heredity

I just finished a book,written at the beginning of the 20Th century by a woman who happens to be a great-great -great aunt (sister to my paternal great grandmother). She was quite famous during her time and very prolific. Her novels were sentimental, odes to the power of love, with a dash of of turmoil and offense towards the plight of women then. She talks of feminism, already in 1905,and rebels against the double standard of morality and the inequality in work, justice, marriage. Her character is a 30 year old woman, who married young and whose husband fell ill and became dependant and mean spirited. She took care of him, full filling her duty to the world.But, young and passionate, she fell in love with another man, had an affair and bore an illegitimate child that her husband thought was his.She hid the truth. She was a somewhat liberated woman for her day, working as a journalist in a newly formed woman's magazine and her view of life was seen through the prism of her free friends .In the end love prevailed, after a new lover requested of her total sincerity, and a devotion to love.
Her last line in the book goes like that: "He wanted to talk, put all his faith, all his tenderness, all his fervor in one word and he could only whisper: my dear wife... Victory belonged to love which had never weakened,never despaired...to love, strong like life."
It is in my blood.

Love what you do

It is sweet and lucky to love what you do.It was a week of contrast. First, using my years of practice, I got to make great grilled steaks , salads with a crunchy twist ,perfect burgers with various toppings, and crazy s'mores.... I felt in control, knowing what to do each step of the way and to produce exactly what is expected. Then, it was off to the realm of food and art and to come up with visual ideas,recipes to experiment with : doing what I do best, beside burgers ! Here are a few snaps of some of the things I came up with: a fresh pea jelly ( that was paired with grilled lamb with salsa verde), a tapas of potatoes and mussels with golden caviar and deep fried green garlic and an exotic fruit soup, done 2 ways...... and what about these sour apricots, the color !!!!!

oakland weekend

First Friday of the month is the " artwalk" event in the new art ghetto of Oakland. I dragged significant, a blistery cold evening down to 23rd street and Telegraph avenue. The corner was crowded, the street was closed and a sound system was beating the rythm, while some young rappers performed. A graffiti artist was painting a mural, as I walk against the Northern wind, trying to see the fun silkscreen patches on funky fabrics, the self published manifestos, and the melted records turned into scalloped bowls. 5 galleries were open and showing some very accomplished art, as well as some little piles of hardened soil in odd shapes, which I liked anyway.The crowds were fun, a mix bag of locals, punky youths, artists getting calls on where the wharehouse party was, middle age prowlers with a sense of adventure. It felt like the east village, gritty,but with some money coming in,dynamic with new art displayed whimsically. We'll be back....
Then, off to Cesar for dinner.
we needed to warm up.
roasted mushrooms soup,the cod cazuela ( always) and the smoky,full flavored paella, did the trick( and what about the elderflower martini ? yes that too). The kitchen again used its repertoire of spices, condiments,oils and garlic with utter abandon and with the results of what a pair of strong brown calves could do, climbing on a rocky shore :confident, muscled and happy to be alive.

marvel

Do you remember my crazy rantings last year about my perfect delicious peach, the only fruit that my rescued tree produced ( but it was divine ). Well, it looks like the local bees have done their job again ( and what a job : they probably enjoy the powdery lickings as they fall head first into the fragrant blossoms), and out of the drying flower, a little pinhead of fruit is emerging.The tree is full of them.we will see how things fare this year,as I am hoping for a more prolific harvest. But again, who knows: one perfect peach was a pretty marvelous experience.

time to consider

It was very stressful.As in no energy left to climb the metro steps. I think I helped my mother recover from a dangerous pulmonary infection, and got her back home. The sense of dependance of the sick and aged, the cry for ending, the sadness of her brother's death during the weakening.....The familiar country cemetery ( my father rests there, off to the right), a drizzly morning, a branch of mimosa flowers placed simply on the casket, lowered while a corsican chant accompanied our tears.
I did this painting before my trip, but it reflects my emotions.

daughter

I will be in Paris, flying today, to take care of my mother who is in the hospital....
return unknown.

a date with love

My father used to say that the family dictate of old went something like" only love will do".He indeed fell in love with my mom at first sight when they were teens, and stayed in love until his death.This is my heritage, my ascendant in the house of cupid. I remember, as a single young woman walking the quiet avenues of Paris saying to myself" I want to be in love !!!!!".No other drug, or alcohol were necessary( we were getting drunk on love instead, and we had no money !).But then, I met significant, who knew what a little nip of Cointreau would do, and what would bring a sudden knitting of fingers, or kisses that would go on for hours....What was a student life, became a living together life,and then a married life, glam Dot came and went .The date with love goes on...

still life with me

If you go to my first "blog I love"link, you will find on the February 6 entry that one of my pictures was chosen as one favorite in six images out of over 850 entries...Each month on the "still life with" blog, there is a "challenge" and eager triggers are busy entering the flickr group . It was my first attempt. Can you tell which is mine ?

rave on beets or betteraves

dinner to make.seasonal a must, local preferred. Oven at 400, I place the white(!), golden,chiogga and baby reds on a alu sheet, brush a dab of olive oil on their witchy skin with crusty moles and long hairy side roots.Set at 58 minutes while I take a litterary nap (booker prize 2007) with my swiss chocolate (Frigor) as a childhood comfort.Speaking of, the house is slowly envelopped in a sweet chocolaty smell.These beets are truly amazing.Significant said later" I thought you were baking brownies....!!"I wonder for a second, what a sugar beet factory must smell like:a little odorous treat for northern folks in a desolate landscape.... I have to roast them for another 30 minutes, before they are knife friendly.After cooling, I remove the skins, and there, I have to apply my yogic attitude and take the job calmly and slowly as some skins have caramelized and decided to stay glued.But it is all worth it in the end:vinaigrette of blood orange juice and zest,shallots,champagne vinegar and olive oil,and plated with nicoise olives, a sprinkling of piment d'espelette and slices of blood oranges.oregano leaves scattered and bud placed for color.
Back in Paris,when I was growing up, beets salads were common.The beets were always sold already cooked,( even at outdoors markets), probably boiled in big copper pots ( my vision).They were always red .We only had to rub off the thick skins that would come off soft and fleshy , like peeling a fresh wound. My mother would always cut them in little cubes, and often served them as a mixed salad of beets and mache, which is a French classic bistro pairing.
I love both styles.

winter light

dried lemons craddled in a carved wooden vine leaf bowl from my childhood. The past can be recalled. washed out and blue.