Faire la cuisine...

I have been thinking for a while now that I would like to post some favorite recipes on the blog when I have a chance to do it well--it's a lot of work.  I would have to have camera at hand because I personally always gravitate towards recipes that have pretty step-by-step inspirational images and rarely try any recipe no matter how intriguing if it doesn't have at least one picture.  Another issue is that I rarely do anything exactly the same way twice when I cook, nor do I ever measure--so both those concepts make it hard to share 'recipes'.....but I will try because just slightly before writing--cooking is one of my ultimate passions, and one I am hoping to sharpen even more living in France.

So let me just put out one very small disclaimer before I do get down to publishing a recipe or two.  Cooking in France is very different!  Cooking away from one's home environment is hard enough....do you ever pack up a sack of groceries and go to a friend's house to prepare a meal?  Maybe something you have cooked one hundred times but in a different, 'foreign' kitchen it is twice as challenging to get it right.  Even if you bring your own stuff; I love my knives, my wooden spoons, my old Le Crueset pot that is not so pretty anymore but I couldn't live without it.  But still, in a different place, it's a different experience.

Shopping here is a either culinarily inspirational at the outdoor markets or bland and tedious shopping at the 'Super-Marches'. I love the outdoor markets--Beyond being a visual feast--I love the concept of putting money directly into the hands of the people responsible for growing the produce, raising the chickens, making the cheese. But now the outdoor markets are limited to only one or two days a week as we are in 'winter' or off-season. The 'grocery' stores here have limited hours too during the low-season--usually closing for 'lunch' between 12 noon and 3ish...(which would otherwise be my prime shopping hours while the boys are in school.  )

Shopping at the super marche often becomes a 'wish-I-could-find-that' treasure hunt that after a time wears you out to the point of returning home only with a baguette, a frozen quiche, and a very sandy head of wilted lettuce instead of the bounty of ingredients originally sought. Or, if you do find the ingredient you are looking for, be prepared to discover that food items taste ever-so slightly different here; celery is much stronger in flavor for example and meats because they come from different varieties of animals fed something slightly different-also then taste different-for better of for worse.  That, and I am still getting used to the meat/poultry/fish thing here as well--parts and pieces are left on these beasts that I really don't want to see let alone handle or clean off.  Ugh--my almost ten years as a vegetarian still beckon fondly.....

When we moved to France last summer I brought with me all of the basic kitchen tools that I could not part with.  What I did have to part with is all of my small appliances and that was a painful divorce.  None of them would have worked because of their electrical wiring--so it was 'audieu' to my Cuisinart food processor, my Krups stick blender, and gasp---my 20 year old KitchenAid mixer.....Quel dommage!  I'm not completely gadget-dependent, but those three electronic marvels were my right-hand in the kitchen.  Pureed soups, pestos, chantilly, tapenades, hummus, home baked anything and ok--smoothies, quickly became extinct in my new kitchen.

Speaking of kitchen--my 'cuisine', contrary to the vision you might have of a classic 'French Country Home' lifestyle....is T-I-N-Y.  I also had a very small kitchen in our little 100 year old farm house back in the US, but this one I think might be even smaller--even my large appliances are 'mini'......but I have to say that according to standards and based on the other kitchens I have seen in normal homes in this area of France--my kitchen is actually quite average in size.

 I don't love it though.  Loving a kitchen takes you a long way when it comes to cooking well.  In our previous home, I didn't begin to love the kitchen until I had made a dozen meals for people I loved in it, hosted a few impromptu cocktail and 'amuse bouche' get-togethers, accomplished a few holiday feasts....not so here, so far.  Daily family meals aside, I have hosted one lunch for my cher in-laws to date and we have not yet hosted an American style 'house-warming' party--maybe that's the problem.

Again--I'm not getting into detail here, but the French proudly believe that there is no salmonella here in France--a whole cooked chicken might sit out on the counter for 24 hours, eggs are rarely refrigerated in the grocery store, cartons sit on a normal shelf right next to the sugar and flour, and meat fats are reserved on the side of the stove for future cooking without reservation about spoilage. 

Just a little glimpse of this foodies thoughts on cooking in a foreign place...So if all this has not completely put you off, and I hope it hasn't, stay tuned for a few of my favorite recipes. Cold weather is here and I am dying to make my favorite version of cassoulet or slow cooked duck....and if that doesn't entice you, will post some favorite food discoveries in France--and there are many! Bon apetit!

Looking through the French window....

The following is re-posted from an expat blog "Vive La Difference" by Jeralynn Benoit.  I am posting it here because it so obviously resonated with me as I adjust to our new life in France....enjoy!

Looking through the French window

I have always been a communicative person.  When I lived in the US, I worked in advertising sales for 25 years.  Now, suddenly after 52 years of life, I am settled in a country were everyone around me is speaking in a language that I don’t understand.  I always loved eavesdropping on conversations.  Now, I can’t understand a word.  I am on the outside looking in.  What I see is like observing a Tower of Babel.

It’s strange being in this situation.  When you don’t understand, your sense of hearing becomes muted and your other senses become more acute, especially your sense of sight.  It is as if this sense reboots.  What you can’t hear, you observe.  What you can’t hear and understand, you look for other signs of life.  You start observing peoples expressions.  When they speak to you, if they have a nice face, smile, then you shake your head, smile back, and say things like “ah bon” “oui”.  All the time hoping that what you are agreeing with is something nice being said.  If they gesture and speak in a gruff way, then it is “Pardonnez Moi”.  But it is said very emphatically. 

