It’s mid-November in France. The colors of the trees are fading away and now I’m dependent on my apartment’s heaters to keep me warm. If a sunny day comes along I try and make it up to the Bastille and Mont Jalla while it’s still nice. In all of the city centers around France men are setting up the Christmas lights, which will soon (and more importantly) be followed by the marchés de Noël.
MOST importantly, there’s something here called apéro: a house party involving all sorts of alcoholic beverages + food to pick at. Here in Grenoble: French and English languages flying around the room. More bottles of red wine, rosé, champagne and Ricard than you’ve ever seen before in your life. It’s no longer warm enough to enjoy a sunny terrace, and my top-floor apartment is no longer too hot to have company over. Five months in, I now have enough chairs, glasses and plates to serve a large group of people. Up until the day of of my first-ever house party, I finally found two large pitchers (are pitchers not used in France?) to make classic and strawberry mojitos. I rolled enough bulgogi kimbap and California rolls to feed everyone and their moms. If you didn’t like sushi or mojitos before coming to my party, you do now.