Pancakes, Beer, Hash, and Eurotrash

Fact: smoking hash and pot in 'coffeeshops' in Amsterdam is legal.
Fact: you can buy joints or bags or seeds.
Fact: you can buy mushrooms and herbal drugs in things called 'smart shops.'

All of these places are names in English. This is not only because the Dutch all speak English and want to spread their knowledge, it's because Amsterdam's coffee shops and smart shops are so successful because of English, because of tourism, because I met a handful of Dutchmen who told me point blank that few people really smokes pot after the age of 20, because apparently it loses its edge. So kids, if you thought everyone in Amsterdam was a pot head or still on that long acid trip, you thought wrong. Sure, coffeeshops have to do well enough to survive without tourism, but it is hardly the culture I expected. Overall, it was just a more liberal city, but then again any place where foreigners can come to party and hire a prostitute would have to be. People might have been trashed but I think it was more drunken debauchery than anything else.

The other thing is, people in Amsterdam are just nice. Aside from the guys I met at one bar (leave it to me to find the arrogant assholes even in Holland), everyone was so excited to help us and tell us where to go, even our cab driver. Needless to say, we took suggestions from them and from the little Lonely Planet guide I bought - both of which proved overwhelmingly helpful in terms of navigating a city where every street can really start to look the same and to help find some delicious eats. Every meal was amazing and I definitely wasn't close to high for most of them. We had delicious pancakes, steak, street waffles with chocolate, stroop waffles, frites, and even quiche. A successful eating tour, if I do say so myself.

Side note: people in Europe do not dance at concerts or in clubs as much as we do in America. I suppose we really do do everything in excess. So lame, Europe.

I got to see the Van Gogh Museum and the Rijksmuseum (the national gallery), and Sunday we managed to squeeze in the Anne Frank house before catching our train back to Paris. Overall, I don't feel like I missed out on too much and didn't really feel right trying all those crazy mushrooms, because I like being alive and didn't trust myself in a foreign city doing that kind of shit. I also didn't want to be that kid who goes to Amsterdam, loses her wallet, passport, all major lifelines, and is potentially raped or dead on the street. It's a grim image, so I decided to avoid it. However, I may put in some orders with people who are going again soon... We will see.

All of this traveling just makes me miss Paris and I am so glad to be here and to be back to reality. Now homework awaits me. Meh.

Escargots, more like escarNO.

This weekend, paid by in full by your favorite bureaucracy at NYU, I traveled to Bourgogne, a small region southwest of Paris, located in the center of the Country, because anything that is not the south or on a border is simply considered central. Totally the midwest of Paris, but with better food, less cornfields, and probably an equal number of cows. The cows, by the way, were not the black spotted ones we see upstate or in Amish country, nor were they even brown. These babies were pure white but had muddy feet so they looked like the wore little shoes... very cute, very country, and definitely not Parisian.

We arrived in a little town called Beaune, where one could find the Hospices de Beaune, a hospital set up during the medieval period by the Duc de Bourgogne (Duke of Burgundy, for those of you not willing to say that outloud and figure it out), to provide medical services and care for the hundreds of poor people living in his duchy (province/region/land that he reigned over). I took this tour in french and wanted to die. The guide was smart, but not really funny, and thought I understood his french, it was so easy to ignore him. The hospital was gorgeous but cold, because in case anyone in the States didn't know, it gets cold in France, which I didn't know, so I spent the better half of my time trying to get warm. After this I tried boeuf bourgignon, at a traditional Bourgogne restaurant/café, which claimed to have all the traditional dishes. I had discovered this specific dish by watching Julie and Julia in the states but what I got did NOT look like what came out of Amy Adam's oven, and it did NOT taste like it should have... So I am going to try to find this dish in Paris again, so that I can taste Amy Adam's and not have my dreams crushed. Moreover, I have been talking about eating this freaking dish SINCE I SAW THE MOVIE. So I will find it and I will eat it and it will be (or better be) delicious.

Next part of the trip takes me to these really really intense, amazing, and prehistoric caves called the Grottes d'Arcy (http://www.grottes-arcy.net/visite.html). Like Lascaux caves, but MORE LEGIT. Our tour guide, whose English was adorable and who was extremely sassy, completely bashed Lascaux and said that the drawings you see there are artificial and constantly retouched, whereas hers were not, and were preserved by natural elements, like caltite or calcite or both. Apparently, according to the Lascaux site, the original cave is just closed to the public so they created a replica. Just imagine seeing a hand that was painted 28,000 years ago and seeing it on the wall of a cave. Imagine seeing an outline of a lion and an outline of a deer that incorporates the natural contours of the cave to create artistic dimension and perception. Really amazing stuff.

