Some household rules at my homestay: open your bedroom shudders in the morning. Make your bed every day. Put your dirty dishes from breakfast in the sink. Double check that you locked the front door.No visitors past midnight. Past ten pm, you can use the toilet, just don’t flush it, otherwise the entire building will be woken up by the pipes. Close your shudders at night. Hang up wet towels.
And most importantly, do not eat before you come home.
This is perhaps the most important rule, but it’s not one that was explicitly laid out for me. It’s something I’ve come to understand after nearly two weeks here. If I have a crepe or a croissant in town before heading home, I will not be able to eat everything our hostmom puts in front of me, and that is a horrible offense. She usually provides about five or seven different courses, and then dessert, and if we don’t take some of everything and then eat all of it, she becomes confused and hurt. Such is the French way.
She has now decided, after many nights of back-and-forth, that I simply eat like a bird and she should prepare less. I am grateful for this. But I will never outright turn down her food. She can make anything: flan, quiche, tapenade, chicken curry, carrots and sweet potato mash, and of course fresh bread with cheese and apricot confiture.
Once, when I was running out the door late for school, there was a strange woman sitting in our kitchen talking with Malvina. This happens a lot; she’s a popular woman. Malvina asked if I’d had breakfast, and I said no but I was fine, and the woman stood up and handed me an orange, with a look of urgency on her face. Total stranger. Eating is important, and food is important. It is central to their lives in a different way than it is for us. I can’t say for certain, but I feel like this must have something to do with the kind of mass generational hunger that this country has endured. At least that would make sense.
Cordialement,
Allison
P.S.: Today I saw a guy reverse his car completely into the bumper of another car to get a parallel spot. He got out of his car and left without even looking.
Flan in France 