Working, wandering and yoga.

That's what I've been doing the last month. As I said before, I set up my routine. I joined a yoga studio for my month in Strasbourg. I even got the student discount. They got a kick out of me being a patisserie student. And laughed every time I traded in my whisk key chain for a locker key. The studio has been great. They have classes every day with all different types of yoga and pilates. And actually, I found myself really enjoying pilates. Having never taken it before, this was a great discovery. I think I'll take it up when I get back home. 

I loved the classes, but I also liked having somewhere to go where they kinda knew me. All the instructors and staff were great. They knew my name and they knew that I communicated better in English. So whenever I heard, "put your hand flat on the mat," or "bend your knee," I knew it was my hand out of place and my knee that was locked. It was nice. Because the rest of my days were either spent in silence, or broken French. I got along fine at work, I know most of the terms and instructions in the pastry shop. But having a meaningful conversation is tough. And the guys I worked with weren't really the biggest chatters even with each other, so struggling with me in my limited vocabulary wasn't always what they wanted to do. And I guess me either. Don't get me wrong, they were great guys. But I felt like most of the time I was in my own little world arranging fruit or assembling macarons. 

Most of the conversations I had were with Grandpa. He seemed to have the most patience for me and seemed to enjoy teaching me things about the French language. I think he is proud of how complicated the French language is and how much I seemed to struggle with it. However I appreciated his patience and interest in talking. Although that's where his patience ended. In the kitchen he was a different person. Most of the time the little teenage apprentices got the bulk of his wrath. And usually they deserved it. Man, I forgot what it's like to be around 16 year-old boys. Annoying. But that's another story. Anyway, when the little guys weren't there, Grandpa pointed his anger at me. This is tough for me because I hate being yelled at. Especially for something I disagree with. I think I may be just as stubborn as him. So one day he asked me to butter and flour some molds. He was making cakes in little bread pans. And as with everything else in the pastry kitchen, the quantity was enormous, so I was buttering like 30 or 40 molds. We had a bit of an assembly line going. I'd butter then he'd dip it in the flour bin and scoop in the batter. No problem. Then at some point I had several molds ready to go so I started dipping in the flour (I'm not one to just stand around waiting). Only, I didn't do it exactly as he did. I was corrected immediately. "You're not an observer! Did you see me fill the mold like that? Did you see me tap it on the side more than once? Look!" He grabbed the mold out of my hand and showed me how to do it again. He didn't hide his disgust. But I hid mine and simply continued on using his chosen method. We were nearing the end of the massive tub of dough. Grandpa was over at the oven putting in the second to last tray of molds. There were three left and one pan on the table. So I put then on the pan in the center. In the end I thought we made a pretty good team. But Grandpa made it clear that I was wrong. Wrong about our teamwork and wrong about how I put the molds on the pan. "You're not an observer! Don't you use your head?! Did you see me do it that way?!!" Stunned, I was speechless. Actually, not speechless, just vocabulary-less. I didn't know what he was talking about. Why does it matter what direction I put the molds? And why was he screaming at me? Of course I use my head. I use it every day, every minute. How the hell did he think I was standing in his kitchen in France working for him? For free! I wanted to yell right back, because that's what meaningless anger makes me want to do. But I didn't. I couldn't. I can't. It's not like me to yell. So I very calmly and slowly summoned the words that allowed me to ask him what he was talking about. I told him why I put the molds on the tray and asked what the problem was. Annoyed, he told me that If I put them sideways they'll fall over if the pan is shoved in the oven (which they always are) and if you put them lengthwise they'll stay upright. "Oh, okay. Now I know. Thank you Monsieur." 

I respect this man because he deserves respect. At 85, he has much wisdom. Plus he's been working for 70 years in patisserie. He knows what he's talking about. But I don't like it when anyone screams at me. Especially for something that could easily be explained. How am I supposed to know. Geez. But whatever, maybe he was having a bad day. In the end I got him to chuckle. But I'm pretty sure it was one of those, you are so pathetic that all I can do is laugh at you chuckles. It's hard to say what I said. Whatever. I have those days too. Most of the time work was pleasant. Just a strange type of lonely.

