FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

Bubbles in Barcelona: Enjoy the story of our father-daughters’ Mediterranean reunion in today's entry “Papa Chéri.”

TODAY’S WORD: PAPA CHÉRI
Sweet Dad, Darling Dad

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

It’s 4:15 a.m., and I’ve just hugged my sister, Heidi, goodbye. She is on her way home to Denver. In another three hours, it will be time to send off our other sister, Kelley, and our dad, who will fly back to Seattle. We have just spent nine days together, laughing, reminiscing, and toasting to this collective effort to be together once again—and the sunny Mediterranean was the ideal backdrop for our family reunion at sea!

After our dad launched the idea of a father-daughter voyage a few years ago, it was our little sister who tracked down the ideal seven-day séjour. Kelley, a flight attendant, learned about Azamara cruises thanks to her colleague Susie, who is experienced in les croisières. Being cruise novices, we weren’t sure what to expect, but since our goal was to spend time together and celebrate Dad’s upcoming 83rd birthday, we didn’t really care about perfection—though that’s exactly what we got!

Our Mediterranean itinerary began in Spain and stopped at ports along the south of France. While it may seem strange to go port-hopping so close to home (Collioure, Marseille, Toulon, Sanary-sur-Mer, Nice, Monaco—and even Ajaccio are familiar spots), I appreciated my family’s willingness to travel in my direction. My Dad was hesitant, but agreed to traverse three international airports, security, customs, and the rest. He was accompanied all the way by a first-class flight attendant—Kelley—which made the deal a little sweeter.

There in Barcelona, before boarding Azamara’s 700-passenger ship, Onward, my sister Heidi and I waited our turn in line to check our bags. Ahead of us stood a tall, beautiful blonde and a distinguished gentleman who could have been her father. That’s because he was her father—only onlookers could easily make the wrong assumption! We needed to have T-shirts printed to clear up any confusion. One would read “That’s my Dad” (with a large arrow) and the other, “That’s my daughter —>.” On second thought, why not have Dad’s T-shirt read “Sugar Daddy” and give those accidental gawkers something to gossip about! Given the range of characters aboard our ship, there was no shortage of misconceptions, and we enjoyed every minute of people-watching—and making our own colorful conclusions.

After checking our bags and going through security, we boarded the cruise ship and headed straight to lunch, poolside. Incidentally, poolside would be the only part of the ship we’d easily recognize, as we never did figure out exactly where we were on the 181-meter-long, multi-storied vessel. To borrow a line from our sister, “Passengers tend to check their brains with their bags…” Kelley means that tenderly, as that’s what vacation is all about: relaxing the mind.

With seven days ahead of us, we had plenty of time to orient ourselves. Though I still can’t tell you whether these places were bow, starboard, port, or stern side, here are the spots we frequented most: the Cabaret Room (for evening entertainment, including Disco Night and Bingo), the Den (for the piano bar), the walking/jogging track for daily exercise (and a spectacular early morning view of the latest port), the library, and the various eateries.

Every morning, we began with breakfast at Windows Café. The selection was vast—from le saumon fumé to pancakes—it was, as the French say, l’embarras du choix, overwhelming! Each night we dined at Discoveries Restaurant, and it was as good as the fine dining (five floors up) we experienced the first night. Lobster, filet mignon, crab cakes, lamb… the selection was gastronomique. Everything was cooked to order and delicious. Located near two onboard boutiques, the Mosaic Café was my favorite stop for a twice-daily latté and les gourmandises (cookies, carrot cake, lemon tart). There was even an array of dainty tea sandwiches. Ordering whatever you desire felt like being Charlie in The Chocolate Factory. On this cruise ship, everything is included—even le pourboire! My conscience was rattled at every meal, but the waiters insisted waste was dealt with ecologically (if not geographically. In a perfect world all the untouched food would be packed up at delivered fresh to the ports for immediate redistribution). 

The flower market in Nice

Our room being located above the bow, we were shaken awake that first morning by the lowering of a massive anchor! We dressed, had breakfast, and took a tender off the boat to reach our first destination: Port Vendres. Just in front of the tourist office, we stepped onto Le Petit Train, heading towards Collioure. The weather was so sunny and warm, people were swimming in the sparkling cove—in October!

Cathedrale de la Major in Marseille

We made it back to the boat for lunch and a little siesta, followed by drinks and dinner. We repeated this agreeable schedule daily (except in Marseille, where we met up with Jackie for a private shopping tour and lunch near Le Vieux Port. Aunt Heidi and Aunt Kelley were delighted to see their nièce, but Grandpa stayed on the boat, nursing a slight cold. He would gladly catch up with his granddaughter later in the week).

Kelley, me, Heidi at a café in the bustling port of Toulon

As for catching up, on this trip my sisters were on a sentimental mission: to make up for lost time. Heidi and I grew up in the Arizona desert, while Kelley was born and raised in Washington State. Beginning when Kelley was a teenager, we three gathered whenever possible, but a geographical distance made it challenging. Now, in mid-life, here we were, together again and taking enough pictures to crash our dad’s phone. We may not have a family picture or Christmas card from bygone days but, ouistiti! there was no stopping us now.

“Here, let me help you with your hair,” Heidi said one evening, offering me a salon-worthy blowout. She had this amazing brush and, after enough hints, she gifted it to me just to shut me up! Like teenagers, we shared each other’s stuff and savoir-faire, as siblings do. Kelley offered us each a trousse de toilette, filled with lotions and potions and we all giggled when Dad chimed in, telling us how much he enjoyed the eye mask. We had to give Dad credit for managing to participate in all our girly conversations, though he drew the line at window shopping, or “lécher les vitrines” as the French say (literally “licking windows”). We could spend hours in antique stores and boutiques at every port.

During the cruise, we each reveled in one-on-one time with Dad. While my sisters enjoyed father-daughter conversations on the sundeck, I relished our indoor tête-à-têtes, always tender and amusante. Over coffee with Dad at the Mosaic Café, we were talking about tap water when Dad casually mentioned he was drinking from the bathroom sink in his cabin. “Dad!” I cautioned, “You can’t do that!”

