Cookies for breakfast and cheese all day: A family weekend in Abreschviller

This past weekend was hands down my favorite that I've spent in France.  Hélène, Nicolas and I spent the weekend at her parents' beautiful home in Abreschviller, a tiny village near the Alsace region.  Abreschviller is about an hour and a half by car from Metz, and has a population of less than 1500.  

When we arrived at Bernard and Christianne's home, I was elated to find it exactly the way I had always pictured a French home in the country: Copper pots and floral serving platters hanging on the walls, hand painted alsatian pottery, an old grandfather clock, an ancient tiled wood burning stove, a massive handcrafted dining room table, a climate controlled wine cellar, homemade jars of jam, an old piano, and a beautiful hand carved armoire that has been in the family for generations.  Hélène's parents (whom I've already had the pleasure of meeting a few weeks ago), are incredibly warm and welcoming people, and I feel incredibly at home with them, Hélène, and Nicolas.  Over the weekend, I also met Hélène's brother, Gilles, his girlfriend Caroline, and Hélène's grandmother Marie-Joseph.  

The weekend was a succession of traditional French meals prepared by Bernard and Christianne. Bernard made sure my cup was never empty, eager to share with me his knowledge of wine from the Alsace and Lorraine regions.  Who was I to refuse his expertise?

Saturday, the family ate at an Alsatian restaurant, where lunch consisted of three types of cheese, fried potatoes, and salad.  Dessert was café gourmande, which is a cup of espresso served with a platter of several tiny desserts. Bernard would not hear of my paying for my share. "You were invited, ma cherie!" 

After lunch, Hélène, Nicolas and I decided to walk off the calories and explore Abreschviller and the nearby city of Sarrebourg, which is 10 times smaller than Metz in pop

ulation. Sarrebourg was a meaningful visit for me since it contains a chapel with a huge stained glass window by Marc Chagall.  Although the cathedral of Metz boasts several Chagall windows, they did not compare to the size and detail of this one.  The whimsical blend of animals, flowers, lovers, and the crucifixion of Christ was presented in enormous detail, in every color imaginable.  I could have stood in the chapel for hours.  

Dinner was prepared at home by Bernard and Christianne: Raclette! This was my first encounter with the deliciously calorific dish.  Boiled potatoes, ham, bacon, and onions are brought to the table, along with thick slices of Raclette cheese.  Each person prepares their meal to their own specifications on a raclette grill in the center of the table.  The result? Cheesy, potatoey, melted goodness!  After dinner, Bernard brought out a series of cheeses (brie, goat cheese and Münster.) When I joked about the crazy amount of cheese we had consumed that day, Bernard patted his gut and declared in French "If you consume good quality food, I assure you, you will will not gain any weight!" With that, he plopped another sizable slab of cheese on my plate and opened a second bottle of red wine.

After dinner, Bernard, whose father was butcher, gave me a lesson in meat cutting with a huge slab of lamb, which would be served for lunch the next day.  To demonstrate the sharpness of the knife, he glided it across his arm, leaving a patch of skin completely hairless!  Everyone laughed hysterically at my shocked reaction.

Late that night, Hélène, Nicolas and I visited with Hélène's brother Gilles and his girlfriend Caroline, where we shared conversation and homemade tiramisu while playing with the rambunctious pet ferret, Dora.

Sunday, I awoke to the sweet scent of baking, and wandered downstairs to investigate. Christianne had risen at the crack of dawn to prepare tarte aux myrtilles (a wild blueberry pie), which would be served after lunch.  "What would you like for breakfast?" Christianne asked.  I told her it didn't matter, and that I would have whatever she normally ate.  I was picturing perhaps biscuits with yogurt, or maybe some bread and jam, so imagine my surprise when she presented me with a platter of chocolate chip cookies!  I almost laughed out loud, but I realized she was completely serious.  "Merci beaucoup!" I said, grabbing a handful of cookies.  "These will go great with my tea!"  I can honestly say I've never had cookies for breakfast, and the idea of it was just so hilarious I broke into a huge smile whenever I thought about it throughout the day.  

Christianne and Bernard sing in the choir at the tiny little village church, which reminded me so much of my parents that I asked to go to Mass with them.  It was a charming little church, and I was easily the youngest person there by 40 years.  I sat with Christianne's mother, Marie-Joseph, who seemed very impressed that I had brought my French Missal with the responses highlighted. After Mass, I noticed that Bernard and Christianne greeted everyone by name as we walked through town.  Abrechviller is truly a village where 'everyone knows everyone.'

Lunch was exquisite to say the least: Lamb (cut the night before), served with mashed potatoes blended with carrots, baked beans, and salad. The meat was impossibly tender and flavorful. This was followed by a healthy serving of (what else?) CHEESE!  All this was accompanied by various red wines.  Afterwards, Christianne's glorious pie was received by a an appreciative series of "oohs" and "ahhs."  Strong coffee and vanilla ice cream were a beautiful embellishment to the pie.  When offered, I accepted a second slice of pie, joking that I would have to take up running again if I intended to eat at this pace for the rest of my time in France. Again, Bernard assured me that the ingredients were too high quality to allow a weight gain, and we all laughed. 