After work and on weekends I always enjoyed my random wanders. One Sunday morning I woke up with no plans and wandered into a flute recital. It was the most amazing flute performance I've ever seen. And I've seen quite a few. Yes, I was a total band geek. Yes, I played the flute. I was even in a flute choir. Think what you must. But this recital was fantastic. And it made for quite a nice unplanned Sunday morning. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Other wanderings...

The bridge I crossed for yoga every day.

 A good luck charm on the front of the cathedral.

My favorite view of the cathedral.

These little things are sold in every patisserie shop. Mine too. I painted coco butter on tens of dozens of them one day.

These are the oldest cloisters north of the Alps. Haha. I love that everyone always has to qualify importance.

This is the Strasbourg train station and also one of my favorite buildings. Modern on the outside...

...old on the inside. Cool, huh?

And this was my last day at the patisserie. I know I have much more to report about my internship. And don't worry, I will. I have to write a little report for school, so I'll post it here too. I think I'm still processing.

Left to right: Daniel, Remy, Jean, Fabrice, Me.

So my stage (internship) is over and Nate is finally here. Despite the French strikers (not)working against us, he arrived safe and sound and on time. It's so good to have him here. 

So now I'm (we're) in travel mode again. And we're gonna go wander around Eastern Europe. I'll check in again when I can.

Bon journée...

French technology.

So I have no idea why my last post came out in a million different sizes. And it looks like the spacing is off too. Not sure what happened. But I'm going to blame it on France. My patience with French technology is growing very thin. While internet is not a completely foreign concept here, I've found it difficult to have a solid steady connection. In Yssingeaux our net was out all the time. No one had an answer. More than once I was told, 'Yeah, this is France. It happens." But nobody with any power to fix the problem seemed very bothered to do so. Annoying. So here in Strasbourg as you know, I'm without net in the apartment. But there are many cafés and bars with WIFI. This seems simple, but I'm constantly running into funny (not funny ha-ha) situations. For instance yesterday I tried out a new café. It's right next to my yoga studio and looks young and hip. Called Bistro and Chocolat, it's always packed. I asked if they had WIFI on the way out of yoga the other day and I got the affirmation I wanted. Great, I thought, no more Irish Pub with the most non-attentive bartender I've ever encountered. So I packed up my stuff and headed over. I ordered a bowl of ginger hot chocolate and got my WIFI code from the staff. I punched in the 25 numbers and letters about 25 times. I refused to get upset, I had already had such a wonderful day. No luck though. I questioned the staff and they reset the modem for me. Great. That did the trick. Then I realized that I had almost no power left. But luckily I was in a corner right next to an outlet. No problem. Only, when I plugged in my cord no light appeared. I tried another outlet and same thing. My patience was gone and I was getting frustrated. Nothing can wind me up faster than slow/no internet. Nothing. It's something I'm trying to work on. So the girl behind the counter saw me struggling and asked if I was using an Apple professional. I assumed she meant my MacBook Pro and I said yes. Then she said, "That's the problem. You're computer won't work in our outlets. It's your computer's fault." I looked at her in disbelief. I'm not sure what I did to offend this woman but obviously she didn't want me in her café. Because I'm quite sure it doesn't matter what kind of computer I have. Every other outlet in France has worked just fine. But she was certain. It was my fault.

Incredibly annoyed I packed up and left, in search of another WIFI connection. I found one, but they kicked me out with their early closing time.

Last night Nate looked up cyber cafes for me and found one just around the corner from me. We got the hours, costs the whole run down. Seemed perfect. So I was just walking by to try out the new spot and it's not there. Guess the website forgot to update their new status. OUT OF BUSINESS.

So now I'm checking in from the park across from the bar (the bar is closed). Another post with pictures will come as soon as I find a reliable WIFI source, with power that's compatible with my Pro. In the mean time, I think I'm gonna go see a movie. I need to hear some English.

My new life in France.

I've heard you can read the complexity of someone's life just by looking at their key chain. The number of keys, attachments, etc. Here's mine.

And I'd say that pretty much sums it all up right now. I'm just missing my yoga key pass.

