When I first came to Paris, I imagined myself dining out in bistros and cafes, eating classic French dishes like  beef bourguignon, or ratatouille or creme brulee, all while wearing a black béret, striped shirt, and a gorgeous French man on my arm.

Okay, a girl can dream.

What I didn’t imagine, is how madly in love I’d fall with the variety of ethnic foods there are in Paris. Ethiopian, Lebanese, Asian…you name it. You can taste all the flavors of the world without ever leaving the city.

Like today, for example. After a meeting at another PR firm in Paris, my friend Jane and I went to Passage Brady in the Indian quartier. It’s a tiny little street with several Indian restaurants, all of which are delicious and very inexpensive.

We walked down the street, browsing the offerings while being solicited to dine in several of the restaurants by the very eager hosts, and eventually chose Pooja.

The decor was dramatic, and lavish and I, of course, loved every detail. It was like we had traveled out of Paris for a little while -

In true French fashion, however, meal’s were offered in menus or formule with several courses. For a set price you pick an entree and a plat, or sometimes an appetizer, main dish and dessert. Or sometimes just a main dish and a dessert. You get the picture.

I went with the 12 euro formule – an appetizer and a main dish that comes with cheese naan and saffron rice. Jane went with the palak paneer, a spinach dish with fresh cheese. Mmmm.

But first, we shared a mango lassi,

and played around with the water glasses like the mature adults we are.

Tee hee.

First up, raiti, a yogurt dish with cucumber and spices that is usually eaten with spicy foods to cool the palette and balance out the burn.

They brought out three spices before the meal came – two of which were very spicy, and the third which was sweet. My favorite was the green one – and yes, these are the technical terms I wish I knew what they were all called, but alas, I do not.

Anyway. Along with the raita, they brought out the basmati rice with saffron,

and cheese naan which words can’t describe.

Although not authentically Indian, cheese naan is one adaptation to French culture I appreciate 100%. I promise you, it’s worth the trip to Paris for this alone   And well worth the gluten coma I’m currently experiencing.

Our main dishes were palak paneer,

and a chicken curry dish that was so tender and flavorful.

We shared everything on the table family style, and sat at the table for over an hour – another aspect of French life I’m really appreciative of.

We left Pooja with very full bellies,

and lingered through the area for a bit stopping in the specialty store,

and got beautified with a little eyebrow threading before heading back to our side of town.

It’s amazing how quickly neighborhoods change in Paris. One minute it looks like this –

and the next it’s that stereotypical Paris street scene…

I made my way back home, taking pictures as I walked through the quartier latin. I have a strange love for the doors here. I have tons and tons of pictures of doors. Just doors. Blue ones, black ones, red ones, strange ones, open ones, closed ones, broken ones. You get the idea.

Strange, I know. But there is just something about them that catches my eye.

I’m currently home, sweet, home, snuggled in some comfy clothes and catching up on a bit of school work. All in a day’s work.

What’s your favorite kind of food? Asian, Indian, American? What is some of the strangest ethnic food you have tried?

I loved today’s Indian food experience, but Ethiopian food is climbing the charts for me too. I also love all the flavors in Mediterranean food. Next up on the list – an African restaurant. It’s amazing how much you can learn about other cultures from food. Yes, some of the decorations in these restaurants are exaggerated to create an experience or feeling, and often times the food is adapted to the local culture (Life, for instance, food is usually less spicy in France than it would typically be in original recipes because that’s what the local culture prefers), but I still think you can really get a taste of certain parts of the world by trying different flavors – and I’m not just talking about the food!

Until next time!

I woke up this morning with the urge to get in the kitchen. The sun had just come up – my shining hours. I love the mornings and always feel the most creative and alive when the day is young. I knew I wanted to spend this morning making something yummy before time slipped away and I got all caught up in my day.

Cooking is like therapy – I always get lost in stirring and mixing, feeling soothed by the smells and sounds of a tasty work in progress. I like to think of recipes more like methods, kind of like a math problem or a series of steps or ideas. This + that = delicious.

My roommate and I were just talking yesterday about this, actually. She loves to bake, and quite frankly… I can’t stand it. Perhaps it’s the mental scars of a day spent baking banana bread, only to spill the entire pan of batter on the floor and run fleeing to my room, sobbing uncontrollably. Perhaps this sob session wasn’t about the banana bread…

Anyway, I digress. She likes it because it’s so exact – there’s measurements and rules to follow that create a final product. But that’s exactly why I can’t stand it. I actually don’t have any measuring cups in my apartment here – and I’m finding it quite liberating. No measuring oats, or quinoa, or this or that.

I just like to throw stuff in and see what happens. It’s much more fun like that, yes?

So this morning, I donned my apron (okay, really I donned my polka dot pajamas, but apron sounded much more 1950’s-housewife-home-made-granola-esque), grabbed my red pan and wooden spoon and made another batch of stove top granola, only this time….better.

This time I toasted the almonds and walnuts with the oats making them nice and crunchy, used a little bit more butter (because, well, why not?), agave as a sweetener, and the magic ingredient – grey salt.

I picked up this very large bag of Gros sel Guérande at the agricultural fair this past weekend (look for a post soon!) for 2 euro and have been using it in everything since. It’s an all natural and unrefined salt from Guérande, France and is quite famous in the culinary world…or so I hear. I do know for certain that it tastes delicious and that it made all the difference in my stove-top granola this morning.