“Sure I can. I drink tap water all the time.”

I called the barista over to explain why this was a bad idea, given how much bleach they use to treat seawater. Dad allowed the young man to elaborate before replying, “Well, it may have some imperfection... but it’s not poisonous imperfection! I’ll stick to the cabin water!”

Speaking of cabins—or “staterooms”—Dad and Kelley shared one with twin beds, while Heidi and I were one floor below in a near-identical layout. Everything was comfortable except the temperature… and so began the thermostat wars. My sisters, with their Antarctic leanings, would’ve been better climate companions for each other. Dad and I prefer heat, so when the girls were sleeping, we turned up the dials!

In the artsy town of Collioure

One night, on our way up to the Atlas Bar on the 10th floor for our evening apéro—“Parisians” (champagne cocktails) for them, Perrier for moi—an elegant couple entered the elevator. Dad, captivated by the woman’s beaded jacket, flashed me a mischievous look before swiping at a string of dangling beads on the back. Unbeknownst to the glamorous fashionista and her civilized companion, the beads swayed innocently. I almost died!

“Dad!!!” was our not-so-indignant response to every mischievous word or deed coming from our papa chéri.

One particularly poignant evening balanced out these daily shenanigans. Over dinner, we asked Dad about his time in the Air Force, when we were with him in the Philippines, after he married Mom and adopted Heidi. He told us very little about the Vietnam War, but his visible sadness spoke volumes. As we quietly contemplated Dad’s words, a passenger from a nearby table appeared. “Thank you, Sir, for your service,” she said, simply. There followed a cosmic lull: time stood still. Next I knew my sisters had tears in their eyes. I felt a ball form in my throat imagining the full impact of war—on those targeted and those sent out to target others. Glancing over at Dad, I saw tears in his eyes for the first time.

In addition to so many tragic losses, there was the fallout among families, too. As Kelley dried her tears, I reminded her of something our Mom (Heidi’s and mine) often says when we feel sadness about the breakup of our family. According to Jules, “If it wasn’t for the divorce, we would have never gotten our precious Kelley!” (who toddled joyfully into this world after Dad remarried and who, all grown up now, became our compass on this trip, handling all the logistics and guiding us through the ports).

That emotional night brought a tender closeness to the rest of our chanceux father-daughter journey. As we disembarked from the ship, we felt a wave of gratitude for the way this time together had fortified our family ties. The sunny ports of the Mediterranean were enchanting, but it was the shared stories, laughter, and meaningful moments with Dad that made our trip shine. We raise our glasses to those memories, now, Tchin! Tchin!—and to our papa chéri.

***

Post Note: Papa chéri in French translates to "sweet dad." You might say our would-be Sugar Daddy T-shirts are fitting after all! :-)

Me, Kelley, Dad, and Heidi. Thanks again, Susie, for recommending this outstanding cruise company. We toasted to you every night--including White Night, which is a tradition onboard. (It was the chance to wear my wedding dress once again!)

COMMENTS
Thank you very much for taking the time to read this post. Your comments are a joy to read and your edits and suggestions help so much. Click here to leave a message.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File: Click here to listen to the French terms below 

la croisière = cruise
le séjour = stay
gastronomique = gourmet
la gourmandise = treats
le pourboire = tip
le saumon fumé = smoked salmon
la pâtisserie = pastry, cake
Le Petit Train = the Little Train
le Vieux Port = the Old Port
la nièce = niece
ouistiti! = say cheese!
la trousse de toilette = toiletry kit
le tête-à-tête = one-on-one conversation
amusante = funny
le barista = a person who serves coffee in a coffee bar
lécher les vitrines = window shopping (literally "lick the windows")
chanceux = lucky
l’apéro (m) = pre-dinner drink
moi = me
papa chéri= sweet Dad, darling Dad
chanceux = lucky
tchin! tchin! = cheers

REMERCIEMENTS
With sincere thanks to the following readers for their recent donations. Your continued support brings life to this journal and keeps it going. Merci du fond du cœur! — Kristi

Susan G.
Holly R.-J.
Carol Lynn S.

My son picked up "Words in a French Life" at one of our Little Free Libraries here in Shorewood, Wisconsin. I treat myself to a chapter every morning and dream of being transported! Thank you! --Carol Lynn

You can see our ship in the distance, off the shore of Collioure 

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Some friendly characters encountered back in the Southwest, USA.

BLOSSOMING IN PROVENCE BOOK REVIEW by PERFECTLY PROVENCE
"The book’s chapters weave through the realities of being a mother, wife, and daughter living in an adopted country with different rules, cultural norms and language nuances." Read Carolyne Kauser-Abbott's review of Blossoming in Provence.

TODAY'S FRENCH WORD: Un câlin

    : a hug

Rien ne vaut le sentiment d'être avec sa famille--et un câlin.
Nothing is worth the feeling of being with one's family--and a hug.

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Salut! Ça va? My two-week congé is over and I am home now in France--back to the murmur of French, to the scent of the Mediterranean Sea, to bright yellow mimosa and extended family. Sunday's cousinade, or gathering with the cousins near Aix-en-Provence was a joyous occasion even if I am still queasy with le décalage horaire. Surely jetlag was responsible for the confusion when my aunt-in-law, Annie, said I could set down the dirty dishes dans le potager. Now for me, potager means "vegetable garden," but who am I to question the authority of une véritable countrywoman?

Balancing a stack of dessert plates I was headed to the garden when doubt stopped me in my tracks. This time I consulted Cousin Sabine…
"Dit, Annie tells me the dirty dishes go in the potager???"

"Ah," Sabine laughed, "Maman is referring to le comptoir! We call that le potager. Voilà dear reader, an old-fashioned term for you the next time you're referring to the kitchen counter!

