Good news for my East Coast readers!

A taste of Paris is now in your backyard!

Ladurée, the originator of the divinely delicious macaron, is now in business in New York!

For those of you who don't know, the macaron is not to be confused with the Passover-approved American coconut macaroon (which, I do also love, year-round).

No, the French macaron is more refined...someone once called them "man's greatest confectionary achievement." (Okay, that person was me...) They have an exquisite texture - lightly crisp, chewy, and creamy all at once.

I first experienced macarons two years ago when I was interning in Normandy at L'Association Culture et Patrimoine du Pays d'Auge. I took the train to Paris where I met my freshman year roommate E., who flew in from Berlin (where she was interning) to meet me. At the advice of her sister, we somehow found our way to Pierre Hermé, Ladurée's main competitor in Paris.

We were so enthralled with Pierre Hermé's macarons after the first bite that we resolved to try Ladurée's as well!

[Here's Emmie with Pierre Hermé's Ispahan - the "cookie" part is rose-flavored, the cream filling is rose and litchi flavored, and it's garnished with whole fresh raspberries and a real rose petal on top!]

After our Pierre Hermé-Ladurée taste comparison, we decided that we liked the slightly-pricier Pierre Hermé offerings better. But Emmie and I are unabashed foodies, and we loved Pierre Hermé's more exotic flavors, like jasmine, olive oil, and rose petal. I have lots of friends who swear by the original Ladurée.

So go check out their New York store on the Upper East side and see for yourself!

I'm a [falafel] believer! : Le Marais

As a vegetarian, you're supposed to like falafel. It's one of those classic, somewhat apologetic meat-free offerings. But something about dry, bitter chickpea flour sticking to the back of my throat somehow never struck my fancy. I've always viewed falafel as one of those foods, like plain firm tofu, that gives vegetarians a reputation for irrational asceticism.

Come to think of it, I can't remember a single time I've ever eaten a falafel of my own volition, let alone enjoyed it.

Until now...

I'll admit, I was a bit skeptical when my friend and fellow Princetonian A. told me we were going to a place in Le Marais (the trendy, upscale, gay and traditionally Jewish area of Paris where I had already enjoyed a delicious dinner last week with friends) known for its falafels .

Why would I willingly subject myself to bitter blandness - at Paris prices AND the current euro-dollar exchange rate, no less?!

Brothers and sisters, let me tell you - I have been converted to the faithful.

I am now a falafel believer.

A. and I joined the long line outside L'As de Falafel. We paid 5 euros each to a somewhat-sketchy-looking guy standing by the end of the line, who handed us a slip of paper, which we handed to the guy at the window when we reached the front (the line moved fairly quickly considering its length). I watched a man quickly slice open a pita and stuff it full of Mediterranean kosher goodness, smother it in creamy and (in my case) spicy sauces, and hand it to me, neatly wrapped in plastic and yellow napkins. What was in this glorious package?

The pictures doesn't do it justice. To quote Mark Bittman (a New York Times' authority on all things delicious), "the requisite super-crisp, garlicky chickpea fritters, with creamy hummus, lightly pickled red cabbage (something between slaw and kraut), salted cucumbers, fried eggplant and just-hot-enough harissa." The spicy sauce was far from spicy by this California-born-Mexican-food-raised girl's standards - but I wouldn't have wanted it any spicier, for fear of overpowering all the other flavors and textures.

Think all the crunchy goodness of cole slaw, minus the sketchy watery cream sauce. Think succulent morsels of sweet eggplant, that most glorious of vegetables. Think crispy-crunchy balls of spiced goodness with the familiar, comforting heartiness of chickpeas. Think warm, supple pita, cradling it all.

In other words: if you think you're going to find a better lunch in Paris for 5 euros, think again. I've only been here one week, and I've only eaten out three or four times so far, but I'd bet good money that this is as good as it gets - and that's just fine by me, mon ami!

[However, if you do have good 5 euro lunch tips for me, post them in the comments section, or on Facebook! I promise to try and check them out!]

[A. and I in Le Marais, post-falafels]

Inquiring minds want to know...

Q: How do you say "high fructose corn syrup" in French?

A: Sirop de maïs à haute teneur en fructose.

That's quite the unhealthy mouthful!

[because if you know me well, you know I can't go three days without mentioning America's Big Ag conspiracy]

Red wine and homemade quiche

Last night was a good night.

New vocab: un moucheron = a small fly or gnat

"A. s'est fait piqué par des moucherons au Cameroun."

premier pain au chocolat!

Voilà, my first pain au chocolat of my séjour en France - in all its buttery, flaky, chocolate-y goodness! Kindly bought for me this morning by A., the roommate of C., who is letting me crash at his place in the 13e arrondissement until I find my own apartment.

[For those of you who don't know, a "pain au chocolat" is basically a chocolate croissant, though not exactly in croissant form - it is not literally "chocolate bread," but rather a chocolate pastry.]

