Talk is Cheap

Today I called my friend Lynn for some advice. In fact, I called a lot of people for advice and she was the first person I could actually reach. I don't often ask for advice (probably because I rarely take it when given) and I rarely get really worked up about things. But today I was in need of a shoulder and someone to help me work through a problem.

I explained my issue to her, how it was eating me up inside, what did she think I should do?

"... but what if..."

and

"... but why...."

and

"I don't want to do the wrong thing..."

and

"I think I really know the answer but I just need help working through it."

A sort of a whine fest where you know the answer but you want people to suffer with you...I guess.

Do you know what she said to me?

"STOP IT"

What?

"STOP IT!"

And I did. For a moment. I just stopped. And then I burst out laughing. Really laughing.

I laughed because her "advice" reminded me of a video clip I had recently seen...and I've decided you need to see it too.

And I didn't even need to pay 5 bucks for this wisdom. Now you don't either!

Have a great weekend. I promise, I won't call you too.

Take the Cake

Each day, Quasimodo is becoming a more and more distant cousin as our resemblance fades. But because of my self-imposed exile in my dark tower, I've been cooking up things to do. Actually, I've been working myself crazy on my new webstore but once in awhile I've got to get off my butt and do something else.

Thus, this week became Cupcake Week. I never make cupcakes. I never have. But I now have a cupcake castle with 2 floors and a handle and it needs to be used. Check this thing out. My friend Victoria brought it to me from the states when I was told here that these things don't exist in France. It's collapsible. For one layer or two. They should have named this contraption "This Takes the Cake".



I searched all over the internet to find a recipe and find one I did. As well as a rockin' recipe for chocolate frosting. So I proceeded to do my thing in the kitchen (man, I make a mess!). I produced 2 batches of the best cupcakes ever and then sat in front of them...looking at them. I hadn't been invited anywhere, I wasn't having a party (I'm in exile), and I was supposed to start a diet on Monday. The cupcakes and I needed to part ways...pronto! I took a couple down to the concierge and gave some away to friends, but yesterday the first floor of my two story cupcake palace was still almost fully occupied.

My friend Doreen stopped by on her way to her first-time visit to my neighborhood beauty shop and I decided to go along and catch up on some beauty shop chatter. And to find a home for my creations. I donned my dark glasses to hide my still swollen visage, put the lid on the chocolate beauties and off we went, my cupcake valise in hand.

I passed out cupcakes to the ladies in the shop and as more came in to chat (it's that kind of shop and I love it) I continued to give them away. I explained the concept of a cupcake...you simply peel off the paper and eat it with your fingers. This approach did not seem to work with The Ladies of the Salon. They tried as per my instructions...but it just wasn't going to fly. They all asked for a spoon.

The French seem to eat everything with utensils. Even pizza. When I was home last December, and my sister and her husband and I were grabbing a quick take-out pizza, I dug in....with a knife and fork. My sister looked at me quizzically as she took a bite out of the slice she was holding in her hand. I realized what I was doing...being all French about it....and I quickly picked up the slice and devoured it like a true American.

The ladies adored the "little cakes". Not too sweet, so moist, trés fondant... yada. yada, yada. And for some reason, watching  them delicately holding this little cake wrapped in bright paper in the palm of their hands and slowly eating it with a spoon made my cupcakes seem so...special.  More like a grand dessert than a picnic food.

By the time Doreen was shampooed, coiffed, and welcomed into the folds of The Ladies of the Salon, I still had a few left. Off we went to Hublot, the neighborhood bar/cafe that my friend Fehti owns. I passed the rest of them out to all the guys stopping by for their afternoon coffee/pastis/whiskey/beer. Once again, I gave them instructions. But, within seconds they too were asking Fehti for spoons. Come on guys, man up! This is a cupcake we're talking about! Still it was really sort of adorable. Several did, however, point out that they looked a little like les crottes des chiens (we're experts here in Aix on piles of dog doo because we're constantly stepping in it or working to avoid it). So in effect, they were a little more masculine about the whole thing!

So now, I'm going to share the recipe because people have been asking for it. The cupcakes are an old recipe from World War II, developed by some ingenius soul who couldn't easily get her hands on eggs, milk, butter or sugar. So, in fact, they're vegan and lactose free. And in spite of that... absolutely delicious. The best. I found the recipe on Food.com but it's an old recipe and can be found everywhere.

Wacky Cupcakes
1 1/2 C. flour
1 C. granulated sugar
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1/3 C. cocoa powder
1/2 C. oil
1 C. water
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 T. vinegar

Mix these ingredients until moist and well blended, fill the cupcake cups about 3/4 full and bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes.

The frosting rocks as well. Light, creamy, not too sweet and it doesn't make you feel as if you're eating piles of sugary fat. It's made with flour and is cooked so it takes a little more time. But it's the best I've ever tried and I'm not a great fan of frosting.  I got the recipe on Kelsey's site but I'll rewrite it for you here.


Best Chocolate Frosting
2/3 C. granulated sugar
1/3 C. flour
3 T. cocoa powder
1 C. milk
1 C. butter
1 C. chopped semi sweet chocolate or chocolate chips.

Cook the flour, sugar, cocoa and and milk over low heat, whisking as you go and as it thickens. When it gets to the consistency of a thin pudding (dunk the back of a spoon in it. If your finger leaves a path as you sweep it across the spoon, it's done). Let this cool or put it in the fridge. It cannot be warm for the next step.

Some time later....after the chocolate mixture has cooled... melt the chocolate in the microwave. Don't overheat, it will get grainy. In a separate bowl, cream the butter with an electric mixer and then add the cooled cooked chocolate mixture. Whip that up and add the melted chocolate. Whip again. "Whip it good". If you'd like, add a teaspoon of instant espresso powder to the mix. Num!

Now, my advice is to eat les petit gateaux with a spoon (after all, this is a blog from France and it IS the French way). They will taste even better!

Bon Appétit!

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!