It is cold and rainy outside; also everything is closed for something the French state refers to as "Easter Monday."
So until I venture back out for another interview, here is something I wrote in avignon several years ago:
i do not usually like to make comments about
"the french" or "les americains" but
now i feel called to do so
in france those of us who have
had the privilege
of eating american pizza
we have become accustomed to the fact that the french
have a different understanding of what a pizza
ought to be;
for instance in america there is a sort of
general agreement that one should not
be able to cut pizza with scissors, whereas here in
france, scissors are the tool of choice, even amongst
so granted we make a lot of jokes,
as we snip ourselves off a slice;
like, pizza delivery is easy in france
because you can just put the pizza
in an envelope and slide it under the door;
or, one friend, when his pizza arrived
forty minutes late and cold and soggy as a washcloth
someone had left in the tub after a bath
shouted at the delivery boy,
"well for god's sake,
why didnt you just fax it to me??"
you get the idea.
but, cosmopolitan as i may be
even i reeled upon disovering
while on my way to the organic supermarket
*an automatic pizza teller.*
yes that is right.
it is constructed exactly like an atm for cash, except
painted bright red, with a wider slot.
"24 hours a day," this machine proudly proclaims, "one
can obtain a hot pizza, just by pressing a button!"
i didn't try it, but it appears that you make your
selection of toppings, put in your credit card, and
out slips a pizza, paper thin.
by the time you get it home, it is sure to have cooled
and congealed enough for you to clip and enjoy.