Mastering the Art of Cold Showers

20 juin 2010 dimanche

Mastering cold showers is a finely nuanced art form, as my cumulative months in living in France have taught me well.

First: shorter is better. No matter how long you wait, the water will not get hot, not even lukewarm. Therefore, the less time standing naked with no hope of warmth, the better.

Second: with a handheld showerhead, avoid spraying the body at all costs. When washing the hair, spray only the hair. Wait until the very last possible moment to have to spray the rest of the body.

Third: keep breathing. Standing under a cold shower has very much the same effect as jumping into a freezing pool—it tends to take the breath away. However, an entire shower cannot be completed sans oxygen, so remember to breathe.

And last, but certainly not least: count your blessings. Although a shower may be freezing, at least there is indoor, running water. And although it may be France’s vendetta to make showering as unpleasant as possible, at least I’m in France. And above all, that’s really what counts.

I suppose I should explain the context. The cold shower that inspired this blog is in Laurent’s grandmother’s house in Argeles-sur-Mer, bequeathed to her grandchildren upon her death. Thanks to the generosity of Laurent and his uncle, who takes care of the house, we were able to spend a weekend at the Mediterranean, only 15km or so from the border of Spain.
Argeles-sur-Mer is for the most part like other beachside tourist towns—it blooms in the summer (mostly July/August) with beachgoers in search of sand, waves, sugary cocktails, and ice cream. Our weekend was pretty much true to form. We lounged on the beach and ate ice cream and went dancing and strolled along the boardwalk and even played mini golf.

Unfortunately, the tempestuous winds and uncharacteristically cold weather kept us inside more than we would have liked, and we had to improvise a bit. This brings me to the allusion to Julia Child and her famous Mastering the Art of French Cooking in my blog title. In an attempt to pass the time in a unique way, we took to cooking. We enjoyed apéros of olives and goat cheese, and for dinner one night Laurent made us duck steaks and salad. The man knows how to cook. This is one of the many reasons why we love him.

In gratitude for Laurent’s cooking, Katie and I decided to cook him an American meal. The task was much harder than you’d think. What exactly characterizes American food? Burritos, spaghetti, gyros, pizza . . . none really count as fundamentally American food. They simply reflect our strange mélange and appropriation of cultural and ethnic cuisine. We finally settled on homemade macaroni and cheese after rejecting other choices such as cheesy potatoes, green bean casserole, chili dogs, and corn on the cob for logistical reasons. However, a trip to the supermarket made it immediately apparent that our task would be more difficult than we had foreseen. Our recipe for macaroni and cheese called for four cheeses: mozzarella, cheddar, provolone, and colby—none of which were to be found in a usable form. We ended up having to buy a cheese sauce with Roquefort and other distinctly French cheeses. Certainly not Kraft Mac ‘n’ Cheese. We ended up with Frenchified macaroni and cheese, hamburgers on French-like buns, and a cobb-esque salad with tomatoes and hard boiled eggs and cheese—a meal that doesn’t really accurately reflect American cuisine. But alas, we tried. Laurent just needs to come to the United States one day, and we’ll show him how we eat.

Anyhow, we’re now back from the beach, and staying in Laurent’s mom’s apartment in Apt. She has a hot shower and she made a nice lemon cake/loaf that she promptly served upon our arrival. I’ll relay more news on the state of French cuisine and hygiene once I have some.