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.

Chocolate Mille Feuille (Napoleon)

I actually baked the other night. With all that's been going on, I've not been in the kitchen much. Basic nourishment for the boys, some rice for me... But, we had company and they are close friends of Jonas and it seemed right that we be festive. So, with a crowd pleasing lasagna for the main course, I prepared a mille feuille for dessert. Truly, a very simple pastry to prepare, and always a hit.

I tried it this time with chocolate, something I'd not done before, and yes, it worked quite nicely.

In France it is easy to find good quality puff pastry (pâte feuilletée) in the refrigerator section of any grocery store. When in the US I go to the freezer section and get the frozen sheets of puff pastry from Pepperidge Farm which need to be defrosted in a fridge overnight before using. Thus, when preparing this dessert, it is round in France, and square in the US.

Ingredients for 8-10 portions

3 sheets of puff pastry (this will be 2 boxes of Pepperidge Farm flaky pastry dough found in the freezer section, or 3 sheets from your favorite specialty bakery store)

For the cream:

1 liter/1 quart whole milk
4 egg yolks and 2 large eggs
1/2 cup sugar
1/3 cup flour or corn starch
100 grams/5 oz 60% dessert chocolate chopped in small pieces

Heat the milk in a heavy bottomed sauce pan with the chocolate, whisking gently for the chocolate to melt. While the milk heats, blend your egg yolks and egg, sugar and flour till light yellow in a mixing bowl. When your milk is hot, pour a third of it slowly into the egg mixture whisking all the while. Then pour the mixture back into the sauce pan and whisk steadily till it starts to bubble and thicken. The flour (or corn starch) prevents the eggs from curdling too quickly.

When thickened and just bubbling pour/scrape the cream out onto a lined cookie sheet and place in the refrigerator to chill. (trick from my pastry man)

Lay your flaky pastry sheets out on baking pans, poke holes with a fork throughout to prevent them from puffing in the oven and bake at 400F / 200C till nicely brown. (15-25 minutes). It is important to let them get really brown. Just take a look at any pastry shop's mille feuille, they aren't scared to cook the pastry. It gives more flavor and texture this way. Remove the sheets from the oven and let cool.


To put it together, place one pastry sheet on your cake plate, spread half the cream, then lay the next sheet, spread the rest of the cream, then the final sheet. You can finish off the mille feuille with powdered sugar or a glaze of powdered sugar and lemon juice and/or Grand Marnier, or sprinkle fresh berries, or chocolate drippings à la Jackson Pollock… as the mood takes you. Chill till ready to serve. This time I improvised a home-made chocolate glaze with a very concentrated simple syrup of water and sugar and melted chocolate. The measurements were completely hokey -- 1/2 cup water to start with, 5 oz of chocolate, and I believe 2 cups of sugar... then gently cooked till the texture looked right, cooled a bit and poured on top.

Happy Ending Movies

The kids and I watched Enchanted, so sweet, so American, so Disney, happy endings all round, even for the cynical divorce lawyer. A simple story of a fairy tale princess who ends up in Times Square in her marvelous bouffant gown, her gift of singing to the local animals and getting their help (great spin on this, as since she's no longer in the forest, the local fauna consists of rats, pigeons, mice and cockroaches!), and her belief in true love untainted. She wins in the end, and converts all around her to joy and love and fairy tale endings.

What an odd thing to see when living in France, the land of realism and nuance, sad endings, closed doors and pessimism. Happy endings are such a part of American culture. We believe we can communicate, share, discover, reach out, as if we had no hang-ups, no childhood disasters, no fear of intimacy, no resentment that's built to ungodly levels.

Back during the divorce, I loved watching Julia Roberts or Meg Ryan movies – the slightly wacky but lovable girl gets the guy every time, and it will be ok. So far away, winter in Provence, long dark nights, a marriage in trouble, these presented warmth and hope; that for which they were designed. And I succombed most willingly to the fantasy.

Interestingly, it was the boys who chose the movie.

Staying with Friends

It's fascinating to me how we each approach the act of opening our homes and lives to a visitor, be he/she family, friend or new acquaintance. What is it to host? I was raised by a mother who opened our home every summer to a visiting French teenager, or to a family of five relatives on my father's side for over a week, or to the passing friend through NYC. We welcomed friends to our Christmas festivities. There was always enough food to go around, a spare bed or couch or a mattress on the floor, linens. It just wasn't that big an imposition.

Now, I suppose we had our unofficial guidelines. We preferred guests who helped with dishes, who were relatively independent transportation-wise, who were good company, but who could just as easily go out for a walk by themselves or pick up a book and read in a corner.

And when we went visiting, we arrived with gifts, we offered to make our own beds (if they hadn't already been made), we helped cook, carried babies, did dishes, had a stash of books so we wouldn't be a bother, went shopping with our hostess and purchased (this was my mom's thing) the groceries for the week we were there (particularly when visiting as a family in France). And yes, when the visit was concluded, we stripped our beds and brought the laundry to the laundry machine.

