The reality is more than I could have imagined (Quando la realta sopra la fantasia)

Okay.  Excuse me.  If any of you saw this with a picture and no text, that's how I first saw it, too.  And now here I am trying to add the text and I seem to have lost the picture.  Neither of them work well without the other so I hesitate to continue typing until I find the picture again.  And now I have found the picture, but why is everything that I type being underlined? Unless you have a child under the age of 5, I don't think you can understand how I can be so inept at these computer things.  I really believe that a 5-year old has a better grasp of it than I do.  Anyway, about this photo.  I was at a friend's office and I saw it.  I said that it was a great picture and it became even greater when I heard the story.  The problem is, you didn't hear the story and may have thought that I'd made a mistake by publishing the unusual title.  So, here are the facts.  I'm sure you will find it far from interesting, but since it has been published, I don't want to remove it.  I would rather clarify.

The staple is in fact standing on it's two feet.  It was violently removed from a sheet of paper as staples  sometimes are and when it slipped through the teeth of the staple remover it landed on its own two feet.  It seems relatively impossible to make this happen even if you tried, doesn't it?  A day later we were talking and he asked me how to translate quando la realta sopra la fantasia.  It sounds nice in Italian.  In fact, even in Italian you can probably understand what it means.  So, I kept trying to think if we had a quote like this in English, but I couldn't come up with one.  The most literal translation would be when reality surpasses fantasy, but I didn't like the word 'surpasses.'  So, I changed it to the above title just to try to explain it in English a little better.  Little did I know a day later the photo and lousy translation would show up on my blog.  I'd given him the password in case I was ever without an internet connection (wouldn't you all be lucky that day?) and needed something added or changed never expecting that he might just post something.   He was nice enough to send a text to say that if I didn't like it I could remove it, but by the time I got to the internet I'd noticed that some of you had already seen it and I thought it would be better to keep it posted and explain. Anyway, I still think the photo is nice.  So, what I take from this has nothing to do with the photo or the idea that a staple could land like this. Instead I am preoccupied with the translation.  Do I really speak Italian and a little French?  How many things am I saying that I think make perfect sense that may have a completely different meaning to someone else?  And I'm also reminded of the translations of some of my favorite books.  Who do I really like, the author or the translator?  I think in many cases for me it is the translator that might paint a more unusual picture than the author had intended.  Parts of what make me like a novel are the well-crafted sentences.  A well-crafted sentence is well crafted by the translator, not the author.  It takes some creativity to translate and perhaps translators are enhancers.  However, in my effort to make a more simple, logical sentence out of the Italian quote, I think something was 'lost in translation'.  In fact, maybe I should 'have left well enough alone' and kept the photo on the blog with no text.  We all know that 'a picture speaks a thousand words' better than a thousand words speak a thousand words and certainly better than a thousand translated words. 

La Donna dei Biscotti

Some of you may know my nickname, but others may not.  I am sure you all know that I am not famous for my culinary skills, unless you are talking about cookies.  And then, I am The Cookie Lady.

Who would have thought that it would be hard to make chocolate chip cookies in Italy? Not me.  I knew I would have to do the conversions, but I thought that would be easy enough.  The oven temp?  How much is a teaspoon?  The equivalent of one stick of butter?  What is one stick of butter?  8 ounces?  I thought I would find it all on the internet.

But, the shopping was the difficult part.  I went to a grocery store in a little town at the base of the Prealpi mountains. It's a town big enough for the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, I thought.  But no.  No vanilla. No chips. No brown sugar. No baking soda.  That's actually got a name like 'sodio bicarbonate' or something.  You wouldn't think it would be a part of my chocolate chip cookies, but it is. It probably says that on the box in English right under 'baking soda', right?  Well, I don't like the sound of it and I couldn't find it.
 