After lunch, Hélène, Nicolas and I went sight-seeing to the neighboring town of Saint Quirin, which has been proclaimed one of the most beautiful villages in France.  The three of us wandered through the beautiful church of Saint Quirin, explored a tiny hilltop gothic chapel from the 10th century, played with some friendly goats, and enjoyed the picturesque streets lined with homes that resemble doll houses.

I was sorry to leave, since I loved the nonexistence of time in the countryside.  There, the persisting demands of my university French class, my lesson-planning for my students, and my upcoming observation and medical exams for the French government seemed to have no power over me.  Life slows down in the country, and it was a welcome change of pace for me.

To be welcomed into a family has meant so much to me, since I've been missing my own so deeply.  Even though I live in France, a land of immeasurable beauty, architecture, shopping, and excitement, the most important things are universal.  Nothing can top being around a table with family, friends, sharing good conversation and good food and wine.  The French truly understand this importance, as meals here last hours! Slowly but surely, I'm learning to stop eating like an American, who tends to eat rather hurriedly, as if there is a need to get the meal out of the way.  I notice that when I finish my plate before others in France, I tend to attract amused expressions and am asked if I had missed a meal. Food is consumed slowly, to be savored, and conversation is the centerpiece.  This tradition is so lovely, I plan on bringing it back with me when I return home.

This morning, I approached the scale with trepidation, remembering the cheese, the wine, the cookies for breakfast, the pie, the tiramisu, the bread... did I mention the CHEESE?  I nearly fell over when I saw my weight.  It was exactly the same as the day I left for Abreschviller.

I should have known better than to doubt Bernard!

Lunch with the family at Auberge Bel-Air

The house in the countryside

Making Raclette on the special grill

Blue tongues from eating wild blueberries (myrtilles)

Nicolas, Moi, Marie-Joseph, Cristianne, & Bernard

The meat cutting lesson

Taking a stab at it myself!

How idealistically French is their house? I adore it!

Bernard's wine cellar

Home cooked French meal

Christianne's Tarte aux Myrtilles

Délicieux!

Nicolas having a great time with his uncle Gilles and his 

girlfriend Caroline

Hilltop chapel and cemetery in Abreschviller

Church of Abreschviller

Church in Sarrebourg

Interior of church in Sarrebourg

Chagall's stained glass window in a chapel in Sarrebourg

Saint Quirin, proclaimed "one of the most beautiful villages in France"

Hélène and Nicolas praising the heavens at a 10th century outdoor Christian alter

Crucifixes like this are all over France

Saint Quirin

A friendly goat in Saint Quirin

Hélène and I in Saint Quirin

Hélène and Nicolas climbing the hill to the chapel of the Red Rose, 10th century

Homes look like doll houses in Saint Quirin!

Another view of the church of Saint Quirin

Glorious view

Miracle in the Cathedral

I've officially decided that the Cathédrale Saint-Etienne has special powers. This morning, I was bemoaning the fact that I still had not secured housing outside of the god-forsaken foyer I've been staying in.  I had posted online inquiries and scoured the French colocation websites and housing sections of Metz newspapers.  

My entire reason for coming to France was to improve my fluency in French, my dream since the age of 12.  The best way to accomplish this would be to live with French people, and to speak it constantly.  I preferred a family to simply a roommate situation, because it could potentially offer a better chance for conversation and meals together, and a vision of the French way of life. However, I was about to give up and simply rent a studio for myself, since all the familial housing opportunities wanted either an au pair or someone to teach the children English, which would defeat the purpose of living with French speakers.  Some of the fellow assistants told me I was probably asking for too much, and I was beginning to believe it.

At breakfast, I met a French woman from Lille who was passing through Metz, and we ended up having a long conversation (regrettably, she wanted to practice her English, but I indulged her to be polite).  I explained my housing dilemma, and she replied that I should seek help from the church.  "Just introduce yourself to the priest, and he will definitely help you find something in the parish," she explained with confidence.  That idea had not yet occurred to me, but since I was already planning on attending Mass at the Cathedral today, it seemed simple enough.  

Quickly, I designed a flyer featuring a photo and brief description of myself and that I was seeking a family environment to improve my French and learn about French culture.  I stashed several copies in my purse, and headed off to Mass.  I introduced myself to the priest, and explained my situation.  He took one of my flyers and told me he'd look into it and call me if he found anyone in the parish.  I thanked him profusely and walked away, in my head saying: God, I know you're not simply going to drop this out of the sky... but I would really appreciate it if you could...

Just then, I received a tap on my shoulder.  I turned to meet a slightly familiar face.  "You're that American, aren't you?" The stylish French woman in her mid-thirties smiled gently.  I was still trying to place her face, so she continued, "I don't know if you remember me, but a few weeks ago, I stood behind you in line at the cell phone shop.  I really regretted not taking your information, because I know how difficult it must be in a new country and a new language, not knowing anybody.  Actually, I saw your name on the cell phone contract you signed, and tried to search for you on Facebook, but couldn't find you. There are so many Alexanders!"

