When we imagine French women, we think long, lean, chic…à la Françoise Hardy.
And when we imagine French food, we think bread, cheese, butter…à la croque-monsieur.
Hold up. Is it just me, or do those two trains of thought seem incompatible? Like do they expect us to believe that SHE ate THAT? Clearly something doesn’t add up here. Continue reading
Last weekend, I went on my last European excursion before returning aux états-unis, and I couldn’t be happier that it was to Germany. The main purpose of the trip was to visit two of my best friends from high school, Rebecca and Alberto, but getting to explore Germany was just an added bonus!
So I’ve been a little homesick the past week or so. I know, I know, how could someone possibly miss Tennessee when they’re à Paris? Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the lack of iced coffee, maybe I’m getting tired of being told my accent is mignon, maybe I just miss my bichon frise, but every once in a while, I really do wish that I was on old Rocky Top! And what better way to honor les états-unis than to eat at a diner called Breakfast in America?
the Obama Milkshake in honor of the upcoming election
BIA is cool, everyone speaks English, but it’s one of those places you only want to eat at like once ever and then go to Club Med for the rest of the
Non, the French really aren’t into beurre de cacahuètes. They usually have it in the foreign food aisle, which cracks me up first of all, but they only have kind of janky brands, no Jif.
I asked a French girl about it, and she said that peanut butter is really bad for you. I was like, qoui? Putting ham and cheese and butter on bread is just as many calories as PB and J. She said, “Yes, but you’d rather have ham and cheese and butter.” No, what? Anyway, they eat Nutella the same way we eat peanut butter, like with bananas, on bread in the morning, etc.
Nutella:France as PB:Amurica
Oui, escargot is the hamburger of Paris.
As heavenly as baguette avec fromage et confiture is for every meal, every once in a while you start craving American food, you know, like pizza and Chinese take-out. So while my friends and I were in Nice last weekend, we decided to faire la cuisine that we missed the most from the States: Mexican.
There have been so many times when, after observing an aspect of French culture, I have thought, “Wow, that is really nice; I can really appreciate that.” And then there have been times when I have been more like, “WTF France, get your shit together!” Continue reading
I feel like I should preface this story by telling you that it ends in both tears and vomit, so sensitive stomachs beware.
I don’t want to dwell on the sickening details, so I’ll cut to the chase. Tonight, Madame Jan served me this…THING…that resembled a giant penis more than any non-penis object I have ever seen in my life. But WAY uglier. If a flacid penis is gross, then this was something from Dawn of the Dead.
Oui, with EVERYTHING.
Get it?! Prime example of Franglais.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:
I support chickens of all sexual orientations. Therefore, in honor of not eating bigot chicken, I present to you Le McBaguette. Continue reading