And We Danced

Weeks ago I justified splurging on a one-day ticket for Pitchfork Paris all because of the time last fall when I missed M83 in San Francisco after my friends were too indecisive to commit to going before the show sold out. I normally wouldn't condone going to a festival just to see one act, but my love for Midnight City prevailed. And a good thing it did, because last night evolved into eight of the best hours of my Paris sojourn thus far. The other artists were a bit of a mystery to me (How To Dress Well? Japandroids? James Blake?) but thanks to the bass, the buzz and the charged atmosphere emphasized by seizure-inducing light displays, I still felt at ease basking in the rhythm even though I didn't know the lyrics.

A college friend once asked me what was so great about going to live music shows. To his mind it was an expensive habit that didn't warrant the cost when you could just as easily listen to the same songs at full blast in the comfort of your own room. But, for me at least, the answer lies in all the things that you can only experience and feel at a concert: the bass so loud it reverberates throughout your entire body; the unparalleled energy running through the crowd as everyone moves to the beat in a way that is both harmonious and yet dissonant; fighting the good fight to get close to the stage. It's a full-on sensory experience in a way that recorded music can never come close to.  

As my first Paris concert experience, I couldn't help but think back to the Stuff White People Like entry called "Standing Still at Concerts" (see #67). Because, yeah...enough said. After the first few sets, though, the crowd finally started to loosen up. Although whether this was because the flow of festival sponsor Heineken had loosened their joints, or rather by that point the expat contingent was out in full force, I cannot say. (I haven't been surrounded by that many native English-speakers since I left California).

Food Wars: USA vs France

"French women don’t get fat. It’s a phrase forever immortalized thanks to Mireille Guiliano’s popular 2004 'non-diet' book, but as a stereotype I have to admit it’s surprisingly accurate. This is not to say that all Parisians look like size zero fashion models, but rather that in the months since moving here, the only severely overweight people I’ve seen are all tourists. Given that the reputation of the national cuisine is built upon buttery pastries and creamy sauces, the idea of perpetually svelte citizens presents a curious dichotomy. But a closer look at French culture reveals a combination of principles and common sense that optimize both physical health and overall well-being, critical elements that the diet-related disease-ridden and fat-shaming society of America could learn from."

- via Highbrow Magazine

After my editor over at Highbrow Magazine caught wind of the fact that I'm an American in Paris, she asked me to compose an article comparing the two cultures when it comes to food. Now, I previously wrote a semi-serious post about what I miss about America, but food culture is not one of them. What do I mean by this? There are many foods readily available at home that I would kill for right about now (see: peanut butter, bubble tea, yogurt-covered pretzels, extra sharp cheddar cheese, the list goes on), but it's the rituals, stereotypes and double standards surrounding the practice of eating that I can't stand.

Simply put, eating is not viewed as a pleasurable activity by American society. This has a lot to do with the media, I suspect, but there is also the fact that as individuals we tend to place arbitrary restrictions on the foods we eat in oft-misguided attempts to be "healthy." (See: girls who don't eat "carbs").

As a girl I've always found it unfair that, in general, guys can eat as much as they want and no one will comment on or judge them for it. Second and third helpings are totally acceptable for them. Whereas if I, God forbid, finish off a bag of chips, an onlooker would probably say something to the effect of, "Damn, you really went to town on those." (That actually happened once. It wasn't chips but it still bothers me because the obvious implicit meaning was "OMG why are you eating so much, stop it"). 

In that memorable instance it was a guy who said that to me, but girls are equally hard on themselves for what they perceive to be bad tendencies. The conflation of weight and diet is really key here and, yes, the two are related but not as directly as most would like to believe. (Never underestimate the power of genetics, people). I grew up being very sensitive to these issues, having spent almost half my life as a competitive gymnast and then a few odd years as a college cheerleader, and I'm sorry to say that I wasted a good portion of that time being preoccupied with them. But no more.

In the words of Emma Stone, "Life's too short. So eat the damn red velvet cupcake."

Or, in my case, I guess it would be pain chocolat.

Muzeum Gastronomie: A Surprising Foodie Find in Prague

The morning of my last day in Prague I was sitting in a café perusing Trip Advisor over breakfast trying to figure out what I wanted to do before I left, when amidst the historical monuments and typical tourist traps something caught my eye: the Gastronomy Museum. Never mind the overwhelmingly positive reviews or the institution's ambiguous name (which, as it suggests, is not just about Czech food); my inner chef made the decision to go right then and there. And it's a good thing that I went with my gut feeling, because it turned out to be one of my favorite experiences on the trip.

Opened just four months ago by Ladislav Provaan, a former architect who worked extensively with American hotel chains designing kitchens, and his wife Nina, whose parents were hardcore foodies and cookbook authors, the museum attempts to expose the evolution of cuisine and man's relationship with food starting from pre-history. This is, of course, no small feat and for now the fledgling exhibits are modest - but as visitor traffic increases I'm sure it will expand.

Thanks to my anthropology background I was already familiar with the early stuff - harnessing the power of fire, domesticating animals, first use of tools for foraging and agriculture, etc.

The rest of the main floor is dedicated to the gradual development of modern cooking, including early recipes and antique appliances, with additional exhibits on liquor distillation and brewing beer.

Upstairs features biographies of famous chefs and my favorite part, the futuristic kitchen. Ladislav told me the space is currently used by aspiring chefs who can record themselves doing demos and send the videos out to prospective employers, but in the future they would like to offer cooking classes to the public. 

