Le Fromager

A few weeks ago after yoga class, I realized that it was 6pm on a Friday and that I had absolutely zero plans.

I'm usually pretty okay with spending time with just myself, so this revelation didn't throw off my entire weekend happiness.  However, I figured I had better come up with something to do with myself - something to look forward to once I got home.

Across the street, at Maubert Mutualité metro stop, was an entire place full of boulanger, fromager, boucher, and cave à vins - France's version of the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick-maker turned wine and cheese aficionado.  So, I walked across the street to see what kind of feast I could gather for myself.

My attention was immediately pulled to the fromage - oh the fromage! the billions of choices! Yes, I definitely needed some fromage. and wine. and bread. and Sex and the City the movie. parfait.

I walked up to the fromager and realized that I had no idea what I was doing. Do I wait in the line? But then how do I know what I want to order? Can I walk around the tiny store to look at the choices first? Or will people think I'm cutting in line? I poked my head in to get a better look - 25 Euros per kilo for Roquefort?!!! How much for just a slice? How will I know how much to order? 

The complexity of the situation was just too much to handle. I ran back to the other side of the street, got a red-bean Thai bubble tea that I soon learned tastes like paste, and walked home, defeated.

EIGHT years in France and I can't figure out the stupid fromager?! What is this mess? I decided that I absolutely had to make it my mission to go to the fromager and confidently order cheese - no matter the cost.

I had my moment this weekend. Again, Friday night, I found myself without plans, walking home from errands in town (ps - what is my deal with Friday and no plans? I am thirty and childless n'est pas?). Copain had lots of work and wouldn't be home until late. Okay Self, time for fromage!  First I went to the boulanger and got some pain de compagne, sliced. Then I went to the cave and got a nice bottle of red, just for me. Finally, I gave myself a little pep talk and got in line at the fromager. 

This fromager was smaller and happened to have a window-display of cheese to choose from where patrons waited in line - a sort of fromager with training-wheels, for newbies like me.  There was no need to poke my head into the store and risk being called a line-cutter. While normally the time spent in lines en France drives me absolutely mad, this time I was happy to have ten minutes to think about my order (and my budget). 

Cabri Feuille - is that chèvre? yes, I definitely need chèvre. And it's sold individually, so I know it will only cost 5.95 Euros. Okay done. One Cabri Feuille.

Brebis - yes some of that too...also sold individually, no price guessing game to play. One of those for 6.80 Euros. 

...and I should probably also get a slice of one of those gigantic cheeses on the back shelf, but which one?  I thought back to my babysitting days when 8-year old Marine would cut off a big slice of Manchego for her after-school gouter (snack).  If it works for Marine, it should work for me too, right? Okay, yes, one slice of Manchego. 

Finally, it was my turn. I ordered my Cabri and Brebis, and then asked for a slice of Manchego (did I imagine it, or did the fromager snicker when I ordered that?). I told her that I wanted a small piece, as it was listed at 27.95 Euros the kilo! I had no idea what to expect, but I figured that I was practicing good risk-management by choosing two other cheeses at fixed prices - I could only really screw up one of my orders right? I mean, what on earth does a kilo of cheese look like?

The fromager rang me up and announced that I owed a whopping 17.64 Euros. Ouf.  

I paid her, walked home, and hiked up five flights of stairs to my Parisian pigeon-hole. 

Then, I admired my work:

I poured myself a glass of wine (in my new Hema wine glass!), made a fresh salad with noix de cajou (cashews), placed two pieces of bread on my plate, and carefully sliced off a chunk of each cheese. Then I added some pears from the marché for good measure. 

Maybe it was because spending 17 Euros on cheese was unfathomable, maybe it was because I had no idea what I was doing - or maybe it was a combination of both, but I can't really believe that it took me this long to conquer the French fromager.

I can now tell you with confidence that Manchego is very salty - and after a quick Google search, Spanish, that I prefer Brebis that is has more of a kick, and that chèvre is always the way to my heart.  Next up - Saint Nectaire, Roquefort and the classic, Camembert. 

French Cannes Cannes has conquered the fromager.  How you like them apples?

Brave

Amy over at Lemon and Raspberry is posting about A Year of Brave. Nothing like "lion taming or hang gliding", as she says, but more subtle acts of bravery. She posts about it every Sunday, so I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon and share a brave thing myself.

Knowing that I couldn't make it to yoga on Saturday afternoon, I decided to try out a Yoga Nidra class on Friday instead. I had no idea what Yoga Nidra was, but it was being taught by Silke and I figured that she would make me feel comfortable, no matter what the style of yoga.

I called ahead of time and the receptionist at Rasa told me that I would be doing 30 to 40 minutes of asana (posture) and then 40 minutes of meditation. 

40 MINUTES OF MEDITATION?  um, scary.

But still, I went to class.

Silke began by asking who had already done Yoga Nidra. Answer: no one. 

ouf! phew! (insert your version of relief here).

And so, in great Silke form, she began to explain that Yoga Nidra is yogi sleep. We would begin with a very simple hatha yoga class to "get out the kinks and relax the areas that were making us cranky" (I love that she uses the word cranky in yoga class), and then we would lie down with an intention, or Sankalpa.  

A commitment to fullness. Don't you love that? 

She gave us some guidelines for our Sankalpa, and even gave us a general one that we could use if we were feeling a bit too much pressure to come up with one on the spot. I was tempted to use it (what if my commitment to fullness is blah?!), but I stopped thinking so hard and being such a sankalpa overachiever, and two words popped into my head: 

1. Joy

2. Purpose

These two words became part of my Sankalpa intention. I relaxed onto two blankets and pulled the third one over me entirely. Using my Sankalpa as a path for my thoughts, I let Silke guide me into my yogi sleep.

It was ....bizarre. amazing. a little scary. I kept feeling a tightness in my chest when I would come back to awareness.  When I spoke to Silke about it after class she said that sometimes old things do come up. And maybe that's what needs to happen to let go of them. Since I had just come out of two weeks of non-stop stress at work, it actually made quite a lot of sense.

Now I have to do it again. What will happen the second time?

I'm so glad I tried something new, let myself go to that funky place, created a Sankalpa that I now use everyday. A gentle reminder when stress reams its ugly head. 

Quite simply, joy and purpose.