woman suddenly launched herself out of her chair and towards a table of kids who looked about 18. She was screaming and finger wagging up a storm. It seemed that this woman—who it turns out was veryyyyyyyy drunk—was determined to make a fool of herself. Apparently one of the kids had accidentally said tu instead of vous to her. I mean, what a French thing to fight about. In the French language, you address friends and family as tu (you) but strangers, elders, etc… as vous. If you ask me, it’s really weird and a little unnecessary (but then again I’m an American, what do I know about French language?). 90% of the time I don’t know when I should use tu versus vous, and then I’m stumped on when a vous becomes a tu and if people are offended if you tu them and if you should ask to “tu” or tutoie them (the verb that means to use “tu” with someone) . It’s enough to make me use tu with everyone and claim American ignorance.

So the woman was outraged. Her screaming escalated—and we weren’t exactly in a big place—causing the entire restaurant to stop eating and look. Even the men with this woman were gawking. She was unleashing the crazy, that’s for sure. It was all very Jerry Springer, and I felt like I should be chanting and fist-pumping in the background. The poor kids, at this point, were a little frightened that Cruella had’t just let it go; luckily the owner intervened and presumably banned them from Chaumes’ finest restaurant. The whole time Caroline and Alain were telling the kids not to stare while I remained mesmerized by the drama unfolding before me. If you know me, you know how much I like a good fight (ie Phi Delt Formal).

I made beer can chicken for my friends on Friday. It was an entirely European group so I witnessed varying levels of shocked and disturbed at the fact that I was shoving a can of beer in a chicken cavity and cooking it. However, when that bird came out all sizzly and delicious with the meat falling of the bone, I didn’t hear a peep! It was a thoroughly enjoyable night although as chef (or co-chef; I have to give a nod to my helpers) I managed to drink a little too much wine before the dinner had even started. C’est la vie, hein?

I’m registering for real French college today! Well I’m just auditing classes there (like I’d pay to voluntarily study and take tests….) so that I can go and learn and not have homework. It should be interesting because I hear the university system here is interesting to say the least. I’m sure interesting stories will ensue. Well, I hope.

And finally, I tried something really disgusting this weekend. Rognons blancs or white kidneys is what we called them due to their appearance but I prefer to call em as I see em, and these were no kidneys. These were BALLS. The junk of a calf. Horrifying? I had the benefit of knowing what it was before I tasted it but the rest of the family (aside from Alain who bought them) had to take a bite before he revealed what kind of “meat” it was. I felt a little like Andrew Zimmern/Anthony Bourdain—two of my idols—as I took my first bite. I tried to adopt their objective attitude as I bit in but the image of the bloody coucougnettes on the butcher’s paper kept coming back to me. The taste was almost nonexistent but the texture was…indescribable. Like butter and shallot flavored jello. I challenge you to top that….