​Couldn't find any pastry accoutrements so I'm attempting to look domestic. PC - L. Provaan

The kitchen features:

• A smart oven for cooking meats that sets itself based on the type and quantity entered
• A convection oven that has a steam function (good for items containing yeast so they can rise in a controlled environment)
• A metal-safe microwave
• A smart dishwasher that self-selects the cycle based on how dirty the dishes are
• A faucet with built-in LED light that changes color based on the temperature of the water
• A refrigerator with three distinct (and adjustable) climate zones
• Overhead lighting that turns on/off by tapping the side of the island counter (for when your hands are dirty)

Needless to say...I want one just like it.

After showing me around the kitchen, Ladislav offered another visitor and me a sampling of Czech beer. I hesitated at first because it was approximately 11:30am but, hey, I never say no to free drinks! (Which sometimes gets me into trouble, but that's another story).

The sheer scope of the Gastronomy Museum is a hugely ambitious undertaking, but the Provaan's obvious passion for food and cooking have already carried them a long way. 

And, as Ladislav proudly told me at one point, there really isn't another museum out there like it. So if you're ever in Prague make sure you stop by!

More info at the official website.

A Brush with Death in Kutná Hora

While in the past I tended to look down on guided tours as something for the lazy tourist masses, in the course of my solo travels I've come to appreciate them, particularly in cases where my experience would benefit from expert knowledge (i.e. Vatican City) or else would allow me to go somewhere that might otherwise be difficult to organize on my own (i.e. Capri). The tour I selected for this trip accomplished the latter, taking me about 60km outside of Prague to Kutná Hora, once a prosperous silver-mining capital and now a sleepy little UNESCO World Heritage Site.

To be honest, though, the only reason I chose this tour in particular was that it included a visit to the Sedlec Ossuary, a Roman Catholic chapel containing the remains of tens of thousands of people. Our tour guide, who presumably leads this trip several times a week, insisted that he couldn't stand being inside the crypt for more than a few minutes, so after sorting out our tickets he went back to the bus to wait. I, on the other hand, couldn't be more excited. Ever since I was a child I've been oddly fascinated by death (just ask my parents), so to see such an immense volume of genuine human bones arranged so artistically was pretty mind blowing. Or maybe I'm just a morbid person. I don't know. It is pretty cool though, like something from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets or the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland but completely real.

The ossuary is located in the suburbs, so the tour continued to the central historic district starting at St. Barbara's Church, a cavernous affair with frescoes dating from before 1500 and some of the most incredible stained glass I've ever seen. It's hard to tell from this picture, but the vibrant colors and meticulous details made it seem as though the images ought to start moving...like in the beginning of Beauty and the Beast but with religious figures instead.

After walking through old town we concluded at the Italian Court, the political and economic center of Kutná Hora's glory days. King Wenceslaus IV lived here in the 14th century, and apparently must have been pretty short because the door frames in the palace are practically child-sized. Which is to say that I could pass through no problem without stooping; Wenceslaus could too but according to the guide he did so wearing a giant crown on his head. If this is all true that would make him much, much smaller than even Napoleon.

So why don't you ever hear people talking about having a Wenceslaus complex, eh?

[update] A couple days after I returned to Paris, a friend and I were having falafel in the Marais when a couple from my tour group randomly sat down next to us. They weren't very pleased with the tour, and I don't blame them - there were some logistical errors and the guide wasn't particularly informative - but I stand by what I said earlier. If I hadn't gone, I probably wouldn't have been able to get there from Prague on my own.

Prague Preview

Ah, Prague, you have not lived up to my expectations thus far. I breezed through the famous castle in under three hours, after which I spent the rest of the day walking around and around old town. (No, literally - I did some sporadic shopping that required me to retrace my steps when I decided to exchange a coat I had already dropped off at the hostel).

And since I've seen and tasted enough to know that the food is cheap but also not very good, the thing that's made the biggest impression so far is my hostel.

The Madhouse certainly lives up to its name, and is therefore best suited to travelers of a certain age who like to rage, rage, rage. In other words, staying here is like being in college all over again - or more specifically, at a frat party that never ends. To that end, the staff are more or less like the upperclassmen you idolized and hung out with as a freshman because they could get you alcohol. They drink from approximately 7pm onwards, and they expect you to keep up with them. The college analogy, unfortunately, extends to the noise pollution too; your roommates probably won't get back until late, the walls are thin and the doors squeaky, etc. (And if you're me they might even try to have sex in the room while they think you're asleep!) But if you can embrace the madness, the location is great and you'll meet lots of cool people. I met a guy from Israel, for example, who I'm hoping will send me tips on what to do in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv before I head there next month.

​This is the common area.

Side note: who knew that playing beer pong and slap cup could make me feel so nostalgic?

I Am Packed...for Prague

Throughout high school and college I was an obsessive outfit planner. If I didn't have the next day's clothes laid out before I went to bed, you can bet I at least fell asleep going through my closet in my head and mentally picking out several options. These days, though, I find that I just don't really care as much as I used to.  ​

There are two ways this change might be interpreted. Either it's admitting to myself that I can't sartorially keep up with Parisian girls (nothing like getting on the Metro to bring your self-esteem down a little!) or I'm being pragmatic because it's only a matter of time before I get to school and am forced to change into my frumpy chef's uniform.​

Either way, I really only plan ahead now is when I'm traveling. Because those "budget" airlines only live up to their name when you don't check a bag, and it's simply impossible to stuff an entire wardrobe into a carry-on.​

Photo inspired by I Am Packed, a site I discovered a while ago and only recently remembered since I've been doing a lot of packing traveling. This is maybe the second time I will have flown somewhere without checking a bag. It's kind of scary for me to pack this light but if I end up needing something I don't have, all the more reason to go shopping right?

Marché Place Monge

​This is my aforementioned local open-air market, open three days a week and featuring all kinds of fresh, yummy things. Each arrondissement typically has several, of which even the smallest puts any farmers market I've been to back home to shame.