Linda Kovic-Skow, author of French Illusions
It is unclear where French fries originated. Both the French and Belgians have claimed ownership of the invention, which is no surprise given their close proximity to each other and the common language. 
Belgian journalist Jo Gérard references the popular side dish in his family manuscript from 1781, stating that in the Meuse Valley (present-day Belgium), potatoes were often deep-fried. They had a custom “of fishing in the Meuse for small fish and frying, especially among the poor, but when the river was frozen and fishing became hazardous, they cut potatoes in the form of small fish and put them in a fryer…”
I have always loved the sound of a person speaking French. The words spill out of their mouth with an almost sing-song quality. And don’t get me started with the way the French roll their r’s when they pronounce words like erreur, (error) or rappeler (to call back). Without a doubt, I chose to learn French in 1979 for these reasons.
Boulangeries and Magasins de vin are essential in the life of many Parisians. So are les cafés. In certain parts of the city, every other shop appears to be a bakery, wine merchant or café.
It is a treat to wander down boulevards, admiring the window displays or inhaling the scrumptious smells wafting out of a café or bakery. And, as you stroll along, inevitably you will pass the quintessential French scene – a restaurant with outdoor tables, red awnings and colorful flowers.
Many of the cafes you pass in Paris are renowned. The Café Le Procope, founded in 1686 by Francesco Procopio Dei Coltelli, a Sicilian Native of Palermo, became a popular meeting place for Molière and other literary types. Continuing this trend, Voltaire, Rousseau and others frequented the establishment. 
According to French Moments, “Benjamin Franklin, then Ambassador to France, worked on the U.S. Constitution at a table” inside Café Le Procope. Other cafes, such as Le Deux Magots and the Café de Flore became popular gathering places in the 1920’s by many intellectuals and literary types, including Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir and Hemingway and Picasso.
Most villages in France have a farmers’ market once a week during certain times of the year. These markets are often a mix of stands and stalls offering homemade items, cheeses or a full-range of produce straight from the farm. 
My husband and I recently moved to a smaller home in Arizona and this required lots of downsizing. As I rummaged through old boxes, sorting “keep” piles and “give away” piles, I stumbled across my copy of Le Petit Prince from my stay in France in 1980. My heart lurched as I picked up the well-used book, turned to the first page and discovered an inscription — long forgotten — from my love interest in France.
When I traveled to France in 1979 to work as an au pair, I brought my trusted Kodak pocket Instamatic camera along so I could capture some special moments. The camera was small enough to fit inside my purse or pocket, hence the name.
We all have memories we cherish, and for many of us, these memories revolve around our childhood. My mother loved cooking more than anything else in the world and she would spend hours in her kitchen preparing meals for the family. My brother very much appreciated her efforts, but alas, I was a very picky child. No amount of coaxing or pleading would open my mind to her “healthy” recipes, so she often prepared separate meals for me (so I wouldn’t “starve”). One of my favorites was palačinke, better known as crepes.
