Here’s my cutie pie boston terrier, lulu, at an excellent crepes place in vence, where we used to live. i’m glad dogs in public is a subject for americans and non-frenchies in general. (does anyone get offended when i say ‘frenchies’? ‘cuz i do say that with an endearment level infused with many hugs )

it’s not gross when dogs are in restaurants; doesn’t bother me one bit especially when i see MY dog in the restaurant. it’s only gross when NASTY smelly rotten dogs are in restaurants (which is what i’m guessing people against this issue imagine) and i’ve never seen a stinky, misbehaving dog in public places ever in France.

i always ask if it’s ok to bring lulu inside and i usually get the weirdest look because no one asks, apparently. dogs are simply given more respect and leeway in france. tant mieux! the only places i remember being able to take lulu to (inside somewhere) in the u.s. was…the oh-so-exciting home depot! and of course the pet shops. here, lulu can go shopping in the malls!

the french dogs are much more well-behaved and not only that, they are much cleaner than their american counterparts.

carry le rouet is one of my favorite resort town getaways and relatively unknown to non-frenchies (i think). it’s a photo op par excellence with its pictoresque port, to-die-for ocean (and les calanques) views, and relatively clean air, considering it’s a mere 20 minute drive from marseille. one of the most groovalicious things about being a resident of france is: i now can hear about places to visit other than the places the american tourists invade – then go visit them! i’m not saying the other places aren’t worth visiting; i just love the ‘off the beaten path’ options.

looking at the picture, you’ll see a house (center picture) slightly masked by trees. that house is owned by jean-pierre foucault, beloved host of many shows including the french version of ‘who wants to be millionaire?’ i’m told that the stated law mandated that no housing be built on the land because it’s protected, and would spoil the view of many, many homes in the neighborhood. apparently, jp has managed to pull the right governmental strings (which i’m thinkin is not that hard to do given full pockets).

Fréjus is a hidden gem undiscovered by many non-Europeans. Situated quite conveniently between Cannes and St. Tropez, it’s often overlooked because of the more glamourous cities along the Riviera. Though, by no means, is it uncrowded during vacation months.

If you’re the type of person who’s in search of a reprieve from the sweaty, suntanned multitudes squished side-by-side along the cramped beaches of the cote d’azur’s glitzy towns, a nice hike in the Fréjus area valley or mountains, or an exploration of the ancient roman ruins or a relaxing stroll through the old town, will be refreshing alternatives.

Fréjus was one of the largest ancient Roman towns in Provence with many remains scattered throughout the town and region. The Episcopal City is definitely worth seeing: cathedral, cloister, palace and the Merovingian Baptistery built in the 5th century. For only 4 euros, you can take a fascinating guided tour (in French) to see the baptistery, carved entrance and informative film about the ceiling motifs – only accessible if you take the tour. Note: dogs are allowed to take the tour for free. tho lulu did not care at all for the introductory film. everyone’s a critic…

CLOSED on Mondays *

Address: 58, Rue de Fleury
Phone: (33) (0)4.94.51.26.30
Directions: The cathedral in the old town.
Website: http://www.ville-frejus.fr

If you find yourself in the south of France and want a refreshing reprieve to escape Nice’s masses huddled along the Promenade des Anglais, and the ever-present toxic fumes from diesel fueled cars in nonstop traffic, St. Laurent du Var is just 5 minutes from Nice and a great place for windsurfing. Other recommended places for windsurfing is Estérel, Roquebrune-Cap-Martin and the Lérins Islands.

If you’re into ocean canoe kayaking or rowing, the best places are: Antibes, Mandelieu, St-Laurent-du-Var and Cannes. Rowing at Villefranche sur Mer, Mandelieu, Monaco and Menton.

For motorized water activities (Jet-skiing, Water-skiing, parachute rides, etc) things get a little tricky. The driver of any craft with an engine more powerful than 6CV needs a license. If you have a license from a country outside of France, it should be ok but check this out anyway, just in case!

For scuba diving: contact the Comité Départemental de Plongée
(Alpes-Maritimes) Tel: 04 93 61 26 07

Equipment:
Equipment rentals (windsurfing, canoes, kayaks and boats) and advice/information are available at one of the many sailing centers (Stations Voiles).

OH. Take note of the flags on the beach! GREEN means it’s pretty safe and there’s a lifeguard somewhere (hopefully), ORANGE means it’s dangerous but there’s a lifeguard somewhere (maybe). YELLOW means that the water is POLLUTED so please, definitely ask someone about the flag colors if you’re color blind!!!!

Address:
Saint Laurent du Var

Directions:
Park for free at “CAP 3000,” a mall then walk to the beach from there, then go shopping later or grab a pastry at the galleries lafayettes bakery (it’s pretty good).

Phone:
(33) (0)4 93 74 77 05

Other Contact:
Ligue Cote d’Azur de Voile

One of the several things France knows how to do the best, is perfumes. they’ve had quite a bit of practice at this industry too: 200 years.

Known as the perfume capital of the world, grasse is a short day trip from cannes (15 min drive) or nice (30 min drive).

When you vist the fragonard perfume factory & museum, housed in a 17th century villa you’ll get quite a noseful but the guided tour was informative, free and allowed dogs (which of course, is VERY important in these travel tips)…

Here’s a picture of “the nose,” taking a coffee break. they say, these mad olfactory scientists must train for 10 years to fully develop the abiility to mix, match and identify the correct essenses to create a great perfume.

At the end of the guided tour of fragonard, you’re strategically taken to the perfume store. if you don’t want to buy anything, that’s fine; you can, however, ask to smell samples of their perfumes and it’s fun. try to decifer each essence in one perfume.

The room is filled with a lot of extremely potent smells, so if you’re sensitive to that kind of thing, i wouldn’t recommend staying too long.

Address:
23 boulevard Fragonard, 06130 Grasse

Directions:
Musée Jean-Honoré Fragonard
Bvd Fragonard and, Route de Cannes, “les Quatre Chemins”

Phone:
(33) 493 36 44 65

Website:
Fragonard

OH! To capture an imaginary olfactory medievel grasse experience (and intrigue) without having to leave the comfort of your home, read Perfume : The Story of a Murderer (Vintage International) by patrick susskind.

Some people think that the French are all about etiquette and taste, not a hair out of place, not an incorrect word of their perfect prose coming out of those pouty lips. NAH!

This festival takes place every year in Sainte Livrade sur Lot, France in southwest France (between Bordeaux and Toulouse). It’s the annual Prune Pit SPITTING festival for the 6500 inhabitants that gather together each year to compete in the art of spitting prune pits (seeds).

The region is best known for its prunes, perhaps best served in eau de vie, and now they are renowned for their wacky festival.

Roughly 100 contestants participate in competitions for both adults and children. If you happen to be in the southwest next week, please check it out.

When:
July 30, 2005

Where:
Sainte-Livrade-sur-Lot, France

Cost:
Entry €5; children €3; meal €8

Opening Hours:
2pm-12am; 6-14 yrs comxion
2pm; prune patisserie competition
5pm; banquet
7pm; adult competition 8pm

I love the Montmartre area of Paris because it somehow is able to retain a consistent charm, a sincerity that is true Parisian and one that attracted so many writers and artists world-wide. Paris is changing so very fast but the face of this area seems to be resisting it.

The movie, Le Fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain, was shot there, as were many, many other films over the decades, though, the real way to experience its amazingness is to go there yourself and see it in-person.

Sacre Coeur remains to be one of my favorite places in Paris to take a walk and it’s hilly and perfect for getting your heart pumping. If it weren’t for places just like this, i’d probably be in horrible shape due to lack of exercise. Paris is one of the best places to explore by foot so bring good walking shoes.

Here’s glass artisan in the old village of biot in the south of France (not the glass factory just outside biot). If you take a close look at the photo, you’ll see a board shielding the glass blower from the heat of the melted glass. The board seems to be a little bit of a pain because it obstructs his view of the glass though apparently is necessary.

Call it an occupational hazard. I guess something happened one day. If you look even closer, you’ll see that he has NO hair on his legs whatsoever.

I guess one day, when he didn’t have that nice board shield protection, he got a little too close to the heated glass and it burned all the hair off his legs. Who needs Nair or razors?? There should be more women glass blowers. I wonder if it has affected his virility.

nuclear power plant or cloud making factory?

Growing up, I’ve eaten weird things that many French people would not touch with a 10 foot pole. Ah, but now in France, the roles are reversed and I just can’t have a SNAIL anywhere near my face. Yes, I’ve tried them! They are just not my cup of tea. I saw this quote by Dave Barry and thought, “UH HUH!”

