The Ugly American (or Desperate Housewives of New Jersey)

The Encarta dictionary defines "Ugly American" as: stereotypical offensive American: a loud, boorish, nationalistic American, especially one traveling abroad, who is regarded as conforming to a stereotype that gives Americans a bad reputation. Also Dictionary.com defines "the Ugly American" as: Pejorative term for Americans traveling or living abroad who remain ignorant of local culture and judge everything by American standards.

Ugly Americans, hmm.  They do exist.  I have seem them and at one time I might have been one.  But I take exception to the part of the definition that classifies an Ugly American as one who judges everything by American standards. By what else is an American to make comparisons.  I think the ugly part comes when American standards become the only acceptable standards.  That's ugly.  That's intolerance.  But, in this most international of metropolises, I have seen lots of uglies.  I have seen tourists of many ilks push and shove their way to the front of a group in order to see the Mona Lisa.  I had a woman "pfft" at me because I asked her to repeat her question more slowly so I could try to answer her. She stormed off. I have had conversations with people about American versus European health care and had the conversation stop because they didn't want to hear about American healthcare...just blast us for not having socialzed medicine.  Ugly.

I think all travellers can be ugly until such time that they gain experience and with experience understanding and appreciation. 

So let me tell you a story about contrasts.  Last fall Bill and I came to Paris to look for an apartment.  Living in a foreign country is totally a new experience, but we are pretty competent travelers.  The October/November trip was our fourth to France and third to Paris.  With all that was facing us and strong emotions tossed in the mix, we were working hard to find a home in Paris.  Most of the people we had met and were working with were kind, patient and really happy for us that we were coming to this great city.  I had more than one person tell me that my French must be very good because, of what they heard, I had no American accent...a confidence builder and fear inducing commentary...crap, if I sound like I know what I am saying, people will want to speak French to me...yikes!

Well, I have learned that if you make a respectful attempt to communicate, people are willing to work with you and muddle through to happy conclusions.  I have found too, that bringing a pocket dictionary and pointing helps sometimes too.  I never assume that because I cannot make myself clear to people that they are at fault...I just keep tryng.  The good news is that in Paris, most people have at least the same level of English skills as I do French and we work together.

Now the contrast...last November, while on our expedition, we celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary.  To be in Paris, looking for a new home after 26 years...kinda cool if I do say so myself.  We found a restaurant review for a quaint gastronomic restaurant called La Truffiere...les truffes sont les specialities du maison. 

This lovely little restaurant with its 17th century stonewalls and fireplace welcomed us in and down we were escorted into the stone cellar, quiet, private, romantic and candlelit! There were only seven "set-ups" in the caveau, and other couples and intimate groups were enjoying a very eclectic and excellent menu featuring French/Asian fusion cusine and the only mushrooms I willingly eat...truffles!

Our night started off with a classic Paris cocktail of red wine infused with berries and cognac.  It was a delicious and a most welcome recommedation from one of the several gentlemen who would serve us that evening.  Along with our cocktails came a lovely pumpkin creme concoction.  Delightful!  Bill and I began our tete a tete talking about his first major business meeting in Europe, the new Parisian neighborhood and so many other little intimate details of our lives to come.  And then it happens...a party of six descend the spiral stairs, heading to the last remaining table in the intimate dining room.

Now let me preface this part of the story by saying that dining in Paris is an art form; a cultured, meaningful event.  One savors all the elements using all the senses.  It is a custom I have come to honor and appreciate during my previous visits to France.  When dining in Paris, one is enveloped by a cone of silence--what happens at your table, stays at your table.  If you do it right, you have no idea what is being said at any table in the vicinity.  Nice actually.

Enter Jersey!  If there ever were a stereotype of Jersey guys and girls, there they were at my anniversary dinner..not but a foot from our table.  Big hair, thick necks, plunging necklines and voices that would make dogs howl.

I knew it was going to be an interesting if not uncomfortably entertaining evening when desperate Housewife of NJ #2 tried to order a dirty martini with blue cheese stuffed olives...in Paris!!! The sommelier tried as hard as he could to understand why this loud woman (she got louder and louder as it became apparent the server didn't understand) would want to drink something unclean!

He offered a gin martini, Kir Royale, Champagne, but no,  #2 wanted her vodka with olive juice and 3 blue cheese stuffed olives.  When our poor server, who spoke English well,  apologized and said that such a drink was not possible, Housewife # 2 retorted, "Jeez then bring me a Cosmo!"  Repeat the scene above, replace dirty martini with Cosmo and increase the volume.

