Paris, Day One

Hi. I live in Paris now.

I didn’t know how to broach the topic in this blog and so put off discussing the situation until the last possible moment, which is apparently this moment, right now. I am here to attend cooking school at the Ecole Ritz Escoffier. I will be living in Paris at least until Christmas and possibly longer. I decided to attend at the urging of two wonderful women who have become my food mentors, and who both graduated from the Ritz. They said, “Why wouldn’t you go? It’s PARIS.” And I said, “I don’t know. I have no answer to that.” So here I am.

About six months ago in a particularly bratty moment, I was whining to a selection of people that I had never truly experienced French Food. Every time I’d traveled here before I was on a backpacker’s budget, and my diet consisted mostly of baguettes, President brie and strawberries eaten in public parks with a Swiss Army knife. Occasionally I splashed out and ordered an onion tart and a glass of house wine at a cafe. But I’d never really eaten anywhere memorable, nor had I sought out the preparations of the charcuterie and the patisserie, visited markets to sample the incredible selection of produce, or ordered anything beyond my comfort zone. I know, I know, Princess has a hard life, doesn’t she? Poor little Princess had never truly experienced the gastronomic delights of France. How odd to think that I'm going to get that chance now. Did I win some sort of foodie lottery?

Back then, I didn’t know you were allowed to make food a central concern in life, and more specifically a central concern in travel. Visiting Europe meant shuffling through Picasso museums and palaces and Sites of Historical Interest and cramming as many monuments as possible into a single, exhausting day. And I had no idea how to find good food that wasn’t expensive. That sounds dumb, but it’s true. I was too intimidated to go anywhere that didn’t cater to tourists or backpackers. And of course most places that cater to tourists serve food that relies upon the fact of touristic transience. They have no reason to cook quality dishes because there will always be a fresh crop of frightened people who are willing to pay for familiarity; for the privilege of reading the menu in English or whatever their native tongue may be and ordering dishes that they have eaten before. Hey, whose plate of spaghetti Bolognese is this?

So I am here. I am jet-lagged and still intimidated by Paris but I promise that I will try to be as fearless as possible on my culinary quests. Of course I am on a tight budget, but I won't let that stop me from trying everything that I can. I lost count of the number of times people told me that I was “living their dream” by going to cooking school in France, and I feel so incredibly privileged to have this opportunity. School starts next Monday, and I will be there with clogs on!