Apparently the server that sponsored my comments section has left the planet or something. I will set them up again on a new server, but I’m afraid that this kind of thing may happen again. The Blogger people may soon have a solution but soon is relative. I may have to pay for a service but we’ll try the free route for now. Comments should be back up and running by Wednesday night on the outside. Thanks for the e-mails.
P.S. go to McDonalds France click on the link that says ‘Entrez’ you have to have quicktime on your computer and most people do. When the new page opens in the top banner there is a small picture of the lion king next to it a small picture of what looks like a piece of paper tacked up to something. Click on that box and you’ll see the entire lineup of McDonalds France new sandwiches. The McMexico, McArgentina, McIndia, McMadagascar and McMazoc. See, I wasn’t making it up!
Tuesday, October 07, 2003
Heat and Links
I’m noticing this morning that I don’t see the comments links on the Blog pages. I dumped all cookies and temporary internet files last night from Precious and defragmented, so I’m not sure if the problem is on my computer only or not. If someone out there could tell me 1) if the comments links are still showing up on the Blog pages, 2) if when you click on them you can still leave a comment and 3) if you click on them and you can’t leave a comment, what does happen. E-mail me this info please, I would really appreciate it.
I’m sure you noticed in yesterdays post that I started linking sites that I talk about. I went back and did it for some of the older posts too. Just entertaining myself.
That brings me to some fun stuff for today. Have I ever given you the link for Visual Thesaurus?
In the top left hand corner where it says Look It Up, type in a word. The result is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. It is such a unique and lovely way to show the relationships between words. I love this site and could play with it for hours. Clicking on any word in the web leads to entry’s for the word. Also try clicking and holding a word and dragging it around a bit, then let it go. It springs back like a rubber band. Or find a central dot and drag it around a bit. It is so cool. Obviously some words will have far more entries than others. Try typing in ‘good’ or ‘happy’ or click on any sub word and go from word to word that way. There is a key on the right side of that window. Also resting the cursor on the dots before the words will give you usage of that word. (Ky, if you type in choleric I think you’ll see that you probably did use it properly.)
Trying to get some warmth in this house today. Could not for the life of me figure out how to turn the radiators on. The radiators themselves have knobs that appear to be on, but no hot water. Went into the scary water heater cupboard and saw a knob on it that is set to the picture of the water faucet. I switched it to the picture of the water faucet and radiator and it appears to be working. The radiators appear to be warming and nothing is blowing up yet. We’ll see what happens.
I’m sure you noticed in yesterdays post that I started linking sites that I talk about. I went back and did it for some of the older posts too. Just entertaining myself.
That brings me to some fun stuff for today. Have I ever given you the link for Visual Thesaurus?
In the top left hand corner where it says Look It Up, type in a word. The result is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. It is such a unique and lovely way to show the relationships between words. I love this site and could play with it for hours. Clicking on any word in the web leads to entry’s for the word. Also try clicking and holding a word and dragging it around a bit, then let it go. It springs back like a rubber band. Or find a central dot and drag it around a bit. It is so cool. Obviously some words will have far more entries than others. Try typing in ‘good’ or ‘happy’ or click on any sub word and go from word to word that way. There is a key on the right side of that window. Also resting the cursor on the dots before the words will give you usage of that word. (Ky, if you type in choleric I think you’ll see that you probably did use it properly.)
Trying to get some warmth in this house today. Could not for the life of me figure out how to turn the radiators on. The radiators themselves have knobs that appear to be on, but no hot water. Went into the scary water heater cupboard and saw a knob on it that is set to the picture of the water faucet. I switched it to the picture of the water faucet and radiator and it appears to be working. The radiators appear to be warming and nothing is blowing up yet. We’ll see what happens.
Monday, October 06, 2003
American's In Toulouse
Well, I now know more about foie gras than I ever wanted to. Good lord. But let’s not start there shall we. Let’s start with some meaningless chit chat first OK.
On Friday night S returned from Biarritz early and we headed for the ‘commercial center’. Hard to believe but we went to IKEA, yes again. We find that there are still some things around the house that are not quite finished and so we go to our favorite place, IKEA. I love that store, it’s huge and crowded and overwhelming, but you have to admit they have a solution for almost any furnishing dilemma.
Anyway, we hit IKEA and decided that since A) we had plans for Saturday and B) shopping at the grocery stores on Saturday is a nightmare at best, we would do our grocery shopping on Friday night. It was wonderful, no crowds, no long lines, that’s how we’ll always shop from now on.
We were both pretty tired by 21hr and decided to breakdown and eat at ::gasp:: McDonalds (I know, I know) but it was right there in the mall it was almost like we had no choice.
The French McDonalds experience was entertaining. The menu items are almost all in English. Hamburger, Cheeseburger, Big Mac etc. Fries are just ‘frites’ (no ‘French’ in there because THEY ARE NOT FRENCH). There is a burger called the ‘Enorme 280’ which is apparently a burger made with 280 grams of beef which is equivalent to about .6 pounds (No I didn’t have that). The more interesting menu items were the McMexico and McArgentina. I kid you not. I don’t know what these burgers are but they were on the menu. You can also get gazpacho. The Value Menu is called the ‘Best of’ menu and it includes your burger, your choice of medium sized drinks and a choice between fries, potato wedges or a salad. Ok enough about McDonalds.
Last night we went out for Chinese. There are two local restaurants and we’ve eaten at both. When you sit down at your table there is a plate full of these white poofy round things. They look almost like pork rinds in the way they’re puffed, but they are absolutely white, perfectly round and taste like chicken soup. It’s the strangest thing and I cannot figure out what they are. (Nor am I sure that I want to know. They could after all be something like deep fried tofu or something, eewww). They are yummy and I eat every one that S doesn’t snatch from me. This Chinese dining experience includes a salad to start off with, usually sprouts, lettuce, some assorted julienned vegetables and crab meat with a vinaigrette dressing. Wine with the main course. The main course includes some items which have some of the same names of what you’d order in the states but don’t look or taste anywhere near the same. And then you get dessert, coffee and you can finish off the meal with a quick shot of Sake. Altogether a different dining experience, but good none the less. And of course my meal always includes duck in some shape or form, last night it was kabobs.
Ok, Americans in Toulouse. First of all the club name is a bit of a misnomer. In actuality it is the ‘English-speaking ex-pats living in Toulouse’ club. I would have to say that at least half of the people we met on Saturday were British.
We met the group at a small village about an hour from our house. Gilbert, our guide is a French man who has some history with this group, but I don’t know what it is. The organizer of this outing, Sue, is quite a history buff and loves to organize these ‘peek into the past’ events. If we had known this wee fact before we registered, we might have abstained, though it wasn’t as bad as all that. We walked around the first village, Cologne, where we heard the history of the village and some background thirteenth and fourteenth century politics and facts about the role of the Catholic Church. The village was absolutely picturesque and we took lots. (of pictures… because it was picturesque…Ok, moving on then).
We moved on to the Abbaye de Planselve which is in the countryside not far from Cologne. It is currently going through some renovation (more like reconstruction). The two men who have started a trust and are taking on this project, very proudly showed us around. The main entry to this abbey, which is completely walled around the perimeter, has a model of what the original compound looked like. However, only the pigeonnier and a dormitory are still standing. The rest is rubble and some of the most beautiful parts of the abbey are currently residing at an abbey museum in New York (they had pictures). That seems to have been the fate of many ancient and historic French landmarks. They were sold off to other countries.
So the tour was decidedly long winded and full of historical trivia and there really wasn’t much to see. While everyone else packed into the small round pigeonniers (“We will all fit in here, come on in”) (No Thank You) I spent a good deal of time speaking to a quite elderly British woman who did not want to climb the stairs and go in either and who I think was a bit confused. She kept wondering where the animals were, didn’t abbey’s include a farming enterprise? And why were the pigeonniers not housing pigeons currently? Was she ‘having a go at me’ or was she slightly senile? She was old but not old enough, I’m thinking, to have any first hand abbey experience. I’m not sure but she kept me amused and awake so I played along. We did in the end find some cattle in a corner of the place, grazing contentedly. This invited a milking story and something about her brother who is buried on the family farm back in England. And oh yes, the short stone walls that delineated the pastures, reminded her of the time she visited Scotland and why are these places so rocky. I wanted to ask if England isn’t pretty rocky too, but was afraid to set her off on another tangent.
Next was lunch. It was nice to sit and eat with a noisy group of people who spoke English. (Of course Americans are known to be loud, so we were in fact fulfilling our role) Is was good to sit and talk and not feel that as S and I were chatting the people at neighboring tables were looking knowingly at each other and mouthing the word ‘Americans’ with a hint of disapproval. Not that we’ve run into any of that but still that is the picture that forms in my head. Anyway, there were 26 of us AIT people and we sat at three large tables.
We met Mike and Colleen who are from the U.P., Colleen has a slight Midwest/Michigan accent and worst of all, she’s a vegetarian, but I liked her anyway. We met a nice British couple whose names, I’m sorry to say, completely elude me now. We met Marylyn who came alone and her husband stayed home with the children. She is also often a widow, but she has kids, so she figured it was time for him to take a turn with the kids. Her husband works for a seed company too. Mike and the British gentleman work together at some firm that has something to do with aviation I think. It was comforting to hear the stories from the other women in the group. They were nice and very helpful. Most of the people at our table have been in Toulouse for at least 2 years. Mike and Colleen have been everywhere. Hong Kong, England, all over the states too. We met a British woman named Joy, who wasn’t. A beautiful woman named Lisa who spoke wonderful French and who could’ve been French. I didn’t talk much to her but she seemed to just radiate niceness and calm.
