Triple X

It’s Monday. Yes, it’s MONDAY. I don’t really mind Mondays. They’re days to begin anew…with new resolve….with a plan. And this is my Monday. All my visitors are finished for the season. All those dinners and lunches out, no gym, little writing, almost no reading…those days are finished and with a little weekend bridge in there for good measure, that brings me to MONDAY.

I’ve had all kinds of visitors this year. Great old friends, people I’ve never met until they were sleeping on my couch, friends of friends, people I haven’t seen in 15 years, and my business partner. But probably the most interesting was the visit of …ta…da…the first ex-wife of my only ex-expectorant. Yep, the ex of an ex in Aix!

Doesn’t that beat all?

It all started with a comment on one of my early blogs. She left her name and I responded by saying I knew someone in another life with that name. Was she, in fact, that person? Indeed she was…and this began a facebook friendship and many long nights of chatting and comparing notes, so to speak. Oh my, oh my! I shan’t go into all we’ve talked about (I’ll save that for a book) and all we’ve learned but let’s just say our mutual past has cemented our friendship. Who’d have ever thought?

During those chats she talked about how much she’d like to pack up her family (she has 2 young girls ages 12 and 13) and take off for a time to see the world. I, of course, being one who understands pipe dreams but also someone who believes they can become reality, encouraged her.

As it turns out, she didn’t need much encouragement. Within 6 months, she and her husband had made the decision to rent out their house for a year, take the girls out of school, and make their dream a reality. And they took off this summer for parts unknown. Now doesn’t that make her all the more interesting?

And so the entourage arrived chez moi last week. So far the girls have seen England, Germany, Spain, Holland and France. After Italy and a few other countries they will make their way to South American where they hope to stay for a length of time so as to soak up a bit of the culture and possibly the language. They will learn more in this year then they ever would in school.  And I got to be a little part of their journey. I’m honored and so happy to have met (or re-met) them all. And who'd have thought...I really like my ex's ex!

Back to my Monday. During the time of “all the visitors” I developed some sort of allergy to insects. What insect, I don’t know…a french one...but whatever it is, when I get stung my reaction is over the top. At first it was just large swelling and itchiness that lasted weeks. Then it became blisters (now if a giant yellow blister on your arm or you’re your forehead isn’t gross, I don’t know what is). Yesterday at the movies, I was bitten by something on my eyebrow. I could feel the swelling almost immediately. And today, my Grand Monday…the Monday to return to the gym and get some writing and reading done…this Monday I woke up to greet Quasimodo in the mirror. 

 Oh wait...that's not me...this is me.

But I'm sure you can see the resemblance. 

I have been taking all the medicine the pharmacy recommended and today when I returned there and removed my sunglasses, the pharmacist took in a breath and said, "Madame, we've given you all we have. You NEED to go to a doctor". Which I promptly did. I don't want to scare anyone on the street. 

I announced to the doctor that apparently, “ j’ai une allergie aux insects”.

He exclaimed, “Oh no, you’re not allergic to sex!”

But he said it with a twinkle in his eye, probably remembering my last visit, which involved a minor language problem. I told him, I don’t think so….unless it’s some sort of REALLY DELAYED reaction.

He loaded me up with pills and potions, from which I am reeling right now. (It’s probably this drug induced state that made me think it was okay to publish that photo of myself!)

Tomorrow is... Tuesday. Time to start fresh and new. Go to the gym...get some work done on my web site, go on a diet. And it's my Tuesday. I swear it will be. The pharmacist sold me heavy duty bug spray and told me to keep myself smothered in it. Well, actually she told me wear it like perfume..on my wrists and my ankles....all the time. Which will pretty much insure that I'm never going to have the chance to find out if I have an allergy to sex.

Have a great week!

More IS Better

This is a peanut butter stupor. Okay, 2 people know this is not true so I have to be honest. It's an alcohol induced stupor brought on by a night on the terrace with my girls. Wine, trash talk, more wine, not enough food, more trash talk (I truly hope the neighbors near the mansion can't speak English).....and then came the peanut butter. But all the same, I'm blaming it all on my girls. 


Jeanmarie and Victoria, my two fine friends who I met while we were all living in a convent in London in 1980, came to visit once again. They knew that they would each be taking a suitcase full of contraband back to the states for me, so they both arrived with said suitcase filled with goodies for me. In keeping with the American tradition of 'if one is good, more must be better', their extra suitcases resembled Mary Poppins' magic bag.

