Grabbing the paper bag that I had prepared the night before, I left early in the morning to my friend Annie's house. (Annie is my friend who is 95 now.) Annie told me to come early, and what to bring to make Bugnes. Bugnes, like oreillettes are similar to beignets, or dough-nuts, though without yeast or any self rising agents... other than eggs.
Annie is a wonderful cook, as Sacha has reminded me many times over, "...Women Annie's age really know how to cook. Honestly mom, they can take a plain head of lettuce, put it on a plate and it taste like a million bucks." I always feel so reassured about my cooking skills after a conversation like that. Once, he went on and on about how Annie's "green beans" were the best he ever had in his life. I asked him if they were so different from the ones I made. But before he could answer I said, "...shhhhhht, forget about it, I don't want to know."
I put the paper bag full of flour, sugar, eggs, and oil on Annie's table. She had her apron on and handed me one. Annie placed a big bowl on the table, open the flour sack, pouring half of it into the mixing bowl. Quickly her hands moved at lightening speed as she whipped the other ingredients into the bowl.
Clearing my throat, I said, "Annie, Annie remember I want to LEARN how to make Bugnes, can you tell me your recipe first?" She pointed, then wiggled her floured finger towards the kitchen drawer, "There! Over there... yes that drawer, see it?"
Looking through her stack, of neatly printed scratch pieces of paper recipes, I found it.
Glancing at the list of ingredients and looking at what she was mixing in the bowl, I said, "Annie it says here, Two soup spoons of sugar..." but before I could finish my sentence, she added, "Yes, I know, but my way is better."
Mt eyebrows raised as I asked, "Isn't this your recipe?"
Annie knew the recipe by heart... had tweek-ed it by heart too. She shook her head as to say, "Whatever."
I grabbed a pen and started to scribble down what she was doing:
I kneaded the dough. While it was rising she talked about what it was like living in France during WWII. I love her stories about her past. Two hours later the dough was double in size.
Annie handed me an empty wine bottle. "Inventive rolling pin, isn't it?"
I rolled out the dough, as thin as paper.
Annie use to be a hat-maker, she has a good eye for detail. She sliced the rolled out dough into a perfect rectangle. Then Annie cut long strips down the rectangle, two inch wide. She then cut each strip into diamond like shape, and slit each diamond shape down the middle. (Why, oh why didn't I take my camera, it would have been so easy to show you instead of trying to describe it!) Then she tucked the top of the diamond into the slit and pulled it through.
Annie made four to my one. Then she stopped, and said, "Okay you need to learn, go ahead and do the rest." She watched me with an eagle eye. Letting me pretend I could do it as well as she did. Though after making several of them I did get the swing of it.
We deep fried the Bugnes (they fry quickly, several seconds on each side.) Then we let them drain on a paper towel, and sprinkled powered sugar to them.
Photos: Bugnes: A French classic during February.
French Husband loves to eat. I was taught that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. It stands to reason that we'd make a good team. Except he eats so fast. His plate is cleared-off before I've taken my first bite. Honestly, he shatters the French image of proper dining etiquette. He borderlines abnormal in this department. I've often wondered why he doesn't enter a food eating contest.
To slow down his rapid hand-to-mouth feeding, I propose simple non-threatening questions, non-threatening because he could blow food chunks! Questions such as,
"What are you eating?"
Last night was no exception. I made curry lentils with coconut. I asked French Husband if he could define the flavors he was inhaling? Barely coming up for air he answered,
"Brown and good!"
"Really," trying not to be insulted I laughed, "I haven't seen brown and good in the market. Seriously, Honey what is the flavor of brown and good?"
He guessed cinnamon.
He thinks humor will charm me. Which it does. Though I did not lend a smile.
French Husband knew if he wanted seconds he had to appease the cook. He always wants thirds so he had to make up big time. He added without licking his lips, "The dinner tasted like bananas mixed with little grainy things and chopped white stuff." And as if that was the craziest answer, he added, "...there were hints of chocolate, eggs and tomatoes."
Nothing surprises me when it comes to his description of food. He almost described a cake until he said tomatoes.
Sometimes I wonder if he is just being cute, or truly a clueless dude when it comes to flavors.
I gave enough clues that the fish in the pond could've given me the answer.
I said, "It is white." He teased, "Oh white chocolate!" Not acknowledging that response I continued, "It grows on a tree." French Husband frowned, "Mais Oui, I said bananas!"
You're probably thinking he is being funny, that he's pretending to be food illiterate. Trust me he is not kidding. He claimed to our baker friend that mustard would be a sweet flavor to add to brownies. Before that comment she thought his "French" admiration to her baking was honorable. He is really just a piglet in a handsome French body.
Looking at him I shook my head, "Remember I am listening, and trying not to feel like I could cook a shoe and you would eat it."
One last clue. "It starts with the letter "C" and it is a tough nut."
French Husband didn't miss a beat. He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. I smirked, "Don't even say Corey, or you will be eating rocks tomorrow for dinner!"
French Husband does love my cooking. Actually that doesn't sound like a compliment anymore. I'll let you know what he thinks of rock souffle.
Photos: Of a French vintage journal about love, food and homemaking.
The morning after Christmas. Wrapping paper, remains of a day, like strewn confetti after a grand festival, with the morning light reminding us that a new day is dawn.
