* Tongue in Cheek *

Window Displays in Paris

 

Photographs by Corey Amaro,

Paris window displays: Reflections of girl meets boy.

Caught reflections of a brief encounter of Chelsea meeting Mr. Espresso in Paris.

 

Paris by Night

 

 

 

 

 

Paris by night,

around the Louvre, 

& on the Ferris Wheel,

Photographs by Chelsea

The Eiffel Tower

The Eiffel tower: Photographs of Paris by Corey Amaro

Under the Eiffel Tower is where I am going to be in a few hours.

After my fill of the Eiffel Tower I am going to do the cafes....

Then I am going to go to the Place de la Concorde and take this photo (again) to show you how it looks during summertime.

After which I am going to do the cafes some more.

...and eventually hang out with this statue, by the Eiffel tower and soak up the scenery.

and collect Eiffel tower trinkets.

 

Later I am going to climb the twenty million stairs to Montmarte, and buy fabric at Saint Pierre (and look at the painters too.)

 

Paris is where I am going to meet this little baby, and buy her a new beret.

Note:

Chelsea and I are going to spend a couple of days hanging out in Paris.

The last time we went to Paris together was during New Year's Eve 2008... we had planned to stay a week, instead Sacha and Chelsea caught a flu bug, a roaring fever and were throwing up every five seconds.... We came home two days into our trip. I hope this time we catch nothing but fun.

What to do in Provence

Photographs of Provence and text by Corey Amaro

What to do in Provence? Here are a few of my favorite places, addresses, dreamy spots, things to do and see, and other note worthy details about a place I call home.
First and foremost when you come to my neck of the woods let me know that you are in town... in the last few weeks I have met: Salama, Jani, Renee, Colette, Laura, Joanna, Tanya, Rose, Lynn, and Julie. And I wonder why I have gained a 100 pounds of happiness?

Place to Eat, because that is my favorite thing to do after antiquing:



Chez Bernard
Chez Bernard's Restaurant is literally on the edge of the sea. Off the beaten track, simple decor, good food, (try their fish soup) do I need to say, amazing location? You'll need to walk about ten minutes on a small path to get there. Do not forget to go bring a swimsuit for a swim.

	Calanque de Magaud Chemin de la Mer Toulon - 83100
	La route du Cap Brun,
	04.94.27.20.62.

La Grotte
Romantic, charming, the owner has a thing for antiques, and is connected to some of the biggest antique dealers in Marseille. The drive is breathtaking, especially at sunset. The menu is vast grilled fish to pizza, servings are large, the desserts need to be shared, I love, love, love, their Tarte Tatin.

Calanque de Callelongue -
13008 Marseille
  04 91 73 17 79


 Le Chalet du Pharo
Simple outdoor cafe, do not let the plastic tables and chairs fool you, it has the best view of the old port in Marseille. The menu is a wonderful surprise. Not a place to eat a sandwich.

Jardin du Pharo
Parc Emile Duclaux
13007 MARSEILLE
04 91 52 80 11

Photo source from
La Caravelle Bar
The only place to be for drinks, tapas and lively atmosphere.

34, Quai Du Port
Le Vieux Port,
13002 Marseille


For wonderful information about Marseille, where to go and what to do, look no further.. I wish I could say that I wrote this article! It is spot on perfectly put.




Photo source

If you like chocolates then you must try chocolates from:

La Chocolatière du Panier
35, Rue Vacon,
13001 Marseille
04 91 55 70 41




Brocantes in Provence

L'Isle sur la Sorgue Antiques

Brocantes in France

Antiquing in Provence

Antique Shops in Provence

More about antiquing in Provence


To name a few charming villages to visit in the south of France

Cotignac
Lourmarin
Cassis
Cadiere d'Azur
Sanary
Bonnieux
Avignon
Aix en Provence
La Coste
Apt
Uzes
Nimes
Arles



Beautiful places to dip your foot into the sea

Calanques
Sormiou
Morgiou
Camargue





Nature Trails and Gardens in Provence

Jardin de Albertas

Saint Pons

St Baume and the Grotto
St Victoire



*********

More sites to follow next Saturday.

In Memory of Michael Jackson and my Niece Juliette

French Husband's niece was eleven years old when I first met her, twenty three years ago. It was the first time I was to meet his family, we were going to have lunch at his sister's home.

The white, monogrammed tablecloth was set with antique, wine glasses, the silverware was lined-up a mile long next to the Limoges plates, and a large, soup tureen transformed into a vase was filled full of flowers and sat in the center of the dining room table. The tabletop carried a conversation with my attention, as French husband's family chattered away in French, leaving me in silence, soaking up the details with clueless wonder. We were waiting for Juliette to come downstairs, she was late... though later I would understand being late was set up for her stage of entrance.

I remembered that day crystal clear, not because of the beautiful home of French Husband's sister, nor his family that fearsomely loved their son-brother-uncle named Yann, so much so, that they couldn't help looking at me with trepidation... No, what I remember best is Juliette coming downstairs, wearing a colorful, silk headband wrapped around her forehead, holding  her long, dark hair in place. She was captivating, original, and a breath of fresh air to the stuffiness I felt in that room.