I’ve started to establish a routine. This is something I tend to do every time I move. I think I do it both consciously and not so consciously. My routine is what keeps me sane and also helps with homesickness. It’s difficult to move to a new place where you don’t know anyone. I’ve done it a few times now and I think moving to France has been the toughest. I completely underestimated the culture difference, as well as the language. Having had pretty good luck meeting new people and making friends in the past, I blew off any doubts. Even the worries brought up by others. “Whatever. I’ll be fine,” was my standard line that I told everyone (including myself). 

So far. So good. I really can't stress how much I love this city. And my living situation couldn't be better (If only I had internet. But then again, maybe it's best I don't have it at home, it forces me out and about even more.)  Anyway, let's go on a tour of my apartment.

La cuisine

Another view of la cuisine.

My living room.

Super cute bathroom.

Oh another from the kitchen. Something about this sink makes me love doing dishes.

The entryway.

 I live right across from a high school. So more times than not I have to squeeze between two horny teenagers getting it on outside my door.

And then just outside is this beautiful city. This was one beautiful afternoon.

 When I'm not enjoying my personal space or wandering around, I'm at work (that's what the whisk stands for on my keychain.) 

 

At work I never know what I’m doing from one minute to the next, however my days usually begin the same way. When I walk in the kitchen after changing into my giant black pants and new not-so-flattering-really-smooches-my-hair down-and-makes-me-look-like-a-boy-when-I-take-it-off cap thingy, when that’s done, usually there’s an empty tarte waiting for me. And I’d say that 95 percent of the time, it’s for les quetches, which I still think are quince. I should really look that up. Man I cut a lot of quetches. My frirst week we were getting ready for winter. So that means preserving fruit. We cut up 150 kilos of quetches. That’s 330 pounds. By HAND. Have a look at what it did to my hands.

 

So after the quetches I usually do the tartelettes (4 fraise/strawberry - 4 framboise/raspberry) and one tarte fraise. So I scoop in the pastry cream and arrange my fruit accordingly. Then cover with the hot nappage. I’m not sure what they do differently to their nappage than I am used to from school, but this stuff gels up almost immediately and I’ve been having some issues with boogery tartes. Yeah. So then after the tartes, it’s a gamble as to what’s next. I always hope to avoid les sandwiches. I hate making the sandwiches. I really do. Chopping up chicken is not what I imagined myself doing in France. I don’t even do that at home. Today was kind of embarrassing. I had to hard-boil the eggs and was clueless. Honestly, I do this about once a year maybe. Like maybe at Easter. I think the head chef thought I was a total idiot, asking how long to cook and whatnot. But whatever. They seem to have a very particular method for every single thing they do here, so I was sure I’d mess up the eggs if I didn’t ask. I hate making the sandwiches. Although now I know how to make mayonnaise.

So after the sandwiches are done (hopefully by someone else), it’s a total surprise. Even when I’m doing something, I don’t always know what I’m doing. For instance last week, I was to make 3 dimensional teardrops out of praliné (a hazelnut/sugar mixture with kind of a grainy ganache texture). He said souree. That’s what I heard anyway. But I don’t know that word and I just shook my head and smiled. I had a whole platter of these things to do. Roll out the exact height, and then cut with a little cookie cutter ring to the proper amount. Then roll in a ball for just a second and then create a little point on the end. The head chef Jean showed me quick then watched me. Mine instantly melted in my hand and became a sticky unruly blob. It always looks easier than it is to do. This is a general rule I’ve come to understand. So anyway. I was making these little tear drop thingies and everyone that passed pointed and said, “oh sourees.” With each passerby I just smiled and nodded. Then grandpa, as I’ve come to call him (of course not to his face), came by and said the same. “Souree! Tu connais? (Do you know?)” I shook my head no. “Tu n’as pas dans Etats-Unis? (You don’t have in the United States)” No. I shook my head. “J’ai jamais vu. (I’ve never seen).” He looked at me like I was stupid and waved his hand in the air and walked off. He does this a lot with me. I continued working. I made an entire plaque of these things, like maybe 200 when Jean gave me toasted slivered almonds to add to each. He demonstrated again. He put two in off center, closer to the point and it all came clear. “For ears,” he said. AHHHHHHHH Souree means mouse! Ha! I was making little praliné mice all this time and didn’t know it. I get it now. Then I realized that I had just told Grandpa that I have never seen a mouse before, and that we definitely don’t have them in the United States. No wonder he thinks I’m stupid. So I finished the 200 little mice and smiled proudly at Jean. He smiled back and said “Two more plaques.” 