“Nobody is sure how this got started. Probably a couple of French master chefs were standing around one day, and they found a snail, and one of them said: ‘I bet that if we called this something like “escargot,” tourists would eat it.’ They they had a hearty laugh, because ‘escargot’ is the French word for ‘fat crawling bag of phlegm.’” Dave Barry, ‘Dave Barry’s Only Travel Guide You’ll Ever Need’

Ahhh, Les Chtimi…No, I don’t have a cold and Yes, that IS French, believe it or not. The Chtimi (cutely pronounced shtee’mee) is a moniker for the northern French (the people in the very, very north of France surrounding the city of Lille) and they have a special patois that is so incredibly adorable and weird, oftentimes, I have to admit, that I have no idea what they’re saying. I’m writing this just after having returned from spending lunch with a neighbor and his visiting Chtimi inlaws.

I will have to do a little bit of linguistic and historical research about its origins (when i have some time) because it’s an interesting subject. I wonder if it has something to do with their proximity to the Belgian border, so some Flemish influence plays into this mix. Or perhaps it’s from the large communities of Polish and Italian immigrants who came to the north of France to work in the mines. (the mining industry lasted 270 years and finally ended by 1990 there.)

Back to the Chtimi language. There IS a lot of the SH sound, for example, if someone says, “ça” it sounds like “sha” or more strange is the adding of the sh sound to pere, which transforms into chpere (pronounced shpehr). Other examples would be the word “beau” which turns to “bieau” (bee-oh); An alambic = cafetiere, a cayelle = chaise, tchiot (pronounced CHO) = petit, bistouille = alcool avec le café, acater (akahtay) = acheter. It’s unusual.

There’s a saying in France about the northern French that I find very sweet and based on my own experiences, very true: Les gens du nord ont le soleil dans le coeur. (The people in the north have the sun in their hearts). That goes with the fact that it rains a lot in the north, nevertheless, are a very warm hearted people. There’s even a song about Les gens du Nord

The most famous Chtimi I could find doing an online search, is the entertainer, Dany Boon (pictured above). If anyone knows of more, please let me know.

I saw this fountain yesterday, and it sort of bugs me. i’m just going to leave it at that. (btw, it’s located in the old town of Bourbon-Lancy.) just remembering this post

France eats approximately 30 million baguettes a day.
Wow (that’s a half a baguette for everyone every day).

So do you think nothin’s special about France’s baguettes? If that’s how you feel, you’ve never had a REAL baguette. The kind kings, queens and regular people like me dream about when away from France. You can detect the REAL baguette immediately: the extra light and crispy on the outside, soft, luscious, perfectly cooked, fluffy light bread on the inside, and what’s more, it tastes omg good; no blandness, no tough (rip your teeth out) tennis shoe sole posing as food. The real baguette is a small pleasure and a huge part of French culture, that many people take for granted – and this perfect slice of French life is slowly disappearing.

I wonder if anyone is noticing the soon to be disappearing act of the beloved baguette. For people who’ve lived in France, it’s been a gradual change, but for me – between the time I was last in France several years ago to just 2 and a half years ago when I moved to France, I noticed that something bad happened and now the sacred baguette…sucks…

Those last two words should NEVER go together.

Upon some investigation, here’s what I found out. Some time in the 90s, the inescapable walmart effect began to rear its ugly bread – so with lower, unbeatable and unrivaled prices, large market chains began to sell industrial bread made with frozen dough in their store bakeries. (btw, you can tell bread made with frozen dough by the small round, symmetrical pattern markings on the bottom of the bread)

This was having a devastating effect on the independent boulangers, who would find it more and more difficult to compete with the rock bottom prices of the supermarkets. Enter stage right: Banette. Don’t be fooled by the signs that say Banette, artisan boulanger. If there’s a Banette sign outside the bakery like in the picture, it’s bread from industrial frozen dough. Banette solved many problems for the struggling Indie baker: less labor, comparable prices to the chains. A win-win situation? Me thinks NON! (shaking fist) At least not for the consumer. Now, I’m not saying bread made with Banette frozen dough is poison; it’s ok bread (just ok and on the mediocre side) — it’s just not the bread to which I am accustomed and it’s not one that I merit. I have a discerning palate and I want a REAL baguette. I live in France and I frickin want a real baguette!!!

