A week after returning to the U.S., Thea and I ate lunch at a local St. Louis bakery-cafe called Companion Bread.
The menu is loaded with cleverly-dubbed sandwiches like "The New Yawker" (Icelandic smoked salmon and cream cheese, stacked on one of our famous New York style bagels), "Humpty Dumpty" (Egg salad made just like mom’s, served with lettuce on our tangy New York Rye), and Thea's choice, "Crisp Fall Day" (roasted turkey, brie, arugula and apple butter perfectly browned on our tangy New York Rye).
I was about order "Cocktail Party" (Brie, apple slices, and apricot jam grilled on our Rustic Walnut), when another sandwich caught my eye: Frenchie (roasted turkey with brie, sprouts and honey dijon, stuffed in our crusty house-made Parisien). Since visiting Dijon in February, I've become a mustard fiend. I have two petit pots (little jars) that I bought to give as gifts, but am instead keeping as spicy souvenirs: Pruneaux et Armagnac (prunes and brandy from southwest France) and Noisette et Trompette de la mort (hazlenut and black chanterelle mushroom).
As I was saying, the Frenchie sandwich caught my eye, as did the Miller's Five Grain bread listed on the side (under the heading, "Want a different bread? Go ahead!"). But could I really ask for whichever bread I wanted? Would it be sacrilege to order the Frenchie on grainy bread instead of French bread, also known as a baguette? The answers are YES and IT DOESN'T MATTER.
Moments later, I had my Frenchie on five-grain bread. And I ate it, too. I marveled at the freedom I exercised there at the Companion Bread counter. Here's how it went down:
Guy at counter: Hi there, what can I get for you?
Me: I'd like the Frenchie sandwich. Just one thing, can I really get it on the five-grain bread?
Guy: Sure thing. Would you like a side salad or cookie with that?
Bada bing, bada boom. No questions asked. The "create-your-own" concept affords a simple yet profound joy that I'd forgotten in France while digesting traditional dishes with names detailing what goes in and what can't be altered, and already-made baguette sandwiches at bakeries.
People keep asking, So do you miss French food? The answer is simple: kind of yes and kind of no. I loved tasting regional dishes and peoples' excitement when preparing me/telling me about traditional specialties. I loved cooking experimental tarts and toasts (appetizer toast with salty concoctions on top), and learning food words and preparation techniques. And the cheese... but we've heard enough about that.
BUT since returning to St. Louis, I've eaten Greek, Indian, Mexican, Nepalese, and Nicaraguan food. I made a classic tofu-vegetable stir fry, devoured a veggie burger at a Jewish deli, and indulged in a home-made peanut butter and banana sandwich. I prepared Anais's famous tuna, thyme, and onion tart for my family. One night I sucked down a strawberry milkshake at Steak n' Shake, the Midwest diner chain that our New York friends adore. The next day my mom, sister and I picked strawberries at a local farm (I don't think there were actual strawberries in my shake).
So I'd say we eat darn well in this melting-pot-salad-bowl nation.
Things do seem faster in the birthplace of fast food. But my rhythm has reset itself and I'm pedaling faster.
For Mother's Day, the Emmons clan had a lovely picnic lunch at a Missouri winery. It was noon, the sun was shining, and a breeze was blowing curly hair into sandwiches. As I told my family, the best way I could think to describe the situation was in French: On est bien, là. Literally, "We're good, here." What it means is, "Gosh, this is pleasant." On est bien, là is something the French say all the time, usually when relaxing outside in the shade or some other highly agreeable spot.
They also love the word tranquil. In French it conveys a calm contentedness that the English "tranquil" doesn't quite capture. (How was your weekend? Tranquil. How's that project going? Tranquil. How was the marathon? Tranquil.) The French are masters of tranquility.
Speaking of tranquility, since coming home, I've started practicing yoga again. I tried a few studios in Roanne, but discovered that French-style yoga focuses on stretching and is less aerobic (but more expensive). The emphasis is on relaxation, rather than fitness. Not many countries are as into fitness as we are. But while American yoga practice makes my heart race, I always leave with a sense of calm.
So Americans may be on fast-forward compared to the French, but the ones I know are active and still value good food and good company.
And so I say with great pride, On est bien, là. We're good, here.
