do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but in humility, consider others better than yourself.
plain english. or greek, i suppose.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
still the soup
i must make that cucumber soup tonight. i didn't cook last night, but instead enjoyed a delicious pizza from a wood-fired oven. so similar to the original italian indulgence. the crust so thin and crisp, with just the right amount of sauce. and a traditional margherita with tomato and basil. don't get me wrong, it isn't as glorious as an actual italian pizza, or say, a super good pizza from san remo in my neighborhood in paris. (i must be missing france.)
tonight it's running, gardening, and cooking. hmm...but what to eat for the main course? salmon would go well with the soup...
(boring life post.)
tonight it's running, gardening, and cooking. hmm...but what to eat for the main course? salmon would go well with the soup...
(boring life post.)
more on coffee breaks
when i first moved to paris, i moved into a completely re-renovated (what we would call brownstone) house. most of the "houses" in this building were actually apartments. this part used to be several businesses. my host family bought it and turned it (back into) a four-story dream house complete with spiraling staircases and a private garden. i wish you all could experience it.
when i arrived the children were still away for the summer as there was still work to be done on the house. the crew of workers would come and go, come and go, in and out, bonjour, a tout a l'heure. then one day i learned that they were going on breaks when they would go. i assumed they were running errands--like buying a different set of screws or something. no, i was informed that they would arrive, let's say, at 9, and by 9.30, they would go for a coffee. and then continue like this all day. quel vie.
i will say that billy was pretty cool. billy was, i guess you could say, boss of this hard-working crew. he was from algeria, with light -brown skin, dark hair, a rather commanding nose, and in a certain way, handsome. he always had something nice or interesting to converse about, and always fought with the portuguese femme de menage (maria-celeste, who i will always hold dear in my heart.) i loved it. the one time they did harmonize was when he told me i was having vertigo because my bed was facing the wrong direction. maria-celeste nodded in agreement. he definitely worked harder than most of his team, and even stayed late sometimes...like the time the father had billy stay with the kids while i went to carry a dead hare across town to be butchered. but that's another story.
i do love coffee and tea breaks. i think america would be a lot happier if they were mandatory. kind of like siestas...i'll take a large siesta and a small tea to go, please. extra pillows, crumpets on the side.
when i arrived the children were still away for the summer as there was still work to be done on the house. the crew of workers would come and go, come and go, in and out, bonjour, a tout a l'heure. then one day i learned that they were going on breaks when they would go. i assumed they were running errands--like buying a different set of screws or something. no, i was informed that they would arrive, let's say, at 9, and by 9.30, they would go for a coffee. and then continue like this all day. quel vie.
i will say that billy was pretty cool. billy was, i guess you could say, boss of this hard-working crew. he was from algeria, with light -brown skin, dark hair, a rather commanding nose, and in a certain way, handsome. he always had something nice or interesting to converse about, and always fought with the portuguese femme de menage (maria-celeste, who i will always hold dear in my heart.) i loved it. the one time they did harmonize was when he told me i was having vertigo because my bed was facing the wrong direction. maria-celeste nodded in agreement. he definitely worked harder than most of his team, and even stayed late sometimes...like the time the father had billy stay with the kids while i went to carry a dead hare across town to be butchered. but that's another story.
i do love coffee and tea breaks. i think america would be a lot happier if they were mandatory. kind of like siestas...i'll take a large siesta and a small tea to go, please. extra pillows, crumpets on the side.
espresso machine
when i lived in france, one of my oddest experiences was at one of my language schools. i had changed schools to save money...and i did. but i also had to walk farther, passing questionable people and even more questionable situtations, to a dodgy and strange neighborhood which lacked cafes and boulangeries. bizarre. so when we had a break, we went down the hall...to the vending machine for...hot drinks.