I decided I couldn't leave the store without buying something since I'd spent nearly 20 minutes wandering around it's three aisles looking for things.  (This is actually the big grocery store in town.)  So, I bought some Asiago cheese and a loaf of bread.  Yes.  A regular loaf of white bread  with a few words on the package that I didn't understand.  (I didn't have my dictionary.)  In the end, the words were 'soft' and 'sliced'.  Believe it or not, the soft, sliced pre-packaged white bread is better than the bread from un panificio. Is the new problem the fact that I have become so accustomed to my bread in Paris that nothing can compare?  Is there no good Italian bread?
 
Back to the ingredients. Mamma mia!  Brown sugar?  They have brown sugar but it's crystals just like white sugar.  The only way I could describe it to people in my search for these ingredients was that it was kind of like snow. Like if you wanted to you could make a little ball with it, no?  Chocolate chips?  I finally found them in a box.  It doesn't seem right to use anything that doesn't come in a red and yellow bag.  Vanilla?  That took days to find.  In the end, it comes packaged like the little samples of Ferragamo perfume I have in my top drawer.  Two tiny little tubes in a little package like batteries.  And.....it's white.  By 'white' I mean 'clear'.  But I have always called clear liquids white.  When I was young and wanted a 7up in a restaurant I would ask for a white pop. Butter?  Okay, they have butter in Italy, I know.  But they don't have salted butter and instead of a box with four sticks it's like a big slab.  It didn't seem like things were going to work out very well.

But, yesterday was the big day.  I went to my friend Matteo's house to make them. He's 7 and adorable and deserves a whole blog post which I will write another day.  For now I will stick with the cookies. I had some version or another of all the ingredients.  I put them in the bowl, mixed them up, and did the usual little taste test.  Unsatisfactory, but there was nothing I could do.  Maybe the white vanilla doesn't taste the same?  Certainly the butter lacking salt meant that I had to add more, but how much?  Teenie, tiny little chocolate chips?  These were not the cookies of The Cookie Lady, but it was the best that I could do.  Into the oven they went (on parchment paper on a cookie sheet which I have never done, but I was too embarrassed to ask Matteo's mom if I could put the cookies directly on the sheet).  The oven set at 190 instead of 375 didn't sit well with me, but that's what I googled.  The usual 8 minutes and obsessively checking for the perfect doneness started at about 5 minutes.  That leads me to believe the 190 to 375 thing couldn't have been right.  So, I took them out and didn't have my usual brown paper to put them on which is often, in fact, a shopping bag sliced open which seems to be the perfect finale for my cookies.

But, I did the best that I could.  And guess what? I have an invitation to go back to this house any time I want to make more cookies.  So guess what? I'm going back tonight.  This little town has it's own little version of Carnevale.  It's an hour from Venice, which is celebrating Carnevale now (almost) but that seems to be something for tourists.  I think what I will see tonight might be the real thing!  I was in Venice last year for Carnevale and what I saw seemed to be Halloween.  Maybe I missed something, but there were lots of people dressed up and walking around.  That was it.  Really.  So, I think I can expect the same thing tonight in a sweeter, simpler version.  It will be about the kids.  They wear costumes and get candy.  Matteo is going as a cowboy and he will be accompanied by La Donna dei Biscotti.

My own grafFEETi

I can't believe I did this, but I wanted to mark one of my favorite days in Paris and when the opportunity presented itself, I couldn't resist.

I normally run in Jardin du Luxembourg or along the Seine.  Both quite nice options, I'd say.  But, I've found a new running partner (who speaks Italian) and he likes to run in the streets of Paris.  Alone, it doesn't strike my fancy, but running through Paris speaking Italian is high on my list of favorite things to do!

We meet at the cafe, set our Garmins (that's a GPS watch for runners) and decide where we'll go.  Being a lousy decision maker, I usually let him decide and last Friday he suggested that we run long and slow up to Montmarte.  "How bout 15 kilometers?", he asked.  It takes me a second to do the math and I haven't done that much for awhile (math or running, that is!), but I agreed.  Fortunately I knew that Montmarte was at the top of perhaps the highest hill in Paris.  (And I should add here that if you haven't yet seen Amelie you should rent it.  It's a great, and less strenuous way to see Montmarte.)


