Okay, more getting nourishing things into un-suspecting children. I really did a doozy on them last night. My first veggie burgers. Oh, I've made Erick's cereal gallettes many times (5 flakes, grated cheese, chopped onion, herbes de Provence, eggs, salt, fried in olive oil and served with soy sauce). But this time I worked with what was in the house:
Camargue red wild rice (about 2 cups cooked went in)
my last evening's lentils (lentils, onion, garlic, carrots, a touch of cloves and curry) - about one cup
my other last evening's walnut sauce (walnuts, almonds, garlic, olive oil, water, salt) - 1/4 cup, that's all that was left.
grated gruyère cheese, - a good handful with a bit more by special request from Leo
eggs (three)
more minced garlic (onions would be picked out by Jonas)
salt
I tried frying it in oil and it all fell apart, so, I added some whole wheat flour as a binder and tried again.
Perfect! They even looked like burgers. And yes, in this at least half-way American household (living in Avignon, mostly French, but...) ketchup was on the table. What can I say? I've raised ketchup (organic when possible) eaters, not mustard folk. I know, I'm abérrante. I've already shocked the new beau with such glaring lack of class (hey, I do well on other fronts, but well, isn't ketchup a vegetable? Lysine any one?).
Result -- they loved them! Even Jonas! I kept the recipe a secret though. No allowing for potential dissention in the ranks.
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Bedside Readings
This winter I've been working my way through Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and Joan Gussow's This Organic Life.
They are inspiring, but daunting, examples of what I would like to be able to do but am not sure I'm completely capable of putting into place. Self-sufficiency, growing your own food, raising chickens and turkeys, patronizing the local markets and farms, keeping to a healthy, local diet respectful of the food chain, the environment, and yourself.
From Barbara Kingsolver I wonder if I could raise turkeys? Learning to eviscerate them, pluck them, etc., doesn't particularly phase me, I'd be more worried about the abundance of hawks I see in the neighborhood feasting upon them before myself. However would the food needed to keep them going be more expensive than themselves in the end? I create lots of good scraps -- which have been going into the compost -- but I've not a huge garden, nor funds for lots of feed corn (which I'd want organic in any case, right?) and there are quite a number of dogs in the area...
Joan Gussow goes on quite a bit about her success with sweet potatoes. And yes, I love these too. Could I manage to plant them when the ground is 70 degrees F and keep them in a back room at 60 degrees afterward? Am I sufficiently organized to do this alone?
At this point I've a strawberry patch, some garlic planted I hope for the spring, some lettuce plants, my herbs, and hopes to clear some more of the back garden to plant more this spring. However, as I rent my home every summer, it's not easy to plan a vegetable garden when you'll not be here.
At JP's? But that's pretty iffy, and I'm not there that much and so wouldn't be able to truly care for it.
What I seek is coherence, balance, investment, ownership, pleasure, nourishment, enrichment for my children and myself... And the fun of trying something, discovering how.
I'll see what I'm capable of. Before me I've a couple weeks of down time. The kids are with Erick, JP away, and my garden is staring me in the face. If not now, when?
They are inspiring, but daunting, examples of what I would like to be able to do but am not sure I'm completely capable of putting into place. Self-sufficiency, growing your own food, raising chickens and turkeys, patronizing the local markets and farms, keeping to a healthy, local diet respectful of the food chain, the environment, and yourself.
From Barbara Kingsolver I wonder if I could raise turkeys? Learning to eviscerate them, pluck them, etc., doesn't particularly phase me, I'd be more worried about the abundance of hawks I see in the neighborhood feasting upon them before myself. However would the food needed to keep them going be more expensive than themselves in the end? I create lots of good scraps -- which have been going into the compost -- but I've not a huge garden, nor funds for lots of feed corn (which I'd want organic in any case, right?) and there are quite a number of dogs in the area...
Joan Gussow goes on quite a bit about her success with sweet potatoes. And yes, I love these too. Could I manage to plant them when the ground is 70 degrees F and keep them in a back room at 60 degrees afterward? Am I sufficiently organized to do this alone?
At this point I've a strawberry patch, some garlic planted I hope for the spring, some lettuce plants, my herbs, and hopes to clear some more of the back garden to plant more this spring. However, as I rent my home every summer, it's not easy to plan a vegetable garden when you'll not be here.
At JP's? But that's pretty iffy, and I'm not there that much and so wouldn't be able to truly care for it.
What I seek is coherence, balance, investment, ownership, pleasure, nourishment, enrichment for my children and myself... And the fun of trying something, discovering how.
I'll see what I'm capable of. Before me I've a couple weeks of down time. The kids are with Erick, JP away, and my garden is staring me in the face. If not now, when?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Christmas Traditions
Wherever you turn the lights are blinking and the shoppers are strolling. In many a village square, school, and country barn there is a Christmas fair to tempt the generous. You can find all the classic Provençal items: pottery, honey, tapenade, olive oil, wine(s), salt mixtures, table linens, santons, ... Some are for the foodie-centric: foie gras, truffled foie gras, smoked duck breast, magret fumé, smoked salmon - both home-smoked (something Erick does brilliantly) and imported from organic producers in Ireland - eaux de vie flavored with pears, raspberries and more, vins de noix et d'orange - a classic apéritif in this world of social gatherings made by many a housewife with some sugar, fresh walnuts or bitter oranges, wine and alcohol.
The main squares of Avignon and Arles have been transformed to accommodate wooden shelters for the seasonal vendors and artisans. Chocolatiers are creating magnificent center pieces for a Christmas table, bûches de Noël in many flavors (though hazelnut cream is a local favorite), and tiny squares filled with many a flavored ganâche, caramel or almond praliné. Feast and be merry. Taste the winter cheeses imported from the Haute Savoie, the Massif Central and Normandie, made with the richer milk of the late season, aged for a month or more, these will stick to your ribs and help you get through the cold winter months!
Christmas and New Year's season is a time to prepare meals, to contemplate menus, to pre-order special items, to browse the market stands, to go through family favorites and special edition food magazines for ideas. Will this be an elegant, all-white themed party? Shall we go scrounging in the woods for greenery and make a natural garland to drape about the house? Will the weather cooperate and permit us to forage for mushrooms or truffles ourselves and add these to our festin?
At the Steiner/Waldorf school the Advent Wreath, la couronne d'Avent, is a yearly tradition. We mothers gather together at one house or another and façon then decorate these small rounds to be topped with four candles that our children know already how and when to light from class. (as an aside, the Manhattan Waldorf school [amongst others I believe] also has menoras and encourages its Jewish student body to share their songs and prayers through this winter month). But, the wreath is a Northern import (Waldorf schools being much linked to the German and Swiss worlds) and is not typically found in Provence, nor did the Christmas tree, le sapin de Noël, used to be so ubiquitous. Mistle-toe however, le gui, is a common vine in the trees that is sold in large branches on the market to hang in your foyer. Holly, le houx, is brought down from the Cévennes where it grows to large heights in that moist and somewhat higher altitude.
What you find in nearly every Provence home at Christmas is the Crêche. The Crêche focuses on the Nativity scene of Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, the ox and ass, the stable and the arrival of the three kings. There's generally an angel hovering above as well. For many, this is all you might see, but in Provence the tradition of the Santons, or little saints, is widespread. I've put a link to a fun blog that has many many photos to give you an idea. There are artist santon-makers, a guild of santon-makers, families who've made them over multiple generations, each with their own variation of what is still a very unified style and code. In all cases you will find a wide cast of common local characters: the shepherd, the blind man, the baker, the wood gatherer, the fishwoman, the local crazy man (he who has his hands in the air), the hunter, the mayor, the curate, the elegant Arlesienne, the gypsy woman, and on and on. The full cast of a local village is recreated in miniature to people a table, a shelf, and thus host and share in the birth of baby Jesus. To fill out the scene we have bridges, fountains, stables, trees, schrubs, gazebos, hills, paths... whatever's necessary to animate a village.
If you come to Provence via the Marseille Airport you can see a wonderful display of santons in the Air France departures' lounge (upstairs). Grandmothers store their collections -- gathered over their lives -- preciously, pulling them out each year and bringing in the kids to help set up the magical little world. As I mentioned in an earlier post, Jesus is not there till Christmas day (makes sense) and the three kings are placed at a distance, to slowly make their way to the stable for Kings' Day, January 6th.
Though the pastry shops have their selection of yule logs, bûches de Noël, in fact these too are imports from the North. Our local tradition is the thirteen desserts:
•fougasse,
• the four mendiants, referring to the religious orders who took oaths of poverty:
- the Augustinians symbolized by walnuts or hazelnuts,
- the Franciscans symbolized by dried figs,
- the Dominicans symbolized by raisins, and
- the Carmes symbolized by almonds
• the locally produced honey almond nougat (both dark and light),
• fresh oranges or clementines (remember, Provence has always traded with other countries on the Mediterranean, so getting these from Corsica or Morrocco is an ancient custom)
• and depending upon your village and custom: quince paste, pâte de coing, candied fruit and almond paste calissons d'Aix, a melon carefully stored from September, apples or pears, and a variety of late ripening green grapes.
Voila for a touch of Provençal Christmas...
The main squares of Avignon and Arles have been transformed to accommodate wooden shelters for the seasonal vendors and artisans. Chocolatiers are creating magnificent center pieces for a Christmas table, bûches de Noël in many flavors (though hazelnut cream is a local favorite), and tiny squares filled with many a flavored ganâche, caramel or almond praliné. Feast and be merry. Taste the winter cheeses imported from the Haute Savoie, the Massif Central and Normandie, made with the richer milk of the late season, aged for a month or more, these will stick to your ribs and help you get through the cold winter months!
Christmas and New Year's season is a time to prepare meals, to contemplate menus, to pre-order special items, to browse the market stands, to go through family favorites and special edition food magazines for ideas. Will this be an elegant, all-white themed party? Shall we go scrounging in the woods for greenery and make a natural garland to drape about the house? Will the weather cooperate and permit us to forage for mushrooms or truffles ourselves and add these to our festin?
At the Steiner/Waldorf school the Advent Wreath, la couronne d'Avent, is a yearly tradition. We mothers gather together at one house or another and façon then decorate these small rounds to be topped with four candles that our children know already how and when to light from class. (as an aside, the Manhattan Waldorf school [amongst others I believe] also has menoras and encourages its Jewish student body to share their songs and prayers through this winter month). But, the wreath is a Northern import (Waldorf schools being much linked to the German and Swiss worlds) and is not typically found in Provence, nor did the Christmas tree, le sapin de Noël, used to be so ubiquitous. Mistle-toe however, le gui, is a common vine in the trees that is sold in large branches on the market to hang in your foyer. Holly, le houx, is brought down from the Cévennes where it grows to large heights in that moist and somewhat higher altitude.
What you find in nearly every Provence home at Christmas is the Crêche. The Crêche focuses on the Nativity scene of Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, the ox and ass, the stable and the arrival of the three kings. There's generally an angel hovering above as well. For many, this is all you might see, but in Provence the tradition of the Santons, or little saints, is widespread. I've put a link to a fun blog that has many many photos to give you an idea. There are artist santon-makers, a guild of santon-makers, families who've made them over multiple generations, each with their own variation of what is still a very unified style and code. In all cases you will find a wide cast of common local characters: the shepherd, the blind man, the baker, the wood gatherer, the fishwoman, the local crazy man (he who has his hands in the air), the hunter, the mayor, the curate, the elegant Arlesienne, the gypsy woman, and on and on. The full cast of a local village is recreated in miniature to people a table, a shelf, and thus host and share in the birth of baby Jesus. To fill out the scene we have bridges, fountains, stables, trees, schrubs, gazebos, hills, paths... whatever's necessary to animate a village.
