Life is Like a Box of Chocolates

I had a total hip replacement 10 days ago which means I've pretty much been confined to home, getting my steps in by laps around kitchen, dining room, and living room. I cannot complain -- my pain level is manageable, my surgeon is skilled, and my husband is an attentive caregiver. I had the right side done a year ago with great results so I'm expecting the same on the left. Still, getting out and about is taking a back seat to rehab and recovery.

So while I have no new content on things to do and see locally, I can share a recommendation—one that might come in handy with Valentine’s Day coming up on Wednesday. 

Friends who live in northern Virginia came for dinner a few weeks ago and brought a box of chocolates from Artisan Confections as a bread-and-butter gift. Now, I'm not really a chocolate gal. Given the choice between vanilla and chocolate ice cream, I will always pick vanilla.  Same for apple pie and chocolate mousse -- apple pie wins every time. That said, these chocolates are absolutely delicious with complex flavors; plus, as you can see, each is a miniature work of art. Fortunately the box came with guide that identifies each confection. I spent a lot of time perusing it every time I made a selection although in the end, not one went uneaten.

Although I have lived in DC for 40 years, I still have a mental block against driving in Northern Virginia. There are certain places that I know how to get to such as National Airport and my husband's old office in Ballston. En route to other destinations, I'm as likely to end up in the Pentagon parking lot than wherever I'm supposed to be. It's completely irrational because it's only distant psychologically. 

But I may have to overcome my mental block for a trip to Artisan Confections. The website lists two locations:  1025 N. Fillmore Street near the Clarendon Metro (I think I can handle that) and 1333 Chain Bridge Road in McLean (all bets are off particularly since there is also a 1333 Old Chain Bridge Road).

Four stars.  Highly recommend.

I Scream, You Scream

 Notwithstanding my posts about spring blossoms, the true first sign of the change of seasons is the reappearance of the neighborhood ice cream truck.  Every night around 6 pm, you can hear the sound of "Turkey in the Straw" coming from its speakers, quiet at first and then increasingly louder as it reaches my block.  

The usual truck sells novelties -- popsicles, ice cream sandwiches etc. -- but this one has upped the game by adding soft serve cones.  It also found a primo parking spot -- right outside the entrance to our neighborhood park which includes a playground, tennis and basketball courts, plus several baseball diamonds.  Come this summer, you'll find it there, right at 3 pm when day camp gets out.  Listen for the cries of children begging parents and babysitters for a treat!

What's in A Chip?

 

If you read my Paris blog, you may know of my interest in potato chips as an indicator of differences in tastes across cultures.  (If not, take a look here and here.)  So naturally, after discerning the differences between the French, the Spanish, the Czechs, and so forth by their preferred potato chip flavor, it was only right that I consider what potato chip flavor defines DC. 

In my field work, I found that, during my four year absence from American snack foods, the potato chip aisle has exploded with options.  You still got your Lay's and your storebrand, but now there are dozens of new flavors and even artisanal offerings.  Truly the mind boggles at the attention American industry has paid to this aspect of consumer spending.  If we could only direct that energy into more pressing needs like say, figuring out what to do about global warming or implementing President Obama's health care plan, just imagine the kind of world we might be living in.

But I digress.  If you were to pick a chip flavor for the U.S. in general, I think you'd have to go with the classic.  And for Washington?  That's a toughie.  The closest I could figure were these Chesapeake Crab chips although the folks down Annapolis way would probably take issue with that.  

So I'll put it to a vote.  For my neighbors in DC, what do you think?  And if you're logging in from elsewhre, what potato chip flavor defines where you live?

Summer's Bounty

It used to be that you needed a crowd to enjoy a watermelon.  But someone finally figured out that a small watermelon might be just the ticket for those of us who don't have plans to invite the neighborhood over for dinner.  And kudos to the genius in the marketing department who decided to christen these "personal" watermelons.  It's still a lot for one person; in fact, it's just about perfect for a family of four.