The day after Christmas has a feeling all its own doesn't it?
Because after such a feast that Christmas brings why stop?
I held the day old baguette and flashed, "Pain perdu."
In France a day old baguette is as hard as a brick. Hence, French toast was created, which in France is called "Pain Perdu".
I sliced the baguette thinly. Then in a bowl I added six large farm eggs, two heapfuls of creme fraiche (like sour cream) a tablespoon of sugar, a dash or two of nutmeg, a splash of water which was really champagne from the night before and whipped.
Then I tossed the thinly sliced dried baguette and mixed.
Letting it set for fifteen minutes or longer.
In a baking dish that was heavily buttered I layered the French toast mixture, adding any left over liquid on top.
Baked until golden for about fifteen minutes at 350°.
Served with a spoon of creme fraiche and maple syrup (a gift from the last person who stayed in our apartment. Thank you!)
Tomorrow yes tomorrow the day of no more feasting, pig out, holiday treats begin... until New Year's Eve that is.
Not a flattering photo, but that is what I have. I asked imy family if we could at least take a photo of all four of us. I cannot recall who held the camera out but I do remember thinking why are we turning around, and someone saying, "Mom we cannot see you."
Yes I am that short.
I begged to have a nice photo.
And the camera wasn't ever in my control.
All I could do was enjoy the moment.
And enjoy I did.
Between classes, work and my cooking we will be hanging out together.
When asked what I wanted for Christmas I said,
"To be with you as much as possible."
Back in 1996 French Husband was given a Buzet Magnum 1996. He put it in the cellar saying we would drink it years later. Eighteen years later, Chelsea's twenty-fifth birthday we decided it was a good time to open it. We had sort of forgotten about it, plus we weren't sure it would still taste good.
We figured we would have wine for days to come since Chelsea's birthday is four days before Christmas eve.
Photos of the cake!? I will see about that. It was three vertical layers of chocolate yum.
I have asked to write about her trip to Nepal, and she will... Someday.
Thank you for your prayers, Jean-Luc needs everyone of them.
Thanksgving decor for the table at a nearby antique shop.
Small varied squash; one per plate, served in small brown bowls.
A paper name tag was attached to each stem.
For more information:
There was a message from my friend, to my brother, to my sister in law, to my mother, to me:
"Tell Corey to come over, I have a recipe I want to try, how about Sunday around 10."
Staying at my Mother's home means good food, constant family, no TV, no answering machine, no internet... almost out of touch except for the word of mouth and if you hear the phone ring.
Judy was one of my seventh grade teachers, we became friends when I grew up. A few months ago she came to visit us in France. I love her home, her style and her honesty.
Judy found a recipe in the newspaper she said, "It has caramelized Onions, Cranberries, Roquefort..." my mouth watered, "Need not say more."
Gathering the ingredients we talked between snippents of thyme, spoons of sugar and pinches of cranberries only to tear up when we sliced onions thinly.
Roquefort Tartines with Shallot-Cranberry Confit
2 T unsalted butter
4 Shallots halved and thinly sliced
1 medium onions thinly sliced
A half of a cup of dried cranberries
1 t of fresh thyme leaves
2 t sugar
2 T Sherry vinegar
1 teaspoon of lemon juice
A fourth of a cup warm water
a half of a teaspoon of salt
a fourth of a teaspoon of pepper
One baguette cut in 1/2 inch thick diagonal slices.
1/4 cup olive oil
2/3 or five ounces of Roquefort cheese
Fresh thyme to garnish.
Preheat oven 350
Melt the butter in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add the shallots, onions, cranberries and thyme cover and let until the shallots and onions are soft and begin to carmelize (10 minutes +). Stir in the sugar; cover and cook another 10 minutes. Add the vinegar, lemon juice, warm water, salt and pepper. Cook, uncovered, stir when need be, until liquid has evaporated and mixture is golden brown.
Brush the sliced baguette on one side with olive oil; arrange with oil side up, on a sheet pan and bake until golden around the edges, about ten minutes.
Spread some Roquefort (or soft goat cheese) over each crostini. Top with some shallot-cranberry confit, garnish and serve.
We made them.
My mom does during: Halloween and Christmas, and has as long as I can remember.
Hers are the best.
Not too sugary, not soggy, perfect crunch.
My mom spends time with the details: Only butter, warm the bowl, take out the unpopped kernels that she calls, "Dead Heads", and make them no larger than two handful.
Where is a photo of the finished product?
If you had a choice of taking a photo of a popcorn ball or eating one what would you do?
Pear, Roquefort, Walnut and Celery Tart
For the best ice cream in France
New twist to St. Moret, a classic French cheese.
When you open the package it looks like this. "Too pretty to eat!" Is what Ruth our friend said today at lunch.
I thought it looked like a dessert.
I get a kick out of going to the grocery store, finding a new product, or new to me that is, coming home, trying it, falling in love and then thinking to myself, "What else is hiding in the grocery store waiting for me to discover it?" It is like playing hide-n-seek.
What is one of yours?
A little wine tour is what we set out to do. Chateauneuf du Pape is not far from Carpentras where the brocante I love to go to is at. Though when I am at the brocante red wine, even in such a dream place as Chateauneuf du pape, is the last thing I think about.
