FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

Our garden this July is so dry. But the tomatoes Jean-Marc grew from seed are flourishing. There are hardly any on the vines because we are eating them all the time.

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TODAY’S WORD: Le Cordon-Bleu

    : A whizz in the kitchen, a master chef

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

When chatting with other couples one of the things I love asking is, "Qui fait la cuisine chez vous?" Who does the cooking at your place? Often they'll reply, "C'est mon mari." It's my husband. He loves to cook! I feel a little wishful when I learn about this delicious arrangement. Quelle chance to have a partner who cooks for you and takes charge in the kitchen. What a treasure!

This summer, after 29 years of marriage, I finally realized I had the very same trésor right here at home, buried beneath a stockpot of resistance. Reasons for not asking my husband to cook include anything from he won’t clean as he goes to he doesn’t believe in expiration dates. And his excuse for keeping (and using?) moldy cheese is: “Consider roquefort!” (How about considering botulism!) 

But all that doesn’t mean my husband doesn’t know how to faire la cuisine. He even has a few specialties up the sleeve of his chemise: Spaghetti au Roquefort, les Moules Marinières, le Magret de Canard, and his spectacular Les Bananes Flambées. He has also mastered le braséro (an elevated fire pit that is all the rage in France at the moment) so why not let him loose in the kitchen and finally put up my feet and rest during the lunch rush?

"Do you think you could cook those bell peppers?" I cautiously began, testing the waters. "And add in the crevettes?" Just like that, some three weeks ago, I handed over meal prep to my husband much like I do with our travel plans (with one mutually understood caveat): Jean-Marc would cook, and I wouldn’t complain if I didn't like his choices.

Just as I kept quiet when the rain began trickling into our rented RV (my husband's choice for our recent travel accommodations), I didn't make a peep when he added some freshly-cooked sausage to my 3-day-old potato salad (I was saving it for myself. It wasn't intended for our guests!). 

Thankfully, our cordon-bleu-in-training hasn't revived any other leftovers lately: mostly he’s innovating in the kitchen. This week, he took a favorite tomato pie recipe to a new level, by using his own garden fresh tomates grown from seed. Our son said it was the best tomato tart he’d ever tasted. Did you really have to rub it in, Max?

In addition to the freedom and extra time delegating these kitchen duties has given me, it's also offered up some good grub. Just thinking about la bouffe is making me salivate. Are you, too, hungry for some of Jean-Marc’s cheese-based tomato tart? I’m sure he’d be happy to share it with you, but méfions-nous du fromage! He likes aged varieties, whether or not they're meant to mature....

***

COMMENTS
To leave a comment or to read the comments, click here. Thanks in advance for your shares. I love hearing from you and learning from your experiences.

Look at those homegrown tomatoes! Jean-Marc is making a tomato pie or tarte tomate. Recipe here.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Click here to listen to Jean-Marc and me pronounce the following words:

Qui fait la cuisine chez vous? = Who does the cooking at your place?
C'est mon mari = it's my husband
quelle chance = what luck
le trésor = treasure
faire la cuisine = to cook
la chemise = shirt
le braséro = fire pit cooker
la crevette = shrimp
le cordon-bleu = master chef, a whizz in the kitchen
la bouffe = grub
méfions-nous = let’s beware

REMERCIEMENTS
Sincere thanks to the following readers who recently sent in a blog donation or purchased our online memoir. This truly is a reader-supported journal and I appreciate your help in publishing it week after week. Merci beaucoup! --Kristi

Gail L.
Dana S.
Bobbi F.
Susan L.
Betsy G.
Gary & Lou M.

"I really love every post you graciously give to us readers. They are a calming and lovely break from this crazy world." --Gail L.

Jean-Marc, me, and our son Max, out on the boat. Photo by Ana B.
STORY ARCHIVES: Read about the time Jean-Marc "cooked" the police. Story here.

"Salvataggio"--looking at the foreign word in this picture, can you grasp its meaning? It reminds me of "salvation" and, though I don't speak Italian, my guess is this is a rescue craft. Read on for more thoughts about words and language learning. (Photo of Jean-Marc on the shore of Lake Garda, in Northern Italy.)

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TODAY'S WORD: POLYGLOTTE (m,f)

    : polyglot, multilingual, someone who speaks more than one language

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

"Bilingualism = Risky Business?"