Whenever I go to the States for a meeting or conference, I check to see which cousin lives in town, give a call (or email) and of course I can spend the week. That's a given in our family. The response is always a strong affirmative. Hosting one of our cousins--as we are quitenumerous and we don't all know each other as well as we'd like--is a chance to knit together a stronger relationship with someone we are happy to know better.

When I lived in Arles the house was a veritable welcome spot for many a young cousin, au pair and friend. I remember one cluster of cousins -- all young men -- who from the moment of their arrival were a joy and a help. One took Leo on his lap and read him books, another emptied the dishwasher and set the table. And, before leaving, not only did they strip their beds, but they vaccuumed their room as well! I was amazed, praised these young men to their mother and simply sat back and wondered if ever I'll be able to raise my sons as well. Yes, we fed them great meals, and yes, I loaned them my car to go kayaking, got them maps, set them up for excursions, etc., But that's all part of it, right?

I think on all this as during the week I rented my house, I was a house guest a bit left and right. At the first home, the home of a relatively new friend, I clearly stayed one day de trop. And, I arrived with dog in a house inhabited by cats. Not a recommended act. Said dog was relatively well-behaved, and I, well, I came with gifts, tried to help, but out of sorts as I was, I was a weighty presence, not the helpful being I would like to think I can be (and normally am). I was clearly in the way by the second day. Two nights was one too much.

I then went on to Martine's, and there, I was put to work, and I was able to contribute and while I talked too much at times, I also shut up and simply worked in a zen state at other times. It balanced out. I also came with food, my rice cooker, and dog. The dog caused some issues with a neighbor, but was otherwise well-tolerated and well-behaved. We're still very close, and she is neither berating me for my stuck in my messed-up state-ness, nor does she seem weary of me and my current woes either. She is able to let me be where I'm at without it affecting her personal state too much.

My time at Mireille's was equally nourishing and warm. But there I heard stories of a childhood where friends weren't allowed further than the garage to play. Where sleepovers were unthought-of, and barriers set high. She's made a complete about-face from her upbringing, and whichever child is willing or absent sacrifices his/her bed to me willingly and easily. Warmth and welcome now come naturally.

For me, I think, the trick is not to take the act too seriously. I do what I am able to do. If I've 4 pre-adolescents at each other's throat, a broken-down car, and homework to get done with Leo, well, I'm not able to do much more than make up the mattress on the floor, pull out a towel, and perhaps serve a plate of fried rice. But, I'm okay with that. I have limits imposed on me by the house, the kids, etc., but I still have a spare spot on the floor of my room, and I'll do what I can do. I also have faith that the guest will help out too.

As such, I am perhaps not an elegant host, but I'm an easy host. I usually say yes, and will work it all out as I'm able. Only rarely have people over-stayed their welcome in my home. But it was an extreme case of three months of over-bearing presence, tactless behavior, minimal helpfulness, etc.,

I leave these thoughts unfinished. As they are and always will be. We each do as we can, linked to our cultures, our pasts, our traditions. There are the hosts who lay out the red carpet, and it is marvelous. But as I remember from my time in Japan, if you give too much the debt becomes too difficult to re-pay and the relationship tilts out of balance. But if this is the tradition you heark from, then that is the style of host you will likely be, and in this case, guests may quickly become a burden. ...

Yes, there's always more, and there is no right way. But the blending of styles and cultures will raise issues and occasionally, as when I over-stayed my welcome with my very generous and dear hosts... leave a sense of, oops, something's gone off.

Limits

Limits: physical, mental, spiritual, emotional.

Do you work till you drop? Give till there's nothing more to give? Exercise till the body is melting with fatigue? Does the body indicate your limits by becoming sick? collapsing? sending out unambiguous signals.

Or, do you know when the work day is over. Give only what you have available. Offer only what you have to spare. And, physical health is a given, never a worry. Nights are calm, sleep is solid.

And if you put the two in the same room? balance? complimentarity? or complete miscomprehension?

Hmmm..

A day with Leo

Jonas is with his friend till this afternoon. So yesterday Leo and I had one of those rare evenings (and today mornings) with just the two of us. We snuggled down to read another chapter of The Lightning Thief -- almost finished-- and then went on to watch one of my favorite kids' films, My Side of the Mountain. I'd fogotten that it takes place way back in perhaps 1969? or earlier? In any case, though the cars and clothing styles are quite dated, the story still resonates for a little boy the same age as the protagonist. Can you really live off the land alone? Is it a true story? Many times since Leo has told me how much he appreciated the film.

There is hope after Transformers, Chainsaw Masacre (I can't believe it, but a friend of his showed him this last week!) and Dofus.

It was a special Mom and son evening and with him there, I slept like a baby, grounded, at peace.

Today was errands' day. The first was to drop off the car for some last repairs. From there, on foot, into town and the tax office, the employment office, and the grocery. Leo accompanied me for all this. So 8:30 on the dot, out the door we were, Filou at our side. From the garage we were off for our walking excursion across our island, across the bridge and into the ramparts. Leo pleasantly at my side, holding my hand.

