Four Frenchmen and a Baby

Betta really loves her artwork (she is a conservationist so I can't blame her), and she wanted to visit the Irish Museum of Modern Art (the IMMA) this morning.  I am not a fan of modern art.  Maybe I'm not cultured enough, but I just can't see the "underlying meaning" to paintings with a single line of blue paint on a giant white canvas or scribbles that are supposed to represent the inner turmoil of the human soul.  Nonetheless, I still went with Betta since we sometimes have to make compromises in any relationship.  I am happy to go anywhere new.

The museum was much as I expected, but it was nice to walk around and experience a new part of Dublin.  We had the surprising treat of finding an Italian stylized garden and ate lunch sitting amidst the shrubbery.  The clouds threatened to rain all day, but it was all bravado.  They simply hung ominously overhead without shedding a single drop, so the weather was great.  Chilly, but not unpleasant - about as perfect as you can get in Ireland.

After lunch, we explored a little.  The area is a little unsavory - perfectly safe during the day, but not a place you would want to be at night.  This is namely because the of the major factory located only a few blocks away which happened to be our next stop. 

I truly had a taste of Dublin life today - a taste of Guinness at the Guinness factory.  The tour is one of the most expensive in Dublin, and yet if I had to guess, it probably has the most visitors.   The National Museum is free, and yet, Guinness probably attracts more people by virtue of its flavorful exhibit.    People qued in lines going out the door to witness the brewing spectacular. 

We met Betta's friend G, G's housemate, and also another friend who was visiting for the weekend.  This made me feel a bit out of place because everyone would slip into Italian frequently, but everyone tried to speak English around me.  It's always a little awkward when you are the only newcomer to a group and everyone else has known each other for years; however, everyone was welcoming and I'm glad that they let me tag along.

In my opinion, the factory is a bit overrated, but it is a required tour while in Dublin. I'm pretty sure that you are not allowed to leave the country if you don't get a special stamp on your passport that you visited the factory.  On the tour, you basically talk a walk through the brewing process, starting with the gathering of the hops, barley, and wheat.  You continue through to the germination of the seeds and the adding of the water, which does not come from the River Liffey, contrary to popular belief (thank goodness!).  Then you proceed through the yeast mixture and onward to heating, cooling, and straining (to get all of the yeast particles out). 

You can taste the roasted barley before it is added to the brew.  It had a nice mocha sort of flavor (I realized later that tasting a grain from this pot was a bit like eating the open peanuts at a bar, so I hope that the added flavor wasn't ecoli).  Every ingredient has to be at the perfect temperature and given just the right amount of time before it is used.  The process is actually extremely complicated - making a Guinees take a lot more steps and a lot more time than I realized. 

There is a section of the factory where you can pull your own pint, which is really a cute novel idea, but everyone in my group was more interested in the gravity bar so we made our way upstairs.  Your ticket for entry also provides one "free" pint of Guinness (I put "free" in quotation marks, because you already paid 15 euro for the ticket so I don't know how "free" is really was.)  I gave my ticket to another member of the group, because despite my newfound appreciation of the drink, I still really didn't like the taste (although I couldn't say that very loud in the factory...it would have been blasphemous).  I did, however, take a picture with a pint just so I could have the photo :-)  

The best part about the gravity bar, however, was definitely the view.  It is situated at the very top of the factory, seven stories high and every wall is made of glass.  The circular panorama gives you a unique outlook on the entire city.  We went to the top at sunset - perfect timing for spectacular scenery.

After the tour, Betta and I walked back to our apartment to grab some food.  G had invited Betta out to a birthday party later that night, so I was going to go do something on my own.  At the factory, G wound up inviting me too.  I didn't want to impose since I figured it was kind of a pity invite, but she insisted, so I agreed. At first I thought Betta might be upset that I was coming with her friends again, but I think that she appreciated having a partner to walk home with late at night.  It was unbelievably nice of them to include me.

Betta and I were under the assumption that the party was going to be a big house party type situation.  We were supposed to stay for 20 minutes so that G could make an appearance and then go out to a pub to hear some music.  We were told that there was no need to bring anything.  This was completely incorrect...which brings me to the title of my post - "Four Frenchmen and a Baby."

In the apartment, English was the spoken language because there were four French guys, a French woman and her child, the three Italian girls and one Italian guy....and me.  It turned out that the woman had been cooking dinner for a few hours and the night was supposed to be a sit-down affair.  I felt so embarrassed that I hadn't brought cookies or a bottle of wine (although I'm pretty sure that any bottle of wine that I brought would have been scoffed at anyways).  We were all welcomed into their apartment with a double cheek kiss and everything, even though Betta, Helen, and I were complete strangers. 

