food > studying

must… stop… procrastinating…

no…more…epicute…

after…this…

swear…

 

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THANKSGIVING

Problem:

i am an American.

Vegan.

in Paris.

For Thanksgiving.

 

Serious oversight:

Tofurkey doesn’t grow on trees. What was i thinking? Like, oh-goody-goody-gumdrops i’ll just go pick some Wheat Protein off this tree. Everyone knows the Jardin du Luxembourg is chock-full of faux meat!

Where the heck does one procure pumpkin anything in Paris? IT’S NOT THANKSGIVING WITHOUT PUMPKIN. It just isn’t. And don’t give me that whole “get over it, there’s no such thing as Thanksgiving in Paris and blah blah blah” because guess what? I already missed Bastille Day.  That’s right. The one socially acceptable day to frolic through the streets of Paris, shoving my face full of tasty comfort food, tossing around red white and blue confetti, and spending my evening at Hotel de Ville twirling around in dizzy circles with both hands full of sparklers — IS GONE.

I just want one day. One day to stuff my body with reckless abandon. I want to shame eat 6 pies and feel great about it tomorrow. I want to douse vegetables in as many butter-style products as it takes to remove 4-6 hours off my life expectancy. I want tasty comfort food to make me nap for so long that I sleep through the weekend and miss all my exams.

And then, glorious leftovers to stress-binge upon after discovering that i missed all my exams.

Ah, America.

How i love how you make me hate myself.

 

OH NO Emergency Secondary Sub-Problem:

omg i forgot how much i love cranberry sauce until this second. i literally want some inside me so bad right now that i could jam an entire can into my face.

 

Solution:

… bread?

Thanksgiving Bread?

 

If i eat it in the bathtub, covered in frosting, apricot jam, and tears — will I be thoroughly shamed enough to have had a great Thanksgiving?

 

Fingers crossed for America,

brynnjour ™

another beautiful day in dreary Paris…

Incredibly depressed about my decision not to wear the new rain boots out today.

Heartbroken, in fact.

i had obsessed over the possibility of actually leaving the house in a matching outfit for the last few days, but mid-term projects, 284 grammar tests, and an inability to get my laundry done in a timely manner left me without many options in the closet. And so, i poured over my favorite weather reports (because it’s PARIS. you can’t just check one) looking for any hint of rain in the future, and was quite saddened to see that the most likely day for rain isn’t until Friday, and only 20% at that.

And so, i threw in the towel and went all mis-match-y off down Voltaire — Just in time for the arrival of a sporadic rainstorm.

i stopped in to school for a cheap cup of espresso as the drizzle died down — Just in time to start up again on my walk to the Pantheon.

Ah, Paris. C’est la vie… But maybe call first in the future.

Because seriously.

These boots are freaking adorable.

 

♣ brynnjour

i spy avec mon petit oeil…

i can barely make out the dim form of my neighbor’s television set from my post on the balcony where, for some reason, i chose to sit facing the adjacent building as opposed to the ever more elegant form of a glimmering Eiffel Tower. And as i sit here, idylly sipping my extravagant 3 euro wine, i’m trying to convince myself that my irregular seating arrangement has more to do with my new-found devil-may-care-seat-of-my-pantaloons Parisian attitude than my desire to be within sheer earshot of a plastic box.

But ahh, you marvelous plastic box, you.

i see nothing in detail, of course… but the blurry little blobs bobbing across the screen in flashes of neon lead me to believe that i’m watching some sort of sporting event.

(let’s be honest, it’s probably soccer.)

i never really got into soccer. Watching it, i mean. i played it long enough, forcibly… but the idea of plopping down in front of a TV for 6-12 hours, or however long soccer takes, never really filled me with any long-standing passion.

However, being as this is my first experience with a television since my hotel stay on my first night in Paris, (complete with a quaint 2 channel set straight from the pages of antiquity) i am more interested in this fabulous soccer broadcast than even the most titillating HD rebroadcast of the Royal Wedding on E!

Oh, America. What have you done to your children?

i am feeling considerably less guilty about my American indulgences these days, which is probably due to one of the many steps of culture shock, or homesickness, or whatever that chapter in our handbook was which i didn’t read.

The simple truth is that sometimes i feel like a Martian living amongst proper Parisians, instead of an American abroad. i find myself wandering the streets sometimes in the afternoon between classes, unconsciously drawn towards the traditional hubs of Parisian tourism. i sit, i smirk. i sip my cafe au lait with one hand, and flip through the pages of some nonsensical French novel with the other as i scoff at the over-ripened tourists of the city.

i let myself slip into freeze frame, eyeing the sea of fanny packs and the billowing clouds of metro maps which spread across the sidewalk like iridescent flags. The brightly colored piping of street crossings and bus tour pick-ups screams out to me from my carefully concealed perch, “Hello! I am not from here! I’m terribly confused, don’t speak your language, and would like you to steal from me!”

And so, a sense of completely unearned prejudice fills me as i watch them struggle, much in the way i assume a spider regards a fly in the first moments of web-induced panic.

It is in these moments which i feel the most Parisian, the most in-tune with those around me. We sit, in our smoke-filled and silent bubble of slow motion, trading sly smiles over baguette when our eyes meet.

Seen in a more prudential light, i’m not sure what to feel about these candid relationships i experience with my brethren of predatory strangers over lunch. But it feels good. It feels good to belong, and it feels good to believe, if even for the smallest moment, as if i am the one holding in the secret which only Parisian’s share.