It all flooded back! It was my first day in Metz, and I had been complimented on my French by the salesman, as well as the woman in line behind me.  She had encouraged me to stay strong and that I would be fine.  I too had regretted not taking her information, because she had been so kind to me on one of the most difficult and chaotic days of my life.  As it turns out, she sings in the choir at the cathedral every Sunday for 10am Mass.

"Can I do anything to help you?" She asked.  

"Well, I'm currently staying in a foyer, but would really love a family to stay with, if you happen to know anybody who might--"

"Why don't you come live with me?" She asked, without wasting a breath.

I laughed, thinking it was a joke, but she continued, "I have a room in my apartment you may like.  I'm divorced and live with my 10 year-old son.  I will talk to him today and see if we can work something out. You can meet him and see how things progress."

I replied that she was very kind, but that it seemed like a lot to take on, so I'd understand if she changed her mind.  She took my flyer, and promised to call.  At this point, I was still doubting that something like this could just happen, so I didn't hold out too much hope.  Perhaps she was speaking in the heat of the moment. But, sure enough, a few hours later, Hélène called me, asking me to meet her and her son, Nicolas, at the Café des Arts in Place Saint-Jacques.

We had talked over cappuccino topped with luscious whipped cream, while Nicolas sipped on an iced tea.  I brought a photo album as an ice breaker, and he went crazy for the photos of my dog, Sherlock.  "We have a cat!" he told me eagerly. "Can you meet our cat today? Her name is Dorine!"  In the same breath, he exclaimed "Maman, I'm hungry! Can we have Croque-Monsieur tonight?" A Croque-Monsieur is a delicious ham and cheese sandwich prepared with a panini iron.  Hélène eyed me with a smile, and asked if I'd like to come over for dinner.  "Oui, bien sûr!" I exclaimed. "Of course!"

They live about 25 minutes from the city center on foot, but are also connected by the bus lines, which would mean a convenient trip to work every morning!  A large supermarket is across the street.  The apartment is chic and lovely, complete with internet access. Hélène did all the painting and decorating herself, and the colors are warm and inviting.  She showed me the beautiful little room I would have, which has a striking view of the city of Metz, including the Cathedral!  "I hope you don't mind," she said, "but we'll be speaking French here."  I smiled broadly.  "This is exactly what I want!" I assured her.

Dinner was simple and delicious: Croque-Monsieur with tomato and fresh grapes for dessert. Nicolas scurried about the apartment, showing me his beautiful siamese cat, his keyboard, performing his part in the school play for me, and talking a mile a minute.  He kept declaring to his mother that I would be his grande soeur (big sister), and that I was very pretty. Unfortunately, my American accent (which I have been trying desperately to repress) is the most hilarious thing in the world to him, and he kept repeating my French with an exaggerated accent and cracking up.  I suppose this is motivation to improve myself!  Good-naturedly, I challenged him to pronounce the English number 'three', since French people struggle with the TH sound.  More laughter ensued. It really felt like I had a little brother!

When the subject of rent arose, Hélène said, "Since you're only renting a room, and probably won't be making much money as a teacher, I couldn't dream of charging you more than, say, 100 Euro, or 120 Euro at the most."

I almost fell out of my chair.  Since I am currently paying over 400 Euro at the foyer, this is an absolute steal.  I told her I could pay her more, but she replied that that was all she wanted.  I promised I would help out wherever she needed, if she wanted me to walk Nicolas home from school or anything like that.  She agreed.

They walked me back to the bus stop, and Nicolas hugged and kissed me goodbye, asking over and over again when I'd be coming to stay. I have to give my foyer 15 days notice before leaving, which I will do first thing tomorrow. Hélène told me I could come earlier if I wanted, so I may very well take her up on that offer.

Back at the foyer, I Skyped my family and Jim, who were celebrating my sister Liz's 19th birthday at a big gathering at my house.  My parents, grandma, aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered around the dining room table to talk to me on Jim's laptop, and I shared the good news with everyone. I also got to chat with Jim and my sister separately, which was lovely. Everyone seemed so excited for me, and it was just an enormous boost to my morale.

My dad, a believer in miracles, was convinced that this was no accident, and I'm leaning towards his opinion. 

When I look at the amount of coincidence at work here, I begin to wonder if there is such thing as coincidence.  What if I hadn't arrived in Metz that day, or chosen that particular cell phone store (seemingly at random) from the multitude of cell phone stores in Metz, at that particular time? Metz is a fairly large city! What if I hadn't met that woman at breakfast who encouraged me to go to church? What if I had attended the 8am, 9am, or 11:30am Mass, and not the 10am Mass at the Cathedral, or gone to one of the other beautiful churches all over the city? What if I had walked up to a different priest at a different part of the massive church, since there had been several walking around to choose from? It's amazing Hélène even saw me among so many people, or that she recognized me at all! Amazing how so much can change in the space of a few hours, and how sometimes, prayer really is answered by a gift falling from the sky... or at least, a choir loft.