All of the below, with the welcome addition of some cool, sweet melon charentais and Bayonne ham (delectable), foie gras as made by my mother (divine decadence!), a thimbleful of champagne, salade verte to my heart's content, clafoutis de cerise and more I can't quite remember now...
*burp*
I love going home - can you tell?
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Things I am looking forward to eating in France
On Friday morning, I leave for Toulouse to catch up with family and a beach holiday. Despite my repeat reminders to myself to focus on the here and now, I just can't wait to go home, lounge around and read non-improving books.
Here are some of the things I am really looking forward to eating:
Haricots verts
As a child, we used to dread haricot vert season because it was just so intense. First, we'd have to pick the damn things early in the morning before it got too hot. Then they would feature at lunch and possibly at dinner too. For what felt like weeks on end. Plus they were green. And ubiquitous. We didn't know how lucky we were.
The haricots verts you get in Sweden are wrong in all sorts of ways. First of all, I have been spoiled when it comes to freshness. I mean come on, you pick in the morning to eat at lunch - can't really get fresher than that. Also they come from East Africa which is great for East African farmers, but not so great for the old carbon footprint. Nor is it great for the food budget - outrageous prices! Finally, they are just too stringy for this haricot snob.
Magret de canard
Duckbreast, but actually I'd be glad for any part of the duck to be honest. It should be cooked over a woodfire, bright pink in the middle and served with parsleyed pommes sautées cooked in duck fat. Hells bells, I am drooling already.
White peaches
These delicate little beauties are hard to find abroad because they don't travel well. But the rewards! Sweet, juicy and parfumée, they are perfect after any meal as you let the juices run down your wrists. They spell summer for me.
Le plateau de fromage
This year, I will forgo all soft unpasteurised cheeses. It's a tough thing to do, but at least I will be consoled by the likes of Ossau Iraty and other Pyrenees cheese made with cow or ewe's milk. Sharp yet creamy, they are absolutely delicious with a good piece of baguette (my mother has informed me that she has ordered daily fresh bread - I am in heaven). We do not bother with crackers, digestives, fruit or other preserves here, it is just pure unadulterated cheese bliss.
Salade de tomates
Not a fancy dish by any means, and probably not with homegrown tomatoes either, but with a sharp red wine vinegar dressing and some finely chopped red onion, this is another summer starter hit. I can feel the sweet acidy taste hitting my tongue now, soothed by the olive oil... The juices get soaked up with a piece of bread. Heaven.
Here are some of the things I am really looking forward to eating:
Haricots verts
As a child, we used to dread haricot vert season because it was just so intense. First, we'd have to pick the damn things early in the morning before it got too hot. Then they would feature at lunch and possibly at dinner too. For what felt like weeks on end. Plus they were green. And ubiquitous. We didn't know how lucky we were.
The haricots verts you get in Sweden are wrong in all sorts of ways. First of all, I have been spoiled when it comes to freshness. I mean come on, you pick in the morning to eat at lunch - can't really get fresher than that. Also they come from East Africa which is great for East African farmers, but not so great for the old carbon footprint. Nor is it great for the food budget - outrageous prices! Finally, they are just too stringy for this haricot snob.
Magret de canard
Duckbreast, but actually I'd be glad for any part of the duck to be honest. It should be cooked over a woodfire, bright pink in the middle and served with parsleyed pommes sautées cooked in duck fat. Hells bells, I am drooling already.
White peaches
These delicate little beauties are hard to find abroad because they don't travel well. But the rewards! Sweet, juicy and parfumée, they are perfect after any meal as you let the juices run down your wrists. They spell summer for me.
Le plateau de fromage
This year, I will forgo all soft unpasteurised cheeses. It's a tough thing to do, but at least I will be consoled by the likes of Ossau Iraty and other Pyrenees cheese made with cow or ewe's milk. Sharp yet creamy, they are absolutely delicious with a good piece of baguette (my mother has informed me that she has ordered daily fresh bread - I am in heaven). We do not bother with crackers, digestives, fruit or other preserves here, it is just pure unadulterated cheese bliss.
Salade de tomates
Not a fancy dish by any means, and probably not with homegrown tomatoes either, but with a sharp red wine vinegar dressing and some finely chopped red onion, this is another summer starter hit. I can feel the sweet acidy taste hitting my tongue now, soothed by the olive oil... The juices get soaked up with a piece of bread. Heaven.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
The routine of no routine
Here at No Direction Home, no two days are ever exactly alike. That definitely sounds more exciting than what reality has to offer. There are of course repeat events, the bookends of the day. Early morning and nightime routines are usually the same, but the sandwich filling in the middle certainly gets mixed up over the week.