After getting lost in the scents of cinnamon and melting butter, I made some breakfast with my fresh batch of granola.

I mixed some plain yogurt with about 1 tablespoon of chia seeds, and topped it with the crispy granola that was sweet and salty to perfection, as well as a little dollop of somethin’ special…

Vanilla Chestnut Cream. So delicious. So dangerous, but so delicious. It’s all about balance…right?

Question: Baking or cooking…which do you prefer and why? Do you use measuring cups when you cook? Do you follow recipes or do you do your own thing?

I used to be clueless in the kitchen – like didn’t know how to put anything together. I started to experiment a bit and gave myself permission to get creative and try things when I cook. After a while of following recipes I had a general idea of what might taste good together and also drew from experiences dining out and trying new combinations in restaurants. Sometimes my creations are are flops, but sometimes, like this morning, it works.

Have a good day, my friends.

Today I decided to keep my camera in my hand for pretty much the whole day to take you along for the day. Well, not so typical. I’ve mentioned before that we are in the midst of a two week intensive module course about global communication and advertising. The days have been long and there is lots of work to be done.

Of course, I’ve still managed to find time to blog. Obviously. Oooh. And eat. Here’s the play-by-play.

6:48am Up and at ‘em.

7:15am Coffee. Must make coffee.

7:16am Oooh. And oatmeal.

7:25am Sippin’ coffee, eatin’ oatmeal. Life is good.

7:50am Time to get ready for a longggggggggg day. Lots of layers. Fahreeezing out.

8:30am Off to Ketchum, a PR company, for a class field trip. Step outside – realize I don’t have enough layers on. Zut.

8:58am Right on time.

9:00am Meeting starts – We talked to one of our professors students who now works at Ketchum, and then the European social media manager. Pretty awesome! We are focusing a lot on cultural differences in advertising in communication between Europe and the US, and also how social media is becoming an important tool for communicating information. Go bloggers!

11:20am Our class leaves Ketchum, and we make our way over to Musée de la Publicité. We learned the hard way that trying to get 12 students in and out of the metro, with no idea of where we are going I might add, is a very difficult task.

11:35am Curse all stairs in Paris. After today’s adventures, I’m fairly certain it’s impossible to leave this city with out a firm hiney and very strong hamstrings. 

11:40am Must. Have. Snack. Running through the metro works up quite the appetite. Café crème and yaourt aux fruits sec from a little corner cafe does the trick.

12:00pm Museum visit. But not without more stairs. Seriously!?

This exhibit featured a bunch of French public service ads. We watched a bunch of commercials and read a bunch of ads about everything from safe sex to domestic abuse to world hunger. It was really neat to compare the cultural differences in advertising…many of the images and ideas used in French advertising would never fly in US culture. Lots of explicit pictures and video – mon dieu!

1:00pm Finally leave museum, famished. My roommate and I race back home which is about 30 minutes away from where we are, and then another 30 minutes away from school, giving us about 15 minutes to devour lunch. First, the metro.

1:30pm Home sweet home. Thank God for leftovers.

Mixed lettuce with a dressing of dijon mustard, balsamic vinegar and olive oil, topped with leftover quinoa and a little bit of stir fried onion and bell pepper, and rotisserie chicken. Devoured in 10 minutes flat. Yumz.

1:50pm Dessert.

2:05pm Back to school we go. Of course it’s gorgeous outside. We soaked in the sunshine while we could on our 25ish minute walk.

2:30pm Class starts. Blah, blah, blah culture. Blah, blah,blah advertising. Must. Pay. Attention. But so darn tired.

2:32pm Distracted. Playing with my planner. Obviously.

2:40pm Must. Focus.

2:45pm What was the name of that song I was listening to earlier? Something with Ane Brun…but wait…hmmm..can’t remember. Ooooh, right. Class. Got it.

2:50pm But really. How do you poach an egg? Earth to Courtney. Did the teacher just ask me a question? Ooops.

3:30pm Break. Yes.  Time for chocolate. Obviously. And some walnuts and a love note from my darling Nana. Gotta lover her.

3:45pm Back to class. Must. Concentrate. In the homestretch. Will I make it!? Fingers crossed.

4:45 Another break. Well, we are almost done for the day. But I won’t turn down another break. Time to get crazy and make some bad decisions.

5:30pm Class is over, time for our cheese class. Oooooh, yes. Cheese class. We learned a little bit about the cheeses in France, the regions they come from like Camembert from Normandy, Brie from…well, Brie, and some of the regulations on naming certain cheeses and other foods in France. Along the same lines of champagne can only be called champagne when it is, in fact, from Champagne. France is very proud of it’s regional foods!

I, of course, being the mature adult that I am, laughed hysterically when our teacher exclaimed – “Ok it’s time for a tasting. I’ve cut the cheese.” with the most serious face I’ve ever seen in my life. You know you would have laughed too…

We started with the milder cheeses like the goat milk cheeses, working through the brie and camembert (that had been washed in calvados, an apple brandy also from Normandy. Yum)  and ended with the strongest of the cheeses – a Roquefort cheese with walnuts and dried currants.  Le sighhhhh.

Mmmm. Stinks so good. I went back for several other taste… you know – for learning purposes. And of course, it wouldn’t be a cheese tasting without a glass of wine. Or two. Et voila! Dinner!