When our children were little and just beginning to communicate, an elder in the village of St. Maximin came to have a word with me. "Il ne faut pas parler les deux langues à vos enfants!" You mustn't speak both languages to your children!

Abasourdie, I automatically nodded in respect for my neighbor's wisdom, but secretly I had no clue what sort of threat bilingualism posed to my equally speechless offspring. Max was just beginning to babble his own name: "Affime!" he declared (this was as close to "Maxime" as he could get). It tickled my heart to hear my children's first words, in any language, including the universal tongue that is "baby talk." As his Anglophone mother and sole English teacher, was I to respond only in French (here in France)? I like to think my voisine was either misinformed or superstitious, but there was a gnawing doubt that her warning about le polyglottisme contained a grain of truth. After all, my son didn't speak as soon as the other toddlers at la crèche. 

With time, the dual languages sorted themselves out in Max's growing cerveau, and once our son began talking he never stopped, in French or English. Don't tell my neighbor but Max went on to become trilingual, learning Spanish and studying in Mexico, where his grandmother Jules lived at the time. Now Jules lives here in France and, though she doesn't speak Spanish or French, she has no problem communicating with the locals in either country when she speaks with her heart and her hands.

I gesture a lot, too. Jean-Marc often teases me for it, mimicking me as I "speak." 
"Ah. Bon, Vraiment? C'est comme ça?" He'll say, swirling his arms all over the place. 
I do all those hand moves when I speak to get my point across when my family seems distracted or distant.

But all my hand gesturing didn't translate to much on our recent trip to Italy, The Land of Gesticulation. And there I'd thought my French would surely help me to understand Italian, thanks to their shared Latin roots. Instead, I stared helplessly at the menus and the signs, and the instructions on the box of flu medicine I purchased.

Finally, Jean-Marc admitted he didn't understand much Italian either. Maybe we should sign up for Duolingo? he suggested. (This is not an ad and I have no affiliation with the company. But, for his  daily efforts, my Dad is a platinum member and he's inspired all of us to join--or at least to think about it...) This brings back memories of the elder's warning, years ago. Will learning a third language be somehow detrimental? Will it confuse me or cause me to make mistakes in both languages? I'm embarrassed to admit my reservations, especially given the language-learning theme of this blog. 

Reservations aside, if you want to know my personal feelings about learning another language, the following quote by Frank Smith expresses them in all their polyglot glory: 

One language sets you in a corridor for life. Two languages open every door along the way. Une langue vous place dans un corridor pour la vie. Deux langues ouvrent chaque porte sur le chemin. Una lingua ti mette in un corridoio per la vita. Due lingue aprono ogni porta lungo la strada.

Just imagine where three languages would take you! Down a corridor, through several doors, and into the hearts and souls of some fascinating people.

Amicalement,

Kristi
 

COMMENTS
Do you have particular concerns or reservations about learning a language? Let me know here in the comments and GRAZIE MILLE for reading today.


While I understood the word "salvataggio" in our opening photo, "pasticceria" doesn't call forth any associations in my brain. My guess is it's connected to pasta? (I now see it means "pastries"...as hinted in the word's prefix!)

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Click here to listen to Jean-Marc and Kristi pronounce the following words

le/la polyglotte = multilingual person
le voisin, la voisine = the neighbor
abasourdi(e) = stunned, taken aback
la crèche = day care, child care center
le cerveau = brain
Ah. Bon, Vraiment? = Oh, really. Truly?
C'est comme ça? = Is that how it is?
grazie mille = a thousand thanks (in Italian)
amicalement = yours


"La Drogheria"--does the word evoke its correct meaning for you? We bought a few snacks in here, after being wooed by the colorful doorstep.


Me and Jean-Marc in Bergamo

REMERCIEMENTS
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Driving through Mercallo, Italy


On the road near Cinzano....


Rolling past wheat fields in our RV


This refreshing break came on our last day in Italy. Jean-Marc found a beach with parasols and chaises-longues. After he struggled to park our camping car in Bordigherra, he was rewarded with a cool dip in the sea and chilled glass of rosé.

That’s Jean-Marc on his way up to the Dolomites. More colorful photos at the end of this post!

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TODAY'S WORD: "BAROUDER"

    : adventurer, trailblazer

Today's story is dedicated to my husband and my Mom--both adventurers, trailblazers, and true baroudeurs!

