portrait of the artist as a young man

This is a sweet picture. While in Paris, I had a visit over a raspberry mousse cake with my cousin Muriel. She had found in some family album this photo: Taken in the late 40's, just after the war, it is the grand debut of my father's acting career. During the war he was imprisoned in a concentration camp in Austria, from which he escaped. he came back home to Paris, gaunt and resolute to start his artist life. He had the main role in this comedy that set him on a life path .It is him in the straw hat in the middle.

slow week end

San Francisco was the host city to a mega celebration of artisan made food, the slow way, the hand made way, the seasonal way.I quickly sniffed a rotting mackerel. The concept is good of course, but America being it itself, it had to put on a giant 3 day event,with 60 000 people expected to wait in line for a tasting of what I can buy easily at my Farmers market, thank you. I have been a slow food shopper ( and cook) for over 20 years ( even longer if I count the hippies years of bulk grains and home made yogurt) and growing up in the skirts of French mother and grand mother, I know how to appreciate food the way it is intended.
My friend J, who make the most delicious preserves, syrups,fruit cheeses etc conterattacked with her own slow food fringe event, she felts that one had to see the hand made , artisan food made, live as we say. her are some images from my visit to her kitchen as I moved slowly from one table to the next, talking to friends and sampling her creations (the fresh currant grapes in the fennel syrup was otherwordly).





The weather was beautiful, which enticed the body to go slow.Outside long lunches, gardening, and walk on the side of the Pacific, massages listening to Carla Bruni last CD, reading "the plegue" by Camus, cooking the slow way some amazing shelling beans from this wonderful farmer from Bolinas, Annabelle( saute a mirepoix of celery, shallots,carrots,thyme, bay leaf, add the fresh beans and braise in a organic vegetable broth).A kind neighbor brought a flat of apples from her back yard and we ate some slowly, relishing the sweet juices and the crisp bite.

back on planet home

August in Paris. all food shops closed but for the mini supermarket.Charentais melons dripping with nectar, rose wine on ice, hot winds, quiet streets, surrealist clouds,modern neighborhoods,romantic ballads,bizarre S&M Japanese movie from the 70"s, tea with George Whitman,giant orange silicone thumb sculpture,sagging jeans French style, refreshing crunch of the Radish, back of the ear scratch on the beautiful and sad donkeys of my childhood, all in all, a sweet dream.

ode to my (french) breakfast

I cannot believe that I still delight in the same breakfast. In France, breakfast are a subdued affair, even on the week end, where you might find yourself running to the bakery for a warm croissant and running back to slip into the warm bed, cradling a big bowl of cafe au lait as you wipe a few buttery crumbs from your lover's chin..... ( no Sunday paper to interfere ). during the week, a quick coffee and a tartine, sometimes a baguette, a raisin loaf, a slice of poilane bread,smeared with rich Normandy butter "a la motte"( a big rounded pyramid of yellow goodness as it was shaped after churning) with some good jam. Ahhhhh...
Never have I had a cereal breakfast.I have been found to indulge in a warm oatmeal porridge in the winter once in a great while, but then , I come to miss my toasted tartine ( preferably dark brown), and with it, my two mugs of burning hot tea. That first sip is something that I sight over,pain of the hot liquid on my tongue with the pleasure of my night thirst being finally quenched.summer bounty of berries,I made some raspberry jam to round up the delicious moment.

harvest

August 1 is National Swiss day.This tiny country has been free and democratic for over.. 8oo years or so.With long summers of pine forest, mushrooms hunting and swims in lake Geneva, August 1 was a special day that we would look forward to: Children would parade at night with candle lit paper lanterns of suns, red Swiss flags with a white cross,etc..Fires would be lit everywhere over the mountains and flicker like stars on earth. We would play with colored matches and be happy with doing little figure 8 that would last a few seconds.
A aunt and uncle would have a few fireworks, and we would eat some local cabbage sausages with boiled potatoes.simple, traditional, old fashioned,magical.
Even if I do not live in the country, I manage to grow a few fruits and vegetables and herbs.I nudge them a bit,encourage them with tender caresses and words, and what pay back.....
this is what I received yesterday:

cooking class

I was there at Joanne Weir's class, making the food pretty for an article documenting the process. 12 students( with 3 assistants) took over her kitchen, making a very elaborate meal that they would eat later, paired with wines explained by a sommelier. Here is a quote from my client" you were a sea of calm in the middle of a storm etc....." it was loud, chaotic,messy with a double sink filled to the rafters with dirty pots, plates, whisks,bowls..... I had to find a postage stamp corner to do my work: salad with stone fruits ( hey, we think alike !) and baked goat slab with toasted almonds, a spicy corn souflle ( that was a challenge that got me to the brink of sanity) and a Tuscan sandwich of a pork tenderloin baked in a baguette with a slather of herbs and olive oil and fennel pollen...) I loooove that fennel pollen.licorice lover that I am, it put me in ecstasy just by sniffing it.

overcast with bright sun

Sunday was a typical summer day in San Francisco.fog hanging hard over the Bay, northern winds that feel Alaskan bending branches and flipping hairstyles, a cool 13 Centigrade for my French readers.Otherwise a balmy 25 just a few hills away.
We were heading to the Legion of Honor Museum, high on a bluff overlooking a tempestuous Pacific. I do not know the whole history of this building, but you can see the traces left by my compatriots



.Add a copy of Rodin, and a tiny replica of the pyramid number deux of the Louvre, and you could see yourself crossing a Parisian courtyard, high heels ricocheting on the beige stones.