The meal of course was just delightful salad with goose, duck and mashed for the entrée, wine, bread, dessert was some kind of ice cream heavily doused with brandy I think. Then off to the Château de Caumont.
The Chateau was far more impressive from the outside. On a hilltop surrounded by a garden. On the inside it was in tremendous disrepair and we were only allowed into 4 rooms and the basement kitchen. The guide was hard to listen too. She just spouted off dates and names and blah, blah, blah, blah…
(Having a slice of lemon cake that I made yesterday. It was from a box mix, that I bought here, that had the instructions in French, that had measurements for ingredients in metric. Have you ever had to cook with a dictionary and calculator by your side? Or this conversions site is helpful. Yeah, a huh, I’m pretty damned awesome, I know)
One thing that did stick with me was a portrait of a little boy. A very small Spanish boy, under the age of seven. We know that he was under the age of seven because he was wearing a dress in the portrait. Boys didn’t wear pants until after they turned 7. And there are very few portraits of children in dresses because most children didn’t live to be 7. This also showed that he came from a wealthy family because they paid to have his portrait done when they didn’t even know if he’d live past 7. I thought that amazing, in our day when we have our children’s pictures taken every month their first year and at least every year after that. Where there is never a doubt (except in rare and sad circumstances) that our children will grow to be well over 7. How must it have felt to be a mother then, could you possible steel your heart for the inevitability that only 1 in 4 of your children would likely grow to adulthood.
Well, now we come to the part of the day where we visit the foie gras farm. First, bear in mind that we have been going all day. On our feet most of it.
We get to the farm where we meet the duck farmer. A nice short gentleman with a very friendly open smile and very earnest manner. He was there to teach us a procedure from start to finish and he meant to do a good job of it. Of course he was an expert in his trade and his is one of the most sought out ‘brands’ of foie gras in southern France. He most wanted to impress upon us that stressed or unhappy ducks make bad foie gras. These ducks are not harmed in any way (well aside from the obvious unhappy end they will all meet) no matter what it looks like to us, the ducks are never harmed. Well this was the important message for the day, though Colleen the vegetarian looked dubious. I have to admit that there are parts of it that had me thinking, yeah right, the duck doesn’t mind when you do that?
(Hey good news, I’m an Aunt again! For the 6th time. David (no middle name yet) G#### was born at 2 am weighing 7lbs. 13 oz. 20 inches long. Congrats Z and Jav! Of course it’s now 10 am in California and I’m just hearing about it from La, but ok, I won’t be mad. But hey, send details woman, details!)
Ok, where was I, oh yeah. Do you sense foot dragging on this topic? Yeah, I guess I am a little reluctant to re-tell the experience. Ok, the adorable little ducklings start their short life on the farm, delivered at 1 day old. They spend their first few weeks in the warm and comfy nursery. Then they make the first of several transitions. They are moved to the main building where they are coddled for another few days and then transitioned to the outside world, where they can roam the huge yard freely and eat whenever or whatever they want. At about seven weeks they are moved to the second large pen and barn where they have no room for roaming and where they are fed only grain and only twice a day. At about 10 weeks they are moved again to the next pen and barn where they are fed only once each evening. This causes the ducks to lose some weight for what is ahead. A few weeks of that and then they are once again moved to where they are fed twice a day but as much as they can eat. You see the lesson of the previous weeks was that they are not sure when or if they may get fed again or if food may be withheld. The ducks stuff themselves at feedings causing them to fatten up and also causing their livers to get bigger. Also they begin to prepare for a migration that is not going to happen. They fatten up until in the last few weeks of their short, sad lives, they are moved to small pens where there is barely room to turn around, about 15 to a pen and the most bizarre part of their lives begins. The ducks are force fed. Yes ladies and gentlemen, force fed. The previous fattening process has also expanded their stomachs; this is helpful in the force feeding process.
The Force Feeding Process: A man sits on a stool, grabs a duck and holds it between his knees. He then takes a funnel that has grain coming to it from an outside source, and inserts said funnel with long hose attached into the ducks throat. The long tube at the end of the funnel reaches into the ducks stomach. Large quantities of grain are then deposited directly to the ducks stomach. The man monitors the size of the stomach with his hand on the outside of the duck and when he feels that the stomach is distended enough he releases the duck and moves on to the next.
The grain has been slightly cooked to soften it and a small amount of salt is added to the grain, obviously not for flavor since the duck never tastes it, but to make the duck thirsty so he’ll drink water, thus aiding the digestion process. This is done about three times a day. The duck handler/feeder guy feels for the stomach on the ducks belly and if it still feels slightly full, he doesn’t feed that duck again until later. Of course the ducks do not mind this process (right). I have to say that they were rather quiet about it all, no quacking or flapping. I’m not saying they enjoyed the process but rather that they all had that resigned air of inevitability about them. They seemed to accept their lot in life with ducky good grace. Of course they have no idea what is yet to come so they can afford to be complacent about their bizarre little lives.
Alouette, gentille Alouette Alouette, je te plumerai. Je te plumerai la tête Je te plumerai la tête Et la tête, Et la tête, Alouette, Alouette, O-o-o . . .
Alouette, gentille Alouette, Alouette, je te plumerai. Je te plumerai le bec, Je te plumerai le bec, Et la tête, Et la tête, Et le bec, Et le bec, Alouette, Alouette, O-o-o . . .
(Continue adding the following with each new verse...)
le cou le dos les ailes la queue les jambes les pieds
Those of you who know the meaning of the words to this song explain it to your neighbor who doesn’t. If neither of you knows, drop me a line and I’ll explain.
You can guess what happens next. I do not have the heart to go into detail about that. Let’s just say that the result is some of the most delicious foie gras you’ve ever tasted. Happy ducks make good foie gras!
On Friday night S returned from Biarritz early and we headed for the ‘commercial center’. Hard to believe but we went to IKEA, yes again. We find that there are still some things around the house that are not quite finished and so we go to our favorite place, IKEA. I love that store, it’s huge and crowded and overwhelming, but you have to admit they have a solution for almost any furnishing dilemma.
Anyway, we hit IKEA and decided that since A) we had plans for Saturday and B) shopping at the grocery stores on Saturday is a nightmare at best, we would do our grocery shopping on Friday night. It was wonderful, no crowds, no long lines, that’s how we’ll always shop from now on.
We were both pretty tired by 21hr and decided to breakdown and eat at ::gasp:: McDonalds (I know, I know) but it was right there in the mall it was almost like we had no choice.
The French McDonalds experience was entertaining. The menu items are almost all in English. Hamburger, Cheeseburger, Big Mac etc. Fries are just ‘frites’ (no ‘French’ in there because THEY ARE NOT FRENCH). There is a burger called the ‘Enorme 280’ which is apparently a burger made with 280 grams of beef which is equivalent to about .6 pounds (No I didn’t have that). The more interesting menu items were the McMexico and McArgentina. I kid you not. I don’t know what these burgers are but they were on the menu. You can also get gazpacho. The Value Menu is called the ‘Best of’ menu and it includes your burger, your choice of medium sized drinks and a choice between fries, potato wedges or a salad. Ok enough about McDonalds.
Last night we went out for Chinese. There are two local restaurants and we’ve eaten at both. When you sit down at your table there is a plate full of these white poofy round things. They look almost like pork rinds in the way they’re puffed, but they are absolutely white, perfectly round and taste like chicken soup. It’s the strangest thing and I cannot figure out what they are. (Nor am I sure that I want to know. They could after all be something like deep fried tofu or something, eewww). They are yummy and I eat every one that S doesn’t snatch from me. This Chinese dining experience includes a salad to start off with, usually sprouts, lettuce, some assorted julienned vegetables and crab meat with a vinaigrette dressing. Wine with the main course. The main course includes some items which have some of the same names of what you’d order in the states but don’t look or taste anywhere near the same. And then you get dessert, coffee and you can finish off the meal with a quick shot of Sake. Altogether a different dining experience, but good none the less. And of course my meal always includes duck in some shape or form, last night it was kabobs.
Ok, Americans in Toulouse. First of all the club name is a bit of a misnomer. In actuality it is the ‘English-speaking ex-pats living in Toulouse’ club. I would have to say that at least half of the people we met on Saturday were British.
We met the group at a small village about an hour from our house. Gilbert, our guide is a French man who has some history with this group, but I don’t know what it is. The organizer of this outing, Sue, is quite a history buff and loves to organize these ‘peek into the past’ events. If we had known this wee fact before we registered, we might have abstained, though it wasn’t as bad as all that. We walked around the first village, Cologne, where we heard the history of the village and some background thirteenth and fourteenth century politics and facts about the role of the Catholic Church. The village was absolutely picturesque and we took lots. (of pictures… because it was picturesque…Ok, moving on then).
We moved on to the Abbaye de Planselve which is in the countryside not far from Cologne. It is currently going through some renovation (more like reconstruction). The two men who have started a trust and are taking on this project, very proudly showed us around. The main entry to this abbey, which is completely walled around the perimeter, has a model of what the original compound looked like. However, only the pigeonnier and a dormitory are still standing. The rest is rubble and some of the most beautiful parts of the abbey are currently residing at an abbey museum in New York (they had pictures). That seems to have been the fate of many ancient and historic French landmarks. They were sold off to other countries.