Ahh. I'm getting kicked out. I have much more to say, but I'll have to say it tomorrow. At a different cafe. I haven't proofed this thing. So sorry for any terrible errors. 

Oh and Happy Birthday Brooke!! 

More later....Bon soir! 

Guinness gets me internet.

I'm sitting at a cafe/bar around the corner from my apartment. I thought I'd give their wifi a shot. And it works. And it's much better than McDonalds. First, it's closer. And second, they have stuff I like, like Guinness. Better than coffee at night.

Today was good, and I'm exhausted. But I suppose that comes with early morning call times. It has felt like bedtime since about 4pm to me.

It's non stop working in the patisserie. As soon as I waked in (just after changing into my vest and massive black pants) I was handed a knife. There was a box of fresh quince in front of me and a huge empty pie tarte. When that was filled, I moved onto strawberries and raspberries. Then I topped slices of gâteaux and put them in their plastic wrap. Then it was on to dejeuner (lunch stuff). I chopped up poached chicken and mixed it with mayo, lettuce, mushrooms. There was also tuna salad and smoked salmon on baguettes and brioche. After les snacks were made, i was given a vat of pâte d'amande (almond paste, aka marzipan). Beside it was a bucket of tiny square piece of nougatine. It was my job to cut out little circles of the marzipan and form a pyramid on top of each piece of nougatine. I think I did this for a continuous two and a half hours.

As I formed pyramid after pyramid, the shop's originator, M Litzler chewed my ear off. He has been working as a pâtissier for 70 years. He comes in every single day and starts work at 5am. He's 85 years old. He had a million questions for me and shared many stories. I think I caught about 1/5 of each. At one point I think he was telling me about some inter-racial marriage. I really don't know what that was all about. Then he told me about another Jacqueline that came there from another country, but ended up staying and marring a French man and becoming French. This story was repeated and I was asked more than once if I was going to stay. Then I got an entire history lesson about the Alsace region and all the different dialects in and around the area. If I understood correctly, he can speak French, German, Swiss German, Swiss French and Alsacian. He was very patient with me as I tried to speak and understand what he was saying. It's really nice to get a glimpse a multi-generational family business.

So we worked from 6-12:30. I won't lie. I was hungry and very thirsty. I must remember to bring some water with me. And maybe sneak a banana too. Lunch is served family style and the whole kitchen eats together upstairs above the bakery. Only problem is, I'm in meat country. So I had some plain noodles and a couple pieces of bread. Looks like I'll be bringing my lunch from now on.

Then after lunch, we went up two more flights of stairs. The top floor is comprised of several different rooms, all with cots and blankets. And there's a tv room too. So you can nap with the rest of your lunch break. It's truly a bizarre scene. The building is old. Like 15th century old. And the cots were circa 1930's maybe? Everyone was practically asleep by the time I walked in (just 2 minutes after them). But I couldn't sleep, it was all too new and strange. My guard was up way too far. Napping was out of the question. So I watched the Simpsons (in French of course) with the time left on our hour long break.  I think I"ll bring a book for tomorrow.

So then after lunch we all went back to work. But I only work for an hour in the afternoon. Really, if I could, I'd rather just work through the meat laden lunch and take off an hour early. But I don't think it works that way.

Overall I think I'm in a good place. I saw all kinds of stuff being made in just one day. Tartes, chocolate bars, macarons, ganache, puff pastry, it's all happening at Litzler-Vogel. And I know my French is going to improve. I think I already spoke more French today then I have the whole time I've been here. That's probably why my head hurts so much.

Okay I'm going to finish my beer and pass out now.

Bonne nuit!

Wish I ate hamburgers.