Today might have caused a change of habit... well let's just say after a morning at the brocante I might start going wine tasting, er um discovering wine that is:
Our first stop was Chateau la Nerthe.
I could have stayed there.
and been happy ever after.
A little tour anywhere in Provence will show you olive trees, stone walls, ancient ruins, vineyards... beauty.
And I never grow tired of being shown such.
We were fortunate to taste a 1984 bottle at Chateau la Nerthe. I like to entertain the thought that they sensed I appreciated old things.
On the grounds of my Nerthe...
A stone tower.
One door leading in.
Via Chateau le Nerthe,
"The moment the harvest arrives in the cellar it is sorted on a conveyor belt - always by hand - in order to eliminate the grapes that are either not ripe enough or spoiled. The whole of the harvest is stemmed, then undergoes a second sorting to eliminate any leaves or debris.
Then the grape varieties that are particularly complimentary are mixed together in a vat where the fermentation will take place.
Several successive tastings will help determine the best moment for the devatting: the free run wine is then drawn off by gravity and poured into vats for the malolactic fermentation. It is in this way that the wine will begin to evolve either in 16th century stone tanks, or in some cases, in large wood barrels."
Was our second stop after lunch.
French Husband, Vlad and Denise carried a lively conversation with the owner.
I twirled, breathed in, thought of flavors that spoke of fruits, swished the wine in my mouth and drank.
Falling in love with wine tasting.
"Domaine du Vieux Telegraph, is the family background, the heart, but also the flag bearer, the flagship Vineyards Brunier. Located since its origin in the plateau of La Crau, South East Chateauneuf du Pape appellation, the vineyard has grown, developed and matured on this huge gravel terrace giving it its character, generation after generation. Of the 70 acres that make up the area today, 65 are dedicated to Châteauneuf du Pape red and 5 white. Only 4 wines are produced: Old red and white Telegraph, from the oldest and most complex wines vineyards, and Red and White Telegram, representing the second Vineyards wines Brunier AOC Chateauneuf du Pape. The cellars are located on the highest point, but 2 km to the south, at the foot of the plateau, at a place called The Pigeoulet, where it was more natural to dig into the rock formation to create the cellars , and enjoy the soil cutting for gravity delivery of harvests. For over a century, the Brunier family product in these places Chateauneuf du Pape red and white strongly influenced by their terroir wall behind which it can protect its vintages assaults of modernity excessive." Via Lavinia
What do you prefer?
Coffee with a shot of Kahlua
I prefer red.
From the descriptive words used by the wine makers it seems I prefer wines that are:
Feminine and gourmandise.
Gourmandise sounds better in French then Gluttony in English.
So much goodness in one day.
"Le Clos du Caillou is ideally located in the municipality of Courthézon. It consists of 44 hectares in Côtes du Rhône, and 9 ha in Châteauneuf du Pape. Le Clos has the distinction of being located on the edge with the appellation Châteauneuf du Pape." via Le Clos du Caillou.
"The Clos du Caillou , run with passion by Sylvie Vacheron, is a winery located in the municipality of Courthézon, and spans 53 hectares appellations Cotes du Rhone and Chateauneuf du pape . The vineyards of Clos du Caillou enjoys an exceptional soil composed mainly of pebbles and sand filters. Vineyards Clos du Caillou are worked in accordance with nature: organic fertilizers and composts, regular plowing without use of herbicides, handpicking. Rigor that allows the field of Clos du Caillou get impeccable quality of grapes and develop some of the best nectars of the Southern Rhône Valley." Via 1 day I wine
Chelsea came home for the weekend to celebrate a family wedding, we met her at the train station and then headed towards our friend's restaurant "Les Bars du Moment" for lunch.
Of course the photos I took have nothing to do with what we had, or the order. I wasn't thinking blog instead I was too busy talking and enjoying the moment. It was later when we were home that I kicked myself for not taking a photo of the lasagna.
Patrice's (that is a masculine name in France) restaurant was full of local color, talk and homemade cooking. If you like to go to places that are hidden way and not talked about in guide books, have French homecooking for a good price... this is it.
Les Bars du Moment is a casual place, note Chelsea's hair tied up with a white rubber band? Chelsea brought some magazine's for her "Papa" one was on Real Estate in Paris and the other on Flying. The two of them jumped right in, like the golden days before cell phones.
We ordered the same thing, goat cheese pumpkin lasagna and a green salad.
The lasagna was delicious Patrice asked me to guess how he made it. I was 99 percent right, but the 1 percent that I did not know made all the difference in the world. The unique flavor, the haunting yet married well taste was Patrice' secret touch:
Such an incredible embodiment of flavor. Tea cooked pasta: I wonder if Marco Polo with his travel to China ever cooked his pasta in tea?
I am o going to try this... better yet ask Patrice for his recipe, don't you agree? Have you ever cooked anything with tea?
Patrice photo bombed Chelsea's photo bomb of my wanted photo. And yet it is better than I had aimed for.
Patrice is a one man show in his restaurant, entertaining and genuine.
Une Noisette: an espresso with a tad of steamed milk.
We also had tarte tatin that was flawless.
Now I wonder if I will fit in the dress for tomorrow's wedding?
Nathalie and Patrice are our neighbors, though their business is in Marseille.