So the tour was decidedly long winded and full of historical trivia and there really wasn’t much to see. While everyone else packed into the small round pigeonniers (“We will all fit in here, come on in”) (No Thank You) I spent a good deal of time speaking to a quite elderly British woman who did not want to climb the stairs and go in either and who I think was a bit confused. She kept wondering where the animals were, didn’t abbey’s include a farming enterprise? And why were the pigeonniers not housing pigeons currently? Was she ‘having a go at me’ or was she slightly senile? She was old but not old enough, I’m thinking, to have any first hand abbey experience. I’m not sure but she kept me amused and awake so I played along. We did in the end find some cattle in a corner of the place, grazing contentedly. This invited a milking story and something about her brother who is buried on the family farm back in England. And oh yes, the short stone walls that delineated the pastures, reminded her of the time she visited Scotland and why are these places so rocky. I wanted to ask if England isn’t pretty rocky too, but was afraid to set her off on another tangent.
Next was lunch. It was nice to sit and eat with a noisy group of people who spoke English. (Of course Americans are known to be loud, so we were in fact fulfilling our role) Is was good to sit and talk and not feel that as S and I were chatting the people at neighboring tables were looking knowingly at each other and mouthing the word ‘Americans’ with a hint of disapproval. Not that we’ve run into any of that but still that is the picture that forms in my head. Anyway, there were 26 of us AIT people and we sat at three large tables.
We met Mike and Colleen who are from the U.P., Colleen has a slight Midwest/Michigan accent and worst of all, she’s a vegetarian, but I liked her anyway. We met a nice British couple whose names, I’m sorry to say, completely elude me now. We met Marylyn who came alone and her husband stayed home with the children. She is also often a widow, but she has kids, so she figured it was time for him to take a turn with the kids. Her husband works for a seed company too. Mike and the British gentleman work together at some firm that has something to do with aviation I think. It was comforting to hear the stories from the other women in the group. They were nice and very helpful. Most of the people at our table have been in Toulouse for at least 2 years. Mike and Colleen have been everywhere. Hong Kong, England, all over the states too. We met a British woman named Joy, who wasn’t. A beautiful woman named Lisa who spoke wonderful French and who could’ve been French. I didn’t talk much to her but she seemed to just radiate niceness and calm.
The meal of course was just delightful salad with goose, duck and mashed for the entrée, wine, bread, dessert was some kind of ice cream heavily doused with brandy I think. Then off to the Château de Caumont.
The Chateau was far more impressive from the outside. On a hilltop surrounded by a garden. On the inside it was in tremendous disrepair and we were only allowed into 4 rooms and the basement kitchen. The guide was hard to listen too. She just spouted off dates and names and blah, blah, blah, blah…
(Having a slice of lemon cake that I made yesterday. It was from a box mix, that I bought here, that had the instructions in French, that had measurements for ingredients in metric. Have you ever had to cook with a dictionary and calculator by your side? Or this conversions site is helpful. Yeah, a huh, I’m pretty damned awesome, I know)
One thing that did stick with me was a portrait of a little boy. A very small Spanish boy, under the age of seven. We know that he was under the age of seven because he was wearing a dress in the portrait. Boys didn’t wear pants until after they turned 7. And there are very few portraits of children in dresses because most children didn’t live to be 7. This also showed that he came from a wealthy family because they paid to have his portrait done when they didn’t even know if he’d live past 7. I thought that amazing, in our day when we have our children’s pictures taken every month their first year and at least every year after that. Where there is never a doubt (except in rare and sad circumstances) that our children will grow to be well over 7. How must it have felt to be a mother then, could you possible steel your heart for the inevitability that only 1 in 4 of your children would likely grow to adulthood.
Well, now we come to the part of the day where we visit the foie gras farm. First, bear in mind that we have been going all day. On our feet most of it.
We get to the farm where we meet the duck farmer. A nice short gentleman with a very friendly open smile and very earnest manner. He was there to teach us a procedure from start to finish and he meant to do a good job of it. Of course he was an expert in his trade and his is one of the most sought out ‘brands’ of foie gras in southern France. He most wanted to impress upon us that stressed or unhappy ducks make bad foie gras. These ducks are not harmed in any way (well aside from the obvious unhappy end they will all meet) no matter what it looks like to us, the ducks are never harmed. Well this was the important message for the day, though Colleen the vegetarian looked dubious. I have to admit that there are parts of it that had me thinking, yeah right, the duck doesn’t mind when you do that?
(Hey good news, I’m an Aunt again! For the 6th time. David (no middle name yet) G#### was born at 2 am weighing 7lbs. 13 oz. 20 inches long. Congrats Z and Jav! Of course it’s now 10 am in California and I’m just hearing about it from La, but ok, I won’t be mad. But hey, send details woman, details!)
Ok, where was I, oh yeah. Do you sense foot dragging on this topic? Yeah, I guess I am a little reluctant to re-tell the experience. Ok, the adorable little ducklings start their short life on the farm, delivered at 1 day old. They spend their first few weeks in the warm and comfy nursery. Then they make the first of several transitions. They are moved to the main building where they are coddled for another few days and then transitioned to the outside world, where they can roam the huge yard freely and eat whenever or whatever they want. At about seven weeks they are moved to the second large pen and barn where they have no room for roaming and where they are fed only grain and only twice a day. At about 10 weeks they are moved again to the next pen and barn where they are fed only once each evening. This causes the ducks to lose some weight for what is ahead. A few weeks of that and then they are once again moved to where they are fed twice a day but as much as they can eat. You see the lesson of the previous weeks was that they are not sure when or if they may get fed again or if food may be withheld. The ducks stuff themselves at feedings causing them to fatten up and also causing their livers to get bigger. Also they begin to prepare for a migration that is not going to happen. They fatten up until in the last few weeks of their short, sad lives, they are moved to small pens where there is barely room to turn around, about 15 to a pen and the most bizarre part of their lives begins. The ducks are force fed. Yes ladies and gentlemen, force fed. The previous fattening process has also expanded their stomachs; this is helpful in the force feeding process.
The Force Feeding Process: A man sits on a stool, grabs a duck and holds it between his knees. He then takes a funnel that has grain coming to it from an outside source, and inserts said funnel with long hose attached into the ducks throat. The long tube at the end of the funnel reaches into the ducks stomach. Large quantities of grain are then deposited directly to the ducks stomach. The man monitors the size of the stomach with his hand on the outside of the duck and when he feels that the stomach is distended enough he releases the duck and moves on to the next.
The grain has been slightly cooked to soften it and a small amount of salt is added to the grain, obviously not for flavor since the duck never tastes it, but to make the duck thirsty so he’ll drink water, thus aiding the digestion process. This is done about three times a day. The duck handler/feeder guy feels for the stomach on the ducks belly and if it still feels slightly full, he doesn’t feed that duck again until later. Of course the ducks do not mind this process (right). I have to say that they were rather quiet about it all, no quacking or flapping. I’m not saying they enjoyed the process but rather that they all had that resigned air of inevitability about them. They seemed to accept their lot in life with ducky good grace. Of course they have no idea what is yet to come so they can afford to be complacent about their bizarre little lives.
Alouette, gentille Alouette Alouette, je te plumerai. Je te plumerai la tête Je te plumerai la tête Et la tête, Et la tête, Alouette, Alouette, O-o-o . . .
Alouette, gentille Alouette, Alouette, je te plumerai. Je te plumerai le bec, Je te plumerai le bec, Et la tête, Et la tête, Et le bec, Et le bec, Alouette, Alouette, O-o-o . . .
(Continue adding the following with each new verse...)
le cou le dos les ailes la queue les jambes les pieds
Those of you who know the meaning of the words to this song explain it to your neighbor who doesn’t. If neither of you knows, drop me a line and I’ll explain.
You can guess what happens next. I do not have the heart to go into detail about that. Let’s just say that the result is some of the most delicious foie gras you’ve ever tasted. Happy ducks make good foie gras!
Wednesday, October 01, 2003
Observation:
I found some Lay’s Barbeque Potato Chips in the grocery store. I bought them, since they are my favorites. It made me wonder why the store carried them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I’m grateful to be able to find these items. However, from all angles you hear how the French hate everything American yet you find Coca Cola/Pepsi and McDonalds here. Lay’s, Nestle’s Quick, Skippy peanut butter (ok Skippy is a bad example since it is actually marketed in the foreign foods section) Quaker Oats, Pantene, Heinz Ketchup (no Hellmann’s Mayo though, I’ve e-mailed Hellmann’s about that and am awaiting an emergency shipment from them any day now.) the list is long. I think that somewhere along the line the French news makers have failed to inform the average French Joe that they hate everything American. McDonalds is hopping every time I go past it. Do they not know that McDonald’s is the anti-christ?
Just re-heated my morning coffee in my new microwave. Baked scones yesterday and am having one for breakfast. They are really yummy.
Spoke to J this morning before she went to sleep. Sending warm thoughts and comfort to her. Mom will be back soon darling. Chin up.
Looks like it’s going to be a bright sunny day. S will be home early today so I can steal the car for a bit to shop. He is leaving tonight for a couple of days. Again.
