A Washing Machine is not a Self-explaning Device

My apologies for not resuming the previous post in a more timely fashion, but a minor bout of loneliness set in and I didn't much feel like blogging. Not to worry, I've been told it's completely normal, and has since subsided. First I will address the title of this post. I have just returned from my first French Laundromat experience. Not only was it unfruitful, but I managed to look like an idiot in the process. First, I arrived at the laundromat and found myself unable to open the door. After pulling on the door (which has a pull handle mind you) I check the hours and confirm that the place is open. A moment later I realize my mistake that all outer doors in France open into the building (which im told is a massive fire hazard)regardless of what type of handle the doors has. I then find a machine, load my clothes in and go to the machine to pay. I am then informed that it is too late to start a washer. I begrudgingly go back to the washer and pull on the door. It doesnt open. I pull harder. No dice. I try to stick my key in the latch, press buttons and kick the damn thing, all to no avail. I walk back to my apartment which is thankfully just around the corner and describe my perdicament to my homestay father Pierre. He goes down to the laundromat with me, looks at the machine and ask me "did you push the yellow button?" As he pointed to the unmarked button I begin to wonder if this is a cultural difference concerning washing machine operation, or if I'm just a little bit stupid. I've settled that it is probably a little of both.

Moving on. It has come to my attention that I have failed to indulge certain curiosities concerning my culinary adventures to date. Frankly, this is because my culinary adventures have not been, well, adventurous. This does not mean I am not eating well.

For the first week, none of us had discovered the glory of the French sandwich/crepe-and-go shops so we indulged our desires to sit for hours, eat food mildly out of our price range, and drink quantities of wine early enough in the day that Americans would consider us alcoholics. During this time of blissful, Paris induced ignorance to the fact that money does NOT grow on trees, we treated ourselves to 3 course prix fixe menus. While this sounds ostentatious its actually a great deal; appetizer, entree, desert and a glass of wine (and of course, all the bread you can eat) for 12-17 euro, depending on where you go.

My general indulgence would start with either a fresh tomato, onion and mozzarella salad with french vinegrete, or Des Oeuf Mayonaise which i can only describe as a lighter version of deviled eggs. The main course generally consists of a meat dish, like a charcuterie which is ham brined in salt water and sauteed, sausage or roast chicken. For me, dessert is almost exclusively cheese, Camembert or Stilton.

However, in a move that takes pressure of both my wallet and my heart valves, my lunches now consist of 4euro sandwich and a water bottle that i refill at home. Now this is not nearly as boring as it sounds. This is because the french have perfected the sandwich. They use only fresh meats, cheese and vegetables, and build them upon the wonderful baguette for which this country is so famous. Not only that, but nearly any sandwich can be made a panini. This is a good thing in my book.

Dinner here is good, but fairly uneventful. My hostmother (Edith) rarely cooks and most meals are frozen or made Sandra-Lee style (And yes I am appalled at myself for acknowledging Sandra-Lee's cuisine-crushing existence). But when Edith does decide to cook I am pleasantly surprised by what arrives on my plate. Meals have consisted of braised veal in a tomato/onion sauce, a concoction made of mashed potatoes and cod that was garlicy and delicious, and roasted tomatoes stuffed with veal meatballs. In conclusion, I'm not going hungry.

In other news I have finally heard from Miranda who has been in Australia for the past few days as she begins her study abroad program that lasts until the end of June. Alas she was without internet and I was beginning to fear that she had been swept off her feet by a tall Australian footballer and I would never hear from her again.

But all is well and my computer keeps ringing so until later,
Goodnight and Good luck