Why is it that when something bad is happening everything around looks so incredibly beautiful? Why does life appear fuller and deeper? It is as if the "bad thing" slaps the taste buds into appreciating the smallest distinctions. Ah life's subtle variations are easy to swallow, and made whole by hints of complex flavors.
Photo: A glass of red wine in France last autumn.
When life throws you a lemon catch it.
In a saute pan swirl chopped garlic and walnuts. Which will give them a chance to share perfumed notes with one another.
When the two are golden brown let a river of cream flow over them. Though before the cream should start to boil add the juice of the lemon that you caught- nice and steady as not to curdle the cream and spoil the fun.
As the cream thickens toss in spoonfuls of freshly grated Parmesan and a half of a spoon of grated lemon rind.
Serve it over hot al dente pasta and have a loaf of crusty bread to soak up every ounce of the lemon walnut sauce.
Exact measurements are not might style, thought I figure if the ingredients are fresh it seldom matters.
Photo: French Menu dated 1898, vintage wine Grand Ordinaire 1891.
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French Husband's woke me up in the middle of the night and asked, "Where are all the guests going to sit Saturday night?"
"There not." I yawned and rolled over... and then my head started spinning with details. I sat up stressing about food preparations, floor plan, folding napkins... music...what should I wear? Do I have 50 dessert plates?
I kicked French Husband..."Thanks, now I cannot go back to sleep!"
55 Zucchini at least...
3 Kilos Walnuts (Thank you Aunt Louie!)
45 Tomatoes,
5 Kilo Smoked Salmon,
Buy Blinis.
Cream fraiche a truck load.
15 Baguettes.
6 Kilos Shrimp (lemons... parsley...)
Assortment of Cheese.
150 Large Cannoli,
Green beans with sesame (How many green beans?)
20 Artichokes cut in fourths.
10 Garlic heads,
20 Shallots,
50 Dried Tomatoes,
6 Kilo Quinoa,
2 Kilos Sliced Almonds,
Strawberry Cakes, whipped cream... or should I have one Chocolate? Pavlova?
10 Bottles of Champagne, 20 bottles of red wine,
Bar stuff...umbrellas, cherries... no no no ...stay with wine and champagne forget hard liquor. Perrier and juice wine and champagne. Yes that is good.
Three type of glasses. 150 glasses?? Should I use plastic, not I cannot use plastic, yes you can use plastic, no I have never used plastic, well this is a good time to start...
50 Dinner Plates (do I have 50 dessert plates? Paper! Oh God gross, now you are really out of control. Stop it. Paper is practical. I am not practical. Maybe you should be. I don't want to be. Imagine the dishes baby?)
Napkins...paper...what color, what theme?
Music ... call Philippe (our friend the salsa dancer.)
Candles!
Where are the guest going to sit??? I kicked you know who again.
Yesterday as I went to the market to buy eggs, milk, cheese, tofu and vegetables I had every intention to take photos of the radishes, clementines, and collard greens until my taste buds caught sight of the bakery. Within seconds my good intentions took a back burning as my mouth watered for just one bite... a bite of chantilly beats plain white tofu any day.
Doesn't the photo up above called a religieuse remind you of Pierrot ? I think they should change the name don't you?
In the States some of the classic baked goods are chocolate chip cookies, apple pie, glazed donut, chocolate cupcake with sprinkles, strawberry shortcake, pop tarts... pineapple upside down cake!
In France the classic pastry names alone makes a person's head spin! The desserts have names such as... opera, tropizenne, castel, millefeuilles, baba au rhum, eclair au chocolat ou cafe...
Not only are the French array of sweet tooth fantasies stunning behind the glass case, they are undeniably delicious too. Not to sweet and prepared to perfection. When you purchase a pastry in France it is wrapped up in a box with a bow, or if it is a croissant, pain au chocolat, or escargot it is put into a little paper bag.
A small petite four is wrapped up and tied with a red ribbon. I love how the French pleat the paper when they wrap their packages. It is their way with details that I find delightful to notice.
At the end of dinner when the dessert tray is brought out it is French custom to serve the oldest woman first, then so on and so forth to the youngest girl at the table. Then the tray is served to the oldest man and so on and so forth to the youngest boy.
I remember when we lived in Paris twenty years ago, the dessert tray was filled with many "petit four." But when we moved to the south of France the dessert was a large tart or a chocolate wonder of a surprise. Either way it was never disappointing.
Ah the stories I could tell about dinners and the dessert trays! But I will leave those for another day...maybe tomorrow.
French Husband prefers chocolate, the more chocolate the better. If it says chocolate then it is a sure bet that French Husband has his eye on it. Which is fine because...
Sacha prefers tarte au fraises or tart au framboise, and often that is the first to go when the dessert tray is passed around. Being the youngest and a boy doesn't leave you much choice when it comes to the French dessert tray. Maybe that is why Sacha doesn't have a sweet tooth?
Chelsea prefers millefeuille. Usually if there is a dessert left over after dinner it is a millefeuille. Not that it isn't a wonderful creation of flaky pastry and cream, it is just in the world of desserts it isn't the first choice of many.
Because of the French culture hierarchy of who picks first off the dessert tray Sacha and Chelsea have figured how to barter and trade...
Chelsea: "Okay, I'll take the tarte au fraise for you when it is my turn and trade you for the millefeuille that certainly will be the only thing left on the tray when it is your turn."
Sacha the natural born feeling type and worrier, "Thank you Chels but what if there is an apricot tart or something left over that you don't like?"
Chelsea the born manager of how to handle sticky situations: "Then the tart au fraise is mine."
As for me I prefer Choux avec chantilly which reminds me of my Mother's famous cream puffs.
Dear Reader,
I have saved the best for last, one sweet taste to start your day. Trust me I am not cruel, I know you cannot taste this chocolate sweet no matter how you lick the screen... I have found another way to treat your tastebuds. Enjoy!
click here: Make sure to watch it to the end... it is delicious!
Kisses, Tongue in Cheek
Photos: Just desserts.
Carrot Ginger Soup
Take as many carrots as you can in two hands, take their hats and coats off and put them into a nice bath of cold water, turn up the heat and let them dance.
Introduce them to an exotic new partner named Ginger Fresh.
Let them each bring a friend...Carrot will invite Lemon because she is a tart and full of spunk! Surely Fresh Ginger will bring Curry because he is easy to blend, and has a subtle softness about him.
Don't forget to serve white wine that night, it aids the conversation.
Add a bouquet of laurel, celery and onion let them do the tango in a hot pot.
Blend the music smooth and lace it with cream.
Note: Matchmaking is brewing...I'll give you a clue.... Many of you have asked if French husband has a brother. He doesn't but he does have a nephew. Very single, very handsome. I said that on my blog several months ago. Well to cut to the chase...Miss Eva from Sunny Side-Up (not her real name...I'm not that revealing....) is flying across the big blue to meet him. Carrot Ginger Soup!
Thursday my home because Matchmakerville, do you want to be a fly on the wall? Come on you know you do!!
Have you ever been to Fauchon in Paris? The first time I went to Fauchon's was over twenty years ago. At that time it was the fore runner of designer grocery shopping. Where the salesclerks wore white gloves. Where if you weren't carrying a "Kelly bag" and wearing an Hermes scarf you felt out of place. At Fauchon's you could order any type of food, from anywhere in the world, and it would be yours, in a black and white Fauchon sack, in less than 24 hours.
Fauchon use to have a trademark style about it. An elaborate, chic, country flare style. Where antique wooden tables held edibles that were lavishly stylized. Such as eggs balancing a mile high, or exotic fruit pouring out of a cornucopia, with its perfumed air tempting you. Or expensive delicacies that made your eyes pop out of your head from curiosity. You couldn't touch anything. A salesclerk would take your order. He would wrap carefully each item in tissue paper, as if it were the queen's jewels. Though most customers sent a list and had it delivered.
But times have changed... Fauchon is as chic as ever before, but with a more welcoming twist to it. Where tourists can walk-in, and eat sushi, as if it were a baguette with Camembert at the local bar. The interior has been renovated into a sleek, contemporary haven...where you can buy designer, ready-to-eat, on-the-spot, go-go-food.
At first I thought Fauchon had lost it's soul...it's personality, until...
When we were in Paris last week, Chelsea and Sacha took a peek into Fauchon. I noticed the two of them starring at a bushel of apples. As if the apples were golden and not as in Delicious, but rather real gold?!
Fauchon's apples stole their heart. They stood gawking at them. I thought to myself, "Am I missing something? Apples? What gives? I mean here we are in Paris, at Fauchon, and I thought their taste buds would burn for a petite four or something exotic, like I don't know what, but never did I think they would swoon over apples?"
"Honestly God, is my child starring at the basket of Fauchon's apples?" I asked myself.
I was certain I was going to drool a puddle of embarrassment if he continued to stare at them. So I tapped on the window and shook my head like only a Mother could do, and raised my hand, like Hello? Apples!
Sacha later told me the apples were each stamped with an intricate golden seal that said, "Fauchon." "They looked so cool!" He beamed.
