The Trail's Our Thing

It took a while for everyone to arrive. The group included Isabelle, her mother and father, her daughter Christine, Christine’s friend Sabrina, Isabelle’s other daughter Anne, Anne’s female friend from Brittany, a single woman, a single man, a couple et moi. Other than Isabelle, the parents, Catherine and me, everyone else seemed to be in their early 30’s. Sabrina didn’t know most of the others either, and was even a tiny bit friendly to me at the beginning. I asked her a few questions and learned that she’s from Brittany, but she now lives on St. Barts where she works with Christine, I think in a restaurant.

It was great to see Catherine again. She has such a wonderful smile and greeted me with kisses and a lot of questions about my two weeks in school. She even complimented me on my French. She is very much a people-person.

Isabelle went all out for this party and served a great meal with a lot of attention to detail. As we waited for everyone to arrive, she served a sparkling wine (Clermont?) flavored with a bit of peach syrup. There were several small bowls of snacks for people to munch on. She had little placecards around the table, and I was seated at the end of the table with the two parents and Catherine. I was seated between “Maman” and Anne’s friend from Brittany.

Couscous is a dish with origins in North Africa that is very popular in France. In this part of France especially, there are many people who have come from North Africa. Africa really isn’t that far away. In America I know of couscous as a grain—kind of an alternative to rice, but when people in France talk about “couscous,” they’re talking about a substantial main course consisting of the grain, and an assortment of meats and vegetables. I wasn’t prepared for the huge serving of food we were each served, in beautiful pottery bowls. At the bottom of the bowl was a large helping of the couscous grain. Then on top of the grain were these meats: un cuisse de poulet (a very long chicken leg), mouton (a piece of sheep… yes, I know that sounds dreadful but it wasn’t), un boulette de boeuf (a beef meatball), and un meguez (some kind of spicy sausage). And also these vegetables: a big piece of courgette (zucchini), une carrotte, un artichaut (artichoke), tomates, un fenouil (fennel), and lots of pois chiche (chick peas). Later I asked Isabelle about the cooking, wondering if everything had been cooked in one huge pot. I didn’t quite understand all the details, but she had cooked the sausages on a grill outside and everything else in three or four pots. The meats were each cooked individually with one or two of the vegetables to blend the flavors, and then the couscous grain was cooked separately. This made it easier to assemble the individual bowls and ensure each person got the right number of each of the elements.

My bowl of couscous

A bowl of a spicy red pepper sauce was passed around. Several people put the sauce just on the edge of their bowl, which is what I did. This was a good choice, as the sauce was extremely spicy. But some people ladled the hot sauce liberally over their entire bowl. A bowl of fresh cilantro was also passed around. I didn’t see how I could possibly eat my entire bowl of couscous, but I ate almost all of it. Most people cleaned their bowls. Isabelle’s father was in charge of wine, and several bottles of a very good Burgundy and a local rose were served.

After the couscous there was a cheese course of several very good cheeses. And after that, there was a really good dessert. At first I thought the dessert was a big scoop of orange or mango sorbet. The sorbet was floating in raspberry coulis surrounded by lots of plump raspberries. But when I put my spoon into the sorbet, it wasn’t sorbet at all—it was a very soft and very good peach. I asked Isabelle about this too, and she had boiled the peaches for about five minutes, so that their skins slipped off and they became just soft enough to eat with a spoon like ice cream.

The wonderful dessert-- a peach with raspberries

So I’ve described the meal: quite an event and very well done by Isabelle.

But I haven’t told about the social aspects of the meal, and that wasn’t quite so good for me. It’s definitely humbling to spend four hours in a social situation where you really are a stranger and you understand—at best—10% of the discussion. At school I was feeling much more confident in my ability to understand and communicate in French. But school is a very supportive environment, where people want to help you understand and be understood. Here everyone talked so fast, and I was very much a guest on the fringes.

Catherine was great, so friendly and positive, and went out of her way to try to include me. Isabelle’s parents were interesting and polite… quite correct. They’re in their early 80’s (though still very active) and have lived in Aix for six or eight years, right in the centre ville. They used to live in a big country house near Aix with beautiful gardens, and now they have a big house in town with two terraces. They definitely seemed well-to-do.

Catherine at the couscous dinner

The younger people surprised me by their lack of manners in many ways. I felt badly for Isabelle and I think the grandparents were taken aback. At least five times during the meal, all the smokers (perhaps six of the thirteen people) went out on the small terrace to smoke. Several people took cell phone calls during the meal. Christine hopped up a few times when the computer in a corner of the dining room announced an arriving message. Christine was wearing very tight jeans slung low and a tight white cropped tank top (with no bra). When she leaned over to look at the computer, I also saw that she was wearing a black lace thong. I don’t know what the grandparents—very nicely groomed and dressed—thought about this either. (Gosh, I’m showing my age... so sorry!)

During the main couscous course, everyone was very focused on the food, and there wasn’t much conversation except about the couscous and the wine. But during the cheese and dessert, the dinner talk got very strange. Anne and Christine (the two sisters) got into a very agitated discussion across the middle of the table. I had learned from Isabelle on Thursday that Anne’s husband had walked out on her nine months ago, just 19 days after she had baby Lola. He took off with another woman. Mon Dieu… how awful! (I now at least partially excuse Matthieu for his very bratty behavior.) Anne made a speech that lasted almost ten minutes, something I think about her pig of a husband. (“C’est très compliqué,” Isabelle’s mother muttered to me.) And then Catherine—bless her—launched into a fifteen minute stump speech about Darfur and the Sudan and the awful conditions there. She talked non-stop, honestly for 15 minutes. No one really knew what to say. I didn’t know what she said, but here was yet another French woman with passion.

My role at the party was strange. I felt very much like a second class citizen… a non-entity. I think part of it was because I’m a boarder in Isabelle's home. And maybe the other part is because I’m a foreigner?? I have no idea. Other than Catherine, I don’t think anyone there had any interest in me whatsoever. I had decided to approach the meal as if I was a real dinner guest, so I tried to make conversation with several of the people, ask a few questions, especially with Isabelle’s mother who was seated closest to me at the table. She responded politely, but she didn’t develop the conversation any further. I could imagine her in the car on the way home saying to her husband: “And that American woman… wasn’t she just dreadful? And what manners! Can you believe she even took a photo of the food! Oh why did Isabelle seat us near her??")

Afterwards it occurred to me that other than Catherine no one asked me anything, not one thing, about me or made any effort to include me. There weren’t any questions like where was I from in the United States, did I like the school, why did I want to learn French, did I have a family, had I been to France before—not one single question. This hasn’t been my experience anywhere else in France where we’ve always been very warmly received, so I really don’t understand it. Perhaps they didn’t want to watch my sometimes painful efforts to find the right words to respond, but I know I could have answered!!

Here’s something. When one of the two men arrived, he went around the room and kiss-kissed everyone in welcome. He got to me and started to kiss-kiss me when Christine said in a low voice (in French), “She’s one of mother’s students.” The guy froze in mid-air. He almost backed away, but I wouldn’t really let him. “Bon soir. Enchanté.” You better finish that kiss-kiss! Yep, it was definitely a very humbling experience and I found myself even further outside my comfort zone. Thank goodness for Saint Catherine or I’m not sure I could have stayed.

So—this evening was an interesting from many persectives. After Isabelle’s parents and Catherine left about 11:30, I was able to say “Bonne nuit” and slip away to my room in the corner. What a relief to escape back to my little orange hideaway.

And as the guy said at Cèzanne’s atelier, now I can “cross this one off the list.”