Enter Jersey Boy #3 who spoke Italian.  He took control and ordered wine for the table--a magnum of a lovely Merlot-- tres cher!  So with wine in hand, the Jersey party continued at a dull roar, perusing the menu.  Uh oh.

In the meantime, Bill and I order our courses and selected the truffle that will enhance our degustation.  Truffles are something to experience with all the senses.  The truffle cart is wheeled, squeakily table side, with the pungent treasures covered by a heavy glass cloche.  The head waiter carefully lifts the glass and directs it to your nose.You are hit with an extraordinary scent; a combination of wood, warmth and what can only be described as the floor of the forest...ah, truffles. 

Next, the keeper of the prizes, helps you examine them and based on his knowledge of your course selection and an indicator of how much you want to spend, selects the perfect gem.  It is weighed and placed on a plate and covered by a smaller dome.  I think with the exception of saffron, truffles are the most expensive legal food on earth.  Theses treasures, rooted out by specially trained dogs in the Italian countryside, or by pigs or truffle hunters in France, are a time consuming and seasonal prize.  Each truffle is unique-- its texture, color, smell, appearance and taste, oh the taste. The truffles are shaved with a special mechanism, similar to a miniature mandoline, flaking luxuriously over our salads and subsequently our entrees; scallops for me, veal tenderloin for Bill--exquisite.  We have never eaten like this before!!

Well hello Desperate NJ Housewife #1!  "OMG!", she explodes. "Those things are disgusting.  It looks like $#!%."  Housewife #3 who too speaks Italian and about 6 words of French, explains that the truffles at La Truffiere are the specialty of the house.  The head waiter, who before so proudly shared his knowledge with us and spoke English quite well was speechless in any language.  I was mortified and ready to guffaw all at the same time.  With much discussion, proclamations that so and so was not going to eat this or that in Italian and Passaic, the Housewives ordered and the Jersey Boys drank.

Remember the very expensive magnum of Merlot...it is a very large format bottle of wine...about 10 to 12 glasses per bottle.  It was gone by the time the salad plates were carted off.  Much to Jersey Boy #2's consternation, they had consumed the last magnum of that wine.  The sommelier had 750ml bottles of that same wine but no more magnums.  Jersey Boy #2 would have none of that...he basically accused the sommelier of a bait and switch.  Fortunately, the Italian speaking Jersey boy asked the sommelier to recommend a comparable wine in a magnum, which he did. 

I am something of a wine enthusiast and I know that these large format wines are rare and usually quite expensive.  The wine list for this place was like reading the yellow pages and most bottles were more than 600 Euros. Hence the sommelier.  If a restaurant has a sommelier, it is a wonderfula nd wise experience to ask for hisor her assistance.  What was killing me was these folks were swilling the wine as if it were Kendall Jackson.  Not one stopped to savor the wine over time, appreciate the dynamics and character of the wine with each course, noting the subtle changes from harsh tannins to mellow leather and rich fruit.  What a shame.

Out comes the next magnum and the assault begins anew.  This too was the last bottle of its kind.  The sommelier looked like he was handing a child over to molesters.  Horror.

As the circus ensued next to us, Bill and savored our meals and the lovely Brugundy recommended by our steward.  We tried to ignore the clowns and with the exception of an occasional eye roll from me, we pretty much resumed our meal under our cone of silence.

As our table was cleared, the maitre d' came to our table and invited us to retire to the lounge and seats next to the fire ~ so we could savor the last notes of our wine in quiet.  What a precious gift.  I wanted to apologize for the conduct of my fellow Americans but the staff of La Truffiere got it...they understood that not all Americans were ugly or desparate housewives of Bergen County. 

Our evening ended at La Truffiere ended as it had begun, warm, quiet, and Bill and I, a tete a tete.  Our hosts brought us an assortment of sweets, to help us finish the wine.  We sat for a while immersed in the ambiance, and occasionally, a raucous caw would drift up the spiral stairs, but no matter. 

It was time to go.  Our coats retrieved, the maitre d' thanked us for our visit and presented us with a bottle of their "house vineyard" muscat, as a precious token of our visit.

We'll have to give this place another try and let the true colors...no, not true, for we saw true colors of this special place, but perhaps another window into the workings of this unique and pleasing cultural and gastronomic paradise.  

New Jersey...do me a favor and go to Paris, Paris in Las Vegas next time.