Day 27: Darn Stankin' Good Cherry Pie (America?)

I woke up to a pleasant conversation with my host mom about…boys. She recounted how two girls had acquired boyfriends that took them all over the city with their cars, bought them flowers, and were essentially at their beck and call. Our host mom liked these boys very much. Anna and I have no such boys. Inadequacy circles…have we disappointed "host mom"? It is hard for her to benefit from our non-existent love lives.

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That being said, to make up for this fact we decided today was as good as any day to head to an old refrigerator factory completely covered in graffiti. After being closed down, it was top property for squatters and now, despite not looking any different, is a place for the arts. Evidently, Anna and I took some cool self-timer pics. What do you expect?! I will admit, after our Giverny shoot, it was difficult to top, but we managed to get pretty darn close.

Then Anna and I parted ways.

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I headed to Tang Frères in my snazzy red 80's vintage shirt with shoulder pads. The vibrancy of my shirt matched the array of vibrant fruit available at this Asian market. I will also add that there was so much green produce that I have never seen before. I instantly wanted to know how to use all of it in a meal. I was looking for a very specific green food though, wasabi green peas, a request from my host mom. Found them I did, but I have yet to taste them. This traditional little French woman never ceases to surprise me.

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The second mission to be accomplished in this market was to find and buy corn starch. "Why," you ask? Well, because Anna and I were going to make a cherry pie tonight with my excessive free fruit (i.e. two kilos worth…). Around the corner from the peas was the corn starch. This pie, completely from scratch, was going to be just as crumbly as the Frigos building; we expected nothing less.

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On the way out, these sesame treats caught my eye. Who can pass up essentially just sesame seeds and sugar. Not me apparently.

Munching on my sesame treats, I trekked around Buttes-aux-Cailles, an area of the 13ème that I started to slightly recognize. Tumbling onto Rue de Tolbiac, I felt like I was transported back 7 years almost to the month spent on this street with my family in a little flat with a really modern bathroom and fancy shower head, perfect for hour-long showers.

This street was once a home that I shared with people I love, and it felt strange to see it again without them.

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After taking this literal stroll down memory lane, I made it to the Bibliothèque National de France: Francois Mitterand, right before my legs gave out for the day. Sitting at the top of the steps of this gigantic entity full of books overlooking the Seine, I felt a sort of peace wash over me. The wind whistled strongly between the towering structures that are almost cut off from the city simply by the shear silence that emanates from them.

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Taking the metro back to Reid Hall, I had the chance to relax a bit before class started. This is code for: I got to snack on the sesame sugar sticks. They never stood a chance.

Class consisted of a conversation about immigration and assimilation in context with an almost unreadable excerpt from Of Mimicry and Man. Read a chapter and you’ll know what I mean.

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Heading home fast, we had to make a quick stop at this supermarket called Coccinelle where we exited with bags filled with heavy cream, butter, goat cheese and vanilla ice cream. Heart disease in a nutshell (and in our bags). I promise we are not trying to kill our host parents…

All you need is to substitute the goat cheese for cherries and then it’s considered acceptable.

Pitting the cherries, mixing an entire French bar of butter into flour, squeezing some lemon, and dripping in almond essence, I can say with 99% certainty that out pops a delicious cherry pie. Thank you Smitten Kitchen, we owe you our souls.

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To go with our all American pie, our host mom made us chicken nuggets. The fourth of July on a French plate.