So, it has indeed been a while. But, much like my disappearance this fall, the culprit is once again Paris. For those of you who don’t know, I’ve relocated to be with my fiance, who got a three-year position here.
We have an adorable apartment in a charming neighborhood. Before I arrived, I daydreamed about all the cooking I would do, how I would do my grocery shopping each day and go from little shop to little shop to find the perfect produce. I had heard that most French people don’t cook a lot — and I never really understood, since there is so much good food here to be cooked.
And then I arrived and saw the kitchen. Now, to be fair, it’s a very nice kitchen for a Parisan apartment. We looked at many whose “kitchen” was a hot plate and a can opener. Ours has four (four! unheard of!) burners on the stove, decent prep space, and a nice big sink in which to wash dishes.
It does not have, however, an oven. Or a proper refrigerator. The fridge is dorm room-size and has an itty bitty ice box on top which, when I run the washer/dryer that is located right next to it, melts–leaving me with a puddle of water in the bottom of the fridge.
So now I get it: French people don’t cook often because they don’t have the space to do so. Or the time/wherewithall to go shopping every single day, which you have to if you’re buying perishables… since more than that won’t fit into the fridge!
But — I will prevail. I’ve been here a week and, I admit, haven’t been cooking nearly as much as I did in New York. I’ve done lots of re-heating and lots of cooking partially prepared items. But this week, I will conquer my fear of making a recipe here. I’ll figure out the conversions, find a makeshift cutting board and, most importantly, buy an oven.