Beware the breaststrokers

Overall I find Paris to be a very easy city to live in. The Metro system is great, and constantly being maintained and expanded; you can easily walk and bike everywhere – with the ever-expanding Vélib system, really easily bike everywhere; and there are those wonderful small businesses – restaurants, cafés, bakeries and markets – that France is known for in every neighborhood. It also doesn't have the temperature extremes of my two previous cities, New York and Chicago.

Another great thing about Paris: the swimming pools. There are 38 pools in Paris, a city smaller than San Francisco, with at least two more in the works. One of these, Molitor, looks really cool (compare the plans with the picture at the bottom of the page). Some of the pools are older but they're all in decent shape. They're also very affordable. It's 24 € for 10 entries or 37 € for an unlimited three-month pass. Truly an example of tax money well spent.

There is one downside to the pools, though... and that's the people! As a general rule, the other swimmers are lacking in both swimming skills and pool etiquette. In the US, the default stroke in a pool is the crawl. Here, it's the breaststroke. And not like what you see in the Olympics. I'm talking a slow, wiiiiiiide stroke that doesn't involve putting your head in the water.

If it were just this, it wouldn't be such a problem. People can swim how they like and I'm glad the pools provide a place where non-serious swimmers feel welcome. I only wish they would be as accomodating of more serious swimmers! For example, there's no concept of selecting a lane based on your speed relative to the swimmers already there. One lane is as good as another. Swimming in a busy lane requires constant weaving in and out, and when it's too crowded it becomes impossible.

Breaststrokers take up a lot of space and are difficult to pass. As you go by them you risk getting an abrupt frog-kick in your side. Brave is s/he who tries to go between two breaststrokers (not me). This summer a stray kick practically broke my finger. Ok, it was just a jam, but it really hurt. The guy who did it was very apologetic, though.

My first impression when I started swimming in Paris pools was that people act like they're in their own private pool. Alone. You get people crowding the wall talking so there's no space to touch, swimming right in the middle of the lane for no apparent reason, people who are slower than you starting their swim right before you touch the wall to turn around.

When my friend or I – or her husband, who gets really annoyed – have made polite suggestions to people on how to better share the lane we've gotten defensive responses. There seems to be a resistance to creating rules that aren't imposed. What's crazy is that the only solution then is to be aggressive, barging past people who are too far over, claiming your space, until they get the point.

It's funny because the kids here, with all those wonderful city pools, take swim class for school. We see them coming in when we leave in the morning. I took swimming in gym class and I know how useless it is for actually learning to swim, but maybe they could teach pool etiquette? And how to control those frog-kicks. That would be great.

Potiron pie

Or, how to make a French pumpkin pie.

Filling

Pumpkins are not the most common of items here. You can buy canned pumpkin from one of the American stores for, like, 8 € but I'd rather not. I'm sort of against the whole concept of American stores anyway. I want to make American recipes... but in French. It's more fun and it you learn how to use the ingredients available here.

Phi and I thought we found a pumpkin but the grocer told us it was actually potiron, a close cousin of the traditional North American pumpkin most commonly used in soup. It was that or sweet potato so I decided to try it.

Potiron is often sold pre-cut into more practical-size pieces.

I used two large pieces and had just a little left over.

It was really easy to prepare. You cut it into pieces to steam...

...then remove the peel with your hands and homogenize the mush with a hand blender. I let it sit while I prepared the crust and poured off excess water that collected at the top.

For the filling I followed the classic Libby's recipe my mom always uses, cutting back on the evaporated milk to keep it from being too wet. My highly knowledgeable Facebook contacts informed me that evaporated milk is called lait condensé sans sucre. I found some at Monoprix near the non-dairy-creamer.

Crust

Measurements and even the composition of basic ingredients, like flour, vary between the US and France. Rather than attempt to adapt an American recipe, which is a pain, and might not turn out as well, I made a French crust. There are three basic types of French crusts that I know of: feuilletée (puff pastry), brisée (a standard tart crust) and sablée (sweet). I chose the feuilletée since I thought it would go best with this type of pie.