If you come to Provence via the Marseille Airport you can see a wonderful display of santons in the Air France departures' lounge (upstairs). Grandmothers store their collections -- gathered over their lives -- preciously, pulling them out each year and bringing in the kids to help set up the magical little world. As I mentioned in an earlier post, Jesus is not there till Christmas day (makes sense) and the three kings are placed at a distance, to slowly make their way to the stable for Kings' Day, January 6th.
Though the pastry shops have their selection of yule logs, bûches de Noël, in fact these too are imports from the North. Our local tradition is the thirteen desserts:
•fougasse,
• the four mendiants, referring to the religious orders who took oaths of poverty:
- the Augustinians symbolized by walnuts or hazelnuts,
- the Franciscans symbolized by dried figs,
- the Dominicans symbolized by raisins, and
- the Carmes symbolized by almonds
• the locally produced honey almond nougat (both dark and light),
• fresh oranges or clementines (remember, Provence has always traded with other countries on the Mediterranean, so getting these from Corsica or Morrocco is an ancient custom)
• and depending upon your village and custom: quince paste, pâte de coing, candied fruit and almond paste calissons d'Aix, a melon carefully stored from September, apples or pears, and a variety of late ripening green grapes.
Voila for a touch of Provençal Christmas...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
I cook
I cook and I nourish. This is an integral part of my being, of how I share with others and operate in this world. I've never made mashed potatoes from a box, nor an instant cake -- thankfully my mother didn't believe in them. For every school bake sale we pulled out the Joy of Cooking and made cookies or brownies from scratch. I don't reheat frozen pizzas and rarely use a store bought pie crust (French pâte feuilletée is the sole exception on this). Feeding my children real food from real ingredients -- the best I can obtain without too much trouble or funds -- is integral to how I'm raising them.
I am building their bodies, and their minds. Those reports from the English school system of the improved grades, concentration and behavior of children through the simple (but enormous) change of quality in their school lunches hit their mark in a person like myself. Now Jamie Oliver is attempting to convert a town in the US with one of the largest obesity percentages per capita. I wish him sincerely well, and hope that with Michelle Obama in his corner, not to mention much of the liberal media, he will succeed in shifting some towards better foods and to integrate cooking into their life. He is a far easier media celebrity to watch and relate to than Michael Pollan for the vast majority of the American population, much as I am riveted listenting to the latter speak.
During my childhood in the 1970s my parents, who both worked full-time, fed me nightly, home-made, sit-down meals. I don't remember it being onerous for either of them (they both cooked): a roast chicken or some piece of meat either broiled or quickly fried in a bit of butter, boiled vegetables -- generally two, and something starchy and white. Add to this a pitcher of whole milk for the kids and a bottle of wine for the grown-ups and you have our nightly spread.
What was once so normal is no longer the rule. It is now a revolutionary act to conscientiously feed our children. From Michael Pollan, to Joan Gussow to Jonanathan Safran Foer's new book on meat, it is becoming trendy amongst the intelligentsia to rethink our relationship to food. But, for the vast majority of individuals, cheap and easy, sweet, salty and fatty fast food still dominates the diet.
And taking time to cook. As Michael Pollan put it recently in the NYTimes, in countries where people make their own food from scratch, there is no obesity, or barely. If you had to slice, dice, soak, dry, pre-fry and final fry your French fries every time you wanted to eat some, would you eat so many as to give you cardiac failure?
So yes, I take the time to cook, and to cook from scratch. I offer this to my children, to myself, to my friends. It is time-consuming, but not in a way that is bothersome to me. I've no tv, I get my errands done as I need, my housekeeping is relatively light each week, and no, I don't work long hours at a job that requires a lengthy commute. I am coping (just barely) not doing so. Is it a sacrifice? professionally no doubt, but personally? Clearly, I've chosen this route, and so I live it. My act speaks louder than any winsome wondering words. Thus I can and do spend an hour or a bit more in the kitchen every evening to make a decent meal for the kids. I bake my bread every Wednesday/Thursday, and at least one if not two afternoons a week I prepare a batch of muffins or cereal bars.
To me it's faster than picking up Chinese or a pizza on the way home, and infinitely cheaper on the budget. My garbage is next to nothing: compost, some containers to recycle and perhaps one sac per week that actually goes to the bin.
But back to cooking, and the choice, need and desire to nourish. I like putting food in front of people. It doesn't have to be a big extravaganza -- though Thanksgiving generally is. And I do confess I enjoy getting a bit of applause for a particularly elegant dessert. It just feels right, and yes thankfully, easy, to whip out a quiche while I'm still a bit sleepy in pjs, chop some vegetables, bake a tart, set the table and then go back and take care of shower, work, tasks, children etc., knowing the arrival of my friends at noon will be delightful and easy, natural.
Politics and belief have affected what I serve my children. Of course I was influenced by my parents, but as a child of my generation, and one who reads, seeks to learn more, and operates with the local organic, agricultural world of Provence, I have gone beyond what they taught me. I cook and serve many whole grains. I bake my bread with my own starter to render it more digestible (long fermenting times). I serve lots of locally grown, in-season vegetables, with the occasional sprinkling of frozen peas in a fried rice. I get eggs from a local farmer. And, I rarely serve meat. I am not a vegetarian. I once tried to be and became quite anemic. I wasn't living in a situation apt to eat a balanced diet without meat, and neither did I have the knowledge and skills to do so. My compromise for the moment -- as for many people, this too may evolve -- is to purchase the best quality, and ideally from a local farmer who has raised his animals in humane conditions with good quality feed and local hay/foraging. This is of course not inexpensive, and thus as I mentioned, meat is a rare presence in the meals I serve the kids, no more than once a week, if that.
And so, in this fast-paced world, have I taken myself off the path to financial wealth and professional accomplishments commensurate with my fellow Princetonians? Yes, I think I have, unless a miracle happens. Who knows, maybe someday I'll be a super-famous novelist? In the meantime, by taking this other path I've chosen to place my bets on a different sort of retirement account: my and my children's physical health.
I am building their bodies, and their minds. Those reports from the English school system of the improved grades, concentration and behavior of children through the simple (but enormous) change of quality in their school lunches hit their mark in a person like myself. Now Jamie Oliver is attempting to convert a town in the US with one of the largest obesity percentages per capita. I wish him sincerely well, and hope that with Michelle Obama in his corner, not to mention much of the liberal media, he will succeed in shifting some towards better foods and to integrate cooking into their life. He is a far easier media celebrity to watch and relate to than Michael Pollan for the vast majority of the American population, much as I am riveted listenting to the latter speak.
During my childhood in the 1970s my parents, who both worked full-time, fed me nightly, home-made, sit-down meals. I don't remember it being onerous for either of them (they both cooked): a roast chicken or some piece of meat either broiled or quickly fried in a bit of butter, boiled vegetables -- generally two, and something starchy and white. Add to this a pitcher of whole milk for the kids and a bottle of wine for the grown-ups and you have our nightly spread.
What was once so normal is no longer the rule. It is now a revolutionary act to conscientiously feed our children. From Michael Pollan, to Joan Gussow to Jonanathan Safran Foer's new book on meat, it is becoming trendy amongst the intelligentsia to rethink our relationship to food. But, for the vast majority of individuals, cheap and easy, sweet, salty and fatty fast food still dominates the diet.
And taking time to cook. As Michael Pollan put it recently in the NYTimes, in countries where people make their own food from scratch, there is no obesity, or barely. If you had to slice, dice, soak, dry, pre-fry and final fry your French fries every time you wanted to eat some, would you eat so many as to give you cardiac failure?
So yes, I take the time to cook, and to cook from scratch. I offer this to my children, to myself, to my friends. It is time-consuming, but not in a way that is bothersome to me. I've no tv, I get my errands done as I need, my housekeeping is relatively light each week, and no, I don't work long hours at a job that requires a lengthy commute. I am coping (just barely) not doing so. Is it a sacrifice? professionally no doubt, but personally? Clearly, I've chosen this route, and so I live it. My act speaks louder than any winsome wondering words. Thus I can and do spend an hour or a bit more in the kitchen every evening to make a decent meal for the kids. I bake my bread every Wednesday/Thursday, and at least one if not two afternoons a week I prepare a batch of muffins or cereal bars.
To me it's faster than picking up Chinese or a pizza on the way home, and infinitely cheaper on the budget. My garbage is next to nothing: compost, some containers to recycle and perhaps one sac per week that actually goes to the bin.
But back to cooking, and the choice, need and desire to nourish. I like putting food in front of people. It doesn't have to be a big extravaganza -- though Thanksgiving generally is. And I do confess I enjoy getting a bit of applause for a particularly elegant dessert. It just feels right, and yes thankfully, easy, to whip out a quiche while I'm still a bit sleepy in pjs, chop some vegetables, bake a tart, set the table and then go back and take care of shower, work, tasks, children etc., knowing the arrival of my friends at noon will be delightful and easy, natural.
Politics and belief have affected what I serve my children. Of course I was influenced by my parents, but as a child of my generation, and one who reads, seeks to learn more, and operates with the local organic, agricultural world of Provence, I have gone beyond what they taught me. I cook and serve many whole grains. I bake my bread with my own starter to render it more digestible (long fermenting times). I serve lots of locally grown, in-season vegetables, with the occasional sprinkling of frozen peas in a fried rice. I get eggs from a local farmer. And, I rarely serve meat. I am not a vegetarian. I once tried to be and became quite anemic. I wasn't living in a situation apt to eat a balanced diet without meat, and neither did I have the knowledge and skills to do so. My compromise for the moment -- as for many people, this too may evolve -- is to purchase the best quality, and ideally from a local farmer who has raised his animals in humane conditions with good quality feed and local hay/foraging. This is of course not inexpensive, and thus as I mentioned, meat is a rare presence in the meals I serve the kids, no more than once a week, if that.
And so, in this fast-paced world, have I taken myself off the path to financial wealth and professional accomplishments commensurate with my fellow Princetonians? Yes, I think I have, unless a miracle happens. Who knows, maybe someday I'll be a super-famous novelist? In the meantime, by taking this other path I've chosen to place my bets on a different sort of retirement account: my and my children's physical health.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Shopping for the fall, or at least a few months.
I did my first trip to the organic wholesaler's yesterday. It was a time to invest for the year. Some things: grated cheese, quator oil (sesame, olive, pumpkin and rape seed), are truly for the year, but others will be refreshed as needed, month by month. Here's the list of what I considered necessary for my household to function. With these ingredients I've the basics for nourishing my charges daily. Considering I never buy anything packaged and prepared, it means a lot of cooking. But, when you've a house full of pasta, grains, flour, sugar, chocolate, etc., you've not the necessary ingredients to prepare a meal as needed.
Dry goods:
a case (12 packets) semi-whole wheat spaghetti - 12.60E
10 bars (200g) dark pastry chocolate - 21.70E
5kg non-bleached sugar - 9.70E
5 cases plain brown rice crackers - 22.50E
5 cases brown rice and quinoa crackers - 22.50E
3 kg pumpkin seeds - 15.36E
3 kg sunflower seeds - 10.29E
5 kg 9 grain flour - 10.15E
5 kg whole wheat flour - 6.95E
5 kg white flour - 7.25E
5 kg semi whole wheat flour - 7.00E
3 kg 5 grain flakes (oats, rice, wheat, spelt, barley) - 5.70E
a case (12 packets) lasagna noodles - 5.70E
6 litres quator oil - 45.00E
a case (6 boxes 400g) hot chocolate powder - 22.80E
2.5 kilos almonds 21.25
3 kilos chocolate chips (a splurge) 27.15E
Cleaning supplies: (I still have toilet bowl cleaner from last year, and it works very well on limestone deposits too).
