The moment I spread butter on the baguette, my face melted. Elena and her mother were watching me and laughing. The first real French butter I ate in my life had a depth you could never experience in Japan.
Morning at the wooden window
I woke up a little after ten today. I had told Elena that I only sleep about six hours a day, but in reality I slept plenty. In the end, I was the last one to wake up.
The morning shower was amazing. I took a shower over a bathtub without a curtain. The top window was open so it was very cold, but it was refreshing. It felt so very French.
There is one window in my room. When you open that window, there is another wooden window to open, and opening that wooden window was the best. The view was very French-style and extremely beautiful. A window that made me feel France.
I always get nervous when going downstairs. Elena and her mother are there. But I don’t know what to say. Should I just say good morning like normal? I try to keep smiling. So as not to make them uncomfortable. Maybe that’s why it’s hard for me.
But Elena’s mother is really always positive, simple in character, and so cheerful. I get the sense that because she’s gone through a lot, she chooses to behave positively all the time.
Her mother asked, “What would you like for breakfast?” I said I wanted a French-style breakfast. A baguette.
She prepared two baguettes. One as is, the other toasted in the oven. Butter, honey, jam. And black coffee from an Italian-style coffee machine.
A truly French-style breakfast. It was really delicious. The baguette was crispy and the butter tasted deep. It was a butter you just can’t taste in Japan. It was so delicious my face melted.
Then Elena started playing the piano. There was sheet music for Howl’s Moving Castle, so I decided to play a little too. I can’t read notes, but I like arranging freely, so I played Ghibli songs: Howl’s Moving Castle, Country Roads, Laputa.
Elena watched the whole time, and when I finished Howl’s Moving Castle she applauded. I felt embarrassed, but happy. We like the same Ghibli works, so when I play a song I like, it naturally becomes one she likes too.
Her mother praised me as well. She apparently used to compose music herself and played one of her own pieces. It was rhythmic, classical-feeling, and very beautiful. I closed my eyes and listened intently.
Then her mother introduced me to a lot of jazz and classical CDs. When I said I liked Chopin, she played Chopin. She also put on some blues, and it felt uplifting and lovely.
Her mother's Genovese
And then, finally, the moment my dream came true.
This summer I had jokingly told Elena I wanted to try "her mother’s Genovese." Elena’s mother is Italian, so I could have the real Italian Genovese.
Her mother had actually made Genovese. She had spent really a lot of time preparing it, so I felt very grateful.
She even taught me about different types of pasta. There are so many kinds that it’s hard to know which to choose. I asked what my favorite pasta is used for, and she said it’s used for white cream or cream-based pastas.
Her mother’s Genovese wasn’t the green color you see in Japan; it looked more like a meat sauce. But I thought to myself, this is the authentic thing.
The cheeses were pecorino and parmesan. Real Italian cheeses, prepared in blocks. They shaved the parmesan with a slicing machine and cut the pecorino with a knife. There was a faint cheese aroma, and I tasted and compared the differences between the two.
Her mother decided to drink wine from noon and opened a regional Syrah. It wasn’t too heavy, matched the pasta well, and was perfect.
Three of us at a small table. It was really meant for two people, so it was very cramped, but also very cute.
During the meal, I listened to her mother’s story. In her first years she worked in therapy helping children who had been abused, but that was hard, so she became interested in space, studied, and worked in the French aerospace sector for twenty years. She said she watched rocket launches twice at the Baikonur Cosmodrome. Now she works at AIRBUS. She loves airplanes.
Do what you want to do yourself. I felt again how important that is.
Card game with French friends
After the meal, we went to see Elena’s friend Manon. We took the train to Toulouse.
When we arrived at Manon’s house and went inside, there were three other French people besides Manon. I was extremely nervous. I shook hands with each of them, a polite "nice to meet you" kind of feeling.
Then, suddenly, they started explaining a card game.
In Japan, you’d first do a slow self-introduction, get to know each other, ask whether to play a game, and only then start. But in France, without even knowing my name or theirs, Manon’s boyfriend began explaining the game.
All the cards were written in French. There was an English translation on paper, but it was all in cursive and I couldn’t read any of it.
