Boudin Noir

Today I was walking through my neighborhood and passed a small boutique that I have passed hundreds of times. My landlord had originally pointed it out to me, saying how amazing their ham is. The store is tiny and the employee has always been a bit intimidating. However, today there was a new employee and for whatever reason I decided I would look around. Since I have arrived in Paris, I have wanted to make friends with someone in a market. Someone who could recommend me French food I wouldn't normally try and with whom I could practice my French. I worked up the courage and asked her about the place. They specialize in the terroir of Auvergne, a region Southeast of Paris. She explains that they feature food from Auvergne, but have products from all over France. As I explore the cheeses, sausages, and several varieties of animal organs we compared the cuisines of our two countries and discussed some American politics. I told her that I wanted to try something, what would she recommend? She suggested the Black Boudin sausage. I have seen this bizarre colored sausage all over the city and decided to take her word. She recommended to serve the sausage with some cooked apples. It was good, not something I would eat everyday, but I'm glad I tried it and can't wait to go back and try more. Yummm...........
Today, I returned to take a few pictures and to tell the

A Moment for Reflection

The halfway point of my semester is days away.

It seems that I am just now feeling adjusted to living here. I prefer the European lifestyle, but it took some getting used to. I can count the number of days it hasn't rained on my hands. I can speak the language, but haven't improved as much as I was hoping. I have recently purchased a book to help, there is still time. I've learned how bread is supposed to taste. I started drinking coffee, a day can't be productive without some. I've met interesting people from every corner of the globe. I've never been so aware of being American. I have visited Amsterdam and the vineyards of Bordeaux. I have seen the major sights in Paris. I prefer to avoid the areas where tourists flock. I spend my days sitting outside of cafes, trying new foods, and walking around (exploring, if you will).

I imagine the second half will fly by. I leave on Saturday for nine days in Eastern Europe. Vienna, Budapest and Prague. I get back and leave two days later for England. I will meet Atif in Bristol, we will travel to the beaches of Swansea in South Wales, and then head to London. I return and have two midterms. On the day of my second midterm, Shayna gets here and we begin an experiment entitled "two people living in a 10 square meter room". After five days in Paris, we leave for Corsica for four nights. After Shayna leaves, I have some papers due and suddenly its June and my final month in Paris. I end the whole semester with a week of backpacking with Abby, Rachel, and possibly Preston through Italy, Switzerland, Germany, and Belgium. Then I return home to stuff myself with Willy's burritos and spend the summer with my best friends. After which I will be a senior in college (weird).

I promise that I think about things other than food....sometimes

The bad news is that my internet hasn't been working and I have been forced to hang out at McDo's. The good news is that I just went to the Sunday, outdoor market at Place D'Italie and had the time of my life. We got to the market towards the end of the day as some of the vendors began to pack up. However, this turned out to be a blessing. Everyone was desperately trying to get rid of their products and offering them at a discounted rate.

Walking through the market, we see a man holding up a sheet of assorted meats shouting "Manger pour trois semaine pour 5 euros!" (Eat for 3 weeks for 5 euros). After a quick debate about what we wanted for lunch, we decided we would buy the meats, pick up a baguette, and make some sandwiches. We ended up with a platter or dry sausages, chorizo, raw ham, and some questionable smelling meats that got tossed. A selection that was clearly worth at least 10 or 15 euros. We went to get a baguette and we ended up with two for the price of one. My friend Ye informed me that there was a cheese stand that has a large selection of cheeses for 1.5 euro per block. At such a great deal, we helped ourselves to a blocks of emmental, morbier, a blue cheese, and a round of fresh, soft goat cheese covered in fresh chives. We enjoyed a true French feast and got to try lots of new food for under 5 euros a person!

On the way out, my friend wanted to pick up some fruit. The vendors were giving the fruit out by the case. You would ask for 3 peaches, pay for 3 peaches, but walk away with about 15. We got about 5 pounds of grapes, 15 peaches, and 10 carrots for 3 euros.

Jewish Easter (as they say in France)

A few days ago, I was invited to a Passover seder in Paris by a friend, of a friend, of a friend, of a friend, of a friend. Literally. I immediately excepted.

All day today, I kept thinking about what the seder would be like. Would there be gefilte fish, matzah ball soup, brisket, and macaroons? Or escargots, coq au vin, and fromage? Would they have Manichevitz?

It turned out to be fairly similar to what I am used to, with a few exceptions. The gefilte fish was made from real fish, not a processed ball packaged in a congealed jelly. There wasn't Manichevitz, but instead kosher Bordeaux. We read the Hagadah in French (interestingly the books had a forward written by Elie Weisel). They even hid the afikoman, yet by the end of the meal they had forgotten to look for it. The seder lasted well past midnight.