A cafe/restaurant: Les Bars du Moment
19 rue du Docteur Escat,
They are open Monday through Saturday,
Seven to Four.
Even if you don't speak a word of French you will feel like you are their new BFF in the first five minutes. They are salt of the earth kind of people.
For years I never understood the adoration for creme brulee. It amazed me how friends and family alike often asked for creme brulee, instead of any of the other beautiful desserts on a restaurant's menu.
Burnt cream? What was the attraction?
Small glazed terra cotta pots with a couple of spoonfuls of chilled cooked cream, spoonfuls of sugar sprinkled on top, and then often blow torched to melt and harden the sugar.
I had heard that if you tapped your spoon on the harden sugar and it makes a hearty crack then it is a sign that it is a "good" creme brulee.
I rarely heard a crack.
Besides, creme brulee isn't the beauty queen of French desserts.
Food porn is visual n'est pas?
There is a small restaurant near where I live that is a fav of mine. Of course if you know me and have read my blog I have many fav restaurants here in France. I am faithful to good cooks who offer a lovely meal at a reasonable price. Brocante and food are a good enough reason to for me to go anywhere.
La Table en Provence in Saint Maximin does just that.
Family owned. Reservations a must. Undeniable clever cuisine.
And their creme brulee... has me dumbfounded. I dream about it, literally dream about it.
Amazingly one of the best things I have ever tasted.
Honey lavender ice cream frozen solid. Taken from the freezer, sugar added, grilled golden and served.
Love on a dish.
Like OHMYGOD this is worth every calorie.
The taste of yum.
Unreal happiness in a spoon.
Am I makig myself clear? Delicious.
When something taste good one tends to eat slowly, but when there isn't a taste or very little of it, people tend to eat more in search for it.
I asked the owners if I could one day I could come around four in the afternoon, a traditional hour for a tea or coffee break. They said of course. I think they saw how desperate I was.
If ever you come to my neck of the woods, Lavender Honey Ice Cream Brulee is in order.
The taste of yum.
Thank you Denise for the delicious dessert and recipe from:
A French affair started with lunch.
The table was set with care, and thought to detail.
A heart on top of a bowl of gazpacho.
Tossed green salad
flavored with dill and roasted walnuts,
well mixed conversation
spiced with humor and tease.
faded lavender with a vibrant fragrance.
Without thought of who, what or where...
Lunch is a French affair...
Caramelized onions layers with thinly sliced potatoes and cheese,
then baked in a cast iron skillet.
Another recipe to put in my pocket.
The dill and roasted walnut salad slide in next to it.
Mingled taste gave way to,
Silver forks, knives and spoons.
Lunch in Provence:
With French Husband, Cheryl, Vlad and Denise.
Home made panna cotta with roasted fresh apricots with honey rosemary glaze.
By far one of the best dessert I have ever had.
And I do not like panna cotta... until today.
A French affair means untold delights in the unexpected.
I begged Denise for her recipes!
The kitchen goddess,
the bearer of rich taste,
the recipe holder
my friend from blogging: Denise.
(Sorry no photo of Vlad ...)
What did you have for lunch today.
Merci Vlad and Denise for the lovely lunch today.
From the local producer down the road, zucchini blossoms with tiny zucchinis... maybe a few hours old, cause those of you who have ever grown a garden know that zucchini grow at rocket speed.
The producer Michel, grows eerything organically. He has fields for gardens, plus olive trees and orchards. If you buy one or two pounds of anything it is one price, but if you buy five pounds or more it is basically a giveaway.
Carrying it back home is the challenge.
I roasted cherry tomatoes with garlic and marjolaine (oregano in English) that I picked in the hillside nearby our home. The aroma was summer defined.
I mixed the roasted tomates with pasta.
The colors of Provence can be described by that which grows under the blue sky during summer:
and of course the sea.
I cannot get enough of this 1700s boutis in my friend's shop.
My dare to wear color.
Threw in my black.
I cut the sleeves and hem, and took in the sides.
I have learned from Annie that anything can be transformed.
comes in pale blue, pink and salmon.
I figured if I was going to wear color... go bold. I must admit I felt self conscious all day long.
Grilled Zucchini Blossoms
Coat a hot skillet with olive oil
Gently place the zucchini blossoms in the pan
lightly heat on each side (a minute or two)
add nutmeg and a splash of cognac.
Heat another minute.
Salt as needed.
Served on the side of the pasta dish.
What is your favorite summer dish? And summer color?
A Provencal lunch under a chestnut tree, on a Sunday afternoon with friends. The morning had us worried as it rained, down-poured actually, but by nine the sky returned to its glorious blue: Provence! Shutters opened wide, the cigales sang, the river hummed and the aperitif began... pastis, tapenade on small toast. Two friends brought tapenade, a comparison began... both used the same ingredients. Though one used more garlic which brought out the taste of the anchovies. So if you like the taste of anchovies, as French Husband does, then add more garlic. If not follow this recipe... hum... er... as it was given to me:
start with two or three soup spoon worth of olive oil
2 heads of fresh crushed garlic
3 or 4 small anchovies
two or three soup spoons full of small round capers
two hearty pinch full of thyme
The majestic old chestnut tree shaded the garden, the canopy filtered flickers of sunlight as if knowing just what leaves to turn or bend, sparkling golden-ness a perfect crown over our heads.