I've been scouring Strasbourg for free wifi and my best bet is McDonalds. But the only thing I eat here is ice-cream and coffee. After coming off a pastry binge the last few weeks, I opted for a coffee. However, given that I start work tomorrow at 6 am, maybe I should have ordered ice-cream. Oh well. I'll only drink half.

So. So far so good. I love love love Strasbourg. And my living situation is a dream come true. All except the lack of wifi. But that's just fine. It gives me an excuse to get out and mingle with the local teens after school. Maybe I'll pick up some slang while I take in the smell of greasy french fries. 
No. It's really great that McDonald's provides free internet, but me and my battery-sucking laptop wish they also provided sockets to recharge, too. Am I being greedy? Maybe.


So I'll have to be quick. Just an update to say all is well. My apartment is less than a 4 minute walk to work. I managed to find a few different grocery stores to feed myself, including a health food store that sells a variety of lactose-free milk. Yay! I went with a rice/hazelnut option today. It's so nice to be in a bigger city with a university. That always means a good variety of cheap tasty eats. I found a great little Greek place for lunch, on my search for the grocery store. I thought it best not to shop with my stomach screaming so loud. And there's a fantastic smelling breeze that passes by my living room window courtesy of the Indian restaurant at the end of my block. Think I'll be checking that out soon. Oh and I also found a little Armenian grocery store around the corner. Nate will have to let me know if it's any good when he gets here next month.


So that's what I'm up to. Just getting my bearings and figuring stuff out. Although I don't think I'll ever figure out how the French shower without a shower curtain. I'm not into squatting while I wash. But if I don't, I end up washing the entire bathroom. I don't know.


Okay my battery is yelling at me and I should go walk off this coffee. My goal is to be in bed by 9:00, for a 5am wake up. EVERY DAY. God help me.


Bye for now....


Oh and I'll post pictures next time.

Commencement and a little kudos.

We did it. We are the first international French Pastry Arts students to graduate from ENSP. We might be small, but in the end, after five months together in the lab, I do believe we're strong. It's the end of lab work, and the beginning of real work.

The ceremony was also small, but very sweet. All our professors came to to watch us receive our certificates. It was nice. And it wasn't that long ago that I questioned if this time would ever arrive. I'm sure it seems like it has all flown by, but for me, it has felt like a full five months. As I've said before, time moves a bit slower in Yssingeaux. But that's as it should be. It's given me the opportunity to take it all in. And at this point, I feel good about everything. I think coming here, going to school, taking the time to learn a new skill, I think it's what I'm supposed to be doing. No regrets.

Left to right: Thea, Chef Jean-Marc, Chef Jacqueline, Chef Sebastian.

Chef Sebastian kept it together through most of the ceremony. After all the certificates were handed out, he praised us all again. But then it was time to announce the meilleur (best) student, the valedictorian. And the sobbing began.

"The best student started from nothing. Her french was bad and she knew nothing of pastry. I remember she asked 'What is an eclair!?'" he whimpered." "But she work very hard (sob), and that's why she is the meilleur (sniff)."

Again, I was slightly horrified with his blubber of emotion. Then I was absolutely shocked when I realized he was blubbering at ME! I am the valedictorian! Who would have guessed!?

So after adding up all our quizzes and exams and weekly work scores from the whole course as well as the presentation, I had the highest average. Crazy.

So that was Friday. It's now Sunday morning. I'm writing this from my hotel room in Strasbourg. After graduation we drank a few bottles of champagne, cleaned up the lab, and went home to pack. We had to check out of our apartments Saturday morning at 10, and the bus for Lyon left at 11. Needless to say, there was not much sleeping going on. We were all exhausted. Running on sugar, we managed to have a party that night and pack up the last five months. Tam, Flo and I went to the post office first thing in the morning and shipped what we couldn't carry. Again, I am amazed at how much stuff I seem to acquire. I think I could really be a hoarder if left alone long enough.

Anyway, we caught our bus to Lyon and then the girls helped me and my stuff get on the train to Strasbourg. It has been a while since I've put on a heavy backpack, and I did not miss it. I found my seat and passed out. It was one of those beautiful fall days. Sunny, even hot. And the train was a direct smooth ride into Strasbourg. I woke up at every station just long enough to glance at my bags to make sure they were still on board. Then I nodded off again when the train resumed motion.