I have to say that this will be a night I will always remember. I was really nervous before, considering my French isn't quite up to par. But not to worry, everyone was really nice and very talkative. The family was huge, there were probably twenty-five of us at dinner, having come from all over France (Corsica and Marseilles).

After hours of struggling to understand conversation, slowly reading the Hagadah out loud in French, and replying to an endless string of questions, the family members began to present themselves to us in English. In a way this was a really nice gesture on their part, showing us that we shouldn't be embarrassed by our French, considering their English was about the same, if not worse. The best English speaker proudly proclaimed:

"Hello, I am Sacha. I have 18 years and I like the pretty girls"

I was amazed at how hospitable this family treated us despite never having met us. They fed us about 30 different dishes, engaged us in conversation the entire night, dropped me off at my apartment afterwards, and gave me their number in case I ever need anything. And after complementing the gefilte fish, I was invited back for Rosh Hoshana and Yom Kippur. It was the first time that I felt like people understood that French was my second language and that I wasn't just an idiot.

A Moveable Feast

This phrase is ubiquitous in France. The term was popularized after being used as the title to Hemingway's memoirs detailing his life as a young, struggling writer in Paris. He talks about living in the Latin Quarter, walking through the Luxembourg Gardens, and even mentions walking past my school and apartment.

Hemingway discusses the difficulty of staying full in Paris and I couldn't agree more. Even if I eat a huge meal, it doesn't take long for me to want food again. It's not that I am hungry, it's just that I want to taste more food. After walking even two blocks in any direction, one has passed three bakeries and five cafes. Not only is food always being flaunted in the windows, but it seems as if they have special technology to blow the smell of the food onto the street.

The book begins with a quote taken from a letter written by Hemingway to a friend:

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."

I understand what he is saying here and I have the feeling that now, I feel like he felt. Paris is a special place; it has a certain charm that cannot easily be described. I feel certain that living in Paris changes a person, I am not sure how or in what way. But I agree with Hemingway, despite him living in Paris eighty years ago and despite all that has changed here since then. It stays with you and anyone who has lived here will agree.

Some Pics

Eating cheese after class on my balcony:
The City of Lights:
You know the falafel must be good:
Sunday food market at Bastille:

Notre Dame:

View from Montmarte:

Energy Policy: The Worst Class I Have Ever Taken

So Zach...you talk a lot about Cross-Cultural Management and The World of Wine...but what about your other classes? I thought I would share some thoughts about my least favorite class of all time, Energy Policy. The teacher is extremely qualified, he works with the International Energy Agency, however he treats the class like we are on his level. He goes into such extreme detail about energy, it is impossible for any student to stay focused. While most of the class reads the newspaper or plays games on their computers, I try to be a bit more constructive with my time.

I thought I would post the "notes" I have taken in class.

Dedicated to my friend Anna, who dropped out of Sciences Po. She used to help ease the boredom of the class.
Eiffel Tower / Champs de Mars
Depiction of class
The truth about nuclear energy
Guest Speaker
My best work

More thoughts from Cross-Cultural Managment

A topic I found both interesting and relevant was the importance of context in communication. In countries with low-context cultures, such as the U.S., what is said tends to be what is meant. Things are explained clearly and in detail. In high-context cultures, like China or France, more things are communicated through context instead of words, many things are left unsaid. In France, people tend to talk around a subject, instead of talking directly about something. The differences between classes in the U.S. and France provide a great example. In the U.S. teachers will hand you a syllabus that can be seven pages long, it will outline exactly what should be read for each class. In France, the syllabus tends to be a half-page sheet of paper that list two or three books. The teachers will never even mention the books or what should be read, it is just understood that the students should have the books read. My teacher made fun of her American students who always ask her "What font and size should I write my paper in, what should the spacing and margins be, what format should the bibliography be in?" According to her, Americans need every detail explained to a ridiculous extent and if they don't get every detail they will immediately ask questions. However in France and high-context cultures, asking questions is seen as rude and disrespectful. It implies that the person did a poor job of explaining things and gives the feeling that you are questioning what the person has said.

I think cultural differences like this explain a lot of negative interactions between Americans and the rest of the world. People naturally tend to think of things through their own cultural lens, especially Americans. While the Americans asked questions because they wanted to make sure they understood, the French saw these questions in a completely different way.