I’m fairly certain my skin and stomach will hate me for eating bread – mais c’est la vie!

6:30pm Cheese class is over. Time for a presentation from our photography teacher – she showed us a bunch of her art projects and is really inspiring me to get the ball rolling on some of my own photography projects – I’m thinking something yoga themed. It would only be appropriate, yes? I’ve already started scoping out volunteers for this Summer when I’m home. Muahahaha.

8:00pm Presentation is over, and I’m pooped. My roommate and I drag ourselves to the metro, and can’t wait to get home. 

8:30pm Finally home. Time to shower, put on comfy clothes, plop myself in front of the computer…and eat licorice. Yum.

10:31pm In my mind, this post was going to be a lot more creative. But once home, showered and in my PJ’s, my brain has turned to mush. The days have certainly been long for the last week and a half and I’m counting down the seconds until Spring Break! Only three more days of class. Yesssssssssss.

10:43 pm PUBLISH.

I’m so happy to be starting a new week. A fresh start, a new day. Ahh yes. Monday. It’s a love/hate thing, really. Mostly love. It’s always mostly love.

Monday was on my side today. I woke up bright and early, sipped coffee, ate oatmeal, and read The Book of Salt – a class assignment that I’m really actually enjoying! It’s a great read for all my food/cooking lovin’ peeps out there…

Class started at 10:00am and was supposed to go until 4:00pm today, but we decided to work through our lunch break and end early at 1:30pm. Best. Idea. Ever.

I walked home after class, ate leftover quinoa and bok choy stir fry, putzed around my desk for a bit…which clearly needs to be organized –

and decided that I’d head to yoga tonight. A real live class. At a real live yoga studio. With real live yogis. Ooooh, mon coeur.

After several days of a hiatus (minus a much needed quick roll around on the floor yesterday for my tight hips and hamstrings) I wanted to go. I’ve thought a lot about it over the past week or so and realized that I just need to take a metaphorical chill pill. You’ll see…

I purposely got to the studio early.  The lobby is beautiful and tranquil and makes me feel like I’m home. Not like, home in Tampa, home. But like, content and happy, this is where I’m supposed to be, kinda home.

I sat on the floor for a bit, stretching out my very tight hips before the 90 minute Ashtanga class. When class started I set my mat down next to a new found friend, a fellow healthy food lover and avid yogini extraordinaire – the same one I met at the studio last time I went.

I told her how I hadn’t been to a class since the last time and she said she hadn’t been practicing as much as she would like to either. And then she said exactly what I needed to here… “it’s just not our purpose right now.”

Lightbulb.

I know I keep talking about the same thing over and over, but I realized when she said that that I had been getting all caught up in what I had been, and where I was going, that I forgot that right now I’m a student living in Paris on quite the adventure, meant to explore and experience what’s right in front of me. Why have I tried so hard to resist this?

Practice was challenging. 90 minutes of vigorous Ashtanga kicked my assana…a little yoga humor for ya. My physical practice is different, but I felt surprisingly content in the little yoga sanctuary, listening to the teacher tell us to relax our shoulders, heads, etc. and to just breathe (in French, I might add!). I left with a new outlook, feeling refreshed and ready for whatever is to come my way.

Myself and I have had lots of conversations in the past few days. No, not in that creepy “who’s that weirdo over there mumbling to themselves”  kinda –way. You know, like the nitty gritty, soul-searching, examine your shadows kinda way. Those are the best.

I’ve decided that I just need to be nice to myself. Abstract concept, yes? (Sarcasm)

All those thoughts I expressed in that post on Friday (What is the ideal shape? And other thoughts on slenderness…) stem from the same thing. I just need to take it (it meaning, well, everything) moment by moment, and not get caught up in what I haven’t done for the day, what task is waiting for me, or what I have to do on my yoga mat. No one is going to love me less if I don’t practice, or if I don’t look a certain way. It doesn’t make me less of a person if I don’t do this or that, or like like that girl over there, or whatever. Duh.

You see, I’m a perfectionist. In a big way. Total Type-A, pain in the butt, stuck in her ways kinda gal. Don’t get me wrong – I’m really delightful But still – I’m attentive and productive to a flaw.

I’m on top of my work, I get things done, I’m efficient and I’m smart. But I’m also stuck in my ways and have a hard time going with the flow and letting go of that perfectionist tendency. Well, no more. I even doodled to remind myself….

Doodling is good. It works. Trust me. 

Yep. That’s the resolution to our discussion Friday. Moment by moment. ‘Cuz that’s just all we got.

I came home from yoga feeling healthy and whole. And hungry, of course. I attempted to put my revelations into practice in the kitchen and just wing it. Poached eggs? Sure? Why not? I’ve never made them before and really wanted to try since I had them at a restaurant not too long ago.

30 minutes, a huge mess and one failed attempt later, I was grubbing on scrambled eggs with spinach and bacon. Mmm.

Note to self: Learn how to poach eggs.

I’m fairly certain I’ll sleep like a baby tonight, resting easy in my new resolution. Or perhaps it’s the effects of a very challenging yoga class. The good news is I’ll have sore muscles for days reminding me of all these revelations. No wonder yoga helps you stay present!

Here’s to now, my friends. Good night!