Luckily, my tantrum is not permanent (for now) because not all bakers joined the Banette camp, though a LOT of them have, sadly. Take notice (and do find the real deal), because this is what will happen if no one cares: Consumers’ indifference will spread slowly but surely like the dark evil of the black plague, filling up on the industrial so-called baguette – and then the frozen Belly of Banette will burst and ooze at the seams while more and more bakers join the Banette bandwagon to survive. The real baguette will be harder and harder to find and at some point, be impossible to find – because it no longer exists. Wahhhhhhhhh. What a sad story!

As a musician, I’d be remiss to exclude the important subject of music and i’ll be posting several thoughts (not reviews) on French music (from Classical to Experimental) as time goes by. Despite the limited French musical choices we hear on TV and the radio (I mean, WHY do they make singers sing the same one or two songs on tv over the course of…FOREVER? You know what I’m talking about. Like, how many times will we hear Marc Lavoine sing, “J’ai tout oublie” or “Elle a les yeux revolver,” or Patrick Bruel sing, “Place des grandes hommes” or “Cassez la voix” or Florent Pagny belt out “Con te partiro” or “Savoir Aimer” or the legendary Aznavour’s “La Boheme” or EVERYBODY singing Clo Clo’s (Claude Francois)’s “Comme d’habitude” (the original ‘I Did it My Way’) or or or Renaud’s raspy, out of tune, “Mistral gagnant”?) Ok, this can go on an extended rant (like, for many years!!) and I’m digressing.

Anyway, France DOES have a rich selection of music, you just have to look a little deeper and a little harder. Of course, I have to start off with my all time favorite in France. Francis Cabrel. I just love him and luckily i did get to see him in concert just a few months ago.

They call Francis Cabrel the “Bob Dylan of France” but I find that not only an insult but extraordinarily inaccurate. Yes, he was greatly influenced by the folksy American singer but my Francis definitely outsings and outwrites Dylan by light years, hands down. Ok. I’m biased. I LOVE HIM. Admittedly, Dylan was before my time so I don’t know his entire repertoire but the songs I have heard by him, I gotta say, are sort of hard on the ears. To add even more insult to injury (sorry), well, France Dylan is WAY nicer on the EYES than American Dylan. (Don’t hate me, flower children, Dylan-lovin’ baby booming hippies out there!)

Francis Cabrel is a perfectionist and there’s a good reason why he releases new CDs only every five years. His songs have to be flawless, and they are. His perfect prose, symbiotic melodies and poetic lyrics go deep, and touch you where you feel joy, pain, love, anger, suffering and bliss. How many singers can do that?

There’s a poem by Hugues Royer that can closely match my (and millions of others’) feelings about Francis Cabrel.

Remember this post about the cancer causing soda cans?

This is part 2. It’s wicked hot right now and i’m finding myself drinking more and more soda(pop) and i was drinking a coke the other day.

Thinking, “these coke cans are probably made of steel like the orangina/schweppes sodas since we all know that ALUMINUM IS BAD FOR OUR HEALTH and we shouldn’t be drinking from such a TOXIC material” i looked and it’s NOT INDICATED ANYWHERE ON THE CAN. so i wrote to coke asking for specific information.

here is their interesting yet not specific enough for me response (in italics, my comments are in caps and bolded):

Thank you for contacting The Coca-Cola Company. We appreciate this opportunity to respond to your questions.

Although the majority of our cans are aluminum, not all are. UH OH! In order to determine if the cans are aluminum, please look at the bar code and if the lines are all silver, then the can is all aluminum. If the lines on the bar code are any other color (black, green, etc.) then that can is a bi-metal can.YEAH BUT WHICH METALS? WHICH COLOR EQUALS WHICH METALS? Our cans are recyclable. Soft drink packaging is the most recycled commodity in the United States. BUT WHAT ABOUT IN FRANCE?

We hope this information is helpful.IT’S NOT!!! Please visit our website if you have additional questions or comments.

Lesley
Industry and Consumer Affairs
The Coca-Cola Company

anyway, how were we supposed to know what the can is made of, based on the BAR CODE? apparently, this can is bi-metal with whatever metal. this can’t be good especially since they’ve HIDDEN THIS LITTLE TIDBIT OF INFORMATION!! how many people know how to decipher these bars?

needless to say, but i’m going to say it anyway: i highly recommend that you do not drink out of cans, in general.

I went out the other day to take pictures of Cercy La Tour, a beautiful village in Burgundy, and I noticed that for each successive photo I’d would include more and more of the sky – I normally don’t do that in order to focus on the actual subject.