Mornings usually kick off with a very British tea and toast combo while reading the morning papers online. I've cancelled the GP subscription because a) I cannot be bothered with its incessant whining and b) piles of newspapers EVERYWHERE. Once I've surfaced, I have one of two choices: cycle into work for a morning of language instruction or stay at home and hack away at a translation project.
Evenings are worryingly the same: dinner slumped in front of the telly (current obsession: Game of Thrones), then ablutions and an hour's worth of reading about the Nazis. This is becoming a problem. Then pass out on the dot of 11.
So basically, two days are very much alike, thus making my opening statement a pile of nonsense. In actual fact, I love rituals, the small and private kind, that helps me pace my day. I love making my pot of tea in the morning: boil water, pour some into the empty pot, swirl around and empty, add one teaspoon of tea leaves, pour water again, leave to brew for a bit. Right now its 2pm and I am indulging in the ritual of making Turkish/Lebanese coffee (Turkish because that's where the coffee comes from, and Lebanese because I'm following the instructions from my Lebanese/Belgian sister in law). It goes like this: heat water and a teaspoon of sugar in a small pot or raquí (spelling?), once boiled, add coffee grounds away from the heat, stir, take a teaspoon of the froth and place in your coffee cup. Return the pot to the heat and bring to the boil, then remove immediately. Repeat three times. Let the coffee sit for the grounds to slowly sink to the bottom, then pour into your tiny cup. Most soothing. Except when you misjudge and coffee boils over covering all surfaces with a mud like consistency. I've learned to watch my pot like a hawk now.
So rituals. They are so comforting. I even enjoy the rituals of others (as long as they are not too far out there), like my friend from boarding school. Her going to bed ritual involved rubbing the soles of her feet together before climbing into bed to prevent any dust or grit getting into the covers. I used to listen out for the brushing sound and know that all was well with the world.
I shared a room with three other girls, and discovered three other ways of brushing your teeth.
Rituals, how do you enjoy yours?
Mornings usually kick off with a very British tea and toast combo while reading the morning papers online. I've cancelled the GP subscription because a) I cannot be bothered with its incessant whining and b) piles of newspapers EVERYWHERE. Once I've surfaced, I have one of two choices: cycle into work for a morning of language instruction or stay at home and hack away at a translation project.
Evenings are worryingly the same: dinner slumped in front of the telly (current obsession: Game of Thrones), then ablutions and an hour's worth of reading about the Nazis. This is becoming a problem. Then pass out on the dot of 11.
So basically, two days are very much alike, thus making my opening statement a pile of nonsense. In actual fact, I love rituals, the small and private kind, that helps me pace my day. I love making my pot of tea in the morning: boil water, pour some into the empty pot, swirl around and empty, add one teaspoon of tea leaves, pour water again, leave to brew for a bit. Right now its 2pm and I am indulging in the ritual of making Turkish/Lebanese coffee (Turkish because that's where the coffee comes from, and Lebanese because I'm following the instructions from my Lebanese/Belgian sister in law). It goes like this: heat water and a teaspoon of sugar in a small pot or raquí (spelling?), once boiled, add coffee grounds away from the heat, stir, take a teaspoon of the froth and place in your coffee cup. Return the pot to the heat and bring to the boil, then remove immediately. Repeat three times. Let the coffee sit for the grounds to slowly sink to the bottom, then pour into your tiny cup. Most soothing. Except when you misjudge and coffee boils over covering all surfaces with a mud like consistency. I've learned to watch my pot like a hawk now.
So rituals. They are so comforting. I even enjoy the rituals of others (as long as they are not too far out there), like my friend from boarding school. Her going to bed ritual involved rubbing the soles of her feet together before climbing into bed to prevent any dust or grit getting into the covers. I used to listen out for the brushing sound and know that all was well with the world.
I shared a room with three other girls, and discovered three other ways of brushing your teeth.
Rituals, how do you enjoy yours?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
and another thing
Hello dear neglected blog. Yes I know the extent of my flakiness, but it's not like you are going to thwack me over the head every time I fail to blog consistently. Although the whole carrot and stick technique might well be the only one that works on me...
So what has happened in the meantime? Well, I have acquired another job, on top of the three I had already. Translation is making me lose the will to live. My new job makes me wake up with a delightful knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Same old, same old essentially.
