tag: expat life
September 20, 2013
Quick announcement: I’m excited to tell you that I’ll be back in Paris for a week starting this Sunday! I’m in town for photo assignments, shooting at some of my favorite restaurants and bars in the city. My schedule is already packed, but I’d love to meet up with my lovely expat community during shoots, since I’ll be hanging around eating, drinking, and waiting for the light to change while taking photos. Don’t be shy — if you’d like to meet up, please send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org, or leave a comment below, and I’ll send you my shooting schedule!
July 2, 2013
I have yet to utter the words, “summer is here!” I’m afraid I might jinx it. But there was a barbecue last weekend, and rain did not come to put out the fire — that’s got to be proof, right?
There are a few things that are different at French barbecues. The sausages they grill are thinner, and they go in pieces of chewy baguette, not the soft buns I’m used to. The grills are adorably tiny. And they can’t be held in the city, so you must find friends with homes in the suburbs. Preferably with gardens.
December 2, 2012
It’s been a weird week. On top of hightailing it back to Paris after the break-in, I came home to a very sick dude who required lots of love and tea and homemade chicken noodle soup (coming eventually). My comfort comes from elsewhere.
I have a love affair with diners. On early afternoons on Saturdays or Sundays back in LA, after rolling out of bed, I would take a thick book to Rae’s or Bobby’s or whatever other first-name-apostrophe-s greasy spoon was closest and served never-ending coffee. I would order bacon soft, eggs over easy, hash well-done, and wheat toast with butter and jam. I would sit there at the counter and eat and read and drink coffee until I was gently vibrating in my seat. After a while, the waitresses stopped asking me if I wanted more coffee and just poured more whenever they happened by. Then they stopped asking me what I wanted to order and just brought me the usual. Once, I leant a copy of Infinite Jest to a Bobby’s waitress. Another time, a server at Rae’s let me borrow her copy of Maus. I liked being alone around people. This is how I would reset before the onrushing work week, and now I guess this is how I reset when life gets fuzzy around the edges.
Breakfast in America is as close to those diners as I’m going to find in this city. Heinz ketchup and French’s yellow on the table, bacon and eggs and pancakes and burgers on the menu (though with the shocking omission of biscuits and gravy). Purportedly bottomless cafe americain.