I spent a lot of time at the kitchen counter--er, le potager--back in the States, where my daughter Jackie and I had the chance to spend time with our American family. This short and sweet réunion de famille began with a brief stop in Denver, where my sister Heidi nurtured us back from desynchronosis or time zone syndrome. While filling up on everything from homemade tacos to spaghetti and meatballs, I savored time with my nephew and niece, Payne and Reagan, who came home from college CU Boulder for a visit before Jackie and I ubered back to the airport, direction Californie. I was headed to the desert on a very specific mission: to hug my dad.

From cousinade to "calinade"
While family back home often reassure me the phone is marvelous technology, rien ne vaut une bonne câlinade--nothing compares to holding your loved ones close. So, after, several calins back in Colorado, it was time to hug a few more family members. My little sister, Kelley flew in from Washington State, followed by Heidi, and we spent 4 memorable days in Palm Springs with Dad and belle-mère Marsha, enjoying lots of time at le potager, chatting at the kitchen counter, and lots and lots of hugs! But the best was seeing Dad looking so fit, healthy, and happy, grâce à son épouse, Marsha, who is also a doting hostess to us girls. And it was great to finally enjoy our "coffee with Kristi" as Dad calls our father-daughter chats, in the same room instead of on different continents, technology permitting.

Over breakfast of fruit and Raisin Bran, I watched Dad toss blueberries directly from the carton into his bowl. "Dad, don’t you wash the pesticides off those berries?" My father smiled: “I think the body does a good job sorting these things out.  I'm not worried.” I like Dad's relaxed attitude and realize all the stress of keeping my food clean is more harmful than a handful of unwashed berries. It's these bits of no-nonsense wisdom—and Dad’s endearing presence I miss so much...and the fact I can’t see the blueberries--those little things he does daily that speak of his philosophie de vie. So I soak in as much together time as possible and make a vow with my sisters to visit more often.

While chasing each other in golf carts, accompanying Dad and Jasper to the dog Park, or gathering around the potager/comptoir…we all seized the chance to laugh, shed a few tears, and encourage each other. All of these are important for an expatrié, for anyone living an ocean apart from loved ones. Yes, the telephone is a marvelous invention (and Whatsapp and FaceTime, too) but those warm hugs are vital. Rien ne vaut un bon câlin!

COMMENTS - To read the comments or to leave one, click here. Thank you for taking the time to respond to my story.

Heidi, Me, Kelley, Dad, Marsha, and Jackie.

A sister sleepover, with Heidi (center) and Kelley (right)

FRENCH VOCABULARY 

First study the French terms below, then click here to listen to them

salut = hi
ça va = how are you?
la cousinade = reunion of cousins
le décalage horaire = time difference, jet lag
le potager = kitchen garden, kitchen counter (in old Provençal)
dit = tell me
la réunion de famille = family reunion
la câlinade = a made up word for hug fest
le câlin = hug
la belle-mère = stepmother (can also mean mother-in-law)
la Californie = California
grâce à son épouse = thanks to his wife
la philosophie de vie = life philosophy 
rien ne vaut = nothing equals 

REMERCIEMENTS/ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 
With much appreciation for your donations to my French word journal. Merci beaucoup! 

Odile G.
Dan St G.
Sherry P.
Bill and Mary
Martha and Charles M.

Thanks again for your blog and amazing photos. Odile

I look forward to reading your stories and looking at the beautiful photos, and appreciate the time and care that you put into trying to make everything just right. Be of good courage! Peace and all good, Sherry

Love the blog and stories of life. It's also a good media for Martha & I to keep up with you folks. Thanks again for all the good reads. Charlie and Martha

RELATED POSTS
Don't miss the story about my belle-mère, Marsha.
And a favorite memory "Joie de Vivre" about Dad's visit to La Ciotat

In addition to seeing my family, the scent of the desert and its familiar landscape brought me back to my roots. This year marks 30 years since I said "I do" and permanently moved to France from the Arizona Desert.

By the time the leaves turn gold in Lyon, we'll be meeting up with part of my American family. Read about our virtual meetup in today's story, and pick up a host of new French words.

TODAY’S WORD: UNE FAUTE DE FRAPPE

    : typing error,
    : error made when hitting the wrong button

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

I wish I had a written transcript of our accidental family video chat, week before last. The surprising live conference began when my dad tried ringing me via Messenger and, d’un coup, several family members burst onto the screen--POP! POP! POP!--one by one appearing before us en temps réel...

POP! - My little sister manifested from her living room in Washington State. I could almost hear the crabs snapping their claws on Shaw Island where Kelley and her husband Brad (also visible) catch them.

POP! - And there was my daughter in Lyon, hair tied back and wearing stylish non-prescription glasses. Was she at school?

POP! - Then suddenly my husband popped onto l’écran! Beyond Jean-Marc's seatbelt, just past his left shoulder, I could see the familiar landscape of the Southern French Alps as he drove north for a week of hiking and biking. 

These sudden POPS were followed by a couple of POTENTIAL POPS as Jules, Heidi, Max, my nephew Payne, and niece Reagan were being automatically dialed up in La Ciotat, Denver, and Boulder. Mon Dieu! I felt the need to warn my mother and my sister of their imminent exposure. Au fait.... Was Mom entirely dressed? (Slim chance in this heatwave!) And Heidi…Just where would she be? Hopefully not in the W.-C.! No use transferring my own insecurities onto others--besides it was too late, here we were, THE ORIGINAL POPS, staring at each other, wondering what the heck had just happened. Indeed, qu'est-ce qui vient de se passer?

UNE FAUTE DE FRAPPE...
"Hi Dad. Hi Everyone!" I giggled. “Dad, did you accidentally hit the ‘Family’ tab?” (That's the name of our Messenger chat group. We use it for sending each other photos, updates, and milestones. But this time, with his unintentional frappe, Dad was teleporting his kin into a live conference!)

"I don't know,” my father replied, in his characteristic innocence and étonnement. “I was just trying to call you." Dad was referring to our weekly appel, the one he’s affectionately dubbed "Coffee with Kristi”, but today's call with all the gang was more like Happy Hour! All we needed was champagne… and sparkling water pour moi.

