DE PARIS À PONTHOILE
EATING AND LAUGHING NONSTOP
What a week! And here I was thinking that last week couldn’t be topped. What can I say? I'm here to set high standards and then break through them!
DE PARIS À PONTHOILE
Last Thursday night I met Simon at Gare du Nord where we hopped on a train Ponthoile bound. Well, la Gare de Noyelles sur Mer bound, to be exact. And the train ride was less than relaxing. I was a nervous wreck. I always am before I head out to see his family. Will I know what they’re saying? (I did.) Has my day-in-and-day-out of French studying paid off? (It has.) Will they notice? (They did) Will I forget everything I’ve learned? (I didn’t.) Will they understand me? (They did.) Will I understand them? (I did.) Will I miss my family because I’m around his? (Of course!) Will I love it there? (Oui!) Will I feel comfortable? (I did.) Will I eat enough? (That one’s a joke! All we do is eat when there.)
My high adrenaline and nerves didn’t fully die down until Jean-Claude, Simon's father, offered me a whiskey. The medicine, for nearly anything (nerves included), of the South and evidently of the nord de la France.
As I talked about last week – I feel the most confident to speak French in taxis. Closed in and intimate. I too feel that way mostly at a dining table. I was pretty quiet sitting around the fire and letting them all catch up. But the second we all sat together – facing one another – I felt safe to say the few words (vocabulary growing by the day) that I knew. An intimate setting of max 4 people is my sweet spot. Add any more than that and I am very likely to become totally mute.
Make no mistake, even though I was groovin’ in my language that night, the first night in Ponthoile is textbook for me: SLEEPLESS. I’m talking exactly zero minutes of shuteye. MISÉRABLE. I remember Jane telling me one time that that’s what we do to punish our prisoners – we sleep deprive them. And that’s exactly how it feels, like prison, when you don’t count sheep. I have my reasons why it happens: Maybe because we always eat super late on the first night since Simon and I arrive so late from Paris? Maybe I was too excited to sleep because I was under a warm electric blanket - new edition and beyond cozy? Maybe it was because I had been using every single bit of my brain power for those last 4+ hours to focus deeply on what the laughter was about, who they were talking about, WHAT they're talking about, or how I could fit in a phrase that I had memorized for perfect comedic timing, and therefore was energized? Maybe it was a combination of all of that that kept me wide awake? Who knows. All I know is that a nap on Friday late morning in front of the fire that Simon built for me, after we did all the shopping, would be the best 50 dream-like minutes of my life!
On Friday morning, after breakfast all together, Simon’s parents sought out for a weekend away visiting friends in Amiens, his hometown. He and I then sought out for the weekend provisions. Our favorite thing to do when out at his parent’s home. Cook, all the livelong days.
First stop: Poissonnerie La Marine. Scallops had been reserved for us in advance. C'est nécessaire parce que evidently they are the first to go when she opens due to their miam miam flavor. While we were there we also took a sole that he later dressed with tons of local butter, herbs and fresh lemons, and bulots – which we completely forgot to dig into over the course of the weekend. So left them as a little surprise apéritif gift for Danièle and Jean-Calude.
Second stop: Alexi, the local Boucher. Every time, he nearly falls horizontal with laughter the second Simon walks into his shop. As we were walking in, I spotted the only person I would know in this entire town of 528 people, Martin Quiret, Simon’s younger brother. He was quietly standing in line until he locked eyes with Simon and the volume cranked up to a solid 10. Simon gets a kick out of how much he makes Alexi laugh, and with Martin as his audience? It was show-time! He had everyone in the line cackling with his nonsense. Even the old ladies who were in line for their daily errand to get a lb of this, a slice of that, lamb for ten, etc. were adding to the conversation and totally ignoring that we skipped in front of them. It is hard not to take it ALL when you’re there. The quality is incredible. But this time we resisted (that’s a joke) and just walked out with: côte de bœuf, lamb, rillette, and pâté de campagne.
Running on fumes from the sleepless night before, we delivered the provisions to the house and then went for a quick drive-by to the market in Le Crotoy – where we got to see firsthand how high the water has been in 40 years! A beautiful fluke of a phenomenon – before I came home to rest beside a fire.
We laughed hard that day. Slaphappy (what we say in the US) from no sleep and from him hearing me on my Zoom meetings with Americans. He came into the room after I finished my day's work and said “You don’t talk to me that fast. I think you talk to me like I’m an “idiot”.” (To get the full effect. Please do yourself a favor and say that last word in quotation marks in the Frenchest of Frenchest accents. So cute!) We roared with laughter. I don’t think I do at all. But I get it. I feel the same about the way he talks to me right now. But honestly, I like being talked to like an “idiot” – slow and using childlike words. If he didn’t all the “shwee, kel, pa, and shay” sounds would just run together like these run-on sentences in this En Route. Je ne comprendrais rien!