I don't think the rest of the trip matters as much as my meals do. After bouef bourgignon being a bust, I was waiting to find something truly delicious and anxious for dinner. Well, folks, the wine at dinner was delicious, but once I saw that I actually was being served escargot I couldn't regain mental stability. First of all, those little suckers are black, and black is NEVER an appetizing color. Think burnt, wrinkly clams. I like to see my coquillages and understand what the hell I'm eating. First of two attempts to eat it was a fail. I got it in my mouth but immediately pulled it out. I couldn't get the image of a real life snail out of my head. For those of you who don't know, I am petrified of worms and snails. If anyone remembers the TV show Goosebumps from the 90s, you can thank them for my chronic fear of invertebraes. I wanted to cry. I probably drank more wine than anyone in that room to calm myself down. (which was actually amazing, because Bourgignon Pinot Noir is so smooth it's almost like drinking a hearty white wine.) Second attempt, I chewed 3 times and downed the little shit with wine and water. Now, I have been talking about trying escargot since arriving. I have been hoping to see it on a menu, or to see frogs legs, or something, and might even try pigeon. I couldn't separate the image. Michelle sat there eating them like it was her fucking job and I was just in shock. THANK GOD OUR MAIN DISH WAS CHICKEN. And dessert was this chocolate mousse milk thing, equally delicious, but no coffee was served, so I drank more wine... I had visions of the snail crawling around inside me and felt very ill so went to bed. No nightmares but the next morning I felt a severe fear that it would foam from my mouth if I ate anything too salty...

All in all, a good trip on NYU's tab. I saw some pretty cool stuff and ate some pretty disgusting stuff. I also caught up on sleep like no one's business and that brings me much joy. This week should be good because it's Adrienne's birthday so we have stuff to do for her, but will also be très triste because I have a ton of work, which I am going to start now, because I got a C on my first quiz for Vichy France because my professor obviously doesn't know that 1. NYU students don't get quizzes ever 2. the word for quiz means little test, not a 15 short answer exam to be completed in 20 minutes. Way to be a show off doctoral student. At least he's good to look at and equally as brilliant to listen to; he inspires me and helps me realize more and more that I should just go get my doctorate and teach college kids about things I love. (namely, Louis XIV.)

I hope that I figure out what I'm doing with myself sooner than later because it's getting close to LSAT time, and time to study for the LSATs and time to start deciding whether I will actually apply to grad school right out of college or hope to find a real job that doesn't involve nannying forever. My father told me there was a lot of money being a professional nanny. I asked him if he ever expected to be taken care of when he's old and sick... I think then he understood just how much more money there is everywhere else...

La prochaine fois: birthdays and Amsterdam.

bisous à tout le monde!

Steak Tartare

After several years of being a vegetarian, my love for meat came back with vengeance. Let's discuss: consider how I broke vegetarianism. A plate of filet mignon, the most delicious and sumptuous of all the steaks, though I do prefer a hangar steak myself. Last night, after a lovely evening at the Centre Pompidou (Paris' answer to the MoMA), Adrienne, Michelle, Nicole, and I managed to find a decently priced little bistro/brasserie right next to the museum. The prices were fabulous and I think I might go back to this place again. I fell in love.

I spotted the Steak Tartare immediately. Since I feel like my time abroad should be a time of "firsts" (see other entries about my series of firsts: cabaret shows, macarons (OMG), bone marrow, and my first kiss in front of the Eiffel Tower), I decided I absolutely HAD to try the steak tartare. First of all, it looks disgusting. Like cat food on a plate. The server told me the difference between cru and poêlé, cold or slightly cooked, and so I went with poêlé to play it safe, because I've been sick and really didn't need to eat any E.Coli. It was magical. It came with frites and une petite salade with a dijon vinaigrette and I sighed with each bite, and in between enjoyed a smooth Bordeaux AOC. AOC in France means it is legitimate, a Bordeaux created in Bordeaux. In other words: Accept no substitutions. This shit is the best. Also, fun fact: Champagne is ONLY Champagne IF IT COMES FROM CHAMPAGNE. That's right kids - your sparkling wine from California IS NOT CHAMPAGNE. So get over it.

So the steak. I mean it was like a raw hamburger with the most amazing texture and taste, with a little bit of horseradish added in for a little kick. I swooned. After the date I had last week, I now know that I just love boeuf. Boeuf is fantastic and every time I eat it I will probably swoon like this. I just hope I can find an amazing burger place here in Paris, though most menus have American options and burgers. I'm looking for Spotted Pig quality burgers, with roquefort because that's all over France.

Also, enjoyed a Hoegarten (spelling?) last night with lime. The citrus really changes the taste of the beer. It was like a Belgian (or German?) Corona, except it didn't taste like pee.

I had my first experience at the Pompidou, which is super cool but better if you're into Modern Art, which I can't really say that I am, sadly, and I enjoyed my first Steak Tartare with some good company. I hope I get over this fear of ham that I have so I can try a croque-madame, and I should really work on the snails thing. If anyone knows where I can find frog legs, let me know.

Now, off to another first: THE TECHNO PARADE IN PARIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A day filled with all things techno and DJ FLOATS. WHY DOESN'T NEW YORK DO THIS? THIS IS THE GREATEST IDEA EVER! I can't wait. French hipsters at the Bastille? I'm all about that.