In French recipes the dry ingredients are given by weight. We don't have a scale so we use this handy-dandy measuring cup that Phi's mom showed us. It lets you measure out the weight of sugar, flour and liquids by volume.

The first step is to make a mixture of flour, water and salt called la détrempe.

You wrap it in foil and let it sit for half an hour.

Now comes the scary part. Butter.

500 grams' worth, or more than four American sticks. I bought all this butter thinking I would get a few recipes out of it. Not knowing that I would use it all in one crust.

After working the butter thoroughly to soften it, you prepare to roll out the dough. My rolling pin is a wine bottle. It works just as well.

You roll the dough out into a 20 cm x 20 cm square.

Here's where it gets really strange. You dump all the butter onto the rolled-out dough in one big heap.

Plop.

Fold in the corners to make a butter dumpling.

Let the butter dumpling sit a half hour, then start rolling it out. This is tricky. You have to roll it out long and thin but without letting any of the butter outside the dough.

My attempt:

Yeah, I know.

The butter was too soft and started coming out the ends before I could roll the dough out to its full length. And as you can see from the patchy color, the butter wasn't evenly distributed within the dough.

Next you fold the dough in three, turn it 90 degrees, and roll it out again, all the while keeping the butter enclosed in the dough. You fold it in three yet again and refrigerate it for at least 15 minutes. This is considered one round or tour. To make a proper pâte feuilletée (layered crust) you have to do SIX rounds.

Here's a nice site that shows it clearly.

This rolling out and folding is key to creating multitudes of thin, flaky layers. It's a long process, though not too laborious once you get past the first rolling-out. It got easier in later rounds when the butter was cold and hard.

According to Wikipedia you can calculate the number of layers in your feuilletée with the formula

L = fⁿ + 1

where L is the number of layers, f the number of folds and n is the number of times the dough is folded. The classic system of three folds six times therefore gives you 3⁶ + 1 or 730 layers! That's one serious crust.

They even know who invented this demonic thing: Claude Gellée, a 17th-century French painter with too much time and butter on his hands.

Pie

Enfin.

It's not the most beautiful thing ever but I'm just glad it turned out ok! The potiron filling had a good consistency with no noticeable difference in taste from pumpkin. I only had to use half the crust, thank god, and saved the rest in the freezer. It was rolled out a little too thick and I didn't add enough salt, but it was good otherwise. Best of all, it had actual layers! I will try a pâte brisée next time, I think it might actually go better than the feuilletée.

Box o' goodies

Something that's nice about going away to college and living abroad: you receive care packages.

Do I sense a theme?

It arrived a few days ago, lovingly composed and packed (actually, really skillfully packed) by my mom and my little sister Katie. There was tons of stuff in there, much of it pumpkin-flavored and definitely stuff I cannot find here. I love it, this stuff just says Fall to me.

A bonus: the package went straight to the gardien of my building this time instead of the post office.

Katie got the idea when I told her I wanted to make a pumpkin pie but wasn't sure how easy it would be to find the pumpkin. They don't sell the canned stuff here and fresh pumpkins aren't very common. I've since discovered potiron, a squash that is easily mistaken for a pumpkin and is so closely related to it, the only translation I could find is "pumpkin." It's much more common here than pumpkin and, I found, tastes just like it.

Doesn't mean I'm not happy to have some of the canned stuff. I think I might use it to make pumpkin bread, where the wetness of fresh pumpkin – ahem, potiron, might make more of a difference.

Thanks, guys!

Flu shot

It's that time of year again: flu season. There have been lots of absent coworkers, people coughing and sneezing on the Metro and companies which have banned cheek-kissing and hand-shaking to prevent the spread of germs – namely, that big scary one, H1N1, known here as la grippe A (flu A).

Normally I laugh in the face of viruses and boast about my powerful youthful immunity. No more. Since being in France I've developed allergies that keep me sneezing and blowing my nose all day long and have been much more susceptible to illness.