Admiring its beauty Joyce Kilmer's poem echoed in my thoughts:
And so we sat as the French do, that lovely Sunday afternoon, enjoying each other's company, having lunch. Four hours leisurely passed at the table:
Glazed salmon with soy and ginger
twelve different types of cheese
white, rose and red wine to match the courses
Fresh peach charlotte
Needless to say I rolled from the table dreading the thought of dinner .
Fresh Peach Charlotte
Recipe from my friend Monique, well as far as recipes go amongst those who cook, or bake, or like dabbling in stories of food preparations during a four hour lunch. The exacts aren't important if you know the basics, or are a cook. Talking about food, and listening to the way one prepares such, often leads without meaning to the revelation or a secret ingredient, most often to a certain unknown flair: "how to".
Lady fingers lightly soaked in orange juice and rum, then layer the bottom of a souffle dish, and along the sides.
Add two cups of finely cut peaches
One cup of plain sheep yogurt (any yogurt will do, but my friend used sheep yogurt the taste difference was notable.) with a spoonful of sugar and fresh ground vanilla into the sheep yogurt.
Add the sheep yogurt on top of the peaches.
Add another layer of lady fingers and repeat the above.
Add another layer of lady fingers, then cover the top with plastic, and put a small plate to the opening.
Put the fresh peach Charlotte in the refrigerator for six to eight hours or overnight.
Our friend and hostess of this lovely afternoon meal, our generous friend Anne-Marie who has been our friend for over twenty years.
I met Anne-Marie when she walked by our home overhearing me speaking English to Chelsea and Sacha, she proclaimed, "Your speaking English!" and as she said that to me I uttered, "OH you speak English!" We became friends for life.
Merci Merci Merci
French Husband cooks... and now he is taking photos of his meals prepared. He use to think I was nutty doing that. I am rubbing off on him. This was the breakfast he prepared. Gives meaning to "Happy Meal".
A radish for a sausage. Or a radish for a nose. Two over easy eggs and a bit of scrambled smile. French Husband beamed at his masterpiece than asked if I was making pancakes.
Oh the advantage of saying no to pancakes is the fresh warm baguettes around the corner.
We are vegetarians.
I gave up meat during lent when I was seventeen years old. It wasn't hard, except when I smelled bacon. But over time I didn't notice or crave it. My parents thought it was a teenage craze, or a phase of mine. But as days turned into months they were concerned though after awhile, like my craving for bacon their concerns faded away.
When I met French Husband he was a vegetarian too. I didn't know then how odd that was for a French person. Though his not eating meat scored big "like" points in my heart book.
Later when we married and I moved to France to be with him, I realized that being a vegetarian in France wasn't as easy as being so in California. Grocery stores, restaurants, menus, dinner parties, French meals... circled far from the tofu section that I was use to at the whole food co-op. Pasta was the adopted fast food... and "Californian Salads" became my trademark with our French friends who usually ate only "green salad" after each meal.
When our children were born I breastfed them. What seemed natural to me was offensive to most French people. A million stares, heads shaking no and comments such as, "...only women from poor countries breastfeed their babies!" didn't derail me from what I believed in.
When our children went to school they were consider "different"... Their mom was an American, they didn't have a TV, their house was full of old stuff and they were vegetarians.
French Husband and I started to have fish when we would go out, or if we were invited over to friend's home for a meal. The comment, "...I don't know what to cook when we invite you over!" Became too difficult to ignore. Living in a culture were food, talking about food, sharing a meal with others was crucial to being connected to family and community. We made the choice to include fish in our diet.
When Chelsea and Sacha were in school they heard from their science/health teachers that being a vegetarian meant you could not be physically or mentally strong. The other children looked at them knowing that wasn't true, because Chelsea and Sacha did not fit that description. Neither of our children cared to correct the false statement. Instead they sat back and trusted who they were.
In the exact same class the students had to record what they ate and calculated their protein intake. Chelsea and Sacha were told they had too much protein in their diets. Considering they ate dairy products and eggs, plus from everything I had ever read about being a vegetarian, such as we were meatless but not vegan, I never doubted their protein intake.
Over the years my habits and reasons for being a vegetarian have changed and deepen. I am not on a bandwagon about why I don't eat meat... My children and French Husband share my thoughts... we are this way period. Will any of us ever eat meat? I don't think so, but life is full of surprises, and eating or not eating meat is not one of them.
Chelsea has been asked, "Don't you miss not eating meat?" In which she has said, "How can I miss something I have never had?"
Sacha has tried meat two or three times, much to my brother's triumph, but he does not eat meat, and considers himself a vegetarian.
This morning while Sacha was doing his daily pull ups he said, "No steroids, no vitamins, no protein drinks, mostly greens, rarely junk food... thanks mom for showing me a healthy way."
I looked at that muscled arm and was pleased to know that I had given him something to honor.
On a scorching summer day, water, ice cold water smooths the dry spot.
My mother who disapproves of soda pop and bottled water, has a way with serving ice cold water to the many grandchildren that gather at her home.
My Mother takes out her large glass water fountain, layers it with ice, sliced lemons, chopped cucumbers, and fresh mint from her garden and sets it outside. Sometimes she adds halved strawberries to it as well.
