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Because I usually am in Vino ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** In 2009, I gave up my studies as a medievalist and musician, left my home, my family, my life and moved to Provence in southern France for a guy. In 2012, I moved away from him to study wine. Today, I'm a vagabond sommelier working in Paris at one of the oldest and most famous restaurants in the world, struggling to find some purpose to what I deem the rest of my life. I'm still married and after 8 10 years, I'm still trying to fit-in with French life and culture and to understand why the French are the way they are. Because they're weird in a different way that I think Americans are weird. Perhaps it's me who's weird. |
| More reasons to be thankful that I left Lyon, and possibly the reason I didn't do well there: While wandering the internet, I stumble on the staff list of the restaurant of Paul Bocuse. Who should I find listed among the sommeliers with his stupid, drunken face peering out at me? Corentin my first maître d'hôtel. The asshole alcoholic who made my life a living hell for over a year. Who verbally, mentally and physically abused. The asshole who tried to rape me. While the rest of the fucking restaurant staff just stood by and let it happen. Yes, I've risen above it. Yes, I've continued with my career, found an amazing job, succeeded to become a respected sommelier. He didn't bring me down. But all the same, knowing that he arrived in Lyon just a few months after me makes me want to vomit all over the couch. Thank all the wine gods ever that we never ran into one another. It's honestly one of my biggest fears to run into him one day at a tasting or a conference. I don't know how I would react. Part of me would have the instinctive reaction to grab the nearest sharp object and stab him. And let's make one thing perfectly clear: I would have no problem with stabbing him. I just don't want to have to go to jail for it. Maybe that's why I didn't do well in Lyon. Somehow I could feel his drunken fumes wafting down the Saone River and into my restaurant infecting any chance I had at succeeding. He is such a horrible excuse for a human being that I could see his bad aura effecting me even without me knowing he was in the vicinity. My god... he could have come to my restaurant. I worked for one of the most famous chefs in the city. I might have had to serve him. No. Just no. Yes, I've managed to move on - kind of - and I succeeded to achieve my dreams, despite how hard he tried to hold me back. Some people would stop there. I kind of don't want to. Part of me wants to write an anonymous letter to the restaurant Bocuse explaining and describing what this asshole did to me and demanding he be fired immediately. In my view, this is not a person who deserves a second chance. He does not deserve a prestigious job. He does not deserve success. He deserves to be lying in a gutter dirty and plastered with human waste, his balls cut off and shoved into his rectum so far the hit his spleen. That's what he deserves. Too much? No. Should vengeance be mine? Should I let it go? I can't go to the police. It would be a fucked up, twisted investigation about events that happened too long ago and would solve nothing. But he doesn't deserve happiness. He deserves to be haunted by what he did, and I know I'm not the first and only woman he preyed upon. I'm not sure what to do. |
| At about 4pm last evening my husband came into my office and saw me on the computer doing nothing in particular. He said "isn't today the start that novel writing month?" I said yes. He said, "are you going to write anything this year?" I told him I'd been thinking about it before the craziness with Paris, but hadn't given it much more thought and had no idea what to write about. "Do it anyway. Write about me." To be honest, that's kind of the lamest thing ever to write about, it'd be like writing about me despite the unstable insanity that is my life, but it got me thinking and at 6:30pm I found myself starting a new NaNo novel. By 11:30pm I'd written my word allotment for the day, all 1667 of them. A total of about 1700 really. It was difficult. After about 10 months of barely writing a word, and years before that writing only intermittently I am not sure that I am exercised enough mentally to write 50,000 in a month. And I'm pantsing it. Beginning to end. I have a vague main character/narrator, a vague location and that's it. But after my 1700 words last night and 900 words this morning I find myself actually feeling good about the whole thing. It's terrifying, to commit myself to such a project. I'm out of practice. Like I said - mentally out of training and I'm just jumping into the marathon. The fear of failure is constant. At the same time, it's invigorating. I find myself more interested in life in general. I want to sit down to write, as I'm about to do, and though I do procrastinate I find the word wars and the sprints helpful. I offered to cook tonight for me and Greg and cook tomorrow too. Soup has been too complicated for me over the past few