Chapter 10: Food and Friends

The Dublin trip leads me to Chapter 10, a chapter devoted to a subject that I’ve been studying my whole life: food. It’s no coincidence that some of the best abroad moments have been food-centric. While one part is a result of my affinity for eating, the other half has to be attributed to the sheer brilliance of sharing a good meal with the people you love to be around. If my videos on Laduree’s and L’As were any indication, a good meal has a way of sticking in my mind long after the taste has faded. Here’s a list of some of the best.

 L’Atelier- In the two weeks before my program started, my parents, Brad, and I explored virtually every inch of the Montparnasse area to the south of St. Germain. My favorite restaurant by far was L’Atelier, introducing me both to the uber-French outside café culture and the funny menu item “boeuf avec oeuf” essentially steak with egg, pronounced “booth with oof.” Excuse my lingering amusement with the French language. Here’s some delicious eggs from the establishment.

  Les Deux Magots- Famed café on St. Germain des Pres square, frequented by the likes of Hemingway and Picasso. My family treated Ania, Jenny, Dani and I to a delicious meal on our first official night of the quarter in Paris, simultaneously making me excited for the rest of the quarter and ending the summer with my family on a high note. Brownie points for mom and dad!

Hippocampus- Our second night in Paris, our crew of girls proved that there is bad food to be had in France by dining at this awful, run down café…we were too hungry and too unknowledgeable of the city to know better than to dine here. Highlight: Ania and Dani’s dog food pasta passed off as bolognese. Definitely a bonding moment, and I couldn’t stop laughing for a solid 10 minutes when the order came out.

 L’As Falafel, Laduree’s- Of course. Add in my preoccupation with Pierre Herme macarons, and you’ve got a winning combination of Parisian culinary institutions. (Although probably not two types of food to be enjoyed in the same meal).

Speaking of Parisian culinary institutions, the original Cosi can’t be forgotten; it inspired the entire chain of Midwest sandwich shops. I go there often, just last night Jessica surprised me at our Critical Theory Casablanca viewing with a salad and fromage blanc (this delicious yogurt mixed with apples that they only have in France, I wish I was kidding, our French teacher said there is no English translation). It’s the best, although picking what to order can be a challenge, as indicated by the photo below.

St. John’s Dinners- Like Hippocampus, even the worst must be mentioned. St. John’s provides us with a broken toaster, a barely functioning toaster oven, a microwave, sassy meal attendants who yell at you in French, and a few mice to make our dining experiences at the legendary dorm truly unforgettable. Please read the sarcasm in my voice, but regardless, the consistent 7PM dinners off microwaved eggs, take-out Erik Kayser, and the occasional splurge from Grande Epicierie feature some of the most epic conversations of the trip—it’s definitely part of my abroad I’ll never forget. Here’s Ania, Dani, and I trying to avoid a mouse.

Mmm Asian goodness- Who knew that Paris would have some of the best Asian food I’ve ever encountered? From Vietnamese hot soup to a street in the 1^st whose name escapes me with fifty awesome stir-fry places, Paris has ignited my love for Asian cuisine.

Picnics galore- Whether in front of the Eiffel Tower with a huge group of NU students or off Concorde in front of the Haussman-worthy Air France HQ with Ian Hendrickson, picnicking with a bottle of wine, cheese, good fruit, and some choice meats is the only way to play in Paris, not to mention…

 …in Barcelona! After visiting La Boqueria market, Natalie and Dana (aka Spain veterans studying in Madrid), successfully guided our group’s choices for our lunch of cheeses, meats, and olives. Throw in the pre-meal homemade juices of every possible flavor and color, and you have uno muy delicioso lunch. (I’m not going to even start on the tapas, and the famed “patatas bravas,” because that makes me too hungry).

 Toussaint food- Eventually I’ll get up the energy to post on Toussaint, I’ll save all the delicious tastes I enjoyed in Italy, Austria, and Hungary for then.

 Rice and Beans, Cactus- The resident Californians in Paris are always on the hunt for good Mexican. Cactus is an imitation Chipolte with a nicely balanced and guacamole heavy Mexican salad; Rice and Beans has decently priced, savory tacos in a sketchy downstairs cave room adorned with the Mexican flag and Crayola-colored plastic banners. I still miss Sea Casa though, but Rice and Beans will always have a special place in my heart as my last dinner as a twenty year-old. (Also, expect a post soon on the 21^st birthday madness, complete with Jessica’s way too amazing Jules Verne surprise, Harry’s New York Bar, Ben’s presents from Chicago, and Le Crocodile).

