Let ME eat cake!

Apparently some cake in French is just called "cake." (Instead of gâteau). As in: "Le petit livre de Cakes salés et sucres," a tiny book that Katia lent me after I tasted her cake au saumon and wanted to eat 5 slices but had to stop myself due to the lactose intolerance. She gave me the book and said I could definitely make it without cheese or butter. This little book is packed full of incredibly simple recipes (each takes up only a single, 4x3in page), half savory, half sweet. The "cakes" that it speaks of are more like loaves, and instead of perfectly sifted pastry flour (the reason I've never made a real cake from scratch) you just throw in a packet of yeast. I never use yeast in anything but bread.

Most of the cakes have the same basic recipe, so you can really put whatever you want into your cake. And I mean anything. I didn't go too crazy, just adding a bit to the cake aux bananes et aux noix. I didn't use nuts, as they are pretty expensive. I miss bulk bins... I'm not too upset, though, because I added grated ginger, dried coconut and cinnamon.

Katia walked into the room right when I put the cake in the oven and was truly puzzled as to why the pan was sitting alone, directly on the rack. She asked me if I wanted to do it a better way. Of course I do. So she took the cake out and placed the pan in another pan full of water. The French way.


 I'm now waiting for the 45 minutes of bake time to be up. On the subject of time, I've noticed that everywhere I go there is a different system of it. In rural Mexico time seemed to mean very little. Many people sat outside in lawn chairs talking, eating, and baring the heat all afternoon and evening. There were no expectations about how long something should take to be done. There were no assurances that things, including meetings, meals, school, church, ect., would ever happen "on time." Si Dios quiere. The lack of attention to time is a way of life. 

Here in France things are faster. There are expectations and the necessity for things to run smoothly. Time is different, however, than it is in the United States. It seems that around the world America is known for the speed of life, the lifetimes Americans spend chasing accomplishment and economic success. In France they "dream of [our] country," as I was told today by a middle school teacher, but they know they are unique in their embrace of leisure and time to breath, as well as of strikes (which I want to talk about later). 


Some banks close down for a midday break. A grocery store at the end of my block closed for a one-week inventory; in the US this would happen by night. Throughout one school year, I have approximately two months of paid vacation. Love it. I have, though, found myself reacting unintentionally American to certain issues of time, such as when I tried to get a bank account and had to schedule appointments for the next day, and when I had to pick up my bike the next day when I had my brake pads replaces. My first thought is why wait? I'm not used to waiting : ). 

But waiting isn't bad. I have to purge my American habits! While walking through town this afternoon (aka not riding my bike) I ran into some new friends. (awww). And while waiting for my cake aux bananes to rise and brown in the oven I wrote this blog entry. Snap.