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854. alistairconnor - 12/1/2008 8:19:34 PM So she explains to her mother that she's thinking of moving out of the city, of moving in with me permanently, for the good of the boy. That sounds sensible, says her mother; but of course you'll have to marry the gentleman.
As it happens, I've been pestering her about this for a year or so. It's nice to have an ally. And who wouldn't want a Jewish mother in law? 855. wonkers2 - 12/2/2008 12:54:00 AM Tough situation, ali. We had a similar but much less serious problem with one of our three children--skipping class, drinking, not doing his homework, getting poor marks. He finally woke up when he realized he wasn't going to get into the college where his great grandfather was a professor and both his maternal grandparents studied. He went somewhere else for two years, got good grades and transferred to his first choice university and did very well. Now he's a successful lawyer. 856. webfeet - 12/19/2008 6:28:46 PM But France doesn't work that way, wonkers. Pas de tolerance for bad students, even those with promise who are going through a virulent crise d'adolescence. However, Alistair as a beau pere gives hope.
I have to go make sablés, put them in the oven for my art class. I'm doing an unpaid atelier for my children's school on french impressionists and I actually love it. All those clichés about working with children (provided they are not your own) are, in fact, true. And that little raconteuse in the video, alistair, has a stunning imagination. Enchanting moment. Thank you.
I'll write more later. Really.
857. webfeet - 12/22/2008 7:56:58 PM It's a golden time for books, it is. With the publishing world half extinct and book sellers begging to give titles away--I've never seen so many markdowns as sales plummet, and yet there are still one or two reasons why it still feels good to collapse at the end of the night with a text in your hands, as opposed to squinting at the screen.
Jonah Lehrer's "Proust was a Neuroscientist" is one such work; it's a collection of essays that credit various artists such as Elliot, Proust or Cezanne with discovering