The menu is loaded with cleverly-dubbed sandwiches like "The New Yawker" (Icelandic smoked salmon and cream cheese, stacked on one of our famous New York style bagels), "Humpty Dumpty" (Egg salad made just like mom’s, served with lettuce on our tangy New York Rye), and Thea's choice, "Crisp Fall Day" (roasted turkey, brie, arugula and apple butter perfectly browned on our tangy New York Rye).
I was about order "Cocktail Party" (Brie, apple slices, and apricot jam grilled on our Rustic Walnut), when another sandwich caught my eye: Frenchie (roasted turkey with brie, sprouts and honey dijon, stuffed in our crusty house-made Parisien). Since visiting Dijon in February, I've become a mustard fiend. I have two petit pots (little jars) that I bought to give as gifts, but am instead keeping as spicy souvenirs: Pruneaux et Armagnac (prunes and brandy from southwest France) and Noisette et Trompette de la mort (hazlenut and black chanterelle mushroom).
As I was saying, the Frenchie sandwich caught my eye, as did the Miller's Five Grain bread listed on the side (under the heading, "Want a different bread? Go ahead!"). But could I really ask for whichever bread I wanted? Would it be sacrilege to order the Frenchie on grainy bread instead of French bread, also known as a baguette? The answers are YES and IT DOESN'T MATTER.
Moments later, I had my Frenchie on five-grain bread. And I ate it, too. I marveled at the freedom I exercised there at the Companion Bread counter. Here's how it went down:
Guy at counter: Hi there, what can I get for you?
Me: I'd like the Frenchie sandwich. Just one thing, can I really get it on the five-grain bread?
Guy: Sure thing. Would you like a side salad or cookie with that?
Bada bing, bada boom. No questions asked. The "create-your-own" concept affords a simple yet profound joy that I'd forgotten in France while digesting traditional dishes with names detailing what goes in and what can't be altered, and already-made baguette sandwiches at bakeries.
People keep asking, So do you miss French food? The answer is simple: kind of yes and kind of no. I loved tasting regional dishes and peoples' excitement when preparing me/telling me about traditional specialties. I loved cooking experimental tarts and toasts (appetizer toast with salty concoctions on top), and learning food words and preparation techniques. And the cheese... but we've heard enough about that.
BUT since returning to St. Louis, I've eaten Greek, Indian, Mexican, Nepalese, and Nicaraguan food. I made a classic tofu-vegetable stir fry, devoured a veggie burger at a Jewish deli, and indulged in a home-made peanut butter and banana sandwich. I prepared Anais's famous tuna, thyme, and onion tart for my family. One night I sucked down a strawberry milkshake at Steak n' Shake, the Midwest diner chain that our New York friends adore. The next day my mom, sister and I picked strawberries at a local farm (I don't think there were actual strawberries in my shake).
So I'd say we eat darn well in this melting-pot-salad-bowl nation.
Things do seem faster in the birthplace of fast food. But my rhythm has reset itself and I'm pedaling faster.
For Mother's Day, the Emmons clan had a lovely picnic lunch at a Missouri winery. It was noon, the sun was shining, and a breeze was blowing curly hair into sandwiches. As I told my family, the best way I could think to describe the situation was in French: On est bien, là. Literally, "We're good, here." What it means is, "Gosh, this is pleasant." On est bien, là is something the French say all the time, usually when relaxing outside in the shade or some other highly agreeable spot.
They also love the word tranquil. In French it conveys a calm contentedness that the English "tranquil" doesn't quite capture. (How was your weekend? Tranquil. How's that project going? Tranquil. How was the marathon? Tranquil.) The French are masters of tranquility.
Speaking of tranquility, since coming home, I've started practicing yoga again. I tried a few studios in Roanne, but discovered that French-style yoga focuses on stretching and is less aerobic (but more expensive). The emphasis is on relaxation, rather than fitness. Not many countries are as into fitness as we are. But while American yoga practice makes my heart race, I always leave with a sense of calm.
So Americans may be on fast-forward compared to the French, but the ones I know are active and still value good food and good company.
And so I say with great pride, On est bien, là. We're good, here.
Aaah! Glad to see some new posts of yours!
ReplyDeleteYou made me hungry now! hehe
" melting-pot-salad-bowl nation" is one of the things I love in your country.
Keep up the good work!
Bye bye