And as a result I now have 7 rolls of Press-n-Seal, 22 pounds (yes, pounds!) of Skippy Extra Chunk, 3 cans of Spam, 7 pounds of brown sugar, 3 boxes of Nilla Wafers (I can now make my friend Susan's banana pudding recipe), 1 bag of marshmallows, 1 box of graham crackers, 5 extra-large boxes of Ziploc bags, 2 bottles of Tero ant killer, 2 bottles of my favorite contact lens solution, and other assorted stuff. I’m delighted with all my treasures, except for the major problem of having to find a place in this apartment to store everything. I mean, really! Even I can’t go through 22 pounds of peanut butter…um…can I? But I do know I can kill every single sweet-eating ant in the south of France with 2 bottles of Tero.

And please note the 2...yes 2...cake carriers. These were a present from Victoria who had read about my cake carrying troubles and wanted to surprise me. One is even collapsable and when fully opened, will carry two layers of cupcakes. I guess now I'll have to make cupcakes. In the meantime however, I'll store my ziploc bags in them. 

The girls are gone now and I miss them. I miss their grief and their support, their insecurities and their strength, their humor and their tears, their chastising and their acceptance. 

Here's to fine and lasting friendships. In this case it is true... if one is good...more is ALWAYS better. 

Last Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer

I've been zigging and zagging around France these last couple of weeks and thought I'd share a few photos. All of these places I've been before, but each was so beautiful and a the trips were lovely way to end the summer travel season.

I went camping....yes camping. This is camping like I've never done before and I'll write more about it later. Suffice it to say that it wasn't the wild, private camping I'm used to, although we did have a tent! But take note of the roof of the house just over the hedge. Nope...no bear here! But the view of the Iles de Hyères made it well worth the lack of wildlife and privacy. And the sea was silky and warm.

The village of Cavalaire sur Mer is situated on the south side of the Presqu'îsle de St. Tropez and only 5 miles from the village of St. Tropez. Of course, a visit to the village is obligatory where we watched yacht after yacht, each larger and more glam than the other, make their way into port...to do whatever it is they do in St. Tropez. I guess to be gawked at...like I and these other poor sods were doing at the House of Chanel-St. Tropez.

A little touring in the Var region...which is absolutely beautiful by the way. So green and mountainous...not at all the terrain we have here near Aix en Provence.

We discovered the medieval village of Grimaud after following a few mountain roads that scared the bejeezuz out of me. For some reason I really like this photo.

This one not so much. Remind me not to wear that dress again! My hips look larger than the village of St. Tropez which you can see behind me from the ruins of Chateau Grimaud. Horizontal stripes...what was I thinking???

The camping trip was immediately followed by a quick trip to the Haute-Savoie region of France and a pop into Switzerland.

If you've never visited Yvoire, France which sits on the south end of Lac Lemond (Lake Geneva), put it on your list. It's enchanting.

As is the village of Annecy.

And now I'm settled back into the mansion in Aix en Provence and the month of visitors begins....starting tomorrow. There isn't much to do...except defrost my freezer. I'm doing this because my girls and I are going to NEED ice cubes....and because Keith, over at A Taste of Garlic, hasn't stopped razzing me about it's previous sorry state. Keith, we'll drink a cold one...or two... for you!

Feet and Packages

I know nobody has slept a wink since I promised an article on meat last week. Nothing better than good  old, Monday morning meat read. And now, so that all the world can finally get a little rest, I will fulfill my promise....

During one of my investigative trips to the big supermarkets here in southern France, and after I’d managed to extract myself from the cheese aisle, I did an exploration of the meat aisle. I first hit the cooler that bore a striking resemblance to the cooler in my old biology lab.  I mean, what are these things before me that look so much like body parts and innards? After writing down the names and doing a translation I discovered that they were….indeed... body parts and pieces!

Here’s a sample of the sizeable selection of delicacies that somebody must be eating. We’ve got Tête de Veau, Pieds de Veau, Langue de Veau, and Cervelle de Veau, which translate to head of veal, feet of veal, tongue of veal, and brains of veal. Poor little baby cows.

Then there’s Rognon de Boeuf  (as in beef kidneys) and Rognon Cubes (it’s nice to know you can buy these little waste processing factories pre-cut, don’t you think?) Then we move on to Cours d’Agneau (heart of lamb) and Crépine de Porc (the casing of pig intestines).  Followed by Pieds et Paquets Marseillais, a gross looking pile of flesh that translates to “feet and packages”. But packages of what? I finally just found a definition today. It’s little packages of chopped ham, garlic and herbs all wrapped in the pretty paper of…. sheep’s stomach lining. And a particularly Provençal specialty. Oh goody!  AND to top it all off, you can get the feet and packages in a value pack…enough for all your friends and family.

