tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22859445747531416812024-03-14T04:56:20.051+01:00La Vie Cevenole/Leven in Amsterdam.food, drink & life
in France--and other places. like Holland.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger226125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-66880060526552021202012-03-13T00:16:00.002+01:002012-03-13T11:11:52.048+01:00Killing me softly: Art Nouveau & chocolate.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmi3V5LmdV2YSqDp7752bIJ57xiSM2M11IZzwN_AQwUNxG5OnuJi8WtY-oXpfsdu1ceztluJiaRWkIbgqzgvfEEeXGr7kBEmuCJ4E9RnCkpd6JZNJ0dYIr1SMT2XITMnr4X8v3BifcXVg/s1600/IMG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmi3V5LmdV2YSqDp7752bIJ57xiSM2M11IZzwN_AQwUNxG5OnuJi8WtY-oXpfsdu1ceztluJiaRWkIbgqzgvfEEeXGr7kBEmuCJ4E9RnCkpd6JZNJ0dYIr1SMT2XITMnr4X8v3BifcXVg/s400/IMG.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The thing about having friends all over is, well, that they're all over. They can feel an eternity away, despite all the available techie solutions. On the plus side, this gives me the excellent excuse to visit all sorts of places. Like Brussels.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOeyWtyZhYDxQCuIsyQFPmn8v14iXLmbTe40tgt-8O_Un7Ud47h8SahYRGABhiQcdBmyQSdKL7v4SW-uncrL_53-DdbMHT5njSkTGeIr-MWgxcP5Sb_yvEx43lzhTuW_9YGlImK8S-gs/s1600/161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOeyWtyZhYDxQCuIsyQFPmn8v14iXLmbTe40tgt-8O_Un7Ud47h8SahYRGABhiQcdBmyQSdKL7v4SW-uncrL_53-DdbMHT5njSkTGeIr-MWgxcP5Sb_yvEx43lzhTuW_9YGlImK8S-gs/s400/161.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Seen from the roof of the <a href="http://www.mim.be/opening-hours-location">Museum of Musical instruments</a> (formerly an Art Nouveau department store), Brussels on a clear day can utterly charm with its jumble of architectural styles winding outward from a medieval, cobblestoned heart. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mtuNnKhC7tT9ujwdM-HkbcpoeJo4rTIJJdI2Uv93C4jvaOXyGPf9RI4_umj5LNFk_HmYYd2ZwwOT-fQIAABfra2moEZt5883PXTpqd3HWyK7xkT9wb3SU_kP2jwPnS3qee5OlT8ZtRs/s1600/160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mtuNnKhC7tT9ujwdM-HkbcpoeJo4rTIJJdI2Uv93C4jvaOXyGPf9RI4_umj5LNFk_HmYYd2ZwwOT-fQIAABfra2moEZt5883PXTpqd3HWyK7xkT9wb3SU_kP2jwPnS3qee5OlT8ZtRs/s400/160.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeBUnrKnIZPjIKvmdzb-NkPZG9o7-Jsl-hmrK33QWSt1yHx3b5Pk_6cg-1-1UR5IyEyCPlC97AKiKV47OKgm1BBTAVV29dmy7ywoQG42YBOrp4FL4azIEXQxk7Y7XlSQhMIoEgOR3UUNs/s1600/169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeBUnrKnIZPjIKvmdzb-NkPZG9o7-Jsl-hmrK33QWSt1yHx3b5Pk_6cg-1-1UR5IyEyCPlC97AKiKV47OKgm1BBTAVV29dmy7ywoQG42YBOrp4FL4azIEXQxk7Y7XlSQhMIoEgOR3UUNs/s400/169.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>I would argue that no visit to Brussels is complete without a visit to the <a href="http://www.brussels.be/artdet.cfm/5757"><em>Grand-Place</em></a>, a square surrounded by the astonishing fifteenth century city hall and the <em>Musée de la Ville de Bruxelles</em> (housed in the equally stunning, nineteenth century<em> Maison du Roi).</em> The Museum purportedly has a nice medieval art collection. I didn't go in; the day was just too fine.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmY0mcyC2-0ufnc6c-ChUoaLx9mgC8gXWHpa2NVMgiIsDKi5muR03NvHtqWO2f6NXiqG9E2sND3Qnb9jbxUHzwN_5RCc4IP6JGskTjJxlOo2FOd33Ji7kGqeSMW5N5JL10vJvljtYFjg/s1600/180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmY0mcyC2-0ufnc6c-ChUoaLx9mgC8gXWHpa2NVMgiIsDKi5muR03NvHtqWO2f6NXiqG9E2sND3Qnb9jbxUHzwN_5RCc4IP6JGskTjJxlOo2FOd33Ji7kGqeSMW5N5JL10vJvljtYFjg/s400/180.JPG" width="298" /></a></div>In front of the very Gothic city hall, these newlyweds posed with assorted family members. With the flow of immigration the face of the average Belgian (certainly in the bigger cities) has changed, and this can be reflected on the sidewalks of this particularly pan-European city.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKoMl6y4udIuxaTaXhUCYJEpEAWOcC0dF-ZnqrfGsVlIbgmJ-uXgXz4JRI69g5Dw7045dUKeKp_N6AjQ5tFSSVl69smWs8IzA6cJxHLcpysV1IQDG4h_c-yH1yWj-1TkqOt_4wPFNv3ao/s1600/182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKoMl6y4udIuxaTaXhUCYJEpEAWOcC0dF-ZnqrfGsVlIbgmJ-uXgXz4JRI69g5Dw7045dUKeKp_N6AjQ5tFSSVl69smWs8IzA6cJxHLcpysV1IQDG4h_c-yH1yWj-1TkqOt_4wPFNv3ao/s400/182.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Even if you've seen more than your share of impressive city squares, the <em>Grand-Place</em> can actually take your breath away. It did mine, with its sumptuously decorated guildhouses glinting in the sunlight.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGdWnwj6O3YU3w5UPqq0iRvq5RSdDloVDKm5yvThUeZJwyQadng-cY0AbcXBWcN-2AI-YfU8aTivMXSGUGJkTBWOeJ-dE607fDGMcJt1MkukHGTCU4wO4nxkoXWkdRRAgGDGKbw6eitU/s1600/184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGdWnwj6O3YU3w5UPqq0iRvq5RSdDloVDKm5yvThUeZJwyQadng-cY0AbcXBWcN-2AI-YfU8aTivMXSGUGJkTBWOeJ-dE607fDGMcJt1MkukHGTCU4wO4nxkoXWkdRRAgGDGKbw6eitU/s400/184.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJXzrd3ne1DUIPZO8WVTsgoGRSBTlp_0asjMLc-LD2Sjc9I76QPjddyM0AIz-Bn3GZrWwFibBbvA8nWeHZeCOPahyS9hGoPsI4PhUdv_NwzicvfFKv3Vxl6AizOc7E48nEKV17rM5RVo/s1600/185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJXzrd3ne1DUIPZO8WVTsgoGRSBTlp_0asjMLc-LD2Sjc9I76QPjddyM0AIz-Bn3GZrWwFibBbvA8nWeHZeCOPahyS9hGoPsI4PhUdv_NwzicvfFKv3Vxl6AizOc7E48nEKV17rM5RVo/s400/185.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Another endearing square is the <em>Grand Sablon.</em> It is tailor-made for you if you love to window-shop for antiques, art--and fine chocolate. To give you energy, remember to start, pause or end with a restorative high tea at a hundred-year old Brussels institution, the <a href="http://www.wittamer.com/fr/cafe/index.php">Wittamer</a> pastry shop and cafe.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEJ5gy8L_9zBUpX29NkB07qAXwsUBVRSSSA5O0vBgCBI1rZ5tcCGxiFJcqkKYG7gUmc3i_v10kppYuEEvBtqK3b7g-46ou62lcmVaE6_yVbhnsUUs8Lwla5XuV2HV_q5PxMNQB6nBKDc/s1600/196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlEJ5gy8L_9zBUpX29NkB07qAXwsUBVRSSSA5O0vBgCBI1rZ5tcCGxiFJcqkKYG7gUmc3i_v10kppYuEEvBtqK3b7g-46ou62lcmVaE6_yVbhnsUUs8Lwla5XuV2HV_q5PxMNQB6nBKDc/s400/196.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">And yes, they have absolutely gorgeous-looking chocolates, but chocolate snobs from the world over really line up for the most acclaimed chocolates in Belgium, made by <a href="http://www.marcolini.be/#/en/collections/pralines/">Pierre Marcolini</a>. Yes, I did taste some, but I found my own little nirvana, in the beautifully appointed chocolate palace of Patrick Roger. Crowned <em>Meilleur Ouvrier de France</em> (and yes, thus French), the man has a particular gift for associating unusual flavors and providing a complex, yet intriguingly balanced taste experience. I kid you not, it really is an experience. How could an astute blend of yuzu, lime and chocolate not be? And oh, the textures...the caliber of chocolate... </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6LwcHC7VRJIbWkr5jyT5zajULm3n5QiH9PPbkmnjEvk2Z8mBt9rBQh8PJkyOuMvCa3_1Jvknq9G4izYaeEJ3dkvn2akXARbkHPe0-XZ1yM4tDQEZZUDjrnaV9Wf8uS2pxZNPW9OxaORY/s1600/198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6LwcHC7VRJIbWkr5jyT5zajULm3n5QiH9PPbkmnjEvk2Z8mBt9rBQh8PJkyOuMvCa3_1Jvknq9G4izYaeEJ3dkvn2akXARbkHPe0-XZ1yM4tDQEZZUDjrnaV9Wf8uS2pxZNPW9OxaORY/s400/198.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Oh, and yes, there was a <em>life-like</em> fifty kilo chocolate sculpture of an orangutan in the window. Just to stop you in your tracks if the heady smell of chocolate hadn't already. To get a better impression, take a few minutes to visit Patrick Roger's Paris kitchen with David Lebovitz, one of my very favorite food writers blogging today (below):<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="200" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/20937172?color=ffffff" style="height: 327px; width: 294px;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="200"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: left;">Beyond the chocolate, Brussels is made for wandering, even if you may be taken aback by the parlous state of some irreplaceable buildings. Brussels, as rich as it is in architectural treasures, is critically poor in tax revenue, and the facades and streets often show it. It is a city that has largely been transformed into a place where people come in to work, before retreating to the more tranquil bedroom communities ringing it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDhdXIuFuAw8nOwb3VwmmogIEL3byO_jVLjEOcmN53-kTzhQoDZ6EuK4dJl5DOYVm06pupqRGM2zdEwjjH3tXsjP9TEIi-UZFsO5aVxqUO0oP95oRCoDpLyGZDDgBXK0dPe9FW3tuMZs/s1600/219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDhdXIuFuAw8nOwb3VwmmogIEL3byO_jVLjEOcmN53-kTzhQoDZ6EuK4dJl5DOYVm06pupqRGM2zdEwjjH3tXsjP9TEIi-UZFsO5aVxqUO0oP95oRCoDpLyGZDDgBXK0dPe9FW3tuMZs/s400/219.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Despite its challenges, you will certainly find your pleasure in Brussels, especially if your particular weakness happens to be for things of an edible nature...and that even if chocolate isn't your thing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNvwYtV3nZ8q0tLIp23kQM9IOdadOlROfS1X117hRYGkKppsQICZV9lAtmj30E_Jce1jJWksMjbmVh8bNOyFIGdXiHdR2D9orDVD2aumx4BJrPViFgf2mt6dbJD3S56HZm0GQr1djyww/s1600/2012-03-071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNvwYtV3nZ8q0tLIp23kQM9IOdadOlROfS1X117hRYGkKppsQICZV9lAtmj30E_Jce1jJWksMjbmVh8bNOyFIGdXiHdR2D9orDVD2aumx4BJrPViFgf2mt6dbJD3S56HZm0GQr1djyww/s640/2012-03-071.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj74Lk3HXjuq05pSDIrrMu0E01WADx4W2z8ktG5YZKJXaSgnvQV04Ba4FslvgkYLZRsyXJls8LuVXUrgia8cwUksO1Lipy1Kzn5g3xQo7-yPS5Ck457Ec4hB1RB3WlMNzeK18PA731mDpE/s1600/200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj74Lk3HXjuq05pSDIrrMu0E01WADx4W2z8ktG5YZKJXaSgnvQV04Ba4FslvgkYLZRsyXJls8LuVXUrgia8cwUksO1Lipy1Kzn5g3xQo7-yPS5Ck457Ec4hB1RB3WlMNzeK18PA731mDpE/s400/200.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin9s2-SSSfqZuVw5G55DUNd_ulVY7rh_NKdmKjOdMUCQ8dmN_pZiTry6uJgpbE1tHTZ78bIpPwOt83lBdZ1fsH7Ku98HaKLUPRCsWjV0abTrfbytEGDw1ZT-pvnvU1iwgg2hnn7FNzz9U/s1600/203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin9s2-SSSfqZuVw5G55DUNd_ulVY7rh_NKdmKjOdMUCQ8dmN_pZiTry6uJgpbE1tHTZ78bIpPwOt83lBdZ1fsH7Ku98HaKLUPRCsWjV0abTrfbytEGDw1ZT-pvnvU1iwgg2hnn7FNzz9U/s400/203.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>I was also charmed by some quirky independent bookstores, as well as the more established publishers, like Taschen. I killed some time admiring the work of Helmut Newton, Bert Stern's Marilyn images and the delicate oddity of Mark Ryden (image below) at the Taschen book emporium.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-dxxU8qDkIyJFPqRdH-fjAVKmnZNKvQmskB3oY-vjVWL8TRaQ_PXLyraPa-7DaCqkNwUYY9rmy0HmGU0I10ktYVxkn_oGzu4-FRC41gakQRGXAMcnRSS8emvohiwT-0d5XUtAY42n7Mk/s1600/212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-dxxU8qDkIyJFPqRdH-fjAVKmnZNKvQmskB3oY-vjVWL8TRaQ_PXLyraPa-7DaCqkNwUYY9rmy0HmGU0I10ktYVxkn_oGzu4-FRC41gakQRGXAMcnRSS8emvohiwT-0d5XUtAY42n7Mk/s400/212.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Of course, if your budget permits, there are any number of Art Nouveau buildings scattered across the city just waiting to be scooped up. There were a lot of for sale signs, a sign of the financial times...Does this one catch your fancy?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUuMpqXS6THrX-tAwl43TtgNV8InwgibaWy_mGRCMawqbxTwYP9rh6Cw5uaYQ-ZWyIu_e-6MUssFtF6-R5le2MkYtmVeZBYKFkna_ndNC7O22iun9HVjVMHKMhUdLA2V1reJFl89BJjYI/s1600/216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUuMpqXS6THrX-tAwl43TtgNV8InwgibaWy_mGRCMawqbxTwYP9rh6Cw5uaYQ-ZWyIu_e-6MUssFtF6-R5le2MkYtmVeZBYKFkna_ndNC7O22iun9HVjVMHKMhUdLA2V1reJFl89BJjYI/s400/216.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Take a moment to consider the idea, over a dish of<em> waterzooi</em> in one of the city's innumerable <em>brasseries</em> and <em>bistros</em>. Or grab a cornet of twice-fried <em>frites</em> on the street. They may call them French fries in English, but they are at their best in this city. My children can attest to this...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuNscnUh5STvgKExhQNf13cDA7UT_FIko2eG3FjMCEHY7vz5WTO61j_ZQgnSXp_C5G_kwJ6KeinWJlar5Qw2fCLf2TsqwopSJOEk8Y-QHjBTQy0tTKJR36BUxPu1x4tuO7sieBOwYLXM/s1600/229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuNscnUh5STvgKExhQNf13cDA7UT_FIko2eG3FjMCEHY7vz5WTO61j_ZQgnSXp_C5G_kwJ6KeinWJlar5Qw2fCLf2TsqwopSJOEk8Y-QHjBTQy0tTKJR36BUxPu1x4tuO7sieBOwYLXM/s400/229.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As for the Art Nouveau: after the industrial boom of the late 1800s, there was this brief, brilliant flowering in architecture. The commisioned house for those on the cutting edge became a work of organically-inspired art, a showcase for the pinnacles of craftsmanship in iron-working, stone-cutting and wood-working. The forms in art nouveau, whether in sculpture, architecture, jewelry or graphic design are sinuous, often elaborate and very pleasing to the eye. Certainly to mine anyway. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvh_ElJ1rvHD19vUL_d-Xryx_vZ0dJWpBvnb6ehDy7jtwwJeNkuDCpydkDeTzDIoL_-qTZ8NE85dFqTXWo3L0I8LfxXWuN0AiRMifWRPLK38h0B9Grs8swbfI9btJJZY2z7uZkvBR84Q/s1600/Collage6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvh_ElJ1rvHD19vUL_d-Xryx_vZ0dJWpBvnb6ehDy7jtwwJeNkuDCpydkDeTzDIoL_-qTZ8NE85dFqTXWo3L0I8LfxXWuN0AiRMifWRPLK38h0B9Grs8swbfI9btJJZY2z7uZkvBR84Q/s400/Collage6.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">The leading figure in this movement, certainly in Belgium if not the whole of Europe was the Belgian Victor Horta. I paid a visit to his first private commission, the<em> Maison Autrique</em>, lovingly maintained with its original fittings and furnished with period-appropriate, often original furnishings. </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhP_Q312xmL3NXkyepgZ05_2qjREPauCuiiBsH6BZ9vtmxd7ElTYsmxkGX3IPEPDU7TorQ_Uv7paoXLZRz4OAUbBxk6m_s1rKx9CBR3ONwSozm1yUiTX1XGq17kxoMC4rPtFsNAnqiv8/s1600/245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhP_Q312xmL3NXkyepgZ05_2qjREPauCuiiBsH6BZ9vtmxd7ElTYsmxkGX3IPEPDU7TorQ_Uv7paoXLZRz4OAUbBxk6m_s1rKx9CBR3ONwSozm1yUiTX1XGq17kxoMC4rPtFsNAnqiv8/s400/245.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgki78kfogsZaukPiAxFlB5dB-HDGRWy9Ewxv3wTLjx0ddVqqEsAS-al-ZuD2cnqjoD7hKD03fL22AvWSCjLefT4AnyB7iTbBO4gxQIirwBvmd69xjQ6Jtq2aUWFaoDlZmjZdm8-3grL9Y/s1600/246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgki78kfogsZaukPiAxFlB5dB-HDGRWy9Ewxv3wTLjx0ddVqqEsAS-al-ZuD2cnqjoD7hKD03fL22AvWSCjLefT4AnyB7iTbBO4gxQIirwBvmd69xjQ6Jtq2aUWFaoDlZmjZdm8-3grL9Y/s400/246.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiothd73Zk-xN4kTfeg8Z3ti25QlGkPvJHuNVOCEuPfP7xGvYO6xcbznUKZ0DO1GKjvD92kKXDabmkhErWFntcqigQ9L1oOA6nnmCvgNS5vLrDgYj5q-20ZFF7K2kgVfQsFPbqobbRgOro/s1600/Collage7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiothd73Zk-xN4kTfeg8Z3ti25QlGkPvJHuNVOCEuPfP7xGvYO6xcbznUKZ0DO1GKjvD92kKXDabmkhErWFntcqigQ9L1oOA6nnmCvgNS5vLrDgYj5q-20ZFF7K2kgVfQsFPbqobbRgOro/s640/Collage7.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj93aXKVwZAj7XUywmrFDJdiNEVyP8Ry3c_8r_Q9J39G4y6R8EZ5hsW8ZFrlugnXudMn2KJeIdYwZ6k0SpGDX3tphJ_V8dXMfICVC9XYaqqPga5w4XHDMfw55x5ZiG3v8qTKT1Jm3YyEdk/s1600/Collage5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj93aXKVwZAj7XUywmrFDJdiNEVyP8Ry3c_8r_Q9J39G4y6R8EZ5hsW8ZFrlugnXudMn2KJeIdYwZ6k0SpGDX3tphJ_V8dXMfICVC9XYaqqPga5w4XHDMfw55x5ZiG3v8qTKT1Jm3YyEdk/s400/Collage5.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">All too soon, the clocks chimed and my time in Brussels drew to a close. It was time to say goodbye to good friends. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZ5J6vHuXCznKrcg0iDpks2qXUwSUTPmDkAu0W7nwjIlrB9MBv3ybrPjZkgEUqpvMy9TvkkJLYWoIjngmQwpWsBG1L3d3z-WeONvOj4xhOvMUaWnBVXbsohyphenhyphenIEzwSPnvWrIVFSZp7Zj0/s1600/2012-03-07.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAZ5J6vHuXCznKrcg0iDpks2qXUwSUTPmDkAu0W7nwjIlrB9MBv3ybrPjZkgEUqpvMy9TvkkJLYWoIjngmQwpWsBG1L3d3z-WeONvOj4xhOvMUaWnBVXbsohyphenhyphenIEzwSPnvWrIVFSZp7Zj0/s400/2012-03-07.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>At least there was a box of really good chocolate to console me upon my return to Amsterdam...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-15541786876389815882012-02-22T23:49:00.002+01:002012-02-22T23:54:13.247+01:00A weekend in Paris, by design.Every now and then, a girl's got to try something a bit different.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6DYcVmEwtzHBDl70fw-OZtvLiV-6_YbcgpxLzraduKhJelxfOyJI_jY-iZbEPvhrbG6Tmf8M298miqNg0fc8iNZWAe1JDoqka8ldMbFWoIf_lcOqDVZ5ijJwcpET5Sec1VL8WPZ-v7E/s1600/IMG_1640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6DYcVmEwtzHBDl70fw-OZtvLiV-6_YbcgpxLzraduKhJelxfOyJI_jY-iZbEPvhrbG6Tmf8M298miqNg0fc8iNZWAe1JDoqka8ldMbFWoIf_lcOqDVZ5ijJwcpET5Sec1VL8WPZ-v7E/s400/IMG_1640.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I decided to impersonate an interior designer. Well, not any one designer in particular. I just needed to be one, for one weekend in Paris, so that I could attend one of the most important trade shows in Europe, <em>Maison & Objet. </em>I went with a couple of my favorite people, and once we got a sense of the scale of the expo, we realized that the two days we'd given ourselves to visit were far from enough. But we made the best of things...<br />
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I have been meaning to put these photos up for so long, it's embarassing. The event occurred in <em>January </em>after all. But having adored <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0241121/">Jean Dujardin</a> in the just-released silent film <a href="http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/gallery/the-artist-behind-the-scenes-264565">The Artist</a> (definitely a must-see), I decided that perhaps here, too, fewer words can be more. There are indeed stories behind these creators, and if you're interested in anything in particular, feel free to leave a question in the comments section...Enjoy!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nGBgdRluwixDNsAcQVqPxkCjD0vllt8Brc3ro0w4XfAYSE1OBfmnbEi9vLNQOWa8wd17XkTlUuPMqiuUM_blm0CyJIUUVVhv3j310mx37b1jsRz6XdM5U4KSzYFaS7WH8HnRuOr4uAI/s1600/Collage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nGBgdRluwixDNsAcQVqPxkCjD0vllt8Brc3ro0w4XfAYSE1OBfmnbEi9vLNQOWa8wd17XkTlUuPMqiuUM_blm0CyJIUUVVhv3j310mx37b1jsRz6XdM5U4KSzYFaS7WH8HnRuOr4uAI/s400/Collage.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWI45lpxwtih9LCC1qsAuzI6rGlhYEKGkEX90rPNFjTourQcxkRWUHR8lUYEH9s1dF5rjTpBQoXq3MVRAC7huCo7aB0SSuCnoWbAQJv1fqE211aGBkFtDO6gvFPsNsg7BwoyNHq7usSs/s1600/IMG_1546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWI45lpxwtih9LCC1qsAuzI6rGlhYEKGkEX90rPNFjTourQcxkRWUHR8lUYEH9s1dF5rjTpBQoXq3MVRAC7huCo7aB0SSuCnoWbAQJv1fqE211aGBkFtDO6gvFPsNsg7BwoyNHq7usSs/s400/IMG_1546.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUJ-RLD7mTr7hB9rs_CpVpq286of1z-4x4diczFK7hxAh5B7LvPupjSnS82LfvGqJ1fwLlU6AIP_VcsnD0I_ido2hfqxKYAWMcoD8uNVXNcC4uHxMo1JNLr806hxh1Hskt2dA5-2eU7w/s1600/Collage1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUJ-RLD7mTr7hB9rs_CpVpq286of1z-4x4diczFK7hxAh5B7LvPupjSnS82LfvGqJ1fwLlU6AIP_VcsnD0I_ido2hfqxKYAWMcoD8uNVXNcC4uHxMo1JNLr806hxh1Hskt2dA5-2eU7w/s400/Collage1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzA0elGFabwciAQe4QDliyu9ooV9pIl5iuMFU7TX97bnZTCtbcIeewWuFFIw3WTlyjlO8qt6XpHMlGA86BMLgfZHkUS4MmutE2DYVmR3Pu1J2vqBE28cpBfwi20GADJMWQM9kKKTpJIc/s1600/Maison+&+Objet+20121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzA0elGFabwciAQe4QDliyu9ooV9pIl5iuMFU7TX97bnZTCtbcIeewWuFFIw3WTlyjlO8qt6XpHMlGA86BMLgfZHkUS4MmutE2DYVmR3Pu1J2vqBE28cpBfwi20GADJMWQM9kKKTpJIc/s400/Maison+&+Objet+20121.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBr3ntQStEzUcGo7G-je50dAXHgiGL7UIdxGWH2B8VOUU0uyCEB14a7PZKbOgct9ipEVP1zZrqN2x4uCAfH4QgGEMcj32khg0D16tJLDKL29wo4wrFhgkUB-EngFACmp43WNwSOdJs1uQ/s1600/Maison+&+Objet+2012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBr3ntQStEzUcGo7G-je50dAXHgiGL7UIdxGWH2B8VOUU0uyCEB14a7PZKbOgct9ipEVP1zZrqN2x4uCAfH4QgGEMcj32khg0D16tJLDKL29wo4wrFhgkUB-EngFACmp43WNwSOdJs1uQ/s400/Maison+&+Objet+2012.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGzTCKaw2QTrAxR3wxejuZSz46_chmkT_y__C-l-OhW5wffHwqhIawDnTVJOzD7DoFuC5Pl5V_yiFcm8Np1-Ivscs3-9b99YsDFVQJnFKnoDeVEow9HwBG8MzOK3DUAHa3zmxATI3rm0Q/s1600/IMG_1583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGzTCKaw2QTrAxR3wxejuZSz46_chmkT_y__C-l-OhW5wffHwqhIawDnTVJOzD7DoFuC5Pl5V_yiFcm8Np1-Ivscs3-9b99YsDFVQJnFKnoDeVEow9HwBG8MzOK3DUAHa3zmxATI3rm0Q/s640/IMG_1583.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAy9xO6a1O12c5hxEiRiN3R3-Pl5e0n9QJbPr0AmahPceOVVfO4gkllxmkWiih3IDkfozpwGmysgGqOMZqQ-txdeVt5JedtW7_0ymlC5z7lO5icdGUlmBChROIWMy7ZL8DR4V0avfbIq8/s1600/IMG_1580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAy9xO6a1O12c5hxEiRiN3R3-Pl5e0n9QJbPr0AmahPceOVVfO4gkllxmkWiih3IDkfozpwGmysgGqOMZqQ-txdeVt5JedtW7_0ymlC5z7lO5icdGUlmBChROIWMy7ZL8DR4V0avfbIq8/s400/IMG_1580.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKravxi9QxhqdGIABAyd-rwbi7jFaA-e2bwknWRWVdIw7Inks_xyEqDPU8cDmjMbBxhD5XDrxrkfrtT7v3Zqp0_MrSGrAtEtBI_Yb2Lz1-xf3qPxTLPPPgiXv-GRDaWRYDLHsxAlqcFE/s1600/IMG_1563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKravxi9QxhqdGIABAyd-rwbi7jFaA-e2bwknWRWVdIw7Inks_xyEqDPU8cDmjMbBxhD5XDrxrkfrtT7v3Zqp0_MrSGrAtEtBI_Yb2Lz1-xf3qPxTLPPPgiXv-GRDaWRYDLHsxAlqcFE/s640/IMG_1563.JPG" width="476" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGGL5OQqbdMXuH45r7o7ukljkd-p5ChA7r56HDeHuo7sQVBca2WDySh1Cr9tu0AeRy5qKLDkdVB43QzWAJr3XlLW5_Wp3-a1Vk_EQ85HUN6_jqvZHnly5Da33iYzQv9IDKGLQNFug_9c/s1600/IMG_1561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGGL5OQqbdMXuH45r7o7ukljkd-p5ChA7r56HDeHuo7sQVBca2WDySh1Cr9tu0AeRy5qKLDkdVB43QzWAJr3XlLW5_Wp3-a1Vk_EQ85HUN6_jqvZHnly5Da33iYzQv9IDKGLQNFug_9c/s640/IMG_1561.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyd8jMjvmA0seZX2vvKx3EbcnLW4lO6cnMSftJJcEQhZGk2Qi5gRuRXpvOjOObS_wrKKD8wJDLcviu3Z_BLzn4uplsm834V3-apzJ05-8RQLlOyQltQ38WS22nuUuwuxMJA0JNJIy6xU8/s1600/IMG_1553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyd8jMjvmA0seZX2vvKx3EbcnLW4lO6cnMSftJJcEQhZGk2Qi5gRuRXpvOjOObS_wrKKD8wJDLcviu3Z_BLzn4uplsm834V3-apzJ05-8RQLlOyQltQ38WS22nuUuwuxMJA0JNJIy6xU8/s640/IMG_1553.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOTXMPLJsRLYn0a3bqI7RvoI0sQH5icizCTIdGG0EU2eJZGgouOhujelZmvy_t1l7h_ftcK6E3C1OZRJBdVxc5Wh8vJBnurysOXcIPvZrKX5WWKamVDSSMjYZx4mi50PyIcIy8aPQCgx4/s1600/IMG_1548.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOTXMPLJsRLYn0a3bqI7RvoI0sQH5icizCTIdGG0EU2eJZGgouOhujelZmvy_t1l7h_ftcK6E3C1OZRJBdVxc5Wh8vJBnurysOXcIPvZrKX5WWKamVDSSMjYZx4mi50PyIcIy8aPQCgx4/s640/IMG_1548.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjglcIIx9SIeWFCq9AUeSB1WB2fGqLWhNsWMuHXcZlAKX4_Wn2LJ371a8PYZak_y5BCxmVnx2nZafRKXm66bSWsMASPuH28WX6OueCPe14b7IzOZ2i4tDmM2nURX_9RyUdriofn2ZfB-_c/s1600/IMG_1541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjglcIIx9SIeWFCq9AUeSB1WB2fGqLWhNsWMuHXcZlAKX4_Wn2LJ371a8PYZak_y5BCxmVnx2nZafRKXm66bSWsMASPuH28WX6OueCPe14b7IzOZ2i4tDmM2nURX_9RyUdriofn2ZfB-_c/s640/IMG_1541.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I also made time to visit "365 Charming Everyday Things", a Japanese design exhibition highlighting the craft--and art--in Japanese products at the Bastille Design Center (itself a lovely industrial space that originally housed an ironmonger). You can find out more about the individual products, their esthetics and the impetus behind the project <a href="http://365things.jp/en.html#type=image&sort=&filter=">here</a>. Look closely at the images to see the clever design twists and humor.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUprGh_DQuTdDXLEmXyhbeL74oqToxl1lZ4tMgoISsmndVOxZ910Wt26oDc0TFwNN-7MT8Z89gx6YAjplmdx9klYm7VQFGAwNPGcnPFpsjJ68blkMZf1RFiLiEyQAKs13Ps87nWa5KXmI/s1600/Collage2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUprGh_DQuTdDXLEmXyhbeL74oqToxl1lZ4tMgoISsmndVOxZ910Wt26oDc0TFwNN-7MT8Z89gx6YAjplmdx9klYm7VQFGAwNPGcnPFpsjJ68blkMZf1RFiLiEyQAKs13Ps87nWa5KXmI/s400/Collage2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhskRZ-9-q7ePalQQqAZXvytnj2ydhng4HI3T_6KQDKAUEnDXxvMDkyFTF_0yzKu67m5TF-YLF9lAJZhZ_o7LgBDTLkkqDD8rKiVrbA0x5nXvdtceksmJF6Rw7eN0M7HHLCOAnmZpzdj0Q/s1600/Collage4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhskRZ-9-q7ePalQQqAZXvytnj2ydhng4HI3T_6KQDKAUEnDXxvMDkyFTF_0yzKu67m5TF-YLF9lAJZhZ_o7LgBDTLkkqDD8rKiVrbA0x5nXvdtceksmJF6Rw7eN0M7HHLCOAnmZpzdj0Q/s400/Collage4.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDgHIyJ4c5QzQ3uf4foYYlUTKGvJyM8X7lwC25Yu2l_2DBgWy-oUsi9TWWVPhcyemjdICokn88ncNyYakVf-FMZT7BL6znkTgwvCHOWXvG1vDHPy66WSkFyUNdGq-7ONs4_egsKiLJwE/s1600/IMG_1596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDgHIyJ4c5QzQ3uf4foYYlUTKGvJyM8X7lwC25Yu2l_2DBgWy-oUsi9TWWVPhcyemjdICokn88ncNyYakVf-FMZT7BL6znkTgwvCHOWXvG1vDHPy66WSkFyUNdGq-7ONs4_egsKiLJwE/s400/IMG_1596.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguYqI8yeTpzYfwbVnyXUnIUOm5PP3_j3_s0tlXxjy5NJdZFI2AsEwdX0QgpFBzV1XCFmt_XbVjrUOBiE_BnHuU-8rbAhJPl_xtTFaiN8KyhyphenhyphenE0_69LIhx1ehLQm4e50Ggkpvp_Yh5ILx8/s1600/IMG_1601.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguYqI8yeTpzYfwbVnyXUnIUOm5PP3_j3_s0tlXxjy5NJdZFI2AsEwdX0QgpFBzV1XCFmt_XbVjrUOBiE_BnHuU-8rbAhJPl_xtTFaiN8KyhyphenhyphenE0_69LIhx1ehLQm4e50Ggkpvp_Yh5ILx8/s400/IMG_1601.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoFYOkd158pKexk0-8ey9mxgQQBqPzHgujjM-PztwZm4t2v2jRJhnLg-SbHzxtSLW-4lhll7NFlfTc-AQOFC8dbk50m76qbrj1Mh3pKM5jYEELcHOlDacIZO4FOfMwaboOiM-5CF8g6rw/s1600/IMG_1604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoFYOkd158pKexk0-8ey9mxgQQBqPzHgujjM-PztwZm4t2v2jRJhnLg-SbHzxtSLW-4lhll7NFlfTc-AQOFC8dbk50m76qbrj1Mh3pKM5jYEELcHOlDacIZO4FOfMwaboOiM-5CF8g6rw/s400/IMG_1604.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNJLmr_ZHobtA4wcS8Qq1fSoipQ904oxUiw2eKk2VlpakhnsIDdarDLkdfqhN-gS84WYPrLA8sdpN-TYE8w1wht_Y9K5bgbTw1Cs4ZFMpj_rlKPEgdwep5p421shgjFGnk4wYh2WoyZ9A/s1600/IMG_1614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNJLmr_ZHobtA4wcS8Qq1fSoipQ904oxUiw2eKk2VlpakhnsIDdarDLkdfqhN-gS84WYPrLA8sdpN-TYE8w1wht_Y9K5bgbTw1Cs4ZFMpj_rlKPEgdwep5p421shgjFGnk4wYh2WoyZ9A/s400/IMG_1614.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmJlutMxzifiiDRb78f7STC7U7Nl0Md49qF1bvz0EDun875CLnVfe4qnrgAJxV7wAst-kpp-1z1xyHgkNwriwmDJpvHOe5FKpTT_OlMJRQQd6XZEvgGv0DlYhnfhnm4OQ69Fy-N2QF0U/s1600/IMG_1616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmJlutMxzifiiDRb78f7STC7U7Nl0Md49qF1bvz0EDun875CLnVfe4qnrgAJxV7wAst-kpp-1z1xyHgkNwriwmDJpvHOe5FKpTT_OlMJRQQd6XZEvgGv0DlYhnfhnm4OQ69Fy-N2QF0U/s640/IMG_1616.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>(Can't resist explaining that these little houses are air purifiers. The roof element is carbon powder molded with holes to maximize air circulation...)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQG-Bjc7_gWoQizko-4yAEjX5dF_4gEth-8_BvelotIiCg7J_kCxh03r8h8l_rULbHltJOkgfspmdhQ6kebw5q5pUgBxxAQ2MtxzrH8uDtb5FM_hguceteHGFsmdzwzah-pwU68iynIcA/s1600/IMG_1619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQG-Bjc7_gWoQizko-4yAEjX5dF_4gEth-8_BvelotIiCg7J_kCxh03r8h8l_rULbHltJOkgfspmdhQ6kebw5q5pUgBxxAQ2MtxzrH8uDtb5FM_hguceteHGFsmdzwzah-pwU68iynIcA/s640/IMG_1619.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Makes me want to make my own stuff!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-49447419835466310152012-01-25T23:03:00.000+01:002012-01-25T23:03:35.227+01:00Parti...How are you? It's, um, been a while. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXo1IVGvMYQzA9WJximmV5ClgqT5mIb1Ikmg_8hqXM_IXHoRFHAkid_l2_S0qSK9DoYTUxnrGTF4icjkUhL8i3_Bl-L2nnxNp7sELh_PRoJAX4VQo0IotWUxkVqPPv0ZHdkPxoB7hHWuk/s1600/031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXo1IVGvMYQzA9WJximmV5ClgqT5mIb1Ikmg_8hqXM_IXHoRFHAkid_l2_S0qSK9DoYTUxnrGTF4icjkUhL8i3_Bl-L2nnxNp7sELh_PRoJAX4VQo0IotWUxkVqPPv0ZHdkPxoB7hHWuk/s400/031.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
A couple of holidays have rolled by, and I just can't seem to have the kind of spare time I had in the countryside. But here are some images to give you an idea of what I have been doing.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzuC3PQbKXipoU1uS7O-SjKPEHLUJ6JzVK7q6Kl1r8wQTireg0n2tFcX34LODFrUj5DlJr7PByMpWb4fOJr33FPY4-WfvLlELhHvZJzjc5hkwpxF7dFmGyfBSC0fBumttVaOtpd4nc9M/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzuC3PQbKXipoU1uS7O-SjKPEHLUJ6JzVK7q6Kl1r8wQTireg0n2tFcX34LODFrUj5DlJr7PByMpWb4fOJr33FPY4-WfvLlELhHvZJzjc5hkwpxF7dFmGyfBSC0fBumttVaOtpd4nc9M/s400/030.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>I did spend Christmas and New Year's in France, but we had absolutely no access to internet the entire time we were there. Five different <em>France Telecom</em> technicians came to the house, to no avail. Grr.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9m6HGsFn4HFCRoUuhjuId_-8S3X6pLQDQ2R8C8dIfEqsgyhKOnp81I8Oxxa2iqLRHMoxkhR01gDUrgnZNlLJqxz3u8sYbSNpoJmCC-xF5aWy5j2m5q-RK1sKEwVq-7J16gZ4zEhN7tE/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9m6HGsFn4HFCRoUuhjuId_-8S3X6pLQDQ2R8C8dIfEqsgyhKOnp81I8Oxxa2iqLRHMoxkhR01gDUrgnZNlLJqxz3u8sYbSNpoJmCC-xF5aWy5j2m5q-RK1sKEwVq-7J16gZ4zEhN7tE/s400/016.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>It was pretty frustrating, particularly since I actually did have time for a change, between seeing friends and cooking. But at least there were these pretty Dutch amaryllis to admire. I coulnd't decide whether I liked the flowers or the curling stem ends better. Don't those look spectacular? Reminds me of Martha Stewart and her ilk soaking sliced radishes to turn them into roses...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgccicv1N9VNPFLM32GY30Kyr6qBM3udBHUQg9aSOq6zFu5XymH8DBNnXOr5uaHBMs1dZETHKj5OkdUzTOdLccvoL8l7HjkiFdChjqIHhyphenhyphenUH2Kwahmbkbn1tt-PUt9CxOdYikLPzGtBOOw/s1600/022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgccicv1N9VNPFLM32GY30Kyr6qBM3udBHUQg9aSOq6zFu5XymH8DBNnXOr5uaHBMs1dZETHKj5OkdUzTOdLccvoL8l7HjkiFdChjqIHhyphenhyphenUH2Kwahmbkbn1tt-PUt9CxOdYikLPzGtBOOw/s400/022.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>I visited Arles, with its Salon de Santons (an expo of handmade figurines made for Provencal themed Nativity scenes), its Roman ruins, and its van Gogh postcards.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkPYpx5tSYPE-IcxBvBTEGgIcc7dHIqk73YOj-FjHz-x5xEgmqVXCqH4diFzF1S9y0LgOQuTE5XRdLAhNrlwZTRN2mhI1d_SeuYzhEdOlN53OqQ55NrJ1UVrOrbCund-U5s8rN8yhcY8/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrkPYpx5tSYPE-IcxBvBTEGgIcc7dHIqk73YOj-FjHz-x5xEgmqVXCqH4diFzF1S9y0LgOQuTE5XRdLAhNrlwZTRN2mhI1d_SeuYzhEdOlN53OqQ55NrJ1UVrOrbCund-U5s8rN8yhcY8/s400/015.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>(And yes, it was this beautiful pretty much my entire stay in France.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLVUSoq0LwFwuv7vBYXEHq3xm2Ip2pjwFA-PBg8o-HnqRTOpuiu6ehMFk3jo4pW47z7GIAg0P38X8wH7wvO36ERuCHpdQpxSvfXbHE_12Ml-VVswApXgbHbtlebcSp2FIk9O08FZbgCc/s1600/078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLVUSoq0LwFwuv7vBYXEHq3xm2Ip2pjwFA-PBg8o-HnqRTOpuiu6ehMFk3jo4pW47z7GIAg0P38X8wH7wvO36ERuCHpdQpxSvfXbHE_12Ml-VVswApXgbHbtlebcSp2FIk9O08FZbgCc/s400/078.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>The decorations were all still up, of course, even though a good number of the restaurants were closed for the holidays.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJ3Up_6L0mxp_hxYkgjaY24xfIzYiYR5W9hyphenhyphenXAfZmcSiXS-qRfyBKqhp9PXzUBhzo0EiS7i8IJRVMlM4bylS0YdnuK8WzgU-E-sulIQf6acfZZ_mH1uCrD2ReiIB_IJI0JEPTM2rF3Hk/s1600/062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJJ3Up_6L0mxp_hxYkgjaY24xfIzYiYR5W9hyphenhyphenXAfZmcSiXS-qRfyBKqhp9PXzUBhzo0EiS7i8IJRVMlM4bylS0YdnuK8WzgU-E-sulIQf6acfZZ_mH1uCrD2ReiIB_IJI0JEPTM2rF3Hk/s400/062.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>There was still lots of fun browsing to be done, including at a well-regarded bookshop filled with exquisite literary editions (lots of poetry) and witty, well-designed children's books: <a href="http://www.actes-sud.fr/les-librairies-actes-sud">Actes Sud</a>. The bookstore, with its over 40,000 well-chosen titles is also the headquarters of a well-regarded publisher. Definitely worth dropping in, even if you can't actually read French, as they have scads of lavishly illustrated art and photography books.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjraXZGs8ngWguCM5nP5YZ7PT8fz0-Wo-F7aDCcLuWRMHc0KfERKzGNVQrAr_Dmc_m_CkmhPbjkeY6QUxGzRuwQysk_yt71iPLZpP4KKFu0LPUYOpHjCDQdJkxrFJUujuapK5n_Wzx1j4E/s1600/035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjraXZGs8ngWguCM5nP5YZ7PT8fz0-Wo-F7aDCcLuWRMHc0KfERKzGNVQrAr_Dmc_m_CkmhPbjkeY6QUxGzRuwQysk_yt71iPLZpP4KKFu0LPUYOpHjCDQdJkxrFJUujuapK5n_Wzx1j4E/s400/035.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>I spent hours just wandering, with no particular goal. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1GZlkSXQHpoWayVAGR3Dvv7uP7kSf90jQ1KraPfbQ2hg8gNMQ1uByz6A-F1ghngxIPF7QF0yxjdKvK4JQF8KMXwzYO8dulJ5wAlUTP5VTgpmsvcQHD0qbIMe43VmxVJD-_x6Tmrst6Eg/s1600/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1GZlkSXQHpoWayVAGR3Dvv7uP7kSf90jQ1KraPfbQ2hg8gNMQ1uByz6A-F1ghngxIPF7QF0yxjdKvK4JQF8KMXwzYO8dulJ5wAlUTP5VTgpmsvcQHD0qbIMe43VmxVJD-_x6Tmrst6Eg/s400/023.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>I resisted buying the tourist claptrap, even though these soaps did look as though they would make nice gifts. I love the Dutch word for crap and clutter, it fits here:<em> prullaria</em>, pronounced like an aria.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4V_Z_QG-5mR4oZQ8DqY3uk8JH3wQ-EMky5dmuc8Wa9-j0qBXUE3n8DdGTkqoUYdTsKJWd4iVCoJg3vG2vpbQjP7NPKB0716pPG1mrs-m9OnVrjtN30AnpDAjNo-ucFChvuQNUawxGKD4/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4V_Z_QG-5mR4oZQ8DqY3uk8JH3wQ-EMky5dmuc8Wa9-j0qBXUE3n8DdGTkqoUYdTsKJWd4iVCoJg3vG2vpbQjP7NPKB0716pPG1mrs-m9OnVrjtN30AnpDAjNo-ucFChvuQNUawxGKD4/s400/019.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>After this we headed north toward Eparnay, center of the sprawling Champagne region. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6sfmw-33WylY-5B0AbbTlgQYiqja3faDyXQdlkCyyRjDM1DsKLr0gdep7cSiOoUtFLCwIHx_yTLWd0C81cQVQlZ-Azof3a7Ze7a_V31FY7t2vlyBjuTss-cLopi8RO9p2A7CGuc6eMNM/s1600/128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6sfmw-33WylY-5B0AbbTlgQYiqja3faDyXQdlkCyyRjDM1DsKLr0gdep7cSiOoUtFLCwIHx_yTLWd0C81cQVQlZ-Azof3a7Ze7a_V31FY7t2vlyBjuTss-cLopi8RO9p2A7CGuc6eMNM/s400/128.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>We stayed overnight at a lovely chateau. As one does. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHaVv_uwvNJujPxxk3h9EWZPt6xQK6PE6ddSN8HoeI3KpYOCSwidK7D4ut0xc7bNLqTDjLCWnDSSiR1OLARE3F0Tehe1ytrlTuU-mLn2Hd2jWfaj1MXKv5RGxZO5XMVZa3V1pTHMa2Uiw/s1600/134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHaVv_uwvNJujPxxk3h9EWZPt6xQK6PE6ddSN8HoeI3KpYOCSwidK7D4ut0xc7bNLqTDjLCWnDSSiR1OLARE3F0Tehe1ytrlTuU-mLn2Hd2jWfaj1MXKv5RGxZO5XMVZa3V1pTHMa2Uiw/s400/134.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>After the dining, time for the wining. Or rather the stocking up of wine.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCB2UX_FLpK7TohRVvL_HHcxHNkRMlXCbmXDdYxPJl53UQWNdhfMQnGWcwlIAnWTksCOeCqW5J6pkdBMN-1ichWcPdp843ZRPDIW4NugsjVSSGInP7zyctvm5vqCLHoow03EhNPVDnlw/s1600/2011-12-25+-+2012-01-071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCB2UX_FLpK7TohRVvL_HHcxHNkRMlXCbmXDdYxPJl53UQWNdhfMQnGWcwlIAnWTksCOeCqW5J6pkdBMN-1ichWcPdp843ZRPDIW4NugsjVSSGInP7zyctvm5vqCLHoow03EhNPVDnlw/s400/2011-12-25+-+2012-01-071.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>The highlight of our visit was to <a href="http://www.champagnehuot.fr/">L Huot Fils,</a> whose entry-level Champagne has been gilded with three stars (the highest possible rating--as well as a <em>coup de coeur</em> title) by the discriminating reviewers at the <a href="http://www.hachette-vins.com/le-guide-hachette-des-vins/l-huot-fils-reserve-20097551.html">Guide Hachette</a>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQMBDWeLbvCMTvz3zrxZVu58Lj62qW1sZTTZ20Dha9crjoBKhu-xP_flu-007OcT9FxxbyCI2dCaQmAf92EAI_V55dBEuC9vQzqU0KQKAXSe3IHoSJ8LIP7TzJeYjGTmcdUIEpizHsDE/s1600/137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQMBDWeLbvCMTvz3zrxZVu58Lj62qW1sZTTZ20Dha9crjoBKhu-xP_flu-007OcT9FxxbyCI2dCaQmAf92EAI_V55dBEuC9vQzqU0KQKAXSe3IHoSJ8LIP7TzJeYjGTmcdUIEpizHsDE/s400/137.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Their three-star Champagne, the Carte Noire Reserve, is all the more impressive considering it goes for well under 15 euros a bottle. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf46hgmWi__MjKeBSpWoWY_epzBfXigyY2Le-78h5dY_SzN_IbWblo7HQQ77KW8yzBSaLik5VNCBk6lza2ynfEKLiKXqtGMMvSOH-3Uzm5By-VCfbczq4vKb3dR-McSr4zdroSgwylAzA/s1600/141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf46hgmWi__MjKeBSpWoWY_epzBfXigyY2Le-78h5dY_SzN_IbWblo7HQQ77KW8yzBSaLik5VNCBk6lza2ynfEKLiKXqtGMMvSOH-3Uzm5By-VCfbczq4vKb3dR-McSr4zdroSgwylAzA/s400/141.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>We were given an in-depth, personal tour of the property by the owners, with detailed explanations about the history, exacting process and stringent requirements for making Champagne. In the image below, the bottle is being held up to show the sediment gathered at the bottom and yet to be removed. Above, the wine bottles are minutely turned the old-fasahioned way, but they also have machines these days: finding enough skilled labor is increasingly difficult.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMGZauvXLn9n7HdprLe7L5QK-12UhxjYMn52m5BkGY4DTvEw1zwcr3A672G8NFfBhxQX-Z4b2ay7s-KGD98JH6flYj-x1r5AHW9ONh1drL4z0TfCKKraRwyMpYm5Q7ooyNfYHLqtMGAtU/s1600/138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMGZauvXLn9n7HdprLe7L5QK-12UhxjYMn52m5BkGY4DTvEw1zwcr3A672G8NFfBhxQX-Z4b2ay7s-KGD98JH6flYj-x1r5AHW9ONh1drL4z0TfCKKraRwyMpYm5Q7ooyNfYHLqtMGAtU/s400/138.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>These third and fourth generation vintners were as charming and welcoming to strangers as one could possibly imagine. We were able to taste the full range of their wines, in between swapping jokes and stories. When you go to this region, by all means, visit a big-name producer, but don't miss out on the smaller, well-regarded spots such as this one. They are making exciting, accessible, affordable wine, and all it takes is a call a day in advance...for a highly enjoyable morning.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QhThFrOu3l7HAjGBCydTvC0bsEvJaih7_KvS1NGxx8RjHTvuJKEx4Yme6cLx0XTahG9stCPCpoqKnJwlJddZ-YpXNSh4KXyqF8V9AGTdyHtJQW62JmrjqC3O3ovOLAjYEo-HKFDU1Z4/s1600/145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QhThFrOu3l7HAjGBCydTvC0bsEvJaih7_KvS1NGxx8RjHTvuJKEx4Yme6cLx0XTahG9stCPCpoqKnJwlJddZ-YpXNSh4KXyqF8V9AGTdyHtJQW62JmrjqC3O3ovOLAjYEo-HKFDU1Z4/s400/145.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>After that, all you have to do is open the Champagne you've bought, and celebrate with finesse and no end of pleasure. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_09-hyI8-kzGgD61xAnT0JvvSDTzaxuDX6xAiY4wcXHCRj3K17r0659DNo-psw2vpeNnIB3o1G18-0XSkyNipPAp1Iob5wDGY15DrdcoZpseX0eTSVMVre1SzowSpVdSaHuRD2FWrPw/s1600/115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_09-hyI8-kzGgD61xAnT0JvvSDTzaxuDX6xAiY4wcXHCRj3K17r0659DNo-psw2vpeNnIB3o1G18-0XSkyNipPAp1Iob5wDGY15DrdcoZpseX0eTSVMVre1SzowSpVdSaHuRD2FWrPw/s400/115.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>I wish you a happy 2012--newly become the Year of the Dragon.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-52053587999720521202011-11-28T01:09:00.001+01:002011-11-28T01:15:39.545+01:00Turning firewater into holiday gold.For the last twenty-five years Amsterdam has hosted a major art, antiques and design fair: <a href="http://www.pan.nl/DesktopDefault.aspx?tabid=82&lg=en">PAN</a>. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vXF0p12SeusStES5HmvOsMCDxGM_t4cx7YW3t_4AaJRrpm8YaC5NpW-PwpQdj3SczDmvouwpr5DRUA7miYq68r57H6NPqfPfLXUTi4BsXHtQls7eE67AMkE0DktqeV00uqwa_c6kjc4/s1600/Recently+Updated36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vXF0p12SeusStES5HmvOsMCDxGM_t4cx7YW3t_4AaJRrpm8YaC5NpW-PwpQdj3SczDmvouwpr5DRUA7miYq68r57H6NPqfPfLXUTi4BsXHtQls7eE67AMkE0DktqeV00uqwa_c6kjc4/s400/Recently+Updated36.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>This year's collection is particularly strong. (The torsos above are actually carved into the wood.) The fair manages to be inclusive and exclusive at the same time, with contemporary pieces shoulder to shoulder with antiquities.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtCIrf2ndPeHMfCIaPvrMu5zvlzV0BMFylp-LC-ARQdKnn_XX0mPMcJOJP6rLAis-OK8sSDRA1IK91-VLMMQwKuQGy8NOVceurrlk6L4rrLRSiGArZ61kQrM5-PSM3lna1kMEW8dRZrG4/s1600/008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtCIrf2ndPeHMfCIaPvrMu5zvlzV0BMFylp-LC-ARQdKnn_XX0mPMcJOJP6rLAis-OK8sSDRA1IK91-VLMMQwKuQGy8NOVceurrlk6L4rrLRSiGArZ61kQrM5-PSM3lna1kMEW8dRZrG4/s400/008.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>In the ever-growing list of things I should have done but didn't: I didn't take note of the artists. But you can enjoy these snaps anyway, right? Don't judge me, I had two (increasingly impatient) kids with me...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4sTBB14T0midj2OsD2OVjnJfevzC39oNjzra1b-2UxnfVyB4ThIGlDdN8VrOwZB-RiiRGzhMf0SROygnA143htkGHVh2KXZ5cIXOyoikebv9bl2Bb8kpVbJ4PfCtajpZccZTorAColtw/s1600/005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4sTBB14T0midj2OsD2OVjnJfevzC39oNjzra1b-2UxnfVyB4ThIGlDdN8VrOwZB-RiiRGzhMf0SROygnA143htkGHVh2KXZ5cIXOyoikebv9bl2Bb8kpVbJ4PfCtajpZccZTorAColtw/s400/005.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>This artist's name I did get, however: Zhuang Hong Yi makes gorgeous, often ambitiously large-scale pieces using Chinese newspapers, rice paper and other traditional materials to create heavily worked, airy looking pieces that somehow manage to bridge the creative divide between his native China and the West, as he has lived in Holland for many years.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyS9W9rH50jn_NUEkDtLyb7OQ066m2jbWjbXtG-V88HbHoI0JJOAAJBj4JArHAYFo7e6wVi8Kfw3XpkwspO_-oKH4O8Dy-UGccIFHhC8M2wTrkJMj5FgZ7pyXOWGq1Epa-W03D966pWbw/s1600/004-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyS9W9rH50jn_NUEkDtLyb7OQ066m2jbWjbXtG-V88HbHoI0JJOAAJBj4JArHAYFo7e6wVi8Kfw3XpkwspO_-oKH4O8Dy-UGccIFHhC8M2wTrkJMj5FgZ7pyXOWGq1Epa-W03D966pWbw/s400/004-1.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>If you come to Amsterdam, I do suggest you check out his and other artists' work at <a href="http://www.galerierogerkatwijk.nl/kunstenaars.php?lang=uk">Galerie Katwijk</a>, in the heart of the canals and on the periphery of the antiques district.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjT1UCFagsPT2yi6dBxgCB1v70KU9E5Gblr19uMI2sVIaVHVd2Hto4CXRyqjyvrLvG0_hdl2sLsTU5QLU6pcM4GJSFuTCjXkjBYhbp1HZsftLlcxNowMEYly5E-5GcZc0lIeVgE3MUoyc/s1600/009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjT1UCFagsPT2yi6dBxgCB1v70KU9E5Gblr19uMI2sVIaVHVd2Hto4CXRyqjyvrLvG0_hdl2sLsTU5QLU6pcM4GJSFuTCjXkjBYhbp1HZsftLlcxNowMEYly5E-5GcZc0lIeVgE3MUoyc/s400/009.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>I miss our chickens. Can you tell?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsbDiV-L0TWVtiXBdDSxv9PdUy1Jn1Q23lgcl1AQUVCRUruMUQQ9agkdxVK1Fa-mCjr8hlkAd_NBNBgiNV4U2rqQ9Cv-QNTgx2ncY-6OBjDLzdW2V2S1CUK_IEBqTtdWSTWIORdg4PBU/s1600/012-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsbDiV-L0TWVtiXBdDSxv9PdUy1Jn1Q23lgcl1AQUVCRUruMUQQ9agkdxVK1Fa-mCjr8hlkAd_NBNBgiNV4U2rqQ9Cv-QNTgx2ncY-6OBjDLzdW2V2S1CUK_IEBqTtdWSTWIORdg4PBU/s400/012-2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>I do wish you could have been there, to better appreciate the scale and detail in these works. The painting below is taller than me. Which isn't saying that much, but still. The faces are very intriguingly rendered.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPidADME6Hun46DM6eUkxPk7o7oHzA1cuPXpClFqU-gNfOn3toKd1FYdrn3W6kFE3nXW6nWgmAg5AMsfeuWCU4HIvmok9Soiho3U_6AIf03_dUFBoPMLscI4Ve-b696FGG3AALG9pcKJw/s1600/015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPidADME6Hun46DM6eUkxPk7o7oHzA1cuPXpClFqU-gNfOn3toKd1FYdrn3W6kFE3nXW6nWgmAg5AMsfeuWCU4HIvmok9Soiho3U_6AIf03_dUFBoPMLscI4Ve-b696FGG3AALG9pcKJw/s400/015.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Alongside these works were more classically rendered pieces.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTc7H-XCQRjcrzlGc44eyuJ5E7Oz7fYJlRLjjVayX2Mq7dD-UfaQpcQHK-5CIXNSctfMwJZCGQXzPCrq1PnorK7oibTDgxL1ri3q3cnqOMJVzJJDGAX941ogpqPPJTttDDynVmKVTFcsU/s1600/010-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTc7H-XCQRjcrzlGc44eyuJ5E7Oz7fYJlRLjjVayX2Mq7dD-UfaQpcQHK-5CIXNSctfMwJZCGQXzPCrq1PnorK7oibTDgxL1ri3q3cnqOMJVzJJDGAX941ogpqPPJTttDDynVmKVTFcsU/s400/010-2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>Like this affecting portrait, with the wonderfully worked white space all around, and the neat signature dead center at the top.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxI8ohfjpyjfjD0PnJ0k2Qi7Oy9DIeyZVFtBknVwgPj2QcGRTpvFZoDflh8KqxFtaNYfbdDQCukmwUnr9N4vUS98gOuQWrIFXsVY4norB2AIXtQHmUQW4gEzgb4LxZ7UsOxV7KiOlnVE/s1600/016-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxI8ohfjpyjfjD0PnJ0k2Qi7Oy9DIeyZVFtBknVwgPj2QcGRTpvFZoDflh8KqxFtaNYfbdDQCukmwUnr9N4vUS98gOuQWrIFXsVY4norB2AIXtQHmUQW4gEzgb4LxZ7UsOxV7KiOlnVE/s400/016-3.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>A bit on the traditional side for me, but some gorgeous silver. For your dining room, perhaps?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipVcWGmybB3K09wGv9C1LWJHCFvL_1b5pcxJlx0YdYxxRmHQTy7ZdbDDGOixteZHeKCIT5P2OUwjGA5BJG2JrNW2poJ9GuHuvT2eTKlbSj44UTOnBfJSj7c48d3p1gO5cbqbVk5e_QUHQ/s1600/018-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipVcWGmybB3K09wGv9C1LWJHCFvL_1b5pcxJlx0YdYxxRmHQTy7ZdbDDGOixteZHeKCIT5P2OUwjGA5BJG2JrNW2poJ9GuHuvT2eTKlbSj44UTOnBfJSj7c48d3p1gO5cbqbVk5e_QUHQ/s400/018-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>This is the first painting by <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/07/arts/design/07corneille.html">Corneille</a> (a founding member of the <a href="http://www.cobra-museum.nl/en/recent.html">COBRA</a> postwar art movement) that I actually really like. And I have no idea why. But you can see more of his work and many others at the COBRA museum, also here in Amsterdam.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYGLNBIROUQVwCWEvSA7JFPCV3FKE-00tlMcu2wixQKMURQIFRUdREHGNDdm1_syqpHZvSTaplImFZOuUrs8cYC0bNTP5rL5qs9U8YUMq-9K_TqFcFhjP5P8UNrYyGe0M4Oq589VVxYc/s1600/029-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYGLNBIROUQVwCWEvSA7JFPCV3FKE-00tlMcu2wixQKMURQIFRUdREHGNDdm1_syqpHZvSTaplImFZOuUrs8cYC0bNTP5rL5qs9U8YUMq-9K_TqFcFhjP5P8UNrYyGe0M4Oq589VVxYc/s400/029-1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>These porcelain bugs were over a foot long each. There had to be over a hundred, and each one was unique. Cool in a odd way, right?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBqcN43pp2zO1VlVPzQnVcVrmbVbXAArH9zzcGcIMOmF56zZhtbBW-I1ZqNY_C1Ssn0G52GscPXEkaQ7g0eK3s9zDZUmSawhjZvQKGmanQmAFxuI_7eEb8FrSotUdF9yoWQH8AtCf5iE/s1600/027-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBqcN43pp2zO1VlVPzQnVcVrmbVbXAArH9zzcGcIMOmF56zZhtbBW-I1ZqNY_C1Ssn0G52GscPXEkaQ7g0eK3s9zDZUmSawhjZvQKGmanQmAFxuI_7eEb8FrSotUdF9yoWQH8AtCf5iE/s400/027-2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>But I love owls most of all, especially stylized ones like this Art Nouveau one. No idea where I would put it, but I'd definitely find a worthy spot.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2TD0xOg3-poiimyskAJlD0HQi6fvZnRsN3MdeK3OOD-EiSs7VDunYNkObseZNgxBSXXG6IPn80T5ljwVkCvm71XRWw-sF1rBkB05lb43eWxLYwvwsL0DXMYWHy9iJlcVQrw2Obeonyo/s1600/023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2TD0xOg3-poiimyskAJlD0HQi6fvZnRsN3MdeK3OOD-EiSs7VDunYNkObseZNgxBSXXG6IPn80T5ljwVkCvm71XRWw-sF1rBkB05lb43eWxLYwvwsL0DXMYWHy9iJlcVQrw2Obeonyo/s400/023.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>This painting made me laugh out loud for its chutzpah and humor. It is the real'er than real depiction of a <em>kroket</em> in a coin-operated automat. What is a <em>kroket</em> you ask? It's bastion of the crappy-but-alarmingly-addictive-late-night-snack kingdom. It is gravy, rolled in breading and deep-fried, in the flavor of your choice. Well, if your choice is a meat, or maybe shrimp.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjccDETr0jqDPTLqmUAZmO00RoMGt4VJrpg3qb7qOgEMM485TDvufRbppG5seYF9fQcXYdpDrnsWhjwWXDdIJv5mRnIjCAbIq81AjqVs0B6WjviYA3Z-42wQDZK9FIY7Ou0Se-CehbLuBA/s1600/036-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjccDETr0jqDPTLqmUAZmO00RoMGt4VJrpg3qb7qOgEMM485TDvufRbppG5seYF9fQcXYdpDrnsWhjwWXDdIJv5mRnIjCAbIq81AjqVs0B6WjviYA3Z-42wQDZK9FIY7Ou0Se-CehbLuBA/s400/036-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>There are absolutely scrumptious up-scale versions of the <em>kroket</em>, believe it or not. Only they don't come out of a machine. Like most nearly anything edible, they do taste better when they aren't made on an industrial scale. (I don't know whether they still offer it, but the McDonald's here used to offer a McKroket Burger. You know, to fit in with the locals.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqGtHdKb7tOhzNKnYGJFiCEQRgePaUiYJaer10yfcgbOzdHRewrR1jN-iZ4Kg3cLs_hKEmylJ7LVW7Doh0CzgyalFmigLQ4OsB2ZH2LUU63Qeezgu-dtb3ywwgsAcmZy5iZX5rc8_Cl8/s1600/031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqGtHdKb7tOhzNKnYGJFiCEQRgePaUiYJaer10yfcgbOzdHRewrR1jN-iZ4Kg3cLs_hKEmylJ7LVW7Doh0CzgyalFmigLQ4OsB2ZH2LUU63Qeezgu-dtb3ywwgsAcmZy5iZX5rc8_Cl8/s400/031.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>After visiting this giant show, I needed nothing more than to settle down, out of the cold weather. And make something myself.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwHmqOCLsusTVitAOBrqQABI4-7ekb7R2L8C2_xFEmIu14KFazDS8Iot6OD970hW7Kp2MbanmdoI1dQn88DIwEI6Pt8IfVRWP13_Myv7s-Ls_Y-Q58uRnY1dHK9NCzvcspBka5imUnf74/s1600/044-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwHmqOCLsusTVitAOBrqQABI4-7ekb7R2L8C2_xFEmIu14KFazDS8Iot6OD970hW7Kp2MbanmdoI1dQn88DIwEI6Pt8IfVRWP13_Myv7s-Ls_Y-Q58uRnY1dHK9NCzvcspBka5imUnf74/s400/044-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>This time of year, a fire just feels right. All the better to plan out the Thanksgiving menu.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsuQNZnj79FibXnd2CCyD6IDDgifKuDL7ccQqX4NQa2c_-wcygk2BwZm2gLsCjNmV9e2-C2LuFcwd37x7ItW3G3DktSz1uKwMxAnqcGBV402X6qigCSmhq-YUz_R3UlIh08JJa5D88ppE/s1600/045-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsuQNZnj79FibXnd2CCyD6IDDgifKuDL7ccQqX4NQa2c_-wcygk2BwZm2gLsCjNmV9e2-C2LuFcwd37x7ItW3G3DktSz1uKwMxAnqcGBV402X6qigCSmhq-YUz_R3UlIh08JJa5D88ppE/s400/045-2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>I will spare you the hemming and hawing over the choices, the browsing through cookbooks and online, and cut to the fantastic ending: this sumptuous Bundt cake. Oh, please do make this cake this winter, for the holidays, for me. Take apples, a bunch of booze (bourbon, whiskey, rum, take your pick, it'll work), well-toasted pecans, a big handul of candied ginger, and an indecent amount of sour cream. You will get awful close to the best Bundt cake ever.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2pjNTp4nLR39lvD3fxVWRQHEQpfEau30YHdqGGX0w2UUMvtSYG9-ugYDP4yfULmah4Z-ndjfXOqJqFphmQfkL8u7KiqK44FVaPnL5eGFZYAvXI7sL75TTW24fDlx1JU6c4lCLTqh0yI/s1600/059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2pjNTp4nLR39lvD3fxVWRQHEQpfEau30YHdqGGX0w2UUMvtSYG9-ugYDP4yfULmah4Z-ndjfXOqJqFphmQfkL8u7KiqK44FVaPnL5eGFZYAvXI7sL75TTW24fDlx1JU6c4lCLTqh0yI/s400/059.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thank you so much, <a href="http://www.melissaclark.net/">Melissa Clark</a>. I have fallen in love with my Bundt pan again. Of course, if you peek at the recipe below, you'll see you don't have to have a Bundt pan to make this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX86c1Y8f61dh-agVXjaJfy6bqM_wKaMxOS1L3J7DDLh0MUs9NJHG4_u_fXIIM1EW3UShyphenhyphenYm-yZpt783XGzufSBQr23lFPYLPaKzz3KLK5HMbLwvv0xnb_x-U7MXYzSq_WvSK053JS1wo/s1600/060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX86c1Y8f61dh-agVXjaJfy6bqM_wKaMxOS1L3J7DDLh0MUs9NJHG4_u_fXIIM1EW3UShyphenhyphenYm-yZpt783XGzufSBQr23lFPYLPaKzz3KLK5HMbLwvv0xnb_x-U7MXYzSq_WvSK053JS1wo/s400/060.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>The New York Times' Apple Bourbon Cake</strong></div><br />
Serves fourteen.<br />
<br />
2 sticks unsalted butter (226 grams), at room temperature, plus more to grease pan <br />
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (315 grams), plus more to dust the pan <br />
3 tablespoons (30 grams)<em> plus</em> 1/2 cup (80 grams) bourbon or rye whiskey <br />
1/2 cup (90 grams) candied ginger, chopped <br />
1 3/4 cup (330 grams) light brown sugar <br />
4 large eggs, at room temperature <br />
2 teaspoons (8 grams) baking powder <br />
1 teaspoon (5 grams) baking soda <br />
1 teaspoon (2 grams) ground cinnamon<br />
1/2 teaspoon (1 gram) ground cardamom<br />
1 teaspoon (5 grams) fine sea salt <br />
1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg <br />
1 cup (227 grams) sour cream <br />
1 tablespoon (15 grams) vanilla extract <br />
1 1/2 teaspoon (5 grams) finely grated lemon zest<br />
2 medium tart apples (454 grams), peeled, cored, and coarsely grated <br />
1 cup (120 grams) finely chopped, toasted pecans <br />
1/2 cup (100 grams) granulated sugar <br />
Juice of 1/2 lemon (20 grams) <br />
<br />
Heat the oven to 165C/325F. Grease and flour a <em>12-cup</em> bundt pan. If you don't have one, you can use two (nine inch) loaf pans instead, or even two (eight-inch) round pans; keep in mind the baking times will need to be reduced accordingly. In a small bowl, combine 3 tablespoons bourbon and the chopped, candied ginger and set aside. <br />
<br />
In a large bowl, beat together the brown sugar and butter on medium-high speed, until light and fluffy, at least 5 minutes. Then beat in the eggs, adding one at a time, until thoroughly incorporated. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the remaining flour with the baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, salt and nutmeg. In another separate small bowl, whisk together the sour cream and vanilla. Add the bourbon from the ginger mixture, reserving the ginger) and stir in the lemon zest. <br />
<br />
With the mixer on medium speed, add the dry mixture and sour cream mixture to the wet mixture in three additions, alternating between the two. Fold in the ginger, apples and pecans and combine thoroughly, and fill the prepared pan. <br />
<br />
Bake until the cake is golden brown and a toothpick inserted into the cake comes out dry, about 1 hour 10 minutes. If you made the cake in loaf pans, you'll need to start checking for doneness around 45 minutes. If you made the cake in eight inch round pans, start checking even earlier, at around 25 minutes. Cool in the pan about 20 minutes, then run a paring knife around the sides of the pan to release the cake if necessary; allow to cool, flat side down, on a wire rack. <br />
<br />
As the cake cools, blend the 1/2 cup granulated sugar and 1/2 cup whiskey in a small saucepan over very low heat, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Add the lemon juice and take off the heat. While the cake is still warm, flip back into the pan and make a few slits on top with a paring knife. Pour half the bourbon-sugar mixture over the cake. When the cake is fully cool, flip it and pour the rest of the glaze on the other side, then flip once again to serve.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3Q_Arki53BlAk_dpPHX-ivFSSSmJVKModCUNFJGclNlSKVApET7FQhCwsOfhisyUzVpyycV4LwZ7GGZG_DRyCibf7LSjNtAiBe4YexztAHbNY17K9YojMolZkGhW2NEptRLrmDSmjUU/s1600/057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3Q_Arki53BlAk_dpPHX-ivFSSSmJVKModCUNFJGclNlSKVApET7FQhCwsOfhisyUzVpyycV4LwZ7GGZG_DRyCibf7LSjNtAiBe4YexztAHbNY17K9YojMolZkGhW2NEptRLrmDSmjUU/s400/057.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong>Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.</strong></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-24132094624580158382011-11-23T00:51:00.001+01:002011-11-28T01:20:08.941+01:00Of mice and (wo)men.It comes down to bread and butter--a very, very fine thing when you can get your hands on a loaf of <em>Solognot.</em> My favorite local baker roughly slashes rectangles of this sesame, linseed, and sunflower seed-studded dough, and the result is light years airier than the usual French multigrain. The addictive flavor lingers and lingers, needing nothing more than a smear of unadulterated butter. And maybe some chestnut honey. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAejd6P_p0qB2AU6Q1YdXtoS9KgIhB3oI3fB0GWaRSfWNZ6uClxRCAvq3I-EB7X6-2lPk4YBZCIlJmazpl3a0G4gFkl6mc9QW0g6oNioczmmK98RH9HcJoWVACovQbf6YH7HuamIAGocI/s1600/004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAejd6P_p0qB2AU6Q1YdXtoS9KgIhB3oI3fB0GWaRSfWNZ6uClxRCAvq3I-EB7X6-2lPk4YBZCIlJmazpl3a0G4gFkl6mc9QW0g6oNioczmmK98RH9HcJoWVACovQbf6YH7HuamIAGocI/s400/004.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>I had time to consider bread and butter, because for nine days of my fall break, it did nothing but rain in the south of France. Whole villages were flooded. Dozens of roofs were ripped off by a freak mini-tornado in a nearby village, and hundred-year old plane trees (sycamores) were uprooted. Our house was mercifully unscathed, but we lost electricity for a good while and our internet connection for even longer.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtwenyiBw544YCg3PrxhP1YKION-8dFxK-6zqzIhmcWaYTO8lOosH5OixKno1RQYgy3hRSnu0iiNKt4RU4YJt_7w2dMZTsif9GuZxOol9ifAE99zbicuIMoPQaW9UZG6YM2PfBbvFVvY/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtwenyiBw544YCg3PrxhP1YKION-8dFxK-6zqzIhmcWaYTO8lOosH5OixKno1RQYgy3hRSnu0iiNKt4RU4YJt_7w2dMZTsif9GuZxOol9ifAE99zbicuIMoPQaW9UZG6YM2PfBbvFVvY/s400/008.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Regardless of the hail and the raindrops, we made time for visits with good friends who pressed so many tasty gifts upon us. So delicious...and such a pity I couldn't carry all those jars back with me to Amsterdam.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uZuTOwChYAE5YztwusuDw48TnBkmFp9uyyyuyY-Z44tpX9BmtT7avrpp3YALfJLgZv5kuHHZCFejqV73a9ZIrpfJ7Ez246iP0CMOs97M-Q6zt9BjLszTNwfeZphwrYXdyK7h7jUaJ8Q/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uZuTOwChYAE5YztwusuDw48TnBkmFp9uyyyuyY-Z44tpX9BmtT7avrpp3YALfJLgZv5kuHHZCFejqV73a9ZIrpfJ7Ez246iP0CMOs97M-Q6zt9BjLszTNwfeZphwrYXdyK7h7jUaJ8Q/s400/014.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Before we could blink it was already time to fly back to Amsterdam.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7WeMgpkY1QOLtPGe_Dq0sxUda-hK6bn3iNjd5L4asOzZPYIE0V9sOXswa3rat3wirYCcM6NBOr18sqAK_8jIntIR8mqdGjJDknZY5hHqy-FLphwMu7XEbP3g77BY2kMFkzLBKAqfWmI/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7WeMgpkY1QOLtPGe_Dq0sxUda-hK6bn3iNjd5L4asOzZPYIE0V9sOXswa3rat3wirYCcM6NBOr18sqAK_8jIntIR8mqdGjJDknZY5hHqy-FLphwMu7XEbP3g77BY2kMFkzLBKAqfWmI/s400/021.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>After having spent the time we did seeing our friends, it was a more than a bit difficult to leave despite the inclement weather. I now feel the distinct, equal pull between two worlds, two homes. The Country Mouse and the City Mouse both live in me.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG175DatRlVhV9UgV0xlFchOXyWTFjQg-8AusYQF3-ykvn0dVGXoq_leuCsb-zbqMjkrp2TzGMNIL0FC2PFhqj7goOO6DPUXu1kpx9v75XSBaw0tS1DtYvmvImuOxdOT-9p4FX3B6w9oo/s1600/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG175DatRlVhV9UgV0xlFchOXyWTFjQg-8AusYQF3-ykvn0dVGXoq_leuCsb-zbqMjkrp2TzGMNIL0FC2PFhqj7goOO6DPUXu1kpx9v75XSBaw0tS1DtYvmvImuOxdOT-9p4FX3B6w9oo/s400/029.JPG" width="298" /></a></div>The children also feel the differences, little losses and gains. We try to balance it all out.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-KOTW8wGY5bsaVLUd3CUZ1E121_MOWyXg_u7rh1EaobvfxBDfZpypYR4AKgo1U_gICexXGWMXZP1bdtQmZUpHYjfxEMS7GiBgY6fijA00HukdJDMKVM4gWt5Yc95LK8-Pk1odEou8ew/s1600/036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-KOTW8wGY5bsaVLUd3CUZ1E121_MOWyXg_u7rh1EaobvfxBDfZpypYR4AKgo1U_gICexXGWMXZP1bdtQmZUpHYjfxEMS7GiBgY6fijA00HukdJDMKVM4gWt5Yc95LK8-Pk1odEou8ew/s400/036.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lucky for us Amsterdam is an easy city to love, already stocked with a number of favorites, in the form of people, places and tastes. I may not be able to get my hands on a <em>Solognot</em> in Amsterdam, but I can get a mean baguette at a couple of spots, such as <em><a href="http://www.lefournil.nl/">Le Fournil</a></em> (more on that bakery with cult-level status another time). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And there's always the ultimate in profoundly simple and satisfying local comfort dessert: the <em>rijstevlaai</em> from the Limburg region.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-sPyttn1lDGgvmiy9ph6bjIERphrMP96JbnHqo8q7d7RL-sPSoFZo0bN4ZhY7EkrhHUSLXAzPWP_x8Cgb4gBJJd6nwWO2N4eZw8NPH16BC30JjqdpYPjCZFu56jd6a8k3kwAQ-zvKIJI/s1600/049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-sPyttn1lDGgvmiy9ph6bjIERphrMP96JbnHqo8q7d7RL-sPSoFZo0bN4ZhY7EkrhHUSLXAzPWP_x8Cgb4gBJJd6nwWO2N4eZw8NPH16BC30JjqdpYPjCZFu56jd6a8k3kwAQ-zvKIJI/s400/049.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>This is a sumptuous rice pudding in a yeast-raised, cake-ish crust. It will cure nearly anything, including a serious jones for the faraway countryside. My more culinarily ambitious Dutch friends throw up their hands in horror and dismay at my praise of something so darn proletarian, but honey, it's just so darn good.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHNpbmUkDKCxN6Lsfvw0xEDV16XtFegllV2LDcRdE_d7AnZ1n5kHrWEC9kko2abfHDjz8OEltisu-nnTgWVEf59J-kL1bDW_rB3XLplpX_QQEjlMgFHkxdNqns_fPi_-X_1za3AI-nK8/s1600/050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIHNpbmUkDKCxN6Lsfvw0xEDV16XtFegllV2LDcRdE_d7AnZ1n5kHrWEC9kko2abfHDjz8OEltisu-nnTgWVEf59J-kL1bDW_rB3XLplpX_QQEjlMgFHkxdNqns_fPi_-X_1za3AI-nK8/s400/050.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>And no, I have never made one myself. That is the problem with having a halfdozen excellent bakeries within walking distance. (And I tell myself the walking hither and thither cancels out the calories. Right?)<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge6Tb6D_QYbsUtIKIpMNotbxgEX3EdgT0V7WMMsbPjUXtwmsSiyqNlm2b9NKo47Ez-REB5QUy08CuY8QuIWdxxfKHSwCUgDeDEymtuBgB5zqH2d_klZfDLl2Ln3vci3StoeDfDRD8Y0JI/s1600/047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge6Tb6D_QYbsUtIKIpMNotbxgEX3EdgT0V7WMMsbPjUXtwmsSiyqNlm2b9NKo47Ez-REB5QUy08CuY8QuIWdxxfKHSwCUgDeDEymtuBgB5zqH2d_klZfDLl2Ln3vci3StoeDfDRD8Y0JI/s400/047.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>On Saturday mornings I roll out of for the neighborhood organic market. Ridiculously pretty.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfVeWXrZYjxz1kK58U2ugti4MIRHxQElWmy9S3bKTpgAKNWOmM9JzSWGdqRZcVF2Y8mmg5NUY3THWG7InTiLn4o6bVZVJQmQQfIAdmH5ghAAKTBpLa-c4VUNk5OI-3FX_aHLC_HALurQ/s1600/053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfVeWXrZYjxz1kK58U2ugti4MIRHxQElWmy9S3bKTpgAKNWOmM9JzSWGdqRZcVF2Y8mmg5NUY3THWG7InTiLn4o6bVZVJQmQQfIAdmH5ghAAKTBpLa-c4VUNk5OI-3FX_aHLC_HALurQ/s400/053.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Breads all in a row, some of which are even labeled bread (in Dutch).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGg_Ic1zVtEuMW9eK64FsMOIeuw2Z-rSC2pAMBUbCO6B787kYrKXvyk-rN1fZ4x4YeUqT5Ajgc-Yrk9-Ps7YyG-DQIR0TspWcHuRWoIt0nURtZm1rXQOZhARaqQY2_QQESrxkUMuQD4Y8/s1600/0491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGg_Ic1zVtEuMW9eK64FsMOIeuw2Z-rSC2pAMBUbCO6B787kYrKXvyk-rN1fZ4x4YeUqT5Ajgc-Yrk9-Ps7YyG-DQIR0TspWcHuRWoIt0nURtZm1rXQOZhARaqQY2_QQESrxkUMuQD4Y8/s400/0491.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>And, again from the Limburg region, the most adorable raspberry tartlets you could imagine. They taste even better than they look, and they are absolutely packed with raspberries.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UVm1sqvd58hmDY9aGyoyd1UTl7JFxHl0WhtUMaNudOylhqaZRccG1kKMdvda-6SmI5Ab0wC0hz5d7yOQbKFP3e5okh6Y_Kwh2rq1c7fpKHmBgNcQWuHHY0ZObp9wC3zjpePU4QMUdpk/s1600/0501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UVm1sqvd58hmDY9aGyoyd1UTl7JFxHl0WhtUMaNudOylhqaZRccG1kKMdvda-6SmI5Ab0wC0hz5d7yOQbKFP3e5okh6Y_Kwh2rq1c7fpKHmBgNcQWuHHY0ZObp9wC3zjpePU4QMUdpk/s400/0501.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All of these are pure, simple pleasures. I had the unexpected pleasure of enjoying an evening a scosche more<em> haute gamme</em>. <a href="http://www.restaurantdavinci.nl/nieuws.html">Da Vinci</a>'s kitchen is headed by chef Margo Reuten, the only woman to figure among the ten best chefs of Holland for the last decade. Crowned Gault Millau's Chef of the Year 2012 for Holland, Ms.Reuten has <em>two</em> Michelin stars as a result of the magic she works in her kitchen, which I was able to visit. The dishes she creates are sometimes nothing less than breath-taking; she says she is still striving to add a third star.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Did I mention that I forgot to bring my camera? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ld-8lZCbiME/TsV46183efI/AAAAAAAAKjw/OtzM6EeLNvo/s1600/photo%255B4%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ld-8lZCbiME/TsV46183efI/AAAAAAAAKjw/OtzM6EeLNvo/s400/photo%255B4%255D.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I borrowed an iPhone to take photos of the ornate dishes, but the atmospherically dim lighting spelled my photographic doom, with the theoretical exception of these images. The one above is a detail of a magnificent, translucent vase by the bar.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b9pRVfuN5QY/TsV5t7sUZ6I/AAAAAAAAKj4/hI3s8Dcmf8c/s1600/photo%255B3%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b9pRVfuN5QY/TsV5t7sUZ6I/AAAAAAAAKj4/hI3s8Dcmf8c/s400/photo%255B3%255D.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The first bite I had was with a fine champagne. It was a savory marshmallow made of red beet and lightly dipped in pure cocoa. You can see three of them resting upon spoons in the last image.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pVf-Hk58Yl8/TsV58rddl3I/AAAAAAAAKkA/L0r-1c2vM9A/s1600/photo%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pVf-Hk58Yl8/TsV58rddl3I/AAAAAAAAKkA/L0r-1c2vM9A/s400/photo%255B1%255D.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After those came these extraordinary spheres filled with an intense but light cauliflower panna cotta. Topped with gold leaf, natch. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zWIgzgLZLA0/TsV6uBxcXxI/AAAAAAAAKkI/Np_uZ2uSUnM/s1600/photo%255B4%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zWIgzgLZLA0/TsV6uBxcXxI/AAAAAAAAKkI/Np_uZ2uSUnM/s400/photo%255B4%255D.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The evening continued in this most pleasurable manner, with one sensual, unexpected combination of flavor and texture leading to another. I couldn't get over the order and calm of her kitchen, having seen all the insanely intense professional kitchens on televised 'reality' shows. Her kitchen hummed with pristine good humor and equilibrium. And what a treat to watch these guys set to work. For the Amsterdammers reading this, there can be comparisons made between her cooking style and level to <a href="http://www.viamichelin.nl/web/Restaurant/Ouderkerk_aan_de_Amstel-1191_JE-Ron_Blaauw-212197-41102">Ron Blaauw</a>, who also wields two Michelin stars--although I have the impression she cooks with perhaps a touch more discretion. All in all, a memorably hedonistic evening.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just goes to show you, there are distinct advantages to being a City Mouse as well.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-15267536612138875512011-10-26T02:05:00.002+02:002011-10-27T23:15:12.126+02:00Roundabout.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We're back in the south of France. We seem to have brought the inclement weather of the north with us, too. Doesn't matter. We are back in France.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xfei98u-2oQ0K2x0_dBTDUfOQ-UMR-505qfnc6MOn4Of73lJUdE3gZXLZVoxHhC2x6fKratTmnHiJS4CZoFc0pHg_ZARJM-mfBGk960kw0O6OFWxMiyTMSQZUL2J6xdhpkkdwG8ylKs/s1600/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xfei98u-2oQ0K2x0_dBTDUfOQ-UMR-505qfnc6MOn4Of73lJUdE3gZXLZVoxHhC2x6fKratTmnHiJS4CZoFc0pHg_ZARJM-mfBGk960kw0O6OFWxMiyTMSQZUL2J6xdhpkkdwG8ylKs/s400/017.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>While we were busy settling in the city, things kept <em>happening</em> here. For one thing, it kept not raining, for a long, long time. In between tut-tutting the Sahara-like lack of humidity, my friends managed to make me fairly jealous by announcing the laughably warm temperatures. It remained high summer--til the day we arrived.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIXYe_pAS0AETnFmOhlGEaB8ocCiAqzw87n-xuGStKx0JSBak7LkLUCncbwFWxcQg32qqOBVgM05jFI5tXLP81C8mCJAcsTdOSYC-eukVGSPUt_hWVcMbYhFnWW1YD2KPgedkemtm-7Y/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIXYe_pAS0AETnFmOhlGEaB8ocCiAqzw87n-xuGStKx0JSBak7LkLUCncbwFWxcQg32qqOBVgM05jFI5tXLP81C8mCJAcsTdOSYC-eukVGSPUt_hWVcMbYhFnWW1YD2KPgedkemtm-7Y/s400/020.JPG" width="297" /></a></div>I really don't mind the rain here, even though it means spending more time indoors. Our capitalist Monopoly skills are being well sharpened, the deck of cards is seeing some serious use, and there is a lot of <strike>gossiping</strike> catching up to be done with neighbors and friends over fragrant cups of homemade herbal infusions.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzD_AbJBmuLPsfJd2HNHRyyNqxInnjFxP_ynwGWNJ1GWrcrYwVwfS0YzrNw93lAakq7M3A8YZhwsBMl7uHdzpI8MoafDjwX5OpDKOFlHMgT4vP_VnqNM1N8qTLe-3OqXo6ngI9a0KKQto/s1600/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzD_AbJBmuLPsfJd2HNHRyyNqxInnjFxP_ynwGWNJ1GWrcrYwVwfS0YzrNw93lAakq7M3A8YZhwsBMl7uHdzpI8MoafDjwX5OpDKOFlHMgT4vP_VnqNM1N8qTLe-3OqXo6ngI9a0KKQto/s400/025.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>The leaves are just now beginning to veer off into the more eye-popping shades. We are monitoring the subtle changes, all the while making little berets for our fingers using the acorn caps scattered everywhere. <br />
