North America has the famous “PB&J” sandwich, Argentina goes by the initials “J-y-Q”— jamón y queso, ham and cheese.
“Do you have any allergies? Do you follow a special diet?” I asked right away as we all do in North America. On full Canadian mode, I had forgotten a small detail. French don’t have food allergies or special diet—they have fucking principles.
At four, I considered Mark was old enough to help me mangle a North American classic: cupcakes. The challenge? Two persons, one kitchen, yummy ingredients but abysmal baking skills.
Thanksgiving is not hugely commercial. Sure, supermarket aisles feature all the fixings you need for your Thanksgiving dinner, but you’re not expected to decorate your front lawn with fake glow-in-the-dark turkeys.
Lunar worshipers, grab a bite of mooncake, chew it, then repeat after me: “中秋节快乐!”
Sometimes, I wonder if, eventually, I would have developed a taste for wine and alcohol if I had stayed in France.
When I was a kid, eating French fries—commonly known as the adjective-free noun “frites”—was a special treat.
In Saint-Michel, the holy trinity of food is the Super U—the medium-size supermarket is open…
Saint-Michel-Chef-Chef is famous for its biscuiterie producing buttery galettes, the original cookie.
This morning, I queued for twenty minutes for two slices of ham.
It’s amazing how combinations of spices can turn an ordinary mix or grains and vegetables into something super yummy. So, slow cooking 101: know your spices.
I wish I had believed in the power of the slow cooker earlier.
“I have no idea hat to make!” I bawled. “I’m so fucking sick and tired of buying food, cutting food, cooking food, cleaning up food!”
Starbucks betrayed me and cauliflower became a luxury item. Sigh.
I wasn’t being “reasonable and virtuous”, I just didn’t feel like getting second helpings of some free food I found just “meh” and only ate to be polite in the first place.
I developed an addiction to pão de queijo, these little balls of tapioca with cheese.
Chile’s fast food choice is the perrito caliente with a mound of different condiments.
Fresh. Varied. Cheap. This is what I think of Brazilian food so far.
I wanted to learn more about Brazilians—what people eat, what they do, how they work and interact. A bit wiser and more comfortable with our surrounding, we headed back to Recife to explore the different bairros in the centre.
Every time I go grocery shopping, I face a problem that challenges two of my “rules”: the size of packages. The cliché is true. Everything is bigger in North America.
I had to send Mark to daycare with a toddler-size lunch box. They grow up so fast. And new responsibilities are dumped on you quicker than you can say “here is five bucks, grab something at Subway.”
The day I took pictures inside my local supermarket, I was aiming for three or four products, max. I just wanted to give you a glimpse of popular North American items that aren’t on the shelves in the rest of the world. But I… got a bit carried away.
The Byward Market is a gorgeous display of local products and colourful fruits and vegetables, especially toward the end of the summer. Just for the (free) pleasure to the eyes, it is worth a stroll.
For all the times I took you inside supermarkets around the world and showcased local delicacies, I realized that I had never taken pictures of common North American products.