 Dave’s, Argentinean Steak Place- Justin Lehmann’s mom and dad respectively took us to Dave’s and a wonderful Argentinean steak place, two of their favorite spots back from when they lived in France. Dave’s was an otherworldly experience for the fashion geek in me. A little bit of background: Dave’s (pronounced Dahv-vays) is the after-party spot during fashion week, everyone who is anyone is seen there, and Dave himself knows all (See photo w/ Dave below). Photos of every star, from Lagerfeld to SJP to Uma Thurman to Kate Moss to Leo, adorn the walls, including a photo of Justin and his younger brother Nick from when they were little. It was a thoroughly enjoyable dinner. Later, when his dad visited, we went to a delicious steak restaurant, which the steak-geek in me appreciated, thereby satiating both sides of my personality.

Place that Ben Fainlight took me too- I know this is super ambiguous, and I forget the name of the restaurant, but it was an adorable café and I’m writing it down much more for my own memory rather than for those who might be making their way through this ridiculously long post. $13 euro fixed price menu with entrée, plat, and gourmet coffee drink, really well priced for France, and delicious enough to warrant the splurge and break from St. John’s Nathan Lane-worthy dining hall.

 Young Lehmann + Dive Bar- On Rue Princesse, we ventured to an unusual wine bar that’s not The Princesse and the Frog to celebrate the arrival of Little Lehmann. The place wasn’t spectacular, and it didn’t even involve food, but Nick’s rendition of Edith Piaf’s “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” deserves it’s own bullet point and I couldn’t figure out where else to include it.

Look out for a post and video soon featuring hamburgers at Charlie Birdie, hot coco at Angelina’s, and fondue at, well, Au Refuge de Fondue (check out the two teaser photos below), way back when the boys originally visited Paris. It feels like so long ago, especially when I consider I’m returning to United States in two weeks. I’ll edit it later as a reward for finishing the next two papers, along with the extra chocolate covered marshmallow I bought at the Christmas market today.

Chapter 11: Dublish

So this post is a little out of order, considering Chapters 6-9 are still in the rough draft stages (you can blame Loriaux and the papers on papers on papers us Critical Theorists have to write). I apologize once again for my lackluster posting schedule, but after being schooled yet again by a brilliant blog post from JLee, I decided to throw caution to the wind and write about Dublin while it is still fresh in my memory.

 To start, Thursday morning Jessica and I woke up at her apartment, then went to meet up with her family before we departed for Dublin and they headed to Milan.

Side note: The Kane’s! Jessica’s family came to visit the week before we headed to Dublin, and graciously treated me to two delicious breakfasts at their hotel. More importantly than the George V’s scrumptious hot chocolate Stacey and Adam ordered was the much-needed Westlake love they brought to Paris. It was great getting to spend time with parents and siblings, even if they weren’t mine. Check out the photo of me with the gorgeous Kane sisters. Jealz? (abbreviation for jealous Grandma and Grandpa Swanson :) ).

Cut to the airport. At Charles De Gaulle, uncontrollable nerves boiled up inside my stomach, but thanks to Jessica’s distracting small talk and a pre-flight manicure session, I calmed down. One flight delay later, we arrived in Dublin only ten minutes after our scheduled arrival time. Instead of telling Elliott and the Chicago Kids (new band name?) we got in on time, Jessica and my returned butterflies thought it would be a better idea to not let the group know we arrived until the last second possible (luckily her iPhone’s service was spotty so this idea came to fruition on its own). The shuttle passed by in a matter of minutes, and then suddenly there they were, outside the window, walking towards the Trinity bus stop—Elliott, Daniel, Becca, Evar, and Ben (Joe was MIA, apparently he has friends outside of Northwestern whaaa?). After six months of not seeing the majority of these people, I can say with only a minimal amount of embarrassment that I screamed on the bus when I saw them, much to the amusement of the Irish passengers.

After the reunion, we followed seasoned, NU-approved tour guide Elliott around the Trinity campus—apparently it’s the Northwestern of Dublin, except more important to Ireland and more resented by the average Dubliner. It’s quite picturesque. (Speaking of pictures, I took a total of three on this trip, any others on this post are thanks to JLee and Jkane. Yay friends who are talented photographers!).  

