French Toast Read Online Free Page B

few details) France is more similar to the United States than many other countries. After all, you could have gone to China or Japan. But in truth, living in France is almost as different as living in China or Japan. Because as theyears go by, you, the American
immigrée
, discover that cultural differences run deep below the surface and that what once appeared to be minor quirks are actually major differences.
    French Toast
is the story of what those cultural gaps turned out to be.

The French and Their Food

    The most awesome experiences in France revolve around cuisine. It’s one thing to partake of wonderful French food prepared by eminent chefs in four-star restaurants and quite another to turn out full-fledged French meals in your own home twice a day. Fortunately for me, my husband’s mother, sister, and aunt are all wonderful cooks and hostesses and generous with their knowledge.
    Catching on to French food was both easy and complicated. Easy because I had excellent teachers right in my husband’s family. Complicated because, well, deep in my mental pantry, I have a hard time trying to think of what to serve for two full-scale four-to five-course meals a day, seven days a week.
    My French sister-in-law doesn’t seem to have thisproblem. In the family country house, where there are always at least ten people at the table, I watch with wonder as she casually composes each meal. “Now what shall we have for lunch?” she’ll query, thinking of all the possibilities and combinations. And before I have the time to say, “Nothing,” which for my French in-laws would be unthinkable in any event, or “Every man for himself,” which would also be out of the question, she has come up with an answer. Or a possible answer: Her final choice will depend on what looks good at the market that day.
    An example might be pâté to start with, then
magret de canard
(breast of duck) cut into little fillets, accompanied by fresh peas and new potatoes, followed by a big green salad with a delicious homemade vinaigrette, and finally a big plate of wonderful cheese (Brie, Camembert, a chèvre, a blue d’Auvergne) and then ice cream, cake, or fruit, depending on what went before.
    I could report that my sister-in-law goes to this trouble only on weekends, but it’s not true. What I just described was a Saturday noon meal. On Saturday night, she proposed a different menu, composed of fresh asparagus with a sauce mousseline, a potato omelette (a family specialty) accompanied by a beautiful lettuce (real lettuce, not iceberg) salad, cheese (again), and a
tarte aux fraises
(strawberry pie). Whatever the spread is, my sister-in-law is afraid we aren’t getting enough to eat. What?!
    I am in awe not just of how effortlessly she pulls all this off but also of one thing that has never ceased to intrigue me: SHE NEVER WEARS AN APRON. Not only am I incapable of dreaming up daily menus like hers (but I’m improving, maybe in another twenty years?); I can’t get
near
a kitchen without staining my clothes. My perfectly manicured and made-up French sister-in-law stands around in a silk blouse and high-heeled shoes as grease spatters about her but never comes within a centimeter of her.
    As an American in a French family, I quickly caught on to the system of courses: the first, the main, the salad, the cheese, the dessert, all of which follow one another and aren’t served together. Being an American with a sweet tooth, thinking of what to serve for dessert never posed a problem for me. I also adore the cheese course because it’s sheer pleasure to select what you want out of the tremendous variety available—the more pungent, the better. The winner on the odor score is the
Boulette d’Avesnes
, a beer-based
vache
(cow cheese) rolled in a red pepper dust. If you can swallow a hunk of this stuff, you can down anything cheesy in France. Philippe perversely loves to bring home