“Yoga has taught me that you are in a conscious body to learn what love is, not romantic love, although that may be part of your learning, but God-love, which is inclusive and infinite. In order to truly understand what this "love" is, part of the challenge of being human is that you will also have to experience and explore its opposite; what love is not…To truly understand the light, you must also understand the power and mystery of the shadow. It has taught me to embrace the shadow parts of myself—the ugly, shameful, scary and often repressed aspects—because without the wisdom the shadow provides, I cannot truly understand the power of your light, the depths of your beauty, nor your capacity for empathy. I cannot know, love or honor all parts of you unless I know, love and honor all parts of me.”

                                                                                                      – Seane Corn

First off – Thank you for your honest and encouraging comments on my post about the ideal size and slenderness last Friday. It’s quite amazing how many people share some of the same thoughts, and I appreciate everyone opening up. I’m certainly going to read through those comments when I need a lift

I spent the weekend soaking up my free time, practicing a different kind of yoga than the physical stuff I spoke of on Friday. This past week was crazy, so I practiced just relaxing and enjoying ever second of the weekend.

I’m still shocked, however, that it’s Sunday. Yet again. Doesn’t it seem like it’s always Sunday!? I feel like I’m constantly ending one week and starting another. And is it seriously the second week of March already!? Time really does fly when you’re having fun.

There was a cold front in Paris this weekend, but it’s a different kind of cold than the frigid, unbearable weather we had in January. The temps were only in the upper 20’s and low 30’s all weekend, but it was a-okay with me. The sky was a gorgeous shade of blue, and the air was crisp, making hints that Spring is just around the corner.

I went all over Paris on foot yesterday starting early at our market, then heading to see some sites in the afternoon. First stop – Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. I actually ran into one of my classmates when I walked into the cemetery – of all the places in the city we both chose Père-Lachaise to visit at the exact same time. Go figure!

I decided to stroll through on my own though, taking myself on a date with my camera as I often like to do.

I wandered around with no direction in mind really – didn’t even get a chance stop by to pay my respects to Oscar Wilde or Jim Morisson. Don’t worry, I’ll pay them a visit soon!

I headed to the metro after a little over an hour there, and what do you know – my friend was leaving at the exact same time. Seriously small world.

I had plans to had to Montmartre…and so did she! Weird! I was headed up to meet up with my roommate, so we took the metro there together. I spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around the area, eventually running into this establishment. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?

(Clearly I have some tiny specks inside my camera – it’s in the camera body, as the specks are there with any lens I put on it…any ideas? I’ve tried cleaning it, but alas, the specks remain)

As much as I’d like to attend a show there, I think I’m gonna have to stick to window shopping on this one. It’s $150 a pop at the Moulin Rouge. Yikes!

Around 4:00pm or so we decided to head to Trocadero, mostly because we saw a bus that said Trocadero on the front and can never resist a gorgeous view of la Tour Eiffel. Why not!?

We never actually made it to Trocadero, however, and found ourselves  distracted by a park that I can’t remember the name of, and eventually at the Arc de Triomphe. 

Paris in a day? Well, we sure did try!

We wandered down the Champs-Elysees until we found a metro stop, then made our way home to rest for a bit before dinner. I had plans to meet up with another friend at a little French restaurant (where I ate the most delicious salad – imitation recipe to come soon!) so after stopping to refresh at home for a minute, I headed right back out run a couple errands before dinner. I picked up a package at school (Thanks for the coffee Mom and Dad!), and stopped to buy some almond butter since mine is nearing it’s end.

Well, dinner turned into a 2 hour event followed by drinks at a piano bar, box full of coffee and almond butter jar in hand.

Normal. Totally normal. Nothin’ like a little almond butter to go with red wine and jazzy renditions of everything from Edith Piaf’s Je Ne Regrette Rien, to Britney Spears’ Toxic.  Good times.

It was such a nice day to spend wandering around, not thinking about school and just soaking up my free time doing whatever came up. Today has been really low key in comparison to yesterday’s adventures – a trip to the Salon de l’Agriculture (stay tuned!), homework, and 21 euros worth of laundry. Gotta love the laundry here.

I took some time to make a delicious dinner tonight given the slow pace of Sunday. Everything I’ve cooked lately is really simple. We don’t have many spices here, even though I keep meaning to go pick some up. Even our cooking utensils are simple – we don’t have a single measuring cup so we make do with what we’ve got.  Like tonight – quinoa measured in a leftover yogurt container.

1 yogurt cup dry quinoa, 2 yogurt cups water. Simple.

Along with my quinoa I made a Bok Choy, Red Bell Pepper and Onion Stir-Fry. So good it deserves capital letters.

Once the onions and peppers cooked down a bit, I added the bok choy and a little bit of soy sauce and sriracha. I purposely made extra so I could have lunch tomorrow since the week is going to get crazy again.

Once the veggies had cooked, I moved half of them to a container for tomorrow, and added some rotisserie chicken (see my post Everyday Pantry Staples for more details) to the pan with the remaining veggies for a little protein action.

Et voila!

I’ve really been loving simple and healthy dinners like this lately. I bought vegetables at the market yesterday with no real ideas in mind and it’s always fun to create something with what I have on hand.