So I took some more photos and the same thing happened! Lots of sky in the picture and very little subject matter. The sky was so incredible that my eye just wanted to see more and more of it. The ensuing photo was just inevitable: A photo that was entirely the sky. So, here it is, you sky lovers, and feel free to grab the large version and make it a desktop wallpaper for your computers (pc and mac) (“desktop photo” for my fellow mac users). Get it below:

Desktop Wallpaper

Once home to extremely cheap wine, now it’s FREE!

In a strange attempt to boost wine sales and to shrink the “Wine Lake” (overproduction of wine due to recent and growing competition worldwide), 400,000 bottles of wine are being given out for free.

That sounds kind of cool and all but WAIT! they are being given out at the toll booths ALONG THE ROADS TO DRIVERS in southern France.

Has the south of France lost its collective mind? [via]

Adopt a smart attitude

If the Swiss watch manufacturer, Swatch, and the automobile manufacturer, DaimlerChrysler (makers of the Mercedes-Benz), fell in love, got together and produced offspring, what would the kids look like? Like these Smart Cars! These towers of Smart are all over France and you’ll see these most adorable cars zipping around cities across France. They are so cute!

Now, how does France come into the picture given that the companies involved are from Switzerland and Germany? Despite the joint-venture taking place between countries other than France, Smartville, the factory for Smart, is located in Hambach, France. The fortwo model (as in the photo) was launched in ‘98 as a fuel efficient, urban use vehicle. It only weighs 740 kg (1,628 pounds), and is made of plastic body panels and a reinforced steel shell. The length of a Smart is 2.5m (8.2 feet) long, which means you can fit 2 Smart cars in one parking space!

Vichy’s natural spring water leaves a bad taste in the mouth, like its history

Vichy, brand for a wide range of world-renowned cosmetics, producer of my favorite mints and home to one of the most famous official spa curing towns (natural springs) in France, actually has quite a very heavy, sordid past – that bleeds into the present…

When you live in France, it’s impossible to bypass it’s rich background: how things came about, what happened where and who and what had an impact on its history. The factual backdrop of the town of Vichy is no exception, though can be considered an uncomfortable subject. I suppose Europeans all know about its past and there’s a vague cringe factor toward Vichy.

Vichy was the de facto French government during WWII’s Nazi occupation, and while Vichy (and the Vichy Regime) officially took a neutral stance on the war, it was, in fact, a Nazi puppet state and was known to collaborate and enforce Nazi racial policies. The Vichy government and a large number of its administration were responsible for the deportation of 70,000 Jews. In addition, individuals actively assisted the Vichy regime, and the Nazis as well, by seizing Jewish private property, annihilating synagogues and other Jewish monuments, and in transporting Jews to Nazi death camps. Examples being Eugene Schueller, (the founder of the biggest cosmetics company in the world, French company, L’Oreal) and his L’Oreal colleagues, Andre Bettencourt and Jacques Correze.

The Bettencourt family is a powerful contingent still today, owning 27.5% of L’Oreal. (26.4% owned by Nestle, 3.9% treasury share, and 42.2% publicly traded).

Before this gets any more creepy, let me just finish this post by saying that the brand, Vichy, is owned by L’Oreal. I gotta go wash my hands now.

A true and silly story: I was walking around a small town the other day with Lulu (my dog) and noticed another BOSTON TERRIER across the street, always noticing all dogs but especially Bosties. They are relatively rare in France being bullied in population by the ever present French Bulldog. (In fact, most people here think Lulu is a skinny, strangely tall bulldogue francais.) Quickly grabbing the attention of the dog’s owners they came over to talk despite my deafening and echoing “AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!” I asked them what their dog’s name was and they said HIS name was, LULU). No way.

YES WAY! Then I remembered that in France, guys have girlie names. I suppose they are not girly to the guys here or anyone in France for that matter but these names always crack me up a little. Even my SO has a girly name, so it’s just easier to call him SWEETIE.

Here are some girly guy names that make me smile: Joselyn, Clement, Florian, Patrice, Aurelien (sounds like an alien cult from another planet), Yves (Eve), Camille, Jean-Marie, Michel (pronounced Michelle), Francis, Florent, Gael, Dorian. SEE!?

If you know any others, please let me know.

If you’re looking for an authentic Salade Niçoise, you’d think you just need to travel to Nice but, in fact, they are really hard to find – and you may have to go on an extended scavenger hunt because there are quite a few imposters out there.