In the evening we took a ride to Saint Valery, one of the first stops usually when we are in Ponthoile, for a long bay and town stroll. While there, we bought the yummiest local treat, gâteau battu, for breakfast the next day at Watterlot Pâtisserie Boulangerie.
For lunch, Simon made us the sole with roasted potatoes. For dinner he prepared côte de bœuf over an open flame. That’s right. I was responsible for keeping the time - 4 mins only on either side - and lip synching all of Otis Redding’s greatest hits, while Simon had the pressure of cooking the beef to Anthony Bourdain perfection! We both succeeded. Best meal!
Saturday was completely different, and yet exactly the same. Low key, relaxed, full of yummy food, strolls and shopping. We started out by the fire eating the gâteau battu toasted with coffee. Simon learned to cut the top of the cake off in slices so as to make the perfect round piece from his father. Genius. We slathered butter on each slice and added strawberry jam for sweetness. Simon has been known to tell me that “he is waking up early just to eat breakfast” if there is a brioche or in this case a gâteau battu waiting. Full disclosure, he popped up that day at 8am to prepare it!
After, we went to the farm to get his order (like a CSA from the US), the creamery to buy all of her butter, yogurt, milk, and faisselle (cottage cheese like consistency). I brought some back with me to Paris and am doing my best not to eat it all before my mama comes next week so that she can have a taste. Ultimate test of restraint!
We chased the sun this morning over to Le Crotoy. Another beach town close by where we walked in the sand just before we returned for the best lunch on the planet: Simon’s scallops with leeks cooked in diced shallots, crème fraîche and beaucoup butter! BEST meal! After, we took a mini siesta on the couch, feet to head reading, and then woke up in time to go over again to Le Crotoy once more for the sunset. Simon told me that this town faces the west, therefore, is the only place in France to be “on the beach” and to “see the sun set.” (Same for us American’s in Bald Head – I have a very funny story about that actually. When we’re together next, remind me to share. I’ll need a bit of wine to really get the details right!) We walked the path just to the tip of the city until the sun fell. It was breathtaking! And as we were listening to hear if we could actually hear the sun set, children started singing The Lion King song at the top of their lungs. Almost exactly perfect for this setting – because I’m not convinced that if I had arrived with closed eyes, and didn’t known that I was in France, I wouldn’t have thought I was in Africa. Water, sand, grass, birds, nothing in site… Circle of life.
And for dinner that night? Another meal for the books! Simon’s famous risotto made with my homemade bouillon (from the bone of the côte de bœuf the night before, veg, and winter spices) and meatballs from the rest of the steak. DEVINE! Truly, this time, I mean it! Best!
Sunday was incredible too as the sun came out in full force this day as well! And so did his family. They came pouring back into the house at the noon hour for beers out on the lawn before we were served Simon’s lamb followed by Danièle’s raspberry tart from her favorite pâtisserie for dessert. Martin came by to see me again before he had the day with his family, and Danièle and Jean-Claude shared stories about the concert they saw, the food they ate, the friends they visited with. It was lovely and short. Before we knew it we were getting woken up from our snooze out in the sun that it was time to say farewell and head to the train station à Paris. Before we left, I drove Martin’s car for the final time – a manual, which I simply love to drive and which those who choose to be my passengers must simply hold on for dear life – to his home, and Simon and I split up the vegetables that we had bought while there. I have just finished all of them as of today!
We arrived early to the station and loaded onto our train, where I was tempted to join the 2nd grader behind me as he was cramming for his spelling test. Instead, I stayed glued straight ahead as his strict mother quizzed him and just said his answers in my head before he did. By the time the conductor sounded the arrival announcement for Paris I felt like I was the one ready for the exam!
BACK À PARIS
Since I’ve gotten back, and had the boost of confidence talking with Simon all weekend long in very broken French, I have decided to keep it up. I am committed to spending an hour a day (longer if permitted) of Learning French With Alexa every morning. Je l'adore!
So, after my hour long lesson, my full day’s work, and a full catch up with my mother on my sunny stroll to dinner – I got to meet one of my best friends, Marissa for a meal, a long catch up, and a fashion show to kick off Fashion Week!