<br />
Fall break, as you can see, is a very busy time around here. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjog35Xwy4D5IOv9GaT-jJxvKwCjw1TuaJ8QsxKxc_tQfB61C29az6i-96jT-aBXEIsKB5U6a3ordPyc6LPln9qWPbmzqB_AZw5CkxaU96DlZqNlDGnTsN8KBSgcwsFDLWfbat7KX4iyBg/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjog35Xwy4D5IOv9GaT-jJxvKwCjw1TuaJ8QsxKxc_tQfB61C29az6i-96jT-aBXEIsKB5U6a3ordPyc6LPln9qWPbmzqB_AZw5CkxaU96DlZqNlDGnTsN8KBSgcwsFDLWfbat7KX4iyBg/s400/030.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>There is dog-walking to be done, perfect pumpkins to be located (harder than you might imagine) and hot chocolate to be made. If you actually live in the Gard, you know it isn't hot chocolate weather just yet, but the kids don't care. A rich hot chocolate is exactly the kind of beverage you reach for after you've rolled a half dozen times down a slippery, damp hillside, dressed in a plastic garbage bag.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXeR31l80HIFnPWbmj-ZwrG7ZFb99QZnkAMDnCcO8DHJ_NN7bFUldtSuJlHjj7P1FzanqvQwLJsYgCPOQIh0BpR_GYu8GEBTnxsZiJZ1sMCMJtDcj85ktYeCe-I2qTEy-B2qZKGo-B84/s1600/036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXeR31l80HIFnPWbmj-ZwrG7ZFb99QZnkAMDnCcO8DHJ_NN7bFUldtSuJlHjj7P1FzanqvQwLJsYgCPOQIh0BpR_GYu8GEBTnxsZiJZ1sMCMJtDcj85ktYeCe-I2qTEy-B2qZKGo-B84/s400/036.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>And now we're smelling some of the first smoke of the season, as people are finally able to burn their longstanding piles of brush without the fear of setting off a forest fire. The piles burn slowly, sending up signals most of the day. Sometimes you can barely distinguish between the woodsmoke and coiling mist. Next to our own smoking pile is my vegetable garden, such as it is, is down to a single basil bush, long gone to seed. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-CAzCFsud46Q9ysjiQ-Q6yCNPmuvOQOvJhaEfpFS4Vn0EkeiqCPJ9aO9dq40WA-PSEOE8HO_aucmcG8sp-Ocu5TKM7xyewM2raFKmZk_ZiAvUwBJryVUN5WFPpGHrR-lgqwAXkB3tSM/s1600/037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-CAzCFsud46Q9ysjiQ-Q6yCNPmuvOQOvJhaEfpFS4Vn0EkeiqCPJ9aO9dq40WA-PSEOE8HO_aucmcG8sp-Ocu5TKM7xyewM2raFKmZk_ZiAvUwBJryVUN5WFPpGHrR-lgqwAXkB3tSM/s400/037.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>We're here, we're happy, even if I missed the harvest for these little crab apples, which is a small pity as I would have loved to have put away some jelly. Tart and sweet belong together. As for the berries: the only ones left are a few straggler raspberries, a startlingly deep,waterlogged red. I also missed the walnuts, once again nimbly harvested by the painfully shy squirrels.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_Nri1kqUOQgOe7x7JKiJXOs-floNhJWZuaOazlStcJ9iMI4G5DxTBWlwvHdrYB16GXKrIgCvxkXySRWRHMVtIzAZrAwb2qay2JnlMD8KOAwu4kqD-9PCZkZ87HGrL4fV973adDwgxLw/s1600/039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD_Nri1kqUOQgOe7x7JKiJXOs-floNhJWZuaOazlStcJ9iMI4G5DxTBWlwvHdrYB16GXKrIgCvxkXySRWRHMVtIzAZrAwb2qay2JnlMD8KOAwu4kqD-9PCZkZ87HGrL4fV973adDwgxLw/s400/039.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Beyond missing much of the garden harvest, I haven't been cooking all that much lately, either: we've been scoring invitations left and right. The upside, beyond eating great food made by someone else, are all the little discoveries in other people's homes. Just look at the new little quilted house I found at my friend Monique's place when I came by for lunch. She has made, filled and attached it to this old door to keep out the chilly cellar draft. <br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_KwdDR1sYDM_yUzNdW31Le_skFVBD-doW_IMLhvaM16T4UsCAV7UVyfhNOpjbMhJTlfHQgWGA0bHh8FqY-BlnRGAVAMBeIelUvnKsN5CCFFGUVb9VmEt1mf2bCIQ4O_x6FeucRQ0v9w0/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_KwdDR1sYDM_yUzNdW31Le_skFVBD-doW_IMLhvaM16T4UsCAV7UVyfhNOpjbMhJTlfHQgWGA0bHh8FqY-BlnRGAVAMBeIelUvnKsN5CCFFGUVb9VmEt1mf2bCIQ4O_x6FeucRQ0v9w0/s400/014.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Warm drinks, bonfires, dogwalks. Nothing mind-alteringly important going on here, simply the small, concurrent shifts that move us from one season to another. We seem to have the space needed to better contemplate those minor details. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Having just arrived over the weekend, I took the usual exit off the highway, we went through the usual toll booth and came up to the usual landscaped roundabout. My ten year oldvsai, with unfeigned, profound affection: "awww...a roundabout!" There are very, very few roundabouts in Amsterdam. In France you can't get away from them. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCicTYL8xmUGEMdpt1hpmc5wl2O3HxU-7xZS58snUf03o3Z_ltAC9NuPZFyetbDc_xbYZVjVmjtPQR3iy89xTZdZuxmoFExqbgQmV8ve0bpRLjQaK2dT4ylODnzHoXexlaZ2u6ks8sej8/s1600/041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCicTYL8xmUGEMdpt1hpmc5wl2O3HxU-7xZS58snUf03o3Z_ltAC9NuPZFyetbDc_xbYZVjVmjtPQR3iy89xTZdZuxmoFExqbgQmV8ve0bpRLjQaK2dT4ylODnzHoXexlaZ2u6ks8sej8/s400/041.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Sometimes leaving helps you see more. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-28461919460116497852011-10-07T00:20:00.001+02:002011-10-24T20:02:46.320+02:00Platform heels, baby.What a weekend.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCyX15A5u0TZ09uo1_QrC8MlHpYENvfrLmvKpbwl29q0nf0iXRyvIsInVKFfRI7y_AfH_UBUu4e7lThu8IamjTUKVhil95kZfhyphenhyphen7vDbQS6EIfgmYdTlfDRuat_KWVhNVvh29HUecHZmas/s1600/011-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCyX15A5u0TZ09uo1_QrC8MlHpYENvfrLmvKpbwl29q0nf0iXRyvIsInVKFfRI7y_AfH_UBUu4e7lThu8IamjTUKVhil95kZfhyphenhyphen7vDbQS6EIfgmYdTlfDRuat_KWVhNVvh29HUecHZmas/s640/011-3.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>I have some smart friends. Some of them are clever enough to live in more friendly places, climatologically speaking. In one friend's case, home is Milan. And for one perfect weekend, I too was a Milanesa. (Well, I pretended to be anyway.)<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_42A1H0vQ5CL3XgZTORwwCROl8DjC3QM81AaJNlorM6bdjw1vXDfK0IVyaarmXlDGJ3FzIlILRoyLf5DCRkNebVWRpJAmRWm47zGAToVPIe9D42sADq0G7DkMa15id6kXBagvwNIwgY/s1600/099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_42A1H0vQ5CL3XgZTORwwCROl8DjC3QM81AaJNlorM6bdjw1vXDfK0IVyaarmXlDGJ3FzIlILRoyLf5DCRkNebVWRpJAmRWm47zGAToVPIe9D42sADq0G7DkMa15id6kXBagvwNIwgY/s640/099.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>At base, I'm not a shopper, never really have been, but boy, Milan could convert a girl. First of all, there are the innumerable culinary treats.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCG8tJ8fAqXxXaJM8S5UiE-R5rmOD6Wbv33VT-DQR9NopXq1wztRmBpaEFh5YQc-49oj6HO-VIYdC__LjUaEwbanjcDY7rgUZB2MPgnbGy9YbYIN0Rql_dh_jtUB94Zju-lKpeq28A94Q/s1600/014-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCG8tJ8fAqXxXaJM8S5UiE-R5rmOD6Wbv33VT-DQR9NopXq1wztRmBpaEFh5YQc-49oj6HO-VIYdC__LjUaEwbanjcDY7rgUZB2MPgnbGy9YbYIN0Rql_dh_jtUB94Zju-lKpeq28A94Q/s640/014-1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> Here are two different kinds of beautifully stuffed peppers.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZe5ryXTgfOCqOpNPujmAF7i6DEzJsywrEAuLtAtw194e0FovS9K-cHoFBjpc5BD4ynEpdtw2AD4W_jvFoxAKJY6QCVkF3W35UMA_bhtlXJmC-E_VoLzwZa1VhrihyvWAhioFuJ6Ulkc/s1600/045-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLZe5ryXTgfOCqOpNPujmAF7i6DEzJsywrEAuLtAtw194e0FovS9K-cHoFBjpc5BD4ynEpdtw2AD4W_jvFoxAKJY6QCVkF3W35UMA_bhtlXJmC-E_VoLzwZa1VhrihyvWAhioFuJ6Ulkc/s640/045-1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> And of course the porcini--I am definitely a funghi girl.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq-ALSFNuA5EFAdqIV7_O6iALa1KLbcG1PnGYgQgV36TxLY2ih0v7VS2xWNhHiLXDa1mN2syPgJu8ZEwebZLFQ365vhWxzuWDx9CsLbUNs54DKMXUU4o2nP6XNELiefjKyXna6VNZqBag/s1600/043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq-ALSFNuA5EFAdqIV7_O6iALa1KLbcG1PnGYgQgV36TxLY2ih0v7VS2xWNhHiLXDa1mN2syPgJu8ZEwebZLFQ365vhWxzuWDx9CsLbUNs54DKMXUU4o2nP6XNELiefjKyXna6VNZqBag/s640/043.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>You look at fresh pieces like this and you immediately want to make risotto. Or you do if you're a Milanesa. Like me. This past weekend, I mean.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvenE7fsDefAislJNnyNk8UreGM484iXF7CDx1iPxSOyd4WwGGes2Jf6LN0IWkEu0r9hYpKObsTBdlp0wYGsMVE8Ze7ZF3ovvZQXmvtlIrhHqPj5n4g3cLlU6iHCqHynIDDC7L_KOU8rg/s1600/040-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvenE7fsDefAislJNnyNk8UreGM484iXF7CDx1iPxSOyd4WwGGes2Jf6LN0IWkEu0r9hYpKObsTBdlp0wYGsMVE8Ze7ZF3ovvZQXmvtlIrhHqPj5n4g3cLlU6iHCqHynIDDC7L_KOU8rg/s640/040-2.JPG" width="478" /></a></div>I cracked when I saw the rhododendron honey. Never even seen that one before. But then I thought of the jar, broken en route, honey seeping into the stitching of my brand-new, perfectly fitted, taupe leather gloves (because you have to buy gloves while in Milan, it's the unbreakable rule). There are really only two specialty shops for the aficionados, one of which is <a href="http://www.sermonetagloves.com/">Sermoneta</a>. I resisted buying the jar: gloves combine poorly with honey in a carry-on, even if the honey in question is rhododendron (which would taste like what exactly? <a href="http://www.agreengarden.com/plants/rhododendron-impeditum-0939.asp">Blueness</a>?)<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKMU_WmKIbdU29w40d4-LF-x4O5RmezqSb4ujMNPPDq9CZmjfZNpEGyC_Lg45bjVB1zJciBqNvEYU2cyyawttgDG_PP99ufp_3btRaTlfpMuWnnFokeTxOa17sx-e_d-XYCvcWLqjgIsg/s1600/051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKMU_WmKIbdU29w40d4-LF-x4O5RmezqSb4ujMNPPDq9CZmjfZNpEGyC_Lg45bjVB1zJciBqNvEYU2cyyawttgDG_PP99ufp_3btRaTlfpMuWnnFokeTxOa17sx-e_d-XYCvcWLqjgIsg/s640/051.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Even in Italy, you can't get away from beautiful French things. I know, don't judge a book by its cover, etc, but I fell a little bit in love with this canister. It made me dream. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPL3c5VDM6V1N2L_QyxTuVY21UmHCw7q_k6cPPIaOb3DusolN-V-6mvLunJbiKV50aFffNy95qi-UNysPaJ2eQ-zqL3lRq3q0ZeDosj0uUTVxcl3fjnbLcWRs_3idVyExCc5RS8JlzQ4/s1600/071-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPL3c5VDM6V1N2L_QyxTuVY21UmHCw7q_k6cPPIaOb3DusolN-V-6mvLunJbiKV50aFffNy95qi-UNysPaJ2eQ-zqL3lRq3q0ZeDosj0uUTVxcl3fjnbLcWRs_3idVyExCc5RS8JlzQ4/s640/071-1.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>We also browsed the G. Lorenzi, family-owned cutlery shop, founded in 1929 and a Milanese landmark. Lorenzi is known not only for every possible permutation of a knife, but also for highly specialized items in bone (an orange peeler anyone?) I couldn't afford the truffle slicers I admired, although surprisingly there was a whole range possible. I even saw some lovely shoe horns in bone for as low as 5 euros.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKlXHo4qUZMEe1HfFhNslmbxdzhXXruHcNqrGgPkHz7pMc1IQjohWlYHN2zR-BreHhF_DYBwat6_advyydb80yr3FlIcO1qiWwyL1tpRvouaRKnwJgt4yXQaGOSiqg3iIyi8TQmiXQaag/s1600/021-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKlXHo4qUZMEe1HfFhNslmbxdzhXXruHcNqrGgPkHz7pMc1IQjohWlYHN2zR-BreHhF_DYBwat6_advyydb80yr3FlIcO1qiWwyL1tpRvouaRKnwJgt4yXQaGOSiqg3iIyi8TQmiXQaag/s640/021-1.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>As I don't need a shoe horn or a filigreed pasta knife, I settled for some toothpaste: they had toiletries to go with their leather toiletry cases. We're not talking Crest, mind you, this was <a href="http://www.marvismint.com/#/home">Marvis toothpaste</a>. One of their most popular flavors is Jasmine mint, but there is also ginger mint, and even licorice. I chose <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Marvis-Toothpaste-Cinnamon-Mint-3-86/dp/B004QAG7QQ">cinnamon mint</a> (too bad they don't offer chocolate-flavored toothpaste, as they do in Japan). In Milan, Marvis is a fraction of what it costs beyond Italy's borders. And now, I'll undoubtedly feel that extra touch Italian, just by brushing my teeth. Right?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTT-pG6AKKdaDVIydM4a2h7EAkwxoqn1OaQJIudq9GPYArYTQosFh2inRWlQzmGr4fWs2m0-_ZuqoGkvgfuUv7yqlI4SgqhE4RP-4rnVSHYde-lX3NiTGt2ERJs3tMiHTiTADzL7CJPT8/s1600/016-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTT-pG6AKKdaDVIydM4a2h7EAkwxoqn1OaQJIudq9GPYArYTQosFh2inRWlQzmGr4fWs2m0-_ZuqoGkvgfuUv7yqlI4SgqhE4RP-4rnVSHYde-lX3NiTGt2ERJs3tMiHTiTADzL7CJPT8/s640/016-2.JPG" width="482" /></a></div>What do you think of when you think of Milan, besides risotto and maybe osso buco? Money. This is the northerly business epicenter of Italy. There is money. Combine Italian men and money, and you seem to get Maseratis, Lamborghinis, <a href="http://www.ferrari.com/English/Pages/Home.aspx">Ferraris</a>. Sometimes <em>five </em>red ones, all in a row, as you can see below.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ME0h2iWY6Qdmm3T7zAeQ93QL13gZUWRhWyLfX8DPQzhWVdjyT8Tynh-Te5jX-F52RDUAqgE7YfPpBBhgQVnky652WaZrslMYvOPV2bSVCUWFehgT6juvXkM1eqgF6SpumeHJ4USpzDI/s1600/067-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ME0h2iWY6Qdmm3T7zAeQ93QL13gZUWRhWyLfX8DPQzhWVdjyT8Tynh-Te5jX-F52RDUAqgE7YfPpBBhgQVnky652WaZrslMYvOPV2bSVCUWFehgT6juvXkM1eqgF6SpumeHJ4USpzDI/s640/067-2.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>For the men and women who aren't into cars, there is ample choice of design furniture. Ceccotti furniture stands out in particular for an extreme purity of line, craftsmanship and sensuality, classical with an art collector's twist. Think I exagerrate? Go to their <a href="http://www.ceccotticollezioni.it/">site</a>, check out the Manta desk, or the Bean desk, or any of Lazzeroni's dining chairs. Really, to touch the silken lines of a Ceccotti piece is to gently and irrevocably fall in love. (Below is a dress boy, weirdly lightweight and perfectly formed.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tffSGRNpMVJv0TuS_lwIur18f-jxfdfGiDDNdDrrlKTqKrs3EnhRt-IQuLyrbPc3q-R6r_GowlpQy8olO-ClQ_tcX1fg2CG94BuWJ_2uiu0HwWTxBoASNPsoWByz1fHvIIWQFIzeMxk/s1600/061-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3tffSGRNpMVJv0TuS_lwIur18f-jxfdfGiDDNdDrrlKTqKrs3EnhRt-IQuLyrbPc3q-R6r_GowlpQy8olO-ClQ_tcX1fg2CG94BuWJ_2uiu0HwWTxBoASNPsoWByz1fHvIIWQFIzeMxk/s640/061-1.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>And of course there is the fashion. Here are some Pucci scarves adorning the shop entrance.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4WAYdVVfznC2plTMYIePcJH6-jFwHLrvn5kgqRuqbyyYijFucjJHjk_YCOAmYHBwOg-V7NENLEsYorSVd5XvKo1bY2vHBQKL-8GtgQJmpNm5Lmu5UojcceUUIh7IC3e3ToAW8S-sNmdM/s1600/053-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4WAYdVVfznC2plTMYIePcJH6-jFwHLrvn5kgqRuqbyyYijFucjJHjk_YCOAmYHBwOg-V7NENLEsYorSVd5XvKo1bY2vHBQKL-8GtgQJmpNm5Lmu5UojcceUUIh7IC3e3ToAW8S-sNmdM/s640/053-1.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>We spent a lot of time wandering in and out of shops, looking at the latest collections, admiring the fabrics and the exquisite cuts, but when I arrived home, I realized the food images dominated. <em>Quel surprise</em>. You know by now that my stomach is where my passion lives. These are marzipan fruits--with brown spots for authenticity.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvgLeaLvbh58-kLpiS67eTuEgb0W4sqHGrPB49GM6ZIEY5H9KbVTd6dLsFzoqu_vN9o6_HLs2TAOyrF0CvYXQjKs0YvNnR_02eGN2Tk9omkRVJ_EYevuuYvo2HqC_42c3P9lPzuWat3nA/s1600/073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvgLeaLvbh58-kLpiS67eTuEgb0W4sqHGrPB49GM6ZIEY5H9KbVTd6dLsFzoqu_vN9o6_HLs2TAOyrF0CvYXQjKs0YvNnR_02eGN2Tk9omkRVJ_EYevuuYvo2HqC_42c3P9lPzuWat3nA/s640/073.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Of course there was the obligatory gelato stop.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSddiPb-gYd8nkjvYu6FaftRaYVeDsp1qUhL2q9FBt1C7RaIpOo21heBjQu5vIZVxyqLwzKmOZjLg6eFms6_R8Vt1VY_j6-tJLcW-pzFUEpVaTHkP8fZUQDg7yUF8UZ9CycG5NPRLJF_k/s1600/076-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSddiPb-gYd8nkjvYu6FaftRaYVeDsp1qUhL2q9FBt1C7RaIpOo21heBjQu5vIZVxyqLwzKmOZjLg6eFms6_R8Vt1VY_j6-tJLcW-pzFUEpVaTHkP8fZUQDg7yUF8UZ9CycG5NPRLJF_k/s640/076-2.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>The single most divine dish of the weekend? Tough call, but most likely a simple bowl of fresh burrata, a kind of creamy mozzarella, combined with cherry tomatoes and good pesto.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_YX8KcwbP2RA-piSdUYIYNMcdMOgww3KfaATjERhbQpXESKUfQFof6DmXObJRyNrQHntB4UbFRCdERsidXgHB7h8K10N-0n9eQJXxyW8X8Hh-VQNkpgD5F4witcSQQ9zVY9JTNuQEAI/s1600/077-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_YX8KcwbP2RA-piSdUYIYNMcdMOgww3KfaATjERhbQpXESKUfQFof6DmXObJRyNrQHntB4UbFRCdERsidXgHB7h8K10N-0n9eQJXxyW8X8Hh-VQNkpgD5F4witcSQQ9zVY9JTNuQEAI/s640/077-1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>We walked off the burrata by strolling deep into the night, as one does when one is from Milan: in heels, laughing, talking and generally carrying on.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgma-Nc8kLboBenYywSL6woHVOhfbPUIPMlUXcJ8RNzhQt-MuBorzWMF25oFhwTBTl6ty5UA84Lzm7kM5AW22nNA6hwTrPEg1dQdPcGmuQArfS0MZmN-ZwWs_3lPh5v87Haymo24RqrUTU/s1600/092-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgma-Nc8kLboBenYywSL6woHVOhfbPUIPMlUXcJ8RNzhQt-MuBorzWMF25oFhwTBTl6ty5UA84Lzm7kM5AW22nNA6hwTrPEg1dQdPcGmuQArfS0MZmN-ZwWs_3lPh5v87Haymo24RqrUTU/s640/092-3.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-83634605703139719132011-09-27T23:02:00.001+02:002011-09-27T23:11:37.204+02:00City sunday.Pretend this is my front door. Open it and come inside. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs5OOzpwVz_01VDuBGrW__YXQIRubT_aiB5wmpGoPbDjlOKOP4_-eA3oz64oNF9iOXOxBdwQDdRgdJSTk6mw9p8bMfxZPkhAk7uVnGipVjdqXDnd1Mib0dQX2Q7taX_29p5ywiph8WrjU/s1600/039-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs5OOzpwVz_01VDuBGrW__YXQIRubT_aiB5wmpGoPbDjlOKOP4_-eA3oz64oNF9iOXOxBdwQDdRgdJSTk6mw9p8bMfxZPkhAk7uVnGipVjdqXDnd1Mib0dQX2Q7taX_29p5ywiph8WrjU/s640/039-1.JPG" width="478" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Take a seat, have a cup of tea. Brush aside the fallen petals from the tulips, try not to think of the encroaching autumn. Brush aside the last remaining cake crumbs, try not to think of how quickly little boys become big boys. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdSwqMHEBumhfrLKWkSG3g3Y8CZFe3VOS_-fF3Q_gGgnBISSNgj2O5OUCzuv0uHhqKow3KtivtPcR5KJNCKTx39o3qyiUDQfrvEnCv_bgi4U30XMO3zpyGphyGLhrOSXkp-j8bEakqOR4/s1600/013-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdSwqMHEBumhfrLKWkSG3g3Y8CZFe3VOS_-fF3Q_gGgnBISSNgj2O5OUCzuv0uHhqKow3KtivtPcR5KJNCKTx39o3qyiUDQfrvEnCv_bgi4U30XMO3zpyGphyGLhrOSXkp-j8bEakqOR4/s640/013-2.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Because, yes, my sweet son has had another birthday. All puffed cheeks and curls, he struggled to blow out all six candles on his Lego cake at once. I wonder what he wished for. I myself wished he knew more children his age here, so that I could have thrown him a proper birthday party, the kind that knocks me into next week with tiredness. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1W7lyOvDT2MAX8HOq_g4cAszs1UzYwOlntT0bBn8iHT6MPTfR4hgxPF7x3uYggOAovykJ6keoC84gG82ih5t9Dz5ldI4CvwJcvR-xShurdSZcnmH_Q5fw0ksKfSUa6Xss7iGa5njqnmc/s1600/035-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1W7lyOvDT2MAX8HOq_g4cAszs1UzYwOlntT0bBn8iHT6MPTfR4hgxPF7x3uYggOAovykJ6keoC84gG82ih5t9Dz5ldI4CvwJcvR-xShurdSZcnmH_Q5fw0ksKfSUa6Xss7iGa5njqnmc/s640/035-3.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>What do you do when you've just moved, and your child doesn't yet have his or her circle of friends? We decided to go to the movies. My kids have been to the movies three times before in their lives, so it is a real treat. The film was at an Amsterdam landmark, the <a href="http://www.amsterdam.info/cinema/tuschinski/">Tuschinski theater</a>, continuously running since 1921, with exception of one recent renovation. <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8USPyD6fbyPoxFsMXc01qmyQWZBtGxscPeeeDENs_Y6yi84yPzIZIUE6r4QhL7HVwOOtvzSR3pgu6qW_MYuleDN8htSuXlHq1Xmklr-QipKmI-DnIV-5PU2BS-egDcw8Xbo_gxPF46jg/s1600/066-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8USPyD6fbyPoxFsMXc01qmyQWZBtGxscPeeeDENs_Y6yi84yPzIZIUE6r4QhL7HVwOOtvzSR3pgu6qW_MYuleDN8htSuXlHq1Xmklr-QipKmI-DnIV-5PU2BS-egDcw8Xbo_gxPF46jg/s640/066-2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>I could imagine Vincent Price designing a movie theater like this. To call it lavish is a serious understatement. Even today, there are still private viewing boxes--and love seats. (I found another photo on Flickr of the interior, <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/_fabio/3049934416/">here</a>.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyt4bOMk4NFVLMMIc-vqi6wSTxQZgPRna1MopASQD2nql0S9XCXZhkl5IkIKOLxy0guy8HTO0LyDVG0CIPEB2DEfH2fy53O8zvez_qBqjMHjG8Y8iiBeBbUMqh5yZQX3PI58EwTQMf52M/s1600/061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyt4bOMk4NFVLMMIc-vqi6wSTxQZgPRna1MopASQD2nql0S9XCXZhkl5IkIKOLxy0guy8HTO0LyDVG0CIPEB2DEfH2fy53O8zvez_qBqjMHjG8Y8iiBeBbUMqh5yZQX3PI58EwTQMf52M/s640/061.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But the splendid photo of the foyer, below, was <em>not </em>taken by me. (It was posted, uncredited--boo!-- <a href="http://www.hollywoodindeklas.nl/home/">here</a>.) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSTRU-Vl_HVisJOu9D2raBN0cSTxbUJPwv4At9Nt8yWiRUD81DbbCwiaUqVtZYlp4AzL3BcGax12zk3n0jcNh7mSvKbE3VCnM7RW_sDwQJiqDAwsdoozwYQKDyb1OAqlJPuo-drlG_KpM/s1600/tuschinski_hall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSTRU-Vl_HVisJOu9D2raBN0cSTxbUJPwv4At9Nt8yWiRUD81DbbCwiaUqVtZYlp4AzL3BcGax12zk3n0jcNh7mSvKbE3VCnM7RW_sDwQJiqDAwsdoozwYQKDyb1OAqlJPuo-drlG_KpM/s640/tuschinski_hall.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>I neglected to take photos of the outside which, if anything, is even more outlandishly Art Deco, in keeping with the stringent demands of the original owner. Unfortunately, being a Polish Jew by origin, he and his entire family were murdered by the Germans during the war. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHkc6d0Mxk9zA55NOonZtV3NxG6m7Qvkj9LbzP1RRFqGsaV-KX83UvI05F_IWAkxaxrA6CsSi_JyIENk714ugki7V3XDmEQilORquDyQmCK6L4B18ppndhozcJt-SPKKdop6M95hGkDI/s1600/064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoHkc6d0Mxk9zA55NOonZtV3NxG6m7Qvkj9LbzP1RRFqGsaV-KX83UvI05F_IWAkxaxrA6CsSi_JyIENk714ugki7V3XDmEQilORquDyQmCK6L4B18ppndhozcJt-SPKKdop6M95hGkDI/s640/064.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>His Tuschinski is still standing, however, perfect where it is, kitty-corner to the flower market, and where all the big-name film premieres are held in Holland. <br />
<br />
The Tuschinski would be decidedly out of place in the planned Ijburg, built upon artificial islands, where the buildings look more like this. [The 'j' in Ij is silent.]<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGC5xaJlyalDwns3sedqC-SQnc9Uve7PP1PJmTzAudi_x9mGX_npaL7u2DedObJrsEEivJoEPP-HjF64n_mbi8h6IwNeV6FDyqFMjHK3aCuKVD90PiSnH7C27In4XLbpRneL5Rj7Nggw/s1600/067-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGC5xaJlyalDwns3sedqC-SQnc9Uve7PP1PJmTzAudi_x9mGX_npaL7u2DedObJrsEEivJoEPP-HjF64n_mbi8h6IwNeV6FDyqFMjHK3aCuKVD90PiSnH7C27In4XLbpRneL5Rj7Nggw/s640/067-1.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is where I found myself this past Sunday, in order to take part in Elle Decoration's annual Inside Design Amsterdam. There were loads of designers, artists and furniture companies scattered across the airy islands in cool loft spaces in such a way that you sort of wandered from one striking arrangement to another, without ever feeling crowded by others.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOc3wOs1loCzxY-_oxVZRfr0gzooIbFD9Z1xLQujs0uKXuQKQ5t9Akeykud8yL1MIjVwX3eBaVnjorDiTJg9MCXTphfay5fllxVuY6_UDKWRFXpjA-AB3cj2VGeo4h8wh-7YcRVpqX6hI/s1600/072-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOc3wOs1loCzxY-_oxVZRfr0gzooIbFD9Z1xLQujs0uKXuQKQ5t9Akeykud8yL1MIjVwX3eBaVnjorDiTJg9MCXTphfay5fllxVuY6_UDKWRFXpjA-AB3cj2VGeo4h8wh-7YcRVpqX6hI/s640/072-2.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>I liked these pieces shown by Ilse Crawford, former chief editor of the English edition of Elle Decoration, and now herself a designer under the aegis <a href="http://www.studioilse.com/productdesign/seating-for-eating/7.php">Studioilse</a>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YVOvaIKrt51-Em-i3UdNR83rgPGdT9F4047JxHAdTQDa8hyphenhyphen4MeNRpIR9achqm_FvaE4VYGZGpqQt_n_veJP-fYAiFTBJXsb3_VkJoSjLYLGouqNXPxbvxjhx59GqX7DBuyJIg3VNVAE/s1600/074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YVOvaIKrt51-Em-i3UdNR83rgPGdT9F4047JxHAdTQDa8hyphenhyphen4MeNRpIR9achqm_FvaE4VYGZGpqQt_n_veJP-fYAiFTBJXsb3_VkJoSjLYLGouqNXPxbvxjhx59GqX7DBuyJIg3VNVAE/s640/074.JPG" width="478" /></a></div> Interesting rough-yet-smooth, ultra simplicity of of these bowls. What do you think? (Note, I did not say they were practical...)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5hTPyPsz3_GEOV2IlxHAFXZVX2NsPkoQMdPQbhUniI2wHBzNmZIgWgW7z1GcIMgfqh10dtML9M8crzlC2mZN5WDyo8SER1fakCJs7BHuiN285Ld3dPJ4jiHLoXgxJPl7_l3Vegblxjz4/s1600/078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5hTPyPsz3_GEOV2IlxHAFXZVX2NsPkoQMdPQbhUniI2wHBzNmZIgWgW7z1GcIMgfqh10dtML9M8crzlC2mZN5WDyo8SER1fakCJs7BHuiN285Ld3dPJ4jiHLoXgxJPl7_l3Vegblxjz4/s640/078.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Look closely at this display of preserved flowers. Can you think of anything much more exquisitely diaphanous? I couldn't stop peering at these from different angles.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-unqSgMpxqnvPhZlaBT2tScrCZvuxSs-pW7albLWYoBl8C9lOnUF1hQdZhGBEL4bfA8N-Y8uhiRH3t8-SILvwqGgJZJCJppB_hi3XuIhO1ka6C0xF8XL3plIefTT1dXNSZlRzoP-hgLI/s1600/079-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-unqSgMpxqnvPhZlaBT2tScrCZvuxSs-pW7albLWYoBl8C9lOnUF1hQdZhGBEL4bfA8N-Y8uhiRH3t8-SILvwqGgJZJCJppB_hi3XuIhO1ka6C0xF8XL3plIefTT1dXNSZlRzoP-hgLI/s640/079-1.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I also loved the concept and craftsmanship of this low coffee table by a pair of young Dutch twins. Who comes up with an idea to glue together pencils then cut them like a slab of wood--leaving the ends sharpened? <a href="http://www.tweelink.nl/Site/Welkom.html">Tweelink</a>, that's who. They also made a dinner table out of coloring pencils, and the sides had more of a rainbow effect.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY13D2kJzggMGm8tVx7VPc7qiJ6efRVwHUI50nGH1XIil4qZ0u1nbvbOXd4Afj-taKiFg4dvWgF9FeD8saoolMAFh9TlWSYJrLrcCmPoX1dfc-i_L8SDnCPqBj_LbM9XikFQ4O7JU1eJ4/s1600/094-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY13D2kJzggMGm8tVx7VPc7qiJ6efRVwHUI50nGH1XIil4qZ0u1nbvbOXd4Afj-taKiFg4dvWgF9FeD8saoolMAFh9TlWSYJrLrcCmPoX1dfc-i_L8SDnCPqBj_LbM9XikFQ4O7JU1eJ4/s640/094-2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">There were a lot of pieces to admire by both the up and coming and the established, but for sheer monumentality and vision, I'd say the prize goes to Barbara Broekman. This piece below is 4.2 meters by 3 meters, and is a composite image of "Good" as drawn from the masterworks of Rubens, Veronese, Tiepolo and Caravaggio. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Essentially, it is a giant collage (with a companion piece, "Evil".)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBBRZI2Wy5GQ8SGBKg8UBLTgW0nF_lEe2bzbupTj5Rs_CZMyxQH5xmQxp_1Oq4pX3-8E6C1rxyN0hJ5MO-Qp6UK399-Vjh9G46ZxpMbUO9yHfueXUE2orHdNGFgHr0ZRefVN500ZXk_OM/s1600/090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBBRZI2Wy5GQ8SGBKg8UBLTgW0nF_lEe2bzbupTj5Rs_CZMyxQH5xmQxp_1Oq4pX3-8E6C1rxyN0hJ5MO-Qp6UK399-Vjh9G46ZxpMbUO9yHfueXUE2orHdNGFgHr0ZRefVN500ZXk_OM/s640/090.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>The piece is made up of inter-connected panels, each measuring sixty centimeters by sixty centimeters. And that pixielated effect is because it is a Jacquard-woven cloth.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZFvd1cVkOMotGBUJEueTV6siy7LLcOg7P4q3B2vh5GqM_8l-FjmtVjSUWg8Refv7XA0K6lXZ30v9l8OyQHRAc2-mw9tEwl0FG7tbLyQdUssNj9T9P8WVewrxQ2q55VsQ3B2s5J7SV8s/s1600/091-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZFvd1cVkOMotGBUJEueTV6siy7LLcOg7P4q3B2vh5GqM_8l-FjmtVjSUWg8Refv7XA0K6lXZ30v9l8OyQHRAc2-mw9tEwl0FG7tbLyQdUssNj9T9P8WVewrxQ2q55VsQ3B2s5J7SV8s/s640/091-1.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>When you finally put your nose up to it, you begin to suspect that this involved an awful lot of work. I have no idea how she managed the scale and variety of color, but it did involve the skills and machine of the Textile Museum in Tillburg.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgH31KtyZ-2WqNACcqvYGnVUSD_UdLHXpvRABxvowr-fUsxCVGMkLGGFMJIUl17hL6NmtzihORqPxpwYF00ngui-MTHH-g-xylD-R2aiy9zz-tkLxWu31uJOMPbn3B7CrgQf7A24x-6Q/s1600/092-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgH31KtyZ-2WqNACcqvYGnVUSD_UdLHXpvRABxvowr-fUsxCVGMkLGGFMJIUl17hL6NmtzihORqPxpwYF00ngui-MTHH-g-xylD-R2aiy9zz-tkLxWu31uJOMPbn3B7CrgQf7A24x-6Q/s640/092-2.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>If you are reading this from Holland, you can see one of Barbara Broekman's pieces at the Frozen Fountain, a <a href="http://www.frozenfountain.nl/?pageAlias=geschiedenis">contemporary art and design gallery</a> in Amsterdam well worth visiting. If you love tapestry, explore Broekman's <a href="http://www.barbarabroekman.nl/">beautiful site</a> to see some of the many works coming out of her atelier--and how she makes them. And finally, you can also browse a preview of Inside Design Amsterdam in the October issue of (Dutch) Elle Decoration if you want more. I didn't want to overwhelm you with photos, so I only selected a few.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KQ5P-VubDEUrUvXL8aIR-Xc1bdnxPryUuKdciIzymSPerZ8HM0Ogp2RLrATuFgUZPS0o_YBOf81fRN754hYwM3ZRHaEXTC2KrTo5InEtbAnfVudulIaoAFnvWFcZEP5Fs_IvSKnXFz4/s1600/106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KQ5P-VubDEUrUvXL8aIR-Xc1bdnxPryUuKdciIzymSPerZ8HM0Ogp2RLrATuFgUZPS0o_YBOf81fRN754hYwM3ZRHaEXTC2KrTo5InEtbAnfVudulIaoAFnvWFcZEP5Fs_IvSKnXFz4/s640/106.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>After all that hard work of strolling and gawking and head-cocking and lusting (my breath was completely stolen by the B2 kitchen concept from <a href="http://www.en.bulthaup.com/#/07C4D6F93C654AE0C1257738003D58B3">Bulthaup</a>--do check it out), I was ready for a cup of coffee in the sun. Dispensed from a three-wheeled mini-truck. Overlooking the little harbor on Ij-lake.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcaletUAM90ezh8_dsFLP6YVViz4zDcb9Kz2vA_LcjsdmBmmZOZ3F-7YBeJPbw_wgjNuFH-0CMjkUkq3LZElt3i2B6eqe0YjjIYK77Ked3jJeevULUijnqogP6CSflpCPezyxMcIFlyp0/s1600/108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcaletUAM90ezh8_dsFLP6YVViz4zDcb9Kz2vA_LcjsdmBmmZOZ3F-7YBeJPbw_wgjNuFH-0CMjkUkq3LZElt3i2B6eqe0YjjIYK77Ked3jJeevULUijnqogP6CSflpCPezyxMcIFlyp0/s640/108.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>When I can watch bridges go up for boats on any given day, I know I am in Amsterdam.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktzXOuQWtiEzZ6BubvmB-tqKhAgpljalpa333dqsRXkctqRQ5VPW0cBrrQR0XRt5876YXjFPtH8AU_RcFRtLQAchY7DOth54IR2cGyFyArFSMnOmyx9fQ0a4Jc3J8CJxyZzrDpEouHHg/s1600/103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktzXOuQWtiEzZ6BubvmB-tqKhAgpljalpa333dqsRXkctqRQ5VPW0cBrrQR0XRt5876YXjFPtH8AU_RcFRtLQAchY7DOth54IR2cGyFyArFSMnOmyx9fQ0a4Jc3J8CJxyZzrDpEouHHg/s640/103.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">There are worse ways to spend a sunday.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-24029057140326768162011-09-20T00:20:00.000+02:002011-09-20T00:20:23.059+02:00Settling in. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnKLFQAEXhXv0c-kMPUNe6Ptdsw-xt4GFw0J86Ul3RffGG0en_iDcYKQR86VC4u7UX4F1Dc5S_bPyxwFW24cmHdBAUZxVwA33W7x3B-O1gG6z_2prNH-yZwDBJTKMuY7Ha8APwIgVpV8/s1600/044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnKLFQAEXhXv0c-kMPUNe6Ptdsw-xt4GFw0J86Ul3RffGG0en_iDcYKQR86VC4u7UX4F1Dc5S_bPyxwFW24cmHdBAUZxVwA33W7x3B-O1gG6z_2prNH-yZwDBJTKMuY7Ha8APwIgVpV8/s640/044.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">KLM's little ceramic houses of Amsterdam, filled with genever (gin). <br />
<br />