True Life: I am a shit show

Ok, so as you can tell from the title of this post, I have obviously had my most ridiculous Parisian experience yet. HOWEVER, it was not with a Parisian. Sorry Frenchies, until you warm up to me and my yankee friends, I will probably not be able to have these ridiculous experiences with you; regardless, you are still beautiful and I wish you would all teach me French.

So, at the FIAP - where the NYU kids who aren't so fortunate to be landed in housing immediately are placed - I met this charming young man named Charles (HAH!), who was extremely sexy. Adrienne found him impossibly arrogant, and so naturally, I was attracted to him. I was hoping that he was at NYU, so I started flirting with him ruthlessly. After discovering that he went to Stanford and was in Paris for 2 weeks JUST TO LEARN FRENCH, I was immediately enamored. We invited him out to celebrate the rest of NYU's arrival and he and I shared a bottle of Pinot Noir. It seems all men know if they can pick a good bottle of le vin rouge, they will have the keys to my heart, among other things.

We hit it off and I expressed my love and passion for Paris and Versailles and told him I would take him to do something extremely touristy if he and I could organize something. He was, naturally, impressed with my New York sass and wit. I got a phone call the next day and then we made plans for dinner, to celebrate his last night in Paris.

We went to chez L'ami Jean, (http://www.amijean.eu/index.htm), which I have read about in my little TimeOut book, so it seemed I had a major Foodie on my hands. It was a night of firsts: my first date on a whim, the first time I have ever had WAGYU - an amazing Japanese beef that made me want to burst into tears because it was so delicious -, the first time I have ever eaten bone marrow which was also the most savory thing I have ever eaten. Every bite made my mouth water and my heart fill with pure foodie joy. We shared an enormous plate of steak and potatoes and the evening made me want to avoid sodium for at least a week. I have never enjoyed salt so much. I didn't even need dessert. On top of that, the waiter recommended a fantastic Bordeaux that was slightly dry and really made the beef taste a million times better. I wish I took photos of the beef. When it arrived I couldn't stop talking about blood or chanting BOEUF. I think Charles thought I was nuts, but the whole time I just noticed the awe on his face with anything I said. We all know I'm ridiculous but I wonder just how impressed he was by my ridiculous behavior.

ALSO: If this is a California thing, I am moving to Cali. Not only did he come pick me up at the De Ribier's, he came up for a glass of wine with Monsieur de Ribier and myself. It was adorable. He couldn't believe the apartment and then he paid for CABS, IN PARIS, THE ENTIRE NIGHT. Hello, you may actually be more chivalrous than the last Charles I dated. If this is a trend with the name, I will continue to date people that refer to themselves as Charles and go to elite schools. Monsieur de Ribier was extremely impressed when he heard that Charles went to Stanford. "C'est tres bonne cette université, c'est une des plus bonnes dans le monde" etc etc.

After we had consumed the most beef I have ever consumed in one sitting, he looked and me and asked if I wanted to go to a Cabaret show. WHAT? DO I WANT TO GO WATCH NAKED WOMEN WITH SOMEONE I JUST MET? I was hesitant at first but then considered the fact that I have been thinking about strip clubs and cabaret shows and how it would be really difficult to find someone to go with because any situation involving naked women and alcohol immediately becomes awkward. I wanted to go to one in New York, but they can be so shady and expensive, and not everyone at NYU is as strange as I am. (Note: I am not gay.) So, I took him up on the offer.

We went to this Cabaret called Crazy Horse. (http://www.lecrazyhorseparis.com/ There is also one in Vegas, naturally) It was fascinating. The women were identical in form, though not really on top of their act, as many of them were delayed in steps, etc. It was like they were genetically engineered for this club, I mean the size of their breasts to the dimples on their backs, these women were like clones. Beautiful, eerie, French, lip-singing clones. And, on top of that, it was just breasts. I definitely saw the female body like never before. And what is more, the show proved how much the French love American music and pop culture. Only one song was in French. They even played Britney, Bitch.

The Paris metro closes very early on weekdays, so we rushed to the subway. When I realized we wouldn't make it back to the FIAP, I dragged him on top of the Trocadero. When we walked out, the Eiffel Tower was sparkling. It's as if I knew it was going to sparkle and I knew I needed to see it and I knew I needed to see it after this incredible night of new things. We watched it and he held me and it was like a seen in some cliché French movie except neither of us was French (which made it slightly devastating). He wanted to find a cab and so we walked down the stairs and hopped into a Benz, because a lot of taxis in Paris are Mercedes, and carried on with our night.

Now, it is slightly sad that I will never see him again. I did not ask for his number and though I did manage to find him on Facebook (because I am a pro), I know I can't contact him. It would simply take away from the experience, which was incredibly liberating and just fantastic. I don't even think I am putting into words. This may have been the best date I have ever been on and I am actually starting to think that it's really going to be okay if I don't ever see this boy ever again.

It's like what this guy once said to me: Women have a lot of difficulty with one night stands and with things that they realize will not continue or will never come to fruition. They cannot be friends with their one night stands. I really agree with this, because it's true. Most women I know play Coyote Ugly and run away from one night stands.

Now I can say "We'll always have Paris" and actually mean it.

On to the next adventure, mes amours.