Post-Trinity, we returned to Elliott’s to deposit Jessica’s and my luggage before heading out to a pub. Note: A great part about Dublin is how you don’t have to jam pack as many tourist-y attractions in. There’s Grafton Street, the Guinness Storehouse, St. Patrick’s Church, Dublin Castle, and a few other notable places, but it’s pretty easy to see all the sights and still have downtime. Compared to the always-bustling itineraries we schedule for our friends who visit Paris, Dublin was a nice, relaxing vacation, perfectly executed by host Elliott. Thus, most of our time were spent in pubs.

So, we headed to the first of many pubs to be visited that weekend, where I had my first Bulmer’s. Pre-Gluten-free-fiasco, I never enjoyed beer. Sure, I’d indulge in the occasional Natty Ice at a frat party to ward off the sweltering heat of insert any fraternity here’s party room, but I didn’t make it a habit. Now, I gaze on beer somewhat longingly, I guess it’s the “grass-is-always-greener” syndrome. That was until I had a Bulmer’s cider. Bulmer’s cider tastes like grape juice, and has about the same alcoholic content as beer, meaning I could sip on it along while everyone else enjoyed their Carlsberg and Guinness with no envy. On the suggestion of Jenny and Ania, I tried it mixed with black currant juice—definitely a great call.

We moved from the pub back to Elliott’s for a pre-dinner nap before heading to a delicious noodle place. Post-spicy rice noodles and another extended chill sesh at Elliott’s, it was time to head out to bars for the night. I skim over Thursday’s details because it was our final destination of the night that deserves the most blog-time. The Palace, a club conveniently located on Camden Street 2 minutes away from Elliott’s apartment, plays top-40 non-stop in a ballroom-like cavern filled with scantily-clad Dublin youth. Literally, take any freshman female’s Keg Monday outfit, add one-part London, one-part Jersey Shore, and a pair of six-inch stilettos, and you have your average Irish twenty-year old female. Coming from Paris, it was definitely a culture shock for me; it’s been a long time since I’ve encountered the use of a lace, cheetah, neon, glitter, and a push-up bra all in the same outfit. Still, it was a refreshing change of pace, and bolstered by the awesome company (Jlee and Joe+friends had joined up with us at this point), the Palace’s 8-euro cover was money well spent.

Waking up Friday proved difficult, not only because we stayed up until at least 4AM the night before, but because none of us got a truly good night’s sleep thanks to the sleeping arrangements. Don’t get me wrong, Elliott and his roommates were incredibly gracious to host us, but even they warned us ahead of time of the size of their very-much three-person apartment. Natalie and Dana had the right idea to stay in a hostel, and although Joe roomed with his friends, the remaining seven of us found ourselves cozying up on everything from the floor to a slightly deflated blow-up mattress to a leather chair. So it was with one extra knot in our back that we woke up Friday morning, and headed on our way. Elliott took us to a Fraiche-like bakery, complete with adorable mismatching tea sets and one of the nicest waitresses I’ve ever encountered. Post-scones, porridge, and “soldiers and eggs,” we took a train down to the coastal town of Bray.

Bray is everything you associate with the Irish coast, romantic in an English, freezing, barren sort of way. It’s a mix of green and red mountains and grey rocks; the icy blue water tempted me with memories of California beaches. 

Roaming the whole afternoon on the beach and around the hills featured such memorable moments as Becca climbing under the massive rocks to successfully recover chocolate fallen out of her purse; Elliott looking more and more like James Dean every passing second, boys throwing rocks; and the realization our group was the perfect new cast for The Real World: Bray.

We ended Bray at yet another pub (I appropriately tried an Irish coffee, really not all that energizing when the effects of whiskey were added in), before taking the train back to Dublin.

As you may have put together, the Dublin adventure coincided with Thanksgiving weekend. Although we determined it would be too difficult to do any sort of cooking Thursday on Thanksgiving proper, Becca, Jessica, Natalie, and I were unwavering in our desire to cook some sort of Thanksgiving meal, turkey or no turkey.

After many revisions of the menu, we finally settled on sweet potatoes with marshmallows and baked apples (who needs a main dish anyways?). It was delicious, mostly thanks to Executive Chef Natalie and her mom’s suggestion of using pineapple to thicken the sweet potatoes.

