The Almost Frenchman has found his match in the Almost American, someone I’ve met this year who yearns for America about as much as the AF yearns for France. I would love…
Author: emiglia
Faits d’hiver
There’s a linguistics phenomenon–I’m drawing a blank on its name at the moment, though I’m sure someone will remind me promptly–that says that a person or culture will justify an erroneous statement…
Meudon and Midnight Tomatoes
When I was growing up, I used to save everything. Letters, homework papers, candy wrappers… just in case. In case of what, I’m not sure–I don’t know that I knew at the…
Lasagna and learning
Learning is a process… sometimes I forget that. OK… I often forget that. Like when I tried to learn physics in an evening and left rage-induced crumpled notebook pages all over the…
New York and Voyage au bout de la nuit
Yesterday, I let you into my Sorbonne world a little bit; I nearly decided to write about something else today, but I know that there’s no better way to write well than…
Chicken Parmesan
I spent a large amount of my childhood playing cards with my Grandma: on weekends, at Christmas, on summer afternoons when we’d left from the beach as we waited for the steaks…
Pumpkin Black Bean Soup
I still think of myself as a shy person, something that someone who’s met me in the past five years or so probably wouldn’t understand. Now, I’m always the first one to…
Apple Sparkle Cake
When I was in undergrad, my father strictly prohibited me from getting a job. This, to me, seemed preposterous: who in their right mind would tell their daughter, whose work ethic had…
Le Salon du Chocolat
Halloween is not a very big deal in France. We Americans tend to ignore this fact: the past three years, Halloween has been as big an affair as it is back home,…
Soup for the Sick
I am sick today. Not very sick, mind you, but just sick enough that I feel pretty OK about lounging around my house in pajamas, whimpering softly at regular intervals and eating…