Chou-fluer

(Cauliflower crust, with a dollop os tomato sauce because I forgot to take a photo before I enthusiastically began adding my toppings)

Chou-fluer (Fr.)/ Cauliflower (Eng.) noun: a garden plant related to the cabbage and grown for its compact edible head of usually white undeveloped flowers.

In an attempt to prove that there is something as seemingly complicated as navigating the French government, or even removing French wall paper from my apartment's walls, I decided to embark on this recipe:

Cauliflower Pizza Crust

It seemed impossible, although on paper it shouldn't be. You should know that I made this in Paris' smallest kitchen, using just one burner and a toaster oven. And when the recipe called for a food processor, I had only a hand blender, and when it suggested a fine mesh strainer, I got crafty and used my coffee filters to line the inside of my large holed strainer.

The good news is that I did have a thin clean towel to strain out the excess water*, and also had the foresight to buy parchment paper during yesterday's trip to the market.

The bad news is that I forgot to switch the setting on the toaster oven from broil to bake. So the bottom of the crust didn't fare as well as I would have liked.

Since this is not a cooking blog, you may be asking yourself "why is this significant?"

You see, just as I was trying to blend up the cauliflower in my Bodum Coffee Press (don't ask) using the hand blender and not having any luck whatsoever, I paused and thought "this is going to turn out horribly, make a huge mess, piss off my crazy bi polar neighbor with all the blending sounds, and waste 1+ hours of my evening, so I should cut my losses and go for sushi takeout."

But the thought of actually eating the cauliflower crust pizza that I had been craving all week, was somehow giving me some much needed hope. And when it didn't work out I certainly would have been very disappointed.  Yet while the thought of takeout was a surefire way to eat successfully before midnight, the thought of it  gave me a blah sensation.  Not too mention it would have been a denial of the inspired challenge I had scheduled for myself yesterday when I purchased three heads of cauliflower. I took these two opposing sensations as my intuition saying that I should go for the thing that gave me energy (the prospect of cauliflower pizza) even though it would almost definitely fail, and turn away from the option that drained my energy (sushi takeout) which would be an easy sure thing.

I am happy to say that in spite of my sketchy kitchen tool improvisation, my pizza was everything that I had hoped for. It reminded me that I can still eat the way that I enjoy even in my teeny tiny Paris kitchen. And it gives me a good reminder of what it feels like to let my inner voice be my guide.

(toppings: tomato sauce, arugula, mushrooms, and buffalo mozzarella)

I am going to consciously look for these types of inner voice signals over the course of the next week and see where that guides me.


 *Alas I should have let it cool first before scalding my hands by squeezing it tightly.

Pratiquer

Pratiquer (Fr.)/ Practice (Eng.) verb: to do or preform something repeatedly in order to acquire or polish a skill. Repetition or exercise of an activity in order to achieve mastery or fluency.

Last night I met a very cool woman who was here in Paris for Fashion Week. She is a Parisienne, although she lives in Madrid for her work as the Studio Coordinator for Loewe (pronounced Low-ev-ay). She is fluent in French, Spanish and English (without any trace of an accent).

She joined our table as she was the friend of a friend. And during introductions, she asked if I spoke French.

"Non, Je ne parle pas très bien le français." I said, with my head hung in shame.

"How long have you lived in Paris?" she asked.

"One year" I whispered.

Embarrassed by my answer, I explained that I didn't speak it very well because I spend all day working in English. And when I do go out, I always end up speaking English everywhere I go, because I am too tired to bumble around like a cow, and just want to be able to communicate effectively.

"Zat eez bullshit!" She barked. "You MUST practice! Over and over and over. Or you will never get any better."

This was the same advice given to me by my taxi driver last weekend. He tried to soften it by encouraging me that my accent, or lack thereof, and my errors are charming. "Talk to yourself and repeat everything you hear on the radio. I learned how to speak English from Larry King" he told me. "I would watch CNN and repeat everything that Larry said. It taught me pronunciation, phrases and sometimes I learned something more than just English" he said.

I really need to get over my fear of looking like a fool. I really really really want to speak better French.

Thanks to this little guy for some inspiring words of wisdom: