Cooking through decades

 

My mother was a gourmet cook. My grandmother was an old-fashioned cook. Food was important in our house. We would discuss lunch plans at breakfast and dinner plans at lunch. Conversations often involved recipes, restaurants and food in general.

My mother who was a journalist in her later years had a newspaper column called Stove Stories https://stovestories.blogspot.com which she later collected for a book. Although it was never published in her lifetime, I put it into a blog. It was her theory that with favorite meals there are memories. For me there are a lot of good eating memories.

I’ve inherited my love of food as well as my great grandmother’s bean pot (used almost every Saturday night from the 1880s through to Kennedy’s presidency, a wooden bowl and a curved cutting knife, and the New England Yankee Cookbook.

 I consult the cookbook fairly regularly for ideas. I like knowing if I make Coventry Baked Soup the family of George Taylor of South Coventry, CT enjoyed it too. I wish I knew more about them. Was it a big family for example?

 

I like the first page that says "An anthology of INCOMPARABLE RECIPES FROM SIX NEW ENGLAND STATES and a Little Something about the People whose Traditions for Good Eating is herein permanently recorded BY IMOGENE WOLCOTTT from the files of Yankee magazine and from Time worn Recipe Books and many Gracious Contributors.”

A web search of Imogene shows that the book has been republished. I suspect Imogene never suspected when she wrote the book in1939 one of the original copies would travel to France -- but it did.

Is available on Amazon.

Bells

 

 

The church bells ring multiple times at 7:05 in the morning and 19:05 at night at the church, Notre Dame del Prat in Argelès, which was built in the 13th century. It is at the end of our block. They also ring:

• Once on the quarter hour 
• Twice on the half hour
• Three times on the three quarter hour
  
• Four times on the hour followed by the correct hour

There is a different ring for weddings, funerals and masses.

I've been in the tower with its 360° view of the area: mountains, sea, villages. Our guide was careful we wouldn't be there when the bells rang. 

"Assourdissant," Jean-Marc our guide and village historian said. I believed him. Deafening.

In Collonge-Bellerive it is hard to the hear the bells unless the wind is right. We are about 15 minutes by foot away. 

If we happen to be in the village at noon, they ring 105 times, if I've counted right. We can say approximately 105 times.

The sound of cow bells echo through many Swiss villages. When I first lived in a tiny village the cows walked through at dawn and dusk on their way to pasture before they were taken up the mountains for the summer.

I've heard that the queen cow wears the biggest bell. Considering how heavy the bell is, I wonder if the queen would happily forsake her title.

I love their sound, although there are people in the countryside (usually people who've moved from the city) who not appreciate their music.

In Argelès we can use the 7:05 bells as a happy alarm and the daily bells as a clock.

We miss the bell routine when we're in Switzerland, but when we've been driving through the Swiss countryside and see bell-wearing cows, we've been known to stop and listen. 

Bells play a part in literature with titles like When the Bells Toll, Bell Hath No Fury, The Three Bells, Dead and Gone to Bell to name a few.

Bells are in song title, although "Jingle Bells" is the first that comes to my mind.

Any minute the 13:15 bell will ring at Notre Dame del Prat reminding, it is time to empty the dishwasher and start lunch.

Romance

 

I was shocked to realize that my husband and I have been living together for seven years. It went so fast and so happily.

Have we been attacked with the seven-year itch?

No.

By now the romance should be gone.

When we first were a couple we were always at our best.

Living together peels away any facade. We see each other in the morning with bad breath and bed hair.

We've tested the sickness and health bit. We've learned to put up with each other weird habits. 

There have been situations such as "what the hell are we going to do?" as we work through misc. problems.

And there are the daily things that aren't romantic like taking out the garbage and emptying the dishwasher.

Yet the romance isn't gone, but it is different.

Often I look up to see Rick with flowers in his hand. Or he'll walk into a room and and share a bit of  black chocolate. Both of us will drop a kiss on the back of the neck as we write or reach for each other's hand as we watch a program. We may not be big on candle light dinners because lunch is our main meal, but we've been known to play music to add to our lunch.  

It may not be considered romantic, but we thank each other for doing what might be considered routine chores. We listen to each other about our writing, hopes.

We have a no pussyfooting rule leaving one or the other to admit things we'd rather not. It usually starts out with "Your Husband or Wife is an idiot," depending on who is admitting doing something dumb or "Ejit" because Rick loves that Irish word. 

