A month filled with butter,
long walks, and an ethereal sense of accomplishment.
38 days in Paris.
I now confidently ride the metro, order in French, understand which one is the best baguette to ask for (it's de tradition. Thank you, Roger), and even know how to be rescued by a French locksmith. I walk by the street markets and enthusiastically talk to monsieur and point to the basket of figs I want—trés jolie. Merci!
I arrive in class to sharpen my knives as if I had always lived life like that. The chefs call me—with a delightful French accent—by name, and I find excitement in setting up a baking date with a Parisian friend I just made. There's no more fear.
School has been strenuous, exhausting, challenging. I haven't written much about it yet because I need to wait for the right time. Like some cheeses, some words also need to be aged.
I need time so that the French cooking knowledge sinks in. Time to feel less of an expat, but also to realize that what I'm doing here is as grandiose as all of those dreams of becoming a chef I once had. These dreams are now happening. And this prize has never felt as big of a deal as it feels now.
It's also a big deal to have gone through a whole month. Its significance is related to that sometimes-doubtful belief that one can do anything. And I feel proud of myself for surviving loneliness, tiredness, regretness, homesickness. It's unbelievable how much I miss Doug.
I also feel proud of myself for overcoming the idea that I didn't really belong here. For conquering that sabotaging (yet constant) thought that I might be too old for this. Mathematically, these 38 days that have passed by are also an immense relief.
So it's a relief that I am learning conversational French, learning how to cook (French), and learning how to grow in that better-person direction. I strive to be more generous every day because I've learned (even more) how to value whatever is given to me. It's the little things, the cliché goes on. But it really is.
And on the same page, I feel grateful to have you here alongside my journey. I wake up to incredibly touching messages every day from people all over the world, cheering me on, believing in my potential, and reminding me of my talents. Things I often put aside, but I am lucky enough to have strangers offering me now. And let me tell you, I will take it!
I hope these strangers know I take all of this to Le Cordon Bleu's kitchen with me. And I hope they know they are not strangers to me at all.
Isn't it the most unbelievable thing? We might have never met, but you root for me, and I send love back your way?! Is it all because of food? Is it that the world is a wonderful place with people that care about each other in a way that sounds too splendid to believe in? Am I being enchanted by this romantic life I'm living in Paris? I might be. But this city also constantly reminds me how wonderful life can be. It's the bright side. It's what makes life, life.
When I was too afraid to even think I'd have to tackle this journey solo, I noted down one of Julia's quotes in my blue little notebook:
"The sweetness and generosity and politeness and gentleness and humanity of the French had shown me how lovely life can be if one takes time to be friendly."
And I know I wouldn’t be here without all the friends I made along the way. And you're probably not even French. But you are my friend.
And your online presence makes me so serenely happy to be here now, typing these words with as much enthusiasm as I order baskets of figs. It makes me walk by pastry shop vitrines and want to share what my eyes see with you, thinking, "gosh, I bet they would like this!”
I hope I've been of good company to you. You most certainly have been to me.
Although one month has gone by, this adventure is only about to start. This almost-a-month has been the preheating of the oven, the sharpening of the knives, the mise-en-place. Now we cook.
I have been preparing recipes, Paris guides, (cook)book recommendations, and many more food chronicles to share with you. That is why this newsletter now becomes paid (and more consistent).
It's a way for me to find the time, energy, and less of that eerie I-have-bills-to-pay feeling as I write it. It's a way for you to support my independent work, but most of all, I hope you know that I do it essentially because I am incredibly passionate about finding food stories and sharing them with you. Also, by becoming a paid subscriber, you're probably going to be treating me to something heavenly delicious here.
If you can't (don't want to) pay, you will still get the same quality content minus the fun perks. And if you feel down the road you want to leave, there will never be hard feelings between us.
In any scenario, I feel extremely lucky to have you here. My kitchen is always open. My heart too.
More this week.
Merci,