5 litres concentrated dish liquid - 10.66E
5 litres concentrated liquid detergent - 15.21E
Perishables (extra to be put in the freezer):
16 packets of 200g sweet butter - 35.88E
10 kilos grated gruyère cheese - 103.50
30 eggs - 7.50
Between various storage pantries and my freezer, this will keep us for a good long while. I go through flour faster than anything else, and chocolate (brownies, muffins, etc.,). I already have stashes of basmati rice, brown rice, spelt, barley, green lentils, bulgur, nutritional yeast, linseed, olive oil, my home-made chunky tomato sauce, 6 litres of plain tomato sauce, a jar of my refreshed sourdough starter, baking soda, sea salt ... and my personal stash of black Tazo chai. Hence, a pantry now filled with what I need to make bread, soda bread, pancakes, lasagna, quiches, tarts, cookies, brownies, risottos, couscous, and much much more.
Weekly I'll purchase eggs, milk, vegetables and fruit. Occasionally a bit of ham, bacon, a chicken, and chunks of cheese. I try not to go over 20E/week, and am normally successful as long as I stick to in season.
Now, if only gas were cheaper...
Dry goods:
a case (12 packets) semi-whole wheat spaghetti - 12.60E
10 bars (200g) dark pastry chocolate - 21.70E
5kg non-bleached sugar - 9.70E
5 cases plain brown rice crackers - 22.50E
5 cases brown rice and quinoa crackers - 22.50E
3 kg pumpkin seeds - 15.36E
3 kg sunflower seeds - 10.29E
5 kg 9 grain flour - 10.15E
5 kg whole wheat flour - 6.95E
5 kg white flour - 7.25E
5 kg semi whole wheat flour - 7.00E
3 kg 5 grain flakes (oats, rice, wheat, spelt, barley) - 5.70E
a case (12 packets) lasagna noodles - 5.70E
6 litres quator oil - 45.00E
a case (6 boxes 400g) hot chocolate powder - 22.80E
2.5 kilos almonds 21.25
3 kilos chocolate chips (a splurge) 27.15E
Cleaning supplies: (I still have toilet bowl cleaner from last year, and it works very well on limestone deposits too).
5 litres concentrated dish liquid - 10.66E
5 litres concentrated liquid detergent - 15.21E
Perishables (extra to be put in the freezer):
16 packets of 200g sweet butter - 35.88E
10 kilos grated gruyère cheese - 103.50
30 eggs - 7.50
Between various storage pantries and my freezer, this will keep us for a good long while. I go through flour faster than anything else, and chocolate (brownies, muffins, etc.,). I already have stashes of basmati rice, brown rice, spelt, barley, green lentils, bulgur, nutritional yeast, linseed, olive oil, my home-made chunky tomato sauce, 6 litres of plain tomato sauce, a jar of my refreshed sourdough starter, baking soda, sea salt ... and my personal stash of black Tazo chai. Hence, a pantry now filled with what I need to make bread, soda bread, pancakes, lasagna, quiches, tarts, cookies, brownies, risottos, couscous, and much much more.
Weekly I'll purchase eggs, milk, vegetables and fruit. Occasionally a bit of ham, bacon, a chicken, and chunks of cheese. I try not to go over 20E/week, and am normally successful as long as I stick to in season.
Now, if only gas were cheaper...
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
An evening at the sea - Le Grau de Roi
A popular destination all summer long, and at a lesser rate through the year, Le Grau de Roi is the beach and beach town for Nîmois and Montpellierans. Pizza, sandwiches, shell fish, pasta and ice cream, not to mention lots of fried everything is the predominant food choice. This is a family place. Rent a tiny apartment, walk out onto the beach, and spend the day reading a novel, schmoozing, and watching the kids dig tunnels to China, sand palaces, moats by the mile. The evening can be spent wandering the neon-bedecked little streets, shopping, munching, taking in the scene. Dogs are welcome most everywhere, and kids rule.
This is a place rich in history for locals, many of whom have tales to tell of how dad first laid eyes on mom as she stepped out of the surf.
Over the past few years the tradition of the Paillote has definitely become vogue. These are temporary restaurants set up right on the beach. There are four in Grau de Roi, and others further down the coast. The fare is a bit better than in town, definitely more expensive, and you are greeted with an unrivaled view of the setting sun, rolling waves, and should the wind pick up, some tasty and crunchy sand in your soup.
The Paillotes have their own showers. Why do I bring such a random detail up? Well, if you go swimming in the evening, as I do, and wish to rinse off the scratchy layer of white salt left by this most dense of seas, the Mediterranean, it is truly necessary to take a shower before dinner. But, the city-provided showers are turned off at 8PM.
At this time of year, end of August, the sea is warm as bath water, easy to slide into with nary a glance back.
Day Two making cheese
The milking part is pleasant, warm, clean and easy -- or relatively so. Goats are clean and intelligent animals. From what I've seen of cow dairies, there is no comparison. To put it simply, tales of being shat upon, or filthy teets at a cow dairy are not exagerations. Plus they are large and stubborn animals, cows. Sheep, I'm told are quite stupid. Should your lands flood, goats will find the high land, climb a stair well or a tree, what-have-you. But sheep will simply baaaa and drown. So, here I am amidst a range of goats of different ages and races, and what a pleasure it is. They leap quickly into place for their feed and milking. They make room for you to put the suction cups on their teets. No kicking, relatively minimal farting, and perfectly at ease with the handling and manipulation of our hands upon them. The milk flows quickly and smoothly -- numerous hygienic measures are followed sensibly and not onerously -- and a short hour later, we've milked all 36 and are ready to head to the dairy.
Just a note. Before milking, the goats are given some fresh hay to pump them up a bit. Then they munch away on their grain while they are milked, and afterwards they can head out to the pasture, or eat more hay in the manger. Salt licks are on the walls in the barn. And, should you try to milk them dry, it is nearly impossible. We milk till the teets are softened and supple, but even then, if we hand-milked there would be more. So, you stop when there is far less.
Today I helped flip and return to the molds the cheeses poured into their molds yesterday morning, and already flipped once yesterday evening. I didn't maul them too badly, and after a hundred or so, the gesture began coming naturally. As with any repetitive gesture, be relaxed. Tension makes everything worse.
We then moved onto the tiny cheeses -- much appreciated by restaurants and makers of toasted goat cheese salads. Again, we had a metal guide for 90 molds. However, we had to place these 90 molds on the stainless tray before placing the guide on top. Getting the spacing right is an art, and in each instance a bit of fiddling and putting back in order necessary. With these guides, you can practically dump your curdle on top and simple smooth it around into the molds. I tried to do it a bit more elegantly than this, but truly...
Then our clean up, prepping cheeses in paper for selling to Aurelie's various clients, and back out the door. Tonight, we'll turn the tiny little cheeses I filled today. As there are 580 or so, I should get some good practice with that flipping wrist action, don't you agree?
Meantime, Filou got a nasty little weed in his paw -- what the locals call espégao, or la folle avoine -- resembling a tiny shaft of wheat. It is pointy and akin to an arrow, it wants to go in, further and further, and is terribly difficult to remove. He has had these twice in the past years in his ears, but this time it is between his toes. Shepherds are good people to bring sick dogs to. Aurelie helped me remove a bit of the points of this nasty thing, and to disinfect the wound. But, 24 hours later, he is still limping and the wound is weeping. The verdict is to keep disinfecting, and let the wound abscess to push out what is clearly still inside. If we've not accomplished this by tomorrow, I do have a veterinarian beside my home in Avignon and will see if he can help.
Mon brave chien accompanies me nearly everywhere, lying so calmly at my feet (or at the feet of the head of the household). He enjoys the goat barn and has made friends with the resident mama cat who's a master huntress of rats, rabbits, mice and more. However, when I disappear into the dairy for an hour or more, he wines at the door, not accustomed to my abandoning him in this manner. Perhaps he'll get accustomed to this just like his mistress?
Monday, August 24, 2009
Day One making cheese
I arrived early this morning to be able to spend a bit of time with Isabelle and Paul Pierre and their family before joining Aurelie (their former intern, now the resident goat-cheese maker) for the morning milking, la traite. Isabelle has just finished five days of chemo, and is clearly exhausted and much affected by this most recent round of treatments. I’d thought she was on more paliative care now, but, I suppose it is difficult for an oncologist to not wish to do the utmost with his arsenal at hand. I hope she’ll be better when I visit next week. Her weariness is deeply visible in her eyes, and in the hesitancy with which she approaches breakfast: coffee or chocolate, bread or no, jam, and which flavor. In each case her husband encourages, suggests, does for. He waits a bit, but sees that if she’s not nudged towards a choice, she’ll simply shut down and stop. She’s mentally in and out, almost mini-naps with her eyes open. As she puts it her head is dans la pâté.
And yet amidst this moment of sickness and family intimacy, I've been welcomed to share, to learn, to participate. I tell little stories, but keep them short. I'm attentive to her level of energy, and seek a smile or two, but go no further. It is more aptly a time for quiet and simply being together.
When the sound of Aurelie’s arrival reaches the kitchen, I clean my coffee cup and walk the short trip from the kitchen to the barn to watch and most importantly, to do. Aurelie is relaxed with me, at ease and pleased that I'm eager to get in and mettre mes mains à la pâtee" as we say here ("get your hands dirty" is the closest equivalent in English). I’ve watched so many times, but had never laid my hands upon the milking machines, nor the teets aka mammary glands aka breasts, called mammelles here.
The first gesture of the morning is to prepare the small mangers with yummy feed. Today it is organic corn, but normally, there is a blend of soaked corn and soaked and sprouted barley. ¾ of a coffee tin is put into each manger. Then the goats are allowed to come up to feed. They are all waiting, in their pecking order. As with many animals there is a world of hierarchy amongst the goats. The first goes up the ramp, all the way to the furthest manger (the only one open to her) and puts her head down to eat, triggering the mechanism that locks her in. The next follows suit, and the next, etc.,
The next movement is to do a quick squirt of the premier jet, putting it into a bowl that the dogs will enjoy. Then, the clean and prepped milking suction cups are attached to the teets. There is space for 12 goats at a time to feed, and 4 sets of suction cups. To each her turn. Aurelie massages the warm, firm teets to help the goats with let down. The younger goats often release their milk slowly, whereas some of the older seemed to have double the milk. Teets come in all shapes and sizes, but those of these goats were all-in-all pretty easy to place into the cups. I had memories (doesn’t every mother?) of massaging my painfully full breasts to send milk flowing into Jonas’ mouth when he was a newborn – he was a particularly bad nurser. In any case, touching and handling these goat teets felt normal and quite pleasant. Beyond helping in the milking, the goat cheese maker/shepherd also does this to better know his/her goats, with all their individual quirks. For instance, spotting a cyst requires knowing what the normal teet felt like before the cyst appeared. It is good to learn to distinguish the firmness that is a sign of full milk ducts, or simply lumpy bumps, or something to worry about etc.,
Aurelie is using the system and structure designed by Paul Pierre and Isabelle when they set up their business here twenty two years’ ago. With their design and architectural backgrounds, Isabelle and Paul Pierre were creative and originals, yet observant of known-methods. The plumbing, the flow from barn to milking station to barn, a system for soaking and subsequently straining the barley. This all takes place in the barn.
The fresh milk is then transferred to the dairy on a small trolley where it is put through a strainer into 15 litre bins. These are placed on shelves made of 1 ½ in PVC (rows of 2). Into the full bins of fresh goats' milk -- that she did not cool down -- Aurelie puts an eye dropper of rennit (6-7 drops per litre), and a ladel-full of whey from an earlier batch.
The dairy is kept at 20C (70F) and the now treated milk will sit for three days and ferment gently till the curdle is nicely taken. When ‘ready’ the curdle will be a solid mass amidst a clear liquid, with a fuzzy white skim on the surface.