Surprise, a giant glass sun, try to warm the day.This amazing and typical sculpture by a artist named Chiluly beckoned like a single glow left after some grey and dreary nuclear disaster. It is bright, it is wild, it is astonishing, but it leaves me cold.That darn sun didn't manage to warm me a bit. We went to see and hear " la Boheme" in the sweet theater inside the museum. When I sat down, the pianist alone was playing some beautiful music and I wanted to record the moment.By the time I figured out settings on my camera, the famous and dear Donald Pippin was a ghost leaving his chair.


It was a glorious moment, tale of love,death, and the magic beauty of flowers: I cried.the voices carried the emotions to my heart. I was warm then.
The day ended at my friend C for a wonderful evening of delicious food, friends and the cosy glow of fire.That is your sweet payback for an overcast summer day in San Francisco.

saturday lunch

I like saturday mornings a lot. It has its pleasurable predictable routine that I cherish. When I make that right turn around the corner on my bicycle heading to my 10:30 am yoga class, I invariably take a deep long breath and the stress is left behind, I am 13, riding my red bicycle through the wheat fields behind the little village outside of Paris where my family owned a house.I am on the way to the quaint bakery, avoiding the crowd of boys resting against the rusted gate, to get a candy bar, savouring it as I meander, free and independent, stopping at the end of a hillside to catch my breath and admiring the eglantines on a bush.
After the class, I head to the Farmers Market with my Monoprix bag,and my exquisitely made cash pouch created by Dot. The usual stops: bread at Morell's, produce at River Dog farm, Hudson fish to check their catch ( today: local white bass that I will cook tonight, poached with fennel, baby artichokes,wine, shallots).A woman caught my eye at the lettuce counter. She was picking a bunch of scallions and couldn't make up her mind,she would pick one up and hesitate and exchange it for another perfect one, all the same as they were. I hoped that her life was not so difficult.Then I pedal uphill , to arrive home, particularly hungry and ready for a good,hearty but simple meal.Often a sandwich, make that a salad if it is warm, but the one constant is that it will be eaten leisurely and with delicious pleasure.
So Today, I decided to revisit a dish already mentioned, but that I tweaked a bit, so it might be worth revisiting:egg salad sandwich ala pouke:
start with a jar of roasted piquillo peppers,cut in strips and drop in a marinade of olive oil, garlic, fennel seeds, oregano, salt and pepper. cook your eggs the Julia Child way ( in cold water, bring to a boil, cover, turn heat off,leave for 10 mn), grill bread ( brushed with olive oil),cut up cooked eggs and mix with mayonnaise salt and pepper.rub the bread with a ripe tomato Spanish style. assemble and dust with paprika.
square bread is rice bread for gluten sensitive significant,sesame wheat country from Morell's for me.
Bon apetit !

figs and black pearls, wisdom

Last week , I spent a day with a friend that I have for, let's say , a fairly long time,and that I do no see very often since she moved to the East Coast. We met, sitting desk to desk in a communication class when I wanted to become a video editor.... She had been spending a decade in Amsterdam, following a wild lover that she had met laying next to in a hospital bed in India where she lived then. It was her boots then that I first flashed on : a royal blue leather number which looked very different from anything else around. She was single then, and I tried to play matchmaker once or twice, then unto marriage, kids when I had Dot, careers, relationships etc. We had many walks, back massages,and videotapes to replay both in our minds and our eyes what we have shared.Mostly emotions,and good pure, wise moments of friendship.
If you know our backyard, you know our dwarf fig tree.How did it produce such an extraordinary specimen is beyond my understanding. I give up, and thank such creation.



I have had this painting over my bed for over 2 months, it had a red stripe that never quite worked.This afternoon, finally half emerging from a whacked night of food poisoning, I got up from my bed, and decided that it had been too long already and painted a black line instead.It is called" fishing for black pearls in a polluted sea"

healthy

Would you eat this ? would you order it and have it delivered ? This is part of a business plan that I worked on this week .Healthy, seasonal, organic and mostly local food, composed by renowned chefs and brought to your door....pretty impressive vision.fairly difficult logistics to work with. good luck, guys !



I like this smoked paprika from Spain so much, I try to sneak it in as much as I can. It worked well with my caramelized pepper salad.( now raw in the pan)The colors make me sing a summer dream of fiesta ,chilled rose and siesta in the grass, crickets playing their staccato repetitive bows.



I thought these garden herbs from my back yard looked amazing in a big bowl of icy water to keep them fresh for their dressy act of garnish....