<div align="left"><span style="font-size: small;">This won't be the first time I bite my tongue to keep from ranting about the weather, but the inclement, roiling skies made it that much easier to focus on making our apartment a home. </span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPRfjdCvABBOXbMTYzbyU3om6tsXEFGcQX-UHO19NgU4cg61h94x4Pb3sEP8YS3n0Z7H5MlruX0-a31ew_gYedBmGrAPgMC-V4LiNQ639nnNbhECsHZyRBm77dc_l3xZgb1MMLxFx87b8/s1600/027-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPRfjdCvABBOXbMTYzbyU3om6tsXEFGcQX-UHO19NgU4cg61h94x4Pb3sEP8YS3n0Z7H5MlruX0-a31ew_gYedBmGrAPgMC-V4LiNQ639nnNbhECsHZyRBm77dc_l3xZgb1MMLxFx87b8/s640/027-1.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Being back in the city means a move away from the countrified ways we'd developed (and enjoyed) over the past three years. Now we're shifting back into a more familiar city mode. Sometimes this meant unpacking things that had been in storage for too long.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTXFJkdqtq36hlSoRScS17naXrUCPWnb6FqQK76A6OZJw3hmuqJsiaqQc1K_klJkXwISJ7BI8oxhXpKZKSu8TWGPwiuE___CZlbvP4197QbbQyMCjWFxV4fit7yarlX7yAdFzEBfS1NM8/s1600/042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTXFJkdqtq36hlSoRScS17naXrUCPWnb6FqQK76A6OZJw3hmuqJsiaqQc1K_klJkXwISJ7BI8oxhXpKZKSu8TWGPwiuE___CZlbvP4197QbbQyMCjWFxV4fit7yarlX7yAdFzEBfS1NM8/s640/042.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Other times it meant shopping. I do not like looking for clothes, but browsing my way through home goods is another enchilada entirely. This elliptical table below is from Ikea.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYqbm8BQ2ZfAzGI0c-1yp3pc9tdig3PhRsU-l7ttLu7On1PmHX9p5LcVC1Yord2w_hMVVemngKoYk0Atu6KKQmWIL4B0mX_fYa6XYiozT_jtX-fWpt4k7NMYapagwrUCXNDD2sDSQWlo/s1600/041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYqbm8BQ2ZfAzGI0c-1yp3pc9tdig3PhRsU-l7ttLu7On1PmHX9p5LcVC1Yord2w_hMVVemngKoYk0Atu6KKQmWIL4B0mX_fYa6XYiozT_jtX-fWpt4k7NMYapagwrUCXNDD2sDSQWlo/s640/041.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>I love a bit of blending of styles, too. Here's an inherited Artifort midcentury classic paired with a French antique find. I found that carpet a few years ago, the colors are luscious and those soft, firm nubs feel heavenly underfoot.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfcPY3W9OSWxHJjOkgrok1pnCdw7skFcmguDdQwzt79i6QnLVrVux-NUDrlm0qM1bJSX3N_tjx3_xS4A0mCSC9xuWqeie0UBX4U89vxhrYEJGJm17PK8Zw1M3kq2ov7P_zcXhZOw-j44/s1600/039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfcPY3W9OSWxHJjOkgrok1pnCdw7skFcmguDdQwzt79i6QnLVrVux-NUDrlm0qM1bJSX3N_tjx3_xS4A0mCSC9xuWqeie0UBX4U89vxhrYEJGJm17PK8Zw1M3kq2ov7P_zcXhZOw-j44/s640/039.JPG" width="478" /></a></div>These fish traveled 1300 kilometers in a Mini. They were no doubt at least as relieved to be out of the car as we were. They went from our kitchen in the French Cevennes to our kitchen here in Amsterdam. The chickens weren't allowed to come...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSTneN14nxql0xSeaVk5GZhX8oCjtSQ-4CAAa9eiNOCqWblhno8D0By6PFiX2h9v5cTyW9cBVKIXcat04sxgmfEKRU7mlsXS5mqNw-tv9PobgehQNY4rwxVA92fdkj4XNPa1XbFfKnmOs/s1600/032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSTneN14nxql0xSeaVk5GZhX8oCjtSQ-4CAAa9eiNOCqWblhno8D0By6PFiX2h9v5cTyW9cBVKIXcat04sxgmfEKRU7mlsXS5mqNw-tv9PobgehQNY4rwxVA92fdkj4XNPa1XbFfKnmOs/s640/032.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>I indulged myself in the kitchen: when we first moved from Amsterdam to France, I schlepped most of my kitchen supplies down there. This go-round, they've mostly stayed behind in France. I am loving the lines and heavy-duty bottom of this pot I got at HEMA, the Dutch version of Target. (Check out <a href="http://producten.hema.nl/">this clever page</a> from their online store. Give it a second to kick in...)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR-5svLNKrjkDky3CGsQ6P5xA5p_z3qPNObZPQx6st_EH_7P3PDhAY5JCo00e8lIqEH5_-R19CEtfjPy-uOumN3vFFPZkjwv5MxO53lTTBkQ1iaNNoOrzb4oiSRrCWp0z7Xkp5MT_qbU8/s1600/050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR-5svLNKrjkDky3CGsQ6P5xA5p_z3qPNObZPQx6st_EH_7P3PDhAY5JCo00e8lIqEH5_-R19CEtfjPy-uOumN3vFFPZkjwv5MxO53lTTBkQ1iaNNoOrzb4oiSRrCWp0z7Xkp5MT_qbU8/s640/050.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here is a tall, asymmetrical wooden pepper grinder I got from, you guessed it, Ikea. Ten euros--and it grinds like a charm! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihj7fI2iR_lmwA2eJItIrHpSb7aWpWpcQuck8MHhet-xUzoVSNqYnJodZYsXLQ52VF45-Y3OJaSHNbh-ytSAcd6bwjkU82Auczt_CupVrV-83PDQX9R88VMsDOxnoWs9I6w46uI24NcpM/s1600/036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihj7fI2iR_lmwA2eJItIrHpSb7aWpWpcQuck8MHhet-xUzoVSNqYnJodZYsXLQ52VF45-Y3OJaSHNbh-ytSAcd6bwjkU82Auczt_CupVrV-83PDQX9R88VMsDOxnoWs9I6w46uI24NcpM/s640/036.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>My splurge was this spoon rest. I needed a spoon rest. I just didn't need an Alessi spoon rest. But aren't those curves fine on this new Alessi spoon rest?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5gq5R7NlfWfSKaTB1PjVCYfaFHYsEnzCfla0K1WnEX7OHGAkYhctX5ZZC6S92MRBS4iSJOAJJQtPffjvOfXMtFQhrXSYolCLHhraEQpNFk7z95s8-JllfalGyLiHcpoVUHbKBp4UgHNI/s1600/035-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5gq5R7NlfWfSKaTB1PjVCYfaFHYsEnzCfla0K1WnEX7OHGAkYhctX5ZZC6S92MRBS4iSJOAJJQtPffjvOfXMtFQhrXSYolCLHhraEQpNFk7z95s8-JllfalGyLiHcpoVUHbKBp4UgHNI/s640/035-2.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Essential in Amsterdam: a coatrack. Faint echoes of the Dutch Piet Mondrian don't hurt.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuIgS4xVfS6JHEJB4q2XCl7a0hNt6G9TXxdEUKHyR5RWrfWmcZghu-S1rH2YvB9vD2ayGSw0f7F7Mn05D4BM8GF-blGJwIH6wmjje4e75uoTzipB2X26iY3xpQUmhp3-OZPyD8jPbsuU/s1600/034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuIgS4xVfS6JHEJB4q2XCl7a0hNt6G9TXxdEUKHyR5RWrfWmcZghu-S1rH2YvB9vD2ayGSw0f7F7Mn05D4BM8GF-blGJwIH6wmjje4e75uoTzipB2X26iY3xpQUmhp3-OZPyD8jPbsuU/s640/034.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>We have all started to find our bearings.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Daa0RXgzln_AdiwTRfj8fWJJxxEJG7698pDXrwEEoyv4-VAGDWwJ1fngtHNb_NCBDR8UjzfybM_PMbVdKwTgI9kG_O2lct0VPLhUcuqL3NEwRmoMsMaYEj_DqRLvaIhP_6idR57amgs/s1600/028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Daa0RXgzln_AdiwTRfj8fWJJxxEJG7698pDXrwEEoyv4-VAGDWwJ1fngtHNb_NCBDR8UjzfybM_PMbVdKwTgI9kG_O2lct0VPLhUcuqL3NEwRmoMsMaYEj_DqRLvaIhP_6idR57amgs/s640/028.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>And we know what to do when the sun finally decides to make one of its brief appearances.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3JA2mYwfNU-sZq1-yjWiQC3izY6mZuPRm5kprCzqcjXA_9E1EwOdRlmNic5MkKmzqiwfU5m7__QZq__iS4a4DJufOHJipSv2-CRZ3Cvh7SoUA-_UTzew72KSNKRq67hpWrCDeETBoIQI/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3JA2mYwfNU-sZq1-yjWiQC3izY6mZuPRm5kprCzqcjXA_9E1EwOdRlmNic5MkKmzqiwfU5m7__QZq__iS4a4DJufOHJipSv2-CRZ3Cvh7SoUA-_UTzew72KSNKRq67hpWrCDeETBoIQI/s640/040.JPG" width="480" /></a></div> First we double-check. (That's my neighbor's terrace, below. In sun.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2pHmx8ed9kOGgdzDTzn_4Ykv7SxzlcT_f4Dy7iFi9ozc6IdAanqKJrA_4CFvhIseNKd4jWd6eYv-sXcceywsVkZvVVzxHnqL01lKU_-2D2QQe_WyXzHgwjbvm4zDoMen1xYmrijEHzLo/s1600/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2pHmx8ed9kOGgdzDTzn_4Ykv7SxzlcT_f4Dy7iFi9ozc6IdAanqKJrA_4CFvhIseNKd4jWd6eYv-sXcceywsVkZvVVzxHnqL01lKU_-2D2QQe_WyXzHgwjbvm4zDoMen1xYmrijEHzLo/s640/029.JPG" width="480" /></a></div> Then we make a dash for it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrUYQRKOZg6zLk-sbrzps9KdWI3vKVKu6r047ZpUdBfD2U3we9pADPmcVxDFabv5ZI5eOjNKidhrFDHfBXv70nPrfRY5hmTrhYD5jOMr7cuDbr28xT8JTukIE98it62NebtQs7SoPyFns/s1600/013-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrUYQRKOZg6zLk-sbrzps9KdWI3vKVKu6r047ZpUdBfD2U3we9pADPmcVxDFabv5ZI5eOjNKidhrFDHfBXv70nPrfRY5hmTrhYD5jOMr7cuDbr28xT8JTukIE98it62NebtQs7SoPyFns/s640/013-1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>We do crazy, lovely things like taking off our raincoats. Even better, we have a picnic in the backyard. My friend Azumi was the hostess this time.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9Va4_LUDFaBCxgvgKZNDPhoqzuZ7xHMFnhAuJPdTvt_00ctk9IPmQJrmYo1hcsk6cNRRqGx5O2ZBKSsI2IH14kAe5f_np0rvdnJYQbcyux_Y1X0xseW19FYuZQUalMPg7wYwD16F5OY/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs9Va4_LUDFaBCxgvgKZNDPhoqzuZ7xHMFnhAuJPdTvt_00ctk9IPmQJrmYo1hcsk6cNRRqGx5O2ZBKSsI2IH14kAe5f_np0rvdnJYQbcyux_Y1X0xseW19FYuZQUalMPg7wYwD16F5OY/s640/021.JPG" width="478" /></a></div>The spread was absolutely Japanese, and absolutely delicious. She claimed it was really very basic and simple to make. That was when I asked for the chicken recipe. Azumi was right. But so am I: this version of the Japanese standard will hit the spot, whether for a casual picnic or a satisfying weeknight dinner. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9pEmFZeakKEESCNsw38XbyrbYl3gpR4xuukNrfi7khA_rzu3TyFm0Odszzzu2aipPBybIz2_2JdkYvYvw4iuL6bxOvERwHZ2sr8c6GRlqmZJMtN81RLrNJoq-nwQ_rF6olRJ_6kEiCRw/s1600/016-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9pEmFZeakKEESCNsw38XbyrbYl3gpR4xuukNrfi7khA_rzu3TyFm0Odszzzu2aipPBybIz2_2JdkYvYvw4iuL6bxOvERwHZ2sr8c6GRlqmZJMtN81RLrNJoq-nwQ_rF6olRJ_6kEiCRw/s640/016-1.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong>Azumi's Picnic Chicken Teriyaki</strong></div><br />
Serves four.<br />
<br />
700g chicken thighs, cut into bite-sized pieces<br />
<br />
3 tablespoons shoyu (Japanese soy sauce)<br />
3 tablespoons mirin (a sweet Japanese cooking wine)<br />
1 teaspoon extra-virgin olive oil with lemon flavour, or sesame oil<br />
1 shallot, minced<br />
<br />
Combine all the ingredients in a sturdy plastic bag, rubbing the marinade thoroughly into the chicken. Let chicken rest it in the fridge at least an hour.<br />
<br />
Heat the pan with a bit of olive oil. Pour all the ingredients into the pan. Cook the chicken over high heat, until nearly all the liquid has evaporated. Lower the heat and continue to cook until it until the sauced chicken is nicely browned.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUfqfEVvUKzKn9R_TbvgQGTRq3I7XRlck_vsOYSHHSnWhb92EQIBJySm62-Whq-CrmDiGB1IVAGYPjyIqfY-rVFdhyDuCmLbocPkijFnXQHd5xSjJmtYLx9lR3sPzqDFNubP0Zm-8pTvs/s1600/018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUfqfEVvUKzKn9R_TbvgQGTRq3I7XRlck_vsOYSHHSnWhb92EQIBJySm62-Whq-CrmDiGB1IVAGYPjyIqfY-rVFdhyDuCmLbocPkijFnXQHd5xSjJmtYLx9lR3sPzqDFNubP0Zm-8pTvs/s640/018.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-30084243953691535622011-09-13T01:20:00.000+02:002011-09-13T01:20:12.675+02:00I'm singing in the...Living in the wide open spaces of the countryside cuts you down to size. You feel appropriately insignificant, mother nature in her extremes is writ large and subject to inexplicable whimsy. Moving to the bricked-in spaces of the city creates this pulse-quickening sense of expansiveness, all those languages, accents, skin colors, eye shapes, extraordinary personal histories, the swerve of social history evident in heroic buildings, the ringing trams, clustered bicycles--and mmm, those bookstores. All that potential and hectic activity give the impression that we, as individuals, really can blaze our own trails. It simply took tasting hummus heaped onto sesame-speckled bread rings from a local Turkish market to realize I've just plain missed certain things.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiycr7URJJ4e4WhxPYK_1MmllRVBrHl98zDGF3S1sE25hMzlyGrNyjcnblWu3miiQxl93SBeAlAMBmtw1_N5EQRZkLiaTw_JjR0oUfWAskmCiZF1s5TQVVE4HvaAnzISRY5R7D-H3vwg78/s1600/011-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiycr7URJJ4e4WhxPYK_1MmllRVBrHl98zDGF3S1sE25hMzlyGrNyjcnblWu3miiQxl93SBeAlAMBmtw1_N5EQRZkLiaTw_JjR0oUfWAskmCiZF1s5TQVVE4HvaAnzISRY5R7D-H3vwg78/s320/011-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer, in the rain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But first I had to get used to stoplights again. By this I mean the stoplights keeping me from places I just<em> have</em> to get to by a certain time. Because being in a hurry is a near-obligatory sub-clause of city life, and everyone's in a hurry here because we're all late because half of the transportation infrastructure in Amsterdam is under construction. I only wish I was exaggerating. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJqDGJJqVAega8omQUr9yFwOynAfcVOL7FnppXbsNpChgG-sqte5MPAFku8cGzlGY_8s9Qcq42OObf-cA4m_m0mwImF9ZRS12zz2CeFL8Y3x-_BVjuIBz-7YuhXKnkRDbc49xDoTiHkE/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJqDGJJqVAega8omQUr9yFwOynAfcVOL7FnppXbsNpChgG-sqte5MPAFku8cGzlGY_8s9Qcq42OObf-cA4m_m0mwImF9ZRS12zz2CeFL8Y3x-_BVjuIBz-7YuhXKnkRDbc49xDoTiHkE/s320/014.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The convertible mini cooper, in the rain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Maybe you can't take the city out of the girl, not even after three years in what came tantalizingly close to southern French heaven. (Oh, don't make me think of that garden I had to leave behind.) Here, there's just a rain-sodden terrace (a real luxury, should the un ever choose to shine again). But the heels rise, the pants (and everything else) are tighter, and the wildness is found not beneath the scrub oak but rather in tribal-looking makeup and in that jaunty, sharp-hipped confidence of the (young) Dutch. Who are neck-twistingly taller than me, I must add. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCdCHlOhRpxrD7UWnQNoUdQabbtFRt52NKN55HL7z-3i7mgU5fEUZmdy9ZFdrXEL7pdge5KmjyDjWtGZem0nS9NvCjvggir8VPk4ylaF85mmWyNC_9E19bL9kl07oWCwyIqmhsTsIkhY/s1600/010-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCdCHlOhRpxrD7UWnQNoUdQabbtFRt52NKN55HL7z-3i7mgU5fEUZmdy9ZFdrXEL7pdge5KmjyDjWtGZem0nS9NvCjvggir8VPk4ylaF85mmWyNC_9E19bL9kl07oWCwyIqmhsTsIkhY/s320/010-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The traffic, in the rain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Good grief there's a lot of energy that gets burned in a move, lots of things happening at the same time and going in different directions. Health insurance, a smooth transition for the kids, a coatrack (for all the raingear and coats in August/September). My thoughts are as jumbled as my files. Meanwhile, my to-do list is longer than a Dutchman's leg--and growing. So this is partly why I haven't had really special photos to show you. But it's been raining here, too. A lot. More than usual. The rain barely pauses, and then only to switch to Chicago-style gusts of wind, because a proper Dutch day has all four seasons. And then some. And oh, dear, I'd forgotten how to dress for this ongoing climatogical change; me and my silly, filmy, country summer wear. But it's coming back to me. And so is my affection for this laid-back, at times grouchy (can you blame them with this weather?), always engaging city. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-32016753370792548532011-09-08T01:12:00.001+02:002011-09-08T01:16:41.258+02:00Kyrie eleison.After a matter of days in Amsterdam, we had to return. It's hard separating, whether from a person or a place. You find yourself going back to that familiar beauty that drew you in the first place.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHumhHy4vxztbkMNm2PJjLsFVbjb8tNNMjX33ipVBD6yWaSCM4hBBtt9rjuaLX32b6NDXzasF7AI9V5Y3cnQiQ6NMZvdOmsWF7q3_klO7fQvm8ERxnYV2AsQiCJJpqJOTzo-Gf2bcgQM/s1600/DSCN5735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHumhHy4vxztbkMNm2PJjLsFVbjb8tNNMjX33ipVBD6yWaSCM4hBBtt9rjuaLX32b6NDXzasF7AI9V5Y3cnQiQ6NMZvdOmsWF7q3_klO7fQvm8ERxnYV2AsQiCJJpqJOTzo-Gf2bcgQM/s320/DSCN5735.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">In stark contrast to the Amsterdam I've thus far experienced this year, Paris was at her seasonally appropriate best: 30 degrees celsius (86 degrees fahrenheit), long rows of tourists with their feet in the fountains, and city streets alight. Top down, music playing, we were nevertheless in Paris for a seriously good reason: a friend's wedding.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib98fAgpxB2meAmKK0mSKNNCak-5HVpLuAykzmsZUjDbBfoYAllHLVM4Qch_-9zAGSrkBCHXhnExDAN_iC47KQaon-ad83dcXsN3PaCR8DLKJ2c1rHWELCiJT80URNpMkC4cH5dQacybw/s1600/DSCN5737.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib98fAgpxB2meAmKK0mSKNNCak-5HVpLuAykzmsZUjDbBfoYAllHLVM4Qch_-9zAGSrkBCHXhnExDAN_iC47KQaon-ad83dcXsN3PaCR8DLKJ2c1rHWELCiJT80URNpMkC4cH5dQacybw/s320/DSCN5737.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The wedding was familiar and exotic all at once, being held in the Russian Orthodox tradition. Imagine squadrons of Parisian and Russian women in over-the-top hats and perfectly fitted, fancy summer dresses--and sky-high heels. Their companions faintly overwarm in their suits. And all of us standing for the full length of the service, which lasted an hour and a half. There are no seats in a Russian Orthodox cathedral, and the Alexander Nevsky on rue Daru in the 8eme arrondissement granted no exception to this rule.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-MqHPAXFysGUZrmcsjm3JIIng7HVbufUSLBP4kvWwhBh2rGjjnZ14vnoGLhvqHkoi_vPeYJkbImOTJ9uTVUVk2tBY7gV2vweqcJnmV0Rx2iYPeRDCmS3OBvTnh8EHnbLrA2F7auq-vWY/s1600/IMG_2260%255B2%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-MqHPAXFysGUZrmcsjm3JIIng7HVbufUSLBP4kvWwhBh2rGjjnZ14vnoGLhvqHkoi_vPeYJkbImOTJ9uTVUVk2tBY7gV2vweqcJnmV0Rx2iYPeRDCmS3OBvTnh8EHnbLrA2F7auq-vWY/s320/IMG_2260%255B2%255D.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>The two priests, one old with solemn eyes and a full, square beard, one a strapping young tenor, chanted the entire service, in a sort of Gregorian manner. They were draped from neck to ankle in heavy, golden vestments, absolutely covered with embroidered religious motifs. They led the bride and groom's procession into the church, where the couple stood upon an immaculately white piece on cloth laid upon the Persian carpeted floor. They held a golden chalice, from which the couple drank. And then came the crowning, which involved eight male members of the wedding party. Four men behind the bride, four behind the groom perspired in their morning coats while taking turns to hold the golden crowns a steady few inches above the heads of the bridal pair. All this with song and prayer ringing in the air (the choir was hidden but sang in a sort of call and response throughout the prayers and crowning); the acoustics were powerful and somehow intimate. And there was gold and intricate designs and carving everywhere.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgozNBtEdm8WauXGFa2l7qGnF1xYLXZHHGPwVXYLXMdzridhvhG1yZs1lrOI3f1gV9FWbvB1tuDZVz7vF2XaCfOuNkK9ufVTf5wHNXG0TRCELJ8z2mEjocGt2kAJ6roH23THzH2Rp_mjrs/s1600/IMG_8199%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgozNBtEdm8WauXGFa2l7qGnF1xYLXZHHGPwVXYLXMdzridhvhG1yZs1lrOI3f1gV9FWbvB1tuDZVz7vF2XaCfOuNkK9ufVTf5wHNXG0TRCELJ8z2mEjocGt2kAJ6roH23THzH2Rp_mjrs/s320/IMG_8199%255B1%255D.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The couple drove off in a wine-red 1950s convertible Dodge Coronet (with Washington state plates!) We cheered, and that evening, we drank an awful lot of Champagne. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggfnR3o4csXR5WCBrGbuBrRpwaGV9MvHbtoT7VXVd0lNJwPBshe_Ky1VmTQ4C_u9fK5tTtg6YmOSMcCjund6h7gbcMh7BRHrHwfRZMyEG-X3H6H2zL05BF7fuzI9g35koQyJskCTD6Vvs/s1600/IMG_3692%255B2%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggfnR3o4csXR5WCBrGbuBrRpwaGV9MvHbtoT7VXVd0lNJwPBshe_Ky1VmTQ4C_u9fK5tTtg6YmOSMcCjund6h7gbcMh7BRHrHwfRZMyEG-X3H6H2zL05BF7fuzI9g35koQyJskCTD6Vvs/s320/IMG_3692%255B2%255D.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-85561224918245849342011-08-16T02:30:00.000+02:002011-08-16T02:30:13.574+02:00You are what you eat--and the company you keep.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My life in the south of France is measured by basket. Basket after basket, creaking under the weight of perfectly ripe produce and locally made goodness, redolent of earth and sun. Here are some of the<em> marchands</em> who have filled my baskets and larder, year in and year out. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4ix-8TPjw1VtrOLjb-MXWhDc1_R52vW1KoEzk5BDsu3e0wM8k81pJgIDY7mN3wg8OILP18JNRLUdcg8eP0U8ZwiTL1BA35kl5SsrN6Yd65jjFRQjg7AYlEqcG6VC2uDfiK62_ma5BWc/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4ix-8TPjw1VtrOLjb-MXWhDc1_R52vW1KoEzk5BDsu3e0wM8k81pJgIDY7mN3wg8OILP18JNRLUdcg8eP0U8ZwiTL1BA35kl5SsrN6Yd65jjFRQjg7AYlEqcG6VC2uDfiK62_ma5BWc/s320/021.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Erwan is a <em>traiteur extraordinaire</em>, and my go-to guy for years now. He sharpened his knives and his wit in the brasseries of Paris for years before heading out to the <em>province</em> for fresh air and friendlier people. He makes a magnificent cured, roasted turkey, more tender than you can believe, rubbed with herbs and unlike anything I've ever had, anywhere else. He makes lots of things, fine free-range roast chickens, paprika legs, seasonal specialties (like Camargue beef), a mean sausage. I could go on, but his turkey (on the bone) is what keeps me coming back. He calls it <em>jambonette de dinde, </em>and he is holding some in the photo. I so wish you could taste a morsel. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKrcYc4Sj9dYr_NOkW5ZZzS7tgU5QFyGWS2qVoXaNfpQWh5DqO-sEfq-REnulQCXjMc-TewxBkMEsQAyN-t5kHDuD1jXLAQWH5vpAaYkC490Gb5m7emc5xE8XPMlUm2KxNsV0925W_m8/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKrcYc4Sj9dYr_NOkW5ZZzS7tgU5QFyGWS2qVoXaNfpQWh5DqO-sEfq-REnulQCXjMc-TewxBkMEsQAyN-t5kHDuD1jXLAQWH5vpAaYkC490Gb5m7emc5xE8XPMlUm2KxNsV0925W_m8/s320/030.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>Guillaume has an excellent selection of organic fruit and vegetables, with less familiar varieties mixed in with the standards. All grown locally. Right now, his white peaches are heady, perfumed and juicy beyond any singing of it. I tried to get him to pose holding his superlative golden beets. As you can see, he refused. With a smile. I think he only agreed to a photo because I asked so nicely. In Amsterdam, I am going to miss his produce something fierce.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6PxzkkCfAE3S1d4k_KdbwbO8vpEibwTHOZwnwpXBTb274YvP_5_dcwDB0iZOFXeE21aMWPA5u3jvNjngQP_SSBj-yl7HcW_LmqYYq2KcHEProozd6i2Cm1q3HI-y51l3tbhBQwy82zc/s1600/034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy6PxzkkCfAE3S1d4k_KdbwbO8vpEibwTHOZwnwpXBTb274YvP_5_dcwDB0iZOFXeE21aMWPA5u3jvNjngQP_SSBj-yl7HcW_LmqYYq2KcHEProozd6i2Cm1q3HI-y51l3tbhBQwy82zc/s320/034.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Louise and her husband offer organic vegetables--white and green asparagus in the spring, onions, potatoes and mushrooms later in the season--but it is her tiny, deeply flavorful wild blueberries, and her wild blueberry tart that have really made her name. I can't keep track of how many children they have, there are more than four, and they all go together into the mountains to pick these blueberries. She said we've maybe one more week's worth, then blueberry season is closed for 2011. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIzisU-5dAtFQ08qk94bYH-fqPNhxEUf_6WL8M2zioXVloqmqLI93oJ8tSPPs2ogBlDXUqUPDKOpX8r54Lwv04P57e4ZkQqhm1LIsrdEppDNYKFPCsVh2Jiy68kna16fuaz1rcYHB-7c/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIzisU-5dAtFQ08qk94bYH-fqPNhxEUf_6WL8M2zioXVloqmqLI93oJ8tSPPs2ogBlDXUqUPDKOpX8r54Lwv04P57e4ZkQqhm1LIsrdEppDNYKFPCsVh2Jiy68kna16fuaz1rcYHB-7c/s320/040.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The queue was as usual, way too long for Christophe, my neighbor and one of my main cheese sources. You can see him in the background. He makes long, meandering trips to cheesemakers he knows, returning with treats from the Lozere, the Basque Pyrenees, and points well beyond. When he isn't selling cheese and sausage, he is playing <em>petanque</em>--in the summer anyway. The rest of the year, he hunts wild boar. His Basque <em>Tomme de Brebis, </em>a ewe's cheese from the mountains, can make you temporarily lose the power of speech. I kid you not.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzaHdGf2eAhEYpp_R_b4ols46Yah9IT-y78dcJEd-OE-OvOSVkAIeXYjy23m3Zib1pc5MlbjfZK0xriRWWwAAVYNlA6lQ5D2sfqZD1zHNvGvXFQqwgPsJiBs4-_akkfnlxWmSwHiyDFps/s1600/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzaHdGf2eAhEYpp_R_b4ols46Yah9IT-y78dcJEd-OE-OvOSVkAIeXYjy23m3Zib1pc5MlbjfZK0xriRWWwAAVYNlA6lQ5D2sfqZD1zHNvGvXFQqwgPsJiBs4-_akkfnlxWmSwHiyDFps/s320/025.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">If you have been reading me for awhile, you may be familiar with Claudie. She is a pelardon queen, with a very loyal following of customers; I have made pilgrimages to her <a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2009/06/story-of-pelardon.html">farm</a> to watch her and her husband turn goat milk into the signature cheese of our region. She gives me eggs and extra cheese, I give her plants from the garden. And cookies. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCKyCc_mvHkbRUiiPpBXj7NG7cJWbPb-SBuO5eB5GM0zHkcfhXrk3L73r5soa649O6lg2h50xLZCJmjP1ot-mMDsQCyiAkBIFvYgJXRJD4hU_NY1JSahxPxuMJzQgJUgP_Zbo1PGf3us0/s1600/047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCKyCc_mvHkbRUiiPpBXj7NG7cJWbPb-SBuO5eB5GM0zHkcfhXrk3L73r5soa649O6lg2h50xLZCJmjP1ot-mMDsQCyiAkBIFvYgJXRJD4hU_NY1JSahxPxuMJzQgJUgP_Zbo1PGf3us0/s320/047.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Jean-Louis is a <em>fifth </em>generation butcher who slaughters and cuts all his own meat, from the entire animal. In France, more and more meat is prepared at large slaughterhouses, then shipped to butchers, who simply make the final packaging for sale; people with Jean-Louis' depth of skill are a dying breed. Jean-Louis makes sausages, pates, and cures his own ham. In winter, he makes his foie gras from his own ducks. To do this, to get to the village markets and set up his wares, he wakes up at two in the morning and goes to bed at seven in the evening. Conscientious and proud, he provides written details on the provenance of all his meat. There is always sedate classical music playing in the background at his truck, and he is always impeccably dressed--note the pristine, personalized apron and red tie. He chats up his regulars with a charming elegance, swapping recipes and vivid anecdotes. I give him a pot of my chutney, and he gives my kids yoyos and generous samples. Once he retires (not long now), his business will close: his children are not interested in his <em>metier</em>.<br />
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These people are as much the Cevennes as the sycamores in the village, the dramatic views, the <em>cigales</em> and the crows stealing my figs. It just wouldn't be the same without them. <br />
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I'll be seeing them all again, during the next school holidays.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-90778582953384679122011-08-09T02:32:00.000+02:002011-08-09T02:32:11.906+02:00In the air.A lot of what I do in the summertime is about capturing the best moments. It's all about distilling--reducing and preserving the essential--whether I'm cooking a batch of deeply ripe raspberry jam, bottling fruit <i>liqueurs</i> or making chutneys, for which I'm now using the <i>Reine</i> <i>Claudes</i> that are so weighing down the plum trees in the garden. Memories, to be opened at a later date for the taste buds, the eye, the nose, the mind.<br />
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I suppose in many ways I've tried to do that with this blog. Coming on three years now, I've gathered together some fine moments, many of which still glow in my mind's eye as brightly as my neighbor's newly pressed <i>picholine</i> olive oil. And while I've enjoyed every season to the full, this summer seems more memorable than usual.<br />
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Leaving'll do that to you, bringing the things, people and places you most value into blade-sharp focus. Call it a sort of early-onset nostalgia. As an expat and dyed-in-the-wool nomad I really try not to put off the important stuff--carpe diem and all that jazz--but there is always the latent awareness that another move could shake things up once again. This time, the siren call of my husband's work imposes; so for the past month I've been simultaneously living it up and preparing for a return...to city life.<br />
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I'm moving due north. For the first time ever, I'm going back to live in a city I already know. If I sound fairly cavalier about leaving the sunny south, it's because I know we'll be back in France--and regularly. (We have to: we're keeping the farmhouse.)<br />
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Care to explore Amsterdam with me? I'm leaving in two weeks. <br />
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Or you could drop by and help pack some boxes...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-65039571324915654342011-07-28T00:35:00.001+02:002011-07-28T00:37:18.088+02:00Going to the sea.Heading to Cassis seems to have turned into an annual tradition of sorts. There are worse things. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e8pqGzdI60yz32T06Intwue6SJMG2T6YJxh4n6tlYt4Wtg0snMiL_W5kIFx-lHT9uvLNyQAv_ZyG4T0BrRycXg7Dq35zUlnnKQ6CUOfP3tTj3hXrJcFCS902d6s6lPXr9_IM0IqIbGE/s1600/027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e8pqGzdI60yz32T06Intwue6SJMG2T6YJxh4n6tlYt4Wtg0snMiL_W5kIFx-lHT9uvLNyQAv_ZyG4T0BrRycXg7Dq35zUlnnKQ6CUOfP3tTj3hXrJcFCS902d6s6lPXr9_IM0IqIbGE/s400/027.JPG" t$="true" width="299" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This time, I avoided all the highways. It took most of the day to get there, but it was magical. We went through the tiniest Provencal villages, through big cities (Nimes and Marseille), and above all through the rolling, endlessly changing countryside. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbE9N0oLcMD_Da5Tc4zXqBHpACLAbhNg6jFUmd0ZAZmmrGHfwo5EOXcOVA2G1FLIXjjrXd3xJ4aGQfX3JoTtowx6113BFBPeaRkh1hlegqFm7ZK5FDWTYNXv16VP_GvWZg4gGElP3P9A/s1600/2011-06-19+-+2011-07-26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbE9N0oLcMD_Da5Tc4zXqBHpACLAbhNg6jFUmd0ZAZmmrGHfwo5EOXcOVA2G1FLIXjjrXd3xJ4aGQfX3JoTtowx6113BFBPeaRkh1hlegqFm7ZK5FDWTYNXv16VP_GvWZg4gGElP3P9A/s320/2011-06-19+-+2011-07-26.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The fruit and vegetable stands, with their hand-lettered signs, were up and running nearly everywhere. The <em>cigales</em> were screeching away; we knew this because the top stayed down the entire trip. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5EgsOKn_wnHwugDZCFE9Rh15ec6jLCxzh_Fk3WrOy-7Pvpwyxs36Q9pe1jMc6sYgDVbylpST61kyimtlB7Dc5tquOgm4_YQv23lTygT8MMJrTkt2doHtDONWNqyqI1uA-Bt7fqGaIzM/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5EgsOKn_wnHwugDZCFE9Rh15ec6jLCxzh_Fk3WrOy-7Pvpwyxs36Q9pe1jMc6sYgDVbylpST61kyimtlB7Dc5tquOgm4_YQv23lTygT8MMJrTkt2doHtDONWNqyqI1uA-Bt7fqGaIzM/s320/010.JPG" t$="true" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We stopped for lunch and a wander in Salon-de-Provence, made memorable by its remarkable <em>fontaine moussue. </em></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIFquKxrisd7zC0gXNKWjEVzg0TOojS5HIRpxAzkgVYyoLpV7bspAVOIVBsgBKNYs7-XyS1IGrtGRRGq0bjjS_FNgT7WIBXE3Krr8FYx0I6CHfFV4Tlt7LHZJiILYdtt9TbxbFVt2pB8/s1600/2011-06-19+-+2011-07-261.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIFquKxrisd7zC0gXNKWjEVzg0TOojS5HIRpxAzkgVYyoLpV7bspAVOIVBsgBKNYs7-XyS1IGrtGRRGq0bjjS_FNgT7WIBXE3Krr8FYx0I6CHfFV4Tlt7LHZJiILYdtt9TbxbFVt2pB8/s320/2011-06-19+-+2011-07-261.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The fountain dates from the sixteenth century, and the lime deposits from the water have made over time a natural sculpture covered in moss and fairy-light, fern-like vegetation. Underneath the mushroom-shaped limestone, water drips constantly. It is hypnotic, a cave in the making, in the bright light of day.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTeDSEnzL0MQvzIABwoYxWoTP9pyLA-iHdPXMSDyvVmfuiFqoc_EJVXqNC0hgg1RNmuRooraSi1ENd-WklhKI19XA-ufhoXaIf0pz0PCaNe08Mz0PLmA0bP1gK3t_lVLYrtwPPl2ngTAo/s1600/128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTeDSEnzL0MQvzIABwoYxWoTP9pyLA-iHdPXMSDyvVmfuiFqoc_EJVXqNC0hgg1RNmuRooraSi1ENd-WklhKI19XA-ufhoXaIf0pz0PCaNe08Mz0PLmA0bP1gK3t_lVLYrtwPPl2ngTAo/s320/128.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The animation of the cities has become a bit unfamiliar and exciting for us, so it was also a pleasure to drive through them. But I had a specific idea in mind: I was willing to risk hitting Friday evening rush hour in Marseille for the sake of D559. Also known as <em>La route de la Gineste, </em>D559 runs from Marseille to Cassis, above the deep, rocky coastal inlets, and across the windswept limestone clifftops and plateau. It is not to be missed. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2r-qhzwrzvxExgi0KpIYKKO2N-H7PlpWmaneslPnBNguah1holInXFJhEpeZlVZft0xHHsC2JdnJYnEZFe1rKl_NY69XiyMX0OsG-yxn_TF1e9rr0eQbJplom5hOUzjyhRFJ-ue0wsyY/s400/144.JPG" t$="true" width="297" /></div><div style="text-align: left;">See the tiny houses in that valley? Breath-taking terrain, every inch of the way, and then, after the nth hairpin turn, Cassis and its golden rockface swerve into view. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinDK4yymUmVpKvsb6no9MD5Bp2qNpuayH6E6KlDIL_rhWNISzVmpRbhFjOXYNbQq5dkx-Am1rHSyoKexZd-_hLTEnltRSl0OlEreh0gz-9PNFBLsQFRc3yI3wAc-sLmqXO8LZg8BFx9PM/s1600/055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinDK4yymUmVpKvsb6no9MD5Bp2qNpuayH6E6KlDIL_rhWNISzVmpRbhFjOXYNbQq5dkx-Am1rHSyoKexZd-_hLTEnltRSl0OlEreh0gz-9PNFBLsQFRc3yI3wAc-sLmqXO8LZg8BFx9PM/s320/055.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div>This was the view from our room, taken by my five year old while I was having a well-earned shower.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiKu-l1YbMNw5o8Uay0lnpQ5g7Fpg1u53Kfd3sUCmqNef1mhmZrEyAW5XXqdv_JhEgIgCTJQKErQSyTsnFMthXEwdkJG219uqEBiEHPS3qI3z-TSUJQxWfBv5wwGT9YXI1PYwY-1aSu_c/s320/150.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e8pqGzdI60yz32T06Intwue6SJMG2T6YJxh4n6tlYt4Wtg0snMiL_W5kIFx-lHT9uvLNyQAv_ZyG4T0BrRycXg7Dq35zUlnnKQ6CUOfP3tTj3hXrJcFCS902d6s6lPXr9_IM0IqIbGE/s1600/027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>I have written about Cassis before, <a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2010/07/seaside-color.html">here</a> and <a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2009/08/cassidaine-by-night.html">here</a> and <a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2009/08/cassidaine-by-day.html">here</a>, so the basics about this charmingly low-key port have been covered. But there are always lovely spots in Cassis to admire--and photograph.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5zz6vqmggQ2pIY1QUf9v-cxF7_zhNHLtlBI_NxNEMzB3jUSb-EEHSWCELKN55qLRo5EEZIz8f1o-9_lJx1C0rdnAjHRaw6UorihyRvnelgbUDN83wHxklkRLfj3TFGXS7TdO9k34CmkU/s1600/058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5zz6vqmggQ2pIY1QUf9v-cxF7_zhNHLtlBI_NxNEMzB3jUSb-EEHSWCELKN55qLRo5EEZIz8f1o-9_lJx1C0rdnAjHRaw6UorihyRvnelgbUDN83wHxklkRLfj3TFGXS7TdO9k34CmkU/s400/058.JPG" t$="true" width="298" /></a></div>To better see some of the detail of this gorgeous Ferris Wheel, you can click on the image. My son's in the St. Exupery/<em>Le Petit Prince</em> airplane...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisaa_sAkZVrBCl1pW5myujSo7Tn0nsaInUKRtrmnYRf0xk8RsT8glOp_BmdA_q_qcFrE9PLx-iDC2KX9naxLoT0lspAtkopvy0IVzIBQZ5yFyTQNMMNgKnyiBvnQJt6lqE9JkPKmEcPb4/s1600/077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisaa_sAkZVrBCl1pW5myujSo7Tn0nsaInUKRtrmnYRf0xk8RsT8glOp_BmdA_q_qcFrE9PLx-iDC2KX9naxLoT0lspAtkopvy0IVzIBQZ5yFyTQNMMNgKnyiBvnQJt6lqE9JkPKmEcPb4/s400/077.JPG" t$="true" width="298" /></a></div>In the center of the photo below, two men are sea jousting (you might have to click on the image again to better see). Each standing on a fast-moving boat, the opponents are trying to knock one another into the cold water using lances. Sea jousting dates from Ancient Greece and Rome, and has been played in port and river towns across France since the time of the Romans. Provencal sea jousting (<em>joute nautique</em>) is considered the most aggressive of the various versions. These days, even women have begun to joust, according to the <a href="http://www.ffjsn.com/bateau-pr.php">national federation</a>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnHbHA7IZJJVWOGxTubrL4-bhfhrAQwS6Nd-Q7FczkGYNDSbMJr4eBTR1Z54tNgBGpZj4Jj0yL2eXnM3xiTFx6XB0O8dzVJXeRAFQVgPlVevKbKMYLWeJ8nvpJVjKf5EcfCajgXk-EBA/s1600/083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnHbHA7IZJJVWOGxTubrL4-bhfhrAQwS6Nd-Q7FczkGYNDSbMJr4eBTR1Z54tNgBGpZj4Jj0yL2eXnM3xiTFx6XB0O8dzVJXeRAFQVgPlVevKbKMYLWeJ8nvpJVjKf5EcfCajgXk-EBA/s320/083.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div>I watched from the balcony, and decided I'd rather stroll around looking at boats rather than falling off them.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVb9LeRNzCdmI82pDbwj8OKufmSGbJRmSuigrnPr3BQh7zGJ_f5gIHJ1HGK1zPgBjZoAfMcCBxJE7ygKNxZSTiQU7ART5uLRZnDMWqw-aYDEDRpb48raPR2eLuxHpAvdVQGbpzCccIw7U/s1600/115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVb9LeRNzCdmI82pDbwj8OKufmSGbJRmSuigrnPr3BQh7zGJ_f5gIHJ1HGK1zPgBjZoAfMcCBxJE7ygKNxZSTiQU7ART5uLRZnDMWqw-aYDEDRpb48raPR2eLuxHpAvdVQGbpzCccIw7U/s320/115.JPG" t$="true" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Once back from Cassis, my kids spent the day at our neighbor's place. Building a hut in their dry riverbed was the main order of the day, but the children also collected pinecones. Arriving on the tail end of their foraging session, I was able to grab a couple of cones. <br />
