Cuisine Americaine- Part Two

The last line of my last post: "Even if I and my meal fall flat on our respective faces, this has got to be worth a laugh."


Did I really have to write that? Really? They say that putting things into words can be prophetic. Why didn't I just say, "the meal is going to be fabulous and we'll have lots of laughs."?

In fact, we did have lots of laughs. This was a good thing. But I think it was mainly because this is what I produced for the main course.

Yeppers, a 2 1/2 kilo, 30 Euro, rack of.....CHARCOAL! Looks like something that came out of the ruins of Pompeii, don't you think? I should have known better. Meat on a grill and Delana do not go hand in hand. There is not even a minor affinity. 

I had this whole thing under control. The meal was to be at a friend's house; a bachelor whom I was sure would not have kitchen full of cooking equipment, so I worked ahead. I made the potato salad and coleslaw the day before chez moi, where I do have great knives and a food processor. Besides, those things are always better given a day for all the ingredients to get used to each other a form a team. I mixed up the peanut butter and the chocolate cookie dough with my mixer. I made the BBQ sauce, bought the meat, loaded up my salads and dough and headed to his house Saturday afternoon. 

I was SO under control. I baked the cookies, set the table, and made the guacamole. The guacamole was a challenge (and proof that it had been a good idea to make things ahead at my house) because all I could find was a cutting board the size of my palm and a knife that served only to rip the onions and tomatoes.

My idea of grilling the meat was met with protests as in "are you kidding? Grill the meat outside? We're going to freeze to death!" My response was,  "hey, man up!  I'm from Minnesota. We grill outside all year. Do you want an authentic American meal or what? Don't be such a pansy. It's 40 degrees outside...practically springtime!" This was said in French, of course, and I don't know the words for man up...or pansy,  but the monsieur got the idea. But we decided to do it just before the guests arrived so we could warm up before they got there.

This did not go well. It was dark. The grease from the pre-baked ribs caused flames. A lot of them. It took me so long to spit out the word vaporisateur (spray bottle) that by the time the first guests rolled in, I was removing a charred carcass from the grill. And laughing my fool head off. I don't know why I found it so damned funny. I was on the precipice of disaster. As this first guest kindly took the pan of ruins from me to carry it inside, I told him that McDonald's is also American and what did he think about hamburgers? He carried the meat to the sink, and bless his heart, starting scraping the charcoal from the rack of ribs.

I, in turn, placed a pink pepto bismol tablet at each place setting. They went very well with the tablecloth. 

Then we re-covered the recovering ribs with BBQ sauce and popped them in the oven.

In the end, the meal was delicious. I served everything American-style, all at once,  and the French guests ate everything in courses....salads first. (I didn't try to stop them. You can only take this American meal thing so far) Then we started in on the ribs. And they were wonderful! I was speechless.

The guacamole (served with an excellent champagne which always helps) was depleted. They loved the salads, especially the potato salad which I will share the recipe for next week. They thought the meat was excellent with the slightly sweet sauce and there was not a morsel remaining at the finish of the meal. The cookies, as always, were a hit but it surprised me how much they liked the peanut butter version. French people DO NOT LIKE peanut butter.

Four hours at the table and a looming presidential election here in France brought on the usual political discussions and, as usual, I worried that somebody would be killed. I worked hard to try to keep up but between the Marseille accents, the topic, and the rapid-fire discourse, I got lost.  I sat back, had another glass of kick-ass French wine, and checked out. My job was done.

And by the way, nobody ate the pepto bismol!

Cuisine Americaine??

I've been asked to cook an American meal for French friends. I'm terrified. I mean, I've lived alone for the past 5 years and practically alone for the 5 years before that. I'm not sure I even remember how to cook! And I don't have all my wonderful, top-of-the-line cooking equipment surrounding me and ....and....and...

Okay, I can do this. I know I can. So then comes the problem of what to cook that is all-American. This poses some serious dilemmas. I actually asked this question on facebook last night and got all sorts of suggestions ranging from hot dogs and hamburgers and fries to meat loaf and pot roast and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. The problem is, I am having a difficult time finding something that would be truly American.


