A New Dog in the Family

JP received a four-legged Christmas gift from his kids this year. It (or he) was quite unexpected. I think JP was rather getting adjusted to his status as partial parent to my Filou and what with his mother still up at the Mas and her large black dog a semi-permanent resident (other than when he heads back to town to be with his urban buddies), well, the winery wasn't lacking in a canine presence.

But, that said, his opinion was not requested, and Perro arrived on Christmas day.

I just have to laugh.

What is it about seeing a man who cherishes control, calm and order deal with a chaotic, wildly tale-swinging, super-enthusiastic, slobbering and loving animal that just melts my heart? Or leaves me chuckling royally.

Suddenly Filou is the most discreet and well-behaved of dogs (excepting the fact that his poodle parentage breeds true in his tendency to bark quite sharply and way too much when he's rough-housing with the other dogs). Filou sleeps quietly at the foot of the bed (on the floor) till I move -- this could be till 7AM, 8AM, 9AM. He patiently awaits the levée of his mistress.

Oh but not Perro! At 6:30 sharp he's there all eager and excited, wacking his tale, licking and nibbling his master's nose, raising his paws upon the pillow (yup!). Be he in my home or at the winery, he is one rambunctious and large dog. With a good bit of German Shepherd in him, he'll be a large and powerful dog when he grows to full height. Right now he's the sweetest and funniest of beasts. Attentive to his master, great with the kids, playing wildly with Filou, jealous of anyone coming near either of us (Filou included) and likely to knock me down as I walk up the steps to the winery's front door.

Mealtime is now quite ritualized for both animals (when they haven't had their afternoon snacks down with JP's mother). We eat our lunch while they wait patiently, preferably lying dowon on their cushions. Then Filou eats indoors and Perro scarfs up his meal outdoors (carefully measured out). Ditto at dinner time. If we didn't separate them at meal times, Filou wouldn't get a bite! At my house, I put a cup of food into Filou's bowl when I awake in the morning. I fill the water bowl. Et basta.

JP brought Perro with him to my place last week when he helped me in the garden, with the shed, etc. All went well, but I hadn't realized that truly, I needed to put all edibles at least on shelves 6ft high. What was to be a special treat of brioche for my boys disappeared in a second, bits of torn plastic strewn on the floor. Filou has never stolen food. Naive woman that I am, I just hadn't expected this.

There are also the occasional accidents from over-excited beasts left to their own devices in the living room. We'll get past all this. But it is amusing. Life throws you curve balls all the time, particularly if you are a craver of zen and calm moments before -- just perhaps -- the universe has decided you are deserving of such.

Movie Night

Well we are continuing our tradition of curling up in my bed on Sunday night, my two boys and I, for a rented movie off of ITunes. This one was suggested by JP. He had strong memories of it as a child. And I? Well, no doubt I saw snippets of it over a few days on the 4:30 movie, much cut up by ads, when I was home sick during elementary school.

I rented Ben Hur. In my ignorance, I had only the image of the grand race course in my head. That it takes place during the time of Jesus, that the King Balthazar is a character, that you see a different side of Pontus Pilate, none of this was remotely in my head. I did realize that it would deify Charleton Heston a bit (though goodness he is stiff!). But I figured I could get past this.

Leo was very happy with my choice. He's been studying Roman History and the Greek Gods at school, and back in third grade we read the Childrens' Bible together (also in keeping with the Steiner program), so he had sufficient historical perspective to really get into what is a very very long and at times drawn out story. That Arles used to have a race course of its own the size of the one portrayed in the film is of course, icing on the cake.

Jonas however, was quickly overcome by weariness and lack of interest. He is not as yet able to watch a peplum film from Hollywood of the 1960s. Perhaps a modern one with lots of fighting (yuck), but an old-fashioned one with lots of talking??? Not really his cup of tea.

But Leo is old enough to get into it all. He happily watched the three hours of Richard Burton's Alexander the Great this summer. Listening to exquisitely pronounced English with the diction of a Shakespearean actor doesn't come to all children his age. That I didn't get him the Orlando Bloom version didn't seem to phase him at all.

Meantime, cuddling was the order of the day. In my exhuberance at the approaching end of winter I'd turned off the heat last week. When we all returned last night the house was frigid as could be. Only now, the next morning, is the heat beginning to enter the stones anew. Silly me. I was so thrilled to be saving on heating gas... Ah well, what's a night or more with the covers over your head to keep warm? thick socks, sweaters and more under multiple covers...

