| bread (masculine noun) | /pɛ̃/
This morning, I went grocery shopping for the first time. As most of you know, I’m a vegetarian in the States. For this reason, I really wanted to have my own place in France, instead of living with a host family. Now I can cook my own meals without having to inconvenience anyone.
Here’s the thing: In the States, I really enjoy cooking…for other people. You see, as a Leo, I only enjoy certain tasks–like writing–when I have an audience. So when I was stressed or tired or lazy back home, I would usually order take-out Indian, sushi, or buy pre-made hummus or vegan mac’n cheese. It’s easy, since there’s really no limit to the frozen feasts offered in the U.S.
In France, it’s a little different. They’ve outlawed many hormones and preservatives that are commonplace in the American food industry. Because of this, I am still (shamefully) astounded by the color and texture of some of my produce. For example, I bought some avocados today. When I cut them open, they were a little too soft and bruised.
Nevertheless, I have been depending on the powers of fresh bread, cheese, and produce to sustain me. Sounds great, right? Well, it is. Except that today I was too scared to use the gas stove. I was hesitant to cook my galettes aux légumes this evening, since I was certain any tinkering would end tragically and catastrophically. Thus, I’ve been concocting strange vegetarian sandwiches with a baguette I bought at a boulangerie down the street. Lunch: baguette with chèvre, tomato, and olives. Dinner: baguette with comté, dijon, and avocado.
At least there’s wine.