provincetown

My favorite place to eat in Provincetown is Cafe Heaven on commercial, it is one room, tiny tables, and the best simple breakfast food. It is exactly how I picture my restaurant one day.





I like when a restaurant makes you slow down.

I suck at blogging

I'm actually surprised Fran hasn't given me more crap for writing absolutely nothing while I was in Grenoble, on the upside, this means I was not wasting time plunked in front of my computer screen and instead enjoying my mountainous surroundings. I did manage to jot down a few details, but they are scattered and do not detail even 15% of the interesting and bizarre encounters I had with the French while in Grenoble but its better than nothing.

• Twenty men sit and play cards in the same pastry shop on Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau, smoking but never eating pastries and stare at the meandering jeaunesse every night from approximately 9 to 2 in the morning.

• There is an old man with whiskers who buys apricot sunfreezes(the French equivalent of a slushy) from the sandwich stand and sits on the tramway bench eating them and never geting on a tram.

• The row of angry lady cashiers at the Monoprix, our Grenoble grocery store, watch you carefully as you bag your alimentaires after paying, do not help you at all, and refuse to begin scanning the next customer until every last jar of nutella is off their line.

• When a french punk asks you repeatedly "Where is Bryan? Is Bryan in the kitchen?" he is not actually looking for a friend named bryan, he is mere reciting the two English phrases he was able to remember before he dropped out of high school to harass poor american students.

• The Doyon family is possible the most beautifully french family you will ever meet.

• I lived on Rue Lakanal in one of the more artistic quartiers in Grenoble. My window faces a shop entitled, “FAB…” There is nothing fab about this store. It is full of junk and hello kitty.

• Do not go to London Pub unless you want to dance to horrible 90s american pop classics like whats my age again with homophobic University of Michigan students.

• Italians speaking French are nearly incomprehensible.

• Flics (cops) do not care about drunken fist fights even in the event of a 50 year old Iranian hitting a 22 year old girl in the face, which I whitnessed, but at least she threw the first punch.

In place of spending time in and out of magasins and becomeing depressed about the state of my wallet, I instead focused my attention(and money)on a research study comparing the overall food quality of American to French cuisine. Yes, I know, everyone thinks French food is the shit, but my research thus far has proven a fairly competitive rivalry.

Team France(they kick our ass in…)

Jelly/Confiture (especially apricot)

Bread…duh

Cheese…duh

Wine…duh, and it's cheap

Baby pickles/cornichons

Mini quiche: my new downfall

Passion fruit sorbet/sorbet in general (ps look for the sorbet in the metal tins and not the ones that are all whipped and pretty, apparently those are not as wonderful and they floof it up to make your mouth water but it really just has more air...good to know)

Chocolate pudding- noir extra only I cannot resist it, I eat it for breakfast, I do not know how I have not gained 15 pounds.

L’equipe Les Etats Unis(we kick their ass in…)

Movie theater popcorn: which here is the equivalent of our kettle corn but tastes like cardboard and a big letdown

Strawberries: which are tiny and mooshy and a waste of my 3 euro

Gin and Tonic: because they are not big enough

Cream Cheese: which they do not have

Ice: no one in France uses ice…how is this possible…I do not have the forethought to chill my beverages.

Basil: no, I do no want to buy an entire basil plant, also, why are all the herbs kept in boxes in the freezer? This is strange.

And despite my beautiful surroundings, the most redeeming aspect of this trip has been the beautiful people, both French and American. My group of classmates has exceeded my expectations twofold and gave me perhaps one of the best birthdays I have had thus far. We are all bonded over the fairly uncomfortable feat of trying to make ourselves seem as French as possible disguise our blatant American tendencies: laughing too loud on the tramway, trying to roll our r’s but failing, and robbing every bookstore of their postcard selection. And the french aren't nearly as intimidating as they say, well, at least in Grenoble.