I ran the Paris Marathon in 2005, but in marathon mode, you don't always get a glimpse of everything.  This was perfect.  He complained every time we had to stop  at a light, but I took advantage of the little breaks and soaked up the sites.  Something I would never do alone.

I happened to know where we were when I noticed that he was good and tired.  Did I forget to tell you that he's only 32?  And I don't think I have to remind you that I'm not.  I suggested that I take the lead and we did the second half of the run along Canal St. Martin.   I love Canal St. Martin.  I love riding  my bike there.  I love walking there.  And now I can say that I love running there.

We were quite close to home when I noticed the spilled paint.  I ran right past it, but when we got to the next light, I said that I had to go back.  He knew what I was going to do.  And I did it.  I know it's not cool, but I had to leave my mark on this beautiful, rare, sunny Parisian day.  We finished 16 kilometers, went our separate ways and then coincidentally met again at the cafe.  He brought his own Red Bull.  I hope that doesn't mean that this was our last run UP to Montmarte. It's a FEET I'd like to accomplish more than once.

The little school boys aren't so bad after all

Have we gotten to the bottom of Les Petits Ecoliers?  First I thought it was schoolkids. Then I thought it was the name of a famous French porn. And then I figured out that it really means "the school boys." And let me tell you again, it really means "the school boys."

Should I be ashamed to say that I spent four hours at the cafe today?  Four hours.  Did Norm ever spend four hours on his stool?  If I ever write a book, these will be some of my favorite characters.

I prefer the time alone with Olivier, the owner.  But, in four hours you can be sure that he had a few customers.  A new one would come, chit chat for awhile and leave.  Then, Olivier would fill me in.  There's one that owns a fancy game store.  I don't really know what's there other than chess.  I pass it on my way home and it's kind of been something I look forward to.  You can't see the owner from the window, but his classical music pours onto the street.  Sometimes I come home that way just to hear it.  Today I found out that he likes to say rude things in French because he knows that I don't understand and he thinks it's cool to be able to do that in front of me like a little secret between him and Olivier.  Little does he know, his playmate tattles.

There's another one that  likes little boys.  He's preppy, cute, kind of looks like a business man on a casual Friday.  But, he likes little boys.  And he has no idea when he winks at me that I know that he likes little boys.

There's a lady, with a great name that I seem to have forgotten, that sometimes spends the whole day.  Today I said that I was like her and Olivier said, "You'd have finished three bottles of wine by now if you were her."

There's an old man that comes alone everyday.  He sits at the same table and he comes twice a day at the same times.  Today I found out that he used to come with a woman.  Olivier assumed it was his wife.  He's been coming alone for the past three months and Olivier still hasn't asked about the woman because who knows if she left on the back of a motorcycle with another man?

There's Angelito.  He's Spanish.  He's Angelito.  I don't know what else to say.  He sent me a text ( I didn't know a 65-year old guy would be into texting) and signed it "El Nino."  It's the first text I've received from a hurricane.

There's the Portuguese lady.  I like her.  Today she told me how to prepare Confit du Canard.  I said that I wanted to take something as a gift on my next trip to Italy.  So, I bought it, and she told me how to prepare it.  I just checked my dictionary.  Canard is duck.  Ok.  Confit is candied or crystalized.  Then it says in French, Confit du canard followed by the English definition Confit of duck.  I'm sure confit means something in English that I don't know.  I can't imagine that I'll be preparing candied duck for my Italian friends.  But, who knows?  I still don't have any background scoop on her.

I'd be foolish to think that they didn't know some secrets about the American.  I just wish I knew what they knew.  Maybe I'll start telling Olivier some lies to make myself more interesting for the others.

