The butter pyramid

We all know that French food is big on butter. Butter's national status is further clarified with the first bites of a ham and butter sandwich. But the [w]rap sheet on our 250-gram brick o' beurre churned out deeper truths about the place of solidified milk fat in the French gastropsyche. Sure it's a constant term in breakfast calculus. And yes, its inclusion on the breakfast check list is legislated. But these things merely hint at the bottom line: food with butter is "le début du bonheur" --  the beginning of happiness. By no means is butter a casual, fatty afterthought. It is the genesis of pleasure.

Where there's butter, and thus pleasure, it can only follow that there's a willingness to take risks and innovate--as long as risks don't involve possible loss of butter. Assume, for example that you're French and you'd like to incorporate more hamburgers and [french] fries into your diet. Keep your mouth open 'cause beurre will find a way.

If there were not butter in there, too,
this would be wrong.

While lore would have us believe that a glass of wine will dissolve butter right out of our blood stream, there are indeed more pragmatic tactics for maintaining a fashion-worthy figure: smoking. But if cigarettes and/or manual labor aren't your thing, there is a list of six local exercise regimens which work very well. I don't know this from experience but the gym classes cost more than butter, and price-signals (like my hips) don't lie.

Two of the approximately 750
masons-per-square km retrofit
pavers where old-way meets
Tramway on Rue de la Roë

There is a lot of manual labor going on in our new neighborhood. Angers is abuzz about the upcoming June start of its new light-rail transit system. Lucky for us, since the recently laid tracks go right by our front-door, the heavy construction finished up a few weeks before we arrived. But the masons and electricians are out in force, 4.5 days a week, 5 hours a day, working through the punch list of loose ends and ill-fitting bricks.

This Saturday, the regional agency behind the Tramway, put one of the new train sets on display up the street at Place de Ralliement. Townsfolk, including us, eagerly tested the new upholstery and view through the knee-to-ceiling windows.

I'm sure madame's helmet is
in the bag.

Ivy enjoys extra lumbar support while
Ella and Kristin tolerate the holdup

At 7:50 AM , about half way along our walk
to school, the sun rises over le poolevard.

The tram will not head out to Ella, Ivy, and Jack's school (not that we'll be here then). The mode for that trip has been an invigorating 25 minute walk mostly along Rue de la Madeleine. 50 or 60 steps along this stretch of urban poop-scape provides another source of insight on French society. If the French have a reputation for being dismissive or aloof, it's not you -- they're simply preoccupied with sidestepping dog excrement. I've already made the mistake of appreciating the architecture on the walk back from the school drop-off.

One thing we've managed to appreciate without stepping in it is the splendor of French work-wear. To expand on an old adage: anything worth doing is worth doing well-dressed. A crew of gardeners in matching techno pants with built-in knee pads. Crossing guards that evoke memories of Icelandic flight attendants. Cardboard collectors who could as easily be on the deck of an aircraft carrier. Every chore has a corresponding getup replete with asymmetrical accents and ergonomically correct seams. Our favorite though has been the firefighters. Check out those helmets (with integrated LED power beam). Oh, centurion. (Photos of aforementioned getups, with more as they're encountered, on display here.)

"Neuf un un, quelle est votre urgence?" 

"Yeah, hi. There's an office chair in a shopping cart
 on a wooden palette with a bamboo tube -- on fire."

So, from Angers, we say Bonne Saint Valentin to you! Many of the stores in town have had decorations up for the last several days but, unlike in the U.S., Ella, Ivy, and Jack haven't gotten the sense that anything like a Valentine card exchange will be happening at school. Of course in the U.S., all the advanced notification regarding Valentines Day at school is mostly to ensure that each child expresses equal amounts of contrived affection for everyone. The supermarché certainly wasn't selling boxes of pastel sugar-hearts with those two-word phrases printed on them (which if actually spoken could only prolong the need for companionship). But, if that doesn't demonstrate that the French don't waste time with bush league romance, Kristin went out and found the most amazing chocolate heart any of us have ever laid down Euros for. So perfectly did it capture her feelings, she bought one for each child.

Valentines Day in Angers as seen by a clairvoyant fly.