To avoid what sickness I can I've been washing my hands like a maniac and for the first time, I decided to get the flu shot. It works a little differently here than in the US: rather than go to doctor and get the shot all in one go, you first get a prescription for the vaccine, go pick it up from the pharmacy and then bring it back so they can stick you.

At least that's how it usually works. When I arrived the doctor acted like I was daft not to know I was supposed to stop by the pharmacy first and bring the shot with me. No prescription needed.

"We don't sell vaccines here!" is how she put it, like I was trying to order a cheeseburger from her or something.

When I made the appointment I had specifically said it was to get the flu shot and they hadn't said anything about bringing the vaccine. How was I to know? I told her that and explained that I'm from the US, where you get the vaccine at the doctor's.

"You are not in the US, madame, you are in France!" Thank you. I had no idea.

Obviously I'm not familiar with all aspects of the system here, but I would be surprised if your average person off the street knew that you didn't need a prescription for the flu shot. The reason, according to the doctor, is that this vaccine isn't reimbursed.

I went to the pharmacy across the street and asked for the flu shot, le vaccin contre la grippe. They gave me a small box containing a pre-filled syringe. It may not be reimbursed but no matter – it was only €6.50.

I was of half a mind to tell the doctor to shove it but I wanted to get it over with. She must have felt bad for being a bitch because she was much nicer this time. The shot was smooth as silk – the first time I have had a truly painless shot – and out of the blue she offered to give me a prescription for 6-months' worth of birth control pills instead of the usual 3 you get from a GP.

BTW the H1N1 flu vaccine will be a different business entirely: it won't be available to the general public for around another month, and then will be given (for free) at community centers.

Weekend in Prague

We were in Prague this weekend, which will be our last trip for a while. Time to stay home and save money and embrace my casanière (homebody) side. I'm a little travel-weary. And I miss a lot of cool things happening in Paris because I'm away so much!

This trip was short, only a weekend, but it was one of those rare fun times that felt longer. We met up with our friends Stacy and Meredith, who were there for a week, joined by their friends Doug and Ricky. We only got to see them Friday night and Saturday but it was great to catch up with them and make a couple of new friends as well! They greeted us, appropriately, with cold cans of Czech beer.

We walked a lot while we were there, including a 1.5-hour guided tour given by Meredith at 1:00 in the morning (at least, that's what she told me it was...), and I can tell you, those cobblestones are no joke. Some of them are spaced so far apart you could fall in. I brought just one pair of shoes, some normally comfortable wedges, and each day after a few hours the soles of my feet were screaming.

Our friends had saved the biggest sight, the castle, for when we would be there. The castle itself was kinda meh, and so full of tourists it was slightly suffocating, but the St. Vitus cathedral within was stunning. I had never heard of it but Stacy said it was presented as the quintessential example of Gothic architecture in her art history classes. We went in the early afternoon when the sun was coming through the windows and the walls were awash with color. The crypt and the tower were both closed due to "technical difficulties," and the front of the cathedral was roped off, I believe recently since it was covered in the audioguide.

Sunday Philippe and I wandered from the Jewish cemetery, closed for Rosh Hashanah, to Letná Park (Letenské sady) north of the river, attracted there by a huge red bar tilting from side to side at the top of the hill called the Metronom. It didn't have any functional purpose that we could divine. We sat listening to it hum and looked at the view. We walked through the park back to the castle and visited the cathedral again. It was nice because there weren't nearly as many tourists as there had been on Saturday.

The trip was short but we'll be going back there in May or June to celebrate my mom's boyfriend's 60th birthday (he is from Prague) and hopefully get more of an insider's view. Cheers to that.

Some quick Things About Prague:
- The service: Usually nice, sometimes very brusque. Meredith got a menu ripped out of her hands when she tried to order a second starch, fries, with her meal. She did not get her fries.
- Credit cards: Generally not accepted. Restaurants and even the ticket booths at touristy (and expensive) sights would not take them.
- Subway: Very deep, with very fast Soviet-era escalators. We liked them but we didn't see any old ladies dare.
- Tram: Wonderful!
- Cobblestones: Ouch.