As we smiled at each other, a little tongue-tied from the surprise, Brad chimed in with news about his and Kelley's upcoming visit to France, and would Jackie be available to dine with them in Lyon? 

Jackie lit up, "Oh, I’d love to! Avec plaisir!" And just like that the screen came alive with conversation.

I sat back and enjoyed seeing my family’s faces, thinking it amazing how quickly we’d all showed up to this unscheduled party. And how easy it would be to reach everyone again if ever in need or—soyons fous!—just spontaneously.

Maybe that’s what Dad was thinking when he “accidentally” hit the wrong button and POP! POP! POP! POP! he got a sudden burst of smiling faces in return. It all just goes to show that, sometimes, it pays to throw caution to the wind… and hit the Family Button.

This one's for you, Dad, OUR ORIGINAL POP❤️.  

COMMENTS
To leave a comment, or to read one, click here. My Dad, who is hopefully reading, enjoys a brief weather report so please include one along with the city you’re writing in from. Merci. Click here to comment.

Une faute de frappe led to everyone in this picture (except Max) being virtually teleported into our live video conference. Left to right: Max, Dad, Brad, my belle-mère Marsha, Jackie, Kelley, Me, and Jean-Marc. 

Below: A screenshot of the message I sent after our chat ended. (Re “Marsha joined the chat”: Dad shares his account with my belle-mère Marsha.)

FRENCH VOCABULARY 

Click here to listen to the French words

une faute de frappe = a typing error
d’un coup = all at once, in one go
en temps réel = real time, instantly
l'écran = computer, phone screen
Mon Dieu! = My God!
le W.-C. = water closet (bathroom)
au fait = by the way
Qu'est-ce qui vient de se passer? = what just happened?
un appel = phone call
l’étonnement = surprise
pour moi = for me
avec plaisir = with pleasure
Soyons fous = be a little wild, be a little crazy
la belle-mère = stepmother

REMERCIEMENTS

Mille mercis to the readers listed below who have recently sent in blog donations, or purchased our memoir--or bought postcards! Your contributions go a long way in not only backing this journal but also in inspiring me to maintain my writing momentum during the summer break. Your support means a lot, and I'm truly grateful. Amicalement, Kristi

Sue W.
Joan C.
Joan L.
Patty C.
Leslie B.
Judith L.
Sandra D.
Kitty W.P.
Suzanne P.
Jacquelin H.
Marshall & Caroline M.

"Our dear Kristi, wishing you & Jackie many more delightful getaways! xox" Patty C.

"…avec des câlins pour la façon dont vos splendides écrits nous enrichissent." Kitty W.P.

My son Max, up to his usual shenanigans--cuz Mom can't have enough hats!

Stone stairs leading down to the beach in Rayol-Candadel-sur-Mer

Que nenni? If you think today's expression has anything to do with the following travelogue...que nenni! (Not at all!) It's just an expression that jumped off the page as I sat reading an article on sardines, recently, chez le coiffeur. Speaking of fish, we ate a lot of this when Dad and Marsha visited. We also discovered magnificent places--de beaux endroits--I had never been to before--all a short distance from La Ciotat....

TODAY'S EXPRESSION: QUE NENNI

    : not at all

 Thanks, Jean-Marc, for your regular recordings, like the following: 

(Click here to listen to the French expression "que nenni")

Décidément, cette presqu’île me réservera sans cesse des surprises. Je pensais la connaître par cœur, et pourtant… C’est par faute de l’avoir parcourue, par la mer ou par le sentier du littoral. Mais que nenni, j’y découvre toujours quelque chose.

Decidedly, this peninsula will never stop surprising me. I thought I knew it by heart, and yet ... It's not by fault of having traveled it, by the sea or by the coastal path. Not at all. I always discover something.

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE

    by Kristi Espinasse

"Bad-wah," my belle-mère, Marsha, giggled, as we sipped l'eau gazeuse at a restaurant overlooking the sea at Rayol-Canadel-sur-Mer. 

Bad-wah? Funny! I never saw it that way before. Eyeing the bottle of popular French fizzy water, I wondered did anyone else notice a small marketing flaw for Badoit? (Pronounced "bad-wah" as you may have guessed).

Good thing it's "good wah", a favorite of ours, as were the Mediterranean waters below us. We had swum all day in the little cove, one reminiscent of a beach in Italy. 

De -- pronounced deuh ou der?
A hillside of beautiful stone stairs leads down to the sandy beach. You can see the last section of the escalier above, in the picture of Jean-Marc and my dad. As Marsha and I trailed behind, my belle-mère practiced her French, which sounded good...until it came to "de"....

"Der" she said, as per the pronunciation guidebook she had in her beach tote.

I've seen the pronunciation for "de" written that way, and I know anglophones who pronounce it comme ça, but for me... the French word "de" sounds like "deuh". But who am I to give lessons (I still can't pronounce dessus or dessous--or even truffe--some of The Most Difficult Words in French to Pronounce). Still, I stand by my pronunciation of de (it's deuh!). But let's not waste this travelogue on a debate (let's duke it out in the comments box, instead :-)


The sand at Le Rayol-Canadel beach sparkled and was covered with "agates,"as my belle-mère called them. Holding a palm-full of the amber or black or white stones, Marsha talked about the chance we had to find these pebbled beaches in France.

As we lie there on the sand, chatting, a couple in their 80's made their way toward us, lugging a kayake! Marsha and I looked up, to the mansion above us and realized we'd parked our foutas right before their private entrance!

To our surprise, the man and woman humbly excused themselves and encouraged us to stay put. As they tugged on the two-seater kayak, lifting it three feet, up to its storage spot, we were mesmerized. Gazing up at their white locks and athletic builds, Marsha and I must have had the same thought: I want to be paddling across the sea--in my bikini with my sweetie--when I'm an octogenarian!

Meantime, my dad, all of 76 years young, was swimming like a kid in the gulf. "I love this salty sea--I'm floating!" he smiled, as we joined him for a swim. I never thought about the buoying effect of l'eau de mer, and it felt great to finally let go and allow the sea to partly carry me. 