We're all immigrants...mutts (save the native American population) and our traditional foods all seem to come from somewhere else.  Pot roast is basically French Pot au Feu. Hot dogs are originally German. French fries are Belgian.  Beef stroganoff was a suggestion but that is Russian. I thought meatloaf might be a nice idea but it comes from Germany and Belgium. A grilled ribeye steak could work, but I think our meat here in no way compares to steak back home and besides, I have yet to master barbecuing any type of meat (see more about that here). Tater tot hot dish came up as well but if I remember correctly, that's made with creme of something soup and we don't have that here in France. And I just CAN'T do that. Nor can I subject the French to the world's greatest hangover food, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese...even though I have 3 boxes stashed just in case!


For dessert I thought of my old staple, carrot cake. This is Swedish.  Perhaps Apple Crisp...but this is more or less British Apple Crumble. I could try apple pie but I know it would be too sweet for them. Bread pudding maybe? Nope, seems every country has that! Jello? Oh god, no! And besides, I can't get that here either.


You see my problem?


So this is what I've come up with:

                                                 

Grilled Barbecue pork ribs with a nice, slightly piquant BBQ sauce (the French have very sensitive taste buds). Barbecue and BBQ sauce seems to be  genuinely red, white and blue.

Potato Salad and/ or coleslaw (neither are really American but we've put our own, unique spin on them)

Garlic bread with lots of butter. Nobody puts butter on their bread here except if it's for breakfast.

Chocolate chip/peanut butter cookies, although I reserve the right to sic 'em with apple pie and ice cream.

My last problem is an entrée (appetizer). Anybody have any suggestions? I'm thinking nacho chips and guacamole. Did you know the avocado originates in the Americas?


I will take photos of the grand event and comments from my French guinea pigs. Even if I and my meal fall flat on our respective faces, this has got to be worth a laugh. Doesn't it???????

Emergence

BOO!

Scared ya, didn’t I?

I know, I know…it’s been a really long time. I’ve been away on my yearly Christmas trek to the Midwest and even extended my trip a bit. Each year I think I’m going to blog while I’m away and, of course, I never do. And each year it takes me a couple more weeks to chew my way out of my self-built cocoon and “get on the stick”, as my mother used to say.  I can hear her saying it now…in my head of course. But the things mothers say, even if their echos are only bouncing off the walls of your brain, can be VERY, VERY LOUD!

It was a wonderful trip and even better because it was longer than I expected.  Time with friends and extra time with family warmed my heart and soul. And this year, I did not frostbite my toes or anything else for that matter because it was unseasonably mild.  In fact, I heard on the radio that it had yet to get below zero, which is simply unheard of for a Minnesota January.

Even so, I made my yearly trek (okay, I was probably there 10 times in 5 weeks) to the Valley of the Gods... my shopping nirvana, TJ Maxx.  I bought plenty of warm sweaters, a new coat, new boots, and wool socks and such because I always imagine that it’s going to be so cold when I get back to Aix en Provence.  Even though I live in the south of France, I often feel colder here than I ever do in Minnesota.  I am not alone in this feeling; my other ex-pat friends complain continually about how cold they feel here in the winter. It’s probably because we have stone floors and little tiny heaters that do not much more than heat the wall they’ve been placed on.  No such thing as central heat, near as I can tell. 

I arrived in Marseille donned in my new wool coat with the fur collar thinking I was all that and was spit out into 60 degrees and sunny. Feeling ridiculous did not mar one bit the glory of the warmth and the smell of the sea once again. It’s just too bad I spent the rest of the day unpacking because the next two days were dreary and rainy and then…..the snow arrived.

I’m not feeling so ridiculous now in my woolies and fur! Because the snow and cold have just kept on coming. Not grand measures of the white stuff but you have to understand one inch in Provence is probably equal to one foot in Minnesota. Except it causes more PANIC! And it's bone-chilling. 

Maybe I'm making excuses for constructing a cozy cabin around myself and cutting myself off. And maybe I'm just making an excuse for what I'm doing now. Which I'm not going to tell you about until the next post!

It's good to be back. If you're out there and still reading, I'd love to hear from you. Sorry about the scare!  

Have a great week, my friends.