months. I eat it cold out of the box. We went shopping today and this afternoon I prepared chocolate creams for dessert and the start of fresh pasta with a homemade caper and lemon sauce. I took a nap, but it was a short one with the cat, and then woke up feeling ready to cook and write and do something more with my day than play computer games and stream reruns of Star Trek on Netflix. As scary as NaNo might be for me, I think it might help bring me out of this horrible depression I've been in since spring. On another note: The our "little" cat Dumpling is getting fat. Very fat. I'm upset about it and decided that starting yesterday, she's on a diet. This does not please her. She hopped around the apartment from about 11 to 4 when I started to prepare the chocolate creams, only taking a break for our nap. While I was stirring the chocolate and cream over the stove, she started pushing around a packet of dry cat food the vet gave us a while ago as a sample for Pistou's urinary infection and we never used. It was on the table and at first she just started batting it lightly around the table (Yes, our cats have the run of the house. We've given up trying to stop them.) I kept telling her to stop but didn't turn around, so eventually she got annoyed, whacked the packet off the table, picked it up in her mouth and dropped it in her food bowl and then stared at me. She's never done anything like that and I was laughing so hard I got chocolate all over the stove. But I couldn't stop stirring to feed her and the creams were just about done, so I didn't feed her as fast as she wanted. Instead of waiting, she picked the packet up again, turned in a few circles and then dropped it in front of Greg who was playing a game on his computer. Greg burst out laughing and got up to give her a little food. It was probably the smartest thing I've ever see her do. She's usually a bit dimmer than Pistou, but today she proved she's just as smart and insistent. I was proud. She's still on a diet though. |
| The second trip to Paris was successful. I signed for and received the keys to an apartment. Or rather a teeny, tiny studio over looking the Pantheon, 1 kilometer from work, and is complete with a teeny tiny, but functional kitchen, and a teeny tiny, but functional bathroom. I even ate my lunch there the last day. It was exciting and expensive. I have an incredible view of the triple dome of the Pantheon, the church Saint Etienne du Mont and further in the distance, Notre Dame. Now I can stop writing about the apartment search and go back to other things. I apologize to my body, as well as to whoever might have been reading this blog, about how badly I was freaking out. The Panthéon is where Victor Hugo, Emile Zola, Voltaire, Rousseau, and Marie Curie are buried. And Louis Braille. Among others. If that doesn't inspire me to write and philosophize during my time off, when I get there, I don't know what will. I've never read Zola. Maybe I should pick something up for my Kindle. NaNoWriMo starts today. I still haven't decided if I'm going to join. At least for the first 19 days before I start my new job. I haven't written much this past year, though I was getting back into it before I started my disastrous job in Lyon. I'd like to write something. I tried about a year ago to make a bucket list. Greg has one. I think my mom does too. Things they want to do before they die. Greg's are often simple - though I gather he has more important and serious things he just doesn't share with me. Things like go to Vegas, have a cocktail at the Four Seasons, own a house/apartment (which he could do if he wasn't married to me - or just stopped waiting and listened to me and bought his own house/apartment like I keep telling him.) There are some things on my bucket list that always whisper to me - well three things - publish a novel is one of them. It doesn't have to be successful. I just want to publish one. And that's why NaNo appeals to me. Even if the novel is rubbish, I'll be writing, getting creative and back to those creative roots. I have so much trouble writing even the simplest thoughts these days, to say nothing of concentrating on them. I know why - I won't go into it. That doesn't mean I'm willing to live with it. It's hard for me to put words to the change. It's more of a decline. Maybe I'll try in my paper journal - which I've also be avoiding - and then write them here. Anyway. Novel. NaNoWriMo. I'll take another hour or two to think about it. Also on my bucket list:  Learn Russian Visit Russia Visit Gobekli Tepe - which I don't think is possible. Last time I checked it wasn't open to tourists, but it would mean so much to me to see it. Eat at a 3 star restaurant Raise a kitten to old age (since I don't have kids) Get my doctorateIt's kind of a short list with major projects. I don't have anything simple. It's worrying none of them have anything to do with my job. Though should a bucket list include jobs? It should be whatever you want it to be. Just because my career used to be important doesn't mean it needs to be. Maybe I should stop obsessing over whether or not my job is right for me and just do my job. I should do the other things I liked to do too. Stimulation is what I need. |