Outside under the tree, on a rickety wooden table sets the water fountain.
Sacha's rooster, (or is it a chicken?) pecks at the grass.
Cups are stacked on the bottom shelf for easy serving.
Glasses can be used, but as some of the grandchildren are little, plastic is often used.
A white linen with lace is used to spruce up the everyday occasion of thirst, and to add a touch of old fashion sweetness to the day.
My mother's way with seeing that no detail is overlooked, and how she can appreciate beauty in everyday moments, has wrapped my memories of childhood in a bundle of joy.
A new twist to the lemonade stand.
Did you ever have a lemonade stand?
In a five gallon infusion jar layer it with:
Add ice, about five inches thick,
Then lightly cover the ice with whole mint leaves, chopped cucumbers, sliced lemons and strawberries.
Repeat the layers until you reach the top. Then add water until the half way mark. Let it sit for an hour or more. Add water as needed.
This is a repost from 2011...
simply because when Summer comes
I miss being back home the most.
A bit of Classic French: Click on any of the Following to take you to France:
Okay, it is the season of a million emails per day asking:
WHAT-WHERE-HOW-TO DO in
So every now and then I am going to add some favorites.... first listen to old French Music to set the mood:
I added the best link last....
Wine ... French... Tours
France would not be French without a baguette and cheese...
Zotter's Chocolate Mr. Zotter covered in Chocolate.
Every Saturday I focus on a different artist that I admire. From potters to painters, chefs to collectors, seamstress to songwriters, lifestyle to lovers... anyone who set the paintbrush, pastry brush, hands and heart on fire to create.
Those who inspire art to flow where it may.
I had the awesome experience of visiting Zotter's Chocolate factory with my Austrian friends Lieselotte and Dieter. The creative, brilliant, talented Mr. Zotter has created a chocolate factory equally if not deliciously real to Willy Wonka's.
"Zotter says: "If you are looking for the same old boring chocolates loaded with artificial flavours and colours, then please move along. There is nothing to see here. We make all our own chocolate, from bean to bar, using only the very best ingredients. The way all chocolate should be made. Artificial flavours, colours & preservatives will never find their way into our chocolate."
"Zotter chocolate comes in many sizes, shapes and flavour combinations. Each one is made with love and care using only the finest Organic and Fairtrade ingredients."
French Husband and our friend Lieselotte. French Husband was out of control. He sampled every single Zotter chocolate twice or more than that. He was a very happy camper. I have to say so was I. Though I could not keep up with tasting. I daresay there was enough to sample for a lifetime... over three hundred samples in melted, chipped, bar, powder, bean, conche... it was surreal. Literally more than I could take in.
Zotter makes 50,000 chocolate bars a day.
Zotter's melted chocolate sample.
There were several of these melted chocolate stations to try. Isn't that fountain clever with the bent spoons?!
"Chocolate has come a long way in the past few years, no longer is it acceptable to mix inferior cocoa beans with chemical flavour enhancers and market bland chocolate. As people begin to understand the nature of chocolate, so their expectations begin to rise. Not everyone can travel to the ends of the earth to discover new cocoa plantations but you can still explore the rich diversity the world of chocolate has to offer."
"We created the Labooko range to allow you to experience the delights of the cocoa forests and discover for yourself the taste and smell of cocoa. Come with us and explore the regions and see how they influence the nature of the chocolate."
"On the front of each pack you will find the origin of the cocoa and the percentage of cocoa used. Inside there are a few tasting notes and little more information about the cocoa."
Zotter's chocolate factory is full of humor, delight, witty wonder... and incredible taste.
Hand's down some of the best delicate chocolate I have ever had.
"Zotter's Hand-Scooped bars are hand-made. Each bar is lovingly crafted on specially made tables and contains, one, two or even three layers.
"We only use the very best of natural ingredients, so you can be sure that there are no artificial colours, flavourings or preservatives in our chocolate. We make everything, starting with the cocoa bean, all under one roof. That way we know that every bar bearing our name conforms to the very highest quality standard."
"The Olmec & Mayans understood the value of chocolate. A potion of great power and importance that was often used in ceremonies to celebrate life & fertility.
We have gone back to the origins of chocolate to develop our range of drinking chocolate. Using some of our best cocoa beans, we have paired them with herbs & spices to reinstate drinking chocolate to its rightful place in society.
Our drinking chocolate comes in 20g bars that you simply drop into hot milk, wait for them to melt and then whisk. Pure chocolate heaven in a cup.
Whether in a café or at home, Zotter drinking chocolate has secured its rightful place among the chocolate Olympians.
You can buy our drinking chocolate online by clicking here."
(Text via Zotter's website)
A sample of Zotter's clever artful packaging.
The variety, style, shapes of chocolates Zotter had is mind blowing.
Just to name a few of the various chocolates Zotter offers.
To find out more (Click on any highlighted link to go to Zotter's site).
Chocolate Shots! I brought some home for Sacha. He went crazy.
(Zotter's Chocolate Milk, giving credit to the cow.)
To find out more (Click on any highlighted link to go to Zotter's site):
Vienna is more than that, of course it is.
That is IF you can pull yourself away from the siren's call.
Vienna for beginners...
