Back at the apartment, I managed to call home on skype, since I have my computer. Lovely to hear from my parents. I have been out of contact for long patches of time, before.
I had offered to cook dinner, and was a little nervous, because I was completely making it up. The classic sort of what-vegetables-do-we-have kind of plan. They gave me free range of the kitchen, made me a martini, and kept on popping in to see if they could help.
The weather was beautiful today: blue skies dotted with white puffy clouds, a gentle breeze, and just the perfect summer temperature that isn't too warm. Typical Paris, really. The tall window was open, looking out onto the courtyard and over the rooftops. Standing in their kitchen, with the fresh vegetables I had picked up that day, I felt entirely connected to the experience. Highly aware of where I was, how very French it all felt. If you can say that, I suppose. I can see the kitchen clearly now, as I reflect on it, like a picture I am holding. I remember thinking about how sorry I would be to leave.
I managed, by accident, to pull off an American version of ratatouille. Vegan, of course. Started out as beans and rice, but I added more vegetables and only had French herbs. Cooked eggplant for the first time. I had watched a friend do it in Germany, and it seemed simple enough.
After dinner, we played Scrabble in French. Not easy.
Cooked eggplant is squishy. That's about all I can say; the one time I had it it didn't have much of a taste, really, just... squishy.
ReplyDeleteI will cook eggplant for you.
ReplyDelete