Personal hygiene for a pre-teen

Leo has always had a ton of hair. But, he's a boy. I was able to keep it relatively short, and if I didn't brush it smooth every morning, well... let's say he had a recognizable look. La tignasse they called him (lightly translatable as mop head).

These days he has decided to let his hair grow long. The last time I was allowed to come near him with scissors was this past summer. The hair is now past his shoulders. And, blessed as we are in this family with incredibly thick pelts, he has a ton of hair.

The teachers at school are beginning to complain. So we got him a bandanna to hold it down and permit him to see in class without needing to permanently wipe the hair from his eyes, and to limit the flick of his head to the right (and a possible krick in his neck at the tender age of 12 1/2). I've chosen not to make this a battleground. Let him test out the long hair thing now. And likely, just as my brother did when he was a teenager, he'll get it out of his system and in the end prefer a simpler style that requires less maintenance.

The bandana helps -- though he often forgets it at his father's over the weekend, so I cut up old sheets into large squares as replacements. Soon a rubber band will be in order (though for the moment, this latter he scorns). I realize that my child has never learned to properly use a hair brush. Or rather, he knows how to physically manipulate one, but that this can and should be done on a daily basis escapes him. After a shower, he is often caught combing his hair for hours in front of the mirror, trying different doos. But in the morning? fresh from bed? So, for Christmas he found a brush in his stocking... along with a razor and shaving cream.

The next step is to get him to shower more frequently. When he was a little boy, the nightly bath was just part of the ritual. Somehow, we've lost that, and it's a job getting my child into the shower after hand-ball practice. Hey, I tell him, you're an adolescent now, three times a week is the minimum! And, your hair is not only full of dust, but it's getting greasy and heavy. It's all part of your age and where you're at. You don't stink yet, but that too will come. And if you want to avoid getting pimples you need to keep your hair clean and off your face, and no poking at them with your fingers. You'll need to cultivate a daily routine of washing your face and your hands frequently...

Yes, this is part of our patter and discussion these days. Slowly, the message is getting through. Now, the next thing to learn is that showers can be a mere fifteen minutes long... not thirty.

Curious. I don't think mothers of girls go through quite the same routine and educational process.

Snow in March in Provence?

I didn't believe my eyes, nor the weather report, and most certainly not those first flakes that began to fall. But then I awoke from a lovely nap to see curtains of heavy white flakes swirling about outside. But, this is March! What's up? This is far from normal. I've experienced snow storms in NY on Easter, but in Provence?

The kids are way psyched -- school is closed (of course!) The locals (unless they come from the Haute Savoie or the Jurah) are incapable of driving in this weather, and in any case, nearly no one has snow tires. So, home we are, the stove well stocked with wood to burn throughout the day. A quite moment, though the wind is still howling outside. Do I dare go out for a walk with the dogs? When the wind calms... but I've left my great snow boots from Boston in Avignon. Will sneakers do?


And yesterday we'd planned on going out to dance the tango... But I've memories of driving in a snow storm years' ago across Nîmes to pick my mother up at the train station. A frightening experience to put it mildly. Those ditches along every road are simply too deep and too close to the asphalt! Instead we danced in the salon, pushing aside all the furniture. T'was certainly better than nothing.


Today, I suppose I should start working on my US taxes (yes, a bit late, but there's not much to calculate this year). I will also investigate US import laws for wine, whether and how many samples I can bring in when I come over for the IACP conference in Portland, OR in April. Oh yes, there is always something to do on a quiet day. Such as put up a blog post or two, particularly considering the dearth of such these past few weeks.

There's also the possibility of a bit more cuddling...

A Lady Cake for Yvonne

Well, apparently yesterday was grandmother's day in France. Nicolas shared this news with us Friday (having learned it from his girlfriend) and so I got to work preparing the cake and vegetables for the family meal on Sunday at the winery.

And, for reasons unknown, a favorite cake from my childhood browsings of Joy of Cooking (1960 edition) came to mind. As we all know everything is findable on the internet, and so not having the book on hand, I was still able to find a good copy of the recipe:

1 cup butter
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 cup milk
3 cups flour (I believe this is for pastry flour, as I had 65 grade meant for breads, I ended up using 2 1/2 cups)
1 tablespoon baking powder
6 beaten egg whites
and I added a pinch of salt...

Without a proper electric beater (the winery is only minimally equipped for those who enjoy cooking and baking) I had to use a fork to mash the softened butter (I'd left it out on the counter, happily) into the sugar. I then added some of the milk, then some of the flour, etc., etc., till I got to a thick paste. I then mixed in a third of the egg whites, followed by the rest. Not having a spatula, I simply mixed gently, but no doubt lost some of the lightness and air the egg whites might have conveyed if treated more gently.

