French citizenship law n°4: Vacation is sacred

Every day now I'm expecting the very last paper (or so I think) I need to complete my already thick folder of legal papers required for the naturalization process, then I can finally go back to the prefecture to submit it to the all merciful State.

It is a paper from my bank (une attestation bancaire) where they should cross their hearts that I have the money I say I have in my accounts to prove my revenue. A bank statement will not do (which I can easily download from my online bank account), the nice civil servant told me last week, so I asked the bank by phone on Friday (I know, I know!...) to find a way so I can get this attestation bancaire ASAP, as the naturalizations applications can only be submitted on Tuesdays and Tuesdays alone (from 8:45am to 3:45pm). And, if possible, to get it before Tuesday, s'il vous plaît! (today, that is)

The bank clerk seemed extremely willing to help and explained that no, I cannot go directly to their office to get the paper I need, they absolutely have to send it to me by regular mail, so they can make sure I didn't delegate my personal Dr. Hide instead of me to get it, thus potentially releasing into the world the information about my extensive fortune (I wish!) and thus violating my precious privacy. Now, after waiting three days for that paper to arrive and it isn't here (unlike the day of Tuesday), I have mixed feelings whether I should praise my bank for being over-cautious with my data or I should be fuming with anger.

French citizenship law n°3: Thou shalt be athletic

I've finally managed to gather all the documents needed to apply for the French naturalization, after spending all the morning copying/printing ad nauseam (they require two copies of each paper) and feeling sorry for myself, for the trees of the world and for my lost time. The result is a folder thick enough to kill someone if by any chance someone will dare to get on my nerves these days - well, except the civil servants in charge with processing it, of course!...

French citizenship law n°2: Thou shalt be very pacient

The second meeting at the Yvelines prefecture just took place, for my French naturalization process, after my first unsuccessful attempt of the last week. I entered the Prefecture full of hope today (technically yesterday: it's past midnight...), at around 11am, proud of myself when I saw that there was nobody waiting in line at the reception desk (wow, the peak time schedule displayed at the entrance and on the internet was actually real! I was impressed...).

I left the prefecture last week deeply hoping that the number dispenser that everybody ignored was actually working and I approached it this time with some sort of nervous anxiety, when a security guard (probably, umm, well... guarding the thing) looked at me with a quizzical brow: "Bonjour, monsieur, I would like to go to the Naturalizations Office, please!". He pressed the corresponding button himself, like suggesting that I was unable to do it on my own, and told me to wait near the counter 39 until my number will show up. 'Now, I didn't know that information, I was too quick to jump on conclusions, there!' I'm thinking, feeling somewhat guilty with too much prejudice... "Merci, Monsieur!" and I take a look at the piece of paper: my number is 997 and there are "only" 29 people before me. Estimated waiting time: 2 hours. Holly sh*t! That doesn't begin well...

French art for French art's sake

There are an estimated 6 million amateur musicians in France, but - I've seen it myself at the Associations Forum this September - actually everybody is engaged in practicing a form of art or another in this country. Just ask any French you know what do they do besides their official work and you'll receive some major art form as the answer: playing an instrument, singing, dancing, acting, photography, painting, sculpting and who knows what else... I've met French men and women actually defining themselves as an artist before their day job breadwinning profession: the sensitive French soul is mercilessly exposed to the world, you'll find out on the same occasion, but the world doesn't always understand the hidden genius behind (every one of) it.

Watch any contemporary French movie you wish and you'll see conclusive examples about how a mason is in fact a deeply perceptive musician, an economist is a genius novel writer and even a racketeer is a sensitive piano player (can you tell I enjoy Romain Duris movies?...). Nevertheless, there is an enthusiasm about art in France that I find truly ecstatic; what's left for the rest of us is the art of enjoying art, because art is everywhere!

That's why I didn't want to miss the Artists' Open House days this weekend in Versailles, when local artists open their studios to the public. It's a rare opportunity of seeing the artists on the very spot where they create their masterpieces and you get to ask them any stupid question you want, you'll be taken seriously (in the name of the art).

French citizenship law n°1: Thou shalt be pacient

This morning, at the prefecture of Yvelines, around 10:45am, in front of a counter with a big sign above reading: "NATURALIZATIONS".

Me: "Bonjour, madame, I would like some information about the French naturalization process"
Public servant: "I'm sorry, we are not in charge with it, please go to the reception desk for further information"
Me: "But there's this sign 'Naturalizations' up here..."
Public servant: "I'm sorry, please go to the reception desk, they will tell you what needs to be done. My colleague and I are not in charge of naturalizations, we are in charge of foreigners."
Me: "But I *am* a foreigner!"
Public servant: "I'm sorry, please go to the reception desk, they will tell you where to find out more information"
Me: "Merci beaucoup, madame !"