Arriving in Strasbourg felt great. I was immediately relieved to be in a proper city again. It feels good here.

Now that I'm rested and showered, I need to get out the door and go meet Regis, who is lending me his apartment for the month. It's time to start the second phase of my pastry adventure. And this phase has to speak French. Eeek.

Oh and he doesn't have internet at his apartment (oh mon dieu!), so I'll do my best to check in when I can.

Bonne journée!

Finally, the final.

So this was it. Our final final. The one that really counted. All those crazy practice tests were merely to prepare us for this week. Our technical exam was Monday and I think it went just fine. There wasn't anything on the test that caught me off guard. And it was a good thing I memorized all the sugar tables and charts, because as I suspected, they were waiting for me on the test.

Then Tuesday and Wednesday we had our practical. 13 hours. And honestly, compared to the last exam, this was easy.

Our mission:

• Brioche Nanterre
• Tarte Tatin
• Pâte de fruit à la noix de coco
• Une plaque de bonbon en chocolat de couverture noire avec une garniture de ganache framboise
• Galette à la crème d'amande pour deux personnes
• Omelette Norvégienne pour six personne à la crème glacée vanille et éclat de nougatine
• Support en chocolat pour disposer les pâtes de fruit détaillé et les bonbon en chocolat
• Entremet frasier moderne 

Et...

• Dresser trois dessert à l'assiette individuel avec:
• fond de biscuit breton
• disque de bavaroise vanille
• disque aux fruits rouges
• boule de sorbet
• coulis de mure

 Oh, and it's Valentine's theme....

Here's my chocolate support for my dark chocolate bonbons filled with a raspberry ganache. Apparently they were pretty good because when I came back after the judges, they were all gone. Not a one to be found. The white squares are my pâte a fruit de coco (coconut fruit jellies). We all ended up doing this recipe twice as three drops of citric acid isn't enough to keep them together, three grams works much better.

Here's my broiche. I was really worried this was going to be too dry. I baked it on the first day, against the recommendation of chef. However I can only assume it was good because it too was all gone when I returned after the judges' viewing.

This is my sad looking ice cream cake. I think it's pretty much a baked Alaska. There's a delicious vanilla ice cream with chunks of nougatine. It's all encased in a white cake box. Then an Italian meringue with egg yolks is pipped on the outside. This looks messy because I didn't whip my meringue enough and it just didn't hold up as I was piping. I would have redone it, but it was the last thing I did and had no more time. It tasted good though, and that's most important.

Tarte Tatin. Sugar, butter and apple on top of puffed pastry. That's it. Ooey gooey sticky yummy.

Galette. These are puffed pastry filled with almond creme. It's a very basic French dessert. Or sometimes breakfast.

This is my modern fraisier. This had a layer of white cake, an insert of strawberry gelatin stuff, and the rest was filled with a bavaroise vanilla cream. Oh and then all covered with a glaçage. Here, have a look.

Then we had our plated desserts. Again. I'm SO glad I don't want to work in a restaurant. Plates are super difficult, and I don't have the patience to get it right. Or neat. This one had a cookie bottom, a red fruit disk, then a disk of the bavaroise cream then a scoop of strawberry sorbet. Oh and the big heart is blackberry purée.

So yeah, that was it. Not so terrible. Not like last time anyway. Or maybe it's all just getting a little bit easier.

After the exam we all waited patiently. All a little nervous about the results. But the officials were impressed and passed on words of praise. I guess in just five months, we really have all come a long way. I know I certainly have. Chef was actually moved to tears. Or sobs, rather. I've never seen a grown man cry like that. I'd like to say it was sweet, he was overwhelmed with pride. It brought out tears in a few others as well. Me, I just felt uncomfortable and a little horrified. But maybe that's just me. Maybe I have a cold heart. Or maybe it's just another cultural difference. I guess French men bawl when they're happy. Sweet. (Not really.)

But look what was waiting for us upstairs! That sure was nice. Although cleaning the lab after this reception. Ouch. Motivation levels took a serious dive.