While tour books tell you the importance of saying hello, please, and thank you and speaking quietly on the metro, they never cover more intricate cultural differences. To move from a low-context culture to a high-context culture is incredibly difficult and certainly cannot be mastered in just a few weeks. While the importance of context in communication is just one aspect of culture, it shows the incredible number of differences that exist even between countries that appear relatively similar on the surface. I knew to expect a lot of differences, but no one can explain all of the intricate details of daily life in a foreign country. Americans come to France and go about things like they would at home in the U.S. It's not anything we can help, when you live a certain way for your entire life, you cannot just change who you are for a vacation to Europe. Meanwhile, Americans leave Paris thinking that everyone was rude, and Parisians are left here thinking how rude the American tourists were. While both groups are failing to adapt to different cultures, it is the job of the tourist to adapt because they have chosen to submerge themselves into a new culture. So instead of calling the Parisians rude after receiving the all to familiar Parisian "glare", you must realize that it is you who is strange for asking for ice, ketchup or a to-go box and it is you who is weird for thinking milk and eggs should be refrigerated.

Bryan's visit

My friend, Bryan, came to Paris for the weekend and there really isn't much we didn't do. In fact, I did a lot of things this weekend that I'm surprised I hadn't already done, including the Picasso Museum and actually going up the Eiffel Tower. I could spend all day recounting the weekend, but here are some highlights. I am tired and look forward to not playing a tourist for at least a few days.

Eiffel Tower:

National Assembly:

Pere Lachaise Cemetary:
Falafel:


Medeski, Martin, and Wood concert

Wine, Cheese, and Philosophy

After talking to Shayna about wine and cheese for an hour online, i knew exactly what I wanted to do with my day. I met with my friends Ida and Pierre Antoine and went to Canal St. Martin for a waterside picnic. It was a beautiful day out (finally) and it was nice to explore a new area of Paris.
We bought a bottle of Bordeaux, a baguette, and three French cheeses: Roquefort, Morbier, and Comte. Sure, it was a bit cliche, but made for a wonderful afternoon. I can't believe I not only ate this, but enjoyed it:

Ida invited me to her new apartment tomorrow for a welcoming party. She mentioned that our mutual friend, Jasper, was coming. To my surprise, she joked that Jasper said he would attend if I was the only American that would be there. I didn't really know how to react to this. In a sense, it was good to know that my international friends thought of me as an exception to the "stupid American" stereotype, but at the same time it made me feel uneasy. It made me feel like I had to be cautious in my actions. What if I was with some of my American friends, what if I said some comment that was too American? How can I be myself if I am worried about acting "American"? After several hours of thinking about this, I realized quite obviously the stupidity in my friend's comment. While I may not be "typical" in their eyes, I am very much American and a product of my country. I feel like in making this comment, my friend was committing the same actions that annoy him about Americans. It was as if I was the one tolerable American out of millions.

When a man rudely bumps into me on the street without apologizing, it is all too easy to think to myself about how rude the Parisians are. Naturally, this is how people think. However, I realized today that during my time here, as I experience this new culture and meet new people, it is important for me to be careful and conscious of what can be generalized and what cannot.

Salon des Vins

I recently went to the Salon des Vins, an enormous wine fair that takes place twice a year in Paris, with my World of Wine class. Three exhibition halls are filled with hundreds of booths, where chateaus from all over France sell their products. Upon entering, you are given a wine glass and you are free to taste all of the wine you would like. Forget Fernbank, this was the best field trip ever.

Noteworthy Meals

When you are away from home, you begin to crave certain foods that you can't find. But when you do find those foods, it pretty much makes your day. We recently found a place called "Bagels and Brownies" and that is not a translation. The place offers bagels with all the fixings and a bunch of other precious commodities that are hard to find here: cheesecake, brownies, apples sauce, Dr. Pepper. The bagel sandwiches are named after U.S. cities, despite the ingredients having absolutely no relation to the city. I order the San Diego, a bagel with cream cheese, swiss, honey mustard, pastrami, tomato, and avocado. The funniest part of the place is that despite all of the names being in English, you cannot just say "San Diego" or "Miami", you must mispronounce the names with a thick French accent, or they honestly will have no idea what you are talking about. The place is popular among locals and there is usually a line out of the door.


The Jewish Quarter in Paris is famous for falafel. There are countless falafel stands crammed into the area, yet only one is ever mentioned by name. L'As du Falafel. As seen in the picture, the line for this place can go down the street, while the falafel stand across the street that offers the same fair is empty. Lenny Kravitz has called this the best falafel in the world. So is it worth all of the hype? Absolutely. Long lines and being closed on Saturdays has led me to try other falafel stands on the street, but never again. I can't say what makes it so different, but it was hands down the best falafel I have ever eaten.
The final amazing meal I have had recently was in Bordeaux. The place, L'Entrecote, doesn't even have a menu, they just ask how you would like your steak cooked. They bring you a salad, bread, all you can eat french fries, and a half pound of sliced stead drenched in their famous sauce (a greasy, buttery, garlicky concoction that left me thirsty but wanting more). The meal was complemented by a bottle of Bordeaux and finished with my new favorite dessert, blackcurrant sorbet. Heaven.

I felt the need to show my appreciation.