"un espresso, s'il vous plait"
no, just press the small button..the paper cup drops...hell if i know what drips into it... and voila...you have your coffee break. hot chocolate, cafe au lait, un demi. at your service.
i couldn't understand it and when i saw my native professor drink one; it blew my mind. she fit the normal parisienne mold. stylish hair and clothes, pretty face, sexy french accent. petite, or as my sister noted, "how do all of her organs fit inside of her body?" to see her drinking espresso from a paper cup was, in the least, disappointing.
maybe they are hidden all over france, surely equivalent to something we have here in america...but what?
my first thought is of "meal" vending machines...where one could buy a cold sandwich, or a frozen breakfast sandwich to heat in the microwave. but we are so un-gourmand here that this is not a strong comparison. if you have any ideas, let me know.
it seems a bit sacrilegous to have those espresso machines in france. but maybe they are in corners of breakrooms in small to mid-sized companies dotted all over the country. je ne sais pas.
if i write a film about paris, i'll be sure to include a scene at the water cooler. just so people know it's not always la vie en rose.
"un espresso, s'il vous plait"
no, just press the small button..the paper cup drops...hell if i know what drips into it... and voila...you have your coffee break. hot chocolate, cafe au lait, un demi. at your service.
i couldn't understand it and when i saw my native professor drink one; it blew my mind. she fit the normal parisienne mold. stylish hair and clothes, pretty face, sexy french accent. petite, or as my sister noted, "how do all of her organs fit inside of her body?" to see her drinking espresso from a paper cup was, in the least, disappointing.
maybe they are hidden all over france, surely equivalent to something we have here in america...but what?
my first thought is of "meal" vending machines...where one could buy a cold sandwich, or a frozen breakfast sandwich to heat in the microwave. but we are so un-gourmand here that this is not a strong comparison. if you have any ideas, let me know.
it seems a bit sacrilegous to have those espresso machines in france. but maybe they are in corners of breakrooms in small to mid-sized companies dotted all over the country. je ne sais pas.
if i write a film about paris, i'll be sure to include a scene at the water cooler. just so people know it's not always la vie en rose.
la musique
my family, for as long as i can remember, has been surrounded by, immersed in, and moved by...music.
we sang grace at the table, holding hands, peeking at one another, when we barely could form the words.
now my sister's children do the same. leading the others who aren't familiar with the words of gratitude. following a tradition for at least another generation. reminding us of our youth.
we sang hymns. the historical, respectful, amazing hymns. we watched with little eyes as our father swayed his hands to keep the beat. we watched the smile grow across his moustached face as he looked out across the small crowd. we held the hymnals and pretended that we could read the words. then one day, we could.
we went to concerts, tried to sing along. bought a cd and a poster and had them sign it. thought it was worth pure gold.
we performed for people, making them laugh and smile.we joined choirs, sang casually in groups. "they're like an american von trapp family. sing us the national anthem!" we played instruments, learned about the history of grandad's trumpet, our ancestor's songs. performed for many, performed for few. sometimes only for the walls.
we jammed out with our walkmans. worked up trouble when we blasted the stereo. struggled to change the car radio. fought over cassette tapes and cds. "no, i remember, i bought this at the mall last summer. it's mine." sang with our friends. made videos, longing to emulate her, him, or all of them. played a super good song when we returned to a place we loved. drove around the block once more to hear the smooth voice sing loud over the beat. "are you listening? you've gotta listen to the words! i'll start it again." always wanting to share our experience. listened when nobody else wanted to listen. we would sing on a good day, or just allow the sounds to permeate our souls on a bad one.
listened as the music made us smile, laugh, or cry and shed tears beyond our understanding. the music made us still. the music made us move.
"i'm just movin' to the music."
"where did you learn to dance like that? i didn't know you could do that!" --it's just in me, mom.
dancing for hours so we wouldn't scream. dancing for hours so we could.
..............
the music helped make us who we are, expressed what we weren't sure of, and interpreted the feelings we couldn't explain.
i am convinced that if we couldn't hear, couldn't make a sound, couldn't move...we would always have a soundtrack running through our heads. and if not, always a song in our hearts.
