It’s been a month today since I left Paris and yet somehow it feels much further away.
Sometimes I feel so foreign here – like when I went looking for a small log of bloomed, ripe chèvre. My Franprix had at least 5 variations, but here I’m lucky to find a single sort of goat cheese (fresh). When I asked, Madame Cheese Lady told me goat cheese didn’t even come with a rind. Saywhatnow?
And when did I come to know this much about goat cheese anyway?
It’s funny that a thing like cheese can make an ex-expat feel so misplaced.
There are moments when I feel back home. Like exploring Princeton which has been the most cultured town I’ve been to since my return. I have found a great deal of comfort cooking French recipes. I also love watching French films sans sous-titres, biensûr. And my eyes brighten when I catch a glimmer of Paris or Europe here in the states. Like in little cookies with my espresso…
And I’ve been drinking lots of espresso.
I’m just giving myself time to adjust. That’s all it will take, right?
Time and a few glasses of wine.