Me and my big boy who is already 164cm! He nearly tops his dad, though not quite. So I suppose we were an odd sight, but I wasn't going to discourage the hand-holding. It was simply too lovely. Though the morning was long, my meetings went well, and we were back in good spirits, enjoying the light as it turned to warmth and a beautiful blue sky.


Goodness I'm grateful for my kids! And you know, they seem to love me too!

And the finishing touches advance

A house built of wood, insulated with ouate (shredded cloth and paper?) and cork, air-tight, but with glorious sliding window doors along the South side, solar panels on the roof, a special hot water heater adapted for such, and the help of many hands to put it into place.

With all the necessary tools present and accessible, it was relatively easy, though angles and corners and rounded parts were challenging to put it mildly. Martine has been working nearly non-stop since she arrived for fall break. The summer had been spent in a similar fashion. And slowly, it is all coming into place. Walls are going up, the floor is in in the main room, the kitchen will be installed shortly, ditto the hot water heater. All the bathroom necessities are there, awaiting installation (we camped with a hose for the time I was there helping out).

It is unusual to see a house like this -- built to use a minimum of gas/electricity/energy-- in this region. Most often the houses are cement block and stucco, brick and stone. In the north, and in Northern Europe, it is far more fashionable. As such, Martine is a bit of a rebel in her neighborhood. People pass by and look at this odd wooden house amidst far more typical structures, and they don't always know what to make of it.

However, for someone like myself, the house is marvelous, and makes me dream...

A walk in the early morning

Inspired by my walks with my Scottish friend, and just because I do live in a beautiful place, and because I needed to do something with my thought-swirling, early-rising self, I set out for a long walk along the dirt paths at the edge of the Rhône, right beside my house. I walked slowly, savouring the mist on the water, the awakening world. As I progressed, many a morning jogger crossed my path -- a commonplace sight now in Avignon, and in France in general, compared to when I came to France at the age of sixteen. Filou and I met many dogs, most of whom were un-leashed like Filou. They did their moments of sniffing and getting to know each other, and then Filou trotted after me.


The only awkward moments are when Filou gets it in his head to bark at and follow a jogger. As one might imagine, no one enjoys this, and though he wouldn't hurt a flea, I do need to call him back and reprimand him. Hoping also, that the more he sees these people, the more accustomed he'll get, and then I hope, he'll stop this most anti-social behavior.

I tried to do some centering exercises that my Scottish friend showed me, holding my hands on my belly and back, feeling my body walk, sensing the shock under my feet, reaching up through my stomach and lower back. I straightened my shoulders, took in deep breaths, occasionally closed me eyes. I'm taking each day as it comes, and doing what I can for my wiggy brain and aching heart. Appreciating the beauty right beside me, contemplating what I have here, what is good in my life, is all part of it.

This summer, and much of this year, I've been wavering, and wondering. Where do I belong? Certainly, being out of my coupledom is unrooting me. But, then, why would I flee? And where to? I'm not a deeply rooted person. But I have some very dear friends, two in particular, to whom I can turn. My kids are doing well. This is a mantra I repeat often. And in their school, they've friends who are marvelous, from families I respect, who have outward-looking philosophies. Would I do better for them in the US? They will always have the choice of continuing their studies in the US, if they feel adventuresome.

I am seeking inside myself, what do I truly and veritably want? To write, to raise my boys, and yes, to love. Financially, I'm not there yet, but that could come and I think will. Amongst my moves this week is to receive most of Arles' real estate agents at the b&b to push the sale of said building. Yes, it won't sell at a top price due to the current economy, but, it's insane for me to be struggling so when there are funds there that are mine and which could help me get over this hump.


I've many pots on the burners: hiking and biking programs in Provence for next year, the two books (Provence teen cook book and my foodie memoir), potential collaborations with organic wine importers to the States, teaching English, I hope future translations. I'm getting good feedback from numerous directions, which has not yet translated into income, but I think with time it will.


I remember how it was building the original business with Erick. I would distribute flyers to the hotels, and we'd hear nothing, but the next year, a dozen people would come because they'd picked them up and brought them home. I'd go to the International Associaition of Culinary Professionals' conference, and there, I'd speak, chat, meet, and exchange and in the immediate future, I'd have new friends, but over the long period, many colleagues came and brought clients to us. Each and every effort bore fruit, if not immediately.

Even for JP's wine, Domaine Cabanis (see the website on the side bar). I've gotten it into the hands of Canadian importers, and it looks like things will come through there. And though it is not yet being imported to the States, I've increased his name recognition, shown his style and skills through my posts on this blog, shared the virtues of organic wine in general, and just possibly, all this "soft" marketing will pay off this year. Who knows?


Each act is a step in the right direction, and it all takes time and patience. So, if I can only get that b&b sold this year, recoup much of what I put into it, and thus have the flexibility and funds to go forth less stressfully... in any case, this is what I'm working to put into motion, one step at a time.

Back at my house, I sat down to meditate. I sat down to say thank you and to connect. I found the Anyusara mantra in my copy of Yoga Journal, and then, continued with Ahs, sitting before my window facing East, slowly teaching myself to seek calm and balance. It will be a long haul, but, at least this morning, I felt it.