My next job is to remove day-old cheeses from their molds and place them on stainless steel racks – as neatly as I can, leaving a minimum of thumb prints, rubbing off a minimum of cheese, and--as my skill-level permits--place them in neatly staggered rows. I did my best,... and gratefully, Aurelie is a very patient teacher.
While I was handling these more solid of cheeses, Aurelie was flipping out and returning to the molds the far softer and more humid cheeses from the evening before. (Goats are most often milked twice daily, and so the cheese-making can occur twice daily).
I moved my firmer cheeses to the de-humidifying room, and the molds to their large baskets to be first doused in a bath of acide de soude, and then into the dishwasher. We then hosed down and cleaned off the two meter by one meter stainless tilted trays upon which we put the cheese molds. These drain directly into open plumbing, and down the drain. In some farms, the whey and small milk solids collected in this manner are fed to pigs – a source of protein-rich liquid for their feed. Yet another example of the intelligence and non-waste possible on small, multi-animal family farms. However here, there are no pigs, and thus the whey is treated as gray water, dispersed through the septic system.
Once our sliding trays are cleaned (there are 6, but this being August, we’re nearly at the end of the season, and are using only 4), we set up the cleaned molds (those that have chilled) in rows of 5 x 6. Upon these we place the stainless grid that permits to fill many molds at once. Aurelie takes a large quart/litre sized cup and uses it to ladel the curd from the bin into the molds. However first, she has gently poured out and brushed off the excess whey and the white fuzz atop. Her cheeses will be milder in flavor if she does not include the last. With a squeegee, we finish filling through the grid – filling the molds to nearly over-flow. A couple minutes’ wait is required as the curd descends, the whey already escaping through the holds of the molds, and then we transfer the grid to the next batch of 30 molds. And so on.
This morning, August 23, we milked 36 goats and made 130 cheeses with the three-day-old curd. We filled three 15 litre bins fully, and a fourth perhaps 7/8 or 5/6 full of fresh milk. Yesterday’s milk, alongside (but distinctly placed apart) the milk from the day before yesterday are quietly fermenting away.
Immediately after the milking we cleaned and rinsed the suction cups and tubes, followed by the molds, bins, etc., A last gesture is to spray down and squeegee the terra cotta tile floor. Aurelie has prepared her packets of cheese that she distributes Monday in weekly crates of fresh vegetables and more organized by a local AMAP (farmers’ coop).
There were three of us, and two hours later, we’re free to be off to other projects. Not so bad, eh?
Sunday, August 9, 2009
A marvelous Mediterranean gathering in N. Michigan
Let it not be said that this part of the world does not know how to eat! A feast of wondrous proportions, shared by gentle and fascinating folk with the braying of happy goats and a gobbling turkey as musical accompaniment occurred Friday last. Joy, generosity, happy children, a perfect summer evening, and warmth both affective and atmospheric were the order of the day. Not a jell-o salad in sight. Garden fresh produce, lovingly wrapped pastries and grape leaf rolls. Home-made bread, local wines and rich local ice cream from a favorite source.
How precious to share such moments, and such food! And following Michael Pollan's most recent observation, those who cook from scratch don't take up two seats. But their eyes shine, and their arms reach out, and laughter is quick to come. The children explored the farm, aped animal voices, and happily ate brown bread, sweet butter, and just a wee bit of salad -- in anticipation of the ice cream of course.
Mary and Dick -- the goat cheese makers of Northern Michigan -- invited Nancy and Bill (cook and artist), Meg and Jerry (textile artists), Nel (culinary wonder and Meg's daughter), Nel's two daughters and her brother and his friend, Mary's daughter, and a few lovely other folk to partake in and share this feast. I was a last minute add-on with my boys, and most happily so.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Flavors of the Mid-West (of the US).
My kids tasted a Mid-west specialty today: sweet jell-o salads. If ever there was an oxymoron, this is one. And yet, I loved these as a kid -- no, that's too strong a sentiment to be used for such a dish... I happily served myself these rather than go for the vinegary, oily normal iceberg salads which were the other option --, and I remember the pleasure I took joining my grandmother Locket as we filled our plates at the breakfast buffets with sausage, french toast, and jell-o salad, often improved with evaporated milk and canned fruit cocktail. Well, neither the green nor the dark red version pleased my kids. It is true that they prefer their food recognizable. Having all the ingredients mixed together and indistinguishable rather took away from the pleasure of eating berries, grated carrots, pecans, pineapple, and who knows what else on their own. I consider myself rather an adept at figuring out recipes by their taste, texture and visual clues, but my kids aren’t yet food puzzle-solvers. So, having politely tasted the bits I put on their plates (I just couldn’t let such a cultural moment be passed up), they ate a bit of normal salad (green leaves and grated carrots), lasagna and garlic bread.
So yes, you can infer that though I was raised on banana and apple-laced green jello, my kids have never before had such a treat. Have I deprived them? Goodness, nothing like being back in the US for more than just a couple weeks to start seeing and tasting foods rarely glimpsed since my departure for foreign shores. Green bean and tuna casserole can’t be far off.
So yes, you can infer that though I was raised on banana and apple-laced green jello, my kids have never before had such a treat. Have I deprived them? Goodness, nothing like being back in the US for more than just a couple weeks to start seeing and tasting foods rarely glimpsed since my departure for foreign shores. Green bean and tuna casserole can’t be far off.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Money: saving it and spending it
I was a very good home economist this year, or so I believe and so my collection of monthly receipts confirms. I managed to feed my horde of 5 kids and myself mostly organic, lots of fresh vegetables, and quite a few yummy treats on an average of 200E a month or just under. I started out the year by spending a whopping 450E at the organic wholesale market on the basics, filling the larder if you will:
15 kilos of various flours
3 cases of pasta (12 packets of spaghetti, 10 bags of fusilli and 12 boxes of lasagna)
3 kilos of green lentils
5 kilos of brown rice
5 kilos of basmati rice
3 kilos of couscous
3 kilos of quinoa
10 kilos of grated gruyère cheese (which I promptly stuck in the freezer)
a case of sweet butter (ditto, into the freezer)
10 boxes of rice cakes (6 packs to a box)
3 liters of soy sauce
3 liters of cold pressed sunflower oil
3 kilos of brown rapadura sugar
3 kilos each of sunflower seeds and pumpkin seeds
a case of crushed tomatoes
a case of plain tomato sauce
a case of ketchup
a case of plain puffed rice cereal
3 kilos of 5 mixed flakes (for granola, breads, galettes, etc.,)
and 30 eggs (something I try to get twice monthly)
plus household supplies:
5 liters dishwashing liquid
5 liters laundry detergent
6 liters wc liquid
I didn't need to return to the organic wholesale market for a while after this-- flour is the only ingredient I go through really fast making weekly batches of bread, brownies, muffins, pancakes, quiche, tarts, etc.,. Come December, I started spending somewhere between 50 Euros and 100 Euros monthly on organic basics.
I then made a pass by the huge grocery store near school, Auchan, for sponges, gloves, tea and coffee, chocolate, strawberry jam, salt, dog food, etc.,
Weekly I pick up fresh fruit and vegetables from the local farm (about 15-20 Euros a trip), jars of honey from Sophie, the beekeeper (a kilo lasts a month plus with us -- at 10 Euros a kilo), and on average twice monthly I collect 8 to 10 liters of fresh raw milk from the farm down by Erick's house. This the kids drink fresh, in hot chocolate (a breakfast standard till it became simply too hot), in cereal, and when it goes off, I use it to bake muffins, cakes, biscuits, soda bread, and more.
Once every ten days or so, I fixed animal protein. I keep a stash of some bacon or ham around for quiches, fried rice, etc., and then pick up a nice chicken or rabbit, or even tasty sausages or org. hamburger to enliven meals.
My girlfriend Pascale, returning to Switzerland once monthly with her boys to see their father, brings me back huge quantities of recycled paper for the WC and paper towels. Enough to last the year, and no more than 25 Euros for the year's budget.
With the above, we made do. Dinners were variations on a theme: lots of grains, vegetables and either cheese or eggs as a protein. Breakfast was generally my slow-rising multi-grain bread, but also the occasional batch of pancakes or soda bread. They were all addicted to basic strawberry jam, so this became a weekly staple. Throughout the winter I made large batches of vegetable soups with whatever was in season. All but Leo (not a lover of soups) ate their way through onions, fennel, turnips, rutabagas, squash, cardoon, cabbage, celery root, beets and (easiest of all) carrots. Lentils were a hit with some, not with others. Quiche was a very popular option, as long as there was nothing green in it. Squash required some hiding (a great addition to mac-n-cheese!) and went into cakes and muffins as often as on the table in its more identifiable form.
The nights I just couldn't face cooking -- generally after my weekends at the winery, or a particularly long day touring with clients -- it was pasta and salad, or even bread and butter and salad, or bread with melted cheese and and slices of melon. There were no complaints from the masses.
Afternoon snacks varied from the simplest: rice cakes with jam or honey or chocolade (an organic nutella); to whatever I'd been inspired to put into the form of a muffin -- with a constant stash of turned milk or whey, baking soda, organic sugar and flour, eggs and vegetable oil, I simply played around with extras like chopped dark chocolate, bananas, apple sauce, spices and carrots, cocoa, vanilla, apricot jam... whatever was at hand and tempted me. The rare batch of brownies never lasted too long, but there I had to resist all personal temptations to add spices or coffee... my boys were inevitably terribly distressed if the flavor wasn't pure chocolate. Vanilla was the only permitted additive. Fruit, particularly as spring and summer made their appearances, was a constant. During the winter, we went through kilos of tangerines and oranges.
Lasagna was quick and easy, and I always had the ingredients on hand. Chicken with honey and spices could be stretched into at least two if not three meals.
As for drinks. I didn't buy either fruit juices or sodas, ever. It was water, raw milk and my batches of home-made syrups with the garden herbs (mint, lemon verbena, elderflowers, lemon balm) and organic sugar. I enjoyed my evening glass of wine (a benefit of having a vintner as a friend). And voila.
If there were indulgences, they were rare, but appreciated: a case of organic chocolade was an investment at nearly 50 Euros, but the kids do adore it. And I brought back stashes of Tazo black chai from the States as my morning beverage.
When I decided to limit dairy in my diet due to my constant sniffles, I purchased a case each of rice milk and soy milk, plus bars of palm oil from the organic wholesaler. The former, being simply to add to my tea or for the occasional bowl of my home-made granola, last quite a while in their sterilized containers. The palm oil is great for baking, helping my tart doughs be flaky and my chocolate cakes purer in flavor.
And now. The house is nearly empty. I put what was left of the dry goods under the stairwell and brought the perishables with me to the winery. JP and I ate the last of my two kilos of organic lamb from Gaetan's father yesterday.
Come September, I'll start over again, with a different set of boarders, my kids a year older, and perhaps a different weekly rhythm of English classes, translations... we'll see. The first year could be classified as a successful experiment in living simply yet well. Non?
Just in case you're wondering, nearly all the recipes for the above mentioned foods (and house staples) can be found in earlier blog posts.
15 kilos of various flours
3 cases of pasta (12 packets of spaghetti, 10 bags of fusilli and 12 boxes of lasagna)
3 kilos of green lentils
5 kilos of brown rice
5 kilos of basmati rice
3 kilos of couscous
3 kilos of quinoa
10 kilos of grated gruyère cheese (which I promptly stuck in the freezer)
a case of sweet butter (ditto, into the freezer)
10 boxes of rice cakes (6 packs to a box)
3 liters of soy sauce
3 liters of cold pressed sunflower oil
3 kilos of brown rapadura sugar
3 kilos each of sunflower seeds and pumpkin seeds
a case of crushed tomatoes
a case of plain tomato sauce
a case of ketchup
a case of plain puffed rice cereal
3 kilos of 5 mixed flakes (for granola, breads, galettes, etc.,)
and 30 eggs (something I try to get twice monthly)
plus household supplies:
5 liters dishwashing liquid
5 liters laundry detergent
6 liters wc liquid
I didn't need to return to the organic wholesale market for a while after this-- flour is the only ingredient I go through really fast making weekly batches of bread, brownies, muffins, pancakes, quiche, tarts, etc.,. Come December, I started spending somewhere between 50 Euros and 100 Euros monthly on organic basics.