I realize that people in all countries eat these unusual things. And probably more so in certain ethnic groups or in particular regions of a country. When I was a bush cook in British Columbia, I prepared moose heart, elk liver, caribou tongue, mountain sheep brains and goat testicles. But we didn’t have anything else to eat! (I did. I had peanut butter. Which I lived on and which is where my whole peanut butter sickness began) I have asked my French friends explain to me... who eats this stuff? Many don’t, of course. But last time I inquired about brains at a dinner party, a grand argument began about the best way to prepare this delicious delicacy. I pretended to write down the recipes...but I had absolutely no intention of testing them in order to form my own opinion.

Okay, so on to the regular meats. Yep, we’ve got it all. We’ve got chicken and turkey and, of course, duck and rabbit which are both often eaten here. So we’re sure what we’re eating, there’s usually a little picture of the animal somewhere on the label. Then we move on to pork, beef and lamb (which is also a staple).  So, I’m moving down the meat case, checking it all out and I land on Cheval Haché. Of course, that’s horsemeat and, yes, it’s eaten in France. Judging from the selection, it’s not eaten all that much, but it’s there and I’ve seen it on menus at a couple of restaurants. And a friend of mine told me it makes the very best tartare. 

And finally, I arrive at the last meat case. Five shelves high and stacked with all sorts of packages of meat bearing the picture of…a dog! NO! No...no...NO!

Please say it isn’t true. Not dog! This is terrible… more terrible than horse hamburger and pig intestines.

On closer inspection, I realized this was meat FOR dogs, not meat OF dogs.  The French do love their dogs after all, and I was able to let out the breath that I’d been holding in horror.

I’m a reasonably adventurous soul but I’m not sure I’ll be eating sheep kidneys anytime soon. I’ll leave that to Chef Andrew Zimmer who, long ago,  taught me to make a mean crème brulée and now makes a REALLY good living traveling the world for The Travel Channel and eating all sorts of disgusting things. Me, I think I’ll stick to writing. But I’d settle for making a REALLY good living traveling  the world and writing about all the bizarre stuff that Andrew Zimmer is willing to eat.

Bon Appétit!

Aisle Pick Up Something For Dinner

Aside from those rare days. …even rarer in the summer, when I go into some sort of cooking flurry, I really don’t need much food. Gone are the days of feeding 2 teenage boys (they're generally normal...unless I'm taking their picture), 17 of their nearest and dearest friends and a couple of neighbor kids thrown in for good measure. Also gone are the days of enough storage space to have one extra of almost everything in case of famine or plague. I buy my vegetables precisely when I need them at the daily market down the street, my bread at the patisserie, fresh daily also, and the tiny grocery around the corner suffices for anything else I might need (save Skippy Super Chunk).

But whenever a friend with a car heads out to one of the big supermarchés on the periphery of the city, I hitch a ride. I love to poke around, checking out what’s available, what’s prevalent, and what is non-existent. This sport is only fun when I have nowhere to be because the grocery store lines are un-flipping-believable. But that’s another article.

So here’s my rundown. The fruit and vegetable section is enormous. I mean, HUGE. And busy. I’ve never had to wait in line to get at the tomatoes before, but it’s happened to me here.  This section includes most things I’m familiar with although it’s really light on broccoli. Which is just fine with me. Don’t tell my kids but I’d probably be happy if I never had to eat broccoli again for the rest of my life. There is a higher preponderance of endive, shallots, leeks, fennel, and zucchini, a gazillion types of lettuce and various bean pods that mystify me. I mean, who really takes the time to shell these things, anyway?

The fresh milk section is about 2 feet wide and there is no such thing as a gallon of any of it. A pint is all you’re going to get…although you can buy the type of milk that will last, unrefrigerated, through a nuclear holocaust…but I am genetically incapable of buying it. People just don’t drink milk here. When I tell them I love a tall, cold glass of milk with a sandwich they come dangerously close to gagging.  I’m a little disappointed because one of the first phrases I learned on my Rosetta Stone French program…. actually the only one…was “the boy drinks milk”. I have NEVER been able to use that sentence; although I’m sure French boys drink milk…somewhere!

The proportions of the chip section….that enormous, colorful and caloric aisle in the U.S. is only a little  larger than the milk subdivision. Oh they’ve got salty snacks and some are REALLY nummy, but they obviously do not carry the importance in the French diet of…say….CHEESE.