Oh la la Fauchon is still at it, it can take a simple apple and make us think we are Eve in the Garden of Eden. Tempting us mortals into thinking it is heavenly!
Photos: Taken on the outside of Fauchon's looking in at Chelsea and Sacha.
Note: I thought about asking the driver if I could borrow his truck and do a little antiquing while in Paris.
The end of the year. The last day of 2007. The eve of new beginning. What are your New Year promises? Is it fair of me to ask you since I do not know what mine will be!
Some of my New Year promises I have kept, though most were broken by the end of the week... The ones I did manage to keep have stayed with me. Well actually only one New Year promise has stayed with me... wearing a seat belt.
Let's make a toast to the New Year.
May our glasses never be empty.
May we know we are loved.
At the end of the day may our glass be full of hope.
May whatever comes our way lead us to be a better person.
Photos: From Melaine's party.
When I was nineteen I went to live in a Benedictine Monastery in New Mexico. As the monastery was semi cloistered each community member was assigned a task to do when they arrived to help maintain the monastery and partake in community life.
The Abbot asked me if I knew how to cook. I lied and said yes.
You see right before he asked me if I liked to cook, he asked the other young woman who arrived at the same time as I did to the Abbey, what she like to do? The young woman replied that she liked to sing and play the guitar. The Abbot said she could play with the other musicians at the liturgy. Though the laundry room needed helpers, so when she wasn't playing during liturgy she could assist in the laundry room. He then looked at me.
Ironing and I were not the best of friends... I feared I would get stuck ironing. The Abbot didn't ask me want I liked to do...all he said was, "Do you like to cook?" I thought cooking was far better than being in the laundry room. My first sin at the monastery was I lied, "Yes, I love to cook."
The Abbot loved to eat meat...barely cooked meat at that. I was a vegetarian. When he showed me the kitchen I noticed three things: 1) There was a walk in cooler full of meat. 2) The only vegetables were canned. 3) The professionally equipped kitchen was on the top floor of the Abbey and overlooked the grounds.
The Abbot handed me a book titled, "Sugar Blues" and said, "No sugar is allowed, except for birthday cakes for the members of the community."
"No sugar?" I asked.
"No sugar." He said.
"Is honey or fructose, or natural sugar in fruit, consider sugar?" I asked.
He looked at me as if I was trying to be smart, though in the corner of his eye I saw a small twinkle, he said, "No white sugar."
I knew better, I don't know why I did, but I pushed it a bit further by asking, "Is brown sug....." But before I could utter the the ending to sugar, he gave a stern look and said, "No white or brown sugar."
I didn't dare ask about tofu.
I knew the Abbot and I were going to be the reason for many hours of prayers for patience.
One of the many pleasure of working in the kitchen in the Abbey was that I got to drive into Santa Fe once every two weeks to go grocery shopping. Most of the members in community never left the Abbey unless to visit home once a year, or for a doctor's appointment if needed.
On those outings I bought kitchen supplies that weren't delivered to the Abbey, and I was able to buy sugar if a cake needed to be baked. I loved when it was someone's birthday and I got to make a cake. Especially if they asked for Chocolate. If they didn't ask for Chocolate, I would ask them if they were trying to make me hate my job or just torture me for the fun of it? I told them that God smile when Chocolate was being used in our kitchen and that the angels would guide them from harm.
They usually let me have my way. I was after all the youngest in community, and they loved doing acts of Christian charity even if that meant, letting me make a chocolate cake for them on their birthday, even if they didn't like chocolate.
Actually Jack (a community member of the Abbey, and my superior in the kitchen) made the rare chocolate birthday cakes... I helped by licking the bowl and washing the pots and pans.
More stories of the monastery in the months to come.
Side notes: The nun in the photo is not me. Though it seems we had something in common.
Vegetable soup:
One onion, two turnips, a bunch of carrots, two leeks, a few collard leaves, one potato, the heart of the celery, two cups of white wine (one to drink and one for the pot,) a few sage leaves...
Several different hunks of cheese.
Loaves of crusty bread.
Cold, cold, cold day outside.
A good book and a hand made blanket to wrap around your knees.
A roaring fire, music (not opera) and the twinkling of the Christmas tree's lights.
Lovely weekend.
Note: As we do not have a TV (by choice) I have never watched Seinfield. Today while looking up "soup" on YOU TUBE I found this clip...Man, did I miss out of some good soup or what?
MN sent me this clip: A French Seinfield: La Soupe aux Choux.
Layers of sinful heaven,
shared by two,
taste better.
What is your downfall?
Photo: Trio of chocolate on a thin meringue crust, sits happily on a flow blue antique dessert plate.
