In France I learned to shake hands. At this time, in 1966, my French family shook hands with everyone, including family members, both the first and last time they saw each other during the day. I think this is a wonderful custom.
My French "sister" was very determined to be "une jeune fille elegant". She would not let me smoke on the street or stare at the other café guests.
My French family carefully explained the difference between a "gourmet" and a "gourmand" and then went on to label me a "gourmand". So I guess I did live up to lots of their prejudices about uncultured Americans.
During the month I lived with them, they only served a cake (bakery bought) for dessert once. That was to celebrate their son's university degree. Otherwise, we ate fruit and cheese after the meal. Having only eaten apples, bananas and oranges this was an adventure for me. I decided that I would eat everything they served. There was always cantaloup and the first night I fought my way through my cantaloup that tasted like soap to me. It took three days, before I began to appreciate the sweet wonderful flavor of cantaloup. It is sad to admit, but it was first in France, at the age of 18, that I tasted fruit that I picked from a tree. Neither my parents or neighbours had fruit trees. My French "sister" and I would drive around town on small "mopeds". She would stop at fruit trees and we would eat cherries and other fruit right off the tree.
CHOOSING FRUIT
Choose fruit by the appearance, the feel and the smell. Ripe, tasty fruit looks good and most importantly smells good.
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