Taking a brief interlude for a bit of a non-culinary post – though in many ways, the subject of my next post has largely shaped my love and appreciation for cooking and eating good food, so I thought this would be an appropriate place to house it : )

For many who know me, there is a city (outside of Boston) that feels like home – the way that a place does when every time you return to it, everything feels familiar and puts you at ease; where you feel completely comfortable and in your element.

It’s been exactly 10 years since I landed at Charles de Gaulle airport in 2009, on a rainy September morning, with a couple of over-sized suitcases and an address hand-written on a folded piece of paper in my pocket. I was 20 at the time; fresh-faced, and full of excitement at the prospect of spending four months living and studying in Paris. I remember sitting in the cab from the airport as it careened through the windy streets of the city, listening to the voice of Nicolas Demorand on the radio, and watching the rain drizzle down the car windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the street scenes – and thinking that even on such a dreary day, there was so much charm to the city.

I had been to Paris before as a young kid, but only briefly, staying just long enough to remember the immensity of the Eiffel Tower and how delicious a Nutella crepe tasted. While there is tremendous wonder in the iconic behemoths of the Eiffel and the Arc de Triomphe, and the sparkling Champs Elysees, the Paris that resonates with me aren’t those places. The Paris that captivated me at 20 (and continues to pull me back to the city) are the simple things: the narrow, windy streets that are best navigated by sight and feel; the lovely little parks that house beautiful gardens and the best reading and napping spots; the tiny neighborhood cafes that spill out onto the sidewalks, bringing with them a chorus of conversation and clinking glasses; the smells of freshly baked bread, buttery croissants, and pain au chocolat that waft past you as you walk into a boulangerie; the eclectic street music that make you pause for a moment as you happen upon them in the most random corners of the city; and the kindness of the locals, who you realize aren’t all that different from you despite growing up an ocean apart. All of these things come together to create the joie de vivre that runs deep through the core of the city.

But it wasn’t all roses in the beginning – I remember feeling slightly out of place when I first arrived, doing things like trying to order a coffee and being called out immediately for saying une café, and not un café (and finding out that this was in fact not the large cup of coffee I was picturing, but rather a tiny glass filled with a shot of espresso – which, now, is one of my favorite things). But that’s also partly what I loved, and continue to love, about Paris – how living in a new place challenged me to adapt and grow, embrace the (mostly positive) culture clashes and step out of my comfort zone and try new things. The city has its fair share of chaos and difficulties (and what city doesn’t?), but those trying moments in many ways only make the bonds grow stronger.

When I left Paris after my semester at Sciences Po ended in December 2009, I knew that wasn’t the last time I’d be back. And sure enough, I ended up returning – year after year for the next ten years, for a week around Christmas or a week in the spring. When I went back across the pond to study in London for two years in 2015, I ended up getting back to Paris for what felt like almost every month, taking the Eurostar train across the English Channel. Each time I returned, I fell back in love with the city, re-visiting old favorites (certain streets and markets and parks) and discovering new places in the city (Paris, with its artistic flow, is always evolving). Even beyond the many returns, Paris also stayed with me back in the States in the years that followed – in my daily habits of espresso in the morning and France Inter on the radio at home (for anyone who is wondering, you can stream it live from their site, or download the podcast); in my cooking and baking endeavors, both simple (always use real butter) and elaborate (hard to imagine life now without tarte tatin and pear tart!); in my old maps and photos of the city that hang on my walls; and in my taking time out of the chaos in life to pause and just enjoy the simple things.

I used to think that home was defined only by the place you were born (and no doubt, Boston holds a special place in my heart that will always be there), but it’s possible to find yourself at home in other places – places where things just seem to click, where you find yourself growing and thriving; places that over time become a part of your identity, unintentionally. I’m not sure if I’ll ever physically call Paris my home again in the future (maybe yes, maybe no), but I do know that wherever I am, I’ll always carry with me a part of Paris (be it in my music, my routines, my cooking). Hemingway was right when he called Paris a moveable feast. And I’m savoring every bite.

If you’re ever in Paris, check out some of my favorite places to go for food and drink: Ash’s Paris Favorites