I will never forget the day that unexpectedly began to disrupt my perfectly planned life.
I had the bull by the horns. My company was rapidly growing with new opportunities every week. In just three months sales had tripled. ESSTAR had long surpassed the expected two-year failure mark 98% of companies succumb to.
Later that year, recognition came directly from First Lady, Michelle Obama, and her nonprofit organization, “Partnership for a Healthier America“. ESSTAR was nominated for “Partner of the Year“, alongside Mercedes Benz, for the work we were doing to change the health of America. It was a very surreal time.
I was rubbing shoulders with some of the elitist entrepreneurs, politicians, movie stars, authors and world changers. Not to mention a First Lady and a Prince. My little black book was growing, and I felt unstoppable.
Subconsciously I carried what felt like an insurmountable amount of stress from the constant travel for meetings and the pressure to succeed. Living out of a suitcase in hotels and AirBnbs. Rarely having the time to sit down long enough to enjoy a meal.
Breakfast was typically a nutrition bar from one of my clients that I would eat in the car as I rushed to avoid being late for a meeting. Lunch was a quick stop at a café or juice bar while catching up on emails. I’m not sure I ever truly tasted the food as my mind was elsewhere. Frankly, the day that Daiya introduced frozen vegan pizzas was the day I could conveniently sit down for a meal at home.
Due to the financial pressure, I often found myself with a tight chest from being held captive by the fear of, “What if I can’t pay the bills?” or “What if this deal falls through?” Thanks to a glass or two of wine each night, to take the edge off, I was able to stay the course.
After all, this was the cost of entrepreneurship. Stress and busyness were a badge of honor that symbolized success and I wore it proudly. I may have been sacrificing the time to be present in the moment or with the people I loved but it was all for a worthy and noble cause. I was on a mission to create a preventative healthcare solution in America and nothing could slow me down. Once I would arrive to my destination of “success” I would then take the time to slow down for these things, but for now I refused to be interrupted on my path to fulfilling the American Dream.
Until the day I arrived at that run-down dusty Chateau in the south of France…
As I pulled up to a timeworn rusty iron gate, I was mesmerized by the elegance that still lived among the rust. The hand-crafted detail of swirl-shapes and meticulous designs that must have taken months to make centuries ago. It amazed me how someone could create something so detailed without the technology and machinery like we have today. It was clearly designed with pride and for the pleasure of others to admire its beauty. As someone coming from the United States where things are built quickly and typically with no regard to pleasing the eye with too many details – as that would take too much time and time is money. I did an internal bow of respect for the French and the way they do things with such passion and perfection.
Passing through the gate, I slowly eased the car down the shadowy tree-lined dirt driveway. Dust turning up behind the car as I followed the winding path through the tall trees that blocked the clear blue sky. As the road continued my curiosity grew stronger. What was I about to embark upon?
Then, as I looked ahead, mesmerized, I was convinced that I had just entered the pages of a fairytale book.
An old, run-down Chateau stood peeking through lively lush green trees with wild pink roses bordering its base. Death and life unified. Both contributing its own individual beauty.
The tall structure stood posed like a Renoir muse. Detailed with elaborate architectural designs from the 18th century. Like the timeworn gate, every aspect of the stone structure was designed with passion and care. With its broken windows and discolored surface, it portrayed a mysterious beauty that caused me to wonder the stories it could tell. Who were the families that had lived there? What was their life like?
A barking mangy dog was the first to greet me, followed by a charming French couple that appeared to be the owners of the chateau. The wife was dressed in white linen, a typical French strategy to survive the summer heat. My friend who had extended the invitation to join her in the south of France, after my visit to Paris, came trailing behind. They greeted me with big smiles. After my very American-accented “bonjour” and my first experience of exchanging a few awkward kisses on the cheek, I was ushered inside for the reveal of the mystery that lived behind those captivating walls.