At the reception desk, about 30 people in front of me waiting in 2 lines (+ one fast line for parents with children, French citizens and other emergencies), all for the one and only open counter. The two security guards at the fast line are making sure everything flows the right way and are more than happy to answering anyone's questions. 30 minutes later, it's my turn:

Macaroon night fever

Macaroons are *the thing* in here, they're considered the ultimate chic, sign of exquisite taste and sophistication. Serve macaroons to your French guests and your apéro party will be a smashing hit: everyone will melt with pleasure at the view of the delicate texture and fine flavor, and you can be sure that they'll love you forever! Then, after the love is gone, they'll start an endless debate about who makes the best macaroons and what are the characteristics of an exceptional one, debate that'll last the whole evening, giving you the opportunity to perfect your French language skills!

The really good macaroons are expensive, veeery expensive: ask monsieur Pierre Hermé, the best of the best, who sells his at the bargain price of more than 2Eur a piece. Chic and cher make the French dream, but then, hey, who can blame them? The best macaroon I ever tasted was a caramel&salted butter one from his fancy shop, an absolute dream!

So my quest to bake my own macaroons was launched the last week, after a few days busy with reading, watching and studying everything that was ever recorded about the subject, directly from the (more or less) stars of macaroon-makers on the Internet. But you can imagine they are not delivering all the secrets in their recipes and then there are different ideological schools of how it's best to do it. I had some choices to make: Italian meringue or French? egg whites at room temperature or directly from the fridge? oven temperature at 140°C or 180°C ?

After 5 pathetically failed attempts and a pair of deceased kitchen scale batteries, I can now heartily say that I finally have the right proportions to produce some decent easy to make (yes, I really said easy to make!) macaroons and I am more than happy to share the recipe with you:

Macaroon 5 - De Re Culinaria in Versailles

...or, more exactly, 1755 (MDCCLV), this is the year when this famous royal cookbook has seen the light so everyone who's anyone could potentially have the same food as the king and his court, if they could afford it, that is! And there weren't a lot of them from what I see from the recipes (truffles, salmons, cockscombs, sucking piglets, and I'll pass) that's probably why the book proudly carries the inscription "With the king's approval & privilege" - "Avec Approbation & Privilege du Roi".

We're in the full reign of Louis XV at the time, so one couldn't do many things without his royal approval, let alone writing a book! But Louis XV was also a great gourmand who distanced himself from the rigid dining etiquette imposed by his illustrious predecessor and used to invite his friends and mistresses to more informal dinner parties in his private apartments, where savory delicacies were served. Legend has it that sometimes he even prepared himself the hot chocolate that everyone was crazy about: cocoa was a scarce commodity so having it was a sign of distinction, not to mention the fact that it had a reputation of being an aphrodisiac! I was wondering who spread the word...

Macaroon recipe, from the old cookbook, after the jump...

Our Versailles white night is whiter than yours

The days are getting shorter at an alarming pace and winter will soon knock at my door finding me bitterly crying over summer (yes, it's still me, the same crazy one who wasn't that happy with the Versailles summer only few weeks ago!... who can understand women, right?...)

In the lost paradise it used to get dark at around 11pm, the rain wasn't that stinging, the wind didn't invade just everything and things would have got done with infinite more alacrity knowing that the day light was there. But then, with a shorter night we couldn't have had the White Night!

The green gold of Versailles

Every once in a while the silence of my building complex is troubled by the annoying noise of what could be a jackhammer, jet engine or a giant bumblebee. Even though there's a military base in the Versailles district of Satory (I live in Montreuil), I am quickly forced to abandon the hypothesis of a jet flying right outside my home, the same for the one involving the gigantic bumblebee (they'd destroy the tree from my window and I can see it clearly, this very moment, from where I'm sitting...)

What's more, the impeccable streets were already repaired during the summer break so I have no idea what's going on. I'm fretting with frustration: I have a deadline, merde! There are people working around here, helloooo!?!... I can't react yet because I'm in the work fever, but I manage to see someone outside, from the corner of my eye, looking like the gold seekers that so amused me the last summer on a beach near Montpellier, carrying some complicated metal detector gear and totally focused on the task. The only problem left to solve is that the gold seekers I knew were extremely discreet and this one, exasperatingly, isn't!