I then made a pass by the huge grocery store near school, Auchan, for sponges, gloves, tea and coffee, chocolate, strawberry jam, salt, dog food, etc.,
Weekly I pick up fresh fruit and vegetables from the local farm (about 15-20 Euros a trip), jars of honey from Sophie, the beekeeper (a kilo lasts a month plus with us -- at 10 Euros a kilo), and on average twice monthly I collect 8 to 10 liters of fresh raw milk from the farm down by Erick's house. This the kids drink fresh, in hot chocolate (a breakfast standard till it became simply too hot), in cereal, and when it goes off, I use it to bake muffins, cakes, biscuits, soda bread, and more.
Once every ten days or so, I fixed animal protein. I keep a stash of some bacon or ham around for quiches, fried rice, etc., and then pick up a nice chicken or rabbit, or even tasty sausages or org. hamburger to enliven meals.
My girlfriend Pascale, returning to Switzerland once monthly with her boys to see their father, brings me back huge quantities of recycled paper for the WC and paper towels. Enough to last the year, and no more than 25 Euros for the year's budget.
With the above, we made do. Dinners were variations on a theme: lots of grains, vegetables and either cheese or eggs as a protein. Breakfast was generally my slow-rising multi-grain bread, but also the occasional batch of pancakes or soda bread. They were all addicted to basic strawberry jam, so this became a weekly staple. Throughout the winter I made large batches of vegetable soups with whatever was in season. All but Leo (not a lover of soups) ate their way through onions, fennel, turnips, rutabagas, squash, cardoon, cabbage, celery root, beets and (easiest of all) carrots. Lentils were a hit with some, not with others. Quiche was a very popular option, as long as there was nothing green in it. Squash required some hiding (a great addition to mac-n-cheese!) and went into cakes and muffins as often as on the table in its more identifiable form.
The nights I just couldn't face cooking -- generally after my weekends at the winery, or a particularly long day touring with clients -- it was pasta and salad, or even bread and butter and salad, or bread with melted cheese and and slices of melon. There were no complaints from the masses.
Afternoon snacks varied from the simplest: rice cakes with jam or honey or chocolade (an organic nutella); to whatever I'd been inspired to put into the form of a muffin -- with a constant stash of turned milk or whey, baking soda, organic sugar and flour, eggs and vegetable oil, I simply played around with extras like chopped dark chocolate, bananas, apple sauce, spices and carrots, cocoa, vanilla, apricot jam... whatever was at hand and tempted me. The rare batch of brownies never lasted too long, but there I had to resist all personal temptations to add spices or coffee... my boys were inevitably terribly distressed if the flavor wasn't pure chocolate. Vanilla was the only permitted additive. Fruit, particularly as spring and summer made their appearances, was a constant. During the winter, we went through kilos of tangerines and oranges.
Lasagna was quick and easy, and I always had the ingredients on hand. Chicken with honey and spices could be stretched into at least two if not three meals.
As for drinks. I didn't buy either fruit juices or sodas, ever. It was water, raw milk and my batches of home-made syrups with the garden herbs (mint, lemon verbena, elderflowers, lemon balm) and organic sugar. I enjoyed my evening glass of wine (a benefit of having a vintner as a friend). And voila.
If there were indulgences, they were rare, but appreciated: a case of organic chocolade was an investment at nearly 50 Euros, but the kids do adore it. And I brought back stashes of Tazo black chai from the States as my morning beverage.
When I decided to limit dairy in my diet due to my constant sniffles, I purchased a case each of rice milk and soy milk, plus bars of palm oil from the organic wholesaler. The former, being simply to add to my tea or for the occasional bowl of my home-made granola, last quite a while in their sterilized containers. The palm oil is great for baking, helping my tart doughs be flaky and my chocolate cakes purer in flavor.
And now. The house is nearly empty. I put what was left of the dry goods under the stairwell and brought the perishables with me to the winery. JP and I ate the last of my two kilos of organic lamb from Gaetan's father yesterday.
Come September, I'll start over again, with a different set of boarders, my kids a year older, and perhaps a different weekly rhythm of English classes, translations... we'll see. The first year could be classified as a successful experiment in living simply yet well. Non?
Just in case you're wondering, nearly all the recipes for the above mentioned foods (and house staples) can be found in earlier blog posts.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
I too once lived in Paris...
Reading the very funny list of what he might miss in Paris by David Lebovitz on his self-titled blog reminded me that yes, I too once made an attempt to fit into the Parisian way of life. I swished down the street in elegant attire. I spoke in a clipped Parisian accent. I cultivated "euhs" in my speech. I licked the shop windows lusting (ever so discreetly) after the chic (or not so) clothing inside. I walked and walked and walked and walked -- I'm not a fan of the metro-- and had the most gorgeous jambes while I lived there. I drank my coffee black and serré. I spent my spare evenings wandering the corridors of some of the world's most splendid museums, and I had my spot as a regular at my favorite brasserie (where they still remember me thirteen years later).
I most competently sought out obscure addresses with my handy Paris guide that should be replicated by every city in the world, particularly Tokyo where I believe the buildings are numbered chronologically... In thirty minutes I could arrive at nearly any destination (if I took public transport, preferably the bus).
I was pretty darned proud of myself when I took my friend's portfolios of model wanabees to the major agencies (Elite, etc.,) where I'd set up interviews carefully ahead of time. I felt elegant and well-received, and yes I was proud they were impressed by my French and my demeanor. Hey, what girl wouldn't want to feel pretty and respected at a top modeling agency? All your worst nightmares could be confirmed, or not, in such a place.
I learned to talk and argue and defend my point of view. I learned to flirt and to handle relatively aggressive male attention. But, I never learned to adjust to Parisian sidewalk behavior.
I've a theory that in Manhattan, we all walk quickly, but it's a socially agreed upon choreography of avoiding slamming into fellow pedestrians. It's a dance of running, dodging, jumping, swirling. And never, but never have I collided with a fellow pedestrian in NYC, even when I've been deep in conversation with a friend and relatively clueless to the world striding past. However, in Paris, more than once, walking abreast of a girlfriend (speaking in French mind you), I was slammed in the outside shoulder, and I mean slammed. It was frightening, shocking, disturbing, and more than a bit of, "what the????" I mean, was I taking up too much sidewalk or what?
Yes, I can move quickly, and be impatient, but I'm not rude. I value being considerate... which is a bit out of place in Paris, though not always. If you are not polite and say Bonjour Monsieur, or Madame, or Mademoiselle, you will not get good service and you will most definitely be in the position of the rude and boorish one.
Meeting students at my graduate program, finding certain interesting, I tried to propose an out-of-class get-together. "No, I already have friends, I don't have time for anyone else." Oh... that's an interesting point of view.
At work at the Centre National de la Photo, and later with the photo book editor Robert Delpire, I worked hard and did extra. Fine. But I also answered the phone with a full "Centre National de la Photo, puis je vous aider?" and my boss looked at me like I was crazy. The standard response to a phone call from who knows who? (world-famous Henri Cartier Bresson, a minister, a student, a Swedish colleague) "Oui." And you leave the caller to explain his mission, and then pass him onto someone else, not necessarily with an explanation or introduction, so it's up to him/her to explain him/herself all over again.
Paris was a world where I experienced being alone. After my rich social life in super friendly Seattle, and the member of the family work life in Japan, here I was on my own. I was able to call friends of friends occasionally, and be invited to a nice dinner in someone's home: "Bonjour, je m'appelle Madeleine. Je vous appelle de la part de Mme. D. Brodin, elle m'a donné votre numéro et.... Je suis actuellement étudiante à Paris... etc., etc.," But, it was very very difficult to find friends. So, I took to my evening habits of walking everywhere. I went to two dance classes a week (and briefly dated my Antonio Banderas look alike teacher, which was fun if brief), to my brasserie on the Ile St. Louis on the weekend, and to museums during their evening hours. I worked and I studied. I took in the amazing array of films, old and new, in the hundreds of cinémas in Paris. I picked up a copy of the Paris Spectacle every week for 2F and checked out the phenomenal art exhibitions and the numerous galleries and museums or free Sunday church concerts. I explored flea markets and took walking tours as outlined in the Guide Routard.
It was a time to look at works of art at my leisure, with ideas swirling in my head unshared, un-compared. It was a time to admire buildings, people, dogs, parks, skylines, in my own way and at my own pace. It was a curious and unusual for me. I'm terribly social, as many in my world will agree, and yet, I don't shy from being alone. It is often a preference, and vastly superior to being tugged along at another's pace on occasion.
I wasn't yet an adamant foodie, but I certainly enjoyed good food. A fellow dancer in class was married to the dairy shop owner in rue Daguerre, and from here I purchased yummy cheeses, fresh butter, artisanal crème fraîche and discovered the currant rolls from Poilane (in 1995 mind you, a bit ahead of the craze to follow). I sated my sweet tooth on tarts and éclairs et réligieuses till I could walk past a pastry shop and no longer drool -- that took a couple of months, but now, I know they're there, and when I need one, I can have one. It is no longer necessary to throw myself upon their mercy to satisfy the sweet cravings of a little girl whose mother was careful to raise her with few to no desserts in the house.
I walked down Rue Mouffetard, shopping along the way for a slice of pâté, some runny cheese and a gorgeous fresh peach or two for lunch. And I discovered La Maison du Chocolat nearby my office by Étoile. One, two, perhaps three amazing ganâche filled chocolates? I didn't dare get myself a whole box. But you're perfectly welcome to purchase chocolates by the gram, and carefully saying, Bonjour Madame, and Merci Madame, and ça sera tout Madame, goes a long way to a polite-if not warm-welcome.
I think as a young American female (I was 27 at the time), what was most frustrating was being hit on and followed way too often by strange men. Okay, I'm told it is to flatter us. That men feel it necessary to do this to stroke our egos. That actually, you should start worrying when this stops! But, as someone who likes to lie on a lovely green lawn (in between the visits of the Luxembourg Gardens' Lawn Guards) with a good book in her hands soaking up the unusual and sincerely welcome sunshine of a late Parisian spring... well, it's damn annoying to have a somewhat normal looking young man start talking to you, and then, ask you to come watch him jerk off in the bushes. Good Lord, is that what a gentle "please leave me alone" gets you? So I learned to be brusk and never to say a word, never to make eye contact. They did not exist, they were beneath my notice, and thus, I could have some level of peace.
On the flip side, when working the Photo Art Fair in Paris, I would greet potential clients as they walked into our booth to look more closely at the photos. I'll never forget the man who looked at me, startled, and said, "on se connait?" Ah, no, I don't know you sir, I'm simply a pathetically naive and friendly American who says hello to people who walk into her space....
Yes, I had ups, and downs. It's a gorgeous city. I love knowing it well, I love visiting, I loved my charming apartments, my studies, my free student entries to museums, theatres, the opera, dance, and so much more. What an incredible time in my life. Though oddly, I came to Paris via Seattle and Kobe Japan, not directly from NY. Had I done the latter, I might have fit in better.
Would I live there full time? After moving to Provence? I think not. But that's another story.
I most competently sought out obscure addresses with my handy Paris guide that should be replicated by every city in the world, particularly Tokyo where I believe the buildings are numbered chronologically... In thirty minutes I could arrive at nearly any destination (if I took public transport, preferably the bus).
