Freedom Fries and Cafe Creme

by Jocelyne Rapinac

  ‘No, thanks.’

  Jon went on placidly, ‘She’s complicated, let me tell you. I wonder if it’s because she’s French.’

  I looked straight at him but said nothing.

  ‘It’s the first time I’ve dated someone who isn’t American, now I come to think of it.’ With a sigh, he continued, ‘She was so stylish! Not that I care much about that, but I could feel other guys envying me when I was with her. I liked that feeling.’

  I would have thought someone like Magalie would have encouraged him to pay more attention to his appearance, or got him to think about his personal style. But no.

  ‘We were so different,’ he repeated. ‘Everything she liked – except yoga – I didn’t.’

  ‘But you can’t really build a relationship on yoga alone.’

  ‘And I also admired her being the queen of leftovers …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got to confess that I really enjoyed watching her transform leftover food the way she did. She’d come home and do amazing stuff with whatever she could find in the fridge. I’ve never met anyone who could do that before.’

  ‘A talented artist …’

  ‘She was always saying that, for her, cooking had to be a challenge: either using whatever food happened to be available, or leftovers.’

  Especially a challenge in our country, where leftovers usually go straight into the garbage.

  ‘Well, you know that my palate isn’t really used to non-American-style food.’

  Right.

  ‘At the beginning, everything was going so well …’

  No kidding! Exactly like almost 98 per cent of relationships. The initial discovery of the other person is so thrilling!

  ‘… but after a while we needed to move on, you know.’

  My ex-wife had only been interested in stamp collecting. I’d found her hobby interesting too at first, but after a while, to my mind, it had become incredibly boring. I hadn’t realised how obsessed she was: she would spend all her free time at home with those little scraps of paper spread out in front of her on the dining-room table; in the end I’d really despised them!

  ‘You learn so much from them,’ she’d declare fervently, without even lifting her eyes from her stamp albums to look at me.

  I’d leave her to her passion, and go out and sit in the Due Amici café with my neighbour Gino, with whom I’d practise my Italian – my mother’s first language. Gino was always there because he didn’t get along with his daughter’s Goth boyfriend, who had moved in with the family. He couldn’t do anything about the situation since his wife found the teenager darkly profound and thrilling.

  Jon was now listing all the things that had gradually pushed Magalie and him apart.

  ‘She loves to spend hours just sitting at a table, eating and talking …’

  I suspected that if I were to ask people in the coffee shop about the last time they’d spent more than an hour eating a good meal, I would hear, ‘It was so long ago I can’t even remember’ or, ‘Do you think I have the time for that?’ or most likely, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She loves wine. I drink mostly beer, sometimes vodka.’

  ‘The French I met in Lyons all drank wine, and spent a lot of time really enjoying what they cooked and ate. It’s an important part of their culture.’

  ‘But you know I’ve never been crazy about the French.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Besides their politics, they eat weird stuff like snails, and tripe. Too awfully offal for me. Eating guts! Yuck!’

  I shrugged and said nothing while he laughed at his supposedly clever play on words.

  ‘I was still very attracted to her even when I found out she was French.’

  At first sight Magalie had looked to me either French or Italian. But that might have been less noticeable in yoga class, where she and Jon met, since everyone would have been wearing pretty much the same clothes.

  ‘You’d be surprised! I even tried some rabbit she cooked once. It wasn’t so bad, but I’ll never tell Ma.’

  Your ‘ma’ would never eat a bunny, that’s for sure.

  ‘Her cake salé was delicious!’ I said, remembering the potluck dinner party where I’d met Magalie for the second time. ‘It was so unusual. I should have asked her for the recipe.’

  ‘And then she started making comments about my favourite snack …’

  ‘Freedom fries and café latte …’ I’d always found the combination hugely unappetising.

  ‘Comments about my beer-drinking while we were eating cheese …’

  Beer with cheese! Oh, please!

  ‘She would only eat her cheese if it was left out of the fridge for at least a couple of hours. Some of it was actually runny and it stank! I could barely stand to taste any of it!’