This morning it was cool and rainy. We stayed in bed reading. The dog was between us. Bad breath and bed hair not withstanding, it felt romantic and comfortable and those two are not opposites. They are our lives.

 

Fake News

 

As a child, our news sources were Walter Cronkite, Huntley and Brinkley, the Boston Post and the Boston Herald. The Boston Globe was too liberal. We also read Time Magazine, Look,  Readers Digest. We felt informed, but we weren't. 

I discovered this right after the 1967 War when I met my first Palestinian. Her point of view bore no resemblance to that of the news.

Then again, when I was living in France and watched bodies being scooped from the sea. They were victims of the U.S. shooting down an Iranian Airbus. I mentioned to several friends in the States. None of them were aware of those shots.

 

I chalked it up to under reporting nor fake reporting.

 

Yesterday, I was watching CNN refute the latest lies from the Republican convention backed up with sources.

 

My husband and I have been outspoken on the catastrophic situation in the U.S. We have been accused of many things including being Communists, ignorant, senile and uninformed. I contend we are better informed than many who rely on one or two news sources or information from a single political bent.

 

Why?

 

We look at 16+ news sites from North America, Europe, Middle East and Asia. This includes on the internet, television stations, magazines and books. We read books on economics, history and biographies, along with fun fiction. We look at right, left and middle.

 

I prefer seeing convention coverage on British, French, Israeli stations, Arabic and Russian stations. Likewise most American new seen through a "foreign" eye can be more neutral.

 

As professional communicators, writers and journalists, both my husband and I are aware of how a word can slant a story. 

 

I don't want a right or left perspective. I want a world-wide perspective. 

 

 

R.I.P. BooBoo

 

Sherlock loves to pretend he is a hunter with his toys. Between his wolf howls and head shakes, he is a happy puppy.

BooBoo was his second toy in December 2017 and was much loved. The loving caused BooBoo to undergo many surgeries to the point if one looked closely, he would resemble Frankstein.

Yesterday, BooBoo lost to one last shake down. His stuffing was spread throughout the flat and his emptied body lay helpless on the stair.

No more will BooBoo sleep in "The Horde" the place where Sherlock takes all his treasures. The first time he did it was as a three-month old puppy minutes after being brought into the house.

My daughter knows how to pick toys Sherlock will love although many also have had surgery like poor BooBoo. 

The Nelson/Adams Medical team says R.I.P. BooBoo.

 

Sunrise on the Med

 

Crosshatch on water

Sunlight paths divide the soft waves

playing their music.

Church bells ring in Argelès at 7:05. This morning the sunrise was scheduled for 7:05. We knew we wouldn't hear them, but we felt the needed to see the sun come up over the Med. We could imagine the bells.

Sherlock was out of the car and down the path to the water (which will never touch his feet.) We followed, awed by the sky's pinks and blues and one line of red. Where the sun would make its appearance, was previewed by a halo.

Except for one couple on the far side of the sand and Sherlock, we were alone. Minute by minute the sky changed until the sun had escaped the sea. It shone a path of what looked like yellow stones to shore.

We looked to our left. Horses and riders broke our solitude as they headed for a swim in the ragged shoreline.

We wanted to go home before the end of the tourists interrupted our magic moment.

Opposite the beach and sea are the mountains and wild plants, beautiful in another way. Each step to the car only reinforced our total love of our lives.

 

Marché

 We tend to avoid the marché during tourist season when walking between the stalls reminds us of being one of a zillion salmon swimming up stream. With the virus we have even more motivation to stay away. We are within a block of the marché that runs 9-12 more or less.

This morning Marco came to start painting at 8 so I was up and dressed. I grabbed my rainbow basket and all my empty egg cartons to return to the egg lady.

 

She was grateful for the cartons and that I had exact change as she packed my eggs in one of my returned cartons.

My next stop was the brownie lady. She and her husband were still setting up. I wanted one of her savory fig and cheese tarts for breakfast. Although she would have served me immediately, I said I would go have a cup of tea at "the boys" rather than have her break her normal setup. As I sipped my Yorkshire tea and ate my tiny cake, I watched the merchants set up, marveling at the amount of work the merchants go through to set up and take down each market day.

A shirtless man, with a body worthy of showing off, was flirting with a pretty young woman setting up her woman's clothes stall. From her body language, I could see she was polite, might be interested but not then. She had too much to do. He got the hint and left.

I chatted with an Irish friend, who had bad news about a mutual acquaintance who was planning to come next week.