We received the following e-mail from Americans in Toulouse:
A DAY IN THE GERS WITH GILBERT (Adults Only)
(NOTE: Children will not be catered for on this occasion)
Saturday, 4 October, 10:15 – Cologne, Abbaye de Planselve, Gimont, Caumont, Cazaux-Saves, Foie Gras farm near l’Isle-Jourdain
There is no need to always take your visitors to Carcassonne or Cordes! This day with Gilbert will give us the opportunity to become acquainted with treasures close to home, beginning with the thirteenth century bastide village Cologne where we will meet near the covered market at 10:15. We will then follow Gilbert to the Abbaye de Planselve with its wonderful pigeonnier cum mediaeval ice house and learn about its important links with America before a brief tour and lunch in nearby Gimont at Le Coin du Feu which is offering for 16 euros per person a seasonal lunch of Assiette de Rillettes d’oie, Cuisse de Canard Vigneronne et sa garniture, Glace Pruneaux Armagnac, vin et café (vegetarian alternatives available on request).
After lunch, we will head for the magnificent sixteenth century Chateau de Caumont (again with strong American ties) and the adjacent mediaeval village Cazaux-Saves before ending our day with an introduction to the Gers’ most famous export - Foie Gras! For those with the time and inclination to continue, Gilbert will lead us to a duck farm close to l’Isle-Jourdain, where we will watch the birds being fed, and afterwards be treated to a tasting of foie gras made on the premises.
I’m all on board until the foie gras part. (Sorry Ken) But S will want to do that part I’m afraid. Well, we received our confirmation e-mail, so now we’re committed (or should be).
Just re-heated my morning coffee in my new microwave. Baked scones yesterday and am having one for breakfast. They are really yummy.
Spoke to J this morning before she went to sleep. Sending warm thoughts and comfort to her. Mom will be back soon darling. Chin up.
Looks like it’s going to be a bright sunny day. S will be home early today so I can steal the car for a bit to shop. He is leaving tonight for a couple of days. Again.
We received the following e-mail from Americans in Toulouse:
A DAY IN THE GERS WITH GILBERT (Adults Only)
(NOTE: Children will not be catered for on this occasion)
Saturday, 4 October, 10:15 – Cologne, Abbaye de Planselve, Gimont, Caumont, Cazaux-Saves, Foie Gras farm near l’Isle-Jourdain
There is no need to always take your visitors to Carcassonne or Cordes! This day with Gilbert will give us the opportunity to become acquainted with treasures close to home, beginning with the thirteenth century bastide village Cologne where we will meet near the covered market at 10:15. We will then follow Gilbert to the Abbaye de Planselve with its wonderful pigeonnier cum mediaeval ice house and learn about its important links with America before a brief tour and lunch in nearby Gimont at Le Coin du Feu which is offering for 16 euros per person a seasonal lunch of Assiette de Rillettes d’oie, Cuisse de Canard Vigneronne et sa garniture, Glace Pruneaux Armagnac, vin et café (vegetarian alternatives available on request).
After lunch, we will head for the magnificent sixteenth century Chateau de Caumont (again with strong American ties) and the adjacent mediaeval village Cazaux-Saves before ending our day with an introduction to the Gers’ most famous export - Foie Gras! For those with the time and inclination to continue, Gilbert will lead us to a duck farm close to l’Isle-Jourdain, where we will watch the birds being fed, and afterwards be treated to a tasting of foie gras made on the premises.
I’m all on board until the foie gras part. (Sorry Ken) But S will want to do that part I’m afraid. Well, we received our confirmation e-mail, so now we’re committed (or should be).
Monday, September 29, 2003
Apologies In Advance
I apologize in advance for the length of this entry!
Six days, wow…umm oops? Ok so do you want the long version or the short version?
The Short version:
The guys returned on Tuesday night for another dinner out at a French hole in the wall restaurant and a handsome young man’s life story. Wednesday night out with a group of muckety mucks from S’s work at a famous downtown restaurant that is underground in the rediscovered wine cellar of a monastery built in 1345. Thursday was a bad day. Friday was better and busy. Saturday we were going to go to Barcelona but spent the day running errands, e-mailing people about change of plans (stupid M Co.), extending the car rental, getting new Air France Tickets (not) and buying stuff we still need for the house. Sunday, rainy and S worked on finance stuff and work stuff and I wandered around aimlessly flitting from project to project.
And how about those stinking Cubs, of course they’d get this far when I’m not able to be there to see it. Dorks. They don’t show baseball on TV here. Looking for internet options. Any ideas let me know. And what’s up with the Huskies? Un-stinkin-defeated?
The Long Version: (Go get a cup of coffee and get comfortable)
Tuesday night when the guys got back from Turkey/Hungary we let Barry lead us around town again to find a place to eat. The group dynamic is great. We go from restaurant to restaurant looking. Barry looks at the menu to check out the prices, he’s looking for cheap but edible. S’s criteria are a bit more refined, he looks for real cloth tablecloths and napkins. He figures that kind of attention to detail might also translate into good cooking. Me, I look for where the crowd is gathered. I figure if lots of people are eating there it must be good. On Tuesday night Barry found a place that had reasonable prices and S saw good table linens but I saw lots of empty tables, just one being used by three women in the back. So I, being in the minority, had no choice but to follow them into the empty place and to a table.
A spider tried to attack me first thing and I knew I was not only going to hate the place but I was definitely going to get sick.
A young woman greeted us and asked first thing, “Are you English?”
Not certain how to answer that, was she inquiring as to the language we spoke or our nationality or did she...”yes”.
She disappears, we assumed to get someone English speaking. Then a very handsome young man comes to our table with the menu (The menu in places like these is usually the day’s offerings written on a small chalk board) He proceeds in good English to tell us what’s available. Since we were the only other people there and he felt an affinity of sorts with us Americans, he hung out and told us his life story.
As it turns out this boy of 26 was our chef for the evening. He told us the story of how at the age of 22 he had spent a few years cooking in the US where “French chef is God, a real French French Chef can earn lots of money. But I don’t let it go to my head” he tells us with a smile that tells you that he most certainly did. Hmm, handsome 22 year old French man with that accent and he cooks, are you getting a good picture of how none of this would go to his head?
He worked for a man that had ‘many enterprises’ in Hawaii and in California. This young chef was set up as the star attraction at a big hotel in Oahu. (But he didn’t let it go to his head.) He was not ‘papered’ so every three months he had to leave the country and re-enter as a tourist after a week or two back in France. As his employer was paying him ‘under the table’ and was aware of his immigration status (or lack there off) he covered the expenses for this boys trips back and forth. After about a year and a half he was moved to the San Francisco area to run a restaurant there. He followed the same pattern there, except that after making the France trip several times he got tired of making that flight. He decided that he didn’t have to go all the way back to France. He just needed to leave and re-enter the country so he chose to go to Canada instead. This proved to be his undoing. Apparently the Canadian/American authorities in Canada were more vigilant and they sent him packing back to France and listed him as persona-non-grata in the US. He’s never returned. So he tells us sadly that he returned here to France from being ‘god’ to a country where a French Chef is every 4th person, and opened this restaurant.
The food was of course fabulous. Just as a dining out side note, we wondered how long this would continue to be the case. Not how long the food would continue to be good but how long we would continue to think it was. The food is new and all tastes great but eventually will we begin to discriminate between restaurants and cooking and flavors we like better. I’m afraid that this may be the case but we plan on enjoying the process thoroughly.
Dessert made me think of Scott. I ordered the chocolate cake. It arrived, just a small round cake, no frosting, just chocolate cake sitting in the middle of a large square plate surrounded by whole cream, drizzled with chocolate sauce and sprinkled with cinnamon. The cake was hot, fresh out of the oven, baked just for me. As I cut into it with the spoon, chocolate came pouring out of it. Hot chocolate syrup, gushing out onto the plate, mixing with the cream… It was heavenly.
(It’s 7hr on Monday morning here now. I started this Blog entry yesterday and if I continue to write this slowly I’ll be weeks behind before I publish it.)
(Just IM’d my sister in California where it’s 22hr on Sunday night. Told her goodnight while I enjoy my breakfast of coffee and brioche. This also begging the question, “What in the hell am I doing awake at this hour of the morning?”)
Wednesday night we went out with a group from S’s work. A Spaniard, a French woman named Sandrine (I love her name) Barry of course etc. Reservations had been made at a restaurant near the ‘capitole’ called ‘la Cave’, yes ladies and gentleman, The Cave. Anyone getting a picture of me at this restaurant? Ok, let’s move on. We met and walked a short walk down what appears to be an alley that led to another alley that led to a large gate/door.
We walk in the door under an archway to a nice sized courtyard where a huge crowd is waiting outside the door of this restaurant. We have reservations so we shove our way through the crowd to the door where we are lead down a winding staircase to the dining room.
The dining room is more like three square rooms with high vaulted ceilings. The walls, the ceilings, the large archways that lead into the next room all made of brick. Maybe it’s really like one large room with three vaulted sections. Anyway it was very cave like but very open, well lit and cool. The front cover of the menu had a brief history of the restaurant. What I gleaned from the French text was that this was believed to be the wine cellar of a monastery that had been built in 1345 and had been rediscovered through a mischance of recent (recent being relative) construction. Of course it’s just a setting, a historical setting of sorts to be sure, but still just a place. What would the food be like?