  ‘The French like it that way: perfectly ripe and at room temperature.’

  ‘But I don’t like smelly cheese.’

  ‘You simply don’t like cheese, then.’

  ‘Whatever, I don’t care.’

  Looking in cheese-shop windows had been a great source of pleasure for me when I was in Lyons. I’d wanted to try every type of cheese. I must have tried almost a hundred different kinds – not too bad in four months.

  ‘Every weekend she would write up the whole week’s menus and tape them to the fridge door, because she would cook all the time for her and her roommates. You can’t imagine how long she would spend faffing around in the kitchen. I’ve never seen a woman behave like that before. I can still picture her in her little apron … Wow, she was pretty, though!’

  He sighed and sipped his frozen chai latte frappé.

  ‘But our conversations got more antagonistic every day. After we’d said all we could about yoga and our past lives, there just wasn’t much else I could talk about with her. Then she started talking all the time about her country, and the rest of Europe, which she described as great, and sometimes she criticised America. I realised that she was getting on my nerves with all her annoying opinions, as well as her strange food habits.’

  ‘She may have been homesick. Didn’t you ever think of that? It’s not always easy to live in a foreign country.’

  But how could Jon understand this? He’d never even been out of the States.

  ‘Why doesn’t she go back to her great country, then?’

  ‘I’d like to meet a woman like her, who would share my passion for cooking, who would appreciate real coffee, fine wine …’

  ‘In a way, the two of you would have been a better match. She’s always said good things about you, you know.’

  I looked at Jon, quite surprised that he’d told me that.

  Staring at my empty mug, he suddenly burst out laughing. ‘Do you know that you’re the only one here who’s having his coffee in a ceramic mug?’

  ‘Yes, so?’

  ‘When Magalie and I went out for coffee, we always had to find a place where we could sit down, where she could have her coffee in a real cup. She could never drink standing up and from a paper cup.’

  ‘I don’t blame her.’

  ‘She could be so annoying. What difference does it make, anyhow? Coffee is coffee.’

  I didn’t think so. I tried to explain.

  ‘Taking time to drink coffee turns it into more of a ritual: smelling it, sipping it slowly to savour it – it’s so much more than putting caffeine into your system like gas in a car.’

  Jon stared at me with an expression that reminded me of the purple-haired girl earlier.

  ‘Like I have time for ritual when I drink coffee. Just like Magalie, you can be a real snob sometimes!’

  I shrugged. That was the sad story of our lives. We didn’t take time for the essential, simple things in life! Everywhere I went, people drank what passed for coffee from hideous giant plastic containers as they drove their cars, or sat on buses or on the subway, and even while they were walking down the street holding their cell phones to their ears!

  ‘You’d rather get
up later in the morning, buy your coffee at the corner store and drink it in your car,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I would,’ Jon admitted. ‘So? Everyone does it, don’t they?’

  With a sigh he repeated, ‘Magalie and I – we were just too different.’

  I tried to cheer him up. ‘You’ll get over it, and you’ll meet someone who’s more like you. A good American girl who loves big juicy burgers and beer, has French fries and coffee with milk while watching TV, and who likes to drink chai latte frappé in a huge plastic cup while she rides in your big Mercury listening to Lionel Richie or Celine Dion!’

  ‘So what? There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? Lionel Richie and Celine Dion are a lot better than the cheesy Italian songs they play at Due Amici. That’s all too much Eurotrash for me.’

  I laughed, remembering how much Jon had disliked the little café the first time he went there because the service had been too slow, the coffee too strong and served in a tiny cup, with no French fries available, and the beer had only come in small bottles. On top of all that, the Italian pop music had pushed him over the edge!

  I suddenly remembered something I’d wanted to ask Jon for a long time.

  ‘How did you ever get involved in a yoga class in the first place?’

  ‘For Christmas, my boss bought all his employees a gift certificate for yoga classes to help us deal with stress.’