Gothenburg is showing us its best sunny side (with the occasional shower, just to keep you on your toes). I have learned to blow dry my hair. The results are sadly lacking in glam aura, but it does show a marked improvement in the grooming area. What else, oh yes, I have been to 3 baby showers in as many months, a completely new appointment on my social diary as I had never attended anything remotely baby showeresque in my life before. It may be some time before I venture out to another such event.
Am I going to write more? Well, no promises, but maybe, just maybe.
So what has happened in the meantime? Well, I have acquired another job, on top of the three I had already. Translation is making me lose the will to live. My new job makes me wake up with a delightful knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Same old, same old essentially.
Gothenburg is showing us its best sunny side (with the occasional shower, just to keep you on your toes). I have learned to blow dry my hair. The results are sadly lacking in glam aura, but it does show a marked improvement in the grooming area. What else, oh yes, I have been to 3 baby showers in as many months, a completely new appointment on my social diary as I had never attended anything remotely baby showeresque in my life before. It may be some time before I venture out to another such event.
Am I going to write more? Well, no promises, but maybe, just maybe.
Friday, May 21, 2010
I prepare myself mentally for the big jump
It's V-day tomorrow (Varvet) and I have just eaten a truckload of pasta. I didn't even feel like chowing down on pasta though was v hungry. Such is the pre-race peer pressure my friends.
Anyroad, it is Friday night and I am larging it up in front of the computer, awaiting the return of the male half of this household (he's been away for a week - the flat has never been tidier). I'm glad this week has finally come to an end: what with his J-ness away and working 14 hour days because I am an idiot who can't say no, I think we can simply label this A Trying Time and move on swiftly to more enjoyable things. The half-marathon tomorrow sadly doesn't fit into that category, but I am determined to make it a non-downer. I have a couple of days in Stockholm to look forward to, and that includes seeing Wilco AND Flight of the Conchords. What more could a girl ask for?
Anyroad, it is Friday night and I am larging it up in front of the computer, awaiting the return of the male half of this household (he's been away for a week - the flat has never been tidier). I'm glad this week has finally come to an end: what with his J-ness away and working 14 hour days because I am an idiot who can't say no, I think we can simply label this A Trying Time and move on swiftly to more enjoyable things. The half-marathon tomorrow sadly doesn't fit into that category, but I am determined to make it a non-downer. I have a couple of days in Stockholm to look forward to, and that includes seeing Wilco AND Flight of the Conchords. What more could a girl ask for?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Correspondences manquées
Lunatique, adjectif
Dont l'humeur change souvent
Synonymes: capricieux, changeant, versatile, fantasque
Traduction en anglais: temperamental
Lunatic, noun
an insane person
daredevil: a reckless impetuous irresponsible person
insane and believed to be affected by the phases of the moon
French translation: fou/folle, dément
Moon-sickness or soupe au lait?
Dont l'humeur change souvent
Synonymes: capricieux, changeant, versatile, fantasque
Traduction en anglais: temperamental
Lunatic, noun
an insane person
daredevil: a reckless impetuous irresponsible person
insane and believed to be affected by the phases of the moon
French translation: fou/folle, dément
Moon-sickness or soupe au lait?
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
On not even pretending to cope
You know when you've been working really hard in the run up to Christmas, keeping things going on a wing and a prayer. Then as soon as you put your feet up with a nice cup of tea and a mince pie, that's when the dreaded flu hits you with its best shot, leaving you out of the game for a bit.
For me, it's like that, only with moods and morale, not the flu. Apparently I don't get the flu, I just get the blues. And also, there doesn't need to be any mad run up to Christmas either. It just sort of knocks on my door, randomly, mugs me of my depleted reserves of will power, then leaves me sitting on my arse staring into the void for minutes on end. So nothing like the flu then.
Anyway, this post is just to say ok, I surrender, nicht schiessen! Just make it all go away and stop making me have to pretend that everything is fine, just fine. Because it isn't. And I don't even know what it is.
For me, it's like that, only with moods and morale, not the flu. Apparently I don't get the flu, I just get the blues. And also, there doesn't need to be any mad run up to Christmas either. It just sort of knocks on my door, randomly, mugs me of my depleted reserves of will power, then leaves me sitting on my arse staring into the void for minutes on end. So nothing like the flu then.
Anyway, this post is just to say ok, I surrender, nicht schiessen! Just make it all go away and stop making me have to pretend that everything is fine, just fine. Because it isn't. And I don't even know what it is.
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