pardon my french

Suspense.

It starts when you are little and you are waiting for recess or Christmas morning. As you get older, it's checking the mail for your college acceptance letter or your first (legal) drink on your 21st birthday. When your twenty-six and going to culinary school in Paris…it seems as if finding an apartment is almost impossible. Almost.

We (and by "we" I mean mostly my mother) have searched the city high and low to find a furnished apartment that meets basic needs…internet access, an oven, non-smoking…you know, heat is good. Well, it turns out that's a tall order. Apparently, Parisians don't cook much at home, because most apartments are sans-oven. Many are nowhere near school, but mostly, a lot of places weren't so spic-and-span. That is, until yesterday, when the clouds parted…

A beautiful, newly renovated and…wait for it…never before rented (huge selling point for a OCD germaphobe like me) one-bedroom with an oven came into my life. As usual, I was at school, so my mom went to view the place and on the spot said "we want it!" Right away, the agent called the owner to find out…wah, wah, wah…there was a fly in the ointment:

The owner had promised another potential renter a look today. As their appointment was arranged before ours, I guess the owner felt they had the first right of refusal. My mom was bracing me for the worst, she said, "the place is perfect, I'm sure they'll want it." Merde.

Suspense. All last night…all day at school…I was crossing my fingers, praying to St. Anthony to bring 'round my lost apartment and hoping this other person didn't like new and clean things! I was in back-to-back class in the morning, tapping my fingers on the desk, eager to get back to see if my mom had any news. With each step up the stares, I was alternating between hoping, and then talking myself out of it. From "it has to work out" to "it's too good to be true…" and back again.

I walked through the door at at 4 p.m. Mom was sitting on the couch with a straight face. She said, "ugh, it's been a terrible day." My shoulders dropped, and my hope deflated. Then she told me to "look at this email, there's something you have to take care of."

Dear Ms. Zimmer, blah blah blah…finally, I got to the punchline: "If you will commit to a year lease, the apartment is yours!" Mom's face broke and she started laughing.

WHAT!!! YAY!!! That was a nasty little trick, Mom!

So, now you can ask me, "have you found an apartment yet?" Finally, I can answer, "YES!"

To celebrate, we walked to Pierre Herme, the home of the best macaroons in town. And they were amazing. Needless to say, a huge stress has been lifted, and I can begin to really get settled and spend time doing things other than trolling rental agency websites. I've heard that Louvre isn't too shabby?

Tomorrow, to coincidentally commemorate my last homeless day, I will be making one of my favorite dishes: Quiche Lorraine. Remember when I said I couldn't wait to make something I really like? Well, tomorrow is the day. Until now, we have made recipes to learn techniques that I am thrilled to know, but things I will likely never make on my own…fruit cake, to name one. Yes--with that gross green "fruit."

I will report the Quiche Lorraine recipe after our practical class and let you know how it goes. If it turns out a fraction as scrumptious as the chef's demo today, it will be a wonderful treat for dinner. I can't wait.

Suspense. Whether it's the journey to find a place to live, waiting for the warmth of spring or a perfectly made tart coming out of the oven…a little anxiety along the way makes it sweeter when you're finally there.

Apartment, check. The rest: to be continued... ; )