Pierre, a local with whom I've had thousands of conversation, stopped to tell me that one of his friends had died. I was only on nodding relations with the man who had been suffering from dementia. As usual we went deeper into conversation. Pierre was always good for giving my French and thought processes a good workout and today was no different.

 The brownie lady had my purchases wrapped and waiting. Another customer asked if I were English. I said no Swiss, but she didn't understand. On the 14th repetition she did. Her accent was Italian.

I was home before 9 missing the crowds but not the pleasure of the marché.

 

Updates

 Facebook has announced it is changing. I have not tried it.

Blogger changed. Somethings are better some are worse.

There is nothing I hate more than to have a notice on my computer screen that updates are about to happen. Makes me wonder why they couldn't get it right the first time or any of the hundreds to times they update.

Mostly when I turn on the computer, I want it to be like I left it. I don't not want to spend time trying to figure out a new this or that. 

TO ALL THOSE THAT FIDDLE WITH MY PROGRAMS...LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!

Doing your job

Me: What's the matter? You look sad, Sherlock.

Sherlock: Rick yelled at me. I was just doing my job. There was the black cat, a huge dog, a man pulling a suitcase all walking by. I barked and barked until they went away. But Rick yelled  "NO!!!!!" Why? It's my job.

Me: And?

Sherlock: I forgot to mention the feather from the pigeon and two leaves fell off the grapevine. He yelled when I barked at that too.

Me: Why do you think it is your job?

Sherlock: I'm protecting you, and Rick and all my toys from the people, animals, leaves and feather.

Me: But they didn't come in.

 

Sherlock: Sigh, but they might have. What if they'd kidnapped Lamb Chop or Pocahontas?

Me: Who has come in in the past?

Sherlock: Right now Marco who is painting on the patio. And there's Lydia, Eva, Rolf, Angela, Karrie, the people we meet at the café. And oh yes Rita and Paddy.  Oh and Heather, but she took me for lovely walks.

Me: None of those people hurt us or your toys?

Sherlock: No, except for bad dog Paddy and peed on our curtains, but he's still my buddy.

Me: They are our friends all those people? And Paddy?

Sherlock: And I am glad to see them. They pat me and tell me how cute I am.

Me: So maybe your job could be done by just barking at people who stay at the door and not walk by?

Sherlock: But that black cat, she taunts me.

Me: Don't give her the pleasure of reacting.

We would have continued talking but he sprang off the stairs to bark at two chihuahuas walking by. Rick was in the kitchen making lunch and didn't yell at him.

 

 

How to make coffee

 

 

We are not coffee drinkers. I do have an Italian coffee pot for company who wants coffee.

 

Marco, our local artist is preparing our patio wall for a tableau. He loves coffee.

 

I’ve taken off for Hostalet aka “The Boys” a couple of blocks from our flat. Their wifi is working. Ours is throwing irregular stop working strikes. Nothing like a good cup of Yorkshire tea along with a working wifi.

 

When I married my husband, he could have won the gold medal for finicky eaters. Living in France and Switzerland has converted him to trying many things and liking them. We share the cooking and he’s become quite accomplished. But making coffee has not been one of them for lack of need. He FB messages me.

First FB message on how he should make coffee.

“I mostly filled the bottom with coffee, then mostly filled the top with water, put it on the stove at 10 and for 6 minutes (plus extra pot for weight).

My answer

Bottom is water middle with coffee, but on stove and check when top is filled. Or go to Noisette and buy him a coffee.”

Second FB message

Bottom is water?

The little round cup is not for the coffee?

Not sure Noisette is open, they weren't when I walked Sherlock at 8.

So all I was doing was heating / burning coffee grounds - how much coffee in the top?

Third FB Message

I am not doing this right. Water bottom, coffee in top?

Or water AND coffee in bottom nothing in top?

Do we have any sugar?

My answer

Sugar in heart cup.

Fourth FB Message

So water in bottom, coffee in strainer cup, nothing in top canister? The coffee bubbles up into that? Gotta get on a call

My answer

Correct

Fifth FB Message

I'm still doing something wrong. There is no liquid coming up into the cylinder. (This is going to be a blog.)

Sixth FB Message

I was right, Noisette is closed this morning. Got the coffee from Mille et Une.

 

Glad to provide your morning's entertainment.

Seventh FB Message

Are U coming back now?

 

I’ll show him how to do it for Marco if I’m not here the next few days while Marco is working. He needs to show me something on my Kindle. Shared knowledge.

I’m not making fun. He deserves kudos for trying. He has a dueling blog at http://lovinglifeineurope.blogspot.com