une nouvelle vie de boheme

Pizza à l’Américain

Whether living abroad or at home, on a national or on a personal level, we all want to know what others think of us. Sure, people might say one thing or another out of politeness, but how do we really look through their eyes?

One answer came today in the mail, in the form of a pizza delivery menu.

No matter that pizza comes from Italy — when the French think of junk food, they can’t help thinking of America. It’s not necessarily a negative association; whatever you’ve read in the papers, the truth is that French people like junk food almost as much as we do. So when they market a pizza, they want to market it as the most flashy, dangerous, irredeemably unhealthy, perfectly American concoction they can think of.

But when it comes to pizza styles, what represents America to the world? Is it those large, lusciously greasy slices you buy on the street in New York? Is the the Chicago-style deep dish: loads of toppings on a thick, flaky crust? Is it something exotic, like the Hawaiian style pineapple and ham?

Um…

Here we have two classic American-style pizzas, the New York and the Indiana. There were many other slices of cheesy Americana available, but I chose these two because I am originally from New York, and the boy is originally from Indiana, which of course enhances the amusement value.

For those struggling with the French: the New York style pizza is topped with tomato sauce, cheese, barbecue sauce, onions, hamburger meat, and pickles. The Indiana, on the other hand, is topped with tomato sauce, cheese, curry sauce, thin-sliced chicken, and potatoes.

I… You know what, I don’t even know where to go with this. Can anyone actually eat these concoctions without vomiting? Are they in fact better than they look? And really, with representations like this — is it any wonder the French can’t take us seriously?

piggies!

Sorry, for some reason those luscious lardons make me think of tiny pigs in a way that bacon and ham never do. I made salade de lentilles last night.

Half package lentilles vertes
One carrot
One onion
herbes de provence
vinaigrette (olive oil, red wine vinegar, mustard)
lardons, fried until yummy.

Cover veggies with water. Add herbes, plus salt and pepper. Cook on medium for half an hour. Toss with vinaigrette and add lardons. You can substitute bacon, but oh my god it does make a difference.

premier repas

In his collection of essays, Paris to the Moon, Adam Gopnik explains that there is nothing quite like that first meal in Paris after a long absence. Doesn’t really matter what it is — trout, green beans, steak frites — even the most ordinary of foods produce such extraordinary flavors in France that you can’t really help but swoon.

So what was my first meal after my being gone for so long? Eh — I’m afraid I kind of screwed it up. We got off the plane dizzy with jet-lag, went straight to the apartment, and slept twelve straight hours. When we woke up (with a jolt, at 1 am, as alert as if we’d been shot up with amphetamines), it was too late to go out for anything proper, so I boiled up some macaroni and plopped on a spoonful of tomato-basil sauce from a jar. It was quite nice, certainly better than any chef-boyardee concoction we might have gotten at home. But not exactly the kind of thing to send one into paroxysms of delight.

So what came next? A pita grecque in the quartier latin — delicious and filling, but once again, not really French. I was still missing my experience.

Then the next morning, finally shaking myself awake at a semi-reasonable hour, I walked to local supermarket (although by American standards, the super in this market might seem to have been intended ironically. It’s about the size of your average convenience store.) to pick up the makings of a simple lunch. Jambon de Paris, a little box of Camembert, and a package of butter… On the way home, I stopped into the boulangerie and bought a baguette, already fantasizing about the perfect little sandwiches I would assemble once I got back. Should I start with the sandwich jambon or the sandwich fromage? And what combination of mustard and mayonnaise should I employ?

All for nought. At home in my kitchen, I tore off a good section of the baguette, too impatient to hunt around for the bread knife. I split the bread open, began spreading on the butter, and… that was it. The minute I smelled the creamy sweetness of real French butter, I was done for. I folded the bread closed and sank my teeth in — perfection.

So, there you have it: my heavenly first Parisian meal was a tartine au beurre. I never even made it to the cheese.