I’ve only ever cooked with bok choy one other time and I’m really liking it. There’s a dish back home with soba noodles, bell peppers, bok choy, mushrooms and other veggies in a miso broth topped with salmon at one of my favorite restaurants… I’m thinking I’m going to have to try to replicate that with a gluten free version soon now that I’m learning to cook with bok choy. Perhaps a trip to the Asian district is in order!

Well, I’m off to enjoy the rest of this Sunday evening – the very little bit that’s left. No worries – I’m certain it will be Sunday again before I know it. I’m especially excited about the next one…Spring Break! I can taste it now…

Question: Have you cooked with any new ingredients lately? Do you ever pick out ingredients you’ve never cooked with…just to see what happens?

I have to start thinking of my next new to me ingredient… So many vegetables and not enough time!

Have a good one!

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the relationship between yoga and food. We had quite the conversation in this post – Gluttonasana aka You Got Butter on My Yoga Mat – in relation to an article in the New York Times about those who have a passion for both gourmet food and a hot, sweaty yoga class. I think there are so many other issues regarding food and yoga though – not so much just the ahimsa aspects of eating meat and such, but also issues to the contrary. More like the relationship of food and the yogi body.

How many times have you been sitting in a yoga class and been jealous of the girl next to you in the spandex leggings and tank top who just seems to exemplify the yogic figure? The perfect legs for Warrior 1, or the toned arms needed for forearm balance…

I’m guilty of it too. Sitting, and watching and just wishing I looked that way. Really, Courtney? Of all places! A yoga class…Sheesh.

Living in Paris has really helped me take a closer look at this. As I’ve thought about it over the past week, I’ve come to some realizations about my own practice. I’ve only gotten on the mat two or three times this week for relatively short sessions, 30 or 40 minutes tops, and am beginning to question my motives for even practicing as of late, at least in my time here. I’ve got yoga guilt. You know the feeling – you know you should, but you don’t wanna, so you do a little, but really didn’t want to. Yada, yada, yada.

As I’ve been away from my normal practice, the five or six day a week 90 minute sessions, I have realized how much I relied on my yoga as a means to satisfy another need, one that I’m ashamed to admit.  Don’t get me wrong, my practice means so much to me – my life has changed since I took my first class, but I’m suddently aware of another aspect that I’m not so proud of.

It’s like I’ve been treating my practice as a weight gain insurance plan or something, and lately it has felt like more of a punishment for my overindulgent meals, especially this past week (like my three course lunch at La Cameleon, my trip to Le Cordon Bleu, and my cheesy onion soup at La Rotonde).

Tee hee…

Ooh, and I forgot to mention the gelato I enjoyed in Jardin du Luxembourg the other day with a few friends between classes.

Seriously, who can resist rose shaped gelato!?

Like I said, guilt. The combination of indulgent food, and my lack of a challenging yoga practice have left me feeling well…less than healthy. But punishment? On the yoga mat? Seriously, someone knock some sense into me paleaseeeeeee. Not good. Those two words should just never be in the same sentence.

But the truth is I’ve had some major anxiety about my body, especially in the past few weeks. Recently for class I wrote a paper on body image and the influences our culture has put on “slenderness.” We read a piece by Susan Bordo called Reading the Slender Body that talks about our obsession with aesthetics, the emphasis our culture has put on physical accomplishment, and the unachievable images we see every day in magazines and on TV.

I mean seriously. What’s a girl supposed to think when in the same magazine she comes across an ad for chocolate and an article about women pioneering amazing projects to help other people in third world countries, and then sees an ad for a cellulite removing machine picturing a thin woman with arrows pointing to her apparent flaws just ten pages later…

It used to be that voluptuousness was a sign of health and wealth and was actually a good thing, but early attempts at achieving a slender body can be found in Greek cultures who began to control their appetites as a “means to self-mastery” and Christian cultures who used fasting as a means of coming closer to their God. In the Western world, this emphasis on body manipulation began to develop after the Victorian era when slenderness showed some kind of ability to control your consumption of resources, rather than indulge in them. Slender became the new means of power not just over yourself, but over others as well.

So how did we get where we are today? How do we live in a world where young girls know how to identify words like “fat” and “skinny” before they are even in Kindergarten? It makes me sad when I think about how much pressure there is to look a certain way, and even more sad that I, and so many others, have wasted so much time and energy giving into this idea of what’s acceptable and trying to achieve who even knows what.

Deep down I know that a week of indulgent food isn’t going to hurt. I’m 21, resilient, and living in Paris for God’s sake. This is a very special time in my life and I don’t want to waste it worrying about the softness around my hips or the lack of time I’ve spent saluting the sun. Plus, you only live once. Gotta enjoy it, yes? Still, knowing all of these things, the inner voice continues and I find myself constantly making an effort to silence it.

These are all issues that are really interesting to me. In fact, I find it almost ironic that I have such a passion for all things food – cooking, eating, dining out – but yet still find myself feeling guilty and submitting to the ideals of slenderness that are apparent in everyday life.

I wish I had solutions to offer, and I wish there was a magic button I could press to make that inner voice just disappear for everyone. What I don’t want is for my yoga practice to turn into another method of negative self-manipulation, an attempt to keep my figure looking a certain way.

And I definitely want to enjoy life – every single bite! But I do appreciate this new found awareness of the intentions behind my yoga practice, and the ability to look at things like the ad for cellulite removing machines with a bit of hesitation and resistance.