She, as she did last season, took me as her plus-one to a brand from Comme des Garçon. Marissa was coming off of a whirlwind. She had covered the Fashion Weeks in NYC, London, Milan, and now, Paris. She was barely staying alive. Only in town for two short nights, we made the most of our time together and surprised the restaurant when we showed up at 5:45pm for the earliest dinner Paris had ever seen. After, we were en route to the wild and crazy show, where young grunge, yet rich, fanatics of the brand were adorned from head to toe (and some not so adorned, but rather, practically naked) as they posed for “paparazzi.” It was a great show! And the soundtrack was dance worthy! We even heard, although never saw with our own eyes for proof, that Betsy Johnson was there. How cool! (Sidebar, and fun fact, I repped Betsy Johnson way back when, when I was cutting my teeth in PR. During our first meeting together she asked me to walk in her runway show. I kid you not! She had me twirl for her even! My boss at the time thought it was unprofessional to have her PR representative strut down the catwalk. So, sigh, I didn’t. But isn’t that so cool!?)
On our walk home we had a slew of bikers pass us blaring the song “Staying Alive.” It couldn't have been a more perfect moment and exact sentiment that night for Marissa who was doing all she could to stay alive from the fashion whirlwind.
MA DAME HURLUBERLU (MY ECCENTRIC LADY)
I not only got to see one of my best friends this week, I too got to see one of my mama’s best friends, Robbie. Ooooo Weeeee. She is one of my (cheer)leading ladies. She roots for everything I do and everywhere I want to move. I remember calling her when I first moved back to the south, after NYC, because I didn’t know what I had done. My mama knew that she would be the one who I would relate to more than her in that moment – because Robbie and I were similar. We were both well traveled, both ambitious, both creative, both entrepreneurs, both adventurous, and had both moved states away from our families after college. She has stayed in touch with me since and we get the pleasure of seeing one another every 5ish years. I admire Robbie so much!!
She’s ma dame hurluberlu! Hurluberlu was one of my new challenging words (think SAT words, you Americans) I learned this week from Learning With Alexa. It means one who is extravagant and eccentric. I found it beyond fitting, since I’ve always found Robbie to be a marriage of those words. She’s my eccentric lady.
And now, she was in town for the Stephen Jones exhibit at the Palais Galerie. Who coincidentally, my friend, Marissa, from the paragraphs before, had interviewed only a few short days before at a Fashion Show. How small-world is that?
Robbie has worn a hat from as long as I have ever known her (and made most of them), so this man, she said, had been “her teacher, her guru, her muse” if you will. She came to Paris for that exhibit alone! And it was the BEST! Go if you haven’t already!!
Her friend, Carol, who lives in the French town, Carcassonne, – though originally from Alabama and when she speaks English you hear it right away – came with us. It was fascinating to hear her stories of “how I got here and why I decided to stay” that poured out of her all day.
Robbie and my mother fell in love when they were 8 years old in a brand new school, brand new class, and brand new friends. They were randomly seated beside one another in an oversized class on the school’s stage that year, and for only one year did they attend school together. (I go back to what my astrologer told me once. A friend knows you in 5 minutes, others - they never will.) They fell in love in 5 mins they both have told me. When my mother’s family had to move away the following year, their parents promised each of them that they could spend one week per summer together from there on. And they did! Until college. They would drive or fly to see one another. Precious! They couldn't be more different in some ways, and others, they are EXACTLY the same. It felt so nice to have been with a “mama” of mine this full day!
MA MÈRE
I have one more week until my real mama comes and I can hardly stand it. I'm so excited!! We talked at length (pun since I measured while on FaceTime) yesterday about what we want to do when she’s here, what projects I have for us around the apartment, what exhibitions would be great to see together, and what restaurants I want to try with her. The only thing that is absolutely set in stone, because we have tickets in hand, is a concert on Saturday night at Saint Michelle – her favorite place, and mine.
And in preparation for her visit, I have rearranged my furniture for the ummmmm umpteenth time. I can hardly wait for my sweet mama to get her toosh over here and help me whip this place into a real home. She always has that magical touch. The eye! In fact just yesterday I propped her up on my computer (FaceTime is miraculous for us expats sorting things out with our families back home) as we took measurements of my windows for the new curtains she is busy sewing in SC as I type!! She’s the best!
I’ve reached out to friends to borrow staple guns and drills, and I am deep cleaning everything in preparation. Tomorrow I plan to go check out Marché aux puces de la Porte de Vanves – where I want to buy any and every painting my heart desires. By the time my mama comes, I want to have things to hand — to dress these walls with color and paintings while my mama’s design eye is on loan to me.
I finally feel like I am shedding old skin and awakening into a new moi. Pretty spot-on considering it is the year of the snake wouldn’t you say?
And if you’re wondering. Still no visa. But don’t fret. I have a plan.
Until next week…
Xxo ac
Can’t wait to see what you got at Vanves!