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

On the eve of Jean-Marc's and my Great European Camping Car Adventure, I went to check on Mom. There in her studio, on the side of our house, Jules was putting away her groceries: "Ice cream, yogurt, pudding..." Jules sang, happy for her favorite items to be back in stock chez elle. 

"And what do you have for food for the next week?" I quizzed.

"I don't eat food!" Jules smiled, reaching for the ice cream to cool down in this heatwave. While Mom may be kidding, leaving her alone for a week was a serious matter to me, even if deep down I knew she would be ok. She is a feisty 76: spirited, spiritual, and strong. She raised two girls as a single mother and then lived solo in the Arizona desert, with only rattlesnakes and javelinas for company (her Rottweiler and guns were protection). After she left the desert, and before moving to France, Jules lived in Mexico for two decades, part of that time in a house with bare windows (no glass to keep the rain out). One day (2002?) Mom was sweeping the floor when she slipped and broke her hip. She came to France to recover, only to get breast cancer. She has been with us on and off ever since.

No matter how strong Mom is, or how much character she has, she can be vulnerable and I don't like leaving her alone when we go away. Especially when her grandson Max, who lives nearby, is out of town. And to think Jules no longer has Smokey to sleep by her front door and keep her company. Like this, on Day 2 of our camping trip, I was dreaming of my gun-toting, ice-cream Mama. What if she lost electricity? Would Mom know which switches to flip? What if the heat got to her or she fell down? Because Mom doesn't like the telephone (or Messenger or SMS or any of that) it can be challenging to know how she is doing. Thankfully, she promised to respond to my daily emails. So far so good, "All is peaceful here," her replies assured me.

Tossing and turning in our camper car, somewhere along Lake Garda, I awoke to find my side of the mattress wet. Zut! The little camper window was leaking. This was bad news for my flu, which began the night of our departure and turned into bronchitis. A clap of thunder had me scooting close to my husband, whose side of the tiny bed was dry. Quelle chance!

Jean-Marc was in a deep sleep after a few long days on the road. We had left La Ciotat that first morning at 5 am to pick up our rented camper in Grasse. After a picnic by the river in Cuneo, Italy (it felt so good to submerse our legs into the cold water while eating our paninis) we reached our destination that evening. It was the first of several lakeside campsites that Jean-Marc had carefully reserved and, after some reservations of my own, I was surprised at how easily we slid into camp life, and "glisser" is the word as the rain made for a muddy, slippery ground beside our camper. Next time, we'll bring along a plastic mat as the other seasoned campers had done. We were learning every day and that is one thing to love about roughing it: having to make do and be creative with what we had. Thus, a big T-shirt became a cloth sack for laundry, water glasses doubled as coffee cups, and a couple of plastic tire strips were used as a much-needed doormat. Nothing too ingenious, but it was satisfying, each time, to find an onboard solution to a problem! 


Jean-Marc, having found a parking spot in Como. That's the Chausson camper car we rented.

The most ingenious thing to me was our onboard toilet. By day two I discovered it swiveled sideways for legroom (turns out you didn't have to be a yogini to use it!). That toilet was a luxury and it meant we could travel to the ends of the world, which is exactly where we were going...

On day 4 we were headed up to the Dolomites, on a suspiciously empty road, when Jean-Marc casually mentioned that he guessed this road was okay for oversized camping cars to use. My husband's remark brought me back to all of the nerve-racking adventures he had ever talked me into before. The King of Shortcuts and his Take-Every-Precaution wife have, kicking and screaming, managed to scale steep mountain paths, pass through narrow railway tunnels on foot, and hurry across pastures dotted with horned cattle. I realize now that most of my fear comes from a lack of knowledge (are pedestrians allowed to walk beside train tracks…in a tunnel? Do horned cattle attack?)

Here we were again, on another hair-raising path, and there was no turning back along this particularly narrow one-way road up to the Dolomites. I began to notice potholes here and there and farther up ahead the road was crumbling off on either side. There in the passenger seat of our roving rental home, just when I thought my nerves couldn't take it anymore, I held on to one thought: we'd soon be eating in a quaint little chalet amidst a blossoming prairie at the end of this Godforsaken path. Just focus on the image. Focus on the little innocent flowers and not the menacing road! Just as I was beginning to relax, a string of words coming out of my husband's mouth strangled every little daisy as hope flew out the passenger side window:

" J'espère que c'est ouvert…"

You hope the restaurant is open?