The cake baked up easily in the mini-oven -- though it took over an hour. A. because the oven is pretty dinky, and B. because the batter is quite heavy. A light sponge cake this is not.

While the cake baked, I made an orange syrup to pour over it with the juice of two oranges and a cup plus of sugar. I also prepared the ingredients for my ganache topping: 200 grams finely chopped dark baking chocolate, 100ml light cream and three pats of sweet butter.

Once the cake was out of the oven, flipped onto a plate and dowsed in syrup, I got to work heating my cream for the ganache. I poured the hot cream over the chopped chocolate, blended it together to "faire une mayonnaise" as they say here, and then added the butter till blended as well.


In the past I've used lemon juice/orange juice and powdered sugar to make a simple glaze for this cake with very good results.

The ganache went on smoothely, and the cake awaited the next day partly in the fridge, and partly on the dining table. Yum!

Oh yes, just to keep things amusing, I made a crême anglaise to accompany the cake: 2 cups milk, 5 egg yolks and a 1/3 cup sugar. Heat the first, blend the sugar into the egg yolks, add some of the heated milk to the egg yolks, whisking, then pour the egg yolks into the milk in the sauce pan (heavy bottomed, stainless recommended). Whisk and whisk and whisk, -- as the milk is already quite hot, this goes very very quickly. In a couple of minutes the milk had thickened. I removed the cream from the stove, poured it into a cooler and shallower recipient, whisked some more, and let it cool. Perfect to dollop atop the cake the next day.

A nourishing spring/end of winter dish

My kids aren't big beans eaters. The dried variety that is. I can easily get them to consume lentils and chick peas, but beans, chilli, etc., well, they just weren't raised with them, and don't particularly like the texture farineuse of these most nourishing of foods. Yes, I admit to neglecting their culinary education on this level. I shall endeavor to remedy the situation. However, when they scorn the most delicious chilli con carne of my brother, who is a superb cook... t'is not easy.

However, I do like beans, be they red, white, black or green. And so does JP. So, to nourish my hard-working man as he shoveled, dug, and transplanted in the garden, then hammered away on my shed, I set some classic little flagelets beans to soak the night before, and put them on to cook late morning.

I chopped up the onion and shallot I had on hand, smashed and chopped coarsely perhaps 6 cloves of garlic, drizzled some olive oil in the bottom of a casserole and got to work.

To make life interesting, and the dish of course, I put in perhaps 6 whole cloves (clous de girofle), a teaspoon of cumin seeds, a teaspoon of white pepper corns and a teaspoon of powdered paprika.

While the spices and onions were toasted a bit in the oil, I added 4 organic sausages, and some chopped prosciutto that I had on hand.

When the onions and garlic were sweated -- and long before the garlic could burn, I put in the beans and I liberally covered with water. I then added 2 tablespoons of sesame paste (taking a note from Mark Bittman's suggested uses of peanut butter to thicken and add depth to the dish), a sprinkle of salt, 3 or 4 large bay leaves from my tree outside and left my dish to simmer.

I wanted to cook the dish on my wood stove, but, as the beans had a ways to cook, I quickly saw that for us to eat at a convenient hour within the range of what is locally believed to be lunch time (between noon and twoPM), I needed to have more of a rolling simmer going on than a gentle back burner blub blub.

Once the beans were soft I added a cup of tomato sauce (I'd read that beans don't soften in acidulated liquid, thus I held off adding the tomatoes till the beans were properly cooked), and a cup and a half of (organic) canned corn. The dish continued simmering gently till we were ready to eat.

Some simple rice, JP's lovely red vin de pays, a salad and a cheese plate rounded out the meal. Yum! Just what was needed as the humidity and chill descended on what had been a gorgeous morning, and what was going to be a misty and moist evening.

Hints of Spring

I am a being of the spring. I was born in May, and with each spring I come back to life as so much of the natural world does around me. In the winter, I'm often hit by the doldrums of sunlight deprivation (yes, even here in Provence: remember that NY is on the same level as Rome, so I'm really getting the light, or lack there of, of Boston, if not the snow...). I huddle, I hibernate, I snuggle, I pull out films, books, knitting, baking, concentrated red wines, hot toddies, rum or bourbon laced coffee and chocolate drinks... whatever I can just to get through it all.

At the painting show of my art teacher from the Steiner teachers' training, Nona Sederstam (you can find her on facebook), I chose the painting which for me best represented my soul and spirit -- not the calm and meditative blues, not the firey reds, but the burst of colors springing like a phoenix reborn. When winter depression comes upon me, I meditate on these colors, these beacons to life and hope.