What are you thoughts? How do you feel about your exercise routine? Is it a a truly health focused venture, or are there certain physical rewards you are seeking? Do you feel pressure to look a certain way, or be a certain shape? Where does the pressure come from and what do you do to ignore those voices?

I’m really interested in your input, and I also want to raise a bit of awareness as to how rampant these thoughts run. I know I’m not the only one…so share your story!

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here, Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine, Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

                                                                 – Derek Walcott

I’ve been excited about today since the semester started. It was the first day of our photography class, which is called Le Flâneur Reconsidered: Documentary Photography in the Streets of Paris. Insert gasps of excitement here.

I, of course, woke up at 7:00am in anticipation and like any dorky kid on the first day of school, made a delicious breakfast. You know…brain food.

I had some leftover steamed broccoli and caramelized onions and peppers and decided to finish off the rest of them in an egg scramble. Nothin’ like one or two servings of veggies to get your morning started.

The scramble went perfectly with my GF quinoa bread (one slice with butter and Bonne Maman, and the other with a dab of almond butter).

With body and brain fueled, I packed up my bag (or should I say bags – purse, computer bag, camera case) and made my way to school. Obviously I was the first person there. Can you say dork?

Class was inspiring. My teacher, we’ll call her Dr. R, is free-spirited and contagiously passionate about all things photography…and well, life in general. The goal of the class isn’t so much to understand the technical aspects of photography, but rather to see things differently – to look for the untold story in the old man walking down the street, or the couple sitting in the cafe. The art in life I guess you could say.

As part of class we are encouraged to keep a journal. A say whatever the hell you want kinda journal – not one of those well this leather bound journal is just too nice so I have to say something profound or else kinda journals.

I couldn’t help but chuckle when Dr. R described it like this – I’m far too guilty of buying nice journals and never writing a single word because I felt like my worlds weren’t good enough to grace the pages of such fancy, overpriced paper. Pshhhh. Pretty darn stupid.

We talked a lot about having confidence when taking photos, and laughed when she described the worries of our generation. “You’re probably worried that you don’t have the right shoes on, or that something you say will be stupid, or that you might have gained a whole two pounds.” She made such a good point – we are so worried about how the world is looking at us, that we don’t take time to wonder how we look at the world.

Wisdom, my friends. Wisdom.

Everything she said hit home for me – I feel like I’m constantly caught up in worrying about silly things that don’t matter. Like, for instance, the fact that my body is a bit more, ahem, supple now that I’m here in Paris. Not because I’ve gained any weight, but I’m not practicing yoga as regularly and my body is changing. But it’s so dumb to worry about that when the Eiffel Tower is within spitting distance from my kitchen window.

And another thing – my future. Why am I so worried about what I’m going to do tomorrow, when I haven’t even gotten through today?

Well, I digress. But I felt liberated after listening to her talk. No more censor, my friends. I was on fire after her class, feeling totally inspired and wanting nothing more than to embrace that free spirit and just be. Like she says, “it takes some real ovaries to be yourself.”

Of course, all this inspiration worked up an appetite. My friend Jane and I wanted to continue channeling our inner artists and decided to head to lunch at La Rotonde, a famous cafe that is just a block away from school on the corner of Boulevard Montparnasse and Boulevard Raspail.

It was frequented by many artists, like Picasso for example, in the early 1900’s along with several other cafe’s in the neighborhood. In exchange for coffee and baguette, artists would contribute paintings or drawings or whatever they could as payment. Unfortunately that system isn’t still in place

Nonetheless, our meal was delicious. I had my first bowl of French Onion Soup that was cheesy and delicious. I also had a salade au saumon – raw salmon with purple potatoes, carrots, and onions and a light vinaigrette. So. Flippin. Good.

My mind has been racing with ideas and thoughts since class today. I’m so excited for what the semester is going to bring, and even more excited to share some of my pictures. She’s given us several projects to think about – she wants us to develop a theme for our final project, kind of like a Paris through your own eyes thing.

Question: Do you keep a journal? If so, do you censor yourself when you write?

I’m so inconsistent with journals, but after hearing Dr. R talk today, I feel like I’ve been “given permission” in a way to just say whatever I want. She even mentioned she writes grocery lists on some of her entries, tapes certain things that catch her eye on some pages, and just writes whatever she is thinking of at the time.

It’s different with a public blog – it’s not so much a journal. I do try to write in a personal one every so often but always feel like there are so many rules! Ones that I’ve clearly made up for myself. Ones that I’m abolishing as of today

How about my fellow bloggers? Do you keep a personal journal as well as your public blog?

I guess the bottom line is there are no rules. I like that.

I mentioned yesterday that we started an intensive module class this week. Two weeks of  Global Communications everyday from 10:00am to 6:00pm with other visits in addition.

Like this morning, for example… We were going to a conference at Cephalon Pharmaceuticals European headquarters and had to leave the house at 8:30am to arrive on time. This is after being at Le Cordon Bleu last night until past 9:00pm, doing our reading and other homework for today, and trying to get a good night’s sleep before waking up bright and early this morning.

Needless to say it’s been a busy week so far. The visits are all great and class is really interesting, but I was so thankful to have my afternoon free today. I finally got home around 3:00pm this afternoon, and wanted nothing more than to just do something for fun.

