So to just look at it, it doesn't seem that interesting. I'm sitting in a restaurant eating something. I appear to be concentrating and I'm wearing a scarf. That does not tell the story though. In the photo I'm eating escargot, I was working to get it on a slice of bread and I am in full blown tears. Just moments before I had been full on sobbing, but was trying to pull it together to eat and not make a scene in a Paris restaurant. Oh and trying to ignore my husband who was rolling on the floor laughing.
No, none of it was Isaac's fault, this was all on me. I had been cooking for a while and it was a matter of time. It had been a long day that had started in Rome with a walk to the Spanish Steps before trekking back to the airport, then a flight to Paris and then more trekking from Charles De Gaulle Airport to our hotel with a stop in the Gare Du Nord which is maybe my least favorite place in Paris. Flight time is just over 2 hours but counting in trains and subways you're looking at a good 7 hours of travel time. After over a week and a half of our trip I was having a great time, but I was exhausted, lots of early mornings and late nights. I also knew our trip was soon to wind down and I was finding my self feeling incredibly sad about that. I was desperate to return to London but knew once we got there the trip was almost over and I wasn't ready to face that yet. I had already teared up that evening when I saw our economy hotel, which was so stupid seeing as I had picked it out, but it had just looked nicer on the website!
The final trigger had been the incident just moments before. It was late and we'd finally found a restaurant Isaac deemed acceptable. I was starving and in need of a glass of wine as well. Isaac had ordered some escargot as an appetizer and this was the first time I had eaten them. I am a bit of a...selective eater, though I've definitely gotten better about it in recent years. I was a little nervous about trying the escargot but I promise, I was not crying about that.
The escargot were served on a silver tray where each had an individual slot and they came with small forks and these little spring loaded tongs that you used to hold the snail while you used the fork to pull the meat out. All of this would simple enough to a normal person with hand eye coordination, but I am notorious for not being able to handle much in the way of utensils past a spoon and fork. You should have seen the first time I at sushi, I'm not sure how any of it made it to my mouth, and 4 years later I still struggle with chopsticks.
I go to try my first escargot and find my self having a hard time getting it out of the shell. Isaac is of the "teach a man to fish" mentality so he kept trying to give me pointers but offered no real assistance. Frustrated, I finally jammed the little fork as far as I could into the shell and as I pulled it back out the shell altered a bit in the tong and then very loudly (as in the whole restaurant could hear) the tong snapped and the snail flew across the table, across me and on to my brand new purse I'd gotten earlier that day in Rome bringing green garlic sauce with it. It happened both incredibly fast and incredibly slow as in I could see the green sauce trailing across the table, but I couldn't stop the mayhem. I stared open mouthed and the restaurant fell silent, all eyes on the this exhausted looking, obvious American girl. I started to notice a few of the surprised looks around me, some gentle laughter and my husband trying to hide that he was about to convulse into laughter. So I did the most useful thing I could think of; I just burst into tears. I felt like such a goofy American, something I had been trying to not do for almost two weeks with varying degrees of success.
Isaac tried to hide his laughter by taking photos and after about 30 seconds my tears of embarrassment and exhaustion became laughter. It was so ridiculous, I had to laugh, who was I kidding the Parisians would hate me no matter what I did, it's the Parisian way. So I laughed even as I cried and I as Isaac finally helped me in getting the meat out of that damn snail shell even he commented that it was in there pretty good.
Near the end of the meal the woman sitting next to me leaned over when her husband (boyfriend, man toy...?) got up to use the restroom and asked me why I had cried. Embarrassed and knowing there was a language barrier I smiled and said I was just tired and had been embarrassed. She smiled very sweetly and assured me that when she'd come to Paris from (I think she said the Philippines) she'd found Paris very overwhelming too but not to worry. You don't find an abundance of friendly people in Paris and her kindness meant a lot to me.
So that's the story behind my Parisian breakdown, I still feel very silly for crying but hey, at least in the end I can laugh about it! :)