Something Borrowed

I was talking on the phone with my friend, Tenley, yesterday. She lives across the street from me but is in Paris right now, taking care of Bella the dalmation. We are a tag team. She came up last week to take over from me and we spent a couple days together in Paris before I came back to Aix en Provence.

We were talking about the WORST SANDWICH EVER EATEN, which we had shared one night after our walk with Bella. We stopped at a little Greek sandwich shop and ordered a meat and cheese gyros. I asked for it to go and we ended up eating it trying it and giving the rest to the dog, at a little table outside the shop. It would follow that a sandwich like that would be lamb, feta and veggies and a garlic white sauce....correct? Mais non! Instead it was dried up turkey, smothered in a white, gelatinous, flavorless, substance and topped off with a slice of American cheese. Terrible, terrible, terrible.

As Tenley and I were laughing about the WSEE, she told me I've given her courage to go ahead and just speak the language, in spite of mistakes.

"Why is that?", I asked her.

"Because when you ordered the sandwich, you didn't ask for it to take-out, you asked him to print you out a sandwich! And it didn't matter...you still got the sandwich."

This is an example of how things go when one is prone to muck up a language. No wonder the guy had that stupid smile on his face. And all this time, I thought it was because he knew he was serving us a crappy sandwich and we were falling for it. In fact, if he had printed out a sandwich it would have tasted far better.

Today, I realized that she had it wrong as well. I did not ask for the sandwich to go (emporter), nor did I ask for the sandwich to be printed out (imprimer). I actually asked to borrow (emprunter) the sandwich.

I should have given it back.

Have a great weekend everyone!

Need a Little Christmas

Christmas isn't quite the affair in France as it is in the states. Don't get me wrong, it's a well celebrated holiday. But you don't see the extravagant decorating or the hear the incessant Christmas music starting in October that you get stateside. On one hand, I don't mind it. On the other, I miss a little bit of the excess. And I really miss decorating my home for Christmas.

Friday, I wandered up to Boulevard Haussmann to see what was happening at the big department stores here in Paris. I can't really do any shopping but I just wanted to see if I could scare up a little dose of Christmas. The two biggies here are Galerie Lafayette and Printemps and they came through, injecting me with the fix of Christmas commercialism that I desperately needed. First, the light show on the exterior of the Galeries Lafayette. Absolutely breathtaking. I couldn't figure out how add a video to the blog but these lights change colors and design constantly across the huge facade.

The interior of the building, which dates from around 1912 was just as beautiful. Yes, that is a stained glass dome at the top!

It's main rival store, Printemps, is just across the street and also stunning.

Both of the stores featured Rock and Roll themed animated windows this year and though I didn't take any photos, they were delightful and brought back memories of  the annual trek to Minneapolis with my boys to take in the delightful animations in the Daytons' windows...just as my parents did with me when I was a child. 

The reason I didn't take any photos of the animations was because the other windows at Printemp were just so beautiful. Sponsored by Chanel, they take us on a trip around the world. Not my world, but perhaps the world of Chanel! Nonetheless, they are exquisite and I thought you should be treated to a few of them.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm supposed to denounce Christmas commercialism and revel in the simplicity and love of the season. Fa la la la la. Which I generally do. Unless I'm without all the overkill and excess. Then I get all hinky. So thank you Paris for pulling through for me. I've got just enough to survive until I get back to the states for Christmas...in just a couple of weeks!

Have a great week everyone,

Window Licking Good

I've come to the conclusion that 3 pairs of shoes for a week in Paris are not enough. I was really so proud of myself for keeping the number down. But these old hoofs are sore and though I've been re-shod several times, I'm still feeling lame. 

Sore feet led me to peruse the shoestores in my neighborhood today. Of course I would be doing this anyway but sore feet seem as good an excuse as any. As I wandered, I came  across a teeny-tiny shop on Rue des Entrepreneurs. A wee bit small for a shoe store but you know what they say about small packages!

I first noted these (not for me, of course but good looking nonetheless) in a chocolate brown.

 Then I noticed the women's shoes in the same window that came in a multitude of colors that caught my eye....but also in varying degrees of chocolate brown. 

I'm not sure if you're getting the picture here....so let me clarify.

Have you figured it out yet? 