I remember when I first started glancing at the French news with my husband. I’d examine the screen for clues as to the sense of the news segment.  I’d ask myself, “What is going on in this picture? What are the people doing?  Where do they seem to be?  Are they speaking strongly, laughing?” When you can’t figure it out, you start creating your own story.  I’m thinking, “Nice outfit she's wearing.”  “Who cut her hair”?  “Wish I knew her coiffure.”  "I wonder if she lives in Paris?  Or, there is the other side of the coin, “Why would anyone pick that to wear”?  “Boy, that outfit is a bit risqué for TV.”  “That newscaster has such big ears.”  

On other occasions, we have had people come for dinner.  Many of these people speak some English, but hey, they are French and in their country…they are going to speak French.  Pour quoi pas (why not?)?  I try so hard to listen and pick up on the conversation.  “Ah, I recognize that word”, I think.  “Now what was the verb and what tense?”  “Ok, I can comment on that.”  But by the time I do get the words and the proper order, they are already on to another subject.  So I sit and I am mute with a stupid smile on my face.  Until the all time pretext for escape comes into my head.  “I know”, I say to myself,” I’ll excuse myself and abscond to the kitchen to see about dinner.”  That always works well.

While eating dinner, I chew, I smile, and sometimes I nod my head…. I haven’t a clue what’s going on!  Can you imagine how hard that is when you are a person who loves to communicate; who has opinions?  They must think my husband married a mute!  They are so wrong!  There is a person behind that smile.  She's intelligent; she has opinions.  She's funny.

By the end of the evening, I am so tired from serving dinner, and trying to listen and comprehend the French, that eventually, I just tune out.  I am underwater hearing only the vibrations of sound.  The brain has “flat lined”.

Now, after almost 9 years, my vocabulary has improved.  I can get by day to day.  I do understand more.  However, the art of conversation continues to be difficult for me.  Maybe it is that I started learning a language so much older than most. But I am determined to stick with this French language, continuing to cram my head with grammar, new vocabulary and idiomatic expressions.  I will triumph!  Even if they have to bury me with a French dictionary.

Ironically, there is a stranger sensation.  When we travel back to the States, suddenly I feel like someone turned up the volume.  I say to myself, “My God, I understand these people. I know what they are saying.  But these people are so loud!” 

Are they really louder?  Maybe.  Maybe us Americans tend to be louder.  All I know is that I am no longer on the other side of the window looking in.  I am among the milieu; I am among the living!

La quarantaine....semaine deux!

Despite the ramblings inside my head, words are not coming easily these days.  I thought I might sit and try to blog over this past weekend, but it never came to be.  Not for lack of topics; I have been wanting to put down some thoughts on this previous week's quarantine with Leo due to a nasty wave of 'Chicken Pox'--which turned out ironically to be some quality Mommy-Leo time and got me over my funk of being totally alone in the house for days on end...I have been shelving a pregnancy entry for a long time now, lots to write there, and I have a recipe or two to share as soon as I can recreate and stage the dish for publication.  I have even waited for just the right image to pop off my camera memory card that would inspire some poetic journaling...mais non!.....In fact the only photo that was even the tiny bit interesting is the one above which I am posting solely to 'brag' about the fact that these adorable little rusty chairs were found on the side of the road and now have a permanent home in my front garden......

And now, as my first born has also been afflicted with the plague-of-pox and I face another week as nurse, comforter, cook, housekeeper and entertainer...the idea of being be available to write something thought provoking and inspiring, well.....probably not in the cards for this week.

Rather, there is business to take care of when I am not nurse-maiding my poxy-tween.  I have been very distracted by sorting out the elements of my not-so-sweet-and-tidy departure from employment as an English teacher at the nearby private school (yes, the one the afore mentioned tween attends).  Either they have never dealt with medical leave due to maternity complications or are not familiar with legal protection of pregnant workers (as I am after Googling 'maternity benefits France' and researching for a few hours) or they are hoping by ignoring the problem it will just waddle-away and go home to knit something pink--this pregnant now-unemployed English teacher just wants to be paid for the weeks of work she did--and be done with it!  It irks me to have to tell 'them' what I am entitled to when they should sort it out....I want closure, closure is good...I like closure....being paid for hours of stressful, grueling work I like even better.

On another, far more cheery note; Mom and Dad arrive for a two week visit in less than 2 weeks; 10 days, 6 hours and 32 minutes to be precise-but who's counting.... so there's lots of preparation to do there.  We need to get a proper bed set up on the third floor, set up a temporary bed situation for the ousted 11 year old in his little brothers room, and maybe most importantly---install a toilet in place of the bidet in the second floor sal de bain so that my parents are not having to do the trek two stories down to use the  'toilette' in the middle of the night while they are here--and yes! also a very welcome addition for the 7+ months pregnant girl who craves modern (read luxury) conveniences more and more every day......

Et voilà...C'est tout!  

Hope I am not disappointing those in search of deeper, richer and more eloquent musings!  I will soon be adding links to my favorite gorgeously juicy blogs written by beautifully inspired women--the ones I read to get through days like these--so stay tuned!  I promise it just may be worth it!

À bientôt!

The first 3 months of life in France...