A Letter to My Fellow Traveler

To My Dear, Dear Fellow Traveler,

It was nearly two years ago that your father sent me the now-legendary text message: "Hey, want to move to Paris?", kicking off a short, frenzied series of discussions about whether or not we could possibly envision ourselves in a foreign country, learning a new language, untangling ourselves from nearly everything familiar and comfortable.  But we knew then, and that knowledge has since been solidified into a certain fact of existence, that we would always have a safe harbor in one another.  So why not take that harbor to somewhere with better bread and more vacation time?

Back then it seemed that life could offer no greater adventure than life and romance in another country.  But, dear one, as we looked at our first pictures of you (well, the first pictures where you had a face and no tail), punching your tiny fists at the ultrasound technician who was treating my uterus like bread dough in need of kneading, we knew that, once again, our lives were about to completely unmake and then remake themselves again.  Only this time, we will be the harbor, and you will be our little ship.

You, darling, our now our Fellow Traveler.  You have already expressed a preference for Alsacien cooking, but a distaste for fresh green things.  I'm hoping that next week in Rome that you find that you enjoy pizza and gelato.  And when we travel to Germany (by which time, hopefully, you will have made the tiny studio apartment of my uterus into something more condo-like), I hope that you discover a love of sausage and non-alcoholic beer.

But, my love, even if despite the best of efforts you come to demand chicken nuggets over poulet roti, powdered orange cheese over brie, Dora the Explorer over children's museums, you will still be the greatest adventure of our lives.  And we cannot wait to meet you.

Love,
Your Mother

Cows, Mullets, and...Tartiflette?

This past weekend AH and I were lucky enough to attend la Salon d'Agriculture.  Being that I've been having some minor bouts of homesickness lately (only partially satisfied by AH's willingness to somehow track down all the ingredients to make cheesy potato casserole), let's see how this event stacked up against it's closest U.S. equivalent, the State Fair:

Whoa, are we in Ohio?:  Cows!  Lots and lots of cows! (And sheep, and pigs, etc.).

Nope, still France:  As you may have noticed it is not quite summertime (although I swear it's a matter of mere weeks before I'm gallivanting about coatless again), so the event was held in a large expo center.  Just not quite State Fair-like if it's not so hot that your thighs stick to the pleather seat of the death-trap of a ride you're exiting.

Whoa, are we in Ohio?:  Ridiculous-looking chickens.  They are my FAVORITE THINGS.

Nope, still France:  I saw all manner of curious chickens back in my days at the Ohio State Fair, but this was definitely my first fancy pigeon with curly feathers.

Whoa, are we in Ohio?: Bunnehs! Big, fat, tubsy rolly bunnehs!  And look:

It's a Californian!  However...

Nope,  still France: This, as AH the former country boy pointed out me, was a meat rabbit.  And the difference is that here, there is actually a chance that this cute little critter could end up on a plate in a restaurant not far from my table.

Whoa, are we in Ohio?:  Booths selling cowbells (and here is the link, since I know you want to go and watch it now: http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/80a71ef8cb/more-cowbell)

We'd better still be in France:  Because this way I can chalk this up to some poor French person mistakenly hearing from some delusional crackpot that the Confederate flag is actually an American symbol of state's rights.

Yup, definitely France: the food booths were all regional specialties, so lots of sausages and wine, and not a deep-fryer as far as the eye could see.

Yup, France:  Wow, their version of being tacky is putting down fake cobblestone carpeting.  Step back and let the Big Boys show you how tacky is done, my friends.

I'm...not sure?:  A marching band made up of people dressed as chefs?

Yeah, I can't...:  Giant papier mache goose?

Ohio!:  Aww look, it's a golden retriever!

Adorably imperialistic and snooty looking cat? Yeah, I'm giving this one to France.

Ok, time for final stack-up...

A Native American on an American flag.

"Oh really," says France.  "I'll see your silly flag and raise you...

brioche made in the shape of la Tour Eiffel!" 

"Fine," says Ohio.  "Native American on a flag didn't do it.  How about...

"JOHN MOTHER F-ING WAYNE? Seriously, the only way I could make that more American is to deep-fry it."

"Amusing," says France.  "But I shall remove the possibility of any further comparisons between our celebration of our sacred terrior to your silly State Fairs thusly: 

BEHOLD!  IT IS A VACHE IN A BERET!  SUCK IT!" 

Oh France, you win again.  Although I did see enough people with mullets to being counting them (my favorite State Fair game), so maybe I should say we all lose.