It may be September 1 but it's technically still summer.  So get out there and get you a watermelon, personal or family sized depending upon your mood.  That is some crisp, sweet summer deliciousness.  And by all mean, eat it outside and see just how far you can spit those seeds. 

Comforts of Home

Hello canned black beans.  It is a pleasure to have you back in my life.  Black beans could occasionally be found in Paris but only in the dry variety, not so convenient if you decide at 6:00 that black bean burritos sound good for dinner.  When opening this can the other night, I realized another thing:  I rarely used my can opener in France.  Most canned goods had pop tops.  Now if we could just get those two conveniences on the same continent.

Seldom Seen

It's easy to tick off some of the big things that are different about life in Washington, DC from what you experience in Paris:  bigger cars, fewer bicycles, smiling people, fewer bakeries, hotter temperatures, fewer smokers.  But dozens, perhaps hundreds of little differences, lurk just below the surface.  Here, for example, are two things that you would never (or at least very rarely) see in France:

In the meat case at Giant:

 Outside a small restaurant/deli in a suburban strip shopping center (and yes, they have those in France):

Something for everyone!

Home Grown Tomatoes

My life seems to have turned into an endless succession of unpacking, rearranging, filing, taking out the trash and the recycling, waiting on service calls, errands, and driving all over kingdom come.  More than once, I've said to myself, "this is not the life I signed up for."  I keep reminding myself that it's only temporary, eventually things will settle into a sense of normalcy, that my house will no longer look like a bomb went off inside, that there will be pictures hung on the wall, that I will no longer be driving up Rockville Pike or down U.S. 1, and children will be back into a routine involving people their own age.  It's not that I'm missing my life in France so much as I am missing the life of regular hours, a place for everything and everything in its place, and when there is time to enjoy the many gifts DC has to offer.

It's not all doom and gloom.  Among the things I have been enjoying is the summer's bounty of tomatoes.  We arrived back in town far too late to plant our own but fortunately there are plenty of farm stands around with baskets of red and green and zebra striped beauties in every shape and size.  For all Parisian open-air markets had to offer, a decent tomato was never to be found.  Now I'm reveling in BLT, salads, and sometimes just a simple slice with a smidge of salt.  Mmmmm.

Songwriter Guy Clark sure had it right:  "Only two things that money can't buy.  That's true love and homegrown tomatoes."

Only in America

Only in America would you find:

A parking lot of oversized cars (full disclosure:  I used to drive a mini van but those days are now behind me).

A bible and the Book of Mormon in the top drawer of your hotel nightstand.

Presidential Chia pets.  



A grocery aisle marked "peanut butter."

 

A Game of Chicken

I started this blog fully expecting that reverse culture shock would give me plenty to write about.  In fact, a month into our return, coming back to DC has been more like putting on a comfy pair of old jeans than a rude awakening.  I know I've changed and the world didn't stand still while we were gone, but for the most part, it's been easy to slide back into old routines and find old stomping grounds for the most part much the same.

But a funny thing happened tonight as I was cooking David Lebovitz's Olympic Seoul chicken for dinner.  It's not a French dish but it's one I learned to cook in Paris.  I launched into the familiar routine of skinning and separating the chicken thighs and legs, prepping four of each, just as I had so many times before.  But when it came time to put the pieces in the pan, the same pan I used in Paris, I found there was no room for the legs!  Yes, everything's bigger in America, the cars, the houses, the people, even the chickens.

Bagels

We haven't yet tried any of the baguette options now available in DC, in part because I don't want to be disappointed and in part because I'm still at the stage of enjoying all the things we missed during four years in France.  And while I hear that Le Pain Quotidien is a nice addition to the local scene and that there is a fabulous patisserie hiding up behind the Twinbrook metro station, for the moment, I am most content with this:

Hot delicious chewiness.

While there's always going to be a New Yorker who will tell you that you can't get a decent bagel in DC, gone are the days when you needed to take the trip north or place an overnight order with H&H.  After what passed for a bagel in Paris (that is bagel shaped industrial white bread often at up to 3.50 euros a pop), these babies at the Georgetown Bagelry are a treat with or without the cream cheese.