The biggest surprise came today.  A man that I've seen and talked to a few times came in and showed Olivier a cane.  The top was carved to look like a seahorse.  We looked at it, handed it back to him and then he told Olivier it was a gift. As he was leaving, I said that I'd be waiting on my stool for my gift tomorrow and that I liked chocolate.  So, he left and Olivier told me his story.  He robbed several jewelry stores at gunpoint and was in prison for twenty years.  "NOW he's not such a bad guy," said Olivier.  Ten minutes  passed  and he came back.  He said that he couldn't wait until tomorrow to give me my gift and presented me with a lovely wrapped box of chocolates.  I opened it.  We had a few.  And he left.  "See," said Olivier.  "NOW he's not such a bad guy."  I'm just glad I didn't say that I liked jewelry.

Coffee, tea or.......cioccolato or macchiato or cappuccino or caffe d'orzo

I'm not sure if it's really stupid that I don't know this, and that maybe we have the exact same thing in Chicago, but the truth is, I would be equally surprised and fascinated to find the same thing in an office at home.  Maybe the real problem is that I'm not in an office enough.  Do I need a job?

Anyway, I went to my friend's office in Italy and was invited to join the group at the vending machine for their 8:00 a.m. coffee break.  I never thought I would be in an office in Italy standing at the most incredible vending machine I've ever seen to be a part of the 'water cooler chat.' But, sometimes I'm lucky.

In addition to being the only loser to have hot chocolate, I was also the only loser that had to ask for help with my selection.  Here's what the machine had to offer:

caffe espresso, dolce

caffe lungo, dolce

caffe macchiato, dolce

cappuccino, dolce

cappuccino con cioccolato, dolce

caffe d'orzo, dolce

caffe d'orzo macchiato, dolce

cappuccino d'orzo, dolce

bevanda a gusto di cioccolato

bevanda a gusto di cioccolato forte

bevanda a gusto di cioccolato con latte

caffe con cioccolato, dolce

bevanda al gusto di te al limone

bevando al gusto di latte, dolce

bevanda al gusto di latte macchiato, dolce

bevanda al gusto di latte macchiato, dolce

solo bicchiere 0.05

That's sixteen options.  Does Starbucks even have sixteen options?

All I wanted was a hot chocolate.  They told me that cioccolato forte was just chocolate.  It didn't indicate milk or water.  Would it be like hot fudge?  That's how some hot chocolate in Italy is.  I've had it in a restaurant, with whipped cream.  You eat it with a spoon.  All it seems to be missing is the gelato.

And the plain cioccolato?  Who knows?

I went with a "bevanda a gusto di cioccolato con latte."  That's a drink 'with the taste of chocolate with milk.'  That's really how it is offered.  "A drink with the taste of....."  It's like a commercial right there on the vending machine.  One would expect to see a gondolier paddling by singing, "That's Amore."

Drinks on me

I know that some of you may be thinking that I've forgotten that I'm living in France and not in Italy.  While it's true that I prefer Italian nouns (people, places and things...just a reminder from the English teacher), there is one thing that I find better in Paris than Venice.  Free water.  Not canals of water....those are actually quite nice in both places.  I'm talking about drinking water.  When you ask for water in a restaurant in France you say "une carafe d'eau, s'il vous plait" and they bring you a pitcher of tap water.  Actually, it's not always a pitcher.   Sometimes it's a decorative bottle.  Sometimes it's a carafe.  And sometimes they just refill  an old wine bottle with water.  That's my favorite and a tradition I might bring home with me.   A French tradition, don't forget.  Because it doesn't happen in Italy.

A perfectly soggy uncut pizza for 5 euro instead of 10 euro?   Nessun problema.  A gelato cone with whipped cream (brilliant idea, I think) for 1,50 euro instead of 4 euro?   Sicuramente.  But free water?  It seems to be out of the question.  At least, it's out of the comfort level of a question that I want to ask.  In Italy it's actually cheaper to drink Diet Coke than water.  Whereas in France, it's cheaper to drink wine than Diet Coke.  And since I still don't like wine, it's even cheaper (and more fun) to order free water and  take pictures of the pitchers.