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April 12, 2015
I find myself once again sitting in the sun beside the empty pool reflecting back on the week. And what a week it has been. Starting my week off viewing a nudist on the street of Aix to Van Gogh’s home town of Arles to discovering a love for hiking.
Lets start with the first. Monday was an average day with Art History at the house followed by a cappuccino during Literature class in our cafe. Then we went our separate ways for lunch before meeting back up to watch the new Cinderella in French. I preferred the original. The shoppers went on their way while the rest of us waited for the bus. For an hour and a half. Finally we gave up and called Jen who told us to go to our usually pick up stop so Dave could get us. Hungry and irritated we waited some more. When the van finally pulled up Jen threw open the door and yelled “DID YOU SEE THE NAKED MAN?” Perplexed and still pissed off we jumped in the van. And there he was. A man, butt naked, strolling down one of the main streets of Aix like he owned the place. I’m not sure whether to respect him or report him to the police.
The rest of week was filled with the greats, like Cézanne and Van Gogh. Interesting but lacking the feeling of red pepper flakes (the feeling of biting into something delicious but bland and having that excitement of pepper added in, now translate that into real and thats what I mean by “red pepper flake feeling”). Soon enough it was time for me to cook again. Bao and I decided on a nice comforting meal of white fish and homemade risotto. The fish arrived from the market and I began to prepare it while Bao tirelessly stirred our risotto. While rinsing the fish I noticed it felt dry, but I put the thought out of my head because I knew if wasn’t hours fresh. After seasoning and putting each filet carefully on baking sheets we threw them in the oven. Naturally I hovered over the oven not wanting my carefully prepared fish to over cook. Over cooked fish is truly awful. I timed it perfectly. Everyone lined up for food, excited for our first taste of the Mediterranean. We sat down and did our nightly toast before settling into the delicious meal. I watched Jen delicately take a piece of the perfectly flaking fish and put it in her mouth. Now what I expected was groans of delight and appreciation over my perfectly cooked fish. I saw Jen’s eyes bulge and her hand flew to her mouth. I pushed the nervous feeling that was creeping up on me out of my head. Jen just put too much lemon of her filet. I prepared it perfectly, nothing could be wrong. My process of preparing was quite possibly flawless but the fish was not. Previous salted for long term storage it felt like I had put a salt flat in my mouth. I have never tasted anything so repulsive in my entire life. Fifi and I both raced to the trash can while Dave less discreetly spit the incredibly over salted fish up on his plate.
I see this fish incident like a gauntlet that has thrown down. I now face the challenge of preparing the fish again but this time it will be fresh. I don’t know when I will redeem myself but I will. For now it is off to Paris.