Juliette spoke perfect english, better than French Husband's. I stared at her in disbelief, her voice was music to my ears, and she was only eleven years old! I looked at French Husband as to say what gives? I asked her where she had learned to speak english. Juliette told me that she was in love with Michael Jackson, his style, his dance and his music. Juliette went on to say that whenever she had some money she would buy a single of his, then listen to it over and over again, while following along with the lyrics written on the back. Then she would look up the words in the dictionary, memorize them, and then recreate other sentences with them. Michael Jackson was her hero, and my new found hero that day.

Michael Jackson's music taught my niece how to speak english, and with that gave me my first "friend" in France.

Juliette is sad today. Though today I smile on that sweet memory of her love affair with his music, and thank him for it.

Living with a Teenager

 

 by Corey Amaro

As I put the pedal to the metal going over the hill to take Sacha to his BMX trials, I thought to myself, if I had to use one word to describe myself it would be spontaneous.

My thoughts were racing, as I tried to put in order the things I had to do today. Being a taxi driver was not one of them. Yet there I was driving Sacha who had misplaced the thought of telling me his plans. Sacha and I are alike, we live by the seat of our pants, though Sacha is not as seasoned as I am... He does not know that to live by the seat of your pants you need to know the cards in your hand, and who holds the trump card. In this case I was the either going to be the source of his frustration, and a good lesson learned, or spontaneous, with a trick up her sleeve.

Sacha woke me up saying, "Are you ready?"
I barely opened my eyes, "What time, where... when?"

Skillfully, like a master card-player he put his cards down one by one. I sat up, rubbed my eyes and thought- This is motherhood, this is the result of my DNA going one way, this is my teenage boy who has not yet grasped the idea of being organized. I listened, reined in my desire to give a frustrated lecture and instead bartered, "Okay, if you clean your room, and sweep the courtyard I'll take you, you gotta work fast, we need to leave in twenty-five minutes and your room makes a bombed area look good."

As I raced over the mountain, I thought to myself... I like being spontaneous, but only when everyone around me is a bit more organized than myself. I told Sacha that the essence to being yourself, is to put your best card forward and to follow it with a strong lead. Being spontaneous is a wonderfully quality as long as you know the boundaries, or if you have a mother who can relate.

I put the things I had to do in perspective, in order of importance. Taking Sacha to his activity was important to me, he is a good boy, and I have to honor that goodness, even if he is unorganized. I am spontaneous which often leads me in too many directions and scattered. Though at the same time it allows me to reshuffle my cards, finding a new game in the deal of my daily life.

What is one word that describes you best?

How to make Rose Jam

How to make Rose Jam, photos and text by Corey Amaro

Cutting the red roses was not an easy task. Their fullness, ripe and fragrant, climbing up, circling my son's bedroom window, gave an air of romance, made me dreamy, made me forget the neighbors next door, and with that, the idea of cutting them to make rose jam just didn't seem right.

Everyday Annie asked me if I had cut the red roses, everyday I answered, "Not yet." Everyday she shook her head saying, "They will grow back, but if you do not cut them you won't have rose jam tomorrow." It sounded simple, yet those red roses meant something to me, and cutting them subtracted the feeling they gave to me.

Reluctantly I gave the scissor to Sacha, the first cut was the deepest, petals floated down like a gentle rain, covering the ground around the ladder red. I wondered if the rose vine felt pain, or was it just me?

 

After the red rose vine was cut bare, I stared at its emptiness, noticing the peeling paint of Sacha's shutters that frame his bedroom window, without the roses as a shield the neighbor's constant chatter rattled my brain... plucking the petals I wondered why I was making rose jam? I know the taste is like eating a rose, but was it worth the reality of cutting beauty away?

To make rose jam you need fragrant roses that have not been chemically treated. Whatever color of rose you use that will be the color of the jam. Many suggest to tear off the white tip at the edge of the rose petal, because it will the rose jam bitter. Though Annie waved her hands at me and said, "Honestly, do you think my mother had time to do that when she made her rose jam? I never saw her do that. Leave the white tip, it doesn't matter."
I trusted her memorable past experience and left the rose petals intact.

Rose Jam

-Cut the roses in the morning, just as they are beginning to release their perfume.
-Pluck the petals from the rose blooms and set them aside to dry, (this takes a few days),
-Fifty roses give about 100 grams of dried rose petals,
-Weigh the dried rose petals, put them in a large, cooking pan,
-Add the dried rose petals, cover them with equal amounts of sugar,
-Sprinkle fresh squeezed lemon juice over the sugar,
-Add a cup of water,
-Cover and set aside for twenty-four hours.
-Add another cup of water, and slowly bring to a boil, stir often, add water if you think it is becoming too thick.
-Cook until the juice ripples from a wooden spoon, and when the rose petals are tender.
-Ladle the rose jam into sterile jars, cover tightly with sterile lids,
-Turn the covered, filled jam jars upside down and let set for twenty four hours.
Rose jam from the moment you cut the roses until you spread it on your toast takes about five days to make. Rose jam made this way is preserved for years if the jar's seal is not opened.

