Fois Gras and Me

I have a confession to make: I don’t like fois gras. There. I said it. It’s out there and there’s no taking it back. I’m sorry to offend the entire country of France, but I can no longer tolerate your specialty.
But seriously, I don’t, I just…I just can’t like it. I’ve tried it, and tried to like it, but it just doesn’t work. Me and fois gras, we just weren’t made to be together. It’s like Tom and Jerry or Romeo and Juliet (sans the devoted love part); we just can’t live together in peace. I don’t like it, and it doesn’t like me (and I KNOW it doesn’t like me, because why else would it insist on inflicting it’s terribly, pasty, meat and backwoods smoky taste on my tongue every time I try and suffer through it for the sake of France?). But if there’s one thing the French have trouble accepting, it’s the disrespect in the form of dislike of their favorite devil’s-paste. Let’s recap on last night’s Rotary Christmas dinner, shall we?
Alright, so for the most part, it went really well. I held my own conversation wise and overall the evening was quite pleasant, held in a folksy but classy little Bed and Breakfast just outside of Compiegne. During the aperitif, I was making friendly conversation with two Rotarians when I was asked a simple question: What French food did I not find mouth-watering delicious and thoroughly irresistible (as if there was such a food!)? I answered as honestly and humbly as I could that while I can occasionally manage cooked and warm fois gras, when it’s cold it just does not suit my gout. Later, as everyone was settling down at the table and the menu was being shown around and discussed, I saw that –surprise!- our entrée was not one, but two different sorts of the very meat paste that makes my palate tingle in horror. The nice man I talked to at the start looked at me and with a friendly twinkle in his eye said “uh, oh, Kristen…”
I prepared myself to suffer through it silently as the entree arrived. After all, I’d done it before. Just put a little on your fork, place at the back of your tongue where it can do the least amount of damage to the taste buds and swallow, followed by a quick bite of bread. With everyone served, I looked down at my plate with apprehension and eyed my enemy. I picked up my fork, cut off a piece big enough to pass for a solid try and prayed that my taste buds would suddenly numb and save me the horror that I had experienced every other time I’d eaten it. They didn’t. I tried again with a slightly smaller piece. Same. I continued one or two more times each with a smaller piece than the last when a voice startled me out of my agony. “Do you like it?” I was asked. Before I could demurely murmur that it was fine, thank you, someone spoke up for me saying “she doesn’t like fois gras”.
Silence. Deafening silence. Slowly, person by person, it spread down the table that –horror of horrors! – Kristen doesn’t like the heavenly fattened liver of goose that is one of France’s most prized specialties. I swear that you would have thought I had stood up, threw some wine and then slapped the lady across from me with the looks of shock I was greeted with. Thankfully, several people came quickly back to their senses and offered kindly “no worries”, assuring me that I wasn’t obligated to eat it.
As conversation started back up again, my rotary contact looked at me and said “Donnez-moi”…give me. Embarrassed, intimidated and bewildered, I handed her my plate and the remaining food of Satan was divided between whoever wanted it and passed around the entire table as I sat quietly with my cheeks burning and my dirty silverware in my hand. The waiter, alarmed at the passing of my plate, asked if everything was all right to which the response was “Oh, yeah…she’s just American”. I guess that explained everything.
I spent the remainder of the (four hour) meal eating everything on my plate - the plat principal of chicken and potatoes, the plate of cheese (which wreaked havoc on my stomach) and the dessert plate of chocolate (despite my being so full I wasn’t sure if I could stand up) – and comment on how much I liked it and trying to explain that I’m really not a picky eater…I swear!!
Other than that, the dinner passed without a problem as I made conversation here and discussed “le crise” there. It was mostly a success which puts me at 1 and fois gras at 3 (seeing as I silently ate it ALL the three other times it was given to me). I’m catching up pasty liver fat…watch your back.

So, the past two weekends I was in Belgium with my host family with the most recent being for the wedding of my “aunt.” It was really lovely and everyone (especially the bride) looked wonderful. There was lots of food (FOIS GRAS, YOU GOT ME AGAIN!), dancing, wine, love and fun and for the first time, I really felt a break through with the language. I met more new people than I could possibly remember and spent the whole weekend with barely a word of English…a true accomplishment! Other than that, I’ve just been hanging around, babysitting, bike riding (12 km along the Belgian country side with my host grandmother…it was right out of a Forster novel, I swear!), celebrating St. Nicolas Day (who, is apparently NOT the same person as Santa Claus OR Pere Noel…and who goes around to all the children’s houses giving out gifts to the good and having his African helper BEAT THE BAD CHILDREN on Dec 6th) and sending out my Christmas cards. Last week my friend Victoria came to visit on Wednesday and we spent the day Christmas shopping at the marche de noel in my town and just speaking the wonderful language that is our native tongue. It’s been very cold lately…not that that really bothers me (upstate New Yorkers don’t get cold), it’s more the wind that’s so raw it could rip the skin right off your cheeks that gets to me.
I’m officially on break come Saturday and we’ll be off to Belgium again for the holidays (it really does not feel like Christmas to me at all). Then come January I change host families and a whole new period of readjustment and learning begins.

Have a safe and happy holiday! I miss and love you all!
Bisous,
Kristen