We decided to try it and played with support. Once you understood the rules it was simple. Elena was happily talking with Manon, and I thought, as I expected, those two are friends.
When time came, everyone stopped the game at once and immediately began preparing. The French really are very clear-cut.
I was used to a collectivist country, so individualistic France was a first experience. But I’m truly grateful to Elena for giving me that opportunity to learn what the French are like—jumping straight into a group of university friends and playing a game like that doesn’t usually happen.
Natural history museum and the church
After parting ways with everyone, Elena and I went to the museum. At the natural history museum there were ancient animals, explanations of how earthquakes work, and specimens and taxidermy.
I studied biology, so I love museums. It was there that I learned Elena hates spiders.
I prefer viewing art museums and museums alone, but maybe Elena understood that, because there were times to look alone and times to look together. That balance was just right for me. So I guess I’m individualistic too.
There was a botanical garden too, but they announced it was closing. In the souvenir corner, fake 0-euro notes were being sold for 2 euros. Apparently they were museum-limited euro notes. Elena bought a dinosaur plush. I bought a pencil with a giraffe hugging it and a 0-euro note. Elena recommended them to me. She really understands what I want.
We had time before our gastronomic reservation, so we went to a church. It was a famous church in Toulouse.
On the way we made many stops at shops. We bought something to pour wine into, chose postcards, and were lured by a pleasant scent in a tea shop.
Wherever Elena shops, she always buys souvenirs for friends and important people, never anything for herself. She’s really thoughtful and warm.
When I said the tea smelled nice, she said, "Next time I’ll send you some tea."
The church was closed, so we walked around the outside and took a two-shot photo.
My first gastronomic experience
Two days earlier I’d said, "I want to go here," about a restaurant. Elena had made the reservation in advance.
The interior looked like an art museum. It was so beautiful I felt like I was inside the Hermitage.
For the first time in my life I was eating a gastronomic meal in France. And it was with a friend I’d only met two days earlier. I was nothing but nervous.
Elena said it was only her second time at a gastronomic restaurant in her life. That surprised me. I assumed she’d gone for special occasions more often.
I ordered a cod dish. 38 euros. And a glass of white wine for 8 euros. Elena had a vegetarian dish for 24 euros. Water and bread were free and refillable.
I hesitated a lot when ordering. The menu was in French, and whether translated into English or Japanese, I couldn’t imagine what the dish would look like. Elena explained a lot to me.
While we waited, I kept gazing at the interior with awestruck eyes. Elena was slow to meet my gaze, but whenever our eyes met she’d smile. That smile was so adorable.
But we hardly spoke. In a place like this I didn’t know what to talk about. Even when my family goes out to eat, we’re quiet, and it seems Elena is the same.
On a large plate, a small piece of fish in the center with scallions and something crispy. A butter sauce on the side. We ate at an incredibly slow pace, and before we knew it an hour had passed.
As more guests arrived, a singer began walking around the tables singing Frank Sinatra’s "Fly Me to the Moon." It’s one of Elena’s favorite songs. We knew all the other songs too. Each time our eyes met, we smiled.
The table distances were extremely close, and conversations with neighboring diners started immediately. When a dish arrived, people even stood up and leaned in to peek. If you did that in Japan, they’d probably think you were creepy.
Everyone was so stylish, wearing great clothes even when older. This is the French style, I thought.
Elena put the bread she couldn’t finish because she was full into her pocket to take home. I thought that kind of innocent thing was really charming about her.
At the bill, I said I wanted to pay. I wanted to show my gratitude. But Elena said, "It’s fine, I’ll pay myself."
That kind of woman is so cool. Independent and worthy of respect. I was moved again.
In the end, for the two of us it was 9,100 yen. The biggest restaurant bill of my life.
I’m now independent, I came to France via Georgia and Latvia, and I met Elena at the airport for the first time even though we had never met before, and now here we are eating at a gastronomic restaurant.
From April to July 2022 was a really tough time; I studied ten hours a day and finally became independent and was able to be abroad. I’m truly proud of myself.
Places I would never have come to alone. Scenery I would never have seen by myself.
Thank you, Elena.