I was pretty darned proud of myself when I took my friend's portfolios of model wanabees to the major agencies (Elite, etc.,) where I'd set up interviews carefully ahead of time. I felt elegant and well-received, and yes I was proud they were impressed by my French and my demeanor. Hey, what girl wouldn't want to feel pretty and respected at a top modeling agency? All your worst nightmares could be confirmed, or not, in such a place.
I learned to talk and argue and defend my point of view. I learned to flirt and to handle relatively aggressive male attention. But, I never learned to adjust to Parisian sidewalk behavior.
I've a theory that in Manhattan, we all walk quickly, but it's a socially agreed upon choreography of avoiding slamming into fellow pedestrians. It's a dance of running, dodging, jumping, swirling. And never, but never have I collided with a fellow pedestrian in NYC, even when I've been deep in conversation with a friend and relatively clueless to the world striding past. However, in Paris, more than once, walking abreast of a girlfriend (speaking in French mind you), I was slammed in the outside shoulder, and I mean slammed. It was frightening, shocking, disturbing, and more than a bit of, "what the????" I mean, was I taking up too much sidewalk or what?
Yes, I can move quickly, and be impatient, but I'm not rude. I value being considerate... which is a bit out of place in Paris, though not always. If you are not polite and say Bonjour Monsieur, or Madame, or Mademoiselle, you will not get good service and you will most definitely be in the position of the rude and boorish one.
Meeting students at my graduate program, finding certain interesting, I tried to propose an out-of-class get-together. "No, I already have friends, I don't have time for anyone else." Oh... that's an interesting point of view.
At work at the Centre National de la Photo, and later with the photo book editor Robert Delpire, I worked hard and did extra. Fine. But I also answered the phone with a full "Centre National de la Photo, puis je vous aider?" and my boss looked at me like I was crazy. The standard response to a phone call from who knows who? (world-famous Henri Cartier Bresson, a minister, a student, a Swedish colleague) "Oui." And you leave the caller to explain his mission, and then pass him onto someone else, not necessarily with an explanation or introduction, so it's up to him/her to explain him/herself all over again.
Paris was a world where I experienced being alone. After my rich social life in super friendly Seattle, and the member of the family work life in Japan, here I was on my own. I was able to call friends of friends occasionally, and be invited to a nice dinner in someone's home: "Bonjour, je m'appelle Madeleine. Je vous appelle de la part de Mme. D. Brodin, elle m'a donné votre numéro et.... Je suis actuellement étudiante à Paris... etc., etc.," But, it was very very difficult to find friends. So, I took to my evening habits of walking everywhere. I went to two dance classes a week (and briefly dated my Antonio Banderas look alike teacher, which was fun if brief), to my brasserie on the Ile St. Louis on the weekend, and to museums during their evening hours. I worked and I studied. I took in the amazing array of films, old and new, in the hundreds of cinémas in Paris. I picked up a copy of the Paris Spectacle every week for 2F and checked out the phenomenal art exhibitions and the numerous galleries and museums or free Sunday church concerts. I explored flea markets and took walking tours as outlined in the Guide Routard.
It was a time to look at works of art at my leisure, with ideas swirling in my head unshared, un-compared. It was a time to admire buildings, people, dogs, parks, skylines, in my own way and at my own pace. It was a curious and unusual for me. I'm terribly social, as many in my world will agree, and yet, I don't shy from being alone. It is often a preference, and vastly superior to being tugged along at another's pace on occasion.
I wasn't yet an adamant foodie, but I certainly enjoyed good food. A fellow dancer in class was married to the dairy shop owner in rue Daguerre, and from here I purchased yummy cheeses, fresh butter, artisanal crème fraîche and discovered the currant rolls from Poilane (in 1995 mind you, a bit ahead of the craze to follow). I sated my sweet tooth on tarts and éclairs et réligieuses till I could walk past a pastry shop and no longer drool -- that took a couple of months, but now, I know they're there, and when I need one, I can have one. It is no longer necessary to throw myself upon their mercy to satisfy the sweet cravings of a little girl whose mother was careful to raise her with few to no desserts in the house.
I walked down Rue Mouffetard, shopping along the way for a slice of pâté, some runny cheese and a gorgeous fresh peach or two for lunch. And I discovered La Maison du Chocolat nearby my office by Étoile. One, two, perhaps three amazing ganâche filled chocolates? I didn't dare get myself a whole box. But you're perfectly welcome to purchase chocolates by the gram, and carefully saying, Bonjour Madame, and Merci Madame, and ça sera tout Madame, goes a long way to a polite-if not warm-welcome.
I think as a young American female (I was 27 at the time), what was most frustrating was being hit on and followed way too often by strange men. Okay, I'm told it is to flatter us. That men feel it necessary to do this to stroke our egos. That actually, you should start worrying when this stops! But, as someone who likes to lie on a lovely green lawn (in between the visits of the Luxembourg Gardens' Lawn Guards) with a good book in her hands soaking up the unusual and sincerely welcome sunshine of a late Parisian spring... well, it's damn annoying to have a somewhat normal looking young man start talking to you, and then, ask you to come watch him jerk off in the bushes. Good Lord, is that what a gentle "please leave me alone" gets you? So I learned to be brusk and never to say a word, never to make eye contact. They did not exist, they were beneath my notice, and thus, I could have some level of peace.
On the flip side, when working the Photo Art Fair in Paris, I would greet potential clients as they walked into our booth to look more closely at the photos. I'll never forget the man who looked at me, startled, and said, "on se connait?" Ah, no, I don't know you sir, I'm simply a pathetically naive and friendly American who says hello to people who walk into her space....
Yes, I had ups, and downs. It's a gorgeous city. I love knowing it well, I love visiting, I loved my charming apartments, my studies, my free student entries to museums, theatres, the opera, dance, and so much more. What an incredible time in my life. Though oddly, I came to Paris via Seattle and Kobe Japan, not directly from NY. Had I done the latter, I might have fit in better.
Would I live there full time? After moving to Provence? I think not. But that's another story.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Living Close to Avignon
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel
My home, my much-loved and cozy place, is just 5 minutes from the walled city of Avignon. I live in the countryside of the island known as Ile de la Barthélasse. Busy here, and enjoying the calm, I confess that I don't go into town that often, but, there are definitely times when the urge hits for a lovely café in a café, a bit of people watching, or, to visit the chic boutiques for a bit of shopping.
Avignon is an easy town to navigate on foot, and, off season on bicycle. In warm weather, I do prefer to come by bike, but then I'm sure to take the smaller side roads, and to avoid the heavily trafficked pedestrian walks. Parking is a bit nightmarish if I choose to bring the car (when it's cold, raining or windy). I'll park right outside the Place de Crillon, or along the ramparts on the inside, or, if there's no other choice, on my side of the river and I'll just walk across the bridge to town.
When I bring friends to Avignon, we do a bit of a whirlwind tour. I will guide them to the Place de l'Horloge, the center of town where the town hall is, many a mediocre cafe, a decent and small cinema, and the perpetual merry-go-round. Then we wander past the street sellers of jewelry and very bright poppy and lavender laden paintings to the Palace of the Popes, and the huge square in front of it. If we are roaming during the month of July -- the month of the theatre festival--we will be accosted by actors in costume with flyers for their plays, or, we may stumble upon an outdoor presentation by a Japanese mime, or a theatre troup playing out scenes from Hôtel du Nord or another classic of the French cinéma répertoire.
If we've a couple of hours to spare, it is worth it to do the audio tour of the Pope's Palace. If you like history that is, and vast, enormous empty spaces. Can you fill your head with the hundreds of velvet clad bishops and church dignitaries, the many supplicants, the miles of tables, laden with food of the richest and most exotic? I love the descriptions in Terry Jones' The Lady and the Squire. Somehow, a former Monty Python just hits it right. The pope was here for nearly 100 years, running away from the Northern hordes who over-ran Rome, and briefly, being a bit more centralized to his vast domain. There is a wall of portraits of the popes, and the dates of their lives, and their reigns. I'm a bit surprised that in general, they were chosen old, and died relatively quickly. Those who lasted more than ten years in their seat were the rare exception.
Back out into the sunlight, out of the underground shop filled with cards, tapestries, local wines, pottery, etc., and around the curving stone path to the tiny square where the hotel/restaurant La Mirande is situated. Now, if a girl wants to feel chic, she goes here for afternoon tea with her girl friends. It's not cheap, but oh, the service is lovely and you do feel ever so elegant. It's rather Breakfast at Tiffany's for me. An exquisite hat and pumps would not be out of place. There is also a dark and brooding full bar where menfolk can smoke their cigars over a whiskey straight up. As you please.
If at the Mirande, don't hesitate to go down that tiny spiral staircase in the corner of the tea room. You'll be in the bowels of the building, but also, beside the fantastic cooking class room that they've installed, with the ancient wood burning stove, copper and pottery to die for, and a cozy and warm atmosphere. It's not too claustrophobic as there is a tiny garden beside that room, so windows let day light in and enliven the senses.
As I leave the hotel, I'll choose the street to the left of the Mirande (as you're looking at the Pope's palace), into a lovely square with cafés, restaurants, tiny shops, etc., There's a pleasant b&b down here as well. For me, it's now time to wander and discover. Eventually, I'll find my way over to Les Halles. Leo loves it here as there is a store called l'Oule (or something like that) that is very dungeons and dragonsish, with magic cards, pokemon cards, etc., This is his destination if and when I permit him to take his own bike (with a friend along) into town. I like the restaurant Françoise across from the Music Conservatory. Good soups, salads, chocolate brownie and tarts, coffee, tea (it's a tea salon), with a hot spot for my wifi. If guiding my friends further, I'll then drift down to the Rue des Teinturiers with its water wheels, theaters, tiny restaurants, and tempting Asian rug store.
As I've had to cope on my bureaucratic life here, I've become acquainted with the social security office, the health center, the family affairs' office, my lawyer's address, the Post Office, Leo's guitar teacher's string instrument repair shop, and more.
More fun is exploring the cinémas, the shops, the remarkably friendly cafés. I once forgot my computer in the café across from Monoprix on the main boulevard. I returned a couple of hours later, and the lady behind the bar was tending it safely for me. Ahhhh. I truly freaked out that I'd put my life in jeopardy. What would I do if I lost my Macbook? Too scary to contemplate.
As I return to a parked car, or bike back out of the city to my island, I'll window shop down the chic shopping street just beside the Place Crillon. Oh, here I get in trouble at shops like Cotelac or One Step. Funky, interesting, feminine, flowing clothes. Just the sort of thing to tempt me to pull out the plastic. But no, I'll wait for the sales in July. I'll be good, this time.
For wonderful photos of Avignon, please take a look at Nathalie's blog noted alongside, Avignon in Photos. She captures the quirks, the beauty, the light, the strange moments, in a marvelous way. My own shots don't compare. Speaking of Nathalie, she's recommended some restaurants for me to try... La Brocantine looks just lovely, tucked away down a teeny side street by the Place de Crillon. It's only open for lunch, with an ever changing menu. I can't wait!
My home, my much-loved and cozy place, is just 5 minutes from the walled city of Avignon. I live in the countryside of the island known as Ile de la Barthélasse. Busy here, and enjoying the calm, I confess that I don't go into town that often, but, there are definitely times when the urge hits for a lovely café in a café, a bit of people watching, or, to visit the chic boutiques for a bit of shopping.
Avignon is an easy town to navigate on foot, and, off season on bicycle. In warm weather, I do prefer to come by bike, but then I'm sure to take the smaller side roads, and to avoid the heavily trafficked pedestrian walks. Parking is a bit nightmarish if I choose to bring the car (when it's cold, raining or windy). I'll park right outside the Place de Crillon, or along the ramparts on the inside, or, if there's no other choice, on my side of the river and I'll just walk across the bridge to town.