The cheese aisle…now that’s another story! Do not get stuck here at 6 o’clock at night when you need to be somewhere in a hurry. You won’t get there. Trying to get through the mob is problem enough but making up your mind also takes time. Hard, soft, pasteurized or not, fresh or aged, goat, sheep or cow.  This thing goes on forever and doesn’t include the deli section of cheese (a small portion of it on the left), which also blows the mind for variety. The yogurt sector is the same. I don’t know what the French fascination is with yogurt, but they’ve got an entire aisle of it…. that and creamy pudding type desserts. So I shan’t worry about them. They’re getting their vitamin D.

Which brings me to the deli. There are sausages (some of which I just don’t even want to know their origins) a few salads, you can ask for sliced meats, sauces, cheeses and a few ready-made savory pies, pastas and roasted meats. But I want to point out there is not one, single, shuddering bowl of pink fluff or pistachio goo. Nor, have I seen a single clear plastic catering pan heaping with bright yellow, over-mayonaised potato salad. In fact, in spite of the fact that mayonnaise is French, I rarely see salads bound together with the stuff. Perhaps that’s different in the north…but this here is olive oil country, cowboy!

Chocolate also has an aisle of it’s own and I have been known to spend 20…okay, maybe more…minutes there examining my options. And don’t bother me while I’m pondering either!  It could get ugly. Chocolate chips are not included in the French penchant for the cocoa bean, however.

The wine aisle is not an aisle. It’s regional airport landing field. And it’s not one runway…. it’s three. It’s miles bigger than the beer section in a Wisconsin liquor department, which is saying something!  Local wines, wines from all the other regions of France, very little foreign wine, red, white, rose, dessert wines, wines for 75 euros and wines for 2 euros. Boxes of wines and cases of wines. Wines on special and wines for special occasions. This is just too much for me! While I may have a genetic inclination to drink real milk, I do not have that special, distinctly French gene that seems to just understand wine. Mind you, that doesn’t keep me away from this particular aisle. I look at it as research.

I haven’t even started on the meat aisle, but if I continue, this article will just be too long. So I won’t. That will be next week. As I sit here in the square, sipping a glass of red and eating a bowl of tapas, which in this case is a spicy, marinated version some of those mysterious, aforementioned beans, I’m thinking of what to make for dinner. I’ve got loads of fresh veggies given to me by a friend. Along with my string of garlic hanging from the ceiling and a bottle of olive oil and one of shallot vinegar, and a wedge of some variety of savoie cheese, I should be good. The Skippy is coming with friends in two weeks!

                                                          

Plum Crazy

My mom used to do really goofy things in August. You know, those hot, humid, dog days of August when the best you can do is....roll over. Nope, not mom. Every year, on what seemed the the hottest, most impossible day, she would clean the attic. Or make pickles. Both are hot, sticky, miserable jobs. But she always said, "I'm already hot and sweaty. I might as well do the hottest jobs on the hottest days". There's mother wisdom for you.

Saturday the yellow plums were ripe. NOW! And I had a tree dripping with them. It was also 100 degrees. Taking mother wisdom to heart, I decided to make jam. I had already bought the jars and ingredients and was dying to use my old, french, copper confiture pot,  so I went at it. I Martha Stewarted away my steamy afternoon, trying not to sweat in my bubbling brew, and ended up with 2 batches of 6 jars each. The golden jam was just beautiful. I couldn't stop surveying my work and marveling at it's perfection.

The next morning, craving toast with jam, I opened a jar that hadn't sealed. It wasn't jam, it was syrup. Delicious syrup, but decidedly messy on a piece of toast. As were the rest of the jars. Back to the internet (where I had learned to make it in the first place) where most of the suggestions for this problem were.... use it for ice cream syrup.

I don't want ice cream syrup. This is my freezer.

Ice cream is not an option. Ice cubes aren't even an option.

So today I opened every jar, emptied them, rewashed, resterilized, and recooked the jam with a little additional pectin. This time it set. It might be golden, plum flavored cement by tomorrow....but by golly it won't be syrup.

So with all the waste and extra cooking, I've only got 8 jars now. And ants. But mom was right. Doing the hot jobs on the hot days really sort of erases the discomfort. I had a great day. I still have 6 pounds of plums. But it will be hot again tomorrow and I now I know what I did wrong. If it works tomorrow, I'll publish the recipe. And you can have the ants too, if you'd like.

Have a wonderful week!