<div align="center" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRrwPTW6IHd03PAWgWZxKyBEt8flT-7kMCkJAXA5q0x-3hgpa_8aMn022_lsCYcpEhyzKTLwZVojepzC63OpBcdJSvZwi_k6jKTt5qMX8FO0pdvxUSn6kX661gClNCwVAFnsHcQFb41w/s1600/121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRrwPTW6IHd03PAWgWZxKyBEt8flT-7kMCkJAXA5q0x-3hgpa_8aMn022_lsCYcpEhyzKTLwZVojepzC63OpBcdJSvZwi_k6jKTt5qMX8FO0pdvxUSn6kX661gClNCwVAFnsHcQFb41w/s320/121.JPG" t$="true" width="240" /></a></div>These cones are from a very large, mature umbrella pine, and you can see the seed pods are tucked back in between the scales. While this wasn't the greatest year for pine nuts, there is still nothing finer than to dislodge the seed pods, and, using a small stone, crack open the seed pods and eat the creamy colored pine nut within. Fresh pine nuts have a slightly resinous, almost eucalyptic flavor, far more intense than anything found in a store. They taste simply spectacular, which perhaps explains why I have never been able to get anyone to collect them for anything other than their own immediate consumption. If you are lucky enough to get your hands on some fresh pine nuts, or you choose to go the storebought route, I have just the recipe. I found it in Real Simple magazine years ago, a simple riff on Italian <em>biscotti ai pinoli, </em>which I slightly<em> </em>tweaked; it is devoured by kids and adults alike. I haven't made it lately (hence the lack of a photo). Let me know what you think. I'd love to post a photo of your cookies, so do send me one if you try the recipe.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwiWxLDlsD1ZT0IL1WfgA78vnbzKMDa3_g6DNe5Cr8lBat1N9-TKUI2bjxBpJIexU0QB32KqvV9LpJ0p7d_mKOamvyReQ1wiA07tF0PemG-HTFO5zrrom2naWsVQArgwwEd-V5kNt-M8/s1600/Recently+Updated35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwwiWxLDlsD1ZT0IL1WfgA78vnbzKMDa3_g6DNe5Cr8lBat1N9-TKUI2bjxBpJIexU0QB32KqvV9LpJ0p7d_mKOamvyReQ1wiA07tF0PemG-HTFO5zrrom2naWsVQArgwwEd-V5kNt-M8/s320/Recently+Updated35.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><em>Biscuits au pin de pignon </em>(Pine Nut Drops) </strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Makes about 40 cookies.<br />
<br />
2 sticks unsalted butter, at room temperature<br />
1 cup packed dark brown sugar<br />
1/2 cup granulated sugar<br />
2 tablespoons agave or corn syrup<br />
1 teaspoon vanilla extract<br />
1 large egg<br />
2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour<br />
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda<br />
3/4 teaspoon salt<br />
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom<br />
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg<br />
2 1/2 cups raw pine nuts<br />
<br />
Preheat oven 190C/375F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Beat the butter, brown and granulated sugars, corn syrup, and vanilla for two minutes using an electric mixer. Add egg and beat until combined. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, baking soda and spices. Reduce mixer speed to low and gradually add the flour mixture to the egg mixture. <br />
<br />
Shape the dough into tablespoon-size balls. Spread the pine nuts in a low dish. Roll each ball in the pine nuts, pressing so the nuts adhere. Place the balls two inches apart on the prepared baking sheets. Bake until just lightly browned at the edges, about 12 minutes. Cool on the baking sheets for five minutes. Transfer the cookies to wire racks and cool completely.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-67229414597656473852011-07-16T17:23:00.001+02:002011-07-16T17:26:23.634+02:00Heat.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWDFCeq6Pv3NTDPOvoBFQfwr4jTzrbW57Q6Nwlswk01MWCm_5poJZ8PNwC9n4P6qlhMLjuoA5JYr9OQ5-MyCVcA5j7zTSwN2JH3WSc_p9QP05yxK3YrcfdRlCavTZanLGS0HS2mHg5Org/s1600/112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWDFCeq6Pv3NTDPOvoBFQfwr4jTzrbW57Q6Nwlswk01MWCm_5poJZ8PNwC9n4P6qlhMLjuoA5JYr9OQ5-MyCVcA5j7zTSwN2JH3WSc_p9QP05yxK3YrcfdRlCavTZanLGS0HS2mHg5Org/s320/112.JPG" width="239" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Where have I been? Doing everything and nothing. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXTTDIRWbpR4Q3wPkBfGwJ9WbxQyJ5FtHdyty6spay42oJGXz2awSSZ4sUCEYYwmgH3DkuGvJmjIJ-kkDI-ORTLDRco6OTSvKe66gYZ-4dx8vK6_vRzuyFoybVFBkVwbGoMVhWrEaMr0/s1600/011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="240" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXTTDIRWbpR4Q3wPkBfGwJ9WbxQyJ5FtHdyty6spay42oJGXz2awSSZ4sUCEYYwmgH3DkuGvJmjIJ-kkDI-ORTLDRco6OTSvKe66gYZ-4dx8vK6_vRzuyFoybVFBkVwbGoMVhWrEaMr0/s320/011.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Coaxing the lettuce and tomato patch through this extended dry spell and the children through the sudden expansiveness of no-school.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg78eQvEzskp6PvcmR8f-ImSM6vDQ1_wou9WTdIxZzUPc1cF6kQGJ7VLOp9WnBaXTmcXdhsEPr94r-0Kc9XZELj3eHx4Y8kZOt5VWpSYKYPktZ-gy8kDXNVMndZd9en4QjhpRamEHJdiRU/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="240" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg78eQvEzskp6PvcmR8f-ImSM6vDQ1_wou9WTdIxZzUPc1cF6kQGJ7VLOp9WnBaXTmcXdhsEPr94r-0Kc9XZELj3eHx4Y8kZOt5VWpSYKYPktZ-gy8kDXNVMndZd9en4QjhpRamEHJdiRU/s320/019.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Picking berries (raspberries, the first of the blackberries, and now the last of the black currants and white currants), pulling weeds, blowing up inner tubes, sweeping the second round of wisteria blossoms from the terrace. Summer gives meaning to the terrace, after the long cold of winter and spring’s uncertainty. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisto0NClafomMbkOnJ2-5gYZNi8mbITXCZH_jBXXmoqGD36Mt32N-8LFfBpd-VmjsMgl-VZOVdhk3pG73c6SIXuXW1Z_7nVw6a0JiIcD5ngIIMC-Mpl_w2a_NxfnYE4QPUBqDBKv9br1I/s1600/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisto0NClafomMbkOnJ2-5gYZNi8mbITXCZH_jBXXmoqGD36Mt32N-8LFfBpd-VmjsMgl-VZOVdhk3pG73c6SIXuXW1Z_7nVw6a0JiIcD5ngIIMC-Mpl_w2a_NxfnYE4QPUBqDBKv9br1I/s320/029.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Taking the kids to the creek or the tree-shaded, dreaming river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Building huts is pretty high on their list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Wading, racing homemade boats and stirring up the mud ranks high as well. </span>I’m reading whenever I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And next week, it’s the beach for all of us. </span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbur5hT_8MuaKlUS3eX-otP_WSXKbM04MBf9K6BJa8DU2c1qhSLxZVgDFjoI0tLtu8wZhv5q0vPfAPzp4wG5JwahDmw7m5IxZg8LmLNB6M93WKPKRy68OBsNU0djbZyCxXaESYM7mVXw/s1600/031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbur5hT_8MuaKlUS3eX-otP_WSXKbM04MBf9K6BJa8DU2c1qhSLxZVgDFjoI0tLtu8wZhv5q0vPfAPzp4wG5JwahDmw7m5IxZg8LmLNB6M93WKPKRy68OBsNU0djbZyCxXaESYM7mVXw/s320/031.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We are very much in the here and now. Spring and fall, really anything before or after, have receded vaporously, and the present is all we know, this baking summer just short of eternal.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ6I-Nmmf12QlC5PlX6GAB2jB5N-8F0yPrGMsUnwj3_1LwgYnqpO7SA4xRLxARD7eVQK34ohnNUkI9Jmj4jhI7zRr6x0tOXvt3sirALqFNR0-MDbnzGCE6WdO1MfbZ-bwcsnEFJskWn88/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="240" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ6I-Nmmf12QlC5PlX6GAB2jB5N-8F0yPrGMsUnwj3_1LwgYnqpO7SA4xRLxARD7eVQK34ohnNUkI9Jmj4jhI7zRr6x0tOXvt3sirALqFNR0-MDbnzGCE6WdO1MfbZ-bwcsnEFJskWn88/s320/020.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the evenings, there are parties with neighbors, charming fellow <a href="http://conjugatingirregularverbs.blogspot.com/">bloggers</a> and concerts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was once again Bastille day, with hundreds of kids walking to the fireworks display, each holding a paper lantern at the end of a bamboo pole, to form a flowing, bobbing candlelit procession. There is something distinctly magical about a <em>retraite aux flambeaux</em>. Long live this kind of French tradition.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFCPrifGflhHKg762sSrJVPE18Rljs1zd5Q4dQrZaOK_3cU2q-9lAWRSCYFsEB2U4tA71HFxSeyvCY6NGfTi403bX-qlguFFiDo-irAbbvBioawgO5FNBiYPsN5Eh2OBtbYSyz-2itg0/s1600/045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFCPrifGflhHKg762sSrJVPE18Rljs1zd5Q4dQrZaOK_3cU2q-9lAWRSCYFsEB2U4tA71HFxSeyvCY6NGfTi403bX-qlguFFiDo-irAbbvBioawgO5FNBiYPsN5Eh2OBtbYSyz-2itg0/s320/045.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What we are not doing: we are not sleeping indoors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The stars, random satellites and waxing moon beckon, and we sleep on the terrace, laid bare to the night’s cool, uneven breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We fight closing our eyes, looking instead for patterns in the hushed sky.</span></div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9pg9PocBmq442XYVuHIscZe_3io28qwAT2V7-gHcgwyvwYykPZgN0i3guujz0vQF8kyYQduKNaxyvoUdsLOwEuJ-vby49T3CHw00U2qicRfb95LYNgSAsP64szim7FJOt0l6K5A7YuIA/s1600/104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9pg9PocBmq442XYVuHIscZe_3io28qwAT2V7-gHcgwyvwYykPZgN0i3guujz0vQF8kyYQduKNaxyvoUdsLOwEuJ-vby49T3CHw00U2qicRfb95LYNgSAsP64szim7FJOt0l6K5A7YuIA/s320/104.JPG" width="239" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There is once again the warm, musky smell of summer skin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is the sensual act of driving barefoot, toes curled around the pedals, sand drying and falling away. In the kitchen, the wide, square terracotta tiles are blissfully cool to the touch.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXnidqSwILTz9uXXaRrFYSCa3sx7QOtaZRq_PBbC3y2R_FkRPWSvVdrwJqrbTpHmaUd6QiOXPHyzGtzEvkRr8uDr0erWPvxm4IomPeRlLez-n7X4igNKmpcEoUszA9aKcJdA0v9O3zVw/s1600/139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXnidqSwILTz9uXXaRrFYSCa3sx7QOtaZRq_PBbC3y2R_FkRPWSvVdrwJqrbTpHmaUd6QiOXPHyzGtzEvkRr8uDr0erWPvxm4IomPeRlLez-n7X4igNKmpcEoUszA9aKcJdA0v9O3zVw/s320/139.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">During all this doing and not-doing, there is always the background music of the locusts holding their lacy wings tightly against themselves and screeching ever higher, until something startles them and you find yourself in a pool of silence, with only the swallows’ zooming trajectories to break the fragile surface.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Wz-aUGegbdSp5AiTWOY_LNZZWn-7wKxvGFrzAeqCycn_gHAw2L1iAGltvG9AAq5GYn2svDPLyw5zbifa5q2gLUIKb5kdftFS_IEEoLL8hSZpOKzvcerCQ0c9zl-27Lz3ZCB5bYl0QxM/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Wz-aUGegbdSp5AiTWOY_LNZZWn-7wKxvGFrzAeqCycn_gHAw2L1iAGltvG9AAq5GYn2svDPLyw5zbifa5q2gLUIKb5kdftFS_IEEoLL8hSZpOKzvcerCQ0c9zl-27Lz3ZCB5bYl0QxM/s320/021.JPG" width="239" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are several nests tucked in around the house, and the mothers and fathers are kept busy teaching the little, uncertain birdlets to fend for themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The little ones huddle together, then hurtle off raggedly into the air.</span></span></div><div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcslsiuAOzXtweBlRciyG0qq-lrazj_Freq2yMINcdmpdH26WSeOCef-IR0Kb5OkctVwjmM_WWs8zPZgZbFzn8YvLEyxR1M-fWPinvfgYG4tvC3mLsb_TYGAcj_R4PboBA0oDAuCtka9o/s1600/113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcslsiuAOzXtweBlRciyG0qq-lrazj_Freq2yMINcdmpdH26WSeOCef-IR0Kb5OkctVwjmM_WWs8zPZgZbFzn8YvLEyxR1M-fWPinvfgYG4tvC3mLsb_TYGAcj_R4PboBA0oDAuCtka9o/s320/113.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My children are stretching their wings and growing too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They and their friends pad barefoot across the burning tiles of the terrace to dive and arch through the bracing poolwater, skin gleaming, seal-like, spangled with light.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6b5rufpMUT4u8SgsF63ik3Nd8uHVNrj9EKmF262kj4MZMaA_gXe6ZF32oYJ1mdwcExsv4AcaVqGRQP4ixV6G_rBzQ6IWLABssLN61ktrmgt2CRDnNzG66_dvasvNsV-EVyHZ6YC8bXA/s1600/107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6b5rufpMUT4u8SgsF63ik3Nd8uHVNrj9EKmF262kj4MZMaA_gXe6ZF32oYJ1mdwcExsv4AcaVqGRQP4ixV6G_rBzQ6IWLABssLN61ktrmgt2CRDnNzG66_dvasvNsV-EVyHZ6YC8bXA/s320/107.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We are at summer’s apex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which happens to be a mighty fine time to make a particularly luscious, warm potato salad.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYHxaMRnqCXpFHCNBPUArPrrdLEfeJ9iu260V06dUFCuAGX5AFglMtRNWPJRstEs_yJDO5NSn62CVlqPwHICdUdWsJNo-pi3h1Tuyhy1spdgYF45b5TAJH_LDHN4cxGy9-CxCZZLU7Cg/s1600/2011-06-19+-+2011-07-09.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="240" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYHxaMRnqCXpFHCNBPUArPrrdLEfeJ9iu260V06dUFCuAGX5AFglMtRNWPJRstEs_yJDO5NSn62CVlqPwHICdUdWsJNo-pi3h1Tuyhy1spdgYF45b5TAJH_LDHN4cxGy9-CxCZZLU7Cg/s320/2011-06-19+-+2011-07-09.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong><em>Salade de pommes de terre</em> (Roasted Potato Salad)</strong> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">based on Trish Gray's </span><a href="http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/Recipes/story?id=5535807&page=1"><span style="font-family: inherit;">winning recipe </span></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Serves 8-10 as a side dish.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">1 kg. new potatoes, such as the all-purpose Mona Lisa variety, unpeeled and quartered/chopped to bite-size pieces</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">1 tbsp. olive oil</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">4 green onions, thinly sliced (both green and white parts)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">4 tbsp. chives, finely chopped</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">¼ c. good-quality mayonnaise</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">2 tsp. fresh rosemary, very finely chopped </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">¼ tsp. black pepper</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">½ tsp. salt </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Preheat oven to 200C/400F. Toss unpeeled, chopped potatoes in oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place in a roasting pan and bake until nicely browned. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Meanwhile, combine green onions, chives, rosemary and mayonnaise in a large bowl. Once potatoes are done, toss in bowl while hot, until potatoes are thoroughly coated. Season with salt and pepper. Serve warm.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-15737281266696235762011-06-20T23:38:00.000+02:002011-06-20T23:38:03.107+02:00On n'est pas à Lourdes ici.I can't make miracles, even though I can now say I have been to Lourdes, the second most visited place in France after Paris. Years ago, in Reims, famous for its own cathedral, I was treated to an extraordinarily bad hotel experience. Following my outraged complaints, the manager lifted his shoulders in a Gallic shrug and declaimed what is now the title of this post. In other words: "we can't make miracles here."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwL9UxE9tcuHEWodQ4FQOo9vVO9-DgtxQcLrcoe1ieTqr5mSB_GLpGdTxjZuT88jv2jAezBfsKDFgxMzL8WDGLB87Z1w5UAjymnDzC4Qors6ljxKMt5L3Oiel304ovjG9eRdZfsZ8gHoY/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwL9UxE9tcuHEWodQ4FQOo9vVO9-DgtxQcLrcoe1ieTqr5mSB_GLpGdTxjZuT88jv2jAezBfsKDFgxMzL8WDGLB87Z1w5UAjymnDzC4Qors6ljxKMt5L3Oiel304ovjG9eRdZfsZ8gHoY/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+098.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">It has been absurdly busy here in the countryside. Cherry season, regrettably brief, is already heading out the door. There is dark cherry sorbet in the freezer by which we will remember it. There is also a new store of raspberry/blackcurrant jam in my pantry; the kids started cheering when they saw me making it, as we always go through that the fastest. </div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhugJcFMVXAW-sZowxvcblgKwsXRSPwBVAsTOjmYAypj8so2qNnY3yc_XnpPKOeDuuPR1HXA5lhFSv6zgPMVy9_ImxaiHx0IQopQyc4cPMJPj9FWnoqCtNZPmGZGvS-9Zs6nktPxZAo6E/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhugJcFMVXAW-sZowxvcblgKwsXRSPwBVAsTOjmYAypj8so2qNnY3yc_XnpPKOeDuuPR1HXA5lhFSv6zgPMVy9_ImxaiHx0IQopQyc4cPMJPj9FWnoqCtNZPmGZGvS-9Zs6nktPxZAo6E/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+100.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>The strawberries in my garden are long done and gone; I may have speeded up their departure by not watering them even once. Oops. The garden is roaring ahead anyway, and pruning is an on-going process, especially among the roses.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOFJdUJw4clH7rM49X6GKf3xlwgS7NefodsF0xhqNOjF2WYiwK7gt1tKgBRhViKZL0yFLyBRGdp-w089y2F31_4fp0kfVkVVikw_U5RQCdYhRU9Wiku6PFCiKui4onOFwL-3mLLjWqNP8/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOFJdUJw4clH7rM49X6GKf3xlwgS7NefodsF0xhqNOjF2WYiwK7gt1tKgBRhViKZL0yFLyBRGdp-w089y2F31_4fp0kfVkVVikw_U5RQCdYhRU9Wiku6PFCiKui4onOFwL-3mLLjWqNP8/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+103.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A procession past the pick your own, giant prayer candle shack.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In between the cooking and the canning, there has been a passel of end-of-school-year activities. Recital concerts, horse events, school outings and such. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlb_HXgb8g0SAab0ibwQlGm6deknJmkBqGlQgPE2nPDqGMKT3TEEG9y4s1i_yx9b4BRrJk8KYOQ3fVzQmQtR1TplaSBxFJo9I5Gm0sFbczR2HhMeK5thhPcUUwR2yOUr_FW7cjg05rjJw/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlb_HXgb8g0SAab0ibwQlGm6deknJmkBqGlQgPE2nPDqGMKT3TEEG9y4s1i_yx9b4BRrJk8KYOQ3fVzQmQtR1TplaSBxFJo9I5Gm0sFbczR2HhMeK5thhPcUUwR2yOUr_FW7cjg05rjJw/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+129.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting holy, healing water from the source. In bulk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Oh, and the pool's open for the season. Boy, is it open. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQF87sf_aGvzHVgSzG9MAybBfTyrU-8BlBbkIGuwvV2jRZ7a3LPcVRhRYzYhPIEP2dJCpRHEmNTMpvLjZJcfC3Ha8A7pdhf74rBBI8jwKvQ5CNn3Mef8KwWAScZEyuov77CT_OQNXKBA/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQF87sf_aGvzHVgSzG9MAybBfTyrU-8BlBbkIGuwvV2jRZ7a3LPcVRhRYzYhPIEP2dJCpRHEmNTMpvLjZJcfC3Ha8A7pdhf74rBBI8jwKvQ5CNn3Mef8KwWAScZEyuov77CT_OQNXKBA/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+139.JPG" t8="true" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking a moment to savor the holy water. Many queue to wash their feet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There were twenty-five kids in my pool. At once. Diving, giggling and splashing well into Saturday evening. Others questioned my sanity, but it was an unqualified blast. I even introduced these ten to twelve year olds to rice krispie squares. Yup. (Ever try to get a kid to taste something they've never had before?) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEB4ODv_Y5j_E1B4QrAZ1fGqTsgUnOVHc2gWbC55ggFW7WuBJ2djjb8ejNDUOOA8sBQ97POQ3OHwznJbHu3wXSMIX9_KdWO2NeVdPqp6cd0mDimnpeOFTPyhm2Ahyu3S1l8YfeZXwBHEE/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEB4ODv_Y5j_E1B4QrAZ1fGqTsgUnOVHc2gWbC55ggFW7WuBJ2djjb8ejNDUOOA8sBQ97POQ3OHwznJbHu3wXSMIX9_KdWO2NeVdPqp6cd0mDimnpeOFTPyhm2Ahyu3S1l8YfeZXwBHEE/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+140.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>The rice krispie squares were the only non-organic food on offer...and they devoured every single last one of them. Actually, they ate everything on offer. And guzzled <em>grenadine</em> like there was no tomorrow.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnG7PY2L_6muf8CTuSQA9cFsi0TrT2W9Cbg1sUHt8hQJI3NjRya5Jc1yZg3f0iRQY8axi9RpoUrCgBDFNAK5GiI5KEbWC8NXp0Zmi0HfFTjoxOg3QZXp2Rpgz0yH2jniFY-MGhCC_0iU/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnG7PY2L_6muf8CTuSQA9cFsi0TrT2W9Cbg1sUHt8hQJI3NjRya5Jc1yZg3f0iRQY8axi9RpoUrCgBDFNAK5GiI5KEbWC8NXp0Zmi0HfFTjoxOg3QZXp2Rpgz0yH2jniFY-MGhCC_0iU/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+141.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selecting the holy design for the pressed eurocent.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> Then there were birthday parties, potlucks and barbecues to attend.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-Jq0-S0slROKtdjSXSFNo0YNeVp4r-D3MSG4IUwzLj-pDGPibF0mMk7ZRhYeFxRSW3JxQSCkB6ArVi9QdoSPomiDEHzNcDacXjU72GB0wx5JqQR_pfoW3z8SEdJahlyoUg9udQQELyI/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-Jq0-S0slROKtdjSXSFNo0YNeVp4r-D3MSG4IUwzLj-pDGPibF0mMk7ZRhYeFxRSW3JxQSCkB6ArVi9QdoSPomiDEHzNcDacXjU72GB0wx5JqQR_pfoW3z8SEdJahlyoUg9udQQELyI/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+144.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>I gave the last reading at the library for the school before the summer, too. We had a <em>goûter</em> to celebrate the year's worth of reading. Feeling a bit old-school circa 1950s, I made pineapple upside-down cakes. They went over very well--with the adults anyway. Marbled chocolate cupcakes saved the day for the kids.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu-lGmCBIG8_-mJakW-NC7lu5vKuYZVprlsicUIlIfXLWo8jPgBj1HqmOVkLXQYy-JCJoPabCtWZ5Y04qB0axZSVn1ixX1aj1y-_7YwbQOCp_nYAysqU-nhCZ4_sxaAH2edIZ2XtGVtHE/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu-lGmCBIG8_-mJakW-NC7lu5vKuYZVprlsicUIlIfXLWo8jPgBj1HqmOVkLXQYy-JCJoPabCtWZ5Y04qB0axZSVn1ixX1aj1y-_7YwbQOCp_nYAysqU-nhCZ4_sxaAH2edIZ2XtGVtHE/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+147.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>Sadly, I most definitely missed last week's <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2003046/Lunar-eclipse-Chile-volcanic-ash-turns-moon-blood-red.html">red lunar eclipse</a>, the 101 minutes of which I should have had a good view, given our clear skies. The moon was behind a mountain though, and lacking a babysitter, I was loathe to traipse off into the night looking for it.<br />
<br />
All this to say it's getting tougher to find the time and mental space for writing in this pell-mell season. I may have to skip another week, too. Forgive me? <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQDnNjBWQCqTDo0XujvwClqT77vfss32hvhd1KV8FV0NOqNsLrhHBUnzkLUtIMs_w_x5KAf794Um4ue1V0adSzqctYs5WrMf3WBNufLfbsgb8m-TEqAmLfaBgP3DpTmL04urEFC_876Y/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQDnNjBWQCqTDo0XujvwClqT77vfss32hvhd1KV8FV0NOqNsLrhHBUnzkLUtIMs_w_x5KAf794Um4ue1V0adSzqctYs5WrMf3WBNufLfbsgb8m-TEqAmLfaBgP3DpTmL04urEFC_876Y/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+148.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a>. </div>At least I took photos of some of the dizzying assortment of religious tchotchkes (or <em>bondieuseries</em>) for sale in Lourdes.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zJDq-bBny9VrYuyURExbksK27_32L43MM48QkHeRweblkpdnJKrKgPZQPok4QNv9pC_bntYQdNE0Uo3e0_LX7Kr8oORrgu0iuq8idTSbXFnI8Ni1gLv9fi6JyDHzQnp7OBn37HRssH8/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zJDq-bBny9VrYuyURExbksK27_32L43MM48QkHeRweblkpdnJKrKgPZQPok4QNv9pC_bntYQdNE0Uo3e0_LX7Kr8oORrgu0iuq8idTSbXFnI8Ni1gLv9fi6JyDHzQnp7OBn37HRssH8/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+156.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>When we reached the grotto where Mary is said to have appeared eighteen times before little Bernadette, I was very surprised to see a photo of Nicolas Sarkozy among the more personal images (left, upside down). Someone is praying for the poor guy. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_FrRGxqPrYCI7Y_4ZuOZYE4Rr4ojR2mhVqLExG48fkd7FTRnlHKqx2l_UoRhymq2YJSZfL0b2l2iiSrJ7EYW2dh8LiYNqKx_neCYOcE_sxgBNogBALvul1Gx1idKpFEFBSQ-NYwj5Qw/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_FrRGxqPrYCI7Y_4ZuOZYE4Rr4ojR2mhVqLExG48fkd7FTRnlHKqx2l_UoRhymq2YJSZfL0b2l2iiSrJ7EYW2dh8LiYNqKx_neCYOcE_sxgBNogBALvul1Gx1idKpFEFBSQ-NYwj5Qw/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+165.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>Just beyond the grotto, there were prayer candles beyond any counting of it, touching in their simplicity. All those troubles, hopes and dreams...rendered more poignant by the innumerable wheelchairs and stretchers on hand. <br />
<br />
There were entire vats filled with the melted and rehardened wax of candles. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXh84fxJnaTdK3j1cg40pIZhubv99WNoUC1MOxXyLIm917XkLtmwWQjicqanpaXewlm4w1p-H7VLxMBWygyWBE7NKhZUAiMj89V9p8-15vCY3rWb0x-Jdr4e6nwQHap_Zqeow3edB0eLk/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXh84fxJnaTdK3j1cg40pIZhubv99WNoUC1MOxXyLIm917XkLtmwWQjicqanpaXewlm4w1p-H7VLxMBWygyWBE7NKhZUAiMj89V9p8-15vCY3rWb0x-Jdr4e6nwQHap_Zqeow3edB0eLk/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+167.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After all the crowds, queues, fervor and emotion, thank goodness there was the corner cafe cum fast food joint, for a pick-me-up and convivial chat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi42VGvAGv2i-hprHr2Lv62ceKKNBaE4f-X7fN3OTnp29t88QR3qt05zb46zqhGFD2Int9Hr8Pvc3BIVjcSwCw8M47nPy8kIjxNuzODiUYdix0sQnIt4m7UzVT_B0R6hxgZ71E_AwPTkYk/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi42VGvAGv2i-hprHr2Lv62ceKKNBaE4f-X7fN3OTnp29t88QR3qt05zb46zqhGFD2Int9Hr8Pvc3BIVjcSwCw8M47nPy8kIjxNuzODiUYdix0sQnIt4m7UzVT_B0R6hxgZ71E_AwPTkYk/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+152.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-12067680610025297192011-06-08T00:11:00.002+02:002011-06-15T22:18:32.654+02:00Cruising Biarritz.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjif0ENoiiGZgAnLVUI0FfTaJEQNkJfQ8K5BlpZE508orQOFzsLqXw-FUdfrx58YuYINCJGuSakTyxHsjTOnyASAQNXAKAWyu-zRCvQl5F2x4pZ7xnhdCJY_EpxIa-pQCCdSBW0Azun54/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjif0ENoiiGZgAnLVUI0FfTaJEQNkJfQ8K5BlpZE508orQOFzsLqXw-FUdfrx58YuYINCJGuSakTyxHsjTOnyASAQNXAKAWyu-zRCvQl5F2x4pZ7xnhdCJY_EpxIa-pQCCdSBW0Azun54/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+008.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>I had a fling this past weekend. I'm still catching my breath.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvsmCW6z2SMH2nh5-h0HpC_gnidTTqEsCMc9CKLofjGCDcfIVVONEIWlNA0PUG6zUCLNtywcdzkTvxoR7NxtEL5mWgim9TO3yThcBEjDZIvJXYQy7QbwYx55Y4LD3tAh1UdzrScHStvC4/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvsmCW6z2SMH2nh5-h0HpC_gnidTTqEsCMc9CKLofjGCDcfIVVONEIWlNA0PUG6zUCLNtywcdzkTvxoR7NxtEL5mWgim9TO3yThcBEjDZIvJXYQy7QbwYx55Y4LD3tAh1UdzrScHStvC4/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+007.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>I love the Cevennes, and not just a little. But we've gotten to know each other, and well, things have gotten very comfortable between us. Perhaps even predictable. I mean, Biarritz it's not.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGP8C7CIMcZZ0AjqIeawmeNbnpMGOJ8FZe8BL2MoHpZW0upudxE1OyqdWEk0qxizvy1HMOm7CPI_aIWtx02XOw_7N21rSiHTK4BgoBJs_WD85WyjjU2Wqrrqyc_3H8CIOCcpnCrp-X4l0/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGP8C7CIMcZZ0AjqIeawmeNbnpMGOJ8FZe8BL2MoHpZW0upudxE1OyqdWEk0qxizvy1HMOm7CPI_aIWtx02XOw_7N21rSiHTK4BgoBJs_WD85WyjjU2Wqrrqyc_3H8CIOCcpnCrp-X4l0/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+044.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>I don't know what I was expecting before I headed west. Atlantic coast, Northern Basque Country, the birthplace of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basque_Pelota">pelota</a> (or jai alai, as it's called in the US--remember that jai alai shot in the <a href="http://youtu.be/M1JTj6rssW4">Miami Vice</a> opening sequence?), check, check, check. My expectation: a slightly petrified resort town, maybe even chic-er than thou. I mean, it made the shift from whaling town to resort rockstar status when Napoleon III built a little cottage for his Empress Eugenie way back in 1855. Okay, it was a ginormous villa, which is now a ginormous five-star hotel on the Grande Plage. Anyway, assorted royals and the merely monied have been flocking to Biarritz ever since.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_UwXlboyhR-dzv3qfN5j_9gnsXeahxo9ydCVcrriiAn6ENEct6tuGaMxld6N_yjIbL8Scx8-gG0vWCIPlMng2pT7hxW20N-llJeu2Q-DwWgS43a2PZ15PT6K_ryU19AZ_lLB7GbFoSk/s1600/384px-Franz_Xaver_Winterhalter_Napoleon_III.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_UwXlboyhR-dzv3qfN5j_9gnsXeahxo9ydCVcrriiAn6ENEct6tuGaMxld6N_yjIbL8Scx8-gG0vWCIPlMng2pT7hxW20N-llJeu2Q-DwWgS43a2PZ15PT6K_ryU19AZ_lLB7GbFoSk/s320/384px-Franz_Xaver_Winterhalter_Napoleon_III.jpg" t8="true" width="205" /></a></div>Today, turns out the chic bit is still very real. Parts of the old center seem directly lifted from Paris'<em> 16eme arrondissement</em>. Grand perhaps, but not by definition a good thing in my book. However.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUi-KWuxNn61bklwG49MBqVDSTS8BH3VMlkrkXhnyDPoWH2G4-EIAblHh-PlSvTDbDXK4b0JPPILX8WZ8wwBd5usTS6JMWv8D-dyv5_3LU6875ZFFaVjS1R_JFnFiSnINR_-KlWmK4v8/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUi-KWuxNn61bklwG49MBqVDSTS8BH3VMlkrkXhnyDPoWH2G4-EIAblHh-PlSvTDbDXK4b0JPPILX8WZ8wwBd5usTS6JMWv8D-dyv5_3LU6875ZFFaVjS1R_JFnFiSnINR_-KlWmK4v8/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+049.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>Biarritz is Parisian chic modified, transposed on the rough, spray-soaked Atlantic coast and nicely populated with surfer boys. This is something in a softer register. The vibe is relaxed cool.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddA2dXr7iPdFlnVjA7e8iebMkfZnZHojiwdwT1gwy7ursumExxDGRgQjMpDKSxE_7QvimKLSYCiiZsVMlQWsWAdVKf7V-BR4Ie_E0OPVykhfqwMSmN11WHXHm8dIEjtOyNmcQkeq4cnc/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddA2dXr7iPdFlnVjA7e8iebMkfZnZHojiwdwT1gwy7ursumExxDGRgQjMpDKSxE_7QvimKLSYCiiZsVMlQWsWAdVKf7V-BR4Ie_E0OPVykhfqwMSmN11WHXHm8dIEjtOyNmcQkeq4cnc/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+054.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>And yes, this is the perfect opportunity for some gratuitous surfer shots. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA9zsJaFXXxXzW9lT7Pz7NtAy574kx2YNS-ZoLICPff1NAgHt7FlSvwHm15JA43Eb0PJXnYw0wLXDH92gCeNZFrCen9V8gz_I57JUUMbmo1GsP7jP-UuAXZF4RR4Iy8ob6Cx7kTXs8Js8/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA9zsJaFXXxXzW9lT7Pz7NtAy574kx2YNS-ZoLICPff1NAgHt7FlSvwHm15JA43Eb0PJXnYw0wLXDH92gCeNZFrCen9V8gz_I57JUUMbmo1GsP7jP-UuAXZF4RR4Iy8ob6Cx7kTXs8Js8/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+056.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>I think I'm ready for a camera with better telephoto capability, don't you? I was blushing too much to get shots of the closer-by, drop-dead fine fellas passing the rugby ball. Not only is Biarritz billed as the surfing capital of Europe, but rugby is very, very big here, with the home team, <a href="http://www.bo-pb.com/index.php/equipe/3">Biarritz Olympique</a>, regularly taking home the national title. This in a place where there is a municipal <em>pelota</em> court on every other street corner.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZmji8QmDQ03r1mBPdFHxC4183nND2EMtDchKwn0uG20qM8SAhkN46IVucBzULHKJWZJiZxaA7XlrFDbP8FElu8GDH286vB-ADNn839MIAZs7JS_cVwKwCgFkxmax8Ck-3ZmfyD1OV4w/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZmji8QmDQ03r1mBPdFHxC4183nND2EMtDchKwn0uG20qM8SAhkN46IVucBzULHKJWZJiZxaA7XlrFDbP8FElu8GDH286vB-ADNn839MIAZs7JS_cVwKwCgFkxmax8Ck-3ZmfyD1OV4w/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+068.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is a detail of the door leading into the cathedral Napoleon had built for that most-loved Eugenie. In the process she was eventually named a saint--in this, her own cathedral on the rocks anyway. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5hJdlGam9N1NSMCKew6mkfB5hyLpAjR3O6ypbzLt2s3zO-3Tb0O5iq5-cZjuwTM0kTd2jGjHotG51nbgbTuJi-qlksnZRoxHssGq2A74tf3Yb4sJLSRzpfLy1jtqVQZepWsrb9Ht9uU/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5hJdlGam9N1NSMCKew6mkfB5hyLpAjR3O6ypbzLt2s3zO-3Tb0O5iq5-cZjuwTM0kTd2jGjHotG51nbgbTuJi-qlksnZRoxHssGq2A74tf3Yb4sJLSRzpfLy1jtqVQZepWsrb9Ht9uU/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+065.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>Unlike Frank Sinatra, I did not stay at the Hotel du Palais (Eugenie's old digs), but I still splashed out:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4qfqNkuD1hPMXwEOVM8fH0SSNblcSTxpu4i8DcN8rNGSAuAw78qZ86UdL9sQYv9xbZwLWBaUU1JArZPOqsA73DXYJZPsusEuKZmSOmbfdP4Rr1VuhTXYhZfZ1vR1N5_5BrodK7s5cvTY/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4qfqNkuD1hPMXwEOVM8fH0SSNblcSTxpu4i8DcN8rNGSAuAw78qZ86UdL9sQYv9xbZwLWBaUU1JArZPOqsA73DXYJZPsusEuKZmSOmbfdP4Rr1VuhTXYhZfZ1vR1N5_5BrodK7s5cvTY/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+090.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>This was the breakfast table.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1xQ3oU5TLNH44MsOL-MWWDqtGYzJ3JMAXM7zfi_ECnUXR3BKBlgE7QJ0TMvFcnqExldVrUBiBVjviP_wIIznZEkIr-hlDDVhVWNP0QeuiQVCQwwX_xWzuiHJZn9ZirxWGdJJNaMuCXY/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1xQ3oU5TLNH44MsOL-MWWDqtGYzJ3JMAXM7zfi_ECnUXR3BKBlgE7QJ0TMvFcnqExldVrUBiBVjviP_wIIznZEkIr-hlDDVhVWNP0QeuiQVCQwwX_xWzuiHJZn9ZirxWGdJJNaMuCXY/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+096.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>And boy, did we get lucky with the weather. In the Cevennes, <em>il pleuvait des cordes</em> (it rained ropes, i.e. a heckuva lot).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgled1F09Er3dvFfyqwCK8l3NNdTFKjq1BcAaop8lPRLvN9u9OhohJwZDGR1AYcKNbXQuGqTS7J0SqXB5SB4MvF_2fdvNKLiFCUiZfBdEZQcVxFc8QlnBdTJTZ7c-uZvhR_0JfV7fj35sM/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgled1F09Er3dvFfyqwCK8l3NNdTFKjq1BcAaop8lPRLvN9u9OhohJwZDGR1AYcKNbXQuGqTS7J0SqXB5SB4MvF_2fdvNKLiFCUiZfBdEZQcVxFc8QlnBdTJTZ7c-uZvhR_0JfV7fj35sM/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+061.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>Meanwhile, we cruised around, stopping for dinner in St. Jean de Luz, a nearby village (dramatic amounts of shaved local ham were involved). All in all, picturesque to the nth degree.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiveM8yQOAnkbv7RO5avvO9Ap8EDTujAvI-NPRbCWs9vhejjuz3007ZGtXonnctidt6phmHnkl7AZlDH0B9QRLGV2MQFYWPtuNk3SqUAWyA9bTZnawyQ1LQh1Wm_NhZZDeSEdlFJ9A52Y/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiveM8yQOAnkbv7RO5avvO9Ap8EDTujAvI-NPRbCWs9vhejjuz3007ZGtXonnctidt6phmHnkl7AZlDH0B9QRLGV2MQFYWPtuNk3SqUAWyA9bTZnawyQ1LQh1Wm_NhZZDeSEdlFJ9A52Y/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+017.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>The sea was sedate, and so was the village tempo, shops closing up for the night as the bars and restaurants filled up.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DZAKSjEVLUcY1atylMQjJF4eQOFhyphenhyphenKdLZ7zYjPkXAPYy1M9-gThRgACczhAVjzf_cu7AccfENn4l4Daug-v843nbYwRCY8Hx1FXh0mq6DvBxtryBG541KBx47QPpF1BNvd9PQzaIOuA/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DZAKSjEVLUcY1atylMQjJF4eQOFhyphenhyphenKdLZ7zYjPkXAPYy1M9-gThRgACczhAVjzf_cu7AccfENn4l4Daug-v843nbYwRCY8Hx1FXh0mq6DvBxtryBG541KBx47QPpF1BNvd9PQzaIOuA/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+025.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>People were having drinks out on their terraces as well. I loved the mosaics I kept seeing with the swirly Basque cross symbol, indoors and on building facades.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLhpXb36g1rklbd73VWWwIC3KinMRMJNbBxB7y7Y8F8UteJGDEmdFTwZPyD88XcRDjl5Pp2rK_00OsF_MJTkSsIEPyNjDkO8zkAj39uMXwfkhDQT4VMaPkNyKZD492smaISmfvaMKPRA/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnLhpXb36g1rklbd73VWWwIC3KinMRMJNbBxB7y7Y8F8UteJGDEmdFTwZPyD88XcRDjl5Pp2rK_00OsF_MJTkSsIEPyNjDkO8zkAj39uMXwfkhDQT4VMaPkNyKZD492smaISmfvaMKPRA/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+024.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>I did not get any beautifully stripy Basque linen; I dearly wanted the gussied up VW van, though.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixggJ0HcId0qvqhdprj2tOD8TgxRiCJjRBVSfWIGO9Rai3apgq17ZALfEVR8KoMi5jP8dEhwT7HHkEv4oumPfLYkGsDrF1shp4vbZyU_K0OZfda-_VVmFSmoIHuYeu_fYOADa2qQ5XZk4/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixggJ0HcId0qvqhdprj2tOD8TgxRiCJjRBVSfWIGO9Rai3apgq17ZALfEVR8KoMi5jP8dEhwT7HHkEv4oumPfLYkGsDrF1shp4vbZyU_K0OZfda-_VVmFSmoIHuYeu_fYOADa2qQ5XZk4/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+029.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>I experienced a twinge of envy when seeing this wisteria, so old it had a proper trunk. Makes our wisteria here at home seem outright anemic in comparison.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41nfEISXfmuuzj3hMPCU0e10ne_oeJgczk_G_nUggnVeaXcDHWglYCMfwSULMZRxpOEn_3sFG3TzXYc34IDEhhNNDajEu8tO044u_Y9hfdwon30h5H1oZWBCyJ4ATSwdwcqyWJbgDq7I/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41nfEISXfmuuzj3hMPCU0e10ne_oeJgczk_G_nUggnVeaXcDHWglYCMfwSULMZRxpOEn_3sFG3TzXYc34IDEhhNNDajEu8tO044u_Y9hfdwon30h5H1oZWBCyJ4ATSwdwcqyWJbgDq7I/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+013.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>I window-shopped avidly at <a href="http://www.macarons-adam.com/macarons/">Maison Adam</a>, which is, by all accounts, <em>the</em> place for <em>macarons,</em> since the mid-1600s at any rate. You can see from the link these are not remotely Parisian-style <em>macarons</em>, either. I can't tell you how they taste because the shop was closing. But I can tell you the peppers hanging above the sign are made of ceramic, and are a colorful nod to the nearby town of Espelette, famous for its <a href="http://www.pimentdespelette.com/">AOC registered chile</a>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ifbVTGhLfhJTg5L0Oi4CD4AbXCbJEg2ZZYLXWpboJCJHyn2zdh5styueNdVewnQNPXAhdkcAzdN2QLu0Ai9M5B2FysDZmefV_4KknAFTK-u7amqxmO569-26czIy5dk6AmA7g87m76Q/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ifbVTGhLfhJTg5L0Oi4CD4AbXCbJEg2ZZYLXWpboJCJHyn2zdh5styueNdVewnQNPXAhdkcAzdN2QLu0Ai9M5B2FysDZmefV_4KknAFTK-u7amqxmO569-26czIy5dk6AmA7g87m76Q/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+027.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>As my daughter is horse-mad, we went to a hunter competition at the Club Hippique in Biarritz. Some lovely, perfectly done-up horses on hand, more of that Basque red and pure white around us, and loads of that relaxed Biarritz cool. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWw-5PnwP4l5cclOF7gnSU08xCrdNwXBuI0TtNDPnuqRgKbKTHdyN0S7y1E8tBAEtakxhzd5Vyf3PrqJ4FOgP9B6izztBkGDvcIHjK-2hOi79I7R2SrBhMSB9FS-_CHtMUs6ny4f1VNE/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWw-5PnwP4l5cclOF7gnSU08xCrdNwXBuI0TtNDPnuqRgKbKTHdyN0S7y1E8tBAEtakxhzd5Vyf3PrqJ4FOgP9B6izztBkGDvcIHjK-2hOi79I7R2SrBhMSB9FS-_CHtMUs6ny4f1VNE/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+041.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>I can tell you now, I'll be back to savor more Basque charms. Impossible to do otherwise,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRPtSt6ODMhnjsYhktzBgIeHoHtHiYfCcgbOd29BjevE3_6-HS6GAvebuVVO_x0a1rd1RSoYPat13wa81lHRTaBC6zTyW0O2-AFxZmHRbaynOBEF7NR5UUYPPefQRZjoyzr_FAhauhUM/s1600/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRPtSt6ODMhnjsYhktzBgIeHoHtHiYfCcgbOd29BjevE3_6-HS6GAvebuVVO_x0a1rd1RSoYPat13wa81lHRTaBC6zTyW0O2-AFxZmHRbaynOBEF7NR5UUYPPefQRZjoyzr_FAhauhUM/s320/Biarritz+-+Lourdes+083.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>even if I still come home to the Cevennes...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-59127597891604633342011-06-01T03:14:00.001+02:002011-06-01T03:16:16.579+02:00Led by the nose.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaNXI1ScM_nqe61KK_HV7_pzIicq8BtOtX0z2_erTS3oALl8_RDaRtMVAoJAV_FCXDR21iC-nQtxq4UtB4h6nMGPQ_LawRiEduHGBejcD4AKS8ff6FjoazML151mpGvtbyt3furYor03M/s320/083.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You can't tell from this image, but I had to swallow several times on the way here, as my ears were popping. I live in the foothills of the Cevennes. The Lozère is the mountains for me, and several times I found myself well above 1,000 m in altitude.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="350" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.fr/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=fr&geocode=&q=lozere+map&aq=&sll=46.75984,1.738281&sspn=7.481432,19.665527&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Loz%C3%A8re,+Languedoc-Roussillon&z=9&ll=44.494203,3.581269&output=embed" width="425"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><small><a href="http://maps.google.fr/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=fr&geocode=&q=lozere+map&aq=&sll=46.75984,1.738281&sspn=7.481432,19.665527&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Loz%C3%A8re,+Languedoc-Roussillon&z=9&ll=44.494203,3.581269" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Agrandir le plan</a></small></div>Smack-dab in the middle of this Languedoc Roussillon map you see the <em>Parc National des Cevennes</em>, 1,500 square kilometers straddling the <em>départements</em> of the Ardèche, the Aveyron, the Gard (where I live) and the Lozère. In the middle of the <em>Parc</em>--and the Lozère--is the town of Florac, population about 2,000, where I stopped for lunch and a good wander.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFFzdGEeiQsQS2T6fqv_qgtVegR-D4cGh_RbYMpkTeKd9xE5M0kiKCdf6a7yf9ehX8YfRmCSvLB4vjfq8QhlTfPkW1-e-s-OwA2_o1izQTGzNABvzyosRJ2ju7gxR-m5OhKIEPbqiiylw/s1600/085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFFzdGEeiQsQS2T6fqv_qgtVegR-D4cGh_RbYMpkTeKd9xE5M0kiKCdf6a7yf9ehX8YfRmCSvLB4vjfq8QhlTfPkW1-e-s-OwA2_o1izQTGzNABvzyosRJ2ju7gxR-m5OhKIEPbqiiylw/s320/085.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>This is the kind of place to which nature-lovers can't help but be drawn, tucked into a valley between high, wide plateaus. It's also a good stopping point for those who love hairpin turns and panoramic views. A lucky someone had an old Triumph I couldn't help but admire; it fit right in to the laid-back, slightly lost in time feel of Florac.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0ltXAsLy-ALGDIeQZXlow0ghCb_rD2fmb_fNmiZD4p5pjupUVxE8exYSe-sbQWPiV9Wqd-6Jm6gzy044tQ8YA6tuj2oUnS4A0LifG7LQ388tn2loAyHn-7aVlBmOKk7F3_Mi3yJsq9Q/s1600/092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0ltXAsLy-ALGDIeQZXlow0ghCb_rD2fmb_fNmiZD4p5pjupUVxE8exYSe-sbQWPiV9Wqd-6Jm6gzy044tQ8YA6tuj2oUnS4A0LifG7LQ388tn2loAyHn-7aVlBmOKk7F3_Mi3yJsq9Q/s320/092.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>Many come for the fishing as four different rivers and streams come together in Florac, offering a lush quantity of trout, if local menus are anything to go by.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWaozFQTbAM-r89k1FZOJBajzPwFPUC7fbsTvUq3VXCj06xErL2cuDMwm65hCw1lNvHwsrrZvEJKmJXKvZLKk0J4DmT871DRBm3HtRPg9J-YBWnwfdCIYOhjk0odZes47cPW79ixD4gI/s1600/Recently+Updated32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwWaozFQTbAM-r89k1FZOJBajzPwFPUC7fbsTvUq3VXCj06xErL2cuDMwm65hCw1lNvHwsrrZvEJKmJXKvZLKk0J4DmT871DRBm3HtRPg9J-YBWnwfdCIYOhjk0odZes47cPW79ixD4gI/s320/Recently+Updated32.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>The house on the motionless water on the left is actually a restaurant with a divinely situated terrace, overlooking the canal. It's where I had wanted to eat--<a href="http://www.lasourcedupecher.fr/galerie-restaurant-gastronomique-lozere.php">La Source du Pêcher</a>. I had heard quite good things. Unfortunately, I cavalierly failed to make a reservation, and seeing as it was Mother's Day in France...well, the lovely-sounding menu went untasted. Another time--and outside seating a must.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLxc6S0ko0A87rpO4n_RoIxuoCHV_YKo9u_IFiKSSMrZZxQJsOYvlu9QipDCAHUTufzfNvrjhdLD7MGhAk4YkIldxzvphmwBCQ4PTaQQNPTxz-Qwjd6uRlw3edtJhnNlMjtsqw_SXaQA/s1600/Recently+Updated31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLxc6S0ko0A87rpO4n_RoIxuoCHV_YKo9u_IFiKSSMrZZxQJsOYvlu9QipDCAHUTufzfNvrjhdLD7MGhAk4YkIldxzvphmwBCQ4PTaQQNPTxz-Qwjd6uRlw3edtJhnNlMjtsqw_SXaQA/s320/Recently+Updated31.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>Beyond the hikers and fishing aficionados, lots of motorcyclists head this way for the aerial, twisting turns of the ancient route of the <em>Corniche des Cévennes, </em>used by the King's soldiers way back when they were hunting down the Protestants, or <em>Huguenots. </em><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGyiuGQ3bBUFzRCpmNYbgHAy1X_OTIMY3xLV-jZrXHljAh3vNi6BlQCv_U_cmU0KnLIJSAc4t2c40PjzQJ_0e-66C-wfaT_xtWKMISYbUoJHuc5EQzLQ589-leHGulDBVNvhfFbLn1-mo/s1600/Recently+Updated33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGyiuGQ3bBUFzRCpmNYbgHAy1X_OTIMY3xLV-jZrXHljAh3vNi6BlQCv_U_cmU0KnLIJSAc4t2c40PjzQJ_0e-66C-wfaT_xtWKMISYbUoJHuc5EQzLQ589-leHGulDBVNvhfFbLn1-mo/s320/Recently+Updated33.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>Just a bit farther north-ish and you are in <em>Gorges du Tarn</em> territory, a dramatic, fine place to be, as long as you aren't in a hurry. Get yourself stuck behind a truck on these narrow lanes and you're waiting a while indeed. I'll admit to having had a touch of vertigo. Some people welcome the slowness, if not the trucks. In a couple of weeks the <a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2010/06/approaching-summer-solstice.html"><em>transhumance</em></a> will be underway, slowing things down even more, as goats and sheep in the thousands head to summer pastures well above the hotter lowlands.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCIyQM6FuAWW-BaFvveTj3nhvdF-HiSOPl3yqJsfl5iT-sWKCnQg_YPQWa4R9PS8Ym7y4-Cqdp56QWiBndaLfUPYt7Y4J5AMb6T5gB7bhLc1F3jevnKbCfnKIFDoggMVMyOAgIFoV3KVY/s1600/Recently+Updated30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCIyQM6FuAWW-BaFvveTj3nhvdF-HiSOPl3yqJsfl5iT-sWKCnQg_YPQWa4R9PS8Ym7y4-Cqdp56QWiBndaLfUPYt7Y4J5AMb6T5gB7bhLc1F3jevnKbCfnKIFDoggMVMyOAgIFoV3KVY/s320/Recently+Updated30.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>As you reach the <em>Gorges du Tarn</em>, you also pass Ispagnac, a little village girded by picturesque low-scale orchards and known for its cherries and strawberries. This is where they still have <a href="http://www.ispagnac.fr/ot/generales/alias-tete-veau-2011.html">communal meals</a> on long tables in front of the medieval church, under the sibilant, swooping circles made by dozens of swallows. Just earlier this month, they enjoyed the annual <em>tête de veau</em>.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIrMRdfo-dLqucsdqM8dqW4TY3SgQrBVkzJXNETKwdxVZZ6UPLCuUXRQ1CfCZjcDoxa7l3ztFLpjn-LcoznH_Vs4vsrgmFCuOBUrtTF7CtzzvCPsD6EAs-wpZNC2BNHx0zZ04pZwyWHk/s1600/Recently+Updated29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIrMRdfo-dLqucsdqM8dqW4TY3SgQrBVkzJXNETKwdxVZZ6UPLCuUXRQ1CfCZjcDoxa7l3ztFLpjn-LcoznH_Vs4vsrgmFCuOBUrtTF7CtzzvCPsD6EAs-wpZNC2BNHx0zZ04pZwyWHk/s320/Recently+Updated29.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The local roofs are eye-catching with their roughly-shaped slate tiles, unknown in the lowlands, where rounded <em>terre cuite</em> rules the day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0FVThXT9BSqL68JbDnMEpUR4eMwaXPVREe5AwGWvB69LQnvlJcp9yle81weqwKlbpAPitf6BeG9CaR0T5Y3Jmpy7cocrctQkCd0JG3iK5u0yKRWmARHlpPOZMVoOEcWa4l0X-9r3i24/s1600/Recently+Updated28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0FVThXT9BSqL68JbDnMEpUR4eMwaXPVREe5AwGWvB69LQnvlJcp9yle81weqwKlbpAPitf6BeG9CaR0T5Y3Jmpy7cocrctQkCd0JG3iK5u0yKRWmARHlpPOZMVoOEcWa4l0X-9r3i24/s320/Recently+Updated28.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>I think I could fall in love with a mountain place on the strength of that sort of roof alone, warm and smooth in the spring light.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8qeaVBJ6qfZpTwT9bpVcw-OeHob9dnJnVnljHHrFyy-ePfDRV3ot64EGmubrCib7H77OAie5zNMtzEw8QYeUaLIqSdzwGuOZo7j6S8BLLRsN9x69-XF585BOq-8E3ohUGl5XbNAZDXA/s1600/120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8qeaVBJ6qfZpTwT9bpVcw-OeHob9dnJnVnljHHrFyy-ePfDRV3ot64EGmubrCib7H77OAie5zNMtzEw8QYeUaLIqSdzwGuOZo7j6S8BLLRsN9x69-XF585BOq-8E3ohUGl5XbNAZDXA/s320/120.jpg" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div>The roses are in evidence everywhere--and they have a rich scent.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzICqAwBQq2bGbQzqntv0KZUM4iMrri8vMnYx4YAQXQeArLdNi8iK4Dk48WnNuij0FjrwsOuzEd293LbdskQ4GVIIxAslVfVfEiiBYL4imTC87Ufqag09szwHRtLggCG3XFN4LC3zg9c/s1600/Recently+Updated27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzICqAwBQq2bGbQzqntv0KZUM4iMrri8vMnYx4YAQXQeArLdNi8iK4Dk48WnNuij0FjrwsOuzEd293LbdskQ4GVIIxAslVfVfEiiBYL4imTC87Ufqag09szwHRtLggCG3XFN4LC3zg9c/s320/Recently+Updated27.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>But the perfume that really drew me to the mountains in the first place came from two sorts of local broom.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjFnX_jcTdBdwTQMx-9RPCjuFfi5q5z7z2vMg9ynWqKUZLf2JK0AnplE1SS5cJJof0weL7ThiS5sGjWgwzOXW6N3jBFm7N0Zp7A_1UFJ0d0eF492ShK_3sLK_gH3m3r8vpYtgZzU-5sPI/s1600/Cytisus_oromediterraneus_FIL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjFnX_jcTdBdwTQMx-9RPCjuFfi5q5z7z2vMg9ynWqKUZLf2JK0AnplE1SS5cJJof0weL7ThiS5sGjWgwzOXW6N3jBFm7N0Zp7A_1UFJ0d0eF492ShK_3sLK_gH3m3r8vpYtgZzU-5sPI/s320/Cytisus_oromediterraneus_FIL.jpg" t8="true" width="229" /></a></div>There is the more common type (<em>cytisus scoparius</em>), which grows rather sparsely around my house, and is considered a nuisance plant in some countries (despite its herbal and practical uses). But there is also what is called by some Provence broom (<em>cytisus oromediterraneus</em>), which hugs the ground more closely and can cover entire flanks of mountains in the <em>Parc</em>. The scent is intoxicating, almost a sort of golden jasmine of the mountains. At this time of year, the air is swollen with that perfume. People drive with their windows and nostrils wide open to take it all in.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVkt7wQoAEBnV8gqJAHKq3BWBmT7ztJzPNA51OTFMGqUk8MdtZByN42t52oOKbhHkvDUWVIRLthEz6iFCJwgDL8NIclGWbOFDU1j8yXYXGB47jF9niNhHRjMLhLiVJX6c37FJvOzPtl4/s1600/Illustration_Cytisus_scoparius0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVkt7wQoAEBnV8gqJAHKq3BWBmT7ztJzPNA51OTFMGqUk8MdtZByN42t52oOKbhHkvDUWVIRLthEz6iFCJwgDL8NIclGWbOFDU1j8yXYXGB47jF9niNhHRjMLhLiVJX6c37FJvOzPtl4/s320/Illustration_Cytisus_scoparius0.jpg" t8="true" width="189" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know I did.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-57976645986613844672011-05-26T00:51:00.002+02:002011-05-30T09:54:27.029+02:00Going south.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW9dH-rJIoPbWB0zxgp95QwnvLBcpeIEukpqdRnhkZFhCEjxfS0Atu8qFbpPa2Fi3T5AkeClwBaMonecUJq7fn0DRVAoBC5Nus7bV9jRNcfvomeVohWJYWiLxxHPpqrthZmNj0qSkric/s1600/139-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW9dH-rJIoPbWB0zxgp95QwnvLBcpeIEukpqdRnhkZFhCEjxfS0Atu8qFbpPa2Fi3T5AkeClwBaMonecUJq7fn0DRVAoBC5Nus7bV9jRNcfvomeVohWJYWiLxxHPpqrthZmNj0qSkric/s320/139-1.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh, life's so hard: this was the view from the breakfast table over the weekend. A friend's house, on the Catalonian <a href="http://www.roughguides.com/travel/europe/spain/catalunya/the-costa-brava.aspx">Costa Brava</a>, due south of the border (three hours drive from Montpellier), well north of Barcelona. Intensely restful, transparent waters, good times. I won't even get into how juicy sweet this melon was.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYwkp_6xTVo1JfrDuBvFrchhB49S6V6pAQG5QG1pQzwyKyLVVLaIcpgZ9eEiiYA5_HgUylamPJiA4_fk_grcsPhw_347sOJXWDxG4ImDjxd6MJ-mVENuZiqntCusXp51EJi20Tm8t2K4/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYwkp_6xTVo1JfrDuBvFrchhB49S6V6pAQG5QG1pQzwyKyLVVLaIcpgZ9eEiiYA5_HgUylamPJiA4_fk_grcsPhw_347sOJXWDxG4ImDjxd6MJ-mVENuZiqntCusXp51EJi20Tm8t2K4/s320/021.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I will say that <em>now</em>, while it's still spring, is really truly the best of times to visit this rugged bit of Spain. Now, before you're crushed under the collective weight of the relentless sun--and summer visitors. This said, even in the sardine can that Spanish tourist season often becomes, the northern end of the Costa Brava remains appealingly full of simple pleasures. As the budget flight-enabling Girona airport was relatively recently built, the coast was never ruinously over-developed--nor was it converted into a teenage <em>rendezvous</em> for disco trance and debauchery. That bit of extra distance between the northern bit and Barcelona helped as well... </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEIMaPmuOr3xV_uai8ftpgG_GOX4c41Pj4ZH6vs6hpwhk264SRIt2SQVp4JdB-P0cspMBEun4Gktiqi5fj_gsW49bvon3BrXq0HucwLF9ZTqpxaziIQ8vAQcgMdqquxSn6m6ieOketDA/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEIMaPmuOr3xV_uai8ftpgG_GOX4c41Pj4ZH6vs6hpwhk264SRIt2SQVp4JdB-P0cspMBEun4Gktiqi5fj_gsW49bvon3BrXq0HucwLF9ZTqpxaziIQ8vAQcgMdqquxSn6m6ieOketDA/s320/008.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You can come to the Costa Brava to follow in the traces of Chagall, Picasso and native son Dali. You can come for for the kiting, kayaking and golfing. You can come for the secluded coves and nude beaches. Or you can come for the history. </div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJxqFj2vCHV38Pu56113lEbiKXA9zQBKkf4cu6EgyGD8DwV0cXXsTvyFwmnh03rn55h_7cQnRo1Tg_apoVB0e_O8JgOIqvyYv3VdrvsqbORZKsvDq9PlZe3wpfV6Szl07bo1RCusijwI/s1600/109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJxqFj2vCHV38Pu56113lEbiKXA9zQBKkf4cu6EgyGD8DwV0cXXsTvyFwmnh03rn55h_7cQnRo1Tg_apoVB0e_O8JgOIqvyYv3VdrvsqbORZKsvDq9PlZe3wpfV6Szl07bo1RCusijwI/s320/109.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Minutiously restored, medieval Pals is an inland village that was once a port town, this before silting permanently altered the coastline, as also occurred in France's <a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2010/03/french-cowboys.html">Aigues-Mortes</a>. While worth wandering in the off-season, I've been warned by the locals that Pals becomes tour-bus central come summertime. It's not hard to see why.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywA4opGOyahLmmU0LScrZwOths4xOjtpOXtWALfP9BWEJRLdavAmmrJHSTFcv1GX7GOcab1FSw5M-KmFsQDyYO_SAytPkUhJauokTmrqVZ6uMpxPzufq6V90YCIHKd7uEZL0LZcBIQyA/s1600/130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywA4opGOyahLmmU0LScrZwOths4xOjtpOXtWALfP9BWEJRLdavAmmrJHSTFcv1GX7GOcab1FSw5M-KmFsQDyYO_SAytPkUhJauokTmrqVZ6uMpxPzufq6V90YCIHKd7uEZL0LZcBIQyA/s320/130.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I found this little shop in Pals, a brief paean to Spanish foods. And don't even get me started on that <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jam%C3%B3n_ib%C3%A9rico">bellota</a> </em>ham.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjCZpWmpPtJ6BECnTj8QU29c3OrKn1Y-Vq8FAkU12tXJknak92T4N2PSZQ-qoSXF2BQ0khzlkozbUVqsaLY2ZSa8pf-b2b7DomRh09P7hF1pDna7_QpIVaAwSTjd8VzIFHcUPqGfgHYWg/s1600/125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjCZpWmpPtJ6BECnTj8QU29c3OrKn1Y-Vq8FAkU12tXJknak92T4N2PSZQ-qoSXF2BQ0khzlkozbUVqsaLY2ZSa8pf-b2b7DomRh09P7hF1pDna7_QpIVaAwSTjd8VzIFHcUPqGfgHYWg/s320/125.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the Gothic church, if you should so desire, you can get your prayer candle...from an automated dispenser. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOvZq1NgGqS0anLwzRFOD_IxQnWL0VecRGkU3c3q11yz0a0Pxj6-tqX_pSBUfrtN8LgztIV06V9ODbSSN_H8xVGkx3pgyWTxkHeFRuPaUA7lQKoQ2rr723skAe0ZkyuazQTH7Cv0KY48/s1600/124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOvZq1NgGqS0anLwzRFOD_IxQnWL0VecRGkU3c3q11yz0a0Pxj6-tqX_pSBUfrtN8LgztIV06V9ODbSSN_H8xVGkx3pgyWTxkHeFRuPaUA7lQKoQ2rr723skAe0ZkyuazQTH7Cv0KY48/s320/124.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That was the first time I'd seen that anywhere, let alone someplace with medieval origins.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNEbAfwS-gkS7iIO_b4ExhoLyEl2wuBowNuxRAcBZuERHEjzGXZPSreM86z3U7Xm30OnZ9wO6vyDvC3RrmRB6GMqyMyPZgAIOR9NftnvOpDQo0Q8l9zWUjnfrVc0L2QCA-Cjv5huKUK8/s1600/112-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNEbAfwS-gkS7iIO_b4ExhoLyEl2wuBowNuxRAcBZuERHEjzGXZPSreM86z3U7Xm30OnZ9wO6vyDvC3RrmRB6GMqyMyPZgAIOR9NftnvOpDQo0Q8l9zWUjnfrVc0L2QCA-Cjv5huKUK8/s320/112-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The cobblestone paths and steps are ideal for casual strolling, and the inhabitants make it look less mineral with heaps of plants, their flowers tumbleing from balconies and hanging deep and long from windows.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoF42Z1quc5UmKLa1GbsASuVB5DQkq4eVUJ0K4ZtAaKG-a3ZnyNfP0rVdfKQzT9aAbtiAUGuicmQ0nkTsYk-EeyP4OsWths4cnbeTmjDAyt4Wi1s6SKafdcQfYh2hb8k305kuQD2C9U4k/s1600/116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoF42Z1quc5UmKLa1GbsASuVB5DQkq4eVUJ0K4ZtAaKG-a3ZnyNfP0rVdfKQzT9aAbtiAUGuicmQ0nkTsYk-EeyP4OsWths4cnbeTmjDAyt4Wi1s6SKafdcQfYh2hb8k305kuQD2C9U4k/s320/116.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The zoning laws here are thankfully strict. It remains all sunsoaked, golden and ageless as result. If I had more than a weekend (darn educational system with its rules!), we would have done more exploring--at the very least in the nearby walled village of Peretallada, apparently just as exquisitely medieval and also built on and of stone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7fHcHoCd7uq1bzLjaRPAtHdVTEqqdeGK9_7ZsYxEPLUggIKyafw09UgdnpbSFHR5iyNEyIWvT7ErJw-7qQi7UYlG6h7z7CudW6vzL9NhDI81G-JgXn7kS4foAM1HFKInA6PfUvr9X20/s1600/123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7fHcHoCd7uq1bzLjaRPAtHdVTEqqdeGK9_7ZsYxEPLUggIKyafw09UgdnpbSFHR5iyNEyIWvT7ErJw-7qQi7UYlG6h7z7CudW6vzL9NhDI81G-JgXn7kS4foAM1HFKInA6PfUvr9X20/s320/123.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>But, really, a family weekend at a beach house on the coast really must involve a bit of beach, yes?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWJSBCAYAHq6-gsxe3tKCJO74sG4N0rsMMsXwbCbyp-PQPILRgFjbtBEfEOuVSZZF9lvrOBw5BgIWqy4HVHozhHLv72kXqLp2yrx1j18ybMJt_ainPzqHDioshyh_B_fRKJsHwdO7VbA/s1600/084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWJSBCAYAHq6-gsxe3tKCJO74sG4N0rsMMsXwbCbyp-PQPILRgFjbtBEfEOuVSZZF9lvrOBw5BgIWqy4HVHozhHLv72kXqLp2yrx1j18ybMJt_ainPzqHDioshyh_B_fRKJsHwdO7VbA/s320/084.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfNEbAfwS-gkS7iIO_b4ExhoLyEl2wuBowNuxRAcBZuERHEjzGXZPSreM86z3U7Xm30OnZ9wO6vyDvC3RrmRB6GMqyMyPZgAIOR9NftnvOpDQo0Q8l9zWUjnfrVc0L2QCA-Cjv5huKUK8/s1600/112-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>The summer sun seemed to have set up shop.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIDUarvMA1lbRuTujM96Q5hWiI0L8USeWbdd7DhhYB6YF4IztQKce74NBa2NTQ-db7rfrC1ymIlsjkmAYJkJolsP98siOOO5jygyOULJwMRXKTVfjPvnmaYbGbtPHJb7yhvUfzrY1J9eI/s1600/138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIDUarvMA1lbRuTujM96Q5hWiI0L8USeWbdd7DhhYB6YF4IztQKce74NBa2NTQ-db7rfrC1ymIlsjkmAYJkJolsP98siOOO5jygyOULJwMRXKTVfjPvnmaYbGbtPHJb7yhvUfzrY1J9eI/s320/138.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJxqFj2vCHV38Pu56113lEbiKXA9zQBKkf4cu6EgyGD8DwV0cXXsTvyFwmnh03rn55h_7cQnRo1Tg_apoVB0e_O8JgOIqvyYv3VdrvsqbORZKsvDq9PlZe3wpfV6Szl07bo1RCusijwI/s1600/109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>We wandered, we ate, the adults drank too many <em>cortados,</em> potent Spanish version of a <em>noisette</em>, or expresso with just a bit of milk. In my over-caffeinated, near ecstatic state, I decided my favorite beach (we explored three) was definitely ultra-cosy little <a href="http://www.thinkspain.com/map-spain/8240/map-driving-directions-tamariu-girona">Tamariu</a>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3saRJTG3LeUOX0mTTycvdlZ9hm7Wm8iwZX_dhrkXIJ6VQyffZpUC9F9ybarUODCphs7W5c5pyYUlxxzKJL0tmexjo9xQtGCM8IP9InG3eI1oK7FGkO_DVYSiHmmpTuFiF3vtljHTjHQ/s1600/091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3saRJTG3LeUOX0mTTycvdlZ9hm7Wm8iwZX_dhrkXIJ6VQyffZpUC9F9ybarUODCphs7W5c5pyYUlxxzKJL0tmexjo9xQtGCM8IP9InG3eI1oK7FGkO_DVYSiHmmpTuFiF3vtljHTjHQ/s320/091.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>You come to Spain not only for nature or history or even food, but for the people themselves, who in some ways differ markedly from their (often cynical) French neighbors. They are certainly distinct from the reticent, modest Protestant <em>Cevenols</em>. This too was a breath of fresh air.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOThLXKFAzEJk4CDHl7pQQTb3Jdb-7CbelYu_Uf7Vq4mBj5ajkRWtrMoZWWT3c536hdjrewnAe-tmYAVjtSb49a_8Vjixe2RNOXJs3ujex7cFb4EUElPEGe7UBN_CdPrQJT-odKLQoFM/s1600/083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOThLXKFAzEJk4CDHl7pQQTb3Jdb-7CbelYu_Uf7Vq4mBj5ajkRWtrMoZWWT3c536hdjrewnAe-tmYAVjtSb49a_8Vjixe2RNOXJs3ujex7cFb4EUElPEGe7UBN_CdPrQJT-odKLQoFM/s320/083.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The rest of the weekend we played.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnReUzviL5IaWW6zQTFPD8IzGhrXRlqDjTrxqy_nNL7AEMFYN814M2Smv36xYmnFatn7ZQNhHcDP1ss6ACsft9XvDx-fEAgiu36MQrhxJJVxKVdKGZe_NMP2rAwN4SaHwdXeihAMEG_E/s1600/082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnReUzviL5IaWW6zQTFPD8IzGhrXRlqDjTrxqy_nNL7AEMFYN814M2Smv36xYmnFatn7ZQNhHcDP1ss6ACsft9XvDx-fEAgiu36MQrhxJJVxKVdKGZe_NMP2rAwN4SaHwdXeihAMEG_E/s320/082.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>And there might have been some <em>crema catalana</em>-flavored ice cream at the farmer's market, too. What, you say you've never tried to make this flan, custard cousin to <em>crème brulée</em>? Do something about this, pronto. It'll help bring sunny <em>Catalunya</em> to your own table.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPeeB6szv-zPoniSaeL4oFSJlLoJTXG6GvXzKpp3v_eRaESB4Tj6o2FI2FmDtHS6PzVIvfQMK-p-mxJ8GvbR_4ZdMxovIDLPrsq9AlpkkpfgNw0WokIb2UmbUawGzzhH7VN6cQq1gOfA/s1600/035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPeeB6szv-zPoniSaeL4oFSJlLoJTXG6GvXzKpp3v_eRaESB4Tj6o2FI2FmDtHS6PzVIvfQMK-p-mxJ8GvbR_4ZdMxovIDLPrsq9AlpkkpfgNw0WokIb2UmbUawGzzhH7VN6cQq1gOfA/s320/035.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong>Traditional <em>Crema Catalana</em></strong></div><br />
<br />
Serves four.<br />
<br />
6 egg yolks<br />
200g sugar<br />
3/4 liter milk<br />
1 cinnamon stick<br />
1 large strip of fresh, organic lemon peel<br />
3 tablespoons cornstarch<br />
<br />
Beat egg yolks until light and smooth, then whisk in three-fourths of the sugar. Bring milk--with cinnamon stick and lemon peel--just to a boil in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Remove and strain into a bowl. Whisk most of the milk into egg mixture. Dissolve the cornflour in the remaining cold milk and add to egg mixture. Pour the mixture back into the saucepan and return the pan to low heat, stirring constantly until it comes to a boil. Remove from heat and pour equal measures into four small heat-proof dishes (ideally ceramic <a href="http://www.theworldwidegourmet.com/recipes/catalan-cream/">cazuelas</a>) and allow to come to room temperature before refrigerating. Just before serving, preheat the broiler. Sprinkle a bit of sugar on top each serving and caramelize by placing the dishes first in a ice and water-filled shallow pan and then briefly under a hot broiler. Remove as soon as the sugar has browned nicely. Enjoy...<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyck9ZPE28TwzXp_ub1rp070m6UccQ8sngzxDNFwHBNSxqezjCkiOHET4QXIH5E2bodGyQ3AsfHxnw3rKOBdFQE8sS89qV9JGK32ucgkuyK2vOLE9dgLFL5fbJ94O0NUYqc4PMKzVzWIE/s1600/080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyck9ZPE28TwzXp_ub1rp070m6UccQ8sngzxDNFwHBNSxqezjCkiOHET4QXIH5E2bodGyQ3AsfHxnw3rKOBdFQE8sS89qV9JGK32ucgkuyK2vOLE9dgLFL5fbJ94O0NUYqc4PMKzVzWIE/s320/080.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-230004816018154082011-05-20T00:44:00.002+02:002011-05-20T00:54:47.803+02:00There are flies in paradise.<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGmn4Y3xeUD-Mgj9aZV1NQucguBCnEpv-3xMuXlE3BwPyTbGu3tv0xw-FZ6rKX2T8JNnCawpgFJZSweyVpUff6bltaOyZmFptX1aDpCPXXDEV4e16zG8zbHVsvg49gd6dgulDBjc0ufc/s1600/002-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGmn4Y3xeUD-Mgj9aZV1NQucguBCnEpv-3xMuXlE3BwPyTbGu3tv0xw-FZ6rKX2T8JNnCawpgFJZSweyVpUff6bltaOyZmFptX1aDpCPXXDEV4e16zG8zbHVsvg49gd6dgulDBjc0ufc/s320/002-1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I can't get my heart to stay put. <br />
<br />
I'm very much here, in my garden (update to follow, <em>bien sur</em>), but theres a shadow part of me off revisiting things, six time zones away. Because after the pleasures of Washington, D.C., you see, came a few truly big-city thrills: we took the train to New York City.<br />
<br />
And I promise, New York City--for my purposes Manhattan--is an awful lot of fun with young-ish children. You too, can bring your tykes, have a reasonably cultural experience, and not lose your mind. Ladies and gentlemen, mothers and fathers, here are eight winning strategies:<br />
<br />