The little girl was 2 years old, and I wound up playing with her for a little while.  We played ping pong (or rather, we played "Kristin fetches the ping pong ball after the girl throws it around the room"). I am always so much more at ease around kids than around adults.  I don't have to analyze what I'm saying or worry that my words are being judged.  I know that I should just be myself and I shouldn't fret about these things, but knowing is different than doing. 

For much of the night, I probably looked wide-eyed with knitted eyebrows like a nervous deer.   I tried talking a bit with some of the other people, but I felt separated between the two groups - one side of the room speaking Italian and the other side speaking French, and me in the middle with a ping pong ball and the little girl.  Although English was their second language, many of the French guys already had a great understanding of the double entendre.  Being witty is difficult; being witty in a second language is unbelievable!

We sat down for the first course: foie gras, pate, and bread.  All of the French guys kept looking at me in anticipation, wanting to see my reaction to the food. 

"Don't worry.  We'll tell you what it is after you eat it.  Just try it."  

Too late for that....I already knew what it was: duck liver.  I thought about maybe pretending to be a vegetarian.  Instead, I decided to give it a whirl.  I felt embarrassment rise up my neck and redden my cheeks as every eye watched me take a bite.  "Well, what do you think?"  It was actually pretty tasty.  The pate was beautiful with a richness of spices and a creamy texture.  The fresh baguette was a perfect blend of crunchy crust but soft and warm wheat on the inside.  With a glass of red wine, the first course was stereotypically French...and delicious.

I had a hard time eating, however, because the little girl decided to sit in my lap the whole time.  Her mother had taken her to the table to feed her, but the girl cried out (in French), "No.  I want to sit with Madam!"  She crawled over to me and proceeded to eat half the food on my plate, but it was so cute that I didn't mind at all. 

After the first course, almost everyone went outside to have a smoke, and then we sat down for the main meal: roasted lamb with garden vegetables in a dark, lamb sauce.  The asparugus was tied together into little bundles with a bow of grilled proscutto.  Again, everyone watched as I took a bite and seemed satisfied after I nodded my approval.  

There was probably a lot of sublteties going on around the table that I didn't quite understand.  I overheard someone joking that I didn't understand the wine - "Do you think she swirls her coca cola?  Mmmmm1999, nice vintage....perfect amount of bubbles and sugar."  I thought that this was pretty funny but since it was said to another person and not directed at me, I'm not sure about the intention of the joke.  

Humor is the hardest thing for me to understand here.  The Irish tend to be extremely sarcastic, but they say these comments as if they really mean them.  Without a sarcastic tone, I don't know if they're being serious or joking.  The French and Italian jokes are a whole other mystery for me to solve.  

After a while, I was able to talk with some of the guys and have an actual conversation.  I found a common ground that we could speak about - sports.  They were all big fans of rugby, and the five nations tournament is coming up in Dublin soon, so we had a really nice, animated chat for a while about the games.  I know absolutely nothing about rugby so I was happy to learn more about it from people who grew up playing it. 

At the end of the night as we were leaving, the French guys said that I would have to cook some American food for them.  "I have a wonderful cheesecake recipe!" I said with excitement.  However, my excitement turned to dismay when they said loudly in reply, "Keep your fucking cheesecake!  What a disgrace!  This is horrible!" 

What did I say wrong?  Oh my goodness!  Why had I offended them? I just stood there looking terrified.  It turns out that they thought I was jilting them.  They wanted a full meal. After much uproar, the room quieted and one of them said as an afterthought, "but a cheesecake at the end is nice.  With strawberries." 

I don't know if I will ever see them again, but if I do, I will apparently have a lot of cooking to do.

During this time, I also learned that I was not the only one in the room who was feeling uncomfortable.  Betta sat int he corner for some of the time, and when she was not there, she was tied to Helen's side and she didn't speak much at all through out the night.  It turns out that she is more shy than I am in new social situations.  "I didn't know anyone so how can I join in the conversation?" she said on the way home.  "I prefer to just stay with the people that I know.  I don't like being in a new group of people."  I simply nodded my agreement and told her that I understood.  I don't think that she realized that I was even more out of place than she was!

All in all, the day offered many new cultural experiences.  I hope that I have not given France and Italy a bad impression of Americans.  I know that I need to loosen up quite a bit and be more assertive.  Baby steps, baby steps.  This trip is becoming even more than a great learning experience for work....I am also learning quite a bit about myself.