-----------
on a lighter note, i remember my mother once telling me that music didn't seem to affect me the way it did my sisters. i was a bit offended by that, but told myself "it's because i am more private. i don't want anyone to see that about me." i'd like to think that is true, but maybe it just took longer for me to appreciate the finer notes and tones.maybe it was more than zoning out to the cranberries, or feeling like eddie vedder just got it. i think my voice also strengthened when i was older, and i became more confident of my musical abilities.
i think we all still long for the stage.
well, when i did have the stage, i sure did enjoy it. a few of my best performance memories are:
music when soft voices die.
star vaccino.
children of the earth.
agnus dei
benedictus...dominus.
the man i love.
and now, i still miss the uniformity, individuality, rigidness, fluidness, and beauty of performing in a group. for now, i just sing along. and hope that no one hears me. or if they do, that they like what they hear.
we sang grace at the table, holding hands, peeking at one another, when we barely could form the words.
now my sister's children do the same. leading the others who aren't familiar with the words of gratitude. following a tradition for at least another generation. reminding us of our youth.
we sang hymns. the historical, respectful, amazing hymns. we watched with little eyes as our father swayed his hands to keep the beat. we watched the smile grow across his moustached face as he looked out across the small crowd. we held the hymnals and pretended that we could read the words. then one day, we could.
we went to concerts, tried to sing along. bought a cd and a poster and had them sign it. thought it was worth pure gold.
we performed for people, making them laugh and smile.we joined choirs, sang casually in groups. "they're like an american von trapp family. sing us the national anthem!" we played instruments, learned about the history of grandad's trumpet, our ancestor's songs. performed for many, performed for few. sometimes only for the walls.
we jammed out with our walkmans. worked up trouble when we blasted the stereo. struggled to change the car radio. fought over cassette tapes and cds. "no, i remember, i bought this at the mall last summer. it's mine." sang with our friends. made videos, longing to emulate her, him, or all of them. played a super good song when we returned to a place we loved. drove around the block once more to hear the smooth voice sing loud over the beat. "are you listening? you've gotta listen to the words! i'll start it again." always wanting to share our experience. listened when nobody else wanted to listen. we would sing on a good day, or just allow the sounds to permeate our souls on a bad one.
listened as the music made us smile, laugh, or cry and shed tears beyond our understanding. the music made us still. the music made us move.
"i'm just movin' to the music."
"where did you learn to dance like that? i didn't know you could do that!" --it's just in me, mom.
dancing for hours so we wouldn't scream. dancing for hours so we could.
..............
the music helped make us who we are, expressed what we weren't sure of, and interpreted the feelings we couldn't explain.
i am convinced that if we couldn't hear, couldn't make a sound, couldn't move...we would always have a soundtrack running through our heads. and if not, always a song in our hearts.
-----------
on a lighter note, i remember my mother once telling me that music didn't seem to affect me the way it did my sisters. i was a bit offended by that, but told myself "it's because i am more private. i don't want anyone to see that about me." i'd like to think that is true, but maybe it just took longer for me to appreciate the finer notes and tones.maybe it was more than zoning out to the cranberries, or feeling like eddie vedder just got it. i think my voice also strengthened when i was older, and i became more confident of my musical abilities.
i think we all still long for the stage.
well, when i did have the stage, i sure did enjoy it. a few of my best performance memories are:
music when soft voices die.
star vaccino.
children of the earth.
agnus dei
benedictus...dominus.
the man i love.
and now, i still miss the uniformity, individuality, rigidness, fluidness, and beauty of performing in a group. for now, i just sing along. and hope that no one hears me. or if they do, that they like what they hear.
Monday, August 1, 2011
trop de mayonnaise?
so sometimes i put mayonnaise in my hair as a conditioner.
this morning i think i used too much, again, and my hair just looks oily.
that along with forgetting earrings and my wedding ring makes me kinda squirmy.
monday.
this morning i think i used too much, again, and my hair just looks oily.
that along with forgetting earrings and my wedding ring makes me kinda squirmy.
monday.
trop de sel
yesterday i had a grand time in the kitchen. i finished nearly everything i planned.
first i went shopping, buying loads of ingredients for all of my recipes.
then i tended to the garden and harvested okra, tomatoes, and cucumbers--while i baked this:
SUNDAY MORNING INDULGENT BREAKFAST:
DUTCH BABY PANCAKES, adapted from molly wizenberg.
something like...
