Chocolat. A mon chemise. Mon Dieu! Ici, maintenant, je parle francais whenever I can. Hey, it's been beaucoup d'annees, but I'm trying. Je pense que Clara comprends. Peut-etre. Anyway, je ne care pas. Isn't everyone supposed to speak Anglais these days? Or maybe it's Chinese. Chinois. French is so yesterday. Hier. Oy, I'm exhausted from all this thinking.
I have been put in charge of Clara this morning while my daughter is out taking the ACT. Why does she get to have all the fun? I am under strict instructions not to leave the house lest our guest awakes to find herself all alone. I am hoping jet lag keeps her in bed for a few more hours so I can avoid making conversation. Just in case, though, I am prepared to give her the day's first lesson in American culinary delights. I just wish I knew how to say "bagel" in French. She's going to be awfully disappointed when she bites into it and realizes it is not, not by a long shot, a donut (which is what she thought it was when we showed her one last night).
We have wasted no time introducing her to some of our distinctly American cuisine. Dinner last night was pizza. Lunch today will be burritos from Chipotle. Tonight maybe Thai, maybe Indian. I haven't decided, but I'm thinking, no matter what, there will be curry. Bienvenue a les Etats Unis, Clara. A land of borrowers, a mosaic of cultures, a place where you can find a little bit of everything. If there's anything distinctively American, it's that we are so indistinct. Sure, we have our pockets of inbreeding, but, well, except for up here in deep dark Jewish suburbia where diversity means we welcome Jews (and an occasional Asian) from all walks of life, we are a mish mash of diluted cultures. I think it's the one thing that will always save us from self-destruction.
In my Neanderthal mind, Clara looks stereotypically French. She is small boned, with fine features. Her nose is thin and pointy, her mouth rounded and perpetually poised to utter the eu sound. Of course, had she come from Germany, I am pretty certain I would have found her appearance to be stereotypically German in some way. Amazing how we need to categorize. I wonder if she looks at me -- dark skinned with a long face and a substantial nose, with ancestors from Eastern Europe and Russia, and my daughter -- light skinned with a round face and two nostrils that barely protrude from her face, with ancestors from Eastern Europe and Russia and Ireland and Scotland, and finds us both to be stereotypically American. I'd be willing to bet on it.
I admit I get intimidated by the richness of a distinct culture, no matter what that culture is. I thought about getting some chocolate croissants from Panera this morning, but I was so afraid they could not measure up, that they would somehow offend a true French person's palate, I stuck with bagels. They may not be flaky and sweet, but maybe Clara will find them exotic. At the very least, she will assume they are the real deal, not a feeble American attempt to stick chocolate inside some dough and call it pain chocolat.
The last time we hosted a French student, we sent her home wearing something distinctly American: Uggs. Yes, the furry boots from Australia. I wonder what we will come up with for Clara. She was wearing Uggs, so that's out. Maybe a Burberry scarf. Or a Dior purse.
Maybe we'll just give her a jar of peanut butter. She looked at it last night the way I might look at a plate filled with foie gras. Very foreign, and very scary.
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