his belated surprise

My beau will turn 26 on Monday, and I love birthdays. So you can imagine my disappointment with his "nothing" response when, a month ago, I asked him what he wanted to do to celebrate. He hasn't recognized the annual occasion in more than a decade.

I offered to take him out to dinner at the Italian restaurant I'd told him so much about as a compromise. He's loves pasta almost as much as my sister does, so I knew he'd accept. Since they only serve dinner Thursday through Saturday though, I had to settle on reservations for Friday (yesterday) at 8pm. And a few days later, he told me it was bad luck to celebrate a birthday before the actual birthday, at least in Germany. "Fine," I replied, "it'll be an extremely belated 25th then." His follow-up: "it's about time."

Last night, we dined at Olio Pane Vino. We ordered a bottle of fantastically crisp white wine and shared an appetizer of fresh mozzarella with grilled vegetables to start. Of the three pâtes du jour, we chose the linguine with garlic, oil, spicy red pepper for me and the penne with pesto for him. Afterwards, though we were comfortably satisfied, we decided to split a birthday dessert. Our tiramisu (apparently I can't get enough) was honestly only one degree less delicious than the one we'd enjoyed in Rome.

The night would have ended there had Lara not texted me to invite us to stop by her bar for a birthday shot. And who could refuse such a generous offer? It was a beautiful night to walk through central Paris (note the plage below) for a digestif.

But Lara hadn't texted me. She's still in the South of France with family. Instead, I'd made arrangements with my boyfriend's brother to round up a few friends from work. I asked Amy and Lorelei to join, too. And they awaited our arrival al fresco at The Long Hop.

Surprises are my favorite. Joyeux anniversaire, ma chou!

P.S. The photo above was most definitely posed.

weekend en français

C’est le week-end. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over how often modern English words are Frenchified :)  start-up, Facebook, marketing; all three words of which I used to explain my internship to my French family yesterday. The key to pronouncing them correctly is reading the word in English, but saying it with a French accent. My French is improving so much, ha. Anyway, about this weekend...

Mine began immediately after work with a 4-hour long happy hour avec Amy at La Maison. The following day, I met up with my beau and his friend for some sightseeing in Montmartre (they'd already wandered through the center of Paris). Then an early dinner at Les Puces des Batignolles, coffee at my apartment, craft beers by the Seine, cocktails at Red House and dancing at Ballroom. Phew!

Sunday was my favorite though. Marie’s grandmother hosted a belated 25th birthday lunch for her in Fontainebleau, which made for an absolutely delightful afternoon of sunshine, champagne, three French courses, white and red wine, her mom’s amazing tiramisu, coffee… and blowing bubbles in the garden. Twenty-five = mature, obviously. Hope you had a bon week-end, too!

gemütlichkeit

I cried Monday night, the puffy eyes, runny nose kind of cry that makes your whole body tremble.

My last semester of graduate school is ending--only two late May modules and one summer course remain--so most friendly faces are returning to the States (or another country of origin). My lease for this chambre de bonne is up in July so I have decide where I want to live and whether I can afford a real studio or a flat-share. My internship at a Parisian start-up is starting so soon.

And in two weeks, I'll be 25. It's an exciting time! But, it's a scary one, too. I'm not sure I'm ready for the real world again, and when the real world is a French office environment, I actually doubt it. I'm in more financial debt than ever, and have less social support than before. Basically, I have no idea what the f*** I'm doing. Was it naive to assume I'd have at least some things figured out by now?

My little brother is transitioning, too. Two months ago, in response to an email from him, I said all of the above. Then I continued: "I'm just trying to take each step at a time and put all my efforts towards things that feel right . . . I figure, eventually, the next opportunity will make itself clear to me. I hope so, at least." Clearly I'm better at articulating optimism than embracing it.

I think too much. But, every now and then, I don't. The week before last, for instance, I met Lara for dinner at Officina Schenatti. We received the absolute friendliest welcome since she knows the Italian chef and waitstaff, in addition to a complimentary glass of prosecco, ricotta amuse-bouche, and toasted focaccia topped with a tomato spread, fresh basil, and buffalo mozzarella.

Our plats of linguine with clams, squid, and prawns (for her), and pan-seared scallops over braised lentils (for me), and a tiramisu dessert were beyond comforting. The company and conversation, even more so.

Gemütlichkeit is a German word roughly translating to "a situation that induces a cheerful mood, peace of mind, with connotation of belong and social acceptance, coziness and unhurry." It has a similar sentiment to the Danish hygge; the word I entitled a Facebook album with recent photos from home. Just as I'm looking forward to two weeks in New York (with the boy!) in June, there's nowhere else I'd rather live than Paris. I love being abroad. I'm so glad this is my reality. But, I do cry sometimes, and I do miss everyone, and I do question... everything. Thank god for him, and her, and my small, sweet community here and now.

un día en roma

I used to be jealous of Italian-Americans. It just wasn't fair; their heritage was "cool" at a time when mine wasn't. Then I grew up. I took a trip to Florence. I realized I couldn't help but love Italian culture, especially with their love of celebrations and socializing with family and friends, most often around the table. Not to mention that that table included olive oil, bread, wine, pizza, pasta, etc. ;) Spending this past weekend in Rome, the Eternal City and one which I've "always" known about, further solidified my appreciation.

Marcus and I stayed in a cozy apartment in Trastevere, one of many timeless neighborhood characterized by narrow streets and medieval buildings. We arrived late on Friday night and left late Sunday afternoon. As such, Saturday was our only full day in Rome. His must-see: the Colosseum. My must-do: Roman cuisine. We quite successfully satisfied both of our wish lists and lots more (~9 miles in 12 hours, in fact), including stumbling upon the Roman Pantheon and wandering into Villa Borghese. 

{Roman breakfast: a bakery cornetti (a denser croissant-like Italian pastry) and bar cappuccino}

{Roman lunch: vino della casa, ciabatta bread, prosciutto & mozzarella di bufala appetizer, pesce del giorno (fish of the day: sea bass) over arugula with potato entrée, espresso}

 

{one part gelato alla cannella, one part gelato alla cioccolato in a sugar cone}

{Roman dinner: antipasto, hot and cold, fresh ricotta, focaccia bread, vino della casa...} 

{...frutti di mare orzo and fennel salad for me, bistecca and housemade chips for him...}

{... the best tiramisu I've ever had in my entire life, shared}

As you can see, the weather was absolutely beautiful for us. It allowed us to cover lots of ground and make the most of our Italian surroundings. Being in Rome was also quite literally a breath of fresh air. For as much as I adore French culture, it isn't nearly as laid back, warm, or expressive as that of the Italians. And I didn't simply observe this either. My level of Spanish comprehension must've actually improved because, much to my surprise, I found I could generally understand Italian. Now that's what I call a bon week-end!