Four minutes to read.
Dear Brittany,
Do you and your friends know that French fries are no more French than a Brussel sprout is Belgian or a slab of Canadian bacon is Canadian? When I get home, just to see what happens, the next time we go to Mel’s for a hamburger, I’m ordering “a burger with frites.”
Speaking of burgers, the Big Fernand is a French fast-food chain that serves a grilled meat patty—tenderly tucked into a soft roll with a crispy crust—topped with a slice of Montague cheese, sundried tomatoes, a healthy portion of chopped parsley and a mayonnaise-based secret sauce. Pairs perfectly with a glass of red Bordeaux. Comes with, um, French fries.
Someday, I want you and Ben to come with me to France. I hope you will bring an open mind. Touristing is more than sightseeing. It’s about learning different ways of living.
In Nantes, a 280-square foot microhouse perches over a narrow alley squeezed between two buildings. The entire house could fit into our garage. Think of it. Storage for our polluting car converted into housing for Aunt Abby or a foreign exchange student.
Public art is a thing in France. Art that is innovative, festive, fun is unexpectedly everywhere. Art to challenge you, art to make you smile. My favorite: in front of a gelato stand a garbage can in the shape of an ice cream cone. Like the fashionable clothes you wear, art woven into daily life.
In Paris on the Champs-Élysées, one place you will want to check out is the very first Sephora store., I was there yesterday looking for perfume for your mother. The place is claustrophobic with a fusion of fragrances, colognes, potions. Overpowering. I could hardly get out of there fast enough. You’ll love it.
Speaking of cosmetics, in most French towns, urban treescapes convert otherwise boring streets into promenades. A touch of the forest primeval in the city center is a make-over for drab buildings and grey pavements. Besides shade on blazing hot days, the trees are rooted soldiers combatting the climate crisis.
Cathedrals in France are as plentiful as Catholics in a convent. Ever since evangelical Christians backed Trump in the last election, religious types have turned me off. For every Dali Lama there’s a Christian Nationalist. That aside, stained glass windows backlit by a righteous, radiant sunlight transform even a sinner like me.
America should copy France’s public restrooms. From unselfconscious outdoor urinals for men to self-cleaning, sanitary bathrooms placed in public parks and squares. A traveler with a bursting bladder is a distracted traveler, so this is one public amenity that I hold in high regard. You will too.
Neighborhood bistros often have shelves packed with children’s books and toys. Stylishly attired moms use French eateries as daytime way stations to rest and rejuvenate, to reclaim their adulthood by connecting with other mothers. It’s fun to witness. Like well-dressed zebras at a watering hole.
Brittany, I’m so excited at the thought of all of us together in France that I am sitting here trembling. Ah, a deep breath. That’s better. Will write more later, Dad.