Some may go as far as to say it no longer exists. Though you will see it listed on menus in countless restaurants in Nice, the salad you’ll most likely receive is just your run-of-the-mill Salade Niçoise found nearly anywhere including in your own hometown, wherever that may be – taste notwithstanding.

If you’re in search of the real deal, the true Salade Niçoise, according to food experts, is made from a base of raw baby artichoke hearts or broad beans, and also features tomatoes, green peppers, onions, anchovies, cucumbers, garlic, fresh basil, hard-boiled eggs, black olives and olive oil. If you notice your so-called Salade Niçoise innocently sporting some string beans, potatoes, lettuce or tuna, step-away-from-the-salad! It’s a fake!

On Sunday August 7, in a place that is equidistant between Bordeaux and Toulouse, the biggest liar in France will reign supreme.

Otherwise known as a sleepy hilltop village for a good part of the year, the first Sunday of August tells a different story. At around 10am, Moncrabeau opens up her tired eyes, grabs a triple espresso and lights up her first cigarette. Awake and alert as ever, she is ready to welcome her many guests of travelers from all over the world, neighbors and a huge mass of liars, leg-pullers, tell-talers, fibbers (and perhaps a few spin doctors?) as far as the eye can see. By the end of the afternoon, she must choose the best amongst this concentrated crowd of deception. If you can handle the undiluted assemblage of deceit, head over to the Liar’s Festival in Moncrabeau where you can get away with your untruths, unscathed and without repercussion. I’m not lying.

Market Opens: 10am
Competition Begin: 3:30pm
For more information, telephone: +33 (0) 5 53 65 42 11

If you think Fréjus’ moniker, “The Pompeii of Provence” sounds inauspicious, you could surmise over the fate of nearby Barrage (Dam) de Malpasset. In French, “Malpasset” means, “(something) bad happened.” Or (it) “didn’t go well.” The Dam measured 60 meters high and arched 400 meters across the valley (which is HUMUNGOUS). Sadly it succumbed and crumbled on an ill-fated night in December of 1959, ravaging everything in its path and killing nearly all of the inhabitants.

Remnants of the dam are scattered along the valley and you better see an eye doctor if you miss the massive blocks and solid chunks that stumbled down the valley from their original location.

Today, the devastation is merely a remembrance of things past that evolved into fascinating travel and adventure: a hiking expedition for the whole family including dogs! Yay for Lulu!

Final note: NEVER name a place, person or thing something bad. For example, if you name your new too cute and cuddly puppy something like, “cancer” or if you christen your new boat, “lady sink and die!” or if you call your new cafe, “poison beans” – you’re simply asking for trouble.

Last night for dinner, I was served some very yummy scallops in béchamel sauce and a quiche of some kind of vegetable that I couldn’t exactly pin point. That bugged me enormously because I can usually figure out what’s in food. It was so tip-of-the-tongue vaguely familiar with a texture of perfectly cooked cabbage and potato, and tasted sweet with a very light nutty flavor, yet it was strangely mysterious to me. This veggie in question, however, was tasty, in any case. I asked what we were eating and the response was this: “tarte aux topinambours.” Quoi? What’s THAT?

Much to my unmastered French chagrin, I had to look it up in the dictionary. The translation of topinambour in my beat-up from overuse French-English dictionary was, ‘Jerusalem Artichokes.’ (Also known as Sunchokes) Quoi!? I’d NEVER heard of those! And I thought I’d heard of most vegetables if not all of them, or, or, or, at least had seen them in the market or something! But, no. I now understand the feeling behind the blank look of people when I talk about daikon.

Back to the Jerusalem Artichokes, AKA Sunchokes. Ok, so I’d never heard of them before. My stupid ego had a sort of mini-shock. (Yup, I thought I knew EVERYTHING!!) No matter. That’s perfectly all right because despite how exquisite the taste or how delectable was the tarte aux Jerusalem thingies, I simply don’t think I’d engage in any more ingesting of the Jerusalem kind. Why? I’ll tell you – and you might thank me for it.

These undisclosed (until recently) tubers (yes, they are, in fact, tubers like potatoes despite their misnomer) will never (no, never) again touch my face, let alone go into my mouth as long as I have control of my own will.

