"You really like cooking, huh?"
"Not just any kind of cooking. Ever since I was a little girl watching Julia Child with my mom, I've loved French cooking. And now here I am in France where I finally have the opportunity to try it for real, and it's just going to waste!"
She noticed my little laugh and added, "I mean, of course the point is to be doing the Lord's work, but I don't see why I shouldn't use what free time I have to learn some of the sauces and reductions and soufflés and such that I've always dreamed of making just right."
"I guess there's nothing wrong with that," I said. "But after two years of living here, I still don't see why some people say French food is so fancy and refined. They eat like cave-men here! Moldy cheese! Rotten grape juice! Raw meat! What's with that glob of raw hamburger meat with a raw egg floating on top? I can't believe people can just mash that up and eat it just like that! Yuck!"
Sister Bell laughed. "My last comp used to call that one the 'salmonella special'."
"Then they put a fried egg on everything," I continued. "On grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, on dinner crèpes, even on pizza! I'm not saying it's bad, I'm just saying that it's the kind of 'experimental cuisine' I'd expect from a bunch of frat boys, not from the country that's supposed to be some center of high culture."
Sister Bell laughingly agreed.
"I'll have a pizza," I said. "Oh, and could you slap a big old fried egg on that? Thanks."
"You know I'm not talking about brasserie food," said Sister Bell with a smile. "I wish I had the chance to cook something for you before you go so you can see what I mean."
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