When I bring friends to Avignon, we do a bit of a whirlwind tour. I will guide them to the Place de l'Horloge, the center of town where the town hall is, many a mediocre cafe, a decent and small cinema, and the perpetual merry-go-round. Then we wander past the street sellers of jewelry and very bright poppy and lavender laden paintings to the Palace of the Popes, and the huge square in front of it. If we are roaming during the month of July -- the month of the theatre festival--we will be accosted by actors in costume with flyers for their plays, or, we may stumble upon an outdoor presentation by a Japanese mime, or a theatre troup playing out scenes from Hôtel du Nord or another classic of the French cinéma répertoire.
If we've a couple of hours to spare, it is worth it to do the audio tour of the Pope's Palace. If you like history that is, and vast, enormous empty spaces. Can you fill your head with the hundreds of velvet clad bishops and church dignitaries, the many supplicants, the miles of tables, laden with food of the richest and most exotic? I love the descriptions in Terry Jones' The Lady and the Squire. Somehow, a former Monty Python just hits it right. The pope was here for nearly 100 years, running away from the Northern hordes who over-ran Rome, and briefly, being a bit more centralized to his vast domain. There is a wall of portraits of the popes, and the dates of their lives, and their reigns. I'm a bit surprised that in general, they were chosen old, and died relatively quickly. Those who lasted more than ten years in their seat were the rare exception.
Back out into the sunlight, out of the underground shop filled with cards, tapestries, local wines, pottery, etc., and around the curving stone path to the tiny square where the hotel/restaurant La Mirande is situated. Now, if a girl wants to feel chic, she goes here for afternoon tea with her girl friends. It's not cheap, but oh, the service is lovely and you do feel ever so elegant. It's rather Breakfast at Tiffany's for me. An exquisite hat and pumps would not be out of place. There is also a dark and brooding full bar where menfolk can smoke their cigars over a whiskey straight up. As you please.
If at the Mirande, don't hesitate to go down that tiny spiral staircase in the corner of the tea room. You'll be in the bowels of the building, but also, beside the fantastic cooking class room that they've installed, with the ancient wood burning stove, copper and pottery to die for, and a cozy and warm atmosphere. It's not too claustrophobic as there is a tiny garden beside that room, so windows let day light in and enliven the senses.
As I leave the hotel, I'll choose the street to the left of the Mirande (as you're looking at the Pope's palace), into a lovely square with cafés, restaurants, tiny shops, etc., There's a pleasant b&b down here as well. For me, it's now time to wander and discover. Eventually, I'll find my way over to Les Halles. Leo loves it here as there is a store called l'Oule (or something like that) that is very dungeons and dragonsish, with magic cards, pokemon cards, etc., This is his destination if and when I permit him to take his own bike (with a friend along) into town. I like the restaurant Françoise across from the Music Conservatory. Good soups, salads, chocolate brownie and tarts, coffee, tea (it's a tea salon), with a hot spot for my wifi. If guiding my friends further, I'll then drift down to the Rue des Teinturiers with its water wheels, theaters, tiny restaurants, and tempting Asian rug store.
As I've had to cope on my bureaucratic life here, I've become acquainted with the social security office, the health center, the family affairs' office, my lawyer's address, the Post Office, Leo's guitar teacher's string instrument repair shop, and more.
More fun is exploring the cinémas, the shops, the remarkably friendly cafés. I once forgot my computer in the café across from Monoprix on the main boulevard. I returned a couple of hours later, and the lady behind the bar was tending it safely for me. Ahhhh. I truly freaked out that I'd put my life in jeopardy. What would I do if I lost my Macbook? Too scary to contemplate.
As I return to a parked car, or bike back out of the city to my island, I'll window shop down the chic shopping street just beside the Place Crillon. Oh, here I get in trouble at shops like Cotelac or One Step. Funky, interesting, feminine, flowing clothes. Just the sort of thing to tempt me to pull out the plastic. But no, I'll wait for the sales in July. I'll be good, this time.
For wonderful photos of Avignon, please take a look at Nathalie's blog noted alongside, Avignon in Photos. She captures the quirks, the beauty, the light, the strange moments, in a marvelous way. My own shots don't compare. Speaking of Nathalie, she's recommended some restaurants for me to try... La Brocantine looks just lovely, tucked away down a teeny side street by the Place de Crillon. It's only open for lunch, with an ever changing menu. I can't wait!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Should He Like All that I Cook? - a recipe
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel
My beau doesn't appreciate my muffins, nor my biscuits, nor my soda bread, nor my carrot cake. He doesn't really like the chocolate tarts either, nor the panna cotta, nor my yogurt. He likes store-bought brioche -- when I made one from scratch it didn't stay soft and sweet for days like his, and the rich buttery texture was too much for him. He likes Fjord brand fromage blanc and nutella. He does like my bread (though not for breakfast), sablet cookies, quiche, fish en papillote and stews. But he doesn't like sticky rice or risotto, and puts up resistance at the thought of duck. He likes his meat cooked all the way through, and minimally seasoned. He's not a fan of sushi, nor shell fish (I indulge my these cravings at restaurants whenever possible). Cooking at his house is not easy -- the fact that the kitchen was designed by non-cooks doesn't help things. And smoking up the house is strongly discouraged (therefore no pan frying meat or sausages). He adores salads, but I can't put any protein into them. Thus I must keep my hand back and not put hard-boiled eggs in the tomato salad, nor bacon in the green salad, nor a slippery poached egg to glisten and glide in the spinach salad.
This is very weird. In my house in Avignon, my kids eat anything I bake and with glee (good children they). But here too I am culinarily limited. I can't cook spicy, blend vegetables with meat, nor leave chunks of tomatoes in the tomato sauce. And Leo flat out refuses to eat brown rice, spelt or quinoa.
What is a food-oriented woman to do? I'm feeling rather stifled. I've crossed more than a river, going from the abundance and culinary experimentation that resonated in Arles (excepting pumpkin pie, never a favorite there), to the Protestant reserve that reigns in Vauvert (which no doubt contributes to my vintner's slender and elegant physique). By necessity, I'm cooking more than ever, but not experimenting, nor leaping into new territory.
The kids are thrilled when I make lasagna --as long as I stick to the basic recipe of a hamburger laden tomato sauce, pasta sheets and a cheesy béchamel. If I vary from this formula (say add sausage, or spinach leaves, or ricotta, or herbs) a rebellion foments. I do admit, a 45 minute lasagna, start to plate is a handy recipe to have on hand. But there are times when I'd like to toss in shredded chicken, up the spice factor, play with the cheeses, add vegetables. Apparently, not in this particular lifetime.
Being surrounded by picky eaters is either a punishment of sorts, or yet another life test?
My lasagna recipe (easier would be difficult to do).
Ingredients:
tomato sauce (home-made or from a can, if the latter, extend it with water)
some hamburger
lasagna noodles (thin ones that don't require prior cooking)
2 tablespoons butter or olive oil
2 tablespoons flour
3-4 cups milk
2 cups grated gruyèse cheese
a touch of salt
olive oil
If you've the time, chop an onion, smash and chop a garlic clove, grab some olive oil and a can of crushed tomatoes and make your own tomato sauce (the recipe is earlier in the blog).
If not, then cook up your hamburger in the olive oil (or not if you're vegetarian). When it is nicely browned, add the tomato sauce, and extend with water. Taste, season, set on a very low flame and let simmer.
Start your cheese béchamel. Melt the butter in a thick bottomed sauce pan, add the flour and whisk to form a paste, add 1/2 cup of the milk, stir, and let thicken before adding the rest of the milk. Let heat up for a couple of minutes. Add the cheese and whisk till it melts and all comes together. You don't want it too thick, so if necessary, add some more milk or water.
Turn the oven on to 375F/175C. Take out your deep dish pan and drizzle some olive oil on the bottom. Place a layer of pasta sheets, cover with the tomato sauce which is still quite thin. Lay a layer of pasta sheets, cover with the béchamel, continue, and finish with the béchamel. Check to be sure that there is sufficient liquid in the lasagna as it is the cooking liquid that will soften and cook the pasta sheets. Bake for thirty minutes, or till brown and bubbling on top. Serve to happy children with a green salad alongside (or broccoli, or beans, season depending).
If serving to a more experimental friend, have fun playing and altering the recipe.
My beau doesn't appreciate my muffins, nor my biscuits, nor my soda bread, nor my carrot cake. He doesn't really like the chocolate tarts either, nor the panna cotta, nor my yogurt. He likes store-bought brioche -- when I made one from scratch it didn't stay soft and sweet for days like his, and the rich buttery texture was too much for him. He likes Fjord brand fromage blanc and nutella. He does like my bread (though not for breakfast), sablet cookies, quiche, fish en papillote and stews. But he doesn't like sticky rice or risotto, and puts up resistance at the thought of duck. He likes his meat cooked all the way through, and minimally seasoned. He's not a fan of sushi, nor shell fish (I indulge my these cravings at restaurants whenever possible). Cooking at his house is not easy -- the fact that the kitchen was designed by non-cooks doesn't help things. And smoking up the house is strongly discouraged (therefore no pan frying meat or sausages). He adores salads, but I can't put any protein into them. Thus I must keep my hand back and not put hard-boiled eggs in the tomato salad, nor bacon in the green salad, nor a slippery poached egg to glisten and glide in the spinach salad.
This is very weird. In my house in Avignon, my kids eat anything I bake and with glee (good children they). But here too I am culinarily limited. I can't cook spicy, blend vegetables with meat, nor leave chunks of tomatoes in the tomato sauce. And Leo flat out refuses to eat brown rice, spelt or quinoa.
What is a food-oriented woman to do? I'm feeling rather stifled. I've crossed more than a river, going from the abundance and culinary experimentation that resonated in Arles (excepting pumpkin pie, never a favorite there), to the Protestant reserve that reigns in Vauvert (which no doubt contributes to my vintner's slender and elegant physique). By necessity, I'm cooking more than ever, but not experimenting, nor leaping into new territory.
The kids are thrilled when I make lasagna --as long as I stick to the basic recipe of a hamburger laden tomato sauce, pasta sheets and a cheesy béchamel. If I vary from this formula (say add sausage, or spinach leaves, or ricotta, or herbs) a rebellion foments. I do admit, a 45 minute lasagna, start to plate is a handy recipe to have on hand. But there are times when I'd like to toss in shredded chicken, up the spice factor, play with the cheeses, add vegetables. Apparently, not in this particular lifetime.
Being surrounded by picky eaters is either a punishment of sorts, or yet another life test?
My lasagna recipe (easier would be difficult to do).
Ingredients:
tomato sauce (home-made or from a can, if the latter, extend it with water)
some hamburger
lasagna noodles (thin ones that don't require prior cooking)
2 tablespoons butter or olive oil
2 tablespoons flour
3-4 cups milk
2 cups grated gruyèse cheese
a touch of salt
olive oil
If you've the time, chop an onion, smash and chop a garlic clove, grab some olive oil and a can of crushed tomatoes and make your own tomato sauce (the recipe is earlier in the blog).
If not, then cook up your hamburger in the olive oil (or not if you're vegetarian). When it is nicely browned, add the tomato sauce, and extend with water. Taste, season, set on a very low flame and let simmer.
Start your cheese béchamel. Melt the butter in a thick bottomed sauce pan, add the flour and whisk to form a paste, add 1/2 cup of the milk, stir, and let thicken before adding the rest of the milk. Let heat up for a couple of minutes. Add the cheese and whisk till it melts and all comes together. You don't want it too thick, so if necessary, add some more milk or water.