Farther out, beyond the Gulf of St. Tropez, we could see les Iles d'Or (Porquerolles, Port Cros, and Le Levant), as well as the famous mauve hue, which announced the beginning of the sunset. As my dad and Marsha marveled at their chance to be in this magnificent place, their gratitude caused me to polish my own lenses, and see our part of the world...indeed life..."anew."

There is so much to look forward to...like my 80s, my sweetie, bikinis, and nouveaux défis (those bikinis?). And, most importantly, this growing sense of appreciation I have at 50. 

 
At L'Escale restaurant, Dad loved this "aïoli with a twist" (sweet potatoes and beets replaced a few classic ingredients)


Jean-Marc returning from the beach

FRENCH VOCABULARY
que nenni = not at all 
chez le coiffeur = at the hairdresser's
les beaux endroits = beautiful places
la belle-mère = stepmother (also means mother-in-law)
l'eau gazeuse = sparkling water
l'escalier = stairs
le foutas = popular towel on Mediterranean beaches (photo below)
le défi = challenge
l'escale = port of call, stopover, refueling stop

Me and my belle-mère. Readers of this journal associate belle-mère with another woman dear to my heart. Her story, here.

My dad and Marsha arrived late Tuesday night--despite the national strikes!  I am taking the next two weeks off to enjoy every minute with family. Today's post was written during their last visit in September of 2014. Photo taken at Le Parc du Mugel in La Ciotat, where today's story takes place.

TODAY'S WORD: joie de vivre (jwah-deuh-vee-vruh)

    : love of life


ECOUTEZ: listen to Jean-Marc read the following sentence: Download MP3 or Wav file

La joie de vivre est une façon d'embrasser l'existence avec confiance, sentiment proche de la félicité telle que la professait le philosophe grec Épicure qui enseigna l'art de se préoccuper de ce qui crée le bonheur. Joie de vivre is a way of embracing existence with confidence, a feeling close to felicity, as professed by the Greek philosopher Epicurus, who taught the art of preoccupying oneself with that which creates happiness.

Try Exercises in French Phonetics and learn how to pronounce French.


A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE...

    by Kristi Espinasse

Seated under a giant fig tree overlooking the turquoise sea, my belle-mère and I are amazed by the spectacle playing out before us.

"I can't believe he's doing this!" one of us smiles, shaking her head.
"He's so stubborn," says the other.

Moments before, while undressing at the restaurant table, Dad paused to reconsider his plan. That's when he opted to keep his orange T-shirt.... Only, it isn't really long enough to hide his brand-new Fruit of the Looms, the whiteness of which is blinding!

And the color of the T-shirt only makes him an easy target for wandering eyes. But how could anyone's eyes wander after spotting the man striding out to sea in his pill-white undies?

"The French don't care!" Dad argued, justifying his decision before walking away--bare-legged--from the lunch table. He had made up his mind the hour before, while observing a group of 80-year-olds splashing in the crisp blue sea. Amid the falling leaves of autumn, the silver-haired bon vivants were another striking contrast of the changing season.

To think one could swim at the end of September! Such a display of joie de vivre tickled Dad's soul, creating a thirst for salty water. That thirst grew until he shot up from the table with a pertinent announcement. "I'm going swimming!"

That he did not have his swimsuit with him suddenly became a non-concern. Instead, tough luck turned to pluck as Dad disrobed--beginning with his sandals and chaussettes.

Still lean and standing tall beneath waves of platinum blond hair, the former marathoner met the water. A splash and my father disappeared sous mer, causing the water to ripple and the sunlight to dance over the waves. 

As the Mediterranean sparkled and mesmerized, my thoughts drifted out to sea. One day, I hope to be as dear and innocent and carefree--as the man I once called Daddy. It's there somewhere, l'insouciance, swimming in these genes. 

*    *    *

Dad in his bright orange T-shirt and those socks he discarded before swimming :-)





Read another story about my Dad, in the book "Blossoming in Provence". See the chapter titled Attentionné, or "Thoughtful".

French Vocab
bon vivant = one who loves life (eating, drinking, living)
la chaussette = sock
sous mer = under water
l'insouciance (f) = carefree attitude 

Another of the beaches along Le Cap Canaille, in Cassis: La Plage du Bestouan.

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Last winetasting in September is on the 28th at 5pm. We would love to see you so don't be shy--nobody here bites! Email [email protected] to reserve your seat on the front patio. 

mimi (me-me)

    : cute, sweet, nice pretty

--from the word mignon. Mimi, in casual talk, means "kiss" (un mimi sur la joue = a kiss on the cheek). And in childspeak mimi means chat. (See a whole list of babytalk here)

trop mimi = too cute
c'est mimi = so sweet (or nice or pretty or adorable)
fais-moi un mimi = give me a kiss

FAVORITE FRENCH WORDS!
Today I need your help. I'd like to spend time with my Dad and Marsha, who've just arrived. So I need you to share the word of the day. Let's make that our favorite word of the day. What word or phrase comes to mind when you think of a delightful French term? What French word makes you smile? To share a favorite French word, click here. 

Aw, c'est mimi! A sweet moment with my father. Going to enjoy every minute of his visit. Spending time with Dad and my lovely belle-mère, Marsha, will be a mini-vacation. See you sometime next week....

Love you More pillow. I bought that pillow for Jean-Marc. I like to put it out when we have wine tastings. It breaks the ice and lends to the cozy and inviting atmosphere. Get your own Love You More pillow here. Give it to a parent or your sweetheart or your child. Maybe you need one for yourself?

No picture of a crock pot to illustrate today's word. How about a windowsill, which is sort of in theme with the corresponding story (the first sentence anyway). P.S. This snapshot was taken in Ménerbes.

une mijoteuse (me-zho-teuz)

    : slow cooker

Also: crockpot, crock pot, or cocotte

Audio file / Example Sentence: Listen to Jean-Marc read the following sentence (he's recorded it for me while harvesting grapes at Chateau Pibarnon... you can barely hear the vendengeurs in the background :-) Download MP3 or Wav file

Une mijoteuse c'est un "appareil électroménager fonctionnant comme une casserole chauffée à feu doux, permettant la cuisson durant des heures quasiment sans risque de bruler la nourriture." (-Wiktionnaire)

A slow cooker is an electric appliance that works like a casserole heated over slow fire, allowing for hours-long cooking, practically without risk of burning the food.