I thought I might want to hop on my yoga mat for a little, but I was just too tired. I’m trying this new thing where I actually listen to my body when it’s too tired. You know, like not pushing it when it’s begging me to just chill. Interesting concept, yes? Sarcasm.

Anyway. Taking a cue from my tired bod, I headed to my favorite room in any house – the kitchen.

Lately I’ve been craving granola. I make it all the time back home, but without an oven I haven’t even tried.

Until today.

Stove Top Granola

Since I don’t have a single measuring cup in Paris, this is really more of a method rather than a recipe. It was really easy to make and took all of 15 minutes, so I think it will come in handy even if you do have an oven back home – it’s super quick, and you only dirty up one pan making clean up very easy. Most importantly, it’s delicious.

First, I toasted the oats (maybe about 1.5 to 2 cups) in a dry pan on the stove. And of course by stove, I mean hot plate.

I turned the heat up to medium-high and stirred the oats constantly until they browned.

Next up – Honey. And Butter.  Trust me. Butter makes everything better.

I let the butter and honey (maybe about 1tbspn each) melt together in the pan, then added cinnamon, salt, almonds and walnuts. I added the nuts whole, mostly because I don’t have a knife to chop them (gotta love my tiny Parisian kitchen). They would be great chopped too and you could use any nuts you have on hand, or whichever ones you like.

Stop lookin’ at me like I’m nuts. Get it? Granola humor! Enough jokes. Back to the granola…and I’m not referring to myself!

Ok this time, I’m really done.

Once that had all toasted for a bit (maybe 5 minutes), I added the toasted oats back in the pan and let them all mix together.

The oats soaked up the remaining butter and honey and the granola dried out really well making it very crunchy.

I decided to stir in some coconut flakes once it had cooled for a few minutes…

Mmm. I’ve missed my homemade granola, and felt so cozy and happy this afternoon, munching on fresh granola with fromage frais, soaking up my free afternoon, and basking in the glorious smell of cinnamon, honey and butter that lingered in the house after I made it.

You could really make this granola with anything you like in it – dried pineapple would have been great with the coconut in this recipe. Any dried fruit and any nut you like would work great.

Well, this nut is back to the books. Have a good Wednesday!

Thank you for all the feedback on yesterday’s post! I’m so glad so many of you are on the same track as me with the whole yogi/foodie thing. Especially since I’m about to tell you about my trip to Le Cordon Bleu Paris today…. tee hee.

Oh yes, my friends. My inner Julia Child is squealing with delight after today’s trip to Le Cordon Bleu. After a very long day of class (we are in the midst of  a two week intensive module and have class from 10:00am to 6:00pm each day as well as extra visits throughout the week), we took a trip to Le Cordon Bleu for a presentation by the slow food cafe in the Bastille that my class is volunteering at, as well as a presentation on Le Porc Noir de Bigorre, a special pig raised in France that is part of the slow food movement.

I was giddy with excitement while we waited for the presentation to begin. It was a real-live-class for culinary students and our class was lucky enough to sit in. I talked to a couple of the students while we waited, asking about what it was like to be a student there. I was shocked with the number of people I heard speaking English, and in fact, the entire presentation was presented in both French and English.

The students I talked to had been at Le Cordon Bleu since June and were just about to finish up their training. Usually classes start with a 2.5 hour demonstration before they head upstairs to the kitchens to practice for another 2.5 hours. We were told that the room we were in was one of the demonstration rooms…

That is the look of excitement and anticipation.

Unfortunately, there was no cooking demonstration, but the presentation was really cool. We learned a bit about the origins of the Slow Food Movement, which I will be posting about later this week. The Salon de l’Agriculture is going on this week in Paris – it’s kind of like a big fair centered around the movement with a focus on local and regional cuisines. Farmers are there with their livestock, produce and other goods and are all proud of their homemade products. I went this past Sunday and will go again this Sunday coming up – look forward to a post about that! Lots of cows and chickens and other fun cultural stuff.

But anyway, I digress. Back to Julia’s old stomping grounds!

Le porc noir de Bigorre is a rare pig that was nearly wiped out after la Seconde Guerre mondiale (WWII).  There were only 32 existing around 1981, but now there is around 680 Bigorre pigs, and the population of them is slowly growing. They are raised on farms and eat the grass, acorns and chestnuts there – a very wholesome diet. They also take a long time to gain weight because they only eat half as much as normal pigs.

Getting them ready to eat is a very delicate process, but the end results are delicious. It’s a bit morbid, but after learning all about this special pig…we ate some. Sorry my vegetarian friends. But it’s in the name of education!

Thanks to the high quantity of poly-unsaturated fats in the Omega3 family that the meat contains, it’s really tender and flavorful. Also, thanks to the long breeding process, the meat is vibrantly red. The pigs are usually ready to well, ya know, after a year and it takes about 18 months to dry out or cure.

Of course, no tasting at Le Cordon Bleu would be complete without wine! The meat pairs really well with very dry white wine….

The wine was so delicious! And the tastes were very generous

That’s my roommate Tiffany – you know it’s a good time when we speak only French all the way home. Comment dit-on “lush?” Tee hee.

There was also lentils in endive topped with a bit of the fattier pieces of meat,

and of course, dessert.