Wonderful of course. Menus were decided on, wines were ordered to compliment peoples food choices and a selection of appetizers were chosen. I tried a little bit of everything. One appetizer was a puff pastry with a cucumber filling that included some kind of fruit. Another was a pudding-y looking thing that was wonderful, it reminded me of LaVerne’s thanksgiving cornmeal stuffing, but the consistency was softer and less textured. I ate almost all of that myself. There was of course the goat cheese salad and something vaguely bruchetta-like that wasn’t.
Our fellow diners included another group of American business types, a group of Chinese business types and the rest of the place was filled with a large party of people (about 150 of them) whose relationship was hard to discern. Were they family, a business group, a social club, who knows, but they occupied all the remaining tables and were quite loud, continuously toasting each other and joking across the room with each other. I’m not sure who they were, but they appeared to be just winding up as we were leaving 3 hours later. 3 hours for a meal and that was for a quiet group of only slightly tipsy people.
On Friday night we found out that of course the Visa’s aren’t ready. Well, oddly enough S’s is almost done, but there appears to be a problem with mine. No one can say exactly what the problem is, but just that there is one. I’m forced to speculate that either A) The French don’t want me. B) They’ve uncovered some disturbing things in my past that I’ve long forgotten or C) They’ve read my Blog and want me stop immediately for fear of what my adventures will do to tourism.
So instead of going to Barcelona on Saturday we went to the airport to extend the rental of the car. We re-booked our tickets to return to the US on October 29th instead of next Thursday. Then we did something really amazing. We bought a drier.
We had been saying that we should get one for when the weather cools off so our clothes won’t have to hang for two days to be dry. Well, the amazing thing isn’t that we bought one, it’s that we brought it home ourselves. We just put it into the back of the little Peugeot. Thank god for the hatchback! And then, because there was some room left back there, we bought a microwave and wedged it into the car too. The man at the appliance store helped us load the drier into the car and in his deaf person French (deaf person French is when you speak louder to people in hopes of compensating for lack of language with volume.) warned us, very seriously, against sudden stops and starts.
If you go to Peugeot France and click on the link under the picture of the car for 206, you’ll have an idea of what size care we are driving, except that ours is the four door model.
The microwave was a bit of an impulse buy, because we have no place to put it. We have about 2 feet of counter space in the kitchen. Just a little breathing space between the cook top and the sink. S had already purchased a toaster oven (that took 15 minutes to make two slices of toast) and coffee maker to occupy that little space, but we found that having to put leftovers back in a pan or in the oven to reheat was too much trouble. We kept saying we didn’t need a microwave, but it became apparent that we did. We found a microwave/broiler combo, with a toaster built into its side. The microwave and broiler can be used together so you can get cooked food that looks cooked too. It does it all! It is awesome, sort of space age looking. We put it on the counter top and managed to barely wedge the coffee maker in next to it. It’s a tight fit but it’ll work. The toaster oven is currently living on the kitchen table but looking ahead to probable early retirement to the garage.
We also visited IKEA where we bought a nice large rug for the office, a swivel office chair to save my back when I work in the office and then we bought some groceries and stopped at the bakery too. Ok, ok, from IKEA on was a separate trip, we’re crazy not stupid!
Next weekend however we are going to try to squeeze some patio furniture into the car. It seems we have a few months of 70’s left so we might as well enjoy eating outdoors. I’ll let you know how that turns out.
I am currently reading “Me Talk Pretty One Day” by David Sedaris. It’s the story of his life, sort of. Some of it is a little sad and some of it is a bit gross, but the parts about his experiences in France and learning French are absolutely hilarious and leave me hoping I don’t sound like that to local shop keepers.
Precious, my laptop is beginning to look like an octopus on life support. All these wires coming in and out and she still doesn’t seem to have enough receptacles for all I need her to do. Probably a form of self protection, poor thing. I bought a USB hub that plugs into the PCMCIA slot and gives me three additional USB ports so I can plug in my camera and microphone. This enables me to hold IM streaming video/sound conversations with my sister and mother in law, who have similar setups. If anyone else would like to join in this lunacy let me know, it turns out to be quite fun and much cheaper than a phone call. Probably want to have DSL or cable modems though.
Ta for now.
Six days, wow…umm oops? Ok so do you want the long version or the short version?
The Short version:
The guys returned on Tuesday night for another dinner out at a French hole in the wall restaurant and a handsome young man’s life story. Wednesday night out with a group of muckety mucks from S’s work at a famous downtown restaurant that is underground in the rediscovered wine cellar of a monastery built in 1345. Thursday was a bad day. Friday was better and busy. Saturday we were going to go to Barcelona but spent the day running errands, e-mailing people about change of plans (stupid M Co.), extending the car rental, getting new Air France Tickets (not) and buying stuff we still need for the house. Sunday, rainy and S worked on finance stuff and work stuff and I wandered around aimlessly flitting from project to project.
And how about those stinking Cubs, of course they’d get this far when I’m not able to be there to see it. Dorks. They don’t show baseball on TV here. Looking for internet options. Any ideas let me know. And what’s up with the Huskies? Un-stinkin-defeated?
The Long Version: (Go get a cup of coffee and get comfortable)
Tuesday night when the guys got back from Turkey/Hungary we let Barry lead us around town again to find a place to eat. The group dynamic is great. We go from restaurant to restaurant looking. Barry looks at the menu to check out the prices, he’s looking for cheap but edible. S’s criteria are a bit more refined, he looks for real cloth tablecloths and napkins. He figures that kind of attention to detail might also translate into good cooking. Me, I look for where the crowd is gathered. I figure if lots of people are eating there it must be good. On Tuesday night Barry found a place that had reasonable prices and S saw good table linens but I saw lots of empty tables, just one being used by three women in the back. So I, being in the minority, had no choice but to follow them into the empty place and to a table.
A spider tried to attack me first thing and I knew I was not only going to hate the place but I was definitely going to get sick.
A young woman greeted us and asked first thing, “Are you English?”
Not certain how to answer that, was she inquiring as to the language we spoke or our nationality or did she...”yes”.
She disappears, we assumed to get someone English speaking. Then a very handsome young man comes to our table with the menu (The menu in places like these is usually the day’s offerings written on a small chalk board) He proceeds in good English to tell us what’s available. Since we were the only other people there and he felt an affinity of sorts with us Americans, he hung out and told us his life story.
As it turns out this boy of 26 was our chef for the evening. He told us the story of how at the age of 22 he had spent a few years cooking in the US where “French chef is God, a real French French Chef can earn lots of money. But I don’t let it go to my head” he tells us with a smile that tells you that he most certainly did. Hmm, handsome 22 year old French man with that accent and he cooks, are you getting a good picture of how none of this would go to his head?
He worked for a man that had ‘many enterprises’ in Hawaii and in California. This young chef was set up as the star attraction at a big hotel in Oahu. (But he didn’t let it go to his head.) He was not ‘papered’ so every three months he had to leave the country and re-enter as a tourist after a week or two back in France. As his employer was paying him ‘under the table’ and was aware of his immigration status (or lack there off) he covered the expenses for this boys trips back and forth. After about a year and a half he was moved to the San Francisco area to run a restaurant there. He followed the same pattern there, except that after making the France trip several times he got tired of making that flight. He decided that he didn’t have to go all the way back to France. He just needed to leave and re-enter the country so he chose to go to Canada instead. This proved to be his undoing. Apparently the Canadian/American authorities in Canada were more vigilant and they sent him packing back to France and listed him as persona-non-grata in the US. He’s never returned. So he tells us sadly that he returned here to France from being ‘god’ to a country where a French Chef is every 4th person, and opened this restaurant.
The food was of course fabulous. Just as a dining out side note, we wondered how long this would continue to be the case. Not how long the food would continue to be good but how long we would continue to think it was. The food is new and all tastes great but eventually will we begin to discriminate between restaurants and cooking and flavors we like better. I’m afraid that this may be the case but we plan on enjoying the process thoroughly.
Dessert made me think of Scott. I ordered the chocolate cake. It arrived, just a small round cake, no frosting, just chocolate cake sitting in the middle of a large square plate surrounded by whole cream, drizzled with chocolate sauce and sprinkled with cinnamon. The cake was hot, fresh out of the oven, baked just for me. As I cut into it with the spoon, chocolate came pouring out of it. Hot chocolate syrup, gushing out onto the plate, mixing with the cream… It was heavenly.
(It’s 7hr on Monday morning here now. I started this Blog entry yesterday and if I continue to write this slowly I’ll be weeks behind before I publish it.)
(Just IM’d my sister in California where it’s 22hr on Sunday night. Told her goodnight while I enjoy my breakfast of coffee and brioche. This also begging the question, “What in the hell am I doing awake at this hour of the morning?”)
Wednesday night we went out with a group from S’s work. A Spaniard, a French woman named Sandrine (I love her name) Barry of course etc. Reservations had been made at a restaurant near the ‘capitole’ called ‘la Cave’, yes ladies and gentleman, The Cave. Anyone getting a picture of me at this restaurant? Ok, let’s move on. We met and walked a short walk down what appears to be an alley that led to another alley that led to a large gate/door.
We walk in the door under an archway to a nice sized courtyard where a huge crowd is waiting outside the door of this restaurant. We have reservations so we shove our way through the crowd to the door where we are lead down a winding staircase to the dining room.
