One year ago

One year ago today, I arrived in Amsterdam for the start of a month and a half traveling across Europe, mostly all over France, to taste as many regional cuisines as I could.  It was an amazing trip, and it has been on my mind a lot lately.  It's not that I exactly wish I were headed off for another six-plus weeks of living out of a suitcase and moving to a new city every two or three days, but I can't shake the feeling that this summer is so mundane in comparison, especially when I consider all I packed into those weeks.

I boated under low, canal-spanning bridges.

 I dipped my toes in the Mediterranean.

I compared tomatoes at open-air markets.

I visited cathedrals and soaked in a gargoyle's-eye view.

I hiked Alpine peaks while cowbells jingled in the distance.

I rode téléphériques through the clouds.

I trod over cobbled streets through half-timbered neighborhoods.

I considered breaking US customs laws.

I watched naked children play in the world's largest puddle.

I explored old fortifications while the sun set over the Atlantic.

I nibbled pastries by riversides.

I sipped espressos in shady plazas.

I got caught in the middle of front-page news.

I danced the YMCA with a thousand Parisians on the Champ du Mars.

And I ate.  Oh, did I eat.  There were so many good things to eat in France, but four of them really stand out in my memory: pig's feet in Lyon; cod omelet in Bayonne; blood sausage in Bordeaux; and brioche perdu - that's French toast for y'all non-French speakers - in Tours.  My mouth starts watering when I just think of any of those dishes.  Sadly, even if I could get the ingredients I needed to make those dishes for myself, I know I couldn't prepare them as masterfully as those chefs did.

I'm glad to have the opportunity to see so many friends this summer, and to visit my own farmer's market every week and cook with the produce I buy there, and to read, rest, and relax.  But oh, do I miss France.  So here's a toast - a kir, of course - to my next trip.  I hope it will be soon.