Russian Doll

The majority of our couple-friends are mixed.  Franco-Italian, Franco-Irish, Franco-Japanese, Franco-Mexican...
It makes it interesting.  Like a cultural/adaptation study.  You see how couples adapt in their relationship and around home.  And you REALLY see who wears the culottes in the family.  Though you could be wrong...

I met this Russian beauty thanks to a friend of B's.  We had the couple over for dinner and he was chiding her and her French grammar mistakes at the dinner table.  She sweetly accepted. I silently slapped him in my own mind.
So I invited her to my house on a Friday night with some other girlfriend's of mine.  She was quiet and kind - and seemed to have none of the regular complaints

He keeps talking but he isn't actually answering the question....

He dances like it is the 80's


His love of stinky cheese is making our fridge smell like something died in there, even with the tupperware!

He's just so French sometimes. 

No girl is that nice and no significant other is without small annoyances. 
And then we had dinner at their house.  And they were both so excited because they cut themselves off from wine during the week and now it was Saturday night dinner.  We brought chocolates from Chapon and she ate one during apéro, which he didn't like one bit, but she did it anyway.  And then we had foie gras, but with vodka. 
And then all bets were off. 

And just this last Saturday there was a baptism for their little girl (18 months old) at the Russian Orthodox church.  Apologies for quality of the IPhone photos, and the miserable gray sky (but you know how I like to kill people's French dreams).

Saint Alexandre-Nevy Cathedral

The hour of speaking/singing in Russian with candles and annointing oils.

Baby didn't mind the priest and his annointing oils until he plucked her naked from her mother's arms and stuck her in the bath. 

Finished Franco-Russian baby, complete with fur collar and beret!

Don't worry, relationships aren't about winning. 
At least not until your easter candy is brought by a flying bell instead of a bunny, there are no more stockings hung by the chimney, no bacon at brunch and you are eating snails and oysters for Christmas.  We won't even talk about the lack of pumpkin anywhere. 

But you can win this one, France.  And my Russian friend agrees

This is the end of a 2.5 foot pyramid (piéce montée) of cream puffs filled with vanilla pudding and covered in hard caramel.  The petals at the bottom are crushed grilled almonds in the same hard caramel.  And the colored pieces sticking out are candied almonds.  One of the only acceptable foods to eat with your hands.

Otherwise known as a croque-en-bouche or Croquembouche; literally: crunches in the mouth.

Mother-in-Law Sunday lunches

Sunday lunch is a tradition. Going home to the parents. Bringing chocolates or flowers. Eating a blanquette de veau. Drinking oneself silly. (ok so that one is just me and my miniscule alcohol tolerance.)

I really shouldn't complain. I really couldn't be any more spoiled as I sit on my behind in the formal dining room at b's parent's house in the countryside eating course after course of excellent food prepared by his mother's skilled hands.

Here is what it looks like:


Puff pastry with garlic and parsley escargot (yea, snails)

Mille feuille pastry rolled with chorizo sausage

Mini red bell pepper and basil loaves

Champagne

Smoked salmon and muscles on a stick with fresh dill

marinated yellow, red and green bell peppers

À table!

Mache lettuce, mushrooms, sugar beats, tomatoes, toasted pine nuts, croutons and duck breast

Hungarian royal wine and white burgundy wine

Slow roasted garlic and rosemary leg of lamb with gratin dauphinois (thinly sliced potatoes cream and cheese)

St Emilion red wine

Epoisse

The oh-so-skilled hands

Chocolate cake with whipped cream and fruit salad (strawberry, mango, apple, pear)

Followed by coffee, chocolates and nougats.

half hour nap

1 hour walk 30 minute train ride, 25 minute bus, 1 small salad, 1 big recovery sleep

And today's inappropriate French joke:

"a man who has a cheating wife need only be concerned that someone else knows what he has settled for" - classy huh.

The Ballet

I never thought I would love the ballet or the opera as much as I did when I was a kid.

When I was 8, I used to sit in my mom's room staring mesmerized at PBS replaying opera for hours. My mother took me to Madame Butterfly and I fell asleep just before the most exciting part (she kills herself). And that was the end of my love for opera.
When I was in high school, we got underpriced tickets and extra credit for going to the opera. We went to see Hamlet. I was bored to tears. (sidenote: I don't think Hamlet should ever be made into an opera).

And then this year we went to the opera. I was a bit worried, but I figured I could at least stare at the architecture of the famous Opera Garnier of Paris if I started feeling the urge to scratch my eyes out. But I didn't and it was alright. In fact, I was absolutely fascinated with the musicians and the voices (ignoring the comedy of the piece and the comedy of the modernized costumes). And tonight it was the same with the ballet at the Bastille. The music was lovely, LOVELY. And those tight bums were so tight in their tights.

And those ballerinas so beautiful and strong and amazing. You've got to feel for the lead girl. On her TOES ALL NIGHT long, and keeping her body stone hard while she gets twirled around like a music box 30 times a night. I hope she gets massages for free. Seriously.