Coffee houses are part of the cultural experience.
We drank and ate some.
With each step, came another coffee house.
Or another authentically charming place with the "feel" that chanted,
"A must, you must, Vienna wouldn't be Vienna if you didn't?!"
We dove in quite often.
Trzesniewski was created in the beginning of the 1900s.
Bite size open face sandwiches.
With toppings as homey as:
Anchovy for Yann,
Teeny tiny beers.
And here I can honestly say,
Those teeny tiny mugs of beer were called,
Around the corner, several steps away, not enough to work up a sweat, where guilt nor fear of another kilo gained, Demel's,another historical coffee house, sang to the tune of violet and pistachio.
Add home made whipped cream just to say,
"Corey, have you heard of waltzing?"
Hand made ice cream:
with coffee whipped cream,
Carmel harden glaze with
sinfully soaked prunes.
Tell me how could I deny such a partner?
Baby let's waltz the next time we are in Vienna.
Thank you Merisi for your friendship, generosity, and such fun loving photos.
with homemade whipped cream.
Red finger nails and a polka dotted dress that is the flavor of feeling young at heart.
Golden sunlight is chilled champagne on a late spring afternoon.
Window shopping in French is called, "Licking the windows".
Merisi and Yann do not like to shopping, licked their ice creams instead.
When Merisi asked for violet ice cream at Demel's, I thought she was teasing.
With my first taste of violet ice cream I was transcended to the river bank of Provence.
When I return home I will dream of violet ice cream.
Yann asked for, "Vanilla and Rose Rum Raisin."
Imagine the taste of Rose Rum.
On the window sill two dried pomegranates and a vase with white lilac.
My mother's home is flavored with red love pomegranate,
and children licking chocolate chip cookie dough from the bowl.
Annie is the flavor of stuffed grape vines and holy water.
Wearing red influenced my mood.
I had a taste of Greek olive oil, and I could taste the color green.
It surprised me when I said out loud, "It tastes like the color green."
While the others talked, I thought about color as taste.
Flavor of the day:
Living out loud.
The taste of black doesn't whet my appetite.
I'll keep it in my closet.
Oh that floor.
Oh that taste.
Red polka dots.
Waking up to a new aroma.
Is it spring?
Was it Demel's violet ice cream?
It was the taste of gratitude.
Our friend Merisi could not spoil us anymore than she has... for breakfast she made palatschinke or crepes. The word crepe is derived from the Latin crispa, meaning "curled". Merisi's palatschinkes are perfectly curled.
Served with Austrian's best apricot jam.
Personally I think Merisi is trying to stuff us so that we cannot fit out the door! Actually that is my wishful thinking. Merisi is an excellent cook. Her hands dance in the kitchen to Italian music with Austrian notes so delicate and pure, with a soft shoe tempo from the States
Filled with happiness.
Lasting in friendship and goodness.
Savoring every moment.
I am in Vienna. Coffee is not my thing. Merisi, my Austrian friend who writes a blog about coffee houses (amongst other things) in Vienna... So it makes sense, that the moment I arrived we went to Demel's, one of the oldest coffee houses in Vienna.
Well, dang. Let's just say the moment my foot entered Demel's I fell hard for coffee. And not just any coffee, because nobody makes coffee like what I have tasted in Vienna. Except for the coffee I had in China and another time in L.A with Diogenes!
After walking around the city for several hours that felt like ten minutes, I told Merisi that Vienna looked like a larger scale Prague. Without batting an eye Merisi said, "Your right, but don't write that on your blog."
At Demel's they had a large sculpture like meringue topping that looked like Marie's Antoinette's hair piece. Unreal, beautiful and puts a new spin on; "Let them eat cake."
Did you know that brioche, croissants, pain au chocolats, etc. etc. all things "Viennoiserie" are symbolic, ultra French symbolic, started in Vienna?
Oh France... Marie Antoinette and Viennoiserie... both had their start far from Paris. I won't mention the amazing Austrian wines. Gulp. I feel guilty even writing it, as if I am having a love affair. Oh la la. If there is a brocante in Vienna I am doomed.
As we walked past Demel's to Cafe Central thunder roared, cracked and my hair swirled high and about, instantly a song came to mind: "Brown paper packages tied up with string...".
fame restaurant bistro
In front of the gare du Nord train station.
Full of wonderful posters of a time gone by. Autumn theme mosaique floor, enourmous floral arrangements, black tie waiters with long white aprons. I adore this French atmosphere:
Seek it out,
soak it up,
in the musical parole of French.
We stopped in for a chocolate before heading to the airport.
23 rue de Dunkerque
Open everyday non stop 7 until midnight.
I've noticed something recently about dining in France.
You see, I like to pride myself by saying, "I am observant. I notice little, the most unimportant details when many do not." This is not a favorable quality to have. In my case noticing details can appear that I have anal tendencies. And I do. So lately, I have been trying to let things be. Notice them but not reacting to them. It isn't easy to let things be when they are not the way I think they should be.
After twenty some years of living in France I realized the other day a detail that had slipped by my attention.
In France, when one sits down to have a meal one is not to grab the napkin and put it on one's lap. Instead one waits, until the first plate is served. Then at that point one takes the napkin, placing it on their lap.