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE... by Kristin Espinasse

Slow Food

An upcoming visit from my dad and my belle-mère has motivated me to dust the windowsills and dig out the crockpot, two things I don't think about doing very often.

Oh, I like the slow cooker alright. If I didn't tend to complicate things I might use it more often. But after learning that some ingredients need to be sauteed first--and that all food must be room temperature before adding to the crockpot, I realize one-pot cooking is too detail-oriented for me!

That's sure not how Dad made it sound--years ago, when he was a bachelor once again. Back then he raved about the one-pot method of cooking. "Just toss everything in, put the top on, and set the timer. Nothing to it!" Dad would then leave for his 8-hour work day at Boeing, and return home to the warmth and comforting aroma of beef stew.

"You've got to have one of these!" Dad urged, offering to buy me one if I didn't mind carrying it on the plane back to France. Back then I must've preferred to bring back loads of peanut butter, Carmex, 501 jeans, and any number of things besides a 13-pound crockpot!

Meantime I discovered France's version of the one-pot cooker: la cocotte minute! Funny how it works in the reverse: meals are ready in 30 minutes instead of 8 hours. I soon discovered that no matter what you put in a pressure cooker it tasted like a French grandmother's secret prized recipe! What a wake-up call. Anyone could cook!

But I never felt completely comfortable using the cocotte minute (having read about a female athlete who received 3rd-degree burns after the pressure cooker exploded). So when my cocotte minute bit the dust after 10 years, I began wishing for Dad's slow cooker. 

Certain they didn't exist here (never having seen them anywhere in France) I almost gave up, until my dear friend Doreen (remember The Dirt Divas?) brought one back from England for me. It was huge! "How did you get it here?" I asked.

"Dave drove it back in our station wagon!" (I see, the English use crock pots, too!)

While it wasn't as big as Dave's station wagon, it was large enough to make chili for our entire harvest team. I think that's what Doreen and Dave had in mind, after noticing me panic before each harvest season.

They even offered a lengthy cookbook along with it! And therein lies the problem: l'embarras de choix. But it isn't the "embarrassment of choices" that's disheartening, it's all the ingredients and steps! Specifically, it's that bit about having to precook stuff. Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a "one-pot" meal? The thought of all the splattering and extra equipment led me to use le four for last night's one-pot meal: gigot de 7 heures. But it's a shame to heat the entire oven for one medium-size casserole. 

Yesterday, in a last-ditch effort I googled "Do you need to fry meat before slow cooking?" and realized I'm not the only têtu, or stubborn mule, out there!

And today I'm googling "do you really need to follow a recipe when slow cooking?" I think if I could just cook au pif--or by guesswork--then my crock pot would earn a permanent place on the kitchen counter.

Meantime, if you can offer any inspiration -- some very basic delicious recipes for the slow cooker --then I'll quit kicking my hooves in the ground. After all, this mule is hungry for some comfort food! 

P.S. crockpots do exist in France! They're called mijoteuses :-)

Comments or Recipes
To respond to this post, or to add your favorite crock pot or slow cooker recipes, click here.

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Jackie and Grandpa Kip. Favorite picture of my dad and my daughter.

Photo of Jackie taken last night, in front of the fig tree. The kids love it when we have visitors--for the savory meals that suddenly appear on the dinner table! (Max, if you are reading, come home from Aix tonight. THERE'S FOOD!) 

... come to think of it, this 3-quart crockpot is half the price and perfect for my fledgling for his studio apartment.

Forward this post to a French friend. Today's edition, on fudge, is a reverse-dictionary entry: instead of translating a French word, we'll begin with English. This is dedicated to all of our French readers--so happy to know you're reading. You keep me on my toes! (photo of a sweets shop taken in Paris)

fudge (n) (fuhzh)

    : espèce de caramel mou (a kind of soft caramel)

fudge (v)

    : tricher (to cheat)

chocolate fudge cake = le moelleux au chocolat
butter fudge = le caramel mou 

Get your copy of the printed archives of French Word-A-Day. Click here.

 Audio File: listen to Jean-Marc: Download MP3 or Wav file

Le Fudge est une confiserie anglaise... réalisée avec du beurre, du sucre, du lait et généralement parfumée avec du chocolat ou de la vanille...

Fudge is a candy (or confectionery) made with butter, sugar, and milk and commonly flavored with chocolate or vanilla.

A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse 

The Accidental Confectioners

After my father left early yesterday morning, I remembered an unfulfilled goal I'd set before he arrived: I was to pick Dad's brain a little each day--ask him all about his life and that of my ancestors.... Only, si vite que ça, three weeks had gone by and, poof, he and my belle-mère Marsha were gone!

I sat there in bed last night, eating the last two squares of fudge I'd found in the fridge. As the chocolate melted in my mouth I began to remember one story I'd gotten out of my dad: how surprising it had been to learn that he once loved to make fudge!

My dad, just like his mother was, is a skips-dessert type--so it was amusing to learn that the two enjoyed the bucolic pastime of candy-making. 

"In the 50s," Dad explained, "it was kind of the new fad. Everyone was making fudge."

(Later, I would google "fudge" and better understand why my no-dessert grandmother knew how to make this decadent confiserie: historically fudge came into public consciousness after it was made at college campuses to raise money. Among the first universities to participate in a fudge auction, were Vassar and  Smith college. My grandmother Annette was at Steven's Finishing College (for women), probably making fudge like the others. I wonder.

Dad went on to say that it was easy to make fudge, you only needed three ingredients: cocoa powder, butter, and sugar! "Mom and I just mixed it all together, heating it. Next we let it harden."