In exactly two words, I’ll reveal why I really have no desire to seek out these little known (for a good reason!) veggies from the infernal land of…who knows where, ever again: MEGA GAS. No, I can describe it better in 15 words: HELLACIOUS NEVERENDING FARTS THAT COULD KILL A MAN OR WOMAN AND ALL LIFE AROUND THEM.

I’m not talking about the usual peeps of wind here and there or even a round of some innocent flatulence after a Mexican meal involving refried pinto beans. No. You see, some occasional farting is perfectly natural. So those of you who’ve ever said, “I like green peppers (or whatever your wind-making vegetable is) but green peppers don’t like me,” just cut it out. Cut it out, right now. That statement has always gotten on my nerves and now more than ever. People simply do not know because until they’ve met Monsieur Topinambour, they have no idea behind the TRUE meaning of gastric problems that drive you insane from the inside out.

I’m here to warn you to STEP OFF AND WALK from the Jerusalem Artichokes – or better yet, run like a crazy madman or delirious madwoman AWAY (far, far, FAR away) from the sunchokes. I mean, come on, the word, ’sunchoke’ has red flags written all over its mal-formed body. When you hear the words, “eat” and “sunchoke,“ admit it, those two words should never EVER go together. I mean it. Don’t take these words lightly.

You may be thinking, “I’ve never seen those things, anyway, and I may never even come into contact with them.” Tant mieux! I say all the better for you and your calm, happy digestive system. However, I have some bad news for you.

While these things are relatively unknown now, I have a feeling they will slowly but surely (and sadly) creep into the mainstream, suddenly appearing in prodigious heaps next to your staple potatoes or cauliflower or other opposing, non-caustic veggie because upon a bit of investigation, I’ve learned recently that 1) they taste good – dire consequences notwithstanding; 2) they are prolific crops and are very easy to grow. Do I hear a big KA-CHING ringing in the ears of farmers worldwide? 3) they are highly nutritious with lots of anti-oxidants; and 4) they are unknown, hence, may be marketed as “exotic.” Do I smell the sweet yet gaseous smell of a “trend” wafting this way? (OMG, PLEASE, NO.)

Of course, you are free to do anything you want with these things. It’s just that I, as a person with a pulse and conscience, am merely sharing with you (what I believe deep in my heart) some essential knowledge that could possibly be quite beneficial to you in the future. I’ve read the articles and reviews of the Jerusalem Artichoke and they are all positive editorials, so being the conspiracy theorist that I am, this fartful cheerleading thing regarding the vegetable offender is, well, a CONSPIRACY (at least some important info was suspiciously missing). Don’t fall for it, I’m warning you!

Later on, if you happen to be invited to dinner by anyone, just make sure you have all the facts before you agree to go.

I know, I know, you’re still somewhat skeptical about my underwhelming appraisal of sunchokes and couldn’t possibly refuse a highly healthful, deliciously subtle nutty meal. Its novelty, uniqueness and even nutritional value are not worth it, you’ve GOT to believe me. Yeah, you’ll be oooh-ing and ahhhhh-ing but shortly after you and the people within close proximity to you will be singing another (GAStronomic) song.

This is a “Gasp! WTF (pardon the pun) and other expletives expletives!” versus a “AHHHH… eezeent zat kyooot!?” culturally contrasting paradigm between the U.S. and France. Imagine a U.S. McDonald’s marketing campaign with this exact billboard in English (btw the caption translation: “I’ll explain (that) to you at McDonald’s”). Can’t envision an American equivalent? Me neither. BUT! Lemme try.

First, let me preface this by saying (with confidence) that this idea would never even remotely brush against the brain matter of any American marketing executive ever in his or her wildest dreams, let alone one at McDonald’s, but hypothetically, if it was a campaign launched into the wind of quirky America, this might be the ensuing hilarity: reactions by which many people suffer heart attacks, which lead to hospitalization, which leads to either death or massive amounts of litigious behavior involving millions of dollars or both; Christian fundamentalists and other extremely sexually uptight groups will be screaming (as smoke spews out of their ears), “Scandal! Scandal! Don’t look at this filthy act! And McDonalds will burn, BUUUUUURRRRNNNNN in hell!” They’ll demand that the billboard be removed, which leads to protests, which leads to destruction of the billboard, which leads to even more vandalism at McDonalds nation-wide, which leads to people getting injured, which leads to hospitalizations, mental institutionalizations and exorcisms, which of course leads to litigious behavior.

NOW. This is what happened in France after the ad launched: Nothing.