The dining room is more like three square rooms with high vaulted ceilings. The walls, the ceilings, the large archways that lead into the next room all made of brick. Maybe it’s really like one large room with three vaulted sections. Anyway it was very cave like but very open, well lit and cool. The front cover of the menu had a brief history of the restaurant. What I gleaned from the French text was that this was believed to be the wine cellar of a monastery that had been built in 1345 and had been rediscovered through a mischance of recent (recent being relative) construction. Of course it’s just a setting, a historical setting of sorts to be sure, but still just a place. What would the food be like?
Wonderful of course. Menus were decided on, wines were ordered to compliment peoples food choices and a selection of appetizers were chosen. I tried a little bit of everything. One appetizer was a puff pastry with a cucumber filling that included some kind of fruit. Another was a pudding-y looking thing that was wonderful, it reminded me of LaVerne’s thanksgiving cornmeal stuffing, but the consistency was softer and less textured. I ate almost all of that myself. There was of course the goat cheese salad and something vaguely bruchetta-like that wasn’t.
Our fellow diners included another group of American business types, a group of Chinese business types and the rest of the place was filled with a large party of people (about 150 of them) whose relationship was hard to discern. Were they family, a business group, a social club, who knows, but they occupied all the remaining tables and were quite loud, continuously toasting each other and joking across the room with each other. I’m not sure who they were, but they appeared to be just winding up as we were leaving 3 hours later. 3 hours for a meal and that was for a quiet group of only slightly tipsy people.
On Friday night we found out that of course the Visa’s aren’t ready. Well, oddly enough S’s is almost done, but there appears to be a problem with mine. No one can say exactly what the problem is, but just that there is one. I’m forced to speculate that either A) The French don’t want me. B) They’ve uncovered some disturbing things in my past that I’ve long forgotten or C) They’ve read my Blog and want me stop immediately for fear of what my adventures will do to tourism.
So instead of going to Barcelona on Saturday we went to the airport to extend the rental of the car. We re-booked our tickets to return to the US on October 29th instead of next Thursday. Then we did something really amazing. We bought a drier.
We had been saying that we should get one for when the weather cools off so our clothes won’t have to hang for two days to be dry. Well, the amazing thing isn’t that we bought one, it’s that we brought it home ourselves. We just put it into the back of the little Peugeot. Thank god for the hatchback! And then, because there was some room left back there, we bought a microwave and wedged it into the car too. The man at the appliance store helped us load the drier into the car and in his deaf person French (deaf person French is when you speak louder to people in hopes of compensating for lack of language with volume.) warned us, very seriously, against sudden stops and starts.
If you go to Peugeot France and click on the link under the picture of the car for 206, you’ll have an idea of what size care we are driving, except that ours is the four door model.
The microwave was a bit of an impulse buy, because we have no place to put it. We have about 2 feet of counter space in the kitchen. Just a little breathing space between the cook top and the sink. S had already purchased a toaster oven (that took 15 minutes to make two slices of toast) and coffee maker to occupy that little space, but we found that having to put leftovers back in a pan or in the oven to reheat was too much trouble. We kept saying we didn’t need a microwave, but it became apparent that we did. We found a microwave/broiler combo, with a toaster built into its side. The microwave and broiler can be used together so you can get cooked food that looks cooked too. It does it all! It is awesome, sort of space age looking. We put it on the counter top and managed to barely wedge the coffee maker in next to it. It’s a tight fit but it’ll work. The toaster oven is currently living on the kitchen table but looking ahead to probable early retirement to the garage.
We also visited IKEA where we bought a nice large rug for the office, a swivel office chair to save my back when I work in the office and then we bought some groceries and stopped at the bakery too. Ok, ok, from IKEA on was a separate trip, we’re crazy not stupid!
Next weekend however we are going to try to squeeze some patio furniture into the car. It seems we have a few months of 70’s left so we might as well enjoy eating outdoors. I’ll let you know how that turns out.
I am currently reading “Me Talk Pretty One Day” by David Sedaris. It’s the story of his life, sort of. Some of it is a little sad and some of it is a bit gross, but the parts about his experiences in France and learning French are absolutely hilarious and leave me hoping I don’t sound like that to local shop keepers.
Precious, my laptop is beginning to look like an octopus on life support. All these wires coming in and out and she still doesn’t seem to have enough receptacles for all I need her to do. Probably a form of self protection, poor thing. I bought a USB hub that plugs into the PCMCIA slot and gives me three additional USB ports so I can plug in my camera and microphone. This enables me to hold IM streaming video/sound conversations with my sister and mother in law, who have similar setups. If anyone else would like to join in this lunacy let me know, it turns out to be quite fun and much cheaper than a phone call. Probably want to have DSL or cable modems though.
Ta for now.
Monday, September 22, 2003
The Guest
The promised thunderstorm has arrived this morning. Not more than a tiny dribble of rain now and again, but the thunder rolls along loudly and ceaselessly. It’s blessedly cloudy and cool. Of course I’ve opened every window in the house so as not to miss a sound. I’m typing next to the window in the office so I can watch the rain and lightning. The rain is coming down harder now and the ground smells wet. Hmm, may have to close a window or two… Ok, it’s officially pouring now.
Well, picked S and Barry up at the airport on Saturday afternoon. Barry is S’s bosses, bosses boss, co-worker, friend, hmm, you’ll have to ask S for the exact pedigree. He’s very nice and extremely well traveled. He lived here in Toulouse before for a while so we happily drove into town with a guide for drinks and dinner. We parked under the ‘Place du Capitole’ and walked to the Place St. George. The Place St. George is a town square that is filled with cafes. The side walks are crowded with tables and chairs all in the color of the café they belong to.
(Getting slightly damp here) (This is heaven, watching thunderstorms is in the top five of my all time favorite things.)
We sat at a café for beers. At this point it’s about 18:30 and dinner isn’t served until at least 20hr, and even that is early. Really if you walk into a restaurant much before 20hr, they look at you funny and some places will only serve beverages until then. They really start to get crowded around 21hr.
Saturday shopping crowds were dispersing as shops closed and cafes opened and diners started to wander around. We had a beer and then I had a coffee. (Must keep stimulant/depressant intake balanced) I’m starting to love the coffee. A small cup of very dark coffee with 2 sugar cubes and (nobody faint, and no incredulous laughter either) no cream. Down the hatch. Absolutely delicious.
We heard people around us speaking French, Spanish and sometimes English. After people watching and listening to stories of Barry’s experiences and discoveries in Toulouse, he told us of a place on the Garonne River that is filled with great dining spots, so we walked.
(Ok, that lightning hit something very near here because the thunder was instantaneous and it shook the house.) (Getting very loud now!)
(I’m listening to Flight of the Bumble-Bee and it makes a great soundtrack to the frantic rushings outside as parents are picking up their children for lunch. Did I mention that school closes from noon to 2 for lunch also, just like all the businesses? They do. Parents or grandparents pick up the kids for lunch and then bring them back. Did I also mention that children start school at the age of 3?)
(Holy Cow that was loud!)
(Power is out)
(Great! Just went into the bathroom to discover that I’d forgotten to close that window and there’s a lake on the floor.)
(And now it’s hailing)
(Took wet towels out to the laundry in the garage to discover a small lake out there. Apparently there’s a leak in the garage roof!)
Umm, where was I? Oh, yeas, the Garonne. We walked for what seemed like miles (small exaggeration) until we came upon the river all lit up. We passed several bars filled with noisy people who appeared to have gotten an early start to their Saturday revelries. We finally came to a street, more like an alley, filled with restaurants on both sides of the very narrow street.
The restaurants have set price menus. The price could be 10 to 50 Euros for a ‘menue’. The ‘menue’ offers several courses and several choices for each course. It’s quite a bit of reading and guessing for three Americans. We finally settled on one that seemed to have a good selection for each of our tastes. I had a ‘Salade du Canard’ which is nothing more than a mixed green salad with large pieces of duck over the top and a nice vinaigrette dressing. The men had a salad with some delicious soft goat cheese on top. For the entrée I had duck, roasted and served with a baked potato loaded with cream. I really love duck, it has such wonderful flavor. The men each had salmon, each prepared differently. We shared. Dessert was of course my favorite, crème brûlée, this one with raspberries in it. A nice bottle of red wine and some good bread with dinner and coffee afterwards to round things out. We were serenaded by two gentlemen who wandered up and down the street playing accordions. We waddled back to the car. It’s a good thing we had to walk a ways.
Two funny things. First, some people brought their dogs to dinner with them. The dogs just lay on the sidewalk under the tables and waited. They were very well behaved. Then, Saturday night is apparently when the garbage is picked up. Between the restaurants were piles of garbage set out for pick up and halfway through dinner the garbage truck came rumbling down the road stopping every few meters to pick up garbage. The truck was inches from us as it drove by and we seemed to be the only ones startled (and grossed out) by this event. It took less than 10 minutes from one end of the street to the other, but still it was weird and very smelly.
(Power is back on, the washing machine is continuing where it left off. This is good because I now have another two loads of towels to do; though they’ll never dry in this weather. We have to get a drier.)
The guys left on Sunday for another couple of days. They’re near Biarritz on the Atlantic coast and invited me to join them but I declined. MCo. has a reputation (with me at least) for booking people into some real dives to save money. After I spoke to S last night, I was glad I had declined, per usual, scummy hotel. And anyway, then I would have missed this lovely storm. S and I will have to go when it’s for fun and not work.