Turn the oven on to 375F/175C. Take out your deep dish pan and drizzle some olive oil on the bottom. Place a layer of pasta sheets, cover with the tomato sauce which is still quite thin. Lay a layer of pasta sheets, cover with the béchamel, continue, and finish with the béchamel. Check to be sure that there is sufficient liquid in the lasagna as it is the cooking liquid that will soften and cook the pasta sheets. Bake for thirty minutes, or till brown and bubbling on top. Serve to happy children with a green salad alongside (or broccoli, or beans, season depending).
If serving to a more experimental friend, have fun playing and altering the recipe.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
What is Normal?
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel
After living more than a quarter of my life in France (and one year in Japan), I've lost a rigid sense of normalcy. What is normal? What are my or one's expectations? of life I no longer expect to work a city job with a daily commute on Metro North, nor perhaps a gallery job with a daily commute by bicycle from an outlying neighborhood to the center of Seattle. In my daily existence I no longer think it normal to have a clothing dryer, and rarely touch my blender or Kitchen Aid. My childrens' toys have a decided lack of electronics which for the moment, they're willing to accept.
Taste, looks, education, music, food, weather -- almond trees in bloom early February, whirling wind storms throughout the year, four days of non-stop rain could mean my house flooding... or magnificent and non-fruit bearing Magnolia and Dogwoods? Beautiful to see, but not there to make a living for a local farmer. Granite rocks pounded by the waves of Long Island Sound. It is all are slightly askew in my head. I am no doubt not alone in sensing cultural dislocation when I go home.
The trees are so large in Westchester County NY! and the houses immense, not to mention the lawns. And how interesting that there are so few houses with shutters on the windows, and even fewer with bars on the windows of the first floor. Do I really want to buy those very very bright orange carrots that A&P offers? Ah, yet I can't help being tempted by blueberry poptarts and Ben&Jerry's Cherry Garcia... maybe even some Stoffers frozen corn soufflet? That's my childhood taste buds talking again. In the present, I miss the dark yellow yolked eggs I have in Provence, my black currant jam, my raw milk from the local farm, truly flavorful grocery store chickens (and the choice of 6 different kinds). And then when I fly back to France, I suffer from homesickness for my land of birth. I have a hard time getting my mouth and throat around the French language (which I've spoken fluently now for most of my life, but...). My conversation tends to make reference to an article I read in Newsweek or the NYTimes about something going on politically in the US, or... I've seen (and perhaps gotten hooked to?) episodes of a new TV series that I'll not see again till my next US visit. I miss hugs.
I'm somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. Neither here nor there, no longer a normal American (is there such a thing?) but not yet fully European.
A couple articles recently have sent my head spinning into ideas and comparisons. One was in the NY Times about the tele-reality show Who Loses the Most Wins (or something to this effect). An extreme show, showcasing individuals in an extreme situation, its the goal is to bring obscenely obese people together in a home, and with a team spirit, encourage them to lose weight. Most Americans are not grossly obese, but, many, oh too many worry about their weight, thus a national fascination at such a show. A comment that struck me in the article was uttered by a guest chef who was there to teach these people how to eat other than "salty, sweet, fatty and crunch" foods, other than cheap, pre-packaged, easy to find food in any supermarket or 24 hour gas stations, etc.,
More than anything, he stated his surprise and pity? that these people didn't know how to cook. Put them in a kitchen with kale and quinoa and they are completely lost and feel close to starving. How can anyone grow up without a basic sense of boiling water and cooking the simplest of dishes? Ok, we're not all gourmets who want to eat exotic grains and greens, but... the basics? scrambled eggs? boiled broccoli?
How could I live a life so completely at the opposite end of this spectrum? I love kale and quinoa, and have oodles of possibilities for turning these ingredients into a meal. I was graced with parents who cooked and encouraged my adventures in the kitchen. I then traveled to countries where cooking and feeding a family are of utmost importance. The Japanese take their lunches very very seriously! be they boxed or purchased! And France? Provence? need I say more? My adolescent tendencies towards cinnamon rolls and extra large chocolate chip cookies from the cookie stand in Grand Central Station were re-directed to complete, balanced and yummy meals.
Now I have many friends, family members, clients and colleagues in the US who are superb cooks and who nourish their loved ones marvelously -- but it can be so stressful to do so when work hours are long and weekends are filled with sports' events, music recitals, and more... We've built a society that renders these efforts exceptional, not normal. Why? Can we change it?
The second small epiphany came when I glanced through the and article on the web site EHarmony. I was startled to see the number of men who tout themselves as "physically fit" and their hobbies including "staying physically fit" and their passions even stressing "staying physically fit". This included men of educational accomplishments, middle aged, professionals of all sorts. I can't deny a rather visceral reaction "please, get a life! Healthclubs can be fun, but???"
I too enjoy being physically fit, and yes, I don't deny that I'm proud that at 42 I basically have a body quite similar to that I enjoyed at 22. And yes yoga and dance help particularly because I adore them, and adore moving my body whenever possible. But... it is just not that difficult to keep my figure when I eat what is normal food here (lots of salads, vegetables, lean meats, some pasta, my bread...) and when I'm walking everywhere, and doing all my own house and garden work. I'm mobile, I'm active, I live outside a small Provence town where you park the car outside the ramparts and then walk to all your errands, appointments, etc., I certainly use my car more than I'd like -- the kids' school is a drive away unfortunately.
I don't see this aspect of my physical self as needing touting. I'm happy to be healthy, and hope to continue being healthy for many many years to come. I'm happy to be able to keep up with my kids and go cycling, roller blading, hiking, etc., I'm happy not to be (too) winded after climbing many stairs. It's reassuring. I'm happy my hands aren't too tired when I make by sablé (shortbread) cookies by hand (I don't own a food processor).
So just musing on what used to be normal back in the US too. With time, a little tummy, sure, after kids and a sit-down job at the office. But, was it surprising that Katherine Hepburn kept her figure till her dying day? Or Paul Newman? Even Sinatra's excesses gave him simply a generous build.
But, the French too are getting bigger and using their cars more and more. They've long ago discovered the large supermarket and sweet frozen desserts. And in the US, there are many who've returned to walking, biking, public transportation, etc., May shorter work hours, and many local markets of locally grown produce follow! May the family meal be easier to manage, and may kids cook alongside their parents. And, let this be normal.
After living more than a quarter of my life in France (and one year in Japan), I've lost a rigid sense of normalcy. What is normal? What are my or one's expectations? of life I no longer expect to work a city job with a daily commute on Metro North, nor perhaps a gallery job with a daily commute by bicycle from an outlying neighborhood to the center of Seattle. In my daily existence I no longer think it normal to have a clothing dryer, and rarely touch my blender or Kitchen Aid. My childrens' toys have a decided lack of electronics which for the moment, they're willing to accept.
Taste, looks, education, music, food, weather -- almond trees in bloom early February, whirling wind storms throughout the year, four days of non-stop rain could mean my house flooding... or magnificent and non-fruit bearing Magnolia and Dogwoods? Beautiful to see, but not there to make a living for a local farmer. Granite rocks pounded by the waves of Long Island Sound. It is all are slightly askew in my head. I am no doubt not alone in sensing cultural dislocation when I go home.
The trees are so large in Westchester County NY! and the houses immense, not to mention the lawns. And how interesting that there are so few houses with shutters on the windows, and even fewer with bars on the windows of the first floor. Do I really want to buy those very very bright orange carrots that A&P offers? Ah, yet I can't help being tempted by blueberry poptarts and Ben&Jerry's Cherry Garcia... maybe even some Stoffers frozen corn soufflet? That's my childhood taste buds talking again. In the present, I miss the dark yellow yolked eggs I have in Provence, my black currant jam, my raw milk from the local farm, truly flavorful grocery store chickens (and the choice of 6 different kinds). And then when I fly back to France, I suffer from homesickness for my land of birth. I have a hard time getting my mouth and throat around the French language (which I've spoken fluently now for most of my life, but...). My conversation tends to make reference to an article I read in Newsweek or the NYTimes about something going on politically in the US, or... I've seen (and perhaps gotten hooked to?) episodes of a new TV series that I'll not see again till my next US visit. I miss hugs.
I'm somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. Neither here nor there, no longer a normal American (is there such a thing?) but not yet fully European.
A couple articles recently have sent my head spinning into ideas and comparisons. One was in the NY Times about the tele-reality show Who Loses the Most Wins (or something to this effect). An extreme show, showcasing individuals in an extreme situation, its the goal is to bring obscenely obese people together in a home, and with a team spirit, encourage them to lose weight. Most Americans are not grossly obese, but, many, oh too many worry about their weight, thus a national fascination at such a show. A comment that struck me in the article was uttered by a guest chef who was there to teach these people how to eat other than "salty, sweet, fatty and crunch" foods, other than cheap, pre-packaged, easy to find food in any supermarket or 24 hour gas stations, etc.,
More than anything, he stated his surprise and pity? that these people didn't know how to cook. Put them in a kitchen with kale and quinoa and they are completely lost and feel close to starving. How can anyone grow up without a basic sense of boiling water and cooking the simplest of dishes? Ok, we're not all gourmets who want to eat exotic grains and greens, but... the basics? scrambled eggs? boiled broccoli?
How could I live a life so completely at the opposite end of this spectrum? I love kale and quinoa, and have oodles of possibilities for turning these ingredients into a meal. I was graced with parents who cooked and encouraged my adventures in the kitchen. I then traveled to countries where cooking and feeding a family are of utmost importance. The Japanese take their lunches very very seriously! be they boxed or purchased! And France? Provence? need I say more? My adolescent tendencies towards cinnamon rolls and extra large chocolate chip cookies from the cookie stand in Grand Central Station were re-directed to complete, balanced and yummy meals.
Now I have many friends, family members, clients and colleagues in the US who are superb cooks and who nourish their loved ones marvelously -- but it can be so stressful to do so when work hours are long and weekends are filled with sports' events, music recitals, and more... We've built a society that renders these efforts exceptional, not normal. Why? Can we change it?
The second small epiphany came when I glanced through the and article on the web site EHarmony. I was startled to see the number of men who tout themselves as "physically fit" and their hobbies including "staying physically fit" and their passions even stressing "staying physically fit". This included men of educational accomplishments, middle aged, professionals of all sorts. I can't deny a rather visceral reaction "please, get a life! Healthclubs can be fun, but???"
I too enjoy being physically fit, and yes, I don't deny that I'm proud that at 42 I basically have a body quite similar to that I enjoyed at 22. And yes yoga and dance help particularly because I adore them, and adore moving my body whenever possible. But... it is just not that difficult to keep my figure when I eat what is normal food here (lots of salads, vegetables, lean meats, some pasta, my bread...) and when I'm walking everywhere, and doing all my own house and garden work. I'm mobile, I'm active, I live outside a small Provence town where you park the car outside the ramparts and then walk to all your errands, appointments, etc., I certainly use my car more than I'd like -- the kids' school is a drive away unfortunately.
I don't see this aspect of my physical self as needing touting. I'm happy to be healthy, and hope to continue being healthy for many many years to come. I'm happy to be able to keep up with my kids and go cycling, roller blading, hiking, etc., I'm happy not to be (too) winded after climbing many stairs. It's reassuring. I'm happy my hands aren't too tired when I make by sablé (shortbread) cookies by hand (I don't own a food processor).
So just musing on what used to be normal back in the US too. With time, a little tummy, sure, after kids and a sit-down job at the office. But, was it surprising that Katherine Hepburn kept her figure till her dying day? Or Paul Newman? Even Sinatra's excesses gave him simply a generous build.
But, the French too are getting bigger and using their cars more and more. They've long ago discovered the large supermarket and sweet frozen desserts. And in the US, there are many who've returned to walking, biking, public transportation, etc., May shorter work hours, and many local markets of locally grown produce follow! May the family meal be easier to manage, and may kids cook alongside their parents. And, let this be normal.
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