champagne & cheeseburgers: in which Clara enters the world

I savored this moment of tranquility before the onslaught of visitors, this moment to stare at the sleeping baby in the transparent bassinet and contemplate that she was mine. She of the long Disney lashes and big gray-blue eyes. She of the startling lungs. It all seemed as improbable as if there had been some mythical stork involved, or some benevolent fairy godmother. The events of Sunday (and very early Monday morning) felt like a dream–albeit one in which no detail was lost to me.

the proof is in the profiteroles: on “dieting” in france

Dieting is not an especially French activity. Nor does it feel particularly patriotic to live down the street from a small market and ignore the siren song of its milky white goat cheeses and fresh baguettes. But that's what I did (or tried to) for a whole month. All in the name of health, I …

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mon chou: kale, the forgotten vegetable

 In French, instead of sweetie, you might call someone mon chou. My cabbage. I appreciate the double meaning. Le chou is both my cabbage and my sweet. But all cabbages are not created equal. It's kale that's my drug of choice. Looking for a light read in the 'American Expats in France' genre, I recently read a memoir …

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bon vivant on a budget, or, how to be broke in Cannes

There are (literal) costs to living where everyone wants to be. When I learned I will be paying six times what I paid for rent last year with my modest teaching salary, I glumly reported the news to my parents over FaceTime. "I guess being poor isn't all bad." Dad shrugged. "Makes things simple. Less …

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