École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts, 16h107 February 2010.... . . . . . Julia refers to college life and relationships as though they were seasons of a television series. We were in the midst of season three when I skipped over the second half of it, jumping into the fourth season with my trip abroad. We're all hoping season five brings us all together again but not before fully indulging in international cameos while the fourth lingers on.
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Monday was orientation. I got there late. By like two minutes (which is still eighteen minutes early in French-time). I jogged up the rue Bonaparte, dodging Vespas and old women in fur coats and small dogs on the narrow cobblestone walkways, brushing through the gate onto the school grounds. I pressed through dark halls adjoining courtyards lined with classical sculptures and fountains toward the back of the school. There a roomful of would-be felicities and harries, each sitting alone together in the mixed crowd of strangers somewhat overwhelmed by the joy and anxiety of not knowing what to expect (or what was expected of them) at this new (though ancient) school.
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Greeting the anticipation of the thirty-five students from New York, LA, Chicago, Canada, Brasil, Germany, England, Austria, Australia, China, Russia, Switzerland, Israel, Zimbabwe, Italy and Peru was a half hour presentation which started forty-five minutes late and left more questions than answers while the organizer, Véronique, slipped out of the room into her office and locked the door.
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I don't remember if words were actually exchanged, but, as great minds think alike, the girl to my right and I quickly found ourselves trying find out where we could go to grab a drink. As is typical of spontaneous outtings, we rounded up about eight people who wanted to come with us to the cafe across the street and two who actually did.
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Heather is an Australian, originally from Sydney, but imported (for ENSBA purposes) from Canberra, which is the capital (apparently). She spent about six months in Paris when she was 16, and her French is pretty good considering (though she has the mega-advantage of really really really enjoying speaking the language -- this allows someone to shamelessly make faults zipping through them into a much more successful linguistic competence). She's also spent some time backpacking around Europe and has some nifty anecdotes from Dublin (along with some depressing ones).
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Of the two we managed to talk into joining us, Kevin is also from Australia (Sydney born and bred), a bit older, working on his Master's, and Phoebe is light-hearted nymph from Hunter College (NYC, baby), who's participation in this program came about in the same assbackwards way mine did.
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Sobering up in the 40 degree breeze on my way home over the Seine and up to the hills of Chaumont, I had an episode of wanting to ring all of my friends in the states, which usually starts with Kim and goes on for the one or two phone numbers I can remember beyond that.
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The schedule for the week of orientation was kind of all over the place, having some days where we were supposed to show up for an hour or two, some where we were booked the whole day and one day where attendance was expected, but we more or less had to figure out in what capacity on our own. Wednesday morning we all met again in the conference room at 9h30 prepared to show our portfolios to department heads to find out what artist's atelier we should try to negotiate acceptance into. After about two and half hours of literally sitting there shaking, I sat with the head of the painting department and said, I like artists a, b and c, to which she replied, "Good choices."
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The one good thing that came out of being made to sit around, devising means of distracting myself from my jumping knees, was that I met Zach, a vegan with a lip-ring and a kind face brought in from Chicago but originally from just outside Lawrence, KA (I have had very good experiences with people from this part of the world). Super excited to see that vegans could exist in Europe (even though they were imported from elsewhere), I invited him and his girlfriend over for dinner Thursday night. I made curried eggplant which was f'ing delish (check the recipe below), though it was their gratitude that really made the dinner successful. Apparently it was the first meal they'd eaten in a week that wasn't bread and dip. It was an awesome experience for me because, well, vegges always need to watch out for each other, especially when abroad, and because I was grateful to be in a place this time where I could reach out and offer something simple but profound, in the same way Anja and others had done for Anna and me the last time I was here.
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After the meeting with the department heads, we were invited to a Pot d'accueil (welcome drink) in a narrow hallway where we steadied our nerves with some vino (and our growling stomachs with bread and cheese and coldcuts and fruit and couscous and cake). This was a rather fabulous scheduling move because a) it was 12h30 in the afternoon and b) we had a French placement exam less than two hours later (jeez). So after the better part of a bottle of wine each, we stumbled through various corridors, courtyards and stairways trying to find the exam room (successfully losing half the party in the process).
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[ The oral part of my exam translates roughly into :
Q : And why did you want to come to the school in Paris ?
A : Because I really like the school and I really like French and I'm an artist and you all make good art here and I enjoy speaking French and Paris is great, I mean, it's fun, it's fun to be here speaking French in France, I mean Paris, at this school ... making art.
Q : ....
A : Should I sit down now ? ]
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Because we had some time between the exam and when we were supposed to meet in the library for a tour, Heather and I came up with the brilliant (and original) idea of meeting in the cafe across the street for a beer (surprise, surprise). Obviously still profiting a bit from the lunchtime high, she snuck into the classroom and wrote diagonally across the dry-erase board way too much information about our plans for an impromptu exchange student rendez-vous across the street, so that a third of the people that left the exam to come meet us ended up getting confused, spending over an hour wandering around St. Germain-de-Près looking for the cafe, and finally deciding on return to their respective homes, missing the presentation of the library all together.