The rose jam will look like this when you are cooking it.

The red rose jam juice is vibrant and sweet. If you want you can make jelly with it, subtracting the petals.

I prefer thick jam, so I add very little water. If you prefer rose jam more jelly-like to jam you will need to add more than two cups of water.

The first time I made a batch of rose jam I tried a different recipe (not Annie's which is above) and the rose jam was very bitter, and the texture like eating wet jeans. I gagged. Annie scolded me for not following her tried-true recipe. I was angry at myself for wasting the roses, and since then have never faltered from her advice.

If only I didn't have to cut the roses to make the jam... making rose jam would be pure pleasure to make.

The rose jam is a delicacy, a royal taste, and as much as I love it, I feel sad about cutting the roses in bloom. There is a price for everything good and bad.

Ste. Croix de Verdon, The Real Blue of Provence:

Ste-Croix-de-Verdon, photos and text by Corey Amaro

The curvaceous road to Ste Croix de Verdon wrapped around the mountain tightly, I leaned one way than the other, feeling like I was French Husband's second skin as we coiled our way to the top. I didn't dare look to the side of the road in fear that I might shift my weight causing the bike to lean opposite the course.

There was definitely a groove thing going on, and I was getting into the swing of being on the bike, when suddenly there was a gap in the thicket that stole my attention. I literally jumped up on the foot pegs, nearly causing French Husband to run off the road. The village of Ste-Croix-de-Verdon is a pearl, but the lake is out of this world blue. A blue that almost had me sailing off the bike and into the water down below.

Ste Croix de Verdon things to do other than gawk at the blue lake.

Where to go in Provence and have your eyes pop out of your head, sorry but it is true.

The blue is that blue. I kid you not. It is shockingly blue. It is the kind of blue that makes you rub your eyes in disbelief. It is the kind of blue that makes you think food coloring was added to it. It is by far the most true blue thing I have ever seen and the south of France is loaded with blue things.

When French Husband pulled over, I jumped off the bike, I nearly dove (belly flopped) right then and there, off the cliff, into the lake, and I do not even know how to dive. You might say I was a tab bit excited.

This is a cropped photo, of a tiny part of the St Croix lake that I zoomed by 500 percent. I wanted to see the pixels break down and see the many shades of blue dots connect. Yes, I am strange that way. What color of blue is this anyway?

The dark spots in the water are reflections from the clouds.

Oh did I ever tell you the story about French Husband bungee cord jumping off the Gorge de Verdon Pont de l'Artuby bridge?

Yes, you gotta love a man who even with helmet hair can drive a woman to such places... and make her scream.

His jumping off that God-forsaken, high bridge over the Gorge de Verdon made me scream, amongst other things I will not mention. Gee, thinking about it now makes me want to hit him, I nearly puked that day he jumped off the Artuby bridge!!

Anyway, that is another story.

Lavender Fields in Valensole

Lavender, Photos and Text by Corey Amaro

A few miles before the Valensole plateau the scent of lavender filled the air, we knew we were approaching the long, neat rows of lavender, and pressed ahead. Since I usually return to California for the summer, I have missed the lavender blooming against the blue provencal sky.

Yesterday, French Husband and I rode our motorcycle with our friends Valerie, Francis, and Tony on the backroads to Valensole. Being on a motorcycle, riding through the lavender fields was better than being in a car. I imagined this is what it must feel like to be a bird: soaring high, and intoxicated by the lavender scented air.

 

 

 

My friend Valerie and I took a million photos. Do you see her in the middle of the lavender field? I swear the scent of lavender went straight to our heads, we couldn't get enough of it.

 

Crazy girl running in the lavender field, I gotta to admit she was a happy, crazy girl.

 

Five friends, four motorcycles: I rode behind French Husband on the mean, motorcycle machine, and I didn't squeeze him to death from fear, in fact I hugged him with pure pleasure... Since our bike is more of a cross country bike, we ventured through the rough, rocky, path along the lavender fields. God, was that fun! It was a natural high kind of day.

Valensole

History of Lavender

When does Lavender bloom in France?

French Laundry Romance

Source vintage postcard.

Text and Photographs by Corey Amaro

10:30 pm Saturday night: Washing Machine overflows...Ruining newly laid slats... American Laundress thanks her lucky stars that she did not dyed the old linens in that load of wash...Of course mauve colored water would have raised the bar of excitement. French Husband swears. American wife realizes that the laundromat might become her new best friend, as she stares at the floor dreading the clean up. Both begin to moan.

As towels soak up the water, American wife sees how dirty her laundry floor really is.

Soaking dirty towels, ruined slats, newly cleaned floors, moaning-though-ever-so-helpful-French-Husband, American Laundress decide to complain on blog, and throw back a few tiramisu shots.

Laundress Secrets

French Laundry's Tasting Salts I need them.

Vintage Graphics