1/2 cup flour, 4 eggs, 1/2 cup half & half in the blender--
added to 1/2 stick butter melted in a 2 six inch cast-irons.
bake for 25 minutes at...425F,
i recommend to add to the mix about 1/4-1/2 sugar, to your liking.
cook until golden brown, careful not to burn the edges, and brush with melted butter before serving.
(we don't have baby cast-irons so they weren't dutch babies.)
topped with lemon juice and powdered sugar for me;
fresh strawberries and maple syrup for my sweetie.
loads of turkey bacon, coffee, orange mango juice, and TWIN PEAKS.
then a nap followed by a five mile run on the treadmill, and a much needed storm!
back home to make dinner:
i prepared (once again, my obsession's recipe) of banana bread with choc chips and ginger to bake while i cooked.
and, A SOUTHERN HEARTY DINNER:
fried chicken with brown chicken gravy. (first time for both!)
fried okra (harvested this morning.)
creamy mashed potatoes (courtesy of my man, i think because he knows he makes them better.)
turnip greens (harvested & frozen from my winter crop)
and...from my title...too much salt :( all except the potatoes, and okra wasn't too bad.
however, my husband ate every last bit on his plate, waited 2 hours, and ate another plate.
so i guess it tasted rather yummy...
and for dessert: the banana bread, topped with hand-whipped cream.
just now i had a bit of bread with a morning cup of tea. :) (lady grey)
now i only need to make some more CUCUMBER DILL SOUP, and perhaps make some more pickles.
(my first batch of dill ones are not good--i need to change recipes. i am sure the sweet pickles are delish.)
i have planned a labor intensive treat to make soon as presents to my sisters for their birthday.
those, along with another small treat will make a nice prezzy, i would think :)
first i went shopping, buying loads of ingredients for all of my recipes.
then i tended to the garden and harvested okra, tomatoes, and cucumbers--while i baked this:
SUNDAY MORNING INDULGENT BREAKFAST:
DUTCH BABY PANCAKES, adapted from molly wizenberg.
something like...
1/2 cup flour, 4 eggs, 1/2 cup half & half in the blender--
added to 1/2 stick butter melted in a 2 six inch cast-irons.
bake for 25 minutes at...425F,
i recommend to add to the mix about 1/4-1/2 sugar, to your liking.
cook until golden brown, careful not to burn the edges, and brush with melted butter before serving.
(we don't have baby cast-irons so they weren't dutch babies.)
topped with lemon juice and powdered sugar for me;
fresh strawberries and maple syrup for my sweetie.
loads of turkey bacon, coffee, orange mango juice, and TWIN PEAKS.
then a nap followed by a five mile run on the treadmill, and a much needed storm!
back home to make dinner:
i prepared (once again, my obsession's recipe) of banana bread with choc chips and ginger to bake while i cooked.
and, A SOUTHERN HEARTY DINNER:
fried chicken with brown chicken gravy. (first time for both!)
fried okra (harvested this morning.)
creamy mashed potatoes (courtesy of my man, i think because he knows he makes them better.)
turnip greens (harvested & frozen from my winter crop)
and...from my title...too much salt :( all except the potatoes, and okra wasn't too bad.
however, my husband ate every last bit on his plate, waited 2 hours, and ate another plate.
so i guess it tasted rather yummy...
and for dessert: the banana bread, topped with hand-whipped cream.
just now i had a bit of bread with a morning cup of tea. :) (lady grey)
now i only need to make some more CUCUMBER DILL SOUP, and perhaps make some more pickles.
(my first batch of dill ones are not good--i need to change recipes. i am sure the sweet pickles are delish.)
i have planned a labor intensive treat to make soon as presents to my sisters for their birthday.
those, along with another small treat will make a nice prezzy, i would think :)
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