  I personally thought that less work, more vacation, and more time spent relaxing in cafés would be better at relieving stress. Though, actually, Jon was seldom stressed out. He was custom-made to be the perfect American workaholic, since he had no passions outside work except watching sports on TV and driving his big black car – two activities that were perfectly compatible with workaholism, that perfectly respectable addiction in today’s society.

  ‘But you’re not stressed most of the time.’

  ‘I know, I know, but all the guys I work with went. So I figured I should go as well.’

  His cell phone rang, the tone immediately recognisable as ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’. Jon was such a flag-waver.

  ‘Hello …?’

  After listening for a few minutes Jon said, ‘Let me get some booze and I’ll be right there.’

  He put the phone back in his shirt pocket. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Cherry, again?’

  Jon nodded.

  Cherry, the favourite cousin, always called Jon whenever she got dumped by a boyfriend. It happened pretty much every two months. Each time, she got drunk and wanted to kill the bastard who had broken her heart, and then herself. But before she did anything really silly she always phoned Jon, who rushed in to save her from her distress.

  ‘Don’t get too deep in despair with Cherry!’

  ‘I think I’ll get a bottle of vodka and get smashed myself. Care to join us?’

  No, thanks! Spending an evening with Cherry, watching her get more and more drunk and hearing her drone on about her failed life was not my idea of a good night in.

  ‘No, thank you. I think I’ll go to the movies next door. They’re showing The Party.’

  ‘Never heard of it. You always have such weird taste in movies anyhow.’

  We left the coffee shop and Jon sauntered away towards the liquor store. I walked to the movie theatre, happy to breathe some fresh air and promising myself I’d never go into that place again. Even if the evening air seemed a little polluted by the traffic, it was still better than the enclosed over-cooled, over-conditioned air of the coffee shop.

  Well, Magalie, what would you think of The Party?

  Jon’s offhand comment that she would be a good match for me kept going round and round in my head.

  I knew where she worked. Maybe someday I could go to the food court in her office building, pretending I was there to meet a client or a friend, and just bump into her.

  What would Jon think? Maybe nothing would come of it, in which case he’d never even know. And if something did happen, I’d find a way to tell him.

  * * *

  Two weeks had passed since I’d met Jon at that awful coffee shop and I was just back at the office after a quick business trip to Toronto.

  I checked my emails.

  Hey buddy, I’ve attached Magalie’s cake salé recipe. I called her because I’d left a few yoga DVDs that belong to Cherry at her house, and Cherry absolutely wanted them back since she’s met a guy who’s really into yoga. I told Magalie you still remember the cake. I’m getting over her. I’m staying at my parents’ for a few days. Ma is recovering from surgery. Nothing serious.

  Jon

  Two days later, I was ready to meet Magalie. Seeing her savoury cake recipe in Jon’s email had given me the courage and inspiration. I decided to try to meet her ‘by chance’ at lunchtime the following day.

  ‘Magalie?’

  ‘Lucas! What a lovely surprise! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I had a meeting in the building and decided to grab something to eat before going back to my office. Hey, thanks for the recipe you emailed to Jon for me.’

  She smiled.

  ‘I enjoyed our talks,’ I went on tentatively, trying to build a conversation.

  ‘Me as well!’ Then she added, ‘Of course you know that Jon and I broke up?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I’m sorry!’

  What a lame liar I was.

  ‘Oh, it’s better this way,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘Please excuse me, but actually I have to meet a client for lunch.’

  ‘Why don’t we have a drink one of these days?’ I suggested with sudden boldness.

  ‘I’d like that. Here’s my card. Give me a call or email me.’

  ‘I’ve never been here before,’ Magalie said as we stepped into Due Amici. ‘It’s got a distinctive atmosphere. I like it.’

  We ordered cafés crème, some limoncello and sfogliatelle. Due Amici was famous for these delicate flaky pastries from Naples.

  ‘And they’re playing Italian pop songs!’ she suddenly said rather loudly, in an excited voice.

  I was humming along to the famous song in the background.

  ‘Parli italiano?’ she asked.