To make a long, agonizing story short, dear reader, we did make it up to the restaurant (ours was the only camping car in the sparse parking lot). And it was as delightful as those delicate alpine flowers. After lunch and some apple strudel served by a lovely 86-year-old Tyrolian, we parted ways for the first time in days. Jean-Marc went on to hike 2.5 hours until he was able to reach up and touch the Dolomites with his own hand. My husband deserved such a thrill after maneuvering our two-ton trailer and me through the narrow streets and valleys of Italy. Bravo J-M! Meanwhile, I took a nap in the back of our vehicle, soaking in the sounds of nature all around us including the rain which began pounding on our camper car. When that turned to hail we peeled out of there just in time, heading back down over the crumbling road and the potholes, making it safely down the hill and down to the south coast of Italy. Those last two nights were spent at "Agriturismo" sites (camp free on somebody's farm in exchange for buying their products).  

From the Mediterranean to the Dolomites and back it was a smooth trip. And when we pulled into our driveway at 10 pm, Mom, having held down the fort, was there to greet us with open arms, happy tears in her eyes. “ I don’t think I have ever been so lonely in my whole life,” my desert-dwelling Mamacita finally admitted.

"That's why God gave us families,” I assured Mom. “So we would never be lonely." 

Not everyone has a family to hold on to and if that is your situation I hope these stories keep us all connected. Thank you, dear reader and virtual family, for showing up weekly and for clicking open my letters. 

"See you" next week,

Kristi

COMMENTS
It is a joy to read your comments so please don't hesitate to write me using this link to the comments. (My Dad, a faithful reader of this blog, especially appreciates it when you include your town or city! Extra credit if you give a weather report. He loves that!)

Thank you, Holly (right), for reading my journal and for sending in this photo of you and Jules taken on our front porch a few years ago. It is one of Mom's favorite pics. We hope you don't mind we posted it!

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Click here to listen to Jean-Marc and Kristi pronounce the vocabulary words below

le baroudeur, la baroudeuse = trailblazer 
chez elle = at her place
zut! = darn!
quelle chance! = what luck!
le panini = Italian for grilled sandwich
glisser = to slip
j’espère que c’est ouvert = I hope it’s open
agriturismo = a farm stay

REMERCIEMENTS
It is humbling, touching, and enormously motivating to receive your support for my French word journal. And huge thanks to the following readers who sent in a donation following last week’s “anniversary” post:

Jill B.
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Little daisies at the top of Bergamo, a perched village Jean-Marc used to admire while driving on the Italian freeway for his wine business. This time he got to stop and explore!


Outside one of the churches in Bergamo.


Trip highlight: We had a very warm welcome and a farm-fresh lunch at the biodynamic Alois Lageder vineyard near Bolzano. 

The rest of these pictures were taken from the passenger seat of our camper car--a wonderful window from which to take in all the colorful scenes of Italy


Also in Bergamo

This was at the Col de la Lombarde, just after the French Italian border. We (very carefully) passed zillions of cyclists in this area. It was one of the most nerve-racking passages for Jean-Marc, who did a great job maneuvering our camping car. I have so many more pictures. Would you enjoy an extra post this week?

Bonjour from Italy!
We are on a feverish 7-day foray through Italy. Our adventure began in Grasse, France, where we rented a camping car and began our gradual climb to the Dolomites. I had a strange tingle in my throat the night of our departure and by day 3 on the road the flu had its “grippe” on me! But Jean-Marc’s sense of adventure has kept me gripping the passenger seat of our camper, forgetting my aches and pains. I’ll tell you more in next week’s post. For now, hello from Parma… on the road home. 

un abbraccio,

Kristi 

P.S. We are also celebrating 29 years since tying the knot at the Mairie in Marseille (we celebrate our church wedding in September). Alors, hats off to us. Le mariage c’est une longue aventure!

note: grippe = flu in French

COMMENTS 
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REMERCIEMENTS
Sincere thanks to the following readers who recently sent in a blog donation or purchased our online memoir. This truly is a reader-supported journal and I appreciate your help in publishing it week after week. Merci beaucoup! --Kristi

Amy S.
Mary F.
Chris A.
Terry S.
Owen A.
Denise G.
Andrew K.
Rob & Pat W.