As I slowly stepped through the gigantic wood door that was the gate keeper to the answers of all my intrigue, I stopped and stood in amazement. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing. I felt as if I had entered a time capsule. As I stood taking it all in, my friend explained that the chateau had been turned into a private antique brocante. By invitation only people could buy some of the most glorious historical treasures of France.
Centuries to millennium old oil paintings of breathtaking provincial landscapes and sophisticatedly-posed naked women, roman statues of power and significance, time consuming hand-stitched lace, vintage fabrics of unique patterns and unfamiliar household artifacts were restfully waiting for a lucky buyer. The perfectly painted symbolic designs on the walls were still meticulously intact with the original rich colors, which made an enchanting backdrop to this antique showcase.
The mystery of so many pieces of history to be secretly hidden caused excitement to rise up inside of me. What were their stories? Whose hands crafted these passionate pieces of art? As an American, coming from a country that began in 1776, I had never experienced such deep history up until this moment.
It was quickly approaching noon and the owners of the chateau led us to the terrace where they had prepared lunch. Like a typical summer day in Provence, it was sunny and hot, but the shade of the trees above the strategically situated table prepared the perfect temperature to enjoy our meal.
An aged round table was covered with a fresh vintage hand-sewn red and white tablecloth. Its romantic patterns validated the sensational elegance of being in the French countryside. Mismatched chairs were squeezed around for an elbow-to-elbow intimate dining affair.
A long stone-carved pillar wall bordered a concrete swimming pool filled with lily pads and debris from the trees, which appeared to have become more of a piece of unintentional garden art than for the actual use of swimming enjoyment.
I was handed an ice-cold glass of one of Provence’s legendary Croix de Basson organic rosé and offered a seat at what would be my first experience at a French table. Seduced by the rosé’s crisp notes of wild strawberries, soon to be, new friends began to arrive and gather around: two Americans, five French and one Irish. Farm fresh fruits, meats and cheeses joined us at the table along with fresh-baked baguettes and what seemed like endless bottles of wine. I had come upon the scene of what looked like a provincial food wedding.
Growing up in Wisconsin, the land of dairy, I had tried my fair share of cheese, the sharp cheddar always being my favorite. In France there are over 365 cheeses, one for every day of the year. Most of which are white or cream in color, unlike cheese in the US that are pumped full of artificial yellow colors and preservatives. This time I was about to taste cheese that was fresh from the farm, which was a foreign concept to me.
As the platter of Roquefort, Baron and Crottin began to circulate, the food marriage ceremony began. I placed a sliver of each cheese on my plate to be paired with one of its perfect companions, a fresh slice of baguette. As I bit into the Baron, a smooth yet robust goat cheese delicately wrapped in chestnut leaves, I could taste the grass of the eastern provincial terrain and its flavor sparked the sense of love of the hands that passionately made it. A practice of love since the Roman era.
If there is ever any sense of heaven on earth when it comes to food, in my opinion, it was in this moment. The meeting of the taste buds and farm fresh cheeses. It was then that I made the decision to betray my beloved artificial yellow sharp cheddar. I had found a new cheese to love.
Looking around the table, I observed the secret fundamental strategy for the most pleasurable food experience. One must savor and balance the flavors with perfectly timed sips of wine. Each aroma must not escape without staying for a while to dance in enjoyment in one’s mouth.
Even though I couldn’t verbally communicate with the French people at the table, we laughed and enjoyed the meal together for hours. Bonding over the flavorful indulgences of the food we shared, we didn’t need very many words. Just smiles and nods and maybe an occasional “oh là là c’est bon !” to express moments of gratification.
Along with my new discovery of paring pleasures, I noticed something else very special. Something rather honorary or spiritual. With each bite, a moment of observation was taken before putting it in the mouth. Like a painter the who had just finished his painting staring in admiration at his creation. No rush to eat but to be present in the moment. To personally bond with each bite by slowly chewing to allow the brain and the tastebuds to connect and describe each and every flavor from start to finish like an internal storybook. I later learned, for the French, the observational pause was a moment of gratitude to the farmer and the hands that prepared it.