This was a chocolate mousse with orange peel and…STEVIA! Ok, so apparently it’s not illegal, but it’s one of those “don’t ask don’t tell” things here. It is a controlled substance, but it’s close to being a normal everyday item here in France, especially with the emergence of the slow food movement.

The stevia used was pure, un-refined green stevia that had been ground from the leaf– not like the stuff we find in the little Truvia packets back home. It’s EXTREMELY sweet, and tastes so much better than the white powdery stuff. We were able to dip our greedy little fingers in and try it….

The dessert was so delicious…very sweet and so unique with the little pieces of orange zest. Me likey.

My little foodie heart was overflowing with delight during the whole visit. I was so overwhelmed and thankful that I got to hang out at Le Cordon Bleu. In Paris. Amongst amazing chefs and students. Pinch me.

Being at the school got me more than excited about my future plans to go to culinary school. I even talked to someone who invited me back to sit on other classes while I’m here studying. So excited!

Who knows? Perhaps maybe I’ll be Chef Courtney, graduate of Le Cordon Bleu, Paris. We shall see

“I came to the conclusion that I must really be French, only no one had ever informed me of this fact. I loved the people, the food, the lay of the land, the civilized atmosphere, and the generous pace of life.”

                                                                                                                                               -Julia Child

A friend and I went to Le Cameleon today, a little restaurant right next to school in lovely Montparnasse. We enjoyed a three course lunch.

Yep, you heard me. Three courses. For lunch. If three courses for lunch is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

I started with the saumon norvegien, which came swimming in the most glorious pool of butter. No pun intended.

Next up, lightly smoked haddock, also swimming in butter and served up with perfectly seasoned spinach.

My dining companion and fellow food loving friend had a glorious fish en bouillabaisse,

that was served with some kind of amazing mayo based sauce. I tried it. Off of a spoon. Yum.

And the best part of all, the tout noir – three layers of chocolate gorgeousness. Chocolate mousse, chocolate ice cream, topped with chocolate sauce. Chocolate coma, to follow. 

Of course, it wouldn’t be lunch in Paris without a glass of wine. Obviously.

Gluttony, I love you.

It was a glorious day, however a bit ironic. I got home to find a question from a reader asking me about my thoughts on the connection between food and yoga, with a link to an article in the New York Times called When Chocolate and Chakras Collide.

I’ve actually read this article before, but never really thought about it until today after my very indulgent lunch experience. The article discusses this new movement of yogis, who happen to be foodies too. There are even yoga studios popping up all over the U.S., much like Ubuntu in Napa, California,  that serve up gourmet meals after a sweaty yoga class.

When I went to Jivamukti in New York City this past summer, the cafe at the front of the studio offered fresh, healthy salads, juices and smoothies and I remember loving that community feel that the cafe/yoga studio combination provided. But still, the question remains – Can you really indulge in gourmet food – think chocolate, cheese, wine and chocolate – and still be a “good yogi?”

Although I’m quite certain I won’t be coming out of savasana to a steaming bowl of soup anytime soon, I’m quite comfortable with my love of both yoga and food. As a yogi, foodie, and chef-wanna-be, I can see the connection – the yoga in both cooking fresh, healthy food and spending time on the mat. I often get that same calm, focused feeling I get in my practice when I’m standing over a pot of freshly made soup, getting lost in the rhythmic motion of chopping, stirring, and taking it all in.

One of the criticisms of this yogi/foodie culture is the eating of meat and it’s relationship to ahimsa, or non-violence, the first principle of yoga. This do no harm principle has translated into vegetarian diets for many yogis, despite the fact that many well known and respected yoga teachers (the article mentions Ana Forrest) have admitted to including animal products in their diet.

I’ve tried the vegetarian thing and it just doesn’t make me feel good. In my opinion the first form of non-violence should be towards yourself. Obviously, it’s not going to harm me to not eat meat (or, perhaps, smoked haddock in a pool of melted French  butter. Just sayin’) but I enjoy my culinary adventures and tasting a wide variety of foods. I’m not shoveling food into my mouth missing the whole experience, I’m savoring every little moment and am present.

My practice has certainly influenced my food choices. I lean towards healthier foods and many of my meals are light, protein rich and have lots of veggies because it makes me feel good. When I eat healthy, my body feels healthy and strong and that’s how I like to eat most of the time. But I certainly love to indulge every once in a while too. So sue me.

I like what Sadie Nardin, a yoga teacher in New York says in the article: “The culture of judgment in the yoga community — I call it “yogier than thou” — is rampant, and nowhere more than around food.” If vegetarianism works for some, then great. But I think by saying that a yogi isn’t a yogi because they eat meat is kind of defeating the whole purpose, don’t ya think?

Days like today are special. I spent an hour and a half over lunch with a friend, enjoying every bite and giggling with delight We even  talked about how nice it is to have someone to share such a beautiful meal with – how not too many people really appreciate food that has been given so much attention and been prepared with thought and passion. Isn’t that the point? We felt so lucky to be able to experience the food, the atmosphere and the company over a nice long lunch.

I’m a yogi. And I happen to love food. Am I perfect? No. But is anyone? Is there really such a  thing as a “good yogi?” One who follows all the rules (are there rules?) who does everything the way it should be?

So to all my food-lovin’ yogis out there…what do you think? Can you have both? How has your practice influenced your food choices? How do you feel about eating meat and ahimsa?