P.S. I now have a French phone number! I was able to buy a French SIM card and put it in the little Nokia phone I bought in Madagascar.

New vocab: la gazinière = gas stovetop

"Tu peux m'aider? Je n'arrive pas à faire marcher la gazinière. Je voudrais faire une omelette."

Quel compliment!

I've barely been here 4 days, and already I've received the highest of compliments: a Frenchman said that sometimes when I'm speaking French, my accent is so good that he almost forgets that I'm American!

Imagine how well I'll speak by January!

Vue de la Seine

Not the greatest photo, but here's a view of the Seine river from the apartment where I'm staying. Early evening, that's why the trees in the back are lit up (which is why I took the picture in the first place). If you followed the métro line from left to right over the Seine, you'd be headed towards the Quai de la Gare stop on M6 (green) line. The Bibliothèque nationale de France (national library) can also be seen from this same window!

Must sleep now, if I follow through on my plan to go jogging tomorrow morning...when I first arrived I was thrilled to see a few pairs of French people jogging along the Seine (including some very fit pompiers - firemen), so I won't look like an idiot (as I did the one time I tried running in Lisieux, Normandy!)

Day 1, Meal 1 : Salade "Y Fé Cho," Chez Lili et Marcel, 13e arr.

After two flights, the RER B, two métro lines including missing my stop twice in both directions), and carrying some very over-loaded bags, I looked like I had just run a marathon (sweat and all). I'm surprised the waitress was willing to let me sit in a decent establishment. Other than a piece of soda bread at the Dublin airport, I was running on empty.
Imagine my vegetarian delight when I stumbled across the street from the métro stop and found this gem on the menu!

The name of the dish is a slang-y, phonetic way of saying "It's hot out!" salad, and could not have been more apropos: in the center of the dish is a jar of that cooling summer classic, gazpacho; this is surrounded by mixed greens, sliced cucumber and tomatoes. A liberal slice of watermelon is flanked by two slices of cantaloupe. Atop the jar of gazpacho is a "brochette" (skewer) of tropical fruit: mango, kiwi, pineapple. The bottle to the left is extra vinaigrette; the bottle in the center is just water (sorry, folks, I was already drunk on sleep deprivation); the pail to the right was filled with hearty chunks of baguette.

Re-fueled, and re-hydrated, I was able to present myself halfway normally to my generous host who is letting me stay with him until I find an apartment!

STUDY ABROAD : PARIS 2011

Senior year is about to start, but I'm a whole ocean away from Princeton...why, you ask?

Because I've decided to spend my senior fall in Paris! Making this decision now is a bit unusual by Princeton's standards, I'll admit - the most popular time to study abroad being junior year. I certainly considered studying abroad - first sophomore spring, then junior spring - but something always held me back, or else I admitted to myself that I was leaving for the wrong reasons.

Now those of you who know me well know that I am not a huge francophile by any means...I study French colonial history, which doesn't exactly paint the French in the most flattering light. Furthermore, I own no Eiffel Tower memorabilia, have never seen "Moulin Rouge", and the idea of eating a croissant for breakfast disgusts me! The time that I have spent in France was mostly in Basse Normandie, during a two-month internship the summer after my freshman year with L'Association Culture et Patrimoine du Pays d'Auge, which instilled in me a Norman pride, but certain mistrust of Parisians.

So why have I chosen this moment to throw myself headlong into the heart of Paris for the next five months?

* I love Princeton so much, maybe too much - it was starting to get a little too comfortable. I know that two more semesters there are not going to change me profoundly in the same way that a semester abroad will.

* Every one of my recently graduated friends who studied abroad says it was the best decision they ever made. Every one of my recently graduated friends who did not study abroad says it is their biggest regret.

* I'm a historian to the core - this means that I know quite a bit about France's past, but embarrassingly little about its present. Time to change that!

* Given the very focused nature of my research interests (my thesis is on education policy in French colonial Madagascar), there are only so many courses at Princeton that relate to them. I've spent the last three years learning about French colonialism at an American university (from both American and French professors), but now I'm anxious to see how the French teach their own past: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I won't pretend I'm not worried about some things - okay, maybe a lot of things - but rather than freaking out about them, I've decided to accept them:

1) Finding an apartment will be difficult. It will be frustrating. There will be dead-ends, and lots of French paper-work-filled bureaucracy (my favorite!)

2) I will get lost at least once. I will have to ask for directions probably more than once.

3) I will say something embarrassing without realizing it at least once.

4) I will step in dog poop at least once.

5) I will get pooped on by a pigeon at least once.

6) I will be lonely sometimes, even often.

7) There's no avoiding it: I will breathe in a lot of second-hand smoke. I will also have to watch people with babies in strollers smoke.

But that's the beauty of pushing oneself out of the comfort zone, right? I know that I am supposed to be here, because it's the next thing I have to do to become the me I want to be.

So, bienvenue à mon nouveau blog, mes amis, and keep checking in for more news of my new Parisian life!

Bises,

M