Like every proper spring or summer meal in France, it ends with a sign of abundance, a farmer’s prized possession of beautifully grown fruit. I had never seen so many fruits so rich in color. They were how I had always seen them in pictures but never on my plate at home. Perfectly petite cantaloupe to deep purple figs and vibrantly small strawberries. As I bit into the cantaloupe I was shocked by its flavor and remember thinking, “So this is what cantaloupe tastes like!” It was small. Not big like I had always bought at the store. Crisp, fresh, juicy and sweet. Dripping with flavor.
The afternoon was quickly upon us and not one person was in a hurry to leave the table. There was work to do but in French fashion they would get to it when they got to it and if they didn’t there’s always tomorrow. Because food is life in France, and it must be eaten properly with time and care. Every meal must have its own savored experience and it must be a moment that is shared.
A feeling of joy and happiness I had never experienced before in my life penetrated my body. I didn’t want it to end. Shocked by this foreign feeling, I felt time stop as I sat back in my chair, rosé in hand, and I began to reflect on the life I had lived up until this moment.
Coming from the land where being busy equals success and not having time to sit down and enjoy a proper meal, this concept complicated my brain. I had never sat at a table for longer than thirty minutes before and if I did it was with my laptop to work. Let alone having the time to share a meal with another person. I even reflected back to my childhood and the times that I spent eating in front of the television with the plate on my lap. I never knew sitting at the table for long hours could be so enjoyable.
The stress, the striving, the fight to the top of the mountain of success had made its way to the front of my mind. What have I been chasing after all of this time? Why? Yes, my life goals were worthy of chasing but not at the cost of life balance and relationships, which I had not the slightest idea of what any of those things were.
Could it be that I had misunderstood the purpose of life? I couldn’t make sense of what was happening to me but all I knew was that I had just experienced one of the happiest moments of my life.
A very simple moment at a French table marked time in my heart: an imprint of the value of relationships, time, balance, savoring the flavors of fresh foods direct from the source and being present, I had never experienced before.
The definition of my life’s purpose began to be challenged as I received the rush of thoughts that entered my mind. How can I live like this in the United States in the midst of the demands of my company and the vision of the American Dream so deeply ingrained in my DNA? Who would sit at a table this long with me and where would I find such fresh foods to cultivate a similar experience when it wasn’t the culture?
On the plane back to the US, I began preparing my work schedule to hit the ground running. The remnants of the newfound feeling of joy I uncovered at my first experience at a French table was lingering inside of me. Part of me wanted to hold on to that feeling and the other part of me knew it was time to go back to reality.
But little did I know what would be waiting for me…
For more organic moments of my life in Provence, follow me on Instagram @kristaanderson.co
Wonderfully written and a joy to read….God bless you as you continue your wonderful journey through life! Thank you for sharing, Krista!
Thank you Mary! Wishing you lots of joy and happiness on your journey as well!
That’s a great story Krista. Such detailed observation and sharing from the heart. You write well and live well. I admire your courage and femininity. Love Stephanie 🥰
Thank you so much for your kind words!
Wonderful story!
Thanks Bettina!
Ok…i really love living in France..and the food…and the wine…BUT, what I really want to know is WHERE is this brocante??!! 😂
Haha! It’s no longer in existence unfortunately! But there’s a marvellous brocante in Carpentras Sunday mornings!
I love reading this and following your journey and hope to one day this year come and break bread with you
Thank you Jennifer! I would love for you to visit Provence! It’s a special experience I know you will enjoy!
I felt like you told the story so well… I could feel your excitement and joy! In my mind I could imagine what it was like. Sounds amazing!
Thank you so much! I’m happy to hear you felt like you were there and could experience a little piece of it!