Posts from the ‘Guest Post’ Category

Flashback Friday: How France Turned Me Into a Food Snob

Flashback Friday returns today with a fantastic French food journey by one of my favorite bloggers, Ashley Abroad.

When my French employers, Stéphanie and Robert, invited me to spend the summer at their home in France I needed no coaxing; I was ready at the word, “Paris.”

I had met Stéphanie, a French interior designer, and her handsome Dutch husband, Robert, in my hometown of Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, via mutual friends. Through babysitting their three children in high school I had gotten a glimpse of their world: the sparse, European design of their house, Stéphanie’s soul-warming and simple quiche Lorraine, the children’s squabbling in French, a language I found more beautiful than roses.

By that point I had already spent some time abroad, studying for a semester in Buenos Aires and taking several trips to Chile to visit my then-boyfriend. But I was 19-years old and France was new, exotic- a country in which I didn’t speak the language and assumed the food consisted of crêpes and duck bathed in heavy cream sauces.

Stéphanie and Robert’s home was a light pink townhouse in Saint-Maur-des-Fossés, a small city on the outskirts of Paris. The house was tall and thin, with a winding, rickety staircase painted a deep shade of “French red”, as Stephanie joked. The stone-walled garden behind the house swelled with tangy plums and tiny, perfectly round red currants.

Upon arriving, I quickly settled into a routine: I was the babysitter, English tutor and baguette-fetcher. I enjoyed my new jobs, but relished my title of “good eater” the most. One night when Stéphanie warned me that dinner’s pâté was made with rabbit liver, I replied, “I love rabbit!” Her friend then chimed in, “Well, she is not the typical American!” I do believe I blushed with pride.

Congruent to my title of “good eater”, I would not only try everything, but consume a hearty portion of whatever given to me. One of the first nights we dined in the garden on duck breast, a food I have always loved. As I audibly moaned after taking a bite of the crispy skin and pink-red meat, Stéphanie laughed and said, “Did I tell you this comes from a can?”

“A can?” I nearly dropped my duck. Nothing good comes from cans. It couldn’t be true.

Other meals in the garden troubled me, but for different reasons. At our Saturday morning breakfasts I painfully resisted the urge to wolf down the feast in front of me: still-warm baguettes laid directly on the table, soft-boiled eggs with gooey orange yolks, a wicker bread basket filled with flaky, buttery croissants and pain au chocolate with its creamy dark chocolate center. I tried to eat daintily but couldn’t help myself from indulging; this spread certainly beat my family’s Saturday morning breakfast of box pancakes drowning in Mrs. Butterworth’s.

I newly experienced another American classic, the road-trip, while driving down to Canet Sud, a beach town on the border of Spain where we were to spend the rest of summer holidays. The beautiful, mournful voice of Jacques Brel poured from the stereo as we drove past endless wheat fields and vineyards. We stopped for the night at an inn in L’Aubrac, a stunning region with tall cliffs, pine forests and deep gorges. We dined at the inn’s restaurant and were served a dish typical of the region, aligot, which looks like mashed potatoes but possesses a texture reminiscent of pizza dough. Surrounded by tables of French families and Dutch tourists, I felt I was the only American to ever have wandered so deep into the wilds of France and tasted this fantastic, buttery creation.

During the next three weeks in the south of France we happily browned ourselves on the beach and bathed in the warm Mediterranean, occasionally venturing out in the motorboat to go fishing. Each night we dined on the terrace, enjoying the warm, salty breeze and a striking view of the Pyrenees jutting out from the water, the furthest mountain marking the border with Spain. Spanish food had also found its way onto our menu as we savored delicacies such as white anchovies in vinegar, queso manchego and dark, nutty Iberian ham streaked with white fat. Accompanied with celery remoulade and mousse de canard, our proximity to Spain had resulted in a delightful French-Spanish fusion.

The first summer I was a kitchen novice and didn’t know how to steam broccoli or flip an omelet. The simple combination of sunflower oil, mustard, sliced shallots and vinegar to create succulent vinaigrette blew my mind- why would anyone buy dressing? Spending three weeks in the south of France taught me why people in the Mediterranean eat so well- good food is all around you. Just walking down a gravel road you can immediately smell the heady scent of sun-warmed fennel or pick strands of wild rosemary.

Upon returning to America my family’s food choices stood in stark contrast to the fresh, seasonal cuisine to which I had become accustomed. Frozen black bean burgers? Low-fat cool whip? I attempted to recreate a few dishes I had learned in France for my family, and while they seemed to enjoy them, it was as if they didn’t notice what they were putting in their mouths.

The summer in France had left me with a strong desire to teach myself how to cook. I decided in order to do so I would have to make everything from scratch; I had seen Stéphanie make her own vinaigrette, right? I began by learning all of the basics; how to steam rice, roast chicken, poach an egg. I then jumped to, and perhaps over-zealously, a series of more ambitious creations, repeating them until they were just right; various French staples such as bread boules, mayonnaise, chicken stock and chicken liver pâté. Whether it was coaxing my 11-year old sister to roll out quiche dough or making the third trip to the butcher’s to ask him if he had any left-over veal bones, I felt justified in all that I did in the name of la cuisine française; as I had learned in France, food ought to be pleasurable, non?

When I returned to France the next summer for a shorter, two-week long visit, I arrived at a sad realization; In France you don’t have to make everything yourself. It’s all right there for you- in specialized shops no less! Why make why bake bread when you have a bakery around the corner? Why churn butter when it’s just as delicious at the fromagerie?

