On mange, on parle ...

We have been here more than a month already. The distinguished doctor at the university agreed to give Steve his allergy shots, provided he not mention the words "Menière's Syndrome" in connection with this treatment, either here or in Paris. The French doctors do not believe there is a connection. They are, however, willing to accept that Steve has allergies and to treat those. And so, we adapt ourselves to the local viewpoint and feel secretly grateful, "Sicko" notwithstanding, that Steve's illness is being managed in the US.

It is also untrue that French women don't get fat. I've seen quite a few of them, though never so many as in the US. The French are worried about themselves these days. Advertisements for junk food splash across the screen in movie theaters, but crawling underneath are captions warning the audience to remember to eat fruits and vegetables, get plenty of exercise, and not to snack in between meals (ne grignotez pas!). It's like watching the culture cringe: angel on one shoulder, devil on the other, media watchdogs wondering how far down this road they can safely go without turning into obese America.

Everything tastes better here, I have to say it. And I'm talking about the raw materials, stuff you buy from the market, not French cuisine, of which I am only a lukewarm admirer (far too heavy on the meat for my taste). The clementines are out of this world. The tiny golden potatoes, roasted for half an hour, have creamy interiors that burst from their skins on your tongue. The lettuce is crisper and juicier than even what I grow in my garden at home. And all this while only half trying in the kitchen -- doing nothing more than roasting or quickly sautéing. Organic, non-organic, who knows? They don't seem to concern themselves much with that, and yet it all tastes markedly better than anything from our farmers' market back home, even to my very unsophisticated palate.

We have made friends, attended two dinner parties and given one, all of this conducted in French because we need the practice, and because there has always been at least one person present who speaks no English. It is not easy. Steve, with his hearing problems, is more used than I am to drifting along grasping only half of a conversation and making no comment. I am used to understanding almost everything and being able to respond coherently. But in a large group of people speaking very fast French, I too am at sea these days. I seem to lose the French I know I have. It is very frustrating to feel you're getting worse in a language the longer you use it! Our friend Jean-Marc kindly points out that it is the same when young children are learning a language: their ability seems to get worse just before they make a big leap forward. Well, that is kind of him, but I'm not convinced!