As Dad spoke, I looked over at my belle-mère, Marsha, who listened along with me. Wouldn't it be a fun project for Jackie (who would be spending the month of July in the States, with Dad and Marsha) to make fudge with her grandfather? It would be a wonderful souvenir. At the very least it would be an activity Dad and Jackie could enjoy together (should fly-fishing prove unpopular).

Marsha lit up as the two of us hatched a plan to get grandfather and granddaughter in the kitchen together. Locking eyes with my belle-mère I whispered, "I think we have all the ingredients here now--for a healthier version!"

 And just like that--illico presto--stepmother and stepdaughter (make that belle-mère and belle-fille, for isn't that much better?!) were in the kitchen-turned-laboratoire.... for a trial run.

I reached for the coconut oil, the cacao, and the honey as Marsha nodded in agreement: this should work!

My belle-mère agreed that coconut oil would be a perfect substitute. We discovered that both of us used it on a daily basis: Marsha uses it in her morning nutribullet -- and I use the organic coconut oil as a daily moisturizer.

I measured one cup of the oil, before transfering it to a bowl for mixing. Because it is summertime, the oil is almost liquified, so it wasn't necessary to heat it first.

Next, Marsha measured out the chocolate powder (I found a box of 100 percent cocoa powder in the cupboard), before carefully folding in the powdery chocolate (which tended to rise like a puff of smoke as Marsha stirred it. Atchoum!).

After, I measured out 3/4 cup of honey, then poured it into the bowl. That's when the intensive stirring began....

After a few minutes Marsha passed the bowl to me. "Your turn!" Having passed the bowl back and forth a few times we'd whipped up an almost pourable fudge! I grabbed a plastic spatula and Marsha guided the flow of chocolate into a cake pan (we had no wax paper. This was the best we could do!).

I remembered a bag of crushed pecans that had been in the fridge for months. Marsha and I stuck our nose in the bag and determined the spiced nuts were unspoiled--and ready to become the perfect fudge topping. On they went! Marsha then set the pan in the fridge for a few hard-to-wait-out hours. 

"Do you think it's ready yet?" Marsha asked for the third time. Finally, she fudged, pulling out the pan and lifting out a square for us to sample before dinner. As the chocolate melted in our mouths we locked eyes. C'était réussi! The fudge was a success! 

"It tastes kind of like a Mounds bar," Marsha noted.

"It's delicious," I agreed. "But I wonder if Dad and Jackie should stick to the classic butter-sugar-chocolate recipe?"

"It's true that not everyone will like this version," Marsha agreed. "You might have to be used to the healthy substitutions (of coconut oil and honey) in order to have a taste for it."

The real test came after dinner, when the fudge platter made the rounds at the dinner table.... and the accidental confectioners were delighted to see that everyone reached for seconds!

***

Tip: though refrigerated for a few hours, the fudge melted quickly on our fingers. Marsha suggested serving it alongside ice cream -- something that would help preserve it for a few more minutes :-)

Update: after Dad and Marsha's departure, when I ate those last two comforting squares, I noticed the chocolate didn't melt as fast. So an extra day in the fridge helps. I leave you with the recipe:

Healthy Fudge

• one cup organic coconut oil
• one cup chocolate powder (unsweetened, 100 percent cacao)
• 3/4 cup honey 
• toppings such as crushed nuts, coconut flakes, dried fruit...

Mix all ingredients together. Pour onto wax paper (or into a pan). Note: To loosen the chilled fudge, Marsha set the pan in an inch of warm water--for a brief moment! Then she was able to cut the fudge and lift it out of the pan.


We sprinkled crushed spiced pecans on top (made by our friend Phyllis Adatto, of French Country Wines. That's the deep pan we used to set the fudge (normally we would have used a cookie sheet and wax paper...) The pan's diameter was the right size -- small enough to allow the poured fudge to pile up for a thick enough square. 

I set the fudge on a pretty pottery dish that Marsha's son, Michael, gave us -- 15 years ago, while on a mission in Europe.

Comments 
To comment on this post, click here. I'd love to know your ideas about what to add to this fudge recipe. Or come back after you've tried the recipe--and tell us how to improve it! Click here to comment.

French Vocabulary

si vite que ça = as quick as that
la belle-mère = step-mother (also means mother-in-law)
la confiserie = sweet, candy -- also "sweets shop" 
illico-presto = pronto 
la belle-fille = step-daughter (also can mean daughter-in-law)
le laboratoire = laboratory 

This recipe would be great to make for the holidays, so keep it in mind. (Here is Marsha and Dad. Picture taken on Christmas, 2009).

End of post photo--to leave you with a smile.The only reason this one is titled "Homeless Dog" is because of the poubelle or garbage can that lends to the imagination. But how many homeless dogs do you know who take the time to put on a shirt? Besides, this dog wasn't dumpster diving, he was practicing the fine French art of gleaning!

Looking forward to sharing a "Dogs of France: Part 2" edition with you sometime. Meantime, enjoy this photo of a "dressy" character I ran into at a ski station on Mont Ventoux. To see the Dogs of France (and Europe!) post, click here and share it with an animal lover.

Check out these helpful posts:

• Best Tips for Learning French
• What to do in Paris 

Thanks for forwarding this edition to a friend :-)

The family hat. John bought it for Mom, in Mexico. Mom left it to me, in France. Marsha borrowed it in San Remo, and yesterday, while sitting out in the morning sun enjoying our coffee together, Dad asked: may I use your hat?

une nappe (nap)

    : tablecloth, sheet (layer)

la nappe phréatique = ground water, water table
la nappe de mazout = oil slick
la nappe de brouillard = layer of fog

In English--nappe refers to either the ability of a liquid to "coat the back of a spoon" or the act of coating a food (i.e. to nappe a leg of lamb with glaze). --Wikipedia


While at the market in San Remo, my belle-mère Marsha saw this tablecloth. Les coquelicots! Poppies! It would be perfect for the faded metal table we use, on the front porch, where we have breakfast and dinner these days. Plus, it's plastified! You can use a sponge to clean it. And we did, when I spilled spaghetti sauce last night, and when my young friend and upcoming novelist--10-year-old Madeleine--spilled hot chocolate. These self-cleaning nappes are formidable!