Still, located deep beneath my impeccably placed layers of scarves, sunglasses and swaddling sweaters, my coeur Americanne pounds loud and clear. My heartbeat flutters delicately in my chest each time i catch a familiar syllable between visitors. The occasional eavesdropping on conversations (the more idiotic, the better) has the capacity to transform me from a noir minuit-clad impenetrable mass into a warm and cuddly mess of nostalgic goo.

Ignorance is intoxicating. Socks and sandals? Take me home.

if there were ever a case to be made for cognitive dissonance, look me up.

You can find me at the Jardin du Luxembourg every day from 12-3, mercilessly judging you from my regular post on the benches above the park. If you’re feeling adventurous, ask me for directions (in English) to the nearest McDonald’s.

Let’s find out how this story ends.

Until then, mes amis! In the meantime, i will be desperately attempting to sneak a peak at whatever is on at my neighbor’s house at 10pm on a Sunday.

©brynnjour

nothing important happened today.

tip-toe, uh-oh!

After quite the unintentional sabbatical, here i am again.

Excuses, excuses!

Fortunately, the seemingly limitless hell that has been this trimester is drawing to a close. Unfortunately, it’s not here just yet. Instead of sunbathing lakeside, i find myself continuing to tip-toe through my life; as i am spending more time in libraries than living rooms, and more time with flashcards than friends.

However (yes, even here in Chicago) spring is in the air and summer seems closer every day.

The dreamer in me has already spent all of the money which the provider in me had meticulously saved. Obviously, she blew it on bikinis and flip-flops, and so both of us remain sans plane-ticket and without the much anticipated new MacBook Pro of our communal dreams.

But… well… okay, they are incredibly cute bikinis.

Budgets? Pshh! It’s summer(ish). i’m sure i’ll get around to it sooner or later.

In other, more eventful news, i’m being ‘audited’ for my financial aid at school. They don’t seem to like when i use the word ‘audit’ — they keep correcting my verbiage and attempting to transition me into more cuddly-sounding descriptors.

And so, i give you:

the top three terms which do not in any way mean audit, but yeah, you’re being audited.

1. “Financial Review”

Pro: Official yet blessedly non-descriptive. “Ohh, this? Yes, yes. Just reviewing.”

Pro: Non-threatening terminology leads me to believe perpetually stoned college officials are flitting haphazardly through my financial documentation, focusing more on maintaining their mellow and questioning their choice of Pandora playlist than searching fervently for missing crossed ts and dotted is.  

Con: I am definitely being audited.

2. “Financial Verification”

Pro: Verification, from the Latin veritas, meaning ‘true’ or ‘gumdrop candy-land’ or something. Still has the big F-word right there in front of it, but “verification” seems to imply that you’ve probably done everything three-hundred percent correctly, but some over-paid and inept government worker is required to sift through it, have a break, check that your social security number matches your birth certificate and not some dead guy from Arizona buried in 1946, have a break, stamp something, have a break, leave documentation sitting on desk for 6-18 business days, have a break, and BOOM — just like that — done. after break. i’m an American. i just naturally assume that this is how the system works.

Con: i am totally being audited.

3. “Selected for a review process”

Pros: SELECTED? i almost feel proud. i, out of tens of thousands of other students, have actually been selected as a representative of my FAFSA filing class? Memories of the big scary F-word are now miles away. Wow. i mean, i don’t even have a speech prepared. Of course, i’d like to thank the good people of freetaxusa.com, my parents, for supplying me an envelope at the last minute there, extremely clutch. Um… my former employer, for taking four months to send me my W2. Really, in all seriousness, this award belongs to them.

Cons: HOLY F*KING SH*T I AM GETTING AUDITED SO HARD.

Admittedly, not the best feeling in the world, but hey, they’re trying. i haven’t quite settled on weather they’re trying to give me a friendly and subtle reminder to relax, or if they’re trying to keep from spooking me into leaving the country before they send the feds to my house.

Either or, i suppose. Maybe both.

And with that said, i’ll leave you with these sweet, sultry, and seductive words…

Please be aware that if the information on your verification worksheet and tax forms does not match the information provided on your FAFSA, we are required to make corrections and submit the new information to the Federal Processor.

You may submit all requested documents to the Central offices at the Loop or Park campuses in person, by mail or fax. Please do so at your earliest availability.

Thank you and we look forward to helping you during the 2011-2012 academic year.

sexy.

la photo de la semaine #1

this week’s photo… drumroll please… is my insanely delicious and completely vegan chicago-style hot dog from Hot Doug’s in chicago. now, i’m not usually a huge promoter of encased meats (seriously, this place serves something called “duck fat fries”) but you do have to appreciate the veggie option.

also, the majority of vegan hot dogs available in the grocery section are sub par to say the least. (to the “real thing” of course, i mean come on… i’m from chicago. hot dogs are like gold here. platinum actually.) but i can honestly say that this was the most hot-dog tasting hot-dog i have ever had! it was so perfect that i had to check and make sure i wasn’t being bamboozled into eating the real thing. i went so far as to share a bite (which i seriously never do. i might be small, but i’m hungry) with a omnivore friend — and even he was shocked.

so, kudos to you – Hot Doug’s, mad vegan kudos, which i’m sure you never anticipated.

and side note: to anyone out there looking to pop into Hot Doug’s, just know that “popping in” doesn’t happen. it’s a crazy popular spot for locals and some tourists. we stand in line an average of about 40 minutes a visit.

if you can’t get here, or detest lines as much as i do duck fat fries, enjoy your picture of the week!

♥ brynnjour

Tags: hot dog, photo, photo of the week, restaurants, vegan