Da pics

Prague

A cathedral and a triathlon: Strasbourg

The latest cathedral + tri session was held two weeks ago in Strasbourg.

With our few hours in the city we visited the cathedral and partook of some local delicacies: choucroute garnie (sauerkraut with various meats), tarte à l'oignon (onion tart) and riesling wine. Good stuff.

Strasbourg cathedral.

Astronomical clock in the cathedral.

The race was held south of Strasbourg in the ski town of Gérardmer. We went to the race expo the day before so I could try to rent a wetsuit (une combinaison or combin' in French), dreading the thought of getting in the lake at 8 in the morning without one. I ended up buying one that fit me perfectly for the bargain rate of 170 euros. No no, that's not sarcastic. That's actually a good price!

I slept horribly that night anticipating the cold, early morning and the swim in general. We arrived around 7 and went through the standard triathlon routine. Roll up your sleeve and pantleg so they can write your number in black permanent marker. Get inspected before entering the transition area for proper labeling of bike, helmet and person. Find your station and park your bike in it. Set up your station: helmet, running shoes, race belt, windbreaker... Whatever you'll want or need during the race. My one sort of luxury item is my running cap, a quick remedy to swim-cap/bike-helmet-head.

The air was a freezing 8°C (46°F) but the lake was a balmy 20°C (68°F). Getting in with a wetsuit it felt like a bathtub! My only gripe was that we had to walk 10 minutes over a path composed of very ouch-y gravel to get there. It was awful.

I don't know if I swam any faster this time but I felt more in my groove, less bothered by all the people thrashing around me. I tried to do some crawl but found it more efficient to breaststroke. It was too hard to see and breathe otherwise. I need to keep working at it, though. I'm way way off my pool time, which is pretty crazy considering that you should be faster in a race. Triathlon swims are an alternate universe!

Coming out of the water I tried to rip my wetsuit down to my waist but... it was stuck! I couldn't get it over my wrists. Maybe it fit too well. I had to sit down and coax it off each limb, which seemed to take forever but was quicker than I thought (1:30 for the transition).The bike was pretty good. A big long hill right in the beginning but fast after that. The run was nice and hilly and shaded.

Mes résultats
Total time - 1:30
500 m swim - 11:48 (2:22/100 m)
Transition 1 - 1:30
20 km bike + transition - 48:51
5.5 km run - 27:40 (5 min/km = 8 min/mi)

Transition area

The seasoned triathletes clip their bike shoes into their pedals ahead of time, then strap them on en route.

They also take them off before stopping - amazing!

Foire d'Antony

This weekend the town of Antony south of Paris held its annual cheese and wine fair (foire). Our friends who live there have been raving about it since last year so we were sure not to miss it. We mostly sampled wines and cheese, but also pâté, cognac, cider, spice cake and jams. All for free, unless you wanted to buy something. It's a great way to learn about wine. The prices were good too: just 5 or 6 euros for many of the wines. We bought four bottles of wine, a jar of pâté and some cheese.

Phi entered a contest to see who could guess how heavy a gift basket of wine and other goodies was. He guessed the second-closest weight, but they made a mistake and thought he had won. When they realized their error they decided to let Phi keep the basket and give the real winner an even nicer one.

We were now going home with exactly 13.97 kilos (31 lbs) more stuff, including five bottles of wine, a bottle of champagne, a bottle of olive oil, four cheeses, four pâtés and more.

We gave our friends the champagne, one of the wines, a massive jar of duck confit and half of each of the cheeses, since if not for them we wouldn't have gone to the foire in the first place. Also, they are much bigger wine and cheese enthusiasts than we are and we felt a little guilty that we showed up out of the blue and won a bunch of stuff!

To give you an idea of how pitiful our wine collection has gotten: I go to put the wine away back at our place and there are two liters of milk in the rack where two bottles of wine should be. This makes Phi happy since he had forgotten he put it there and now we have more milk.