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As for myself -- well, you can blame it partly on the high from the alcohol, but mostly from the high of just being there in those buildings with their history and their energy. I ducked out of the library meeting and headed down the grand staircase to the Palais d'études -- a huge, open empty hall with colored tile floor, red walls, golden trim, fresco detailing, and a 50 foot high glass ceiling. I sauntered delicately back and forth alone, across this silent, open space, smelling four hundred years of faces and voices and stories mixed with the cool winter air. I tried to touch a sense of presence, bringing forward an appreciation for my life's journey thus far while allowing the space and openness for whatever experiences may come next. And yet, I thought of nothing. And I walked back and forth. And swayed with the imperceptible breeze. And moved my feet in whatever little dances they remembered from so many years ago. And I let go of everything, so that all that was left was peace.
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Curried Eggplant (yum yum)
When I made this Thursday I served it with lemon-garlic sauteed kale, rice (2/3 brown, shortgrain, 1/3 red bhutanese, though I've also done quinoa in the past) and cilantro-yogurt sauce (recipe below). Because I was making it for vegans, I substituted regular yogurt for a creamy, unsweetened soy one. We were lucky, too, because Maritza made fried plantains, which really brought everything together (this is the only thing we didn't end up having leftovers of -- recipe to follow in future entries).
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With the eggplant, I like to start with slices (about 1" thick), sprinkle both sides with fine-grain sea salt and lay them out on a plate or cutting board, layered with paper towels and with a heavy pot (or stack of books) on top for 1-2 hours. This draws the moisture of the eggplant so that it's more tender and absorbs more of the flavor from the spices.
2 med-sized eggplants cut into cubes (or one big mama eggplant; skin on -- see headnotes)
2 med-sized red onions chopped
3 cloves garlic minced
1 can diced tomatoes, 14oz/400g (the fire-roasted ones can be really good as long as they're not done up with additives)
+ 2 med-sized fresh tomatoes, chopped
2 T. EV [oh oh] + extra as needed
1-2 T. yellow curry powder (I usually opt for mild curry then use the cayenne for the kick as it gives more control over the spice factor. If you're using paste, use less and add little by little)
1 tsp. ground coriander
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. ground cinnamon (please please please try to make sure it's fresh !)
1/4-1/2 tsp. cayenne powder
1/4 tsp. ground white pepper (if it's handy)
Fresh Black pepper and sea salt, to taste
juice of 1/2 a lemon (about 2 T.)
1 T. chopped fresh coriander (cilantro)
Over medium heat, heat olive oil in a large, deep skillet. Add onions and sautee until lightly brown. While the onions are doing their thing, season them with black and white pepper and a touch of salt (because the eggplant already has salt on it from before) and curry if you're using a paste. Making sure the pan's not too hot, add the garlic and sautee another minute just until the garlic becomes fragrant and almost slightly kinda looks like it might start to take on color (Dante wrote about garlic-burners in the sixth circle with the heretics). Add the eggplant, being mindful that you may need to add another 1-3 T olive oil because of its super absorbency.
Add the dry spices and continue sauteeing until the eggplant becomes a little less rubbery and takes on some color from the pan and the oil (unless of course the garlic is starting to take on color too quickly causing concern for its well-being, then add the tomatoes right away). After adding the lemon juice and tomatoes, fill the can about 1/2 way with H20 and throw that in, too. Keep adding water as the curry cooks so that it can simmer happily without burning or becoming too thick. As long as it's well hydrated you can cook the eggplant for 2-3 hours or longer, letting the flavors really stew together and allowing extra water boil off. Make sure to taste the curry, too, as you cook it -- the spices should come together to form a round, slightly sweet flavor profile (if it doesn't taste this way, a touch more cinnamon or cumin usually helps, but be sensitive to salt and curry levels, too).
Stirring frequently, allow the curry to simmer over low heat 1-2 hours or until eggplant is well cooked. Remove from heat. Taking an old fashioned potato masher magigger (or a coffee mug or small bowl), gently press the curry to help break down the forms of the veggies and create a slightly smoother melange (not that you're going for hummous here). Add the fresh cilantro and adjust consistency by adding some water or returning to heat to allow moisture to evaporate. Serve hot with grains (see headnotes) or potatoes and topped with yogurt sauce.
Cilantro Yogurt sauce :
Put two single serving yogurt (about 8 oz or 1 cup) in a med sized bowl. Drizzle with 2-3 tsp. EVOooo, a sprinkle of sea salt and about 1/4 tsp. lemon zest. Mix (or whisk) to bring ingredients together and lighten sauce. Bon appetit.
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and fans and photos and candle holders from the late 1800's and games and figurines and accordions and matchboxes from the early to mid-1900's and furniture spanning both decades (with some really nifty mod-style head scratchers from the 1960's) in about two hours, with only one (albeit 20 min) break 
maybe we can find a place to buy you a bike if you like bikes and I know good places for riding I'd be more than happy to show you [etc., etc...]"
my ninteen thousand photos and I'm already tired of my quasi-spiritual pontifications on the breathless wonder that is this park) -- My petit accent (and its reason for being) has been getting me into a bit of trouble with bar patrons at work, mainly because it's a French bar in France and it would seem that the bartender a) 