1. Ride the <a href="http://siferry.com/">Staten Island Ferry</a>. Yes, <a href="http://www.newseum.org/yesvirginia/">Virginia</a>, some things in NYC are still free. The kids have room to move, things to see--like a certain famous lady that was an outsized gift from France. And, hey, the kids're on a big boat. Each ride is a half-hour long, leaves from Battery Park (so the view of Lower Manhattan's top-notch). Once you get to Staten Island, you walk off, and then get back on again. Windbreakers are a pretty good idea.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTtu2iYuKVl6tWKM5LCbqTaaLV8tLvKpZ57ftJYZ1UI9jB8i1qDNsk4HEcSVBxeLZ052AyRMEfkfvi6-7UUAOzSRcEZpeYuIhdBXE0Luo3Q9EqgunC3G1RHrRu5hYapR93w8lBhN7Ggk/s1600/Recently+Updated25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTtu2iYuKVl6tWKM5LCbqTaaLV8tLvKpZ57ftJYZ1UI9jB8i1qDNsk4HEcSVBxeLZ052AyRMEfkfvi6-7UUAOzSRcEZpeYuIhdBXE0Luo3Q9EqgunC3G1RHrRu5hYapR93w8lBhN7Ggk/s320/Recently+Updated25.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">2. Enjoy the view from <a href="http://www.esbnyc.com/observatory.asp">the Empire State Building</a>'s 86th floor observatory. Having been before, I didn't actually go up; my daughter took the panoramic photo. Buy <a href="https://ticketing.esbnyc.com/webstore/shop/ViewItems.aspx?Merchant=ESBNYC&CategoryGroupExternalID=ESBTKTS&CategoryExternalID=ESBOT">tickets</a> ahead of time online (even day-of is fine), it'll reduce your time in queues. Prepare your children for time in queues. Bring pencil and paper to play tic-tac-toe while in queues. But do it in spite of the queues, because it's just plain cool to be up that high--metaphorically and in fact: again, bring a windbreaker.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibT_UoGlhJD-N83xXk7fn8FKAZjvMl1XknKd97CsA1t5hoOUgxQeihv8ewIY4Ov0DVkk3KJxDgjTwH-R4TUKd3x2xHNEicUShEAXXWsGCx9Bgthj9B84itsPnILhuJXlfMcAttu7WNfno/s1600/283-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibT_UoGlhJD-N83xXk7fn8FKAZjvMl1XknKd97CsA1t5hoOUgxQeihv8ewIY4Ov0DVkk3KJxDgjTwH-R4TUKd3x2xHNEicUShEAXXWsGCx9Bgthj9B84itsPnILhuJXlfMcAttu7WNfno/s320/283-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">3. Go native, take a break. If the weather's fine, grab some picnic fixings and head to a nearby park, where the tots can let off some steam and won't have to look both ways before springing forward. As of this printing, parks are still free. And there's a lot more on offer than 'just' Central Park if you find that too far away or too full. Some of them, like <a href="http://www.fort-tryon.com/manhattan-neighborhoodguide-forttryonpark/">Fort Tryon Park</a> (which contains the lovely Cloisters Museum) in upper Manhattan or <a href="http://www.hudsonriverpark.org/explore.html">Hudson River Park</a> (midtown to lower), are a day's outing in and of themselves. These are parks with some jaw-droppingly gorgeous views.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmLP0Vx7UbiswPWI98Q3FfGTQRod2HnpPpvgQS8Zi5SLkiEvzxKDgp5M1gz3miPNLaDXGZ4IH1_981-mMRC-11nXyh7PKvAYtb4NBqHt8qCpR_PdST12J94mICtlvmF0pFNuL3vhPCpY/s1600/319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmLP0Vx7UbiswPWI98Q3FfGTQRod2HnpPpvgQS8Zi5SLkiEvzxKDgp5M1gz3miPNLaDXGZ4IH1_981-mMRC-11nXyh7PKvAYtb4NBqHt8qCpR_PdST12J94mICtlvmF0pFNuL3vhPCpY/s320/319.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">4. Alright, I am so not a zoo kind of girl, so it feels odd to suggest this, but spend some time at the zoo. Not necessarily the well-regarded Bronx Zoo, but the (perhaps) more conveniently situated <a href="http://www.centralpark.com/guide/central-park-zoo.html">Central Park Zoo</a>. Stroll through the park to reach the zoo if you have the time. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-kq6LF8yhf4hRDG_nfAr9QmNEj1ghe1Mn2hiAq7_V86oO0_jvJB-wkd79EjEwIYD7Ckh2Njp9VCg6zT8sI7mYdAFCSx7s-azmzob6IKQNG3g-tS14lT7FqpqgoBLXH6EcD-GmARfwr0/s1600/343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-kq6LF8yhf4hRDG_nfAr9QmNEj1ghe1Mn2hiAq7_V86oO0_jvJB-wkd79EjEwIYD7Ckh2Njp9VCg6zT8sI7mYdAFCSx7s-azmzob6IKQNG3g-tS14lT7FqpqgoBLXH6EcD-GmARfwr0/s320/343.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a small zoo (a plus for little ones and parents with limited patience), well-curated, with poetry and science sprinkled liberally throughout, and the animals still have room enough to hid away in their spaces. The polar bears and (reclusive) snow leopard were a particular hit, as were the exhibitionist seals... </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyDKYmssaokQgTJctPao1YihJXRDyNFBIYlM8ydoFN0Q4huWArWGEGWOBSFpWl-ey8cw_Xf6nSBtjEZe7ZHMmDDXXKZbJh81ZYZVljoL2wds5VQVzM1Dm9nB-zu4hYGqOi44EhSlcoYc/s1600/356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyDKYmssaokQgTJctPao1YihJXRDyNFBIYlM8ydoFN0Q4huWArWGEGWOBSFpWl-ey8cw_Xf6nSBtjEZe7ZHMmDDXXKZbJh81ZYZVljoL2wds5VQVzM1Dm9nB-zu4hYGqOi44EhSlcoYc/s320/356.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>5. Go to the <a href="http://www.moma.org/learn/kids_families/visits">MOMA</a>. Yes, there is the <a href="http://www.cmom.org/">Children's Museum of Manhattan</a> and the <a href="http://cmany.org/intro.php?pn=home">Children's Museum of the Arts</a>, but this is an art museum that will knock the socks off both the big and little people in your bunch. At the MOMA, there are made-for-kids gallery talks. There are workshops for four to eleven year olds that explore art techniques and ideas through hands-on practice. Remember to register in advance. And don't skip a browsing kind of wander through the museum shop, where kids can see and touch sublime (sometimes sublimely funny) design objects. Doing so was one of our highlights and prompted an interesting discussion about how objects are used and how they can be better designed...<br />
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6. Take them to an afternoon show. If you're ready and willing to splurge, a Broadway musical is a truly thrilling way to introduce them to live theater.<br />
<br />
7. Take the subway. If you've the time and they're not too tired yet, take that (subway) train to <a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2010/11/low-and-high-of-it.html">Coney Island</a>. Quick, before they tear down all the good old tat in the name of bland-ification. If you don't have the time, take that train to to the <a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2010/11/low-and-high-of-it.html">High Line</a> instead. Section Two's nearly ready to open...<br />
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8. Stay with family. See, this makes everything else easy-peasy. If you've neither friend nor family in Manhattan, consider an apartment rental (they come in different price brackets!) for a decidedly more cosy, relaxed experience. Shopping at the local grocery, you'll get to pretend you're actually a local, and the kids can feel more grounded.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKobbKBGZc7lNyARBm8MYGwhf2swW_cAVsad3hWFWGUU56JD2UWE33q1437tTTQ3u9EjBMLOuAWzcqy3P1NZzxtdzGc5HB9WhgmR-9QDgvWVeee-2Gu10HOUlFc3c-Xd8Bv8GedTATXss/s1600/292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKobbKBGZc7lNyARBm8MYGwhf2swW_cAVsad3hWFWGUU56JD2UWE33q1437tTTQ3u9EjBMLOuAWzcqy3P1NZzxtdzGc5HB9WhgmR-9QDgvWVeee-2Gu10HOUlFc3c-Xd8Bv8GedTATXss/s320/292.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just writing all those possibilities out makes me feel giddy, but the garden here in France is doing everything it can to seduce me. Balmy breezes, saturated color, birds all a'twitter (and woodpeckers a'knocking), the bullfrogs in chorus, the works.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrhyphenhyphenQquv38mdwALmIjV4zPkEwBcjm3Iwn1C1mCB8pyeJnCN7PbxQtl9jwpJU3I4I7zMU-RCNzQJnFA1aJetHUiRnU90uqkU8wRFgRXcq71PBB5SL1H3nk5SbyD3qhqukKF6ixJZKCaQac/s1600/312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrhyphenhyphenQquv38mdwALmIjV4zPkEwBcjm3Iwn1C1mCB8pyeJnCN7PbxQtl9jwpJU3I4I7zMU-RCNzQJnFA1aJetHUiRnU90uqkU8wRFgRXcq71PBB5SL1H3nk5SbyD3qhqukKF6ixJZKCaQac/s320/312.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With every year, I'm loving roses more (and resenting them less for their high-maintenance aphid and disease magnet tendencies). Aren't these ones lovely? They're now blossoming in the garden of my 78 year old friend and fellow choir member, an unreconstructed bundle of sass, wit and wisdom. She has a lovely little space she putters in every day, kept company by her donkey...I'll put up some pictures of my own roses in the coming days.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBaTRR7gMv4ZYc2BBqOnkvo66zU3bLS4ZQwOQMdsEPey2i3aWapLKnm3dCn_oozxI6dBw_YKGpYomnpqT4RX7GD7BF8Y6l1PcA7sI3tXB_6OE8cvpooS1RBZxvnbIFoeuFWuD3fx2lNlg/s1600/313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBaTRR7gMv4ZYc2BBqOnkvo66zU3bLS4ZQwOQMdsEPey2i3aWapLKnm3dCn_oozxI6dBw_YKGpYomnpqT4RX7GD7BF8Y6l1PcA7sI3tXB_6OE8cvpooS1RBZxvnbIFoeuFWuD3fx2lNlg/s320/313.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And--news flash--this just in at our place: strawberries. In bloom.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6s5lcpdcdTVPngtQbhlJdKxa4O8WF9xZ_RoepGCJbRmOHnPDnt8hMiV-FYmZEMijbuZtpZXuzjYLd1Qa0XQ7Y-FvhLT0uuNdMdxnvnz6kengNpPoOnl9DnWFbzoErvk-_vYZ8x0OiVw/s1600/307-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6s5lcpdcdTVPngtQbhlJdKxa4O8WF9xZ_RoepGCJbRmOHnPDnt8hMiV-FYmZEMijbuZtpZXuzjYLd1Qa0XQ7Y-FvhLT0uuNdMdxnvnz6kengNpPoOnl9DnWFbzoErvk-_vYZ8x0OiVw/s320/307-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>And in fruit. Sweet Jesus, are these good. Little, and all the more succulent for it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9SJHYl6d5oj3fKUF4ewBpWHuTkbVokOS7f4Sv7tKXpMGXkGghBjfZudes_r9LBpAE_CSYuO0WeAFOnpzPkeHpAChyS2nNxv3o5f6gl0jfJegie2TwL5MtgD_ll9LM4QzEdntRWa7ZJY/s1600/305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9SJHYl6d5oj3fKUF4ewBpWHuTkbVokOS7f4Sv7tKXpMGXkGghBjfZudes_r9LBpAE_CSYuO0WeAFOnpzPkeHpAChyS2nNxv3o5f6gl0jfJegie2TwL5MtgD_ll9LM4QzEdntRWa7ZJY/s320/305.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>We're already eating garden salads.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZYxVNTGIbhz89wKdjuawQCcgzq0i_UkSxvIpMd_hapF4kdhyupSzlOmYaVcnXM105_HugfaYg8VvoYSTWVPtbL1qo5xV6ceI_uOYUra9TJnaCIvpXZ78GL__e2O8wcjjKptzmZ8QT7s/s1600/280-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhZYxVNTGIbhz89wKdjuawQCcgzq0i_UkSxvIpMd_hapF4kdhyupSzlOmYaVcnXM105_HugfaYg8VvoYSTWVPtbL1qo5xV6ceI_uOYUra9TJnaCIvpXZ78GL__e2O8wcjjKptzmZ8QT7s/s320/280-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>And the tomatoes are under construction.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPW7J4hIY4u81dhmxm__UyxzZKGstsnUjFkpDAdt4xedAgBZPbWllAYvZqOYhuiBuK8qoanSzZ2t0xtTAD7Uzvq-PBN7ZJvCALGEKJdOA6cVUFq7peOWcAr_sQxcQes0xty6d2p5pEaFc/s1600/282.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPW7J4hIY4u81dhmxm__UyxzZKGstsnUjFkpDAdt4xedAgBZPbWllAYvZqOYhuiBuK8qoanSzZ2t0xtTAD7Uzvq-PBN7ZJvCALGEKJdOA6cVUFq7peOWcAr_sQxcQes0xty6d2p5pEaFc/s320/282.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A certain kind of heaven, yes? But there's always something, and in our case right now it's flies. An unreasonable, crazy-making amount of the buggers. Glomming onto any warm surface--window, car seat et al. They are everywhere, and it embarasses me. It makes me do ugly desperate things, like hang sticky tape in my otherwise pleasant kitchen, where I stand around with friends and pretend I don't hear the periodic buzzing from stuck-fast flies.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXS7kybIKgUHFQrcISvJTQ20JNYd7PVWWRXH3owBu_WrNywgtAMrLoGDEkv3Bhja2q8EpV6MIxqLQdrnKq68tY-8cap_SlZTE9dYeTHizqTRKhyphenhyphenFZNlY70yrzECo6yFa5LYwVYwTvOgsI/s1600/Recently+Updated21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXS7kybIKgUHFQrcISvJTQ20JNYd7PVWWRXH3owBu_WrNywgtAMrLoGDEkv3Bhja2q8EpV6MIxqLQdrnKq68tY-8cap_SlZTE9dYeTHizqTRKhyphenhyphenFZNlY70yrzECo6yFa5LYwVYwTvOgsI/s320/Recently+Updated21.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Lacking a definitive solution, the most effective distraction technique/escape for me is to mull over recipes. And I have just the one in mind for if you have unsolvable issues of your own, because while in Manhattan, we happened to have a most delicious Venezuelan meal while staying with family...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">According to my brother-in-law, absolutely everybody knows how to make <em>arepas</em> in Venezuela. He learned how from his grandmother. Photo caveat: Venezuelans normally only use HAN brand fine-ground<em> white</em> cornflour, but he had to use a blend of white and yellow, which resulted in somewhat denser cakes. He sliced the finished hot little corn cakes like a pita and stuffed them with shredded beef which had been slow-cooking much of the day, then blended with chopped red peppers, onions and super-secret spices. So. Good. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Almost makes me forget about the flies.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIudm-tM31tIpwXPq0t-YAHaJ5rcIRtQNa0IilpxGy71lYoAJDjJ6ZtmhgYW8S_zh9QnKU9SphxbUfyHBdAJf-Puiv6_8PF4DxWEzXISPN0sK_C89n48wEU54LaKmShmrMXQaf7f3OeGw/s1600/Recently+Updated22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIudm-tM31tIpwXPq0t-YAHaJ5rcIRtQNa0IilpxGy71lYoAJDjJ6ZtmhgYW8S_zh9QnKU9SphxbUfyHBdAJf-Puiv6_8PF4DxWEzXISPN0sK_C89n48wEU54LaKmShmrMXQaf7f3OeGw/s320/Recently+Updated22.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXS7kybIKgUHFQrcISvJTQ20JNYd7PVWWRXH3owBu_WrNywgtAMrLoGDEkv3Bhja2q8EpV6MIxqLQdrnKq68tY-8cap_SlZTE9dYeTHizqTRKhyphenhyphenFZNlY70yrzECo6yFa5LYwVYwTvOgsI/s1600/Recently+Updated21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Venezuelan-style <em>Arepas</em></strong><strong></strong><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><strong> </strong>Makes six <em>arepas</em>, to be filled with shredded meats, scrambled eggs and cheese, black beans...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">2 cups white, fine-ground corn flour (Harina PAN brand flour if possible)</div><div style="text-align: left;">2 cups of water</div><div style="text-align: left;">pinch of salt</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Pour flour and pinch salt into a medium sized bowl and mix with hands. Add water and combine with your hands until mixture is thoroughly and evenly blended, adding more flour or water as necessary. The dough should form a ball easily, with no major cracks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Take a small handful of dough and form a ball. Patting and turning it, like a kid busy with Playdough. The smooth, finished disk should be about one centimeter (half an inch) thick and about six to eight centimeters in diameter (3-4 inches). Continue to make disks with the remaining dough until there is none left.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">You can keep any leftover dough wrapped in plastic and refrigerated for three to four days.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Preheat oven 110C (225F). Heat a teaspoon of oil in a heavy frying pan over medium heat. Place several <em>arepas</em> in the pan. For the desired crunchy crust, keep the heat at medium. Once browned, about five minutes, turn them over and cook the other side until browned as well.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Once <em>arepas</em> are nicely browned, slide them into the oven, near the top, for about 15-20 minutes, depending on the oven. You'll know they're ready by tapping them with a knife: they should sound hollow.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Best when eaten right from the oven, the <em>arepas</em> should be sliced and filled with the toppings of your choice.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGmn4Y3xeUD-Mgj9aZV1NQucguBCnEpv-3xMuXlE3BwPyTbGu3tv0xw-FZ6rKX2T8JNnCawpgFJZSweyVpUff6bltaOyZmFptX1aDpCPXXDEV4e16zG8zbHVsvg49gd6dgulDBjc0ufc/s1600/002-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kJNbS7Ze6r4gJw2ehfWoFPqiopKuYQ_oqJNGBW75cmx-OPqn_MEGldYaas5XEJT0dqQyAJ2tuyisbyGkyQY7-wcJy4NIoQY9jxYEC3Ep_PPPJUzhuBRd5zGl1EBN_1RRhpQoX0GlKG0/s1600/001-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kJNbS7Ze6r4gJw2ehfWoFPqiopKuYQ_oqJNGBW75cmx-OPqn_MEGldYaas5XEJT0dqQyAJ2tuyisbyGkyQY7-wcJy4NIoQY9jxYEC3Ep_PPPJUzhuBRd5zGl1EBN_1RRhpQoX0GlKG0/s320/001-2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-13385449833912139792011-05-14T23:03:00.003+02:002011-05-23T09:52:28.225+02:00Americana.*<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My Dutch husband loves a lot of things about the US. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He loves the existence of newspaper dispensers, and their honor system. He loves that people, out on the street, open the machine's door--and take only one paper. This would be completely unworkable in Europe, according to him. Way too many Europeans would head off with the whole stack of papers, just for laughs. Or to sell. Or the dispensers themselves might be more or less artfully dispensed with.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJuxA2B4iDaK0WUpO2Zdk9NTdE_RZga2PpfN-VnBSaENDiSZgptfBcF-MERFN93Vbp8VTtXfXnKo86gwHPK5ftMg0mJdXDzg2Fowf5HYFRD1iEx9vJrCw8BTbZL4CdDFF_heikf-0DFA4/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-07.jpg" width="320" /> </div>There are a lot of things to love about America--one of them being how much more feasible it is to have decent Mexican food. For my first lunch stateside, a friend and I made our way to a little mom and pop place in Washington, D.C., that serves up made-from-scratch yumminess. Under those unassuming slices of radish topping the tortilla on the left are chunks of unbelievably tender, stewed lengua. To date, this is the only way I'll eat beef tongue, because it is so darn good.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbCEN7Sbh_TnixA_EX7BrIJAFW_syyDShC_RIqzuOQpNsld_riELdce3ALkJZoyRiClhwOJpvJaSgODcWRdLEPlB9MlJra5Ujm28kjeDXHkJXwFmKw1zNE7JY7W2Za0ExnvVef7dbNIl4/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-071.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbCEN7Sbh_TnixA_EX7BrIJAFW_syyDShC_RIqzuOQpNsld_riELdce3ALkJZoyRiClhwOJpvJaSgODcWRdLEPlB9MlJra5Ujm28kjeDXHkJXwFmKw1zNE7JY7W2Za0ExnvVef7dbNIl4/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-071.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div>We dawdled in the serene, oddly compelling courtyard at the <a href="http://www.npg.si.edu/collection/permanent.html">National Portait Gallery</a>, designed by Norman Foster. The courtyard made the <a href="http://www.concierge.com/cntraveler/articles/12062?pageNumber=1">annual list of Conde Nast Traveler's Seven Architectural Wonders of the World</a>. Additional big plus: because the Gallery is located in Chinatown instead of on the Mall, it is a far more uncrowded place than one has a right to expect for a free, world-class museum. I loved the Edward Hopper paintings, and this portrait of poet Walt Whitman. 'Sing a song of myself' indeed. This younger museum-goer seemed more taken by the iconic photograph of Michael Jordan, though.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWC434ytmdTM6Ji1VOC0TFlYfS2mAnXAUMOIhXfRGOxziHcuXvqlq9Fu9QQI6cnnRleq9FO_f-YhpN5USQKKHV0PCtlccfNMK0em2_0jqByQLoo-DRZNN210sLi0Nf-rw3OXCC5_PVjos/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWC434ytmdTM6Ji1VOC0TFlYfS2mAnXAUMOIhXfRGOxziHcuXvqlq9Fu9QQI6cnnRleq9FO_f-YhpN5USQKKHV0PCtlccfNMK0em2_0jqByQLoo-DRZNN210sLi0Nf-rw3OXCC5_PVjos/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-072.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Raising American children overseas, I am sometimes struck by how little they know of American history, or of America period. I don't know why this startles me: I experienced that same expat distance myself as a child. So while this trip was primarily about spending time with family, it was also an excellent opportunity to explore America's past and present. With this in mind, we were off to the <a href="http://www.nmai.si.edu/subpage.cfm?subpage=visitor&second=dc">Museum of the American Indian</a>. This, one of Washington's newest buildings, is a very cool space. And conveniently located next to the Air and Space Museum, wildly popular when I was a kid and, I can now confirm, still crazy-busy today.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8jJrdnEZzJ_sAMdCiXGgulAmu9lAvmxwRpx7UvJBP8RTBVwzrVJjy6_J1QZTr3R53tRZqB3_o2BimnzPHj8kPCxNp_s2zaIp9ASDqr1se72otzjHw8X5TRh3OrOqlrnTRz8S9a_D8YY/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW8jJrdnEZzJ_sAMdCiXGgulAmu9lAvmxwRpx7UvJBP8RTBVwzrVJjy6_J1QZTr3R53tRZqB3_o2BimnzPHj8kPCxNp_s2zaIp9ASDqr1se72otzjHw8X5TRh3OrOqlrnTRz8S9a_D8YY/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-073.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>To try something a bit more sedate, head sixteen miles hike due south of D.C. past Old Town Alexandria, and you can find yourself walking through the entrance of <a href="http://www.mountvernon.org/">Mount Vernon</a>, George Washington's well-loved home. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhViQylmwTserYN8DVq32V3F-46VbXDsxtRq8pVvhubTWiTtKnpFqZzyeOypFHjIVaK4uSVnN0frLjuIOZLETevyNdda9qpwTxnXlATkUOhae9raXHkdlp6Acf7E4PAODhdRzP5j0ew3W4/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhViQylmwTserYN8DVq32V3F-46VbXDsxtRq8pVvhubTWiTtKnpFqZzyeOypFHjIVaK4uSVnN0frLjuIOZLETevyNdda9qpwTxnXlATkUOhae9raXHkdlp6Acf7E4PAODhdRzP5j0ew3W4/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-074.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The guides are sweetly enthusiastic, and relate all those details you never stop to consider about daily life in the mid to late 1700s. Cooking was a different kettle of fish. There seemed to be a lot of roasting on the spit. There was a separate room for hanging meat (i.e. letting a fresh kill bleed out). And, by the way, I will never complain about doing the laundry again.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFihtvX_QHMp-DxYMOczPEkvXBEJrWSVw7Tz65J2oBraRjgDRzWhvdHBmN6xN9zKsdh8En9cnaym2YhCh8q2psmF7Vewq9LiTklJcI-oqIJL9xeKJV76mdVnETl_aATOH4i89h5CGCeWo/s1600/047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFihtvX_QHMp-DxYMOczPEkvXBEJrWSVw7Tz65J2oBraRjgDRzWhvdHBmN6xN9zKsdh8En9cnaym2YhCh8q2psmF7Vewq9LiTklJcI-oqIJL9xeKJV76mdVnETl_aATOH4i89h5CGCeWo/s320/047.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>But, to be honest, within sight of the lazy Potomac River, ensconced in a porch chair, the less pleasant stuff (like, say, the fact that George was one of several slave-holding Founding Fathers, despite his rhetoric) can't help but recede. And you're left with contemplative admiration for the particularly fine-looking pecan trees in his back yard.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38G2X9McCttihnMN9fw3BfdSP26r-NixROfFkElw5caUQ0U166jEWYndkPH6CEHU3lE7ACEQ5v5vzmaellzhks3olVk2iY12IVP4NkW6z2jHsw3fjjGzWuGbrlKEakkcNMJfFIyWlqvc/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38G2X9McCttihnMN9fw3BfdSP26r-NixROfFkElw5caUQ0U166jEWYndkPH6CEHU3lE7ACEQ5v5vzmaellzhks3olVk2iY12IVP4NkW6z2jHsw3fjjGzWuGbrlKEakkcNMJfFIyWlqvc/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-075.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We missed Mount Vernon's Spring Wine Festival which starts this week, but the kids enjoyed seeing the farm anyway. I tried to avoid boasting that I could identify the beef breed and could artificially inseminate the females if I had to...Respect. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhehGoT5G3SjtEPzV76WiAawzwZWoIPZLXbeE9bzxXMdMKFS-g9UJzK_P2x7sA4ftIP6lk9sluy-WCdQNC8mmR2hElz-nQQdQtosPKyYf03m_tglq3CRYBoU0M0nyFLUTyLJS9L5swirkk/s1600/056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhehGoT5G3SjtEPzV76WiAawzwZWoIPZLXbeE9bzxXMdMKFS-g9UJzK_P2x7sA4ftIP6lk9sluy-WCdQNC8mmR2hElz-nQQdQtosPKyYf03m_tglq3CRYBoU0M0nyFLUTyLJS9L5swirkk/s320/056.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>You may get a notion that I'm more carnivore than omnivore, but I had a number of cravings to answer to while stateside. And yes, one of them just happened to be BBQ. So I headed further south, dragging my family along with me.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHkzZVN2O9XmZoxFh1cshUqaSiGAVEhkHngxYbY6QFwOyrBu8my_66Ufm6pQBhuntTD80oy8u_uWP0YDJ3wm-KOH7MaxyAhT4FnH0lVy5gjpO5CXLEXms_d1FeTpDqbi1Ku8hsUwawpw/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHkzZVN2O9XmZoxFh1cshUqaSiGAVEhkHngxYbY6QFwOyrBu8my_66Ufm6pQBhuntTD80oy8u_uWP0YDJ3wm-KOH7MaxyAhT4FnH0lVy5gjpO5CXLEXms_d1FeTpDqbi1Ku8hsUwawpw/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-076.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Thanks to tips from the food-savvy, I knew where to head for hickory-smoked pork, superlative coleslaw and hand-sliced fries. If you're dubious about 'cue, its shady past (or my passion), you can learn more about it <a href="http://www.3men.com/allabout1.htm">here</a>. Or you can sample the all-American tastiness at <a href="http://www.dixiebones.com/post/401">Post 401</a> in Fredericksburg, Virginia, as I did.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsErbU6A-VNxXhZJ4x6lCUznFtbSpBG7_kStPn9en_wkt1SmWlp_q-J3XB68rRp8rrBSvRxmMm_Gqkl6CLdIgamBcSjR-vg-CO8N7kAr7RC8kQbJ_hr-A2FqHd2mAW4QCnJSmhAsGwXQ/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsErbU6A-VNxXhZJ4x6lCUznFtbSpBG7_kStPn9en_wkt1SmWlp_q-J3XB68rRp8rrBSvRxmMm_Gqkl6CLdIgamBcSjR-vg-CO8N7kAr7RC8kQbJ_hr-A2FqHd2mAW4QCnJSmhAsGwXQ/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-077.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>There's more to do in Fredericksburg than scarf down slow-smoked meat, though. For starters, it's a college town (home to the University of Mary Washington) so there are the obligatory scads of quirky coffee shops.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUe76b8JGGttMmHJ56Pc0TDXqpZoZ2eS3qNBBGI1oU0DHUZrT7hYcVEGvZpZ8zQVveeJfvsTB6nfykkGmct03H9tuxbHjG-y1hTlaurE8_oLVDGkyf_3yaPjIn8gReGrj-WpolKY7s_kM/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUe76b8JGGttMmHJ56Pc0TDXqpZoZ2eS3qNBBGI1oU0DHUZrT7hYcVEGvZpZ8zQVveeJfvsTB6nfykkGmct03H9tuxbHjG-y1hTlaurE8_oLVDGkyf_3yaPjIn8gReGrj-WpolKY7s_kM/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-079.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Fredericksburg's Old Town is above quota as far as antiquing goes, and you can indulge your own passion for funky vinyl, charming (and over-priced) bait buckets, Civil War memorabilia...or the very American art of <a href="http://www.hopscrimshaw.com/about/scrimhistory.htm">scrimshaw</a>.</div><div align="center" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div align="center"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_xhLpwn0k97N5dvne2YzuyXp5-dOQX1iiUBqV16FtZfbJqwthg1z4TxUbLtU51mOvx9nkJJgBpRqVCib5IswYWZk7lzxFCsBjX3sbUlWqirOhq0QFNpi_JaXA9N6iVT3875h2v9JP95U/s1600/191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_xhLpwn0k97N5dvne2YzuyXp5-dOQX1iiUBqV16FtZfbJqwthg1z4TxUbLtU51mOvx9nkJJgBpRqVCib5IswYWZk7lzxFCsBjX3sbUlWqirOhq0QFNpi_JaXA9N6iVT3875h2v9JP95U/s320/191.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">If you are feeling inexplicably peckish after that BBQ sandwich, you can sidle up to the lunch counter at Goolrick's Pharmacy, claimed to be the oldest continuously running soda fountain in America, with a 1912 start date. Get a strawberry malt for the kid in me...I mean, you.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhflRi6ctt2Mvu2-qXNeJcYnfyA-MwrkNZiGQ_JoIWclj3dYSY1nkkhdDC5uKZI5WNn9i97RU6UFs3PKfENNLftyUU5xQ2MaPg7dlpBj38eS4thEm0Ops0IPy95b94a60Qf_dVFEVmC_Xg/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-0710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhflRi6ctt2Mvu2-qXNeJcYnfyA-MwrkNZiGQ_JoIWclj3dYSY1nkkhdDC5uKZI5WNn9i97RU6UFs3PKfENNLftyUU5xQ2MaPg7dlpBj38eS4thEm0Ops0IPy95b94a60Qf_dVFEVmC_Xg/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-0710.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>You'll need to walk off that oversized malt shake, but there's more than enough charm to distract you.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0dEVlcWLgJbrFgp8W4iw8Eoqg_GtxSUcYf6OiNBywPw4juPnPCH82An_dyxWZKl823k3f2fXzMXEKTFdtjRl2vz8JQLCzo64GkO3338qqvYF374Su1broC7-pKTZXG_R3a-EIi-AiW3A/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-0712.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0dEVlcWLgJbrFgp8W4iw8Eoqg_GtxSUcYf6OiNBywPw4juPnPCH82An_dyxWZKl823k3f2fXzMXEKTFdtjRl2vz8JQLCzo64GkO3338qqvYF374Su1broC7-pKTZXG_R3a-EIi-AiW3A/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-0712.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">A second walkabout may be in order after having a Goolrick's BLT sandwich. Fact: I cannot make myself a BLT in France without special ordering sliced bacon from a butcher. In France, <em>lardons</em> are the pork currency of the realm. Don't get me wrong. <em><a href="http://www.google.fr/imgres?imgurl=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/43/Lardons.jpg/220px-Lardons.jpg&imgrefurl=http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lardon_(cuisine)&usg=__TL-RH16fYKCobh3QbqzS89-oBCM=&h=165&w=220&sz=15&hl=fr&start=51&sig2=M9Ybus2Qt_zpd5QQVK0G4w&zoom=1&tbnid=UES60_k0_YPvIM:&tbnh=132&tbnw=176&ei=fuvOTZfPD4Sr8QP0tJjqDQ&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dlardons%26hl%3Dfr%26sa%3DX%26rls%3Dcom.microsoft:en-us%26biw%3D1259%26bih%3D627%26tbm%3Disch0%2C1380&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=503&vpy=262&dur=539&hovh=132&hovw=176&tx=73&ty=96&page=4&ndsp=18&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:51&biw=1259&bih=627">Lardons</a></em> are wonderful, yes, but you simply cannot make a BLT with them. You can make a <a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2010/03/hitting-spot.html">BLT</a> salad with them though, and this goes a long way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAs1o2tR9CrOCtaXIjCilvtrKtP-iNHj039Y7o9absj9J5F6tNvCOVSu0jxcImuXsHniBGNPurMsUDhm8o9tphNP0wDQ_SMyhDqFTar1T7tP7Nv6P9hUNOCT4iUWyS-_wc29K56xe8Qs/s1600/195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAs1o2tR9CrOCtaXIjCilvtrKtP-iNHj039Y7o9absj9J5F6tNvCOVSu0jxcImuXsHniBGNPurMsUDhm8o9tphNP0wDQ_SMyhDqFTar1T7tP7Nv6P9hUNOCT4iUWyS-_wc29K56xe8Qs/s320/195.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In fact, I think that recipe will have to fill in as today's recipe, because I haven't yet gotten the exact proportions on my mom's laborious and crab-intensive soup. While it's too early in the season and the crab traps are still on land, she pulled out some superb broth she'd frozen from last summer, when it was actually ho-hum to pull out a trap loaded with a dozen crabs after just a couple of hours sitting in the brackish baywater. Frankly, I don't think most of us can afford the amount of crab it takes to make such a rich soup. I will say there are tomatoes, celery, cilantro and Vietnamese noodles involved. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I miss my mom.</div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcXDrOgZ213J0B8MAiiQOmunhO3Hpq7BnbRBpD48NxdKsbZhxPanRNKM8saKT40QseZ4Dk7h2vBYZ1xsQ6uYiIEawUwWnK862DK-t0W-nru_zO_RC4DpcfOCx93g3bxZ_JacOjs5Gg_Uk/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-0711.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcXDrOgZ213J0B8MAiiQOmunhO3Hpq7BnbRBpD48NxdKsbZhxPanRNKM8saKT40QseZ4Dk7h2vBYZ1xsQ6uYiIEawUwWnK862DK-t0W-nru_zO_RC4DpcfOCx93g3bxZ_JacOjs5Gg_Uk/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-0711.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>To be clear: I can heartily recommend escaping the bumper-to-bumper traffic of Northern Virginia for the splendid, Sunday-drive kind of countryside due south.<br />
<br />
You could find yourself chatting up a bluegrass musician who's played in a band since 1951, including one performance for Elizabeth Taylor, back when she was married to former Virginia Senator John Warner. Said musician might just serenade you, warbling hillbilly gospel and Patsy Cline on the Appalachian dulcimer he made himself. That's when you'll learn that this instrument is the only one invented in the United States; the banjo's from Africa, or at least that's what the banjo-player told me.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2OVH9kGiDTaeRtbmkioy7ZluQjJ6_gmCpjbZC812ZD3Q91g7a8fZzCE9CA7uVyrXGvoL0vee4pUYsPeJvM7tBbFFVumD26Y5gm1i5562I067H2WcHDyGK8nFSDHwVT_E75EfAuHPqRvI/s1600/151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2OVH9kGiDTaeRtbmkioy7ZluQjJ6_gmCpjbZC812ZD3Q91g7a8fZzCE9CA7uVyrXGvoL0vee4pUYsPeJvM7tBbFFVumD26Y5gm1i5562I067H2WcHDyGK8nFSDHwVT_E75EfAuHPqRvI/s320/151.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>After that, you'll follow the signs...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKNSqJ0nJvHEV7WB550BL-S3QHqfrtnfrC3Pkxk54PwCRyZe9saFo0WUF9bNHdv2jqPvXwpUmqFoXVvRn19zLGuD3o_vsZevrs9TghC_yyDF5HjnI-sNYVKv_VpwTx0VeyOGFE5_JB-Y0/s1600/105-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKNSqJ0nJvHEV7WB550BL-S3QHqfrtnfrC3Pkxk54PwCRyZe9saFo0WUF9bNHdv2jqPvXwpUmqFoXVvRn19zLGuD3o_vsZevrs9TghC_yyDF5HjnI-sNYVKv_VpwTx0VeyOGFE5_JB-Y0/s320/105-1.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>...and be back in time to taste dad's catch of the day: twenty-plus pounds of striped bass.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEURT3RR4LEt1pQUpxtJzm0SRfHh16j1YassFZ5MQj675RSfYgciqA-_NzzWvziE8yC0lcttgsbaKCW9xarALUKfCTwX0WzTupcIJQ29uVZpijMC5stwJckIY5jcF_eywrNr0bC_F95rE/s1600/094-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEURT3RR4LEt1pQUpxtJzm0SRfHh16j1YassFZ5MQj675RSfYgciqA-_NzzWvziE8yC0lcttgsbaKCW9xarALUKfCTwX0WzTupcIJQ29uVZpijMC5stwJckIY5jcF_eywrNr0bC_F95rE/s320/094-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
For dessert: watermelon flavored Hubba Bubba. Because the French don't have that, either.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_2Ftx-rVixxa6EJ8SUGjfzpYCaoVdVLdpyKkfeUaxdXzj84TW_jcamlf55k5154IpZ_fOqQjKuxYIjYpfAPq4ntQNskJN7E9H5P3M_6wlPb67uRAfckiHruQ6UYoWTqSlI8u7MeItRg/s1600/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-0714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_2Ftx-rVixxa6EJ8SUGjfzpYCaoVdVLdpyKkfeUaxdXzj84TW_jcamlf55k5154IpZ_fOqQjKuxYIjYpfAPq4ntQNskJN7E9H5P3M_6wlPb67uRAfckiHruQ6UYoWTqSlI8u7MeItRg/s320/2011-04-24+-+2011-05-0714.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: yellow;">* My apologies to those who wrote comments on this post. This post, along with all the original comments, managed to disappear completely AFTER being published. Unfortunately, Blogger (my blog publisher) was having problems and they removed people's posts to resolve it. Only they didn't restore mine or its comments. I had to reconstruct this all over again...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">P.S. To taste more of Virginia's sounds, click <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2011/05/22/travel/on-virginias-crooked-road-music-lights-the-way.html?pagewanted=1&nl=travel&emc=tda1">here</a>.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-86051254577620651972011-04-22T23:23:00.000+02:002011-04-22T23:23:14.850+02:00They're back, just as I'm leaving.I'm readying for a family trip as it is now spring break here in the south; just a matter now of finding the time to throw the right clothes in a suitcase, to water all the potted plants--and not just most, to give away the eggs, to close the heavy shutters...(I'll be back in the second week of May). <br />
<br />