  I hadn’t known she spoke Italian as well. Something else we had in common.

  Inevitably, we started talking about her and Jon.

  ‘We were not compatible. I was too French for him, and he was too American for me, as he put it, if that means anything to you.’

  ‘Yes, les différences culturelles, but they don’t always have to be a problem, do they?’

  ‘Of course not. In any country there are people who stick to what they know, thinking that they live in the best place in the world, and others who are more open-minded because they’ve lived in other countries.’

  I nodded.

  Magalie continued, ‘That’s why it didn’t work out with Jon. I liked his carefree attitude at first, but then I realised that he was not open to anything beyond his own little world. It made me more and more defensive about my own country. There’s nothing wrong with the fact that Jon doesn’t appreciate any culture other than his own. That’s just the way he is. I’m sure he’ll meet someone more like himself.’

  Then she announced, ‘I’m having an apéritif dînatoire goodbye party in two weeks! I would like you to come over, Lucas, so save the date.’

  ‘A goodbye party?’ I was taken aback.

  ‘Yes. And I’ll make some cakes. I know it’s very sudden. I was offered a tempting position in Milan, and I said yes right away. Boston is a beautiful and interesting city, but I feel closer to the Italian way of life. People here work too much, and, besides, I think the aperitivi in Milan are fantastic!’

  So do I! Our eyes met. There was a reason we were here together at the Due Amici café: a prelude to Italy.

  ‘My company has an office in Milan …’

  I looked into Magalie’s eyes again and I knew I wasn’t mistaken. All the time she had been with Jon I’d been trying to ignore the feeling, but I knew at that momen
t that there was no resisting love. Suddenly it was clear what I had to do. The following morning I’d ask for a transfer to the Milan office.

  Nothing more needed to be said. Laughing, we raised our glasses of limoncello in a silent but heartfelt toast to our future.

  Magalie’s Cake Salé (Savoury Cake)

  Makes one large loaf to serve 6 as a main course or 10 as an appetiser.

  For the dough:

  1½ cups (175g) plain flour

  3 eggs, at room temperature

  pinch of salt

  ½ tsp baking powder

  1. Put the flour into a large bowl and beat in the eggs, one at a time. Add the salt and baking powder, stirring gently until well blended.

  2. Fold into the dough, according to your mood/taste/ what you can find in your kitchen, any of the following combinations, seasoned with sea salt and ground black pepper to taste:

  • ½ cup (115g) crumbled feta or goat’s cheese – 1 cubed medium-size aubergine sautéed in olive oil – ½ cup (80g) chopped sundried tomatoes – ½ cup (60g) chopped pitted black olives – 4–5 finely chopped fresh basil leaves

  • 1 red and 1 yellow pepper, finely chopped and sautéed in olive oil – 150g tinned tuna, drained and flaked – 120g tinned sardines, drained and flaked – 4 chopped salted anchovy fillets – 1 tbsp chopped capers – ½ cup (60g) chopped pitted black olives – ½ tsp dried herbes de Provence

  • 400g tinned salmon, drained and flaked, or 400g fresh cooked salmon, or 250g smoked salmon, diced (or half fresh and half smoked salmon) – 2 spring onions, 2 leeks and 2 carrots, all finely chopped and sautéed in butter until tender – ½ cup (125ml) sweet white wine or vermouth

  • 1 cup (120g) diced cooked or smoked ham – ½ cup (60g) chopped pitted green olives – ½ cup (125ml) dry white wine or vermouth – ½ cup (60g) grated Cheddar cheese

  • 1 cup (120g) chopped back bacon and 1 large onion, finely chopped, sautéed together in olive oil – ½ cup (100g) crumbled blue cheese – ½ cup (50g) chopped walnuts

  • 1 cup (100g) drained tinned sweetcorn or cooked diced fresh baby corn – 1 red pepper, finely chopped and sautéed in olive oil – 1 cup (120g) diced cooked chorizo – ½ cup (60g) grated Cheddar cheese – ½ tsp chilli powder