That's all for today's word (more pictures below), you can read more about the word "nappe" in these stories from the French Word-A-Day archives: 

brader = to discount
coussin = cushion 
brusquer = to rush, hurry, hustle 

Now for more photos of Italy, where we spent the weekend with Dad and Marsha... 

Jean-Marc rinsing giant cherries in the fountain. He bought them at the market stall, after Marsha mentioned they were excellent for gout. 

Who needs one more laundry photo? There are so many, but it's hard to resist! Clotheslines remind me of the slow life, simple times, and eco-friendliness. Plus, they force you outdoors, if only for the time it takes to etendre le linge or hang out the wash. Depending on zoning laws, it may be illegal to hang out your laundry in your neck of the woods!

My turn to wear the hat, and Dad has his trusty cap. Above, more laundry in the streets of San Remo, Italy. 

I love window vignettes! You'll find hundreds of them on this blog, including this one from a 2006 blog post on "10 ways to say No! in French". If you are a pushover, like me, that'll be a helpful article to read!

Forward this edition to a friend, and help spread the French word. Thanks! For more words, buy the book. 

 A clever floor runner! We also saw these coffee sacks used as wall paper at a local wine bar in San Remo. Repurposing is alive and well in eco-friendly Italy. To comment on a photo, or text, click here.

 Les poivrons, les haricots, de la laitue... peppers, beans, and lettuce in the hilltop village of Ceriana. The Italians love their produce and almost everywhere you look you'll find a kitchen garden. 

The camera lens turns on the photographer. Jean-Marc's iPhone rivals my Nikon D-60. Look at the crispness of those stones!

Wonderful flowers outside what looked to be a nunnery facing this church.

At Il Ponte Restaurant where Jean-Marc and I celebrated our 10 year anniversary. Ten years later and we brought these sweethearts with us to enjoy an unforgettable meal. No menus at Il Ponte. Just sit down and let Sergio bring you course after course of Ligurian deliciousness!

Mr Sacks (Jean-Marc's side-kick ) came with us, of course! If only we had snuck a Tupperwear inside, we could have brought home leftovers!

Jean-Marc and my dad. Time to drive home to France. Will the market lettuce (lots of baby romaine to plant) make the three-hour trip?  

Did you enjoy your virtual travel to Liguria? It's not far from Nice, so next time you are in France why not cross the border and wander up to the magical hills of Italy's hinterland?

My family and I stole away for a two-day séjour in Italy. C'était dépaysant, as the French say--or a nice "change of scenery".

un séjour (say-joor)

    1. stay
    2. living room, family room

bon séjour = have a nice stay
une carte de séjour = a residence permit
le titre de séjour = green card
le séjour linguistic = language study vacation
la salle de séjour = the living room 

A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

My dad and my belle-mère love the area where we live, here near Bandol. They'd be happy swimming in the sea and working in the garden for the duration of their trip. But it seemed to me that they should take advantage of their séjour by seeing one of our favorite, not-so-far-away places....

"Why don't you two take our car and visit Ventimilli?" I suggested. Only, almost as soon as I said it, I realized that I had the urge to visit Italy, too! "Better yet, why don't we go together?" 

So on Friday we left our teenagers to dog sit, and we drove three hours east to Italy, where the Friday farmers' market was underway.

Mr Sacks (lower right corner) came with us, too! And that's Jean-Marc about to buy the pair of olive green moccasins. We tried talking Dad into a pair, but he clung to his well-worn sandals, which he duct-taped back together before this trip.

Me and my belle-mère, Marsha, split with the men and wandered through the crowds, ending up at a peaceful park. I'm wearing the hat Dad bought me, and Marsha is wearing my mom's chapeau. Mom is tickled to share her things with Marsha, and asked me to tell my belle-mère to use her easel (both women paint) and her kayak, too. Quelle chance that my moms like each other so much.

The slow life in Italy. In the park we enjoyed these circular benches which surrounded all the palm trees. Just as charming were the Italian ladies who chatted about tout et rien. 

 
We stopped at a seaside eatery for pasta and when it was time to pay the waiter pointed to the bill and said "This (here) is tax and not the service (or built-in tip). You can leave the tip on the table." It was just an old trick to extract extra cash, Jean-Marc warned my dad. When confronted, the waiter changed his story, indicating that if we wished to leave extra (for the tip is indeed already included in the total price, as a service charge) then we could leave it on the table.... 

If the woman with a T-shirt on her head finds out I took her photo she might clobber me. But what she doesn't know is that she is a work of art. This is one of my favorite images from our trip--it re-ignites a passion for portrait-taking (only boldness is lacking, and to ask a stranger permission is to destroy the photoworthy moment).

The sea, beyond, was rough and when Jean-Marc and Dad went out for a swim they were carried down the coast by a rip tide! They easily reached the shore (near the little cove you see just beyond).  

The next day we visited St. Remo, where another busy market was underway--and there were several antiques shops like this one....


And this vintage boutique with the hand-painted shop sign.
 

 I hope Dad doesn't mind all the photos I snap of him. So sometimes I'm sneaky... and pretend to focus on something else, like a set of door buzzers....

"For my door buzzer collection," I answer, when Dad looks curious about where I'm pointing my lens.


 "Dad and Marsha"--whoops, I mean, "a colorful Italian walkway" -- yes, that's what I'm focused on here, and not these sweethearts. 


We were looking at the night sky when Dad mentioned something about the supermoon--apparently this was the night to see one! This snapshot won't win the "supermoon" photo contests, but this is how the lune appeared on June 23rd in the town of St Remo, Italy.  

Forward this edition to a friend, and help spread the French word. Thanks! For more words, buy the book.

French Vocabulary: la belle-mère = step-mother (also mother-in-law); le séjour = stay, vacation; quelle chance = how lucky; tout et rien = everything and nothing; la lune = moon 

"The inchworm and the hedgehog" - Another whimsical mailbox to add to the collection.