Viva La France!

In respect of Bastille Day, I thought I'd wax poetic on why I love France, French people, French food, maps of France, and perhaps most importantly, wine and champagne.

French people come across very sassy and unapologetically judgmental, with massive superiority complexes, and a distaste for...well...I guess anything not French. You have to appreciate such unabashed snobbery. Or at least, I do. I love people who don't put up a front of being something other than what they really truly are. And French people are bitchy. And they don't pretend to be nice. I respect that. Plus they dress better and look better than most groups of people as a whole (yes, I realize I'm putting myself down a bit here, but we Americans could stand a bit of style).

French food is fattening, just screaming hubris and joie de vivre. I mean, that's what the French are known for - decadent food, lush produce. Who cares if you are eating a cream sauce with a cheese topping, complete with a loaf of bread? It's empowering and delightful. Plus, their love of fresh produce and farmers market make me yearn for the day I can walk to the fromagerie and hand pick from artisan farmers cheeses.

And to wash it down with some cheap red wine picked up from the corner grocery seems simply heavenly. Even if one were to get slightly tipsy and red-toothed from it all. A lot of my wine appreciation stems from my obvious love affair with all that is French (and having an ex that is a chef helped a bit too). It's such a historical and scientific and honored cultural addition.

I have a giant map of France that has followed me to my last three years of apartments. It's the first thing I tack up because it helps take me away. I can sit there for hours and learn the landmarks and botch the pronunciation of the names and pretend I am anywhere in that map.

I can close my eyes and see the sprawling vineyards (living in Sonoma County helped visualize it a bit) and smell the bread baking and hear the clod of the horses pulling the daily picks to the steel or wooden vats for fermentation. City life or country life - I really could care less. I just want to be there. In real life. Feet on French soil. Taking it all in.

Now before any of you spoil my party, I know I am setting myself up for disappointment. I hear France is a very difficult place for an American to enjoy. The closed off attitude and open anti-American sentiment sounds awfully hard to work around. But until I can personally walk out of a cafe in tears out of frustration and hurt, I will over-romanticize until my heart just simply explodes.