Once the feast ended, we headed out to an Irish bar, predictably named “Flannery’s.” One of the highlights of Flannery’s: Ben was too tired and decided to sleep instead of going out, so I had another regrettably single going-out night. At one point, when I was standing a little way’s off on my own from the group, a very polite Irish guy started hitting on me. To put it in the most Barbossa way possible, I declined to acquiesce to his request. Post-rejection, he turned around, only to see four guys staring daggers at him. Slightly alarmed, the again, very cordial, non-creepy Irish guy asked what their problem was, Elliott told him “her boyfriend is one of our best friends.” The Dublin dude wasn’t starting trouble, but it was still nice to have bar back-up. It just reaffirmed for me how I have some of the best guy friends ever—they are sincerely good guys, a rarity in Europe and phenomena I’ve come to appreciate— who always have my back. Dublin produced a whole lotta love for my friends, and made me thankful for the umpteenth time that Nick Matra convinced me to attend Northwestern that fateful night in McDonald’s post-Thoroughly Modern Millie. (And when I say convinced, I mean the conversation went something along these lines:

Nick: “Did you get into Northwestern?”

Me: “I don’t know, I haven’t checked yet, did you?”

Nick: “Yeah, I think I’m going, it’s going to pretty sweet. You should check.”

Me: “Okay sure.”

Not exactly the most persuasive conversation I’ve encountered, but it stuck with me until I submitted my letter of acceptance. Thanks Nick! )

Saturday: Woke up, went to brunch at the place to get traditional fish and chips (aka fries). For those planning on pursuing this course of action on their own travels to Ireland, I vehemently recommend against it. So heavy, worse than falafel in how it stuck in my stomach all day. Over the rest of Saturday, we ventured to the essential Dublin tourist spots: St. Patrick’s, Book of Kells at Trinity, Dublin castle, etc.

…

To be said in a Kanye voice: Now Family, I really love you, and imma try to finish, but this Post is really long and I got to go write one of the longest papers of all time. Of all time! (shrugs and walks away.)

…this is my way of saying I apologize if the rest of the post feels rushed…

So to finish the rest of Saturday we ventured to a few more pubs, then the women separated from the guys for a much-needed girlfest shopping break. (I mean, Dublin is pretty much one of the most masculine tourist destinations in Europe). The day before, we had briefly gone to TopShop, my first time in the hipster-girl haven. Natalie picked up a super flattering, really wearable, utteraly adorable pair of high-waisted pants (…I really liked them if you can’t tell); I got a pair of ballet flats. (Knock-off Repetto’s for $20, score!). Saturday, we went to Urban Outfitters, for a taste of Americana. It was interesting for me to see the trends surfacing back in the States, since I’ve been exposed to French trends the past quarter. A lot of Isabel Marant inspired looks, some playing with sheer fabrics a la Stella McCartney…but I digress too far into a #stetch worthy discussion. That night, we went to another Dublish club, where Evar and Dshore found love in a hopeless place and we danced our hearts out yet again.

Sunday: Late start, Natalie and Dana left ( :( ), then… Guinness Storehouse!

Aka Dublin’s most-visited attraction…I had long waited for this, the only beer I planned on allowing myself to have was at the Guinness Storehouse. I justified this going against common sense with my father’s approval… “You have to have one Guinness in Ireland!” Father does indeed know best, I felt like a beer connoisseur; after learning about the Guinness production process from pre-recorded tour by the head of Guinness using aggressive hand motions, I learned how to taste the “subtleties” of the stout. In other words, when it came time to have my complimentary pint in the Guinness Sky Bar, I made general approval sounds as I sipped and kept saying how the beer tasted “roasted like coffee.” Look at me, I’m a beer expert!

Evar and Jessica departed, and after another hour at Elliott’s, so did JLee, leaving me the last study abroader standing with the Chicago kids. We dined at a scrumptious burger place before heading to—you guessed it—yet another pub. A great night to cap off a great trip.

3:45 AM Monday came way too fast. Before I knew it, Ben was walking me to the airport shuttle stop, following detailed instructions written out for us by Elliott (Favorite direction: “Go in the direction of TopShop”…he knows me well). Between the lack of sleep, the thought of not seeing Ben for two more weeks (pause for you to either coo or get annoyed at the obligatory couple comment), and a general desire not to endure the six hours of travel followed by French class, leaving Dublin seemed a daunting task that I didn’t want to undertake. Now I’ve settled back into Parisian madness, but I wouldn’t mind another Dublin sometime soon.

…oh wait Amsterdam this Friday with Ania, Dani, Jenny, Jessica, Shilson, Elliott, Nick, and Justin. If only the Chicago kids would return!