With still no rain in sight, they're raising the low water-table alarm on the radio but somehow the more seasoned plants aren't yet the worse for it.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9bP3ZMFYEQDER_qkFWwDyhDAMXjeNkEeZ_ttLy3_tczNxzC9tbP-bB-PDHhsP9yQXIfkgJ8y1CGDvjftvcJ4PZJAy-UrNga-Yl-9c-YaWVT2bjbyCiXw2KJqlS6P-THLormRrwyvZ3w/s1600/094-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc9bP3ZMFYEQDER_qkFWwDyhDAMXjeNkEeZ_ttLy3_tczNxzC9tbP-bB-PDHhsP9yQXIfkgJ8y1CGDvjftvcJ4PZJAy-UrNga-Yl-9c-YaWVT2bjbyCiXw2KJqlS6P-THLormRrwyvZ3w/s320/094-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>This climbing rose's buds are smaller than the nail of my pinkie. In bloom, they open to the size of my thumbnail. The blossoming has begun, but once in full swing it becomes a delicate, slightly fluttery curtain. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxhujxVCg75Wu5cOl7Y220F5XCKZ_U8ElSWDAz_UxChYpvyZ94Us2QXkGlBBfYAeOn6DGnIcv_4STkqbs5nhAPmIuJL7i1iG9c1YTF3xykhgAPVBdwrRQLPVHUVyPIEMFABGYGH1I84u0/s1600/091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxhujxVCg75Wu5cOl7Y220F5XCKZ_U8ElSWDAz_UxChYpvyZ94Us2QXkGlBBfYAeOn6DGnIcv_4STkqbs5nhAPmIuJL7i1iG9c1YTF3xykhgAPVBdwrRQLPVHUVyPIEMFABGYGH1I84u0/s320/091.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>The first irises of the season in my garden are these lushly purple ones, who colonized this valley well before we came along...<br />
<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Fkf2Dn00k_1mgWRriIO7FxdLPgA3o48VFTLzZRnLsIn_n0PDQlRGmBn5lA8O3049PY06aVLLVVGKlCTePJOUtp5jRNr2TwiCsRMCqHf_tKGHmCsDlO77tzZlVZR0iC1gkO1-YIbXpNg/s1600/097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Fkf2Dn00k_1mgWRriIO7FxdLPgA3o48VFTLzZRnLsIn_n0PDQlRGmBn5lA8O3049PY06aVLLVVGKlCTePJOUtp5jRNr2TwiCsRMCqHf_tKGHmCsDlO77tzZlVZR0iC1gkO1-YIbXpNg/s320/097.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>Even the shiny knoblets of baby figs have emerged, swaying in the fiercely un-spring light. The growth season is accelerating, and the sage in particular has the pedal to the medal. The bush below is already well in bloom, and I've clipped some of the blossoms and tossed them in our salads. I try to trim some herbs before they flower, to keep the plant focused on leaf growth and maximum flavor, espcially those that have bolting tendencies, like cilantro and basil. But that's later. Right now it's the sage and thyme. And what to do with all the cuttings? <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCgKs3V8CWt-9M0oSFApf8kC5sq9hDLI59p4o0GMCMhhtnIVijJIFNH7whVQ3d_zA-1sOtKzYFIYsjf4zge5dce_UeCDsAeU0-kxGdvug0fkwdpCTFECBVK18UKIicLT547Jtt9TnivZk/s1600/092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCgKs3V8CWt-9M0oSFApf8kC5sq9hDLI59p4o0GMCMhhtnIVijJIFNH7whVQ3d_zA-1sOtKzYFIYsjf4zge5dce_UeCDsAeU0-kxGdvug0fkwdpCTFECBVK18UKIicLT547Jtt9TnivZk/s320/092.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>I've hung lemon sage from the ceiling to dry, and the thyme is spread in a baking pan. Both can be used in hot winter infusions, with a dollop of honey, to soothe a sore throat. Some herb is set aside for cooking, of course, but a lot is given away. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiktQ3D5zSFwJz5En1wAFdcqJlDnyV27cQxYUfBDWgPY-FcyO9OqK794lZRx07CILR-mgn8VTksSRUWODPvqCJMgdsa3j0BrUOBD5rUQIxp1i58iy75DVkAvLMBhOucR9q2DHFYhdZRmz8/s1600/Recently+Updated19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiktQ3D5zSFwJz5En1wAFdcqJlDnyV27cQxYUfBDWgPY-FcyO9OqK794lZRx07CILR-mgn8VTksSRUWODPvqCJMgdsa3j0BrUOBD5rUQIxp1i58iy75DVkAvLMBhOucR9q2DHFYhdZRmz8/s320/Recently+Updated19.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Flavored oils are another way to make use of that first garden bounty. The oil is warmed (not too hot, or the oil can lose it's extra-virgin awesomeness, get cloudy and have a kind of cooked taste). The herbs are bruised with a mortar and pestle, and the two get to know one another over a week or two at room temperature in a sunny window. This time I added cracked coriander seeds to the thyme oil, and white peppercorns to the sage, but the herb alone can develop deeply and satisfyingly intense perfume. The oil can be used to flavor pastas, soups, as a marinade for meat or vegetables, even a few drops in the salad dressings can make a salad a touch more special. I make more than I can use, and exchange it with neighbors, who drop by with overflowing baskets of vegetables come summer. To make your own, ensure your herbs and seeds are bone-dry before adding to the bottle; this could mean rinsing them in the early morning after picking them, then bottling the oil only in the late afternoon, for example. It's best to keep these oils in the refrigerator if you have the space (because those herbs still contain potentially mold-promoting moisture). Ideally, you finish your oils within three or four months, before the flavors have faded.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEZCCgXDf9dD9L5IWVu4xg0M_CnMFLUlvNJAyvizBLb5Lb8pSQ4NuaaP4PFeQUlqUZp5qnL5qtzNwcgWl7P-C3nsOsPc175EtwMC_3JvAmmNy74Tkn4W1d838fFbuYZ5cKWZVM8R4-HA/s1600/Recently+Updated18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEZCCgXDf9dD9L5IWVu4xg0M_CnMFLUlvNJAyvizBLb5Lb8pSQ4NuaaP4PFeQUlqUZp5qnL5qtzNwcgWl7P-C3nsOsPc175EtwMC_3JvAmmNy74Tkn4W1d838fFbuYZ5cKWZVM8R4-HA/s320/Recently+Updated18.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>We're a hop and a skip closer to summer: the swallows have returned. I know this because while I was bending over some savory sage shortbread today, two of them hurtled into the kitchen. Look at the long tail on this little fellow.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkq8n7wLlSPukDbUz1YFtNlXqYuANQGSbnN00MRXKhB1nbimHO8Bwk2u8R7nCgVl-KJg627gTGLL9V76F9dU6pzbIi0rQXnywd6SG5BLfshPNMpd8S7v1k_zfyHndDnjvkrw1Lyr6EG7M/s1600/027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkq8n7wLlSPukDbUz1YFtNlXqYuANQGSbnN00MRXKhB1nbimHO8Bwk2u8R7nCgVl-KJg627gTGLL9V76F9dU6pzbIi0rQXnywd6SG5BLfshPNMpd8S7v1k_zfyHndDnjvkrw1Lyr6EG7M/s400/027.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>I'm still planning to freeze some walnut-sage pesto, but in the meantime, a <a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2009/06/story-of-pelardon.html">Pélardon</a> and sage shortbread cookie is just the thing to partner with a cool glass of white wine. And maybe sitting on the terrace will lure those rainclouds this way...<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57NjCYSlu9v9zSN1gkU8zXSE04APSvnV-oh2UUMvlPBz850G8i76HR01qHQY_RkhJ1LcDgSdVdL3FR8Si2E-QWUeYQg2YWpS_5TFQutIbtyBhqvehfagew0rgCEcQcUp_cscgMLIkfzs/s1600/Recently+Updated20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57NjCYSlu9v9zSN1gkU8zXSE04APSvnV-oh2UUMvlPBz850G8i76HR01qHQY_RkhJ1LcDgSdVdL3FR8Si2E-QWUeYQg2YWpS_5TFQutIbtyBhqvehfagew0rgCEcQcUp_cscgMLIkfzs/s320/Recently+Updated20.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><em>Biscuits apéro à la sauge</em> (Savory Sage Shortbread)</strong></div><br />
Makes about 30 small cookies.<br />
<br />
1 cup all purpose flour<br />
1 cup white whole wheat flour<br />
1/2 cup freshly, finely grated oldish goat cheese, like Pélardon (I used my<a href="http://us.microplane.com/38004finespicegrater.aspx"> Microplane</a>)<br />
3 tablespoons thinly sliced fresh sage leaves or 3 teaspoons dried sage (I've only ever used lemon sage, which is milder than regular sage)<br />
1 tablespoon honey or brown sugar<br />
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt<br />
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch-thick pieces, room temperature<br />
salt for garnish (<em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fleur_de_sel">fleur de sel</a></em> or coarse salt)<br />
<br />
Combine all ingredients but the butter in a food processor. Add chopped butter; using on/off turns, process until dough comes together. Mix as little as possible; over-mixing will result in too-crumbly shortbread. Divide the dough in half. Shape each dough piece into log, wrap in plastic wrap and chill until firm enough to slice, about an hour. Cover one of the logs with aluminum foil and pop in the freezer, for when last minute guests arrive. <br />
<br />
Preheat oven to 180C/350F. Line a baking sheet with parchment. Slice the remaining dough log into 1/2 cm-thick rounds; place on sheet, sprinkle sparingly with salt. Bake until cookies are golden, with just-browned edges, about 25 minutes. Cool on racks.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-7996626388781925192011-04-19T01:25:00.008+02:002011-04-19T02:20:20.597+02:00The judgment.First there's the band, then there's the burning. <br />
<br />
Actually, first there's the makeup. Mothers and fathers, dipping into trays of facepaint, turn a few classroomsful of tykes into shooting stars, black holes (!), astronauts, rocket ships and aliens. All the while, the drumbeats and singing grow more persistent and compelling as the musicians approach the school.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhrZacKv-rnSXRuxTg_63a5giCF0OtVN_SjB9oUk_wrCFLOUC6EX9NsNxJ2_hAD-21RnHDXhz58ZSJbdKteysNzWXNLulxKA9kbvDNFoo5KjuGykJ3-j3XBzBEB04nl2WsTtWx3aiPS-A/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhrZacKv-rnSXRuxTg_63a5giCF0OtVN_SjB9oUk_wrCFLOUC6EX9NsNxJ2_hAD-21RnHDXhz58ZSJbdKteysNzWXNLulxKA9kbvDNFoo5KjuGykJ3-j3XBzBEB04nl2WsTtWx3aiPS-A/s320/002.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>We just celebrated carnival this past weekend here, due to the vagaries of the French school holiday system. Next year, it'll be a month earlier. But this year we danced and threw confetti, made faces and took photos of our children under a June-worthy April sky. The theme was the universe, give or take a planet.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHSe5XuXhtXxreRs0Z6nHXUWMARAssZLSx0iQg_uYNhDVHJo66EeHj51wwy1M99vAnGJaJ1OW93ys8udZk9Ck1A2iEU4rit6cOfGaMEU-NYf3LHYAA_3zPsCfqxPFIneWHzOlT04FYXwE/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHSe5XuXhtXxreRs0Z6nHXUWMARAssZLSx0iQg_uYNhDVHJo66EeHj51wwy1M99vAnGJaJ1OW93ys8udZk9Ck1A2iEU4rit6cOfGaMEU-NYf3LHYAA_3zPsCfqxPFIneWHzOlT04FYXwE/s320/006.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was intially dubious about the little black holes, secretly pitying them in their dreary garb. With their dyed T-shirts ripped into long strands, they resembled depressed--perhaps even seasick--octopus. But of course their teacher had a plan. The five-year old black holes held hands with the stars and the astronauts, coiling their way through the crowd. Every time their teacher yelled "Big Bang!" they scattered in all directions, their costumes swirling away from their bodies. And then they would all return to orbit her beaming, painted face. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENgCbzyVQ_TnmI_aEczC1TNJqC-6OPDhDeZPKq2OxbnjENRIASdFWGuJ1TzPB-mVacEqWYVuQzLSCpTiIsqOCjunDT6bnE1szg8PkCRnQc6E9rWDTXNS6pjJyGkMNL3ChqxIu2DNs6L4/s1600/024-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENgCbzyVQ_TnmI_aEczC1TNJqC-6OPDhDeZPKq2OxbnjENRIASdFWGuJ1TzPB-mVacEqWYVuQzLSCpTiIsqOCjunDT6bnE1szg8PkCRnQc6E9rWDTXNS6pjJyGkMNL3ChqxIu2DNs6L4/s320/024-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Confetti got everywhere. Some of the village matrons threw candy into the air. Everyone enjoyed the percussion, with the exception of my son the astronaut, who decided it was Too Much and that he definitely did not like dancing. But he went along anyway, solemn eyes, paper helmet and all.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_LdOXGLBmhQQU_ocemi3a_ZWTx5B-rHR3bfk5PK83aTLscg-b1hHdMg7DTVoqO9-D3kP1t9puuUUVnyTZA0DFjz929eemwOTS0hiFPq4WnY474ABsMe1e53HQf1bqejgwcp9oBhuLnxY/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_LdOXGLBmhQQU_ocemi3a_ZWTx5B-rHR3bfk5PK83aTLscg-b1hHdMg7DTVoqO9-D3kP1t9puuUUVnyTZA0DFjz929eemwOTS0hiFPq4WnY474ABsMe1e53HQf1bqejgwcp9oBhuLnxY/s320/019.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Earlier in the week, it felt like high school again, only with a better soundtrack: we parents were creating the two and a half meter high alien, this year's unlucky <em>Pétassou</em>, which you can see here on the float, being hauled by tractor.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkHi0sBdiV0JHxzGs0E4RPEkmmllHXgolCZHLPMXishNoQ4H2-0Nix0YKPIcH2e6GI2kr9rdCK-g8C6401DGXadnF3FqUvLbRVL71fMeQqVz0DaBRR4AAJNl9ufM1TNCkUnJGfWdStSJY/s1600/013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkHi0sBdiV0JHxzGs0E4RPEkmmllHXgolCZHLPMXishNoQ4H2-0Nix0YKPIcH2e6GI2kr9rdCK-g8C6401DGXadnF3FqUvLbRVL71fMeQqVz0DaBRR4AAJNl9ufM1TNCkUnJGfWdStSJY/s320/013.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>An Occitan (Langue d'Oc) word, <em>Pétassou</em> is derived from <em>petaç,</em> which means a strip of fabric used in piecework. In a few rather forgotten parts of the Cévennes, one can still find a designated village person who capers about at carnival time dressed as the petassou, fully disguised from head to toe and draped in colorful rags. This person, a sort of comical, teasing bogeyman, has special powers, as legend would have it, to cleanse the village of its year's worth of bad luck and accumulated sins. This rather pagan ritual has been celebrated--with all sorts of attendant symbolism--since at least the Middle Ages. Or, as a friend put it<em> "depuis la nuit du temps"</em> (since the night of time).<br />
<br />
Today, in many parts of southern France, the ritual of <em>Pétassou </em>has evolved into something a bit more <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guy_Fawkes_Night">Guy Fawkesian</a> in approach. An effigy is made, who represents all the things that went wrong with the world in the past year. The older children shout accusations, point fingers--and condemn him. This time, one girl yelled about having to leave to go to junior high. Another blamed the<em> Pétassou</em> for her father being in a wheelchair. The accusations can be highly specific or quite general. There was blaming over the war in Libya, the tsunami in Japan--and global warming. Regardless of the charge, the ruling was the same: burning, no chance for appeal. Next, the cardboard rockets and other costumes were dumped on the brush and branches, then the fire is lit. A <em>Pétassou</em> in effigy still feels pretty pagan.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcRMyRvf_4pi3nF4ZvyjFDrS80ocItpTZpJ7qgDoyf0pmUjUe7-_5yvAjuNBdgVqhNXCc2flgE0tng8ORefvAlochWPLLUu4MKYxwO8r_rp0A9yOQFIRSMQfecnXk7WnWINhQ998a855E/s1600/066-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcRMyRvf_4pi3nF4ZvyjFDrS80ocItpTZpJ7qgDoyf0pmUjUe7-_5yvAjuNBdgVqhNXCc2flgE0tng8ORefvAlochWPLLUu4MKYxwO8r_rp0A9yOQFIRSMQfecnXk7WnWINhQ998a855E/s320/066-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>After the bonfire, I tended the drinks table at the school cafeteria. Really, I should call it the bar. This was an experience to be filed in my "Only in France file": along with the organic juices and iced tea, I was serving whiskey cokes, wine, beer and <em>eau jaune.</em> At school. The last beverage is a<em> </em>simple cocktail, <a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2010/07/seaside-color.html">pastis</a> on the rocks with a generous splash of water, which magically turns the clear amber alcohol creamily opaque.* It's an acquired taste, which many around here seem to have fully acquired. It also makes for limber dancing.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmCvglJVsHvBe3Q4yUTXYCb13k6OEM2b2dSr45Yx2rc6UX-KUpaKHqrubvBGRDUFe2bRlZGvhg2eS1_RFeW8x7gLEfipd8b2ilvWehEzQ6pQV9FYj6dVAUqyjoxzNl8RVBaCNAPP5HIOM/s1600/102-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmCvglJVsHvBe3Q4yUTXYCb13k6OEM2b2dSr45Yx2rc6UX-KUpaKHqrubvBGRDUFe2bRlZGvhg2eS1_RFeW8x7gLEfipd8b2ilvWehEzQ6pQV9FYj6dVAUqyjoxzNl8RVBaCNAPP5HIOM/s320/102-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><em>Le pastis, c'est comme les seins : un, c'est pas assez, et trois, c'est trop.</em> (Pastis is like breasts: one isn't enough, and three is too much.) --<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fernandel">Fernandel</a> (vaudeville actor and singer from Marseille)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6isppoPiOWZoD3KbOMsfdR6R19hCHgdl9HGTFOlmnaY4J4_IQOeGRx7uM7EHB9I5qCZcVqsV0WMHSvmGhUujzs8t1PtN7aa_4UBE6I1bj1uzQC5HCLys6nSR2ZScVyAUaI69GpxjPE0k/s1600/072-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6isppoPiOWZoD3KbOMsfdR6R19hCHgdl9HGTFOlmnaY4J4_IQOeGRx7uM7EHB9I5qCZcVqsV0WMHSvmGhUujzs8t1PtN7aa_4UBE6I1bj1uzQC5HCLys6nSR2ZScVyAUaI69GpxjPE0k/s320/072-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>*If you're intrigued, make an eau jaune and add a bit of red Grenadine syrup, to make a <em>cocktail Tomate</em>. And let all your sins and disappointments be burned away, whether literally or figuratively.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-78320843753282443802011-04-13T12:34:00.001+02:002011-04-13T17:19:58.790+02:00Witchery, in and beyond salad.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The plum and cherry trees have gone green, releasing their petals in impromptu, lavish showers that would make a wedding planner weep for joy. The wisteria has now picked up the slack. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWuX3WBJIrluWwxyLbRlzU65j3_yt1iR26DJiSa5nUO53eWxTaNl4vZ1PbgummzD62ih79hyH0XTZx_wJWQ5QnF_l7oZR6ACz8IFGHAHdYFzFNMOfcRKB_kXXz20_fEb00K3KcGsV7Mgo/s1600/IMG_3337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWuX3WBJIrluWwxyLbRlzU65j3_yt1iR26DJiSa5nUO53eWxTaNl4vZ1PbgummzD62ih79hyH0XTZx_wJWQ5QnF_l7oZR6ACz8IFGHAHdYFzFNMOfcRKB_kXXz20_fEb00K3KcGsV7Mgo/s400/IMG_3337.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>Defying expectations, the rain clouds stay away. While it looks and smells like spring, it definitely feels like summer. Just a couple of days ago, my neighbor's thermometer read 30 C (86 F). In the flammable south of France, in weather like this, a mind turns to fire prevention. We have no lack of water, but our water pressure is not superb, and should there ever be a fire, we'd be very hard-pressed to provide the firefighters with the necessary fire-extinguishing quantities. Which is where this Monsieur comes in.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdC6cVZuJ5SMncmilLVWrPNmNGFOBKaYsh9l5ASzh7fK0nIla2WFHE6RyhnKrX_6DzwrOUnbu19PYEhyi3pp4GEoxXF13TYDn2Kqb_FY-pbYAmIUMusNp5WCSX4vLQLhhyfivhbenvjHg/s1600/Recently+Updated11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdC6cVZuJ5SMncmilLVWrPNmNGFOBKaYsh9l5ASzh7fK0nIla2WFHE6RyhnKrX_6DzwrOUnbu19PYEhyi3pp4GEoxXF13TYDn2Kqb_FY-pbYAmIUMusNp5WCSX4vLQLhhyfivhbenvjHg/s320/Recently+Updated11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the French countryside, no well is dug without a water dowser's sanction. This particular water witch has a sterling reputation, and charm to spare. Originally a healer with thirty year's experience, he has been finding water for the last twenty years. Apparently it is common for dowsers to have healing capabilities (the things you learn!). This Monsieur turned to water dowsing not too long after his name was published without his consent. Described as one of the 100 most skilled healers of France--you can now find that information online--he was besieged with visitors, a number of whom were sent by 'regular' doctors. He was busy from morning til night, laying hands on people who patiently queued to see him. He treated people for everything from the rather mundane, such as plantar's warts, to the more serious, like alleviating the side-effects of radiation therapy. He would even help people by telephone, like those with serious and not-so-serious burns. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgshWiGxZ268g6WgfRgQ7vRp1-hRNn5wqMCTEmYOspUrwhq9HWWPjzQL5fAmfdD-EetIg4gQtubSkRmzsLRsfBliwl9m5HePs9Ji3Ou8sa5UpMfsugbuo_4zUFQUmwz_EBU5D82eFjHcM4/s1600/Recently+Updated13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgshWiGxZ268g6WgfRgQ7vRp1-hRNn5wqMCTEmYOspUrwhq9HWWPjzQL5fAmfdD-EetIg4gQtubSkRmzsLRsfBliwl9m5HePs9Ji3Ou8sa5UpMfsugbuo_4zUFQUmwz_EBU5D82eFjHcM4/s320/Recently+Updated13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He explained that it's simply about sensing magnetic energies. After a while, the work with people became too much for him, and he turned to water, which he found less demanding. To find water, he uses two copper rods, as well as two kinds of pendulums. He turns first in a circle with the pendulum with his arm outstretched to determine which direction to go, waiting for the pendulum to begin rotating. Once he has determined the direction to take, he heads off rather briskly, with his rods held horizontally parallel. (He stopped using forked branches after the wood kept scraping his palms once it 'responded' vigorously to the presence of water.) The metal rods turn in toward each other and cross once he passes over a source of water. Once the point of water is established, he determines the depth of the water using either his wood or his metal pendulum. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRAySRI1PTtIEZ2FmFjn58lXD02Q4qN8lBgtUE7ckngnrcMEaKB1SPKq54_5VKRpzh11Ht5G6C49cmbwAa-I0D_Q017DHUuEULLz0pCxgPxREkfLXr2VtzsAX0ggsEeZfPDINDAWEH1TE/s1600/IMG_3313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRAySRI1PTtIEZ2FmFjn58lXD02Q4qN8lBgtUE7ckngnrcMEaKB1SPKq54_5VKRpzh11Ht5G6C49cmbwAa-I0D_Q017DHUuEULLz0pCxgPxREkfLXr2VtzsAX0ggsEeZfPDINDAWEH1TE/s320/IMG_3313.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freshly dug parsnip, carrot and salsify (for with the spring lamb roast).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It's a fascinating process to watch whether or not you are a skeptic. The way he holds the smooth, round rods makes it unfeasible to turn them by design. I know this from watching, but also because he had me--and my husband--try it for ourselves. It's very peculiar to feel the rods move on their own. With us, they didn't move with such assurance, but they very definitely moved, crossing over one another. He then set me up with the pendulum. Nothing happened. I couldn't get it to move one jot, no matter how hard I concentrated. Then he laid his steady hand on my arm, and the weighted pendulum started turning in a smooth, wide circle...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRNdWaLO_xePkzDpBvz9sZ64ETDiVwqIVNrAuTB4Cle3NCBxWONJM1spCD16jxrn3U996n1vup088YbBwSGoprbdgSK1zhT3RRqPiFW9xvoQ084jXsSRkcjvM954nTmWFr9V-srdgoYs/s1600/2011-04-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRNdWaLO_xePkzDpBvz9sZ64ETDiVwqIVNrAuTB4Cle3NCBxWONJM1spCD16jxrn3U996n1vup088YbBwSGoprbdgSK1zhT3RRqPiFW9xvoQ084jXsSRkcjvM954nTmWFr9V-srdgoYs/s320/2011-04-11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Of course he has a good sense of local geology, and his general knowledge must come into play, whether consciously or unconsciously. He doesn't believe any of this process is magic, but rather a tuning in to the natural magnetic properties of things. Watching him, though, you do get a glimpse into something that seems not entirely explainable, something that seems--at least a little bit--magic. <br />
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Kind of like this salad, which will amaze you with its lightness, and its lush, addictive blend of flavors. It will please you here and now, when you're looking for something both delicious and healthy, and well into the barbecue'n'picnic days. The interplay of crunch and juice, of mint, orange, fennel and mild, pre-soaked onion? Quite simply bewitching. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikUXtRuUk_PuuhBabne4r90p0LqQvGLMP2wgjhtVInSXJPCGGcOkJ7YjkDkxcRSuCq9atHpFcvgk7uquLGRqCFDer8zFdjwHIxYaKdKHpNio93VbPGhMlatmYbztq0ri3y-Ozx0X-D0mM/s1600/IMG_3452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikUXtRuUk_PuuhBabne4r90p0LqQvGLMP2wgjhtVInSXJPCGGcOkJ7YjkDkxcRSuCq9atHpFcvgk7uquLGRqCFDer8zFdjwHIxYaKdKHpNio93VbPGhMlatmYbztq0ri3y-Ozx0X-D0mM/s400/IMG_3452.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><strong><em>Salade de fenouil à l'orange</em> (Minted Orange, Fennel and Red Onion Salad)*</strong> </div>Serves 6.<br />
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1 scant teaspoon whole coriander seeds<br />
2 tablespoons fresh orange juice<br />
2 tablespoons Banyuls vinegar, Sherry vinegar or other good-quality white wine vinegar<br />
3/4 teaspoon salt<br />
3 tablespoons olive oil<br />
1 medium red onion<br />
1 large fennel bulb<br />
3 large oranges (navel or other variety with few seeds)<br />
1/4 cup loosely packed fresh mint leaves<br />
<br />
Heat a dry small heavy skillet over medium-high heat, then add and toast coriander seeds, stirring, until fragrant and a little darker, about two or three minutes. With a mortar and pestle, grind coriander to a coarse powder. In a jar, combine coriander and remaining dressing ingredients. (Dressing may be made in advance and chilled, covered).<br />
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Using a very sharp knife or mandoline, slice onion crosswise into paper-thin rings, then soak the sliced onion in a bowl of cold water, for about 15 minutes. Next, prepare the oranges: cut a slice from the top and bottom of each orange to expose the flesh, then place cut side down on a cutting board. From top to bottom, cut away peel and pith, then cut oranges crosswise into thin slices. While the onion is soaking, move on to the fennel: tremove any stalks from the fennel then slice bulb crosswise as thinly as possible. Finally, drain onion well. <br />
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Arrange orange, shaved fennel and onion on the serving plate and top with mint. Shake jar of dressing to emulsify then drizzle over salad.<br />
<br />
* From Gourmet magazine, February 1995 issue.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2285944574753141681.post-6833550969823834312011-04-06T00:55:00.002+02:002011-04-07T13:26:59.919+02:00That first scoop.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUqrmmRnHYJqzKeNBrmiy1xfC1m8rfn47E6Lk8sgbovf32QbGssd3jD43XIl3ljiOudAjhLcJmNpfSEr-MNWHVagaQL8o-HgQlou1VL4-YwxrTcgvG4MJxRTpxkeUjWl4XgX7eQ5Ddd0w/s1600/marseille+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUqrmmRnHYJqzKeNBrmiy1xfC1m8rfn47E6Lk8sgbovf32QbGssd3jD43XIl3ljiOudAjhLcJmNpfSEr-MNWHVagaQL8o-HgQlou1VL4-YwxrTcgvG4MJxRTpxkeUjWl4XgX7eQ5Ddd0w/s320/marseille+001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had to make a trip down the coast to Marseille to renew my daughter's passport. Really, it was very little duty and a whole lot of pleasure. The weather played along, so we had the top down and I turned up the (freshly downloaded) songs I'd listened to when <em>I</em> was about ten years old, and we both sang the refrains at the top of our lungs. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjPau5QYtYs">Safety Dance</a>, anyone? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBiLD9YXmvIwJfLWZygoeoI6IddEcQ-VkEpsMBYldafxajZZRFfX0GTT6ThHLYpcRYBhavbYk8EBZaiNxjZMhBSS1kOJUave0F9SPOFQE384mJKbgO1prqUQ2mogUJPK8pmktXM5lx6o/s1600/186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBiLD9YXmvIwJfLWZygoeoI6IddEcQ-VkEpsMBYldafxajZZRFfX0GTT6ThHLYpcRYBhavbYk8EBZaiNxjZMhBSS1kOJUave0F9SPOFQE384mJKbgO1prqUQ2mogUJPK8pmktXM5lx6o/s320/186.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We had to come during the consulate's opening hours, which meant playing hookie from school. Luckily, a lovely friend generously invited us to bunk at her place (that first image is taken from her terrace, and my daughter took the second image).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQT3nmf0BTwXU5A9_1SK5t2tNPwW452G0KJ5l5JyFJ_vly4I3BgabKV8e0LvofrWkwjCo3h0hIs9n0mikyz8KbJm1Es6Smh7H-_5e69BHu91haOllg5eyxa6N_Ou7YMutbPE-joFj7-1g/s1600/Recently+Updated6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQT3nmf0BTwXU5A9_1SK5t2tNPwW452G0KJ5l5JyFJ_vly4I3BgabKV8e0LvofrWkwjCo3h0hIs9n0mikyz8KbJm1Es6Smh7H-_5e69BHu91haOllg5eyxa6N_Ou7YMutbPE-joFj7-1g/s320/Recently+Updated6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Once the regulation ID photos were taken at the photo shop, the hand raised ("do you solemnly swear...") and the papers signed, we were free to wander the city. Said wandering of course involved a look-see of the <em>Vieux Port, </em>where locals come daily to buy their <em><a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/2010/01/on-edge-of-mediterranean.html">bouillabaisse</a></em> ingredients. I'm just too soft: the ornately, intricately colored octopus with their ageless, staring eyes made me sad.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuqPjIHskwUtkOoErNSissK3C2ylgyk_BgSdZ_0H52ZO1WVUOuWB_E_H9lQ72s32O5WWXsRykjOk7TVcWkP_hVK-S8Z0-tG1579oEfqxvaWs4v2EzjnSSKcxHCReaDc1Cq3rO5sX3q0A/s1600/Recently+Updated7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmuqPjIHskwUtkOoErNSissK3C2ylgyk_BgSdZ_0H52ZO1WVUOuWB_E_H9lQ72s32O5WWXsRykjOk7TVcWkP_hVK-S8Z0-tG1579oEfqxvaWs4v2EzjnSSKcxHCReaDc1Cq3rO5sX3q0A/s320/Recently+Updated7.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>After lunch at <em><a href="http://laviecevenole.blogspot.com/search/label/Cafe%20des%20Epices%2FMarseille">Le café des épices</a></em> (at 4 rue du Lacydon, right next to the <em>Vieux Port</em>), which continues to offer a reliable, refined meal, we had the rest of the afternoon wide open.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipc3BTtty-3dnAL5gyBWkkiS4yjBpDxkaP28kHqmpnEi5aIDiW3_SC7v2XCmSipFAUZxgi_uTNrYbUTkcYSPKKnEFVxadT9jTwLITNd0mlBnWHfJ8E28qSTdT1SLCD3AyO1DOsTkJEi2c/s1600/Recently+Updated8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipc3BTtty-3dnAL5gyBWkkiS4yjBpDxkaP28kHqmpnEi5aIDiW3_SC7v2XCmSipFAUZxgi_uTNrYbUTkcYSPKKnEFVxadT9jTwLITNd0mlBnWHfJ8E28qSTdT1SLCD3AyO1DOsTkJEi2c/s320/Recently+Updated8.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">We decided to climb up into the neighborhood called <em>le Panier</em>, or Basket. Think of all that climbing you do to get up into Paris' Montmartre. Same thing in Marseille's <em>Panier</em>. And same working-class village kind of feel. In the middle of the <em>Panier</em> is the 17th century edifice built for the city's very poorest, <em>La Vieille Charité.</em> The four-story hospice buildings encircle a serenely baroque chapel with an egg-shaped dome, considered one of Marseille native Pierre Puget's masterworks<em>.</em> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiy2hVn57yVRkImAgWjpySIIGrvXHP-DZENyYbaNPY7EYS4x2WGG12pXkFWcwT9qd_neHwV1GDmfi3i2BnEwB4yLgO93OYohX3dQ_KOgxJ82jFc7zQHXNtFMOk9gLTY6rH54tdBDxwnQs/s1600/286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiy2hVn57yVRkImAgWjpySIIGrvXHP-DZENyYbaNPY7EYS4x2WGG12pXkFWcwT9qd_neHwV1GDmfi3i2BnEwB4yLgO93OYohX3dQ_KOgxJ82jFc7zQHXNtFMOk9gLTY6rH54tdBDxwnQs/s320/286.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I think we could have lingered there all afternoon. We virtually had the place to ourselves. Everything <em>glowed</em> and time just fell away. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAFQehMNjOaW-0WFQ4VVUyX1EJT2I4wQQ_S2-I47_pT7R7qpPqsTinkCKQQj-QZCFD_1s-BdD0nSb9NQnDsqGhJTh3TS5_TRJhVHxfEhZa_4RJx0Kcn44-Ke_A9SJDMSOYbOJAkL4s90/s1600/280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAFQehMNjOaW-0WFQ4VVUyX1EJT2I4wQQ_S2-I47_pT7R7qpPqsTinkCKQQj-QZCFD_1s-BdD0nSb9NQnDsqGhJTh3TS5_TRJhVHxfEhZa_4RJx0Kcn44-Ke_A9SJDMSOYbOJAkL4s90/s320/280.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Since renovated by Le Corbusier, the tranquil hospice now houses a number of municipal museums, including the museum of Mediterranean archeology. But instead of visiting the museums, we had ice-cream cones at the cafe in the square, it was that warm. Though the nights are still cool, it's been ice cream weather here at home, too. I've even caught myself sweating in the garden--in my summer gear. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">This was a providential excuse for cracking open David Lebovitz' encyclopedia of ice cream, sorbet and granita recipes, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Perfect-Scoop-Sorbets-Granitas-Accompaniments/dp/158008219X">The Perfect Scoop</a>. As I'm a fiddler, I did make some modifications to his green tea ice cream, one of which was a handful of chopped dark chocolate. Enjoy! (And Delana, I promise the next recipe'll be light as a feather, in keeping with swimsuit season...)</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvjLfdh58Zm4qXjccJXLV3gYoyLjs82njFFjFl_1cYngmJaIiUbyI6OKFr5aG_s_IhL113AbuSEns1n4QX4Fvwk98yxDIfVYIeHV_Zd3ya6aRMkRGv_uqtQDfxPsdj7gT281LcjwPCTMc/s1600/Recently+Updated9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvjLfdh58Zm4qXjccJXLV3gYoyLjs82njFFjFl_1cYngmJaIiUbyI6OKFr5aG_s_IhL113AbuSEns1n4QX4Fvwk98yxDIfVYIeHV_Zd3ya6aRMkRGv_uqtQDfxPsdj7gT281LcjwPCTMc/s320/Recently+Updated9.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><em>Glace au thé vert et chocolat </em>(Green Tea and Chocolate Ice Cream)</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>adapted from David Lebovitz</strong></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Doesn't serve nearly as many as you'd think.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">1 cup (250 ml) milk</div><div style="text-align: left;">3/4 cup (150 g) sugar</div><div style="text-align: left;">pinch of salt</div><div style="text-align: left;">2 cups (500 ml) heavy cream</div><div style="text-align: left;">5 teaspoons high-quality matcha (green tea powder)</div><div style="text-align: left;">5 egg yolks</div><div style="text-align: left;">1/2 cup (100 g) dark chocolate, fairly finely chopped</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Warm the milk in a saucepan with the sugar and salt. Pour some of the cream into a bowl, whisk in the matcha thoroughly, then add the remaining cream. Place a fine strainer on the bowl and set aside. In a separate bowl, whisk together the egg yolks. Continuing to whisk, slowly pour in the warmed milk mixture. Pour the egg and milk mixture back into the saucepan.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Over medium heat, reheat the egg and milk mixture, stirring and scraping constantly with a heatproof spatula until the mixture thickens and coats the spatula. The custard is ready when you can run a finger across the spatula and you can see the trail your finger leaves. Pour the finished custard through the strainer into the cream and matcha mixture. Whisk the strained mixture very vigorously to dissolve the matcha. This can be difficult, but you can always strain the mixture again if necessary. Chill the mixture completely in the refrigerator, then freeze it in your ice cream maker following the manufacturer's instructions. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNQNeKjFsNoqvmEjJrNmTDSmNyJ3Q2dFI9uQBejg6zhryn4kFGHCuVIVZAmCiD5t8dDSnwHENQ0Q2f-B0wtV_1W0pQhtE77i4gdY4QMVYu0Hkl3B4yEjYj0zDWZiN5t6zcnEvmNoUAI_s/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNQNeKjFsNoqvmEjJrNmTDSmNyJ3Q2dFI9uQBejg6zhryn4kFGHCuVIVZAmCiD5t8dDSnwHENQ0Q2f-B0wtV_1W0pQhtE77i4gdY4QMVYu0Hkl3B4yEjYj0zDWZiN5t6zcnEvmNoUAI_s/s320/010.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://digg.com/tools/diggthis.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7