Thus, it is most natural when those first hints of spring start to appear I grow hopeful. Energy comes flowing back. I seek to be outdoors for any and all reasons. I scratch the earth, roam the woods, admire the light bouncing over the water, listen to the birds, smell the dark soil. Ahhh.
This weekend was a particularly magical one. I had help -- hey, mon homme is back in my life, and proving himself useful and willing. T'is a good thing, no? And, I think understandably, before I'm willing to bring my things back to his place, I needed to see and feel him here, now, in my world, at my side.

The bike shed now has a roof (with the kids we'd managed only to get the walls up). The thyme and a cognassier (Japanese quince) have been moved to sunnier spots, and my jasmin and climbing rose on my facade are neatened up after the weight of the snow storm pulled them down.



As I weeded my rose bush patch I spotted the emerging crocuses planted two years ago by Hayley and Jojo. My long-ago planted cognassier is just beginning to flower, with many a bud promissing more of its bright orange pink blossoms. And back in the vegetable patch, my garlic experiment is sprouting happily. It won't keep me in garlic for more than a month or two, but hey, what joy to see life springing through that dark earth, promising a harvest shortly (need to double check on when...).

With a few more desk-top projects to accomplish, cvs to drop off, interviews to program... things are looking up!

Now, if only I could wake up a half hour earlier and salute the sun as it streams into my bedroom window. I know that would do me some good, n'est-ce pas?

Nightlife in Avignon

What a hoot it is, and how grateful I am, to have girlfriends who know and enjoy the night spots (or at least a good selection of them) in Avignon.

Since I've been with my friend Véronique, the options for dancing and concerts have exploded in my life. I do feel like I'm picking up somewhere where I left off maybe fifteen years ago. During the life I lived in Seattle I went out, I went dancing, I enjoyed live music, I bopped through the night and went home to collapse into bed well wearied from moving to the many rhythms of the evening.

But, when I arrived in Paris, the smoking ban in public places and bars/restaurants was not as yet in effect and I just couldn't handle the polluted atmosphere. Call me an over-the-top American, but having gotten happily accustomed to partying in smoke-free environments, I just couldn't go back. So, much as I was sad to do so, I foreswore evenings in jazz clubs, many a party, and many a small and intimate restaurant.


Then, I got married, had kids, etc., and got just a bit side-tracked.

Now, I'm on my own -- at least most of the time -- and my kids are growing up and possibilities are opening up and hey, I live next to a really awesome city. I love to dance, and the possibilities for tango and salsa are many and of high quality, haut niveau,and at prix abordables. I can go out every Friday night and tango at the pratiques, bals, and milongas sponsored by the Ilôt Tango association/club with a range of lovely and competent cavaliers in safety and fun for 5Euros, and it's just 5 minutes from my house by car.

Salsa is possible nightly at the Cubanito around the corner from les Halles, or on special occasions further afield on Saturday nights. And concerts? Ah, I'm just beginning to dip my toes into these waters.

Le Delirium is a funky club reminiscent of the Crocodile club in Seattle (I'm dating myself...) just off the main drag in Avignon. It has great charm, comfort, and easy energy occupying nearly an entire second floor of a building overlooking the small side stree and the main avenue de la république. With the very energetic Véronique leading the way, we danced through the full two sets of a Latin inspired group based out of Marseille, three trombones, a flute, a clarinet, keyboards and strings, one main woman singer, one male, and many a superb back-up. Wow! they were tight, and the crowd was way psyched. By the end, my feet were ready for a serious hot bath.

And this weekend (I try to put only one crazy night per weekend...) I joined the Association du Quartier des Teinturiers, a very warm and wonderful gathering of diverse peoples who like to dance, care about the origins of their food, fair trade, organics, farmers' rights, and more. For a minimal sum we ate a home-cooked meal inspired by Brazil's varied cuisine (those black beans stayed with me for a while.... apparently they didn't toss out the soaking water, nor add cumin...), and sang and danced with Véro's group of Brazilian singers and musicians, all the while costumed as we might to the theme of "extravaganza."

All ages were welcome, and many were represented, from 13 - 75 (at least). The outfits were daring (men in drag, women of a certain age flaunting elegant gambes...), shoes reached heights rarely worn on the street, wigs of colors galore, Christmas tree tinsel astutely draped. I should have photographed there... the portraits would have been unique. Imagine, a child's pink tutu as a headress?

The evening took place in a tiny spot filled with fun, posters for many a virtuous cause, and blackboards dotted with prior menus.

Now that I'm a member, I certainly will try out future events.