My homecoming to America the second time around was less anticlimactic- I decided I would take all I had learned in France and carve out a French-style life in Chicago. No matter that I was a poor college student living in a big, expensive city – I would do the best with what I have. By this idea I began to invest daily effort into the quality of my food, and indirectly my health and happiness. As an often unemployed undergrad, doing my best meant carrying home heavy bags of apples in the fall, or taking the subway to Chinatown to get better prices for groceries.

But honestly, why invest your time, energy and money into traveling the world if it doesn’t change you in some way? Now that’s food for thought.

Author Bio: Ashley is a baguette-partial travel blogger currently living in Paris. She’s a self-proclaimed language nerd, ski bum and lover of long, Pinot-fueled dinners. To read more about her (mis)adventures in Paris and beyond, check out her blog, Ashley Abroad, or follow her on Twitter and Instagram.

Has travel changed the way you eat?

Flashback Friday: The Trip That Gave Me My Gypsy Spirit

This week’s Flashback Friday is courtesy of Ashley over at Aspiring Gypsy. Ashley is an American expat currently living in Brazil. Her blog gives me crazy amounts of wanderlust for South America, a continent that has long been on my must-see list. But for her post here, Ashley doesn’t write about South America. Instead, she tells us the story of the trip that changed her from small town southern girl to world traveler.

My first trip abroad ended up opening the door to a lot of firsts for me. I was 17 and lived a very sheltered life. I had never been out of the Southern United States and was just getting the feel for high school life. I had been home-schooled since fifth grade and after much begging and pleading my parents finally allowed me and my siblings to begin attending public school the year before.

The most exciting thing that appealed to me about high school was that I could learn another language. The school I was attending offered Spanish, French and German. It was like the world was being offered to me on a platter. I chose German because a family at my church was from Germany and I thought it’d be cool to speak to them in their native tongue. That was the best decision I have ever made.

My teacher, Ms. Timms was great. Not only did she teach her students how to conjugate but shared the culture of Germany (and Europe) in such a passionate way that I couldn’t wait to get to class every day and learn more about this seemingly other world.

At the end of the school year, Ms. Timms called parents and students together for a meeting. She wanted to know who would be interested in a trip to Europe. The school wouldn’t sponsor it but she’d organize and chaperone a two week trip to Germany, Austria, Switzerland and Liechtenstein through a tour company. Once there, we’d meet up with other U.S. high school students to experience the language and culture first hand. She was giving us ample notice as she knew most of us would have to save for awhile in order to  fund the trip.

My aunt made the down payment under the guise of an early birthday present (even though my birthday was months away) and my parents worked very hard to make payments so that I could go. I would be the first person in my family to fly in an airplane, leave the south AND visit another country. I recognized the enormity of the sacrifice that my parents made to give me that opportunity and still do to this day.

I had managed a lot of firsts just from the act of boarding that airplane with Ms. Timms and five of my classmates. Little did I know that it would be the beginning of many more over the next 12 days.

During this trip I had my first taste of independence. I drank beer at a bar and danced in a nightclub. I stayed up late and talked with strangers from all over the world. Most notably, I had my first kiss with a boy named Eric in a hotel room in Switzerland (I can hear the gasp from moms of teenage girls everywhere). He was from New Mexico and a member of his high school wrestling team.

For the rest of the trip sat next to each other on the tour bus, held hands as we explored the different cities and talked about our lives back home.

When I was on the plane heading home Ms. Timms gave me a small paper bag. “Someone wanted you to have this,” she explained. On it was a note from Eric that said, “Something to remember this trip by” and inside was a necklace that I had admired days before in a small shop in Germany.

It’s been over 10 years since that trip and while I’ve never seen or heard from Eric again. I do, however, still have the note and the necklace packed away somewhere amongst my treasures.

I learned a lot on the trip. I learned that I could balance independence and responsibility but, perhaps most important, I learned that the only way to really know how diverse the world is through seeing it for yourself.

That trip of firsts helped shape my future. From then on, I knew that I wanted to spend my life seeing searching for new experiences and have done just that. From drinking whiskey in Scotland to gliding along the canals in Venice. I have done and seen things that, growing up in a small southern town, never seemed attainable.

Currently, I live in Recife, Brazil with my wonderful husband. We’ve sold everything we own to take advantage of whatever travel opportunities may come our way. We’ll be visiting Buenos Aires, Argentina in October which will be the tenth country I’ve had the pleasure of visiting.

I think 17-year-old me would be impressed.

Author Bio: Ashley works as a freelance writer and photographer when she isn’t sharing stories and advice on her blog aspiringgypsy.com. You can also like her fan page on Facebook and check out pictures of her travels on Flickr.

If you are interested in participating in Flashback Friday by sharing a story about a trip that gave you a passion to travel or live abroad, please contact me. 

Flashback Friday: Finding That Travel Match

Today’s Flashback Friday comes from Lane, one half of the couple that runs Southwest Compass. Southwest Compass is far from just a blog, it is a well written, well researched complete guide to traveling the southwestern United States. Lane and Juliet’s online venture is very young, but already does a lot to bring credibility and professionalism to the travel blogosphere. Because of this, I am very excited to have Lane sharing the story about the trip that made her realize could could be part of a traveling couple for this week’s edition of Flashback Friday.

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