Yeppers...I'd landed in a chocolate shop. With my mouth open for all kinds of obvious reasons. This little unassuming shop in the 15 arrondissement and off the beaten track was a feast for the all the senses. 

In case you're wondering, this is what one does with a chocolate shoe.

 But the folks at Jicara make all sorts of containers for their fine chocolates.

Form follows function is an underlying principal in modern architecture and design. In this case, I'm not sure which follows what!

Here in France, instead of window shopping we "lecher les vitrines" or lick the windows. Of course, we don't really....except maybe in this case!

Jicara Chocolat

91 Rue des Entrepreneurs

75015 Paris

Have a great weekend everyone. Gotta go. I've got more windows to lick.

Pack-age

I spent yesterday afternoon packing for my trip to Paris. I will only be there one week and I’ll be dog-sitting, so I should be able to get by with very little. I mean, one doesn’t need high heels or a cocktail dress when spending every free moment with a Dalmatian, right? So why is it so difficult to pack everything for a week in a little carry-on? I’ve decided that its age.

Normally my packing problem begins and ends with shoes. It’s a simple fact of female life that you have to have the right shoes for the right outfit, am I not correct?  But this time, with a minimum of outfits, all in black (this is Paris after all), I still needed 3 pair of shoes. And now I have to admit, this is NOT for vanity’s sake. It’s because my old feet get so sore and cramped that I need to change my shoes often when I’m doing a lot of walking. Plain and simple. So, one week…one pair of shoes and two pairs of boots.

Then there’s the personal product bag. It used to be one, now it’s three. First there’s the creams and potions. I try…I really try…to keep these at a minimum. But my face no longer seems to bounce back  when I go without. Plain soap and water causes my skin great agony and it quickly takes on the look of the leftover December grapes still hanging on the vines. It seems that every year I have to add a new cure to the myriad of miracles that will supposedly keep my skin young. Fat chance. This goes for hair products as well.

Ditto on the makeup. Now, apparently, I must spackle my face and eyelids with various emulsions before applying makeup, in order to keep it from permanently lodging in the crags and crevices of the years. I’m thinking at this point that if it rained on my face, the droplets would slide off…the same theory as that stuff you put on your windshield. None of these products have managed to keep my lipstick from making it's daily migration up to the base of my nose, however. 

Undies. One ugly bra in beige used to do it. And a couple of pairs of cotton granny panties that I could wash out every other day. Now I have to have at least 4 sets and they have to all be different, pretty and matching. This is not the fault of age however. It’s the fault of France. But these bras do take up a lot of space and that IS because of age. In order to replace, reorder, re-hoist all that has fallen or completely disappeared, they require a lot of extra parts and pieces. 

 

I’ve also had to pack 5 French books because I fully intend to do some studying while I’m there. I’ve been lax and it shows in my conversation abilities disabilities. And I’m afraid I have to attribute this to age as well. If I were younger, I’m sure I would have been able to learn to speak French correctly within the 3 years that I’ve been here. But I haven’t. My old brain is still trying to work out the pluperfect, conditional perfect and the future perfect as well as feminine and masculine versions of everything. And I've decided I’m not even going to require myself to go any further than that.

Then there’s the comforts that I’m no longer willing to do without. A pair of warm slippers, lounging p.j.s with a nice, comfy ELASTIC waist. I had to leave the down pillow at home this time, which has me worried. Will I be able to sleep without my squishy pillow that goes everywhere with me? Or without my down comforter?

On top of it all I have to pack 3 pairs of glasses, one for day, one for work, and one as a spare, plus all the junk for contacts if I should choose to wear them.  

As I was packing, rearranging, adding and subtracting, I wondered what the hell has happened to me? Will I soon become one of THOSE woman, hauling around several giant bags for a 2-night sejour in Sandusky? You know, the one that takes up all the trunk space of the taxi so her friends have to resort to sitting on theirs in the back of the cab.

I’m writing this while on the high-speed train to Paris. I did manage one carry-on style bag and my computer bag with any and all electronics, chargers, cords, and cards that I might need. I have a one bedroom in the 15^th in exhange for the dog-sitting, so I imagine I can do laundry. Which will be necessary... considering there was barely any room in my suitcase for actual clothes.