How did that detail slide by me for all these years? I have ruined my children's future lunch interviews for life (I like to exaggerate this is a fact.).
Have you ever noticed that our past experieces can blind us to what is really evident? I have taken my napkin off the table and put it on my lap as I was taught to do since childhood.
Oh my faux pas number one in a million... but here is the best deal yet... what one hasn't known doesn't hurt them, especially if it is a napkin amongst family and freinds.
Thick rich hot chocolate.
When the hot chocolate pot came out with the spoon standing straight on like a flower in a vase, I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
Drinking it was impossible, so I ate it.
Oh French cafe how I will never ever tire of you.
Ah the pleasure of taking France in over food and drink.
To stop at a cafe, sit back, and be part of the scene.
Hemingway, Sand, Monet, Cezanne...
Nicoise salad, pomme frites, moutarde...
Black beret, glass of wine and the Marseillaise.
I mustn't forget a baguette and wine.
Breakfast, lunch, coffee, goutee (mid afternoon snack), aperitif, dinner-
With increasing mouthfuls of sweetness ends with dessert.
Full circle beginning to end
one pleasure after another.
I brought in the over stuffed pink plastic bag of weeds that I had pulled up from my walk. Feeling like Santa Claus I beamed as I plunked it down on Annie's lap.
She giggled believing that the overstuffed pink plastic bag of weeds were 100 percent edible. I had to remind her that this was my first solo attempt pulling edible weeds. She swooshed her hand, as if to say nonsense to my doubt.
We started sorted through the pink plastic bag. I pulled up the weeds with the roots, later I discovered this makes for more work. A fourth of the sack confirmed my doubt, we threw them away. The others I cut off the roots, sorted through the sticks, grass, and a few dried leaves. Then I washed and rewashed the edible weeds.
Annie with her heaping edible weeds. It was if I offered her a little baby Jesus in velvet shorts.
(When in France when something you eat is delicious, French Husband says, "C'est le petit Jésus en culottes de velours - Like baby Jesus in velvet shorts." Honest to God, that is what he says... I guess it could be better translated as: "Oh My God, this is good!" Obviously, we didn't have the same Catholic upbringing. Jesus never wore velvet shorts in my church.)
Pissanli or dandelion, and *osez which means "dare" in French, which I find funny, "Do you dare eat this?" I do not know what osez is in English. I also picked fennel. These three edible weeds I am sure of... the other ones that are edible I am not so good as finding... yet.
*Correction: Nancy Ravisé-Noel said:
Annie instructed me to put three fourths of the edible weeds into some boiling water. Edible weeds boil like spinach, they reduce tremendously in size. I put them in a pan of boiling water and turned them gentle time and time again. The weeds cooked about ten minutes. Then I put them in a drainer for over thirty minutes.
The lighter leaf is osez. The brown water (the edible weeds were clean) was dumped into the sink.
The rest Annie had me chop finely, adding garlic, parsley, olive oil and vinegar.
Linda wrote in yesterday's comment section: "I'm convinced that you could eat a rubber tire if you put enough garlic and butter ..."
Isn't that true?
And Mardog asked in the yesterday's comment section, "How much does this weed cost?"
Now are you going to pick some weeds for dinner?
2011 Wasn't that yesterday? I am beginning to think that when I close my eyes a whole century goes by, and then I wake up to today. Odd.
Anyway in 2011 I wrote a post about Annie and her weed salad. I am reposting it here now.
Yesterday on my walk I noticed those weeds underfoot... I thought of Annie, how she loved to walk, did so every day until recently. I thought about how she collected her "weeds" for her salad and to cook them as well. I thought about how the weeds of spring are in full force and Annie is sitting in her home not able to pick them.
So today I took a plastic bag with me to collect weeds....
But first her is Annie's Weed Salad Story (how many of you remember it?)
My friend Annie makes weed salad.
She gathers the weeds in a field.
She eats them.
And tells me, "..they are good for you, high in vitamins."
Weeds that I walk on without given them a thought.
Weeds with names such as:
Salade de Chasseur, or Hunter's Greens in English.
Fenouil, or Fennel's first shots. Not to be confused with older, later in the season's more substantial growth.
Pissanli (I won't tell you what that sounds like in French... oh dang I have to tell you... It sounds like Peeing in the Bed!) better known as: Dandelion! Bitter is what it is!
And the fourth cutie weed... Much to my shame, I forgot its name.
I went over to Annie's yesterday to cut her hair.
Entering her kitchen there was an overwhelming garlicky aroma.
Annie told me she had made her Weed Salad. I tasted her weeds before without seasoning, and it was not my favorite. Annie reassured me, "...I know you don't like my wild salad...."
"You mean weed salad?""
"Yes, but you should taste it with my vinaigrette."
"Is garlic the main ingredient?"
She laughed, "Can you smell it?"
Annie collects the weeds, then trims, washes and seasons them:
Olive oil, salt, apple vinegar and a fist full of crushed garlic.
I love garlic. I have heard the the reason escargot tastes good is because of the butter and garlic. Weed salad falls in the same catagory. The garlic won me over.
Annie was happy that I am now a fan of her weed salad. I'll never walk on a weed again without my tastebuds watering.... well, that is if garlic dressing is close behind.
Tomorrow I will fill you in on my adventure I should have smoked some!