Life in Paris doesn’t always look exactly the way that one might expect.
I sort of hope that, in writing this blog, I clarify some of the over-romanticized notions of living in France. While it’s wonderful — I certainly wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t — it’s nothing like what one sees in the movies. I remember, when the Sous-Chef was here visiting me, how dream-crushing it felt to admit, every time she asked me, “Do you come sit in this park all the time?” “Do you shop at this cute boutique?” “Is this where you buy all your pastries?”
… No.
Life in Paris is Normal. It’s normal in the way that life at home probably is for you. The trash smells bad. Construction on the apartment next door wakes me up. I pay bills, deal with leaky pipes, do my homework, procrastinate, watch bad American TV, watch worse French TV, and do most of my grocery shopping, not at a cute market, but at the supermarket.
OK, scratch that last one.
Of my own volition, and perhaps, in part, in reaction to the Sous-Chef’s dismay at my decidedly un-stereotypically Parisian life, I have started shopping exclusively at my local market. Sure, I used to drop by every once in awhile, especially in the spring, when things started to get exciting (and yes, fresh peas are exciting), but now, every Wednesday and Saturday, I’m up and ready to go early in the morning to check out the produce, cheese and meat for sale on the sidewalk just outside my home.
It doesn’t get much more French than that.
What’s even more exciting, for me at least, is that certain vendors have started to recognize me. One in particular, who proudly advertises growing his tomatoes with no chemicals — “just nettles” — smiles as I approach; he knows by now that I’m probably going to buy a bright orange potimarron and at least a kilo of tomatoes. This past Saturday, as I made my regular selection, he smiled and mocked my lack of a jacket.
“Vous avez pas froid ?” he asked, grinning. Aren’t you cold?
“Un peu,” I admitted. A little.
“Vous voulez une veste ?” Bless his heart, my favorite market vendor, the one who told me all about his strawberries, tomatoes and squash, the one I’ve developed a tiny crush on, offered me a jacket.
Is that Parisian enough for you?
Every week, I fill the baskets that sit on my kitchen table with fresh produce, ideas swirling in my head for new ways to prepare them. I haven’t bought meat in weeks, maybe more than a month now, but I don’t miss it: there are too many exciting things to do with fruit, vegetables and dairy (those of you who follow me on Twitter know I just made my own yogurt, from an organic starter I bought at the market. Tutorial to follow).
A week ago, before the Country Boy headed down to Paziols, I strayed from what has become habit — tomatoes, onions, potimarron, goat cheese, lettuce — to pick up a half-dozen gorgeous black mission figs. They were expensive, but I couldn’t help myself, and the CB and I ate them moments after I arrived, atop red-leaf lettuce with homemade vinaigrette.
I was reminded of a similar recipe I tried once, many years ago while living in Toronto. Figs were topped with blue cheese, wrapped in prosciutto and roasted. While they were delicious, there was something about the off-the-cuff planning with these, slicing them in half and slipping them under the hot coils of my toaster oven (oh, so Parisian) as I cut small slices of goat cheese to top them with.
The CB was amazed… apparently, goat cheese and figs are not as common a combination in France as they are in the States. I kept that little tidbit to myself… it’s one of the benefits of being bicultural.
Roasted Fig and Goat Cheese Salad
6 figs, halved
~2 oz. goat cheese, in six pieces
1/2 large head fresh soft lettuce
2-3 Tbsp. vinaigrette, or to taste
Vinaigrette:
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup cider vinegar
1 tsp. Dijon mustard
1/2 tsp. salt
a couple of turns of the pepper mill
Preheat the oven (or broiler) to the highest heat setting. Place the figs on a nonstick or greased baking tray.
While the oven heats, wash the lettuce and prepare the vinaigrette: add all ingredients to a jar with a lid and shake to combine. (Leftover vinaigrette can be stored in the fridge. I honestly have no idea how long, because I always use it within a week.)
Roast the figs about 5 minutes, just until they heat and begin to release their juices. Remove from the oven and immediately top with the goat’s cheese.
Toss the lettuce with the dressing and place the figs on top of the salad. Serve immediately with baguette.
Oh, those figs look to die for!
And I had to laugh when you proclaimed your Parisian life to be decidedly normal! I’ve also spent time in supposedly oh so glamourous cites (4 years in NYC and 3 in Tokyo) and whilst there are elements that make you think of the movies or (Seinfeld if you’re lucky), once you get past the Lost in Translation phase, its generally can feel much the same as living at home. But I think, since these opportunities to live abroad don’t come along often, it’s fun to pretend you are in a completely different world. Sigh, I miss Tokyo and their square watermelons.
I admit, I do have an overly romantical view of Paris. I mean, it’s Paris! The city of love~ And turtlenecks! trash and stink is not what I associate with this city. But I’m looking at those beautiful perfect figs, and yeah….I still think Paris is wonderful! Haha!
I cannot say anything that you do not already know. Love.
I’m insanely jealous of your street market! And the gorgeous figs that still haven’t graced the poor excuse for a market I shop at. I’ll trade my small town life for your smelly garbage and noisy neighbors anytime!
I still love Paris even though it’s a city in many ways like any other. It’s the things that make it unlike any other that make me love it. Plus, the expats living there are cool! 🙂
Angie-I was hoping that your rceipe was not with fresh figs, because there’s no way we could get fresh figs here, this time of year. Dry figs are in abundance. I’ve neve heard of this type of salsa, it sounds and looks so delicious, and a rich combination. So, beautiful!