| The Red Sox won the World Series. That's something to be happy about... if you're a Red Sox fan. Which I'm not, but since I'm from Boston, I kind of don't have a choice. I'm born with an innate love of the Red Sox even though I've never followed baseball. There's this bizarre sense of pride despite having nothing to do with it and being no where near Boston. Greg on the other hand, is deeply entrenched in the world championship of League of Legends - an online computer game. It's a big deal apparently. He doesn't really care who wins (though I think he's rooting for the Europeans and doesn't want to admit it) but he hasn't missed a game. This weekend he's getting up early to watch the final. I am in charge of lunch. If I'm around that is. We went to Paris, we returned from Paris. The cats are angry with us and today will tell if it was a thoroughly unproductive weekend. First of all the flatshares were sketchy. SKETCHY. Every single one. One of them was just a squat that was surely illegal. Just four girls on beds in a room. What is this the 18th century?? On the other hand I sent out my dossier for three different studios. One I absolutely loved, in the best location, and I'm praying, praying, praying, my application is accepted. The two others are actually quite nice, but further than I'd like from work. One was wonderfully furnished and set up and I liked a lot. The other isn't furnished at all but cute enough, in a nice enough building that I could deal. It was also the cheapest. I'm going back up to Paris tomorrow to look at more apartments. The one thing that was productive about this trip is that I bought my uniform for work. I don't know what I'm going to do if I can't find a place to live. I have 15 days. Greg says if I don't find a place to just cancel the contract, but then what am I going to do? I won't have a job, the restaurant will be pissed, and it will just be another failure in the big failure that is my life. I feel like I'm making all the wrong decisions. |
| I'm heading up to Paris Friday. Six apartments booked for viewing. The schedule is so tight that I don't know if/when I'll have time to check into my hotel. Hopefully one of these will work, though I get the feeling people want the money upfront with the intention that I'll move in right away and that isn't the case. Though I'm willing to pay for the entire month of November, I'm not paying the last few days of October and I'm not moving in right away. If this doesn't work, my next option is to move to Paris on the 15th and live in an Airbnb until I find something. The problem isn't my price range, nor the location, nor my salary. It's that the apartments are rented so damn fast. I called an agency this morning for an apartment that was posted yesterday night (after the agency had closed for the day) and it's already rented. How is that even possible? So I'm trying to figure out why the apartments/flatshares I'm going to see this weekend, haven't been rented yet. Scams? I'm suspicious of everything and hope I'm not wasting my time and money. Or Greg's time and money because I asked him to come with me. Most of the flatshares I'm seeing are with men and I'm a little nervous about just waltzing into some guy's home that I don't know all alone. I don't mind living with a man but I'd like to be a bit cautious at least for this first visit. In other news, I no longer have any ties to Lyon. I moved out of my apartment and signed my "end of contract" papers with my former employer. They asked if I'd found something yet and I said I was negotiating with a restaurant in Avignon. No need for them to know where I'm going because I could see them calling the restaurant and saying bad things about me. I am paranoid. So since I'm done looking at apartments right now - because I can't do it anymore - I don't know what to do with myself. It's like I was on this huge, all consuming Adrenalin rush, that might have to continue but maybe not and I don't know how to come down from it or put it in reserve if this weekend goes to hell. As everyone keeps telling me, I shouldn't bother worrying. I can only wait and see what happens and there's nothing more I can do at this point. Fingers crossed I'll have an apartment this weekend and can stop obsessing. |
