I had lunch with the Law Professor again.
Every single time we meet, we end up talking about something I’ve never thought of before, and yet it seems as though I’ve known it my whole life.
This time we were talking about the difference in the way that laws are made in French and in America. France has a Latin law system, wherein the laws are already established. The work of the justice system is in applying laws that are already written. The States, like England, has a common law system, which means that laws are created as individual situations arise. To oversimplify, in France, the rules exist and situations are applied to them; in America, the situation creates the need to make a generalization.
I’ve found, while pursuing my Masters degree here, that the same is often true of the approach to academic writing.
When I was in school studying literature — but also languages and even math — we were given the examples first. There were many of them, and they were varied. Once we understood the examples, we were asked to participate in the “discovery” of the rule. During the three months I spent in France, I remember being head-over-heels for the French system, which is the complete opposite: in math, we were given rules first and asked to complete exercises later. In literature, we were told what to look for — a theme, an example of figurative language — and then asked to find examples that stemmed from the rule.
Of course, as a Masters student, things are a bit different. I’m asked to create the rule. But the pattern of deductive reasoning as opposed to inductive reasoning (two terms, by the way, that I’ve always had a hard time differentiating) still applies. The problématique is posed, the hypotheses are established, and only then are examples uncovered to prove what you set out to prove. While this sort of cartesian logic makes a lot of sense from within a utopian bubble (much like Socialism, but that’s an entirely different can of French worms…) it’s very difficult to apply in the real world. And it makes me wonder if it’s the reason why — as the Country Boy pointed out — so few outside-the-box thinkers hail from France and so many from America.
As a student of both systems, I have only this to say: I’m very glad to have completed my grammar school and undergraduate degree in America, but I’m also quite glad to have done my Masters work in France.
As far as this minestrone, well I’ve finally arrived at my food-related point. Minestrone is something I’ve made many times before. At first, I followed a recipe. Then, I tried riffing on my own. Then I learned how to brunoise. And then I riffed some more. Somewhere, between following a recipe to the letter and dumping in vegetables willy-nilly, this recipe came about. It doesn’t follow the rules entirely, but it isn’t a pure product of my imagination either.
I’m realizing more and more that it’s hard to put anything in a box, least of all my cooking style. Like my education, the way I speak and the way I dress, it’s a product of all of the places I’ve lived and the ways I’ve learned… and I, for one, am a fan.
Minestrone (serves 6)
1 onion, finely chopped
100 grams (3.5 ounces) bacon, in small dice
1 rib celery, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 medium carrots, diced
1 zucchini, diced
1 140-gram can (5 ounces) tomato paste
1 400-gram can (14.5 ounces) whole, peeled tomatoes
1/2 small head cauliflower, diced
1 250-gram can (9 ounces) cannellini beans, drained
2 tsp. dried basil
salt and pepper to taste
250 grams (nearly 9 ounces) small pasta like ditalini
In a large stock pot, cook the onion and bacon over medium-low heat until the bacon begins to render its fat. Turn the heat up to medium-high and sauté until the onion begins to turn translucent. Add the celery and sauté until onion begins to brown.
Add the garlic and sauté until fragrant, 1-2 minutes. Add the carrots and zucchini and toss to combine. Season with about two teaspoons of salt.
Add the tomato paste and stir to combine. Add the can of tomatoes and two cans of water. Add the cauliflower and stir to combine. Reduce heat to low and cook, stirring occasionally, for 30 minutes, or until the vegetables are tender but still a bit crisp.
Add the beans and dried basil. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Cook an additional 10 minutes. The soup can be prepared up until this point and then refrigerated for up to a week or frozen for several months.
When ready to serve, add the pasta and half of the volume of water to the soup. Bring to a simmer and cook for 20 minutes, until the pasta is tender. Serve.
If you are like me and enjoy making a vat of soup for leftovers, only add the pasta you need for your serving (about 50 grams (1.75 ounces) per serving). Pasta left in the soup will continue soaking up the broth and become kind of gross.
Images: Madeline Monaco