FOOD!

I have officially stooped to a new low in my life. I just used the end of my hairbrush as a spoon. There is a very good reason for it though. I am sitting in my room, and I had this EXTREME craving for peanut butter. So I pulled my emergency jar out of my desk drawer, and in a hormonal, hungry teenage girl frenzy, reached for anything long enough to get to the bottom of the jar. My hairbrush was the only thing in site I decided wasn't going to give me a disease if I ingested it. In my opnion, I was being resourceful. I didn't want to bother anyone by going into the kitchen in search of a spoon, and I didn't feel like answering pointless questions about why I was taking said spoon to my room, so I feel I made the right decision. Sanitary? No...Delicious? YES.

I MISS AMERICAN FOOD. We went to McDonald's the other day, (the Frenchies call it MacDo...in a french accent, of course) and I was so excited because how much more American can a resturaunt be, ya know? I was terribly mistaken.

Difference #1: There is an actual person who comes around and takes your order. NO! This is all wrong! McDonald's is the place where you stand in line for 20 minutes, and when you finally make it up to the counter, you're greeted by either a zit- plagued teenager or a completely tatooed convict in hiding who act like it takes all their energy to utter the words, "Hi, whadya want?" Not in France! The people look professional, and smile, and ask you about your day. It's CREEPY.

Difference #2: And the best part! In France, the burgers actually look the way they do in the ads! It's amazing! They actually look edible, as opposed to the lovely grayish- brown patties we get in the good 'ole USA. Our burgers are served on a bun that seems to have drastically deflated for some reason, and the bag they give this "food" to us in, is dripping with an unidentified substance that is hard to differenciate from motor oil. Paper Happy Meal bags do not exist in France. Just a sanitized tray, complete with silverware. Yes, my friends. Actual silverware, not the plastic kind. Palpable.

Difference #3: (and the most important) The term "Fast- food" is totally lost on the French. I don't know if they understand that McDonalds was FOUNDED UPON the idea of being FAST. Order fast, eat fast, leave fast. That happens to be the point of the entire McDonald's empire. Here, it's considered an actual resturaunt. I know, strange. We actual sat in McDonalds for an hour and a half to eat our food. The experience was SURREAL. (I am aware that you don't care, but I got a Big Mac. The significance of this, is that when my mother was pregnant with me, she ate a Big Mac EVERYDAY, up until the day I was born. Her reasoning? I really have no idea, but I am almost certain that it was not doctor- perscribed. My guess would be that it would probably even be frowned upon by most doctors. I've never been pregnant, but from what I've heard, the cravings can get pretty bad. And I wouldn't want to be that zit plagued teenager taking my extremely hormonal mother's order at McDonalds...that's for sure.)

Despite all the grease I consumed as a fetus, I think I turned out ok :)

So now that I've successfully managed to talk about McDonalds for four paragraphs, I'll mention some other French dietary practices. Believe it or not, Hershey's chocolate is not exported out of America. That was an insane shocker when I got here, to say the least. I went into Hershey's withdrawl, I started to feel very tired all the time, I became very irratable, I didn't leave my room for three whole days...(this is an extremely pathetic exaggeration, thank goodness) None of this happened, but I was sad. So I emailed my mama asking her to send me some candy, and low and behold, 10 days later a package arrived for me. It was FILLED with candy. Bags and bags of Hershey's miniatures, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups out the wazoo, and about 72,567 King Size Hershey Bars. It was like a dream come true. (the package also contained a laptop, $300 cash, an ATM card, and multiple letters from my darling sister, so I was happy for multiple reasons...) I am ashamed to admit this, but I managed to polish of an entire bag of Hershey's minis all by myself. Whoops. It's not my fault they're so good. I just couldn't resist their charm. I am weak.

Tomatoes: I NEVER ate tomatoes in the USA. In fact, I avoided them at all costs. They were the ONLY food I didn't eat, (other than mayo) and I was very particular about making sure all my food was tomato- free. Well that totally changed when I moved here. I eat tomatoes at least three times a day. No joke. Raw, cooked, alone, mixed in salad, stuffed...seriously, any way you can imagine a tomato, I've eaten it. And I have to admit, they're not half bad. Dare I say it...I actually...uh...may...sort of...like them. *GASP* I still don't eat mayonnaise though. That is the only other food that I despise with great passion. Sorry Annie, my hate for mayonnaise will probably never change. They don't eat much mayo here, so I'm safe.

Cheese: HOLY FREAKING GREAT GOBS OF CHEESE. This country's entire WORLD revolves around cheese. I eat tomatoes a lot. I eat cheese more than alot. For dessert after every meal: cheese. Snacks during the day: cheese. Stomache ache: eat some cheese. <<< I'm kidding about the last one. But regardless, we eat a lot of cheese. There is an ENTIRE aisle devoted to cheese in the grocery store. Young cheese, old cheese, green cheese, bleu cheese, wasabi cheese, hard cheese, expensive cheese, cheap cheese, wine cheese, bread cheese, dessert cheese, cheese cubes, cheese wheels, cheese blocks...I wish I was exaggerating with this one. While I've been here I've tested about 15 different kinds of cheese, I'd say. They're all pretty good, but clearly I do not take my cheese as seriously as the Frenchies. I mean, at home I eat slices of cheese out of a plastic bag, and the only thing foreign about it is the name on the package. In the "Cheese- Snob" department, I am totally lacking. If you heard the rumor that good cheese smells like feet, I'd like to tell you that it's not true. Sadly, I cannot tell you that, or I'd be lying. The smell is so overbearing, that my younger "brother" Robin leaves the room everytime the cheese is brought out. Yes, it's that bad.