| Things calmed down after I started hyperventilating 5 km into my run, went home and opened a bottle of wine. I had to remember why it was I was putting myself through this stress again when I could have taken the easy seasonal job that was in the mountains and housed. Instead I had to go the hard way and take the job with the massive and famous wine list that just happened to be in one of the most expensive cities in the world with one of the biggest housing crisis. So I opened a bottle of 2016 Saint Joseph "Silice" by Domaine Coursodon and reminded myself why I took the crazy, famous job. So pretty and floral with hints of white pepper at the finish. 2016 is still young and I usually don't find it all that appealing in Saint Joseph but this was silky and rich and made me happy. I have a few leads now. One studio that is BARELY within my budget but rather nice looking though a little far from work. It is my own private space though and I'd even have my own shower and toilet which seems like a rarity in this city so I'm willing to pay the extra if it means I can pee in peace. Two others are flatshares. One I'm not really sure of yet, and the other is with a woman and her two boys. She seems nice enough and the room is lower than my budget and not that far from the restaurant so I'm hoping that one will work out even though I'd have to share my space with children. I'm kind of conflicted about living with kids, especially little boys. I was just saying to my sister the other day that I'm glad she had a girl because little boys are always crying and whining. And then they grow up and at about 10 years turn into jerks. But if they respect my personal space and I can eventually save money for my own place I'm willing to deal with it. It's not like I'll be there all that often anyway. I'll just have to be quiet when I come home at night, but that's also reasonable. I just hope something works out. There was other stuff here but it got rather dark rather fast, so I decided to erase it. Greg and I are going back up to Lyon Saturday to see an opera and move me out. Also, this morning I fell down a flight of stairs. It's been a good day. I often wonder what I will do when I'm elderly. I really don't think I'm going to last long into old age. |
| So in a week of searching for an apartment, I've had nothing but dead ends - not even a response to my inquiries - and two scams. That's it. I'm in a state of constant panic, and literally cannot stop looking for an apartment. I think I've contacted more than 50 different apartments and I'm glued to the real estate sites. Glued. I wanted to go running and make lunch and actually do things today and I can't tear myself away from my computer. Even when I lay down to sleep at night, I wake up every few hours, look at the websites, send a few messages, and then stare at the ceiling for another two hours until I start again. Somehow I have this awful feeling I'm going to be homeless in Paris. Possibly living in an Airbnb. My family wants me to come visit in the States for a short time in November, but if I don't find an apartment within the next week I don't think it will be possible. I wish I had contacts in Paris but sadly, I know no one who actually lives there. I hate that the French make these things so hard. I hate that property owners think it's ok to rent a "studio" that doesn't even have a bathroom or a toilet. I wish there was someone who would do this for me because I don't want to. It's been 15 minutes. I need to check the websites again. |
| The great apartment search begins! Needless to say, I'm freaking out. But in fact it might not be that difficult after all. There are tons of rooms and studios on offer and mostly within my budget. I won't be living like a queen, but I should be OK. In fact, I put up a profile on a Parisian website for people looking for roommates and I got a hit from an older woman also working in the restaurant industry looking for a roommate,, 200 euros under my budget. It's further away from work than I'd like, but she said the night buses pass just by her building and she has a cat. She wants at least a 5 month commitment so I could suffer through 5 months and find something closer on my own time if it turns out to be too far. I'm going to call her tomorrow to discuss, but it could work. I'm off to Bordeaux tomorrow morning for the tasting. I tried to find something to wear at the commercial center today but everything within my price range was ugly. So I put a bunch of stuff in my bag for tomorrow and I can only hope something will inspire me for the dinner Monday night. I happened to look online at the website where I'll need to buy my uniforms and promptly freaked out. I'll have to take out a loan to afford them. No joke. Credit cards don't exist in France, so people take out loans when they have a big project. I will be taking out a loan to buy two suits. One suit alone will probably be around 400 Euros and it's better if I have two. Plus I need a new sommelier insignia (the lapel pin - mine's ugly and worn out) and a special corkscrew used for opening older bottles called an Ah-So. I'm excited about Bordeaux. I should probably check to make sure I have everything ready and nothing strange in my purse for the plane. I'm less thrilled about the plane but I don't have much choice. It was either a 45 minute plane ride for 35 euros or a 6 hour train ride for 100. Also looking forward to when it's all over and I can go home to spend time with Greg and the cats. He'll be on vacation for two weeks starting Saturday so we can actually spend some quality time together before I go to the States and then head up to Paris. This will be the 25th time I've moved since I was 18. And the 10th since I began this great sommelier adventure 5 years ago. |
