Emily in France 🇫🇷 Tradition is a Funny Thing
Tradition is a funny, funny thing.
When I was first learning to drive, in the town in which I was very nearly born, in which I spent nearly every summer until my mid-20s, I found all of the different things I had to keep at the forefront of my mind overwhelming: the pedals, my hands, steering, staying on my side of the line, traffic. Oh, and then there were the surprises – largely created by my father. "Look out!" he'd say, concocting a story: a kid's just come out of that hedge; a dog is in the middle of the road; someone has swerved out of his lane. The surprises were the worst, especially when I still couldn't manage the not-surprises.
My father told me that soon I wouldn't think about any of it anymore; it would become habit, second-nature. And with a few rare exceptions, I've found that to be true. Like walking, like riding a bike... but also like less-clichéd habits: making my favorite salad, typing in my door code, making coffee in the morning, locking the door behind me when I go... driving became something I barely even thought about anymore.
That has become true, too, of the way in which I spend my summers.
Summer used to be divided: six weeks in Paziols, six on Long Island. But a few years ago – six, or seven, maybe, my Scottish friend and I can never quite remember – we started spending a week in Cannes, where we met in 2007. It quickly became second-nature to book our tickets in early spring; to reserve, first, the same budget hotel, and then the same rental apartment for the same week, every summer. In Cannes, decisions don't get made: they were made once, years ago, and now they just... unfold: we rise; we go to the shop for picnic provisions and cold water; we lie in the sun before the cool, blue Med and devour books until we can't stand the heat. We gather our things. We shower. We pick up more provisions. We picnic on the rock we have dubbed "our rock," sipping rosé and watching the sun set over the mountains.
It is a lovely tradition.
Like many things, due to COVID, August has not been the same, this year, as it has been in years past. The lack of tradition has felt like a hitch in my step; the car stalling; a kid on a bike coming out of a hedge. What now? What to do?
Make the most of it, I suppose.
Paris is a red zone once more, which means that I expect I will soon be going back underground. But until then, I have a few more days of fresh, southern air; a few more days of lazily reading in the sunshine. A few more days of remembering when traditions were automatic, and simultaneously missing them and realizing how grateful I am to be forced to look at the way my life "usually" goes – and, quite honestly, the way it is now – and think to myself, in spite of everything... how very lucky I am.
What I'm Eating
1. Razor clams with summer truffles, octopus with preserved lemon and eggplant chutney, and the most exquisite sardines with blue cheese at Sur Mer.
2. All the pineapple tomatoes in France.
3. All the white peaches in France.
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What I'm Writing
1. Ratatouille is a classic Provençal dish that requires a precise technique. Neither simple stewed versions nor the iteration that appears in the Disney film is actually a true ratatouille. More for the BBC.
2. When I can't force myself out of the house, I set myself a task: buy an orange. I talk about anxiety and COVID's effect on my little ritual in the most recent issue of journal Gastronomica.
3. Because Internet made my nerdy little heart so happy. Full review on this linguistic study on the way the internet is changing the way we speak on the blog.
What I'm Reading
1. A number of French words lack an adequate English translation (including [shameless self-plug] flâneur). Here are ten awesome ones from The Earful Tower.
2. France is famous for its housing laws that benefit renters, but even here it would be hard to imagine a story as odd as that of this impossible long-time Plaza Hotel tenant, as described in Travel + Leisure.
3. The repercussions of COVID-19 on the American Way will likely be tumultuous and long-lasting. Anthropologist Wade Davis offers a must-read deep dive into the pandemic's probable effects on American culture for Rolling Stone.
A bientôt !