PART 2: CHANGES IN FRANCE

In Part 1, we've established that after 12 years in France, I drive more slowly, eat less cheese, and drink more wine. With this post, I'll answer a question that appears in many discussions of the move across the Pond: What do you miss most? Mostly, the answer comes down to food. Yes, for some it might be a particular cleaning product or OTC med. And yes, the aluminum foil tends to be flimsy and ziploc bags are just now approaching decent. But all of that pales to the sudden loss of favorite comfort foods.

HOT DOGS

Born and raised in New Jersey, with a father who was born in the Bronx and went to school in Manhattan, my idea of the perfect hot dog comes from Brooklyn. Specifically Coney Island. Nathan's Famous. Period. End of story. And while plastic packages of Nathan's eventually became available in grocery stores closer to home, and while those plastic-encased dogs were a more than satisfactory substitute for what else was available locally, and while Nathan's website doesn't even show them, you simply couldn't beat the real thing. The real thing? Nathan's over-the-counter by the pound, fresh, strung together, wrapped in butcher paper dogs to take home and grill. So I eschewed chewing the French equivalents of hot dogs for several years. Eventually though, spending time at our local butcher shop and seeing his saucisse Frankfort piled up in his display case every summer, and seeing squishy white bread buns on sale at the local super, I broke down. I modified my dogs in the manner that they were served in my favorite joint in eastern PA, with dill pickle spears and diced onions. And I admit that I didn't use yellow mustard. They sell a version of mayo here that is infused with the mustard of Lyon. All together, you get a thoroughly serviceable dog. But I miss my Nathan's sufficiently that I suggested to the butcher that he might consider mixing a little garlic into his frankfurters. The poor man nearly had a heart attack, as did the lady in line behind me. They carefully explained to me that it just isn't done. No garlic in French dogs. Not. Done. Oh well. I tried.

 

BAGELS

Bagels, smoked salmon and cream cheese, accompanied by deviled eggs and potato salad, comprise a proper Sunday brunch. Without bagels, it just don't work. For years, the only bagels that I could buy locally came from Picard, a chain of French stores that sell frozen food and frozen food only. Lender's Bagels. No. Just no. Then a little shop calling itself a bagel bakery opened in a nearby town. Brioche shaped like a doughnut and way too expensive. I even looked up three separate bagel shops in Paris. Not any better. Finally, in desperation, I began cruising YouTube for bagel recipes. Don't be surprised. I baked bread back home in the USofA all the time. But why would I bake bread in France when our local bakery is just steps away with warm, fresh bread available daily in a variety of tastes and forms. But not bagels. So I studied. I experimented. And voila! Bagels. Not as good as a bagels from Brooklyn, or even the Wegmans down the road after they put in an honest-to-goodness bagel oven. But, as is the case with the dogs, serviceable. Bagels with a schmear in France. Can't be beat.

MEXICAN FOOD

Surveys say that Americans who move to France miss Mexican food the most. And given that my wife grew up in Texas and is an admirable Mexican and Tex-Mex cook, you would think that's a problem for us. It's not. Cathey's sister Connie has been visiting twice a year for weeks at a time almost since the beginning. And she brings two suitcases stocked with enough tortillas and trimmings to open a bodega. More recently, friends who live in Switzerland have been bringing fresh chili peppers and tomatillos from a market there. There's even a permanently-parked Mexican food truck down the shore that serves an authentic, tasty menu. So no. I don't miss Mexican food. Eat your heart out.

 

PART 3 REQUIRED

Odds and ends left to go. I'll finish up next week.