| It's official. I'm going to live in Paris. I'm going to work at la Tour d'Argent. This is the type of job that I dreamed about when I first decided to become a sommelier. This was the type of establishment I read about in food magazines, saw featured on documentaries, and dreamed about being a part of. I still can't figure out why they want me (at all. Even Greg - who is usually my biggest supporter - is puzzled) but I'm actually going to work there. I spoke with a former colleague on the phone this afternoon as I was fretting at a coffee shop on what to do. He trained at the Tour d'Argent and then worked there as a commis de salle (think very fancy busboy) after. He said, "be prepared for the hardest, most difficult two years of your life. You're probably going to cry on the bus ride home a lot. But it's also going to be the most rewarding. You'll never learn as much as you will anywhere else. As a sommelier you CANNOT turn this down." At least I've been warned. Gaël flipped out when I told him. Literally flipped out. It's shocking. It's exciting. It's fucking terrifying. And stressful. Today I sold my scooter. Ideally I would have liked to bring it with me, but it's just too much hassle and I need the money. I got a fair price for it and at least it's one less thing to worry about. Sunday I have my tasting weekend in Bordeaux so I download my plane ticket and planned my itinerary to the airport. Tomorrow I have to finish the scooter paperwork, send a package by post, finish packing for Bordeaux, start packing to move out, and finalize dates to go to the US. I'm treating myself to either lunch or dinner out because I've been eating nothing but lentils and pasta since Tuesday. Above all, I need to start the apartment hunt. Combined with that above all I need to restart my wine studies. Before I started working at my former job, I was studying pretty seriously to advance my wine knowledge. I spent a fair amount of time doing sensory analysis of wines, reading about wine, vintages, really upping my game. And I enjoyed it. All of that fell by the wayside just trying to get through the day at my job. It drove me crazy that I felt like I wasn't learning anything at all. That I no longer had any passion for the wine, I just wanted to drink. Even now, it's difficult to get back to it. I'm hoping going to Bordeaux this weekend will help rekindle the interest and the passion. It better, because if not, I just made a huge mistake in my career. I was worried about it this morning and spent some time mulling it over on my run. What I feel now is how I feel after the year I spent in Michigan with the oboe professor that eventually made me quit playing. Burnt out. Questioning everything. Totally uninterested in playing. And totally unable to make an informed decision for myself. At that time all I wanted to do was run away; it was the only thing I could think about. I ran away. And I still regret it. I wept over it, last year in therapy. This time, I still feel like I can't make an informed decision. I really hesitated in accepting the job because I thought that I couldn't think clearly enough. And then I said "Do I really want to run away again and spend another 7 years wondering what to do with my life?" That may happen anyway, but I don't want to just give it all up. I worked hard to get where I am (even if I feel totally unprepared.) I've put up with serious sexual harassment and mental abuse. I've given up any sort of stable home life or normal marriage. I've had to live pay check to pay check with never any savings. I've sacrificed my health, my personal interests, and being able to see my family in the States more often. I'm going to give up a lot to move to Paris and work here. I know that. I'll never see Greg. It's going to take me an hour to go 10 kilometers (I might just see if they have a shower available for the staff and just run to work every morning). I'm going to have an incredibly stressful job with demanding employers and even more demanding clients. But it's the top of the top. The best of the best. But at least this time I'll know. If I can make it here I can make it anywhere. Last chance. And now it's time to apartment hunt and study. |
| To Paris or not to Paris? That is the question. Wednesday was my day in Paris. Or rather, it was the day that I sat in a park near Notre Dame fretting for two hours then went to an interview then went home. I wasn't really there to see the sights. But sights I did see. The restaurant, on the 6th floor of the historic building it's housed in, has a view of the Seine, Notre Dame, and further in the distance, the Tour Eiffel. It's the oldest restaurant in Paris, one of the oldest in Europe. They have a palanquin in the lobby that Catherine di Medici rode in. And the wine cellar. Oh my god the wine cellar. First, there's the wall that the former owner put up with the maître d'hôtel the night before the Germans invaded Paris in WWII to protect the most valuable bottles from the Nazis. Then there are the bottles themselves. All 350,000 of them. A Cognac from 1788 - the USA was only 5 years old. France hadn't even had it's revolution. A Saint Julien from 1853 - before the student revolution that inspired Victor Hugo to write Les Miserables. I almost peed myself. The wine list weighs 15 lbs. I asked the chef sommelier "How do you advise the clients with a list that massive?" 15,000 references. That means 15,000 choices. "I wouldn't know where to start." Apparently there's a list given out every few weeks to the sommeliers of wines to push based on what's ready to drink and what's in the service cave (the one in the restaurant, not the massive labyrinth in the basement of which I only saw half). Anyway. The job is mine if I want it. For some odd reason I can't figure out they are really excited about me and really want me to come work for them. Officially, when the job posted was for a commis sommelier. That's the lowest of the low of sommeliers. One notch above apprentice. I applied as a joke. I thought to myself, when I saw the listing, "eh - why not? I have no formal training, I've never worked at such a fancy, formal place, or with such a massive wine list. Chances are they won't call me, even as a commis." Then they called and I was shocked. SHOCKED - you should have seen my face. I thought "what the hell... arrange a Skype interview... see what they propose." On the Skype interview the chef sommelier and director started talking about the post of confirmed sommelier (which means I know what I'm doing - and I totally don't) and training apprentices and taking care of the service cave and all the stuff I did at my last job, but with help. And I thought to myself "Wait whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?" Apparently that was the hidden job opening, that they were only offering to candidates that caught their eye. Then the face to face interview with the chef sommelier and the director. Chefs can become household names, this we know. Even people posing as chefs can become household names - I'm looking at you Rachel Ray. The Front of the House Director at this restaurant is close to a household name in France. He's famous in the right circles. I've seen him in magazines. The guy is literally THE guy in terms of hosting and serving. Needless to say I was scared. And for some bizarre reason they were totally thrilled with me, and offered me the job. WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT????? Why do I keep saying that I don't understand how I got the job. A few reasons. I have no experience in a restaurant like this. None. I mean none. I've never tasted even a quarter of the wines on the list, never mind the old vintages. I have no formal training. Decanting with a candle??? hahaha. And I'm not in Paris (Parisians tend to like to hire people who live in Paris already because it's such a pain in the ass to find housing.) And I don't know... I just didn't think this type of place would be interested. I'm still trying to figure out why they are interested. Are they desperate? Did I lie somewhere on my application that I'm unaware of? Does no one in the restaurant speak English? (hardly unlikely. The director speaks about 5 languages and the chef sommelier worked in Ireland for 2 years) Is it because I'm older and they only had young applicants? WTF is going on here people? So the details: Minimum two year commitment. Salary exactly what I had before but I'll be living in Paris which is WAY more expensive. All expenses paid visits to vineyards each month. I have to buy my uniform (not a big deal) and cook my own meals (also not a big deal, I did that anyway because restaurant staff meals are ALWAYS disgusting). The big question is: What if I don't like it? I haven't been thrilled with any job I've had since I started out as a sommelier. I liked Jiva Hill but it was too far away and I made peanuts. I hated Rabanel. I liked Berne but it too was too isolated and my colleagues were... well... weird and judgmental. And Daniel et Denise my most recent post was a NIGHTMARE on all fronts. So for me, working at this particular restaurant is kind of my last chance. If I don't like it here, I won't like it anywhere and should just find another career. Which isn't a bad thing. At least I'll know. But it scares me. I know I'm going to accept the job. I know I have to accept the job. I can't not. Even though I'm terrified. Terrified that I'm going from one hell to another. Terrified that I won't live up to their expectations. Terrified I'll fail. Terrified I won't find affordable housing in Paris. Terrified I'm making a big mistake. People say you should do what scares you. People would call me brave because they don't do what scares them and I almost always do. One more thing: accepting this job would mean calling the job I had already accepted and backing out. That doesn't sit well with me. I know it happens all the time, but it still doesn't sit well with me. I know they'll be pissed. |
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I think it's awesome that you're using that negative experience to get creative. It's hard not to just wallow when those things happen. I use a paper journal for most of my actual coping process too, but I do share bits and pieces on WDC as well.
Might try a short story a day instead. Stay safe. 
