Never say no to a free lunch

Today marks my last day in Lyon, or better said, my last day between Lyon and St. Etienne. Yesterday morning, Rapha and Martin accompanied me to a handful of student résidences to beg for housing. I thought that having Martin would be an asset since most of the student housing managers are women. Martin has wispy blond hair that curls around the backs of his ears and serious dark brown eyes, a knockout combination. Women are already swooning over him, and he's only two years old. Unfortunately, even he couldn't help me seal the deal.

Me: Bonjour, Madame!
Housing Madame: Bonjour. Oh my, what a lovely boy!
Me: Yes, he is lovely.
Housing Madame: Can you tell me your name, mon petit?
Me: Yes, Martin, tell the nice madame your name.
Martin: ...
Housing Madame: He is precious.
Me: I know. So do you have any apartments available?
Housing Madame: No. We're all booked.
Me: ...
Martin: ...

The morning can be summed up in one word: frustrating. But Rapha outdid herself. She walked me to a final résidence, Le Facotel, and I resolved to come back that afternoon after speaking to one of the lodgers who thought "Christophe" still had some apartments available. Rapha then invited me home for lunch.

I'd resolved very early on that I would not turn down a single meal (or drink) during my time abroad. I can't tell you what a fantastic resolution it has proven.

When we arrived at Rapha's apartment, she assembled an incoherent set of ingredients: crème de montagne (some sort of heavy cream), a few slices of ham, uncooked rice, honey, and tomatoes. "I have too many tomatoes," she announced after putting 7 or 8 of these red beauties on the kitchen counter (note: these are tomatoes like I've never had in good ole USA). Rapha was headed to Lyon later that day for a week long vacation, and, worried that they would go bad and to waste, she proceeded to chop them all up for our déjeuner.

What happened next I still don't fully understand. Rapha had me pour out some cream and mix in two spoons of honey. While I tried hard to dissolve honey into cream, she poured some olive oil into a pan and tossed in the chopped tomatoes. She let them simmer for a while, throwing on some salt, pepper, and herbes de provence for good measure. She also cut up the ham slices into smaller pieces and dropped those in.

Rapha then put the rice to boil. As I sat on a high chair by the counter, I watched her pour the cream and honey mixture over the tomatoes in the pan. She stirred the pan for a bit longer and proclaimed that lunch was ready. "On mange?" she asked. Shall we eat? "D'accord," I replied, dying to try what she'd prepared.

You see the simplicity in these ingredients. But you cannot imagine the explosion of taste in my mouth when I ate the first forkful. The sweet cream served as a perfect counterpoint to the salty ham and tomatoes, and under it all, the herbes de provence added what I can only describe as the way a meadow tastes. Not that I've ever grazed in a meadow.

After lunch, I ran to meet Christophe, the final housing manager, at the Facotel. Christophe, as it turned out, was young, attractive, charismatic, kind, and most important: in posession of a few empty apartments. And so, I have a new home and will be residing in a studio at 47 rue Desirée Claude. I had to make a couple of trips back and forth between Lyon and St. Etienne, but now I can make with the settling in. I'll be back on line as soon as I've cosied up to my new appartement.