Oh, got the lowdown on the milk. It’s not pasteurized like there, it’s irradiated. (Does that mean I’ll glow when I return?) I guess that the not having to heat it keeps it fresh longer? Also we’d been wondering about the eggs. The egg yolks are almost orange. This is apparently because of the feed the chickens get. (No further questions your honor.)
In other news, it’s ‘fungus’ season here. Mushrooms, you know that fungus you are all soo fond off. The stores are full of them. There are dozens of varieties and prices vary widely, mostly prices vary according to the area the mushrooms come from. Whatever!
The storm is starting to let up a bit, I think I’ll venture some window opening. What the heck, I still have some dry towels left.
Well, picked S and Barry up at the airport on Saturday afternoon. Barry is S’s bosses, bosses boss, co-worker, friend, hmm, you’ll have to ask S for the exact pedigree. He’s very nice and extremely well traveled. He lived here in Toulouse before for a while so we happily drove into town with a guide for drinks and dinner. We parked under the ‘Place du Capitole’ and walked to the Place St. George. The Place St. George is a town square that is filled with cafes. The side walks are crowded with tables and chairs all in the color of the café they belong to.
(Getting slightly damp here) (This is heaven, watching thunderstorms is in the top five of my all time favorite things.)
We sat at a café for beers. At this point it’s about 18:30 and dinner isn’t served until at least 20hr, and even that is early. Really if you walk into a restaurant much before 20hr, they look at you funny and some places will only serve beverages until then. They really start to get crowded around 21hr.
Saturday shopping crowds were dispersing as shops closed and cafes opened and diners started to wander around. We had a beer and then I had a coffee. (Must keep stimulant/depressant intake balanced) I’m starting to love the coffee. A small cup of very dark coffee with 2 sugar cubes and (nobody faint, and no incredulous laughter either) no cream. Down the hatch. Absolutely delicious.
We heard people around us speaking French, Spanish and sometimes English. After people watching and listening to stories of Barry’s experiences and discoveries in Toulouse, he told us of a place on the Garonne River that is filled with great dining spots, so we walked.
(Ok, that lightning hit something very near here because the thunder was instantaneous and it shook the house.) (Getting very loud now!)
(I’m listening to Flight of the Bumble-Bee and it makes a great soundtrack to the frantic rushings outside as parents are picking up their children for lunch. Did I mention that school closes from noon to 2 for lunch also, just like all the businesses? They do. Parents or grandparents pick up the kids for lunch and then bring them back. Did I also mention that children start school at the age of 3?)
(Holy Cow that was loud!)
(Power is out)
(Great! Just went into the bathroom to discover that I’d forgotten to close that window and there’s a lake on the floor.)
(And now it’s hailing)
(Took wet towels out to the laundry in the garage to discover a small lake out there. Apparently there’s a leak in the garage roof!)
Umm, where was I? Oh, yeas, the Garonne. We walked for what seemed like miles (small exaggeration) until we came upon the river all lit up. We passed several bars filled with noisy people who appeared to have gotten an early start to their Saturday revelries. We finally came to a street, more like an alley, filled with restaurants on both sides of the very narrow street.
The restaurants have set price menus. The price could be 10 to 50 Euros for a ‘menue’. The ‘menue’ offers several courses and several choices for each course. It’s quite a bit of reading and guessing for three Americans. We finally settled on one that seemed to have a good selection for each of our tastes. I had a ‘Salade du Canard’ which is nothing more than a mixed green salad with large pieces of duck over the top and a nice vinaigrette dressing. The men had a salad with some delicious soft goat cheese on top. For the entrée I had duck, roasted and served with a baked potato loaded with cream. I really love duck, it has such wonderful flavor. The men each had salmon, each prepared differently. We shared. Dessert was of course my favorite, crème brûlée, this one with raspberries in it. A nice bottle of red wine and some good bread with dinner and coffee afterwards to round things out. We were serenaded by two gentlemen who wandered up and down the street playing accordions. We waddled back to the car. It’s a good thing we had to walk a ways.
Two funny things. First, some people brought their dogs to dinner with them. The dogs just lay on the sidewalk under the tables and waited. They were very well behaved. Then, Saturday night is apparently when the garbage is picked up. Between the restaurants were piles of garbage set out for pick up and halfway through dinner the garbage truck came rumbling down the road stopping every few meters to pick up garbage. The truck was inches from us as it drove by and we seemed to be the only ones startled (and grossed out) by this event. It took less than 10 minutes from one end of the street to the other, but still it was weird and very smelly.
(Power is back on, the washing machine is continuing where it left off. This is good because I now have another two loads of towels to do; though they’ll never dry in this weather. We have to get a drier.)
The guys left on Sunday for another couple of days. They’re near Biarritz on the Atlantic coast and invited me to join them but I declined. MCo. has a reputation (with me at least) for booking people into some real dives to save money. After I spoke to S last night, I was glad I had declined, per usual, scummy hotel. And anyway, then I would have missed this lovely storm. S and I will have to go when it’s for fun and not work.
Oh, got the lowdown on the milk. It’s not pasteurized like there, it’s irradiated. (Does that mean I’ll glow when I return?) I guess that the not having to heat it keeps it fresh longer? Also we’d been wondering about the eggs. The egg yolks are almost orange. This is apparently because of the feed the chickens get. (No further questions your honor.)
In other news, it’s ‘fungus’ season here. Mushrooms, you know that fungus you are all soo fond off. The stores are full of them. There are dozens of varieties and prices vary widely, mostly prices vary according to the area the mushrooms come from. Whatever!
The storm is starting to let up a bit, I think I’ll venture some window opening. What the heck, I still have some dry towels left.
Friday, September 19, 2003
La Poste
Today we discuss La Poste. It’s one of the most identifiable things here. La Poste is, obviously, the post. The mail. The mail trucks are bright yellow and have that little blue logo on them that says … you know. Like a normal post office the lines are always long and I hate going in there and tying someone up while I explain in my broken French interspersed with Spanish and English that I need postage to mail 5 postcards. So on one of their trucks I saw that they have a web site. I went there, but what was I thinking, it takes me 40 minutes to read through the site to figure anything out. Here’s a challenge, go to La Poste and see if you can determine from this site how much it would cost to mail a letter to the US from France. Go ahead, go there now, I’ll wait…Any ideas? Find anything that looks like it might lead you in that direction? I found it to be easier to write the postcards, take them with me to La Poste and hand them over to the woman at the counter and say ‘aux Etats-Unis’ she will then tell you that it costs ‘quatre-vingt-dix’. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it costs ‘four-twenty-ten’ cents to mail a postcard (or letter) to the US. That would be ninety cents (90 Euro cents which is slightly over a dollar). And for further oddities, I really enjoy counting past 80 because of the way you say the numbers. 80 is 4-20 and 90 is 4-20-10, but wait it gets better, 96 is 4-20-10-6. Isn’t that fun!
Ok, in further developments, made another pilgrimage to IKEA today. Our first real house guest will be here with S on Saturday night as it turns out. So I’ve been scrambling to organize and finish the upstairs rooms. Happy to say that the house tonight looks great. I, on the other hand, have sustained another injury. From all the moving and unpacking I have collected a large assortment of bruises, mostly on my legs. Today I assembled a small bureau and then dropped it on my leg while carrying it to the room it’s going into. Ever hurt yourself so badly that it actually takes your breath away. This reminded me that I don’t know who to call in case of emergency, fire, death, dismemberment… I am reasonably sure that there is a number to call but beats me what it is. Something to learn before I cook another meal. Well, you all are probably off to lunch but it’s 20hr here and I’m off to burn some dinner for myself. Tomorrow we’ll discuss the stove/oven issue. Hugs and kisses, I miss you all.
Ok, in further developments, made another pilgrimage to IKEA today. Our first real house guest will be here with S on Saturday night as it turns out. So I’ve been scrambling to organize and finish the upstairs rooms. Happy to say that the house tonight looks great. I, on the other hand, have sustained another injury. From all the moving and unpacking I have collected a large assortment of bruises, mostly on my legs. Today I assembled a small bureau and then dropped it on my leg while carrying it to the room it’s going into. Ever hurt yourself so badly that it actually takes your breath away. This reminded me that I don’t know who to call in case of emergency, fire, death, dismemberment… I am reasonably sure that there is a number to call but beats me what it is. Something to learn before I cook another meal. Well, you all are probably off to lunch but it’s 20hr here and I’m off to burn some dinner for myself. Tomorrow we’ll discuss the stove/oven issue. Hugs and kisses, I miss you all.
Thursday, September 18, 2003
Time and Lizards
Having difficulty keeping track of the day. I forget what day it is and the whole time difference really screws me up. I try to keep track of time there so I can phone J at an appropriate hour and do some banking on the phone too. It’s weird to initiate a bank transaction on Tuesday, but not be able to verify it till Wednesday when I can look at the Tuesday activity. If I initiate a transaction at 10hr my time, the bank in NY hasn’t opened yet, I can’t call them until about 15hr when my day is finally cooling off they are just getting to work. When I check e-mail in the morning it’s all stuff from the previous day. Ok, enough of that, it’s making me more confused.
It’s 17hr and school is getting out. All the traffic down this narrow street scares the holy crap out of me. I just know someone is going to get hurt, but no, everyone remains safe; they must be used to it.