It IS Easy Being Green

The markets here in Aix en Provence are exploding...bursting with choice, local, fruits, vegetables and herbs. But the most magnificent thing about les marchés (read more about our markets in Aix here) in August, is they're not exploding with people. There's a laziness to the days right now that I love. Everyone is on vacation, including many of the venders. And I can move around the market without getting stepped on or jostled and I have the opportunity to converse with the venders about such earth-shattering subjects as the merits of Tahitian versus Madagascar vanilla beans.  I want to stay away from the markets...I really do. Because I always buy more than I can consume in a day or two...just because it's beautiful... and ripe...and perfect. I have become pretty adept at taking veggies almost past their prime and turning them into something that I can at least stick in the freezer. I see, as I'm writing this, that there is a red pepper in the basket in front of me that is starting to shrivel with age. It will go in the broiler today with some olive oil and get itself roasted back to a new form of perfection.  I wish I could do that for myself! Oh yes, I guess I could. It's called a chemical peel!

Anyway, 2 weeks ago on a rainy, gray day I was perusing the market...again for nothing in particular. I passed a vender who happened to have a big fat, glorious pile of basil. And it was the thick-leaved, shiny variety (they call it Italian basil here) that I love to use for pesto. Summer pesto is a tradition at my house and when this herb is  thick and fragrant, before it flowers, one has to grab the moment. Which I did this day. I filled a sack and changed my afternoon plans.

Pesto was always one of my kids' favorites. On pasta, on crackers, on a sandwich, with tomatoes...whatever. And the wonderful thing about pesto is it makes basil preservable. It freezes like a dream, thaws fast and brings the late lazy days of summer back to mind when one is buried up to the neck in snow. Of course, here in the south, I don't need to worry about the snow thing but...winter is winter...no matter how it presents itself.

I'm low on good kitchen tools here but I did buy a food processor. My splurge was really the fault of a fellow blogger named Sharon, and her citrus tart recipe but I did have pesto in mind when I bought it. And you really need a food processor for this. Unless you're a kitchen saint...or nuts. So here's our favorite pesto recipe.

Pesto


4 C. well packed basil leaves (this does not mean well packed as in brown sugar. But you can push it down a bit. Bruising won't matter much. It won't have time to lose it's flavor).

1/2 C. olive oil

2 or 3 cloves garlic, minced

1/4 to 1/3 C roasted pine nuts (do not skip the roasting step. This makes a world of difference in the flavor.)

1/4 C. grated parmesan cheese (yes, I mean buy a good quality wedge and grate it in the food processor)

1/4 C. grated asiago or pecorino cheese (same as above)

Wash and dry the leaves. Make sure they're good and dry by flinging them around in a towel or running them through the spin cycle of the washer (in a towel) ....yes you heard me. A top-load washing machine is the BEST kitchen tool. Do not try it in a front-loader (I tried that at my friend Kerry's house one time and she was picking spinach out of her underwear for a month). Then spread them out on a towel to dry.

Puree the leaves with a food processor. Add the oil, garlic and pine nuts and process until a paste forms. Then add the cheese and just process to blend.

That's it. Perfect pesto. I leave one batch in the fridge for dinner and the rest is frozen in 1/4 C. portions in freezer bags. I NEVER make one batch....it's always at least 4. And it's so comforting to have a stack of flat little green bags in the freezer. For that moment when....

Just for extra fun, here's a great recipe using pesto. I haven't got any photos. Philadelphia Cream Cheese has just recently come to France and I can only get it at the big supermarkets. But take my word for it, unmolded, this is a beautiful addition to an apero table;  it's green, red and white stripes singing summer.

Pesto and Sun-Dried Tomato Torta

1 ½ pkgs (8 oz. each) cream cheese           

            into chunks
 ½ C. unsalted butter, into chunks

8 oz. dried tomatoes                                    

fresh basil leaves for garnish

 In a small bowl, cover tomatoes with boiling water and let them stand 2-5 minutes, or until softened.  Drain well and chop.  Line a mold or bowl with plastic wrap, letting ends hang over.  Layer half cream cheese mixture, half of the pesto and half dried tomatoes.  Repeat layers.  Fold ends of wrap over top and refrigerate at least two hours.  To serve, invert and remove plastic wrap.  Garnish with basil leaves and serve with crackers or toasts.

These freeze beautifully so I make two in soup bowl sized molds and one goes in the freezer for the inevitable moment when someone arrives for a drink and all I've got is old cereal and sour milk.

Bon Appetit!

The pesto recipe looks amazingly like one at Epicurious. Who knows, maybe that's where I got it back in the '80s...but I doubt it. I'm sure they stole it from me! The Torta recipe, if memory serves me right, came from my friend Steve Immerman. Thanks Steve. I've used it a million times.