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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attention abeilles: hiking the massif de l’esterel

The best thing about waking up in the morning–or returning to my petit chez moi at any time of day–is the view from my balcony: the brilliant bay outlined by mountains. I come from the part of Missouri that's just barely not-Kansas. Deprived of elevation for so long, any hint of it makes me giddy. Mountains comfort …

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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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there are snails in the salad: adventures in renting

  In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and lettuce.  Had Benjamin Franklin rented from Monsieur C, his famous line might have looked a little different. I can rarely foresee what challenges life in France will throw at me, but I am always confident there will be lettuce in the …

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