Today’s topic is lizards. I grew up in So Cal I don’t know about you IL people but we had lizards in So Cal. Little brown ones whose greatest entertainment was that if you grabbed their tail to trap them the tail would come off in your hands. The lizard would escape and grow a new tail. Honest. Well there are lizards here. Same kind or a close cousin. I discovered them the other day on my walk and really didn’t give them much thought. Today however one was on the window ledge sunning. I took a handy piece of cardboard and shooed it away so I could close the shutters. It made me wonder if that was another one of those things I should worry about getting in the house. Then as I was hanging a load of laundry out to dry (getting the hang of this hanging stuff out thing) in the garage I saw one. In the garage! I always leave the door between the garage and the office open for air circulation but now I can’t. I’m hoping he was just misplaced, I opened the garage door and he darted for sunshine. Spiders are bad enough.
A special note to my IL ya-yas. Hellooo out there, is anyone there. I e-mailed this link to you all and have held up my end of the bargain, aside from my friends V.E. and M.M. I haven’t heard from any of you. A brief hello in the comments would suffice to let me know that you are reading and still alive.
It’s 17hr and school is getting out. All the traffic down this narrow street scares the holy crap out of me. I just know someone is going to get hurt, but no, everyone remains safe; they must be used to it.
Today’s topic is lizards. I grew up in So Cal I don’t know about you IL people but we had lizards in So Cal. Little brown ones whose greatest entertainment was that if you grabbed their tail to trap them the tail would come off in your hands. The lizard would escape and grow a new tail. Honest. Well there are lizards here. Same kind or a close cousin. I discovered them the other day on my walk and really didn’t give them much thought. Today however one was on the window ledge sunning. I took a handy piece of cardboard and shooed it away so I could close the shutters. It made me wonder if that was another one of those things I should worry about getting in the house. Then as I was hanging a load of laundry out to dry (getting the hang of this hanging stuff out thing) in the garage I saw one. In the garage! I always leave the door between the garage and the office open for air circulation but now I can’t. I’m hoping he was just misplaced, I opened the garage door and he darted for sunshine. Spiders are bad enough.
A special note to my IL ya-yas. Hellooo out there, is anyone there. I e-mailed this link to you all and have held up my end of the bargain, aside from my friends V.E. and M.M. I haven’t heard from any of you. A brief hello in the comments would suffice to let me know that you are reading and still alive.
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Andorra
We visited a small town in Andorra called Pas de la Casa on Saturday. It’s just across the border from France. But to get there was fun. Picture climbing mountains in a very small car, just switchbacks all the way to the top (more fun coming down!) There are two tunnels under the mountains; one goes toward Barcelona and the other toward the center of Andorra. We’ll probably take the second one next time we go to get to Andorra la Vella. We didn’t make it to Andorra la Vella, it was further in and we were running out of time. But that’s the other big town in Andorra.
Pas de la Casa is a border town and basically a ski resort, though this time of year it's pretty barren looking. It's so high up in the mountains (The Pyrenees) that it's above the timber line. Very barren, just grass and hills and rocks, oh, and wild horses. The big draw there this time of year is the shopping. France adds 20% tax to everything. 20%! So people go there for perfumes, jewelry, sporting goods, high ticket electronics etc. It's a steal at 20% off.
Mostly wandered through shops, tried to touch a wild horse but it showed me it's back end so I got out of its way. Walked, drove, ate. It was nice.
We explored some tiny towns on the France side on the way home and took pictures of churches. Stopped and had a few coffees here and there. Z you would love it! No brown water pretend coffee here. I’m not used to coffee this strong but it is surprisingly good.
Still trying to clean the place up and organize. It’s difficult to tell who is winning the spider wars. I was trying the humanitarian approach at first (not wanting to invite bad Karma) but couldn’t keep up. It seemed that every day there were more webs and more spiders in the corners of the ceiling. I finally just took the broom and began sweeping them away and squashing as many as I could get. This seemed to be working until yesterday when I opened a shutter and almost screamed at the size of the friend waiting for me there. Word must have gotten out and they’re sending in the heavies. I swept the big guy off the ledge, he curled into a ball and fell two stories. Of course my bedroom window is right below and now I’m paranoid that he may have gone in there.
S is gone now to Turkey and Hungary. Drove him to the airport at 5hr on Monday morning and will pick him up on Saturday afternoon. At least I have the car. He has encouraged me to go out and explore. I have to admit that it’s a bit frightening. Getting lost in Chicago is one thing, at least they speak the language and I know which way is west. Here I still don’t have my bearings and mostly have no clue which direction I’m driving in and if I get lost, no one speaks the language.
Went to the grocery store for a warm up and out to find a place to send a FAX on Tuesday. Today, though the mission was to find IKEA. I printed the map from the website, then compared it to the 4 other maps of Toulouse that I have, went out. Of course I got lost. I took the wrong turn off the highway and couldn’t get back on. (Damn those frickin circles, where are they when I need them.) So I just drove in the general direction until I found it. I had been trying to get there at 10hr, when they open, and arrived at 10:22. The parking lot was almost full, just like any other IKEA I’ve ever shopped at. It’s the weirdest thing. Anyway, went in list in hand and found a few things I needed. I didn’t get everything because it’s hot, and the store was hot, and some of the people were um…well to borrow a line from Meg Ryan in French Kiss…hygiene deficient. But at least it gives me an opportunity to get lost again tomorrow.
I came home and hit the boulangerie, there are two in town, one is a chain, you see them everywhere in every town. The second boulangerie is local and wonderful. I bought a couple of ‘brioche’ and some ‘palmiers’ too. The bread will be the death of me. Still losing weight though, apparently the stress still outweighing caloric intake. Cannot get used to the taste of the milk; even the nesquick doesn’t mask the flavor enough. This could be a problem, I love milk.
Pas de la Casa is a border town and basically a ski resort, though this time of year it's pretty barren looking. It's so high up in the mountains (The Pyrenees) that it's above the timber line. Very barren, just grass and hills and rocks, oh, and wild horses. The big draw there this time of year is the shopping. France adds 20% tax to everything. 20%! So people go there for perfumes, jewelry, sporting goods, high ticket electronics etc. It's a steal at 20% off.
Mostly wandered through shops, tried to touch a wild horse but it showed me it's back end so I got out of its way. Walked, drove, ate. It was nice.
We explored some tiny towns on the France side on the way home and took pictures of churches. Stopped and had a few coffees here and there. Z you would love it! No brown water pretend coffee here. I’m not used to coffee this strong but it is surprisingly good.
Still trying to clean the place up and organize. It’s difficult to tell who is winning the spider wars. I was trying the humanitarian approach at first (not wanting to invite bad Karma) but couldn’t keep up. It seemed that every day there were more webs and more spiders in the corners of the ceiling. I finally just took the broom and began sweeping them away and squashing as many as I could get. This seemed to be working until yesterday when I opened a shutter and almost screamed at the size of the friend waiting for me there. Word must have gotten out and they’re sending in the heavies. I swept the big guy off the ledge, he curled into a ball and fell two stories. Of course my bedroom window is right below and now I’m paranoid that he may have gone in there.
S is gone now to Turkey and Hungary. Drove him to the airport at 5hr on Monday morning and will pick him up on Saturday afternoon. At least I have the car. He has encouraged me to go out and explore. I have to admit that it’s a bit frightening. Getting lost in Chicago is one thing, at least they speak the language and I know which way is west. Here I still don’t have my bearings and mostly have no clue which direction I’m driving in and if I get lost, no one speaks the language.
Went to the grocery store for a warm up and out to find a place to send a FAX on Tuesday. Today, though the mission was to find IKEA. I printed the map from the website, then compared it to the 4 other maps of Toulouse that I have, went out. Of course I got lost. I took the wrong turn off the highway and couldn’t get back on. (Damn those frickin circles, where are they when I need them.) So I just drove in the general direction until I found it. I had been trying to get there at 10hr, when they open, and arrived at 10:22. The parking lot was almost full, just like any other IKEA I’ve ever shopped at. It’s the weirdest thing. Anyway, went in list in hand and found a few things I needed. I didn’t get everything because it’s hot, and the store was hot, and some of the people were um…well to borrow a line from Meg Ryan in French Kiss…hygiene deficient. But at least it gives me an opportunity to get lost again tomorrow.
I came home and hit the boulangerie, there are two in town, one is a chain, you see them everywhere in every town. The second boulangerie is local and wonderful. I bought a couple of ‘brioche’ and some ‘palmiers’ too. The bread will be the death of me. Still losing weight though, apparently the stress still outweighing caloric intake. Cannot get used to the taste of the milk; even the nesquick doesn’t mask the flavor enough. This could be a problem, I love milk.
Friday, September 12, 2003
Cold
Have cold.
Have fever.
Have “New country and not used to their germs” sickness.
Have INTERNET ACCESS! Yippee!
Have vitamin C.
Have Echinacea.
Have OJ and hot tea.
Have Kleenex
Have lovely new “Serta queen sized pillow top mattress set” bed.
Have fluffy comforter.
Have fluffy pillows.
Have to go there.
Have fever.
Have “New country and not used to their germs” sickness.
Have INTERNET ACCESS! Yippee!
Have vitamin C.
Have Echinacea.
Have OJ and hot tea.
Have Kleenex
Have lovely new “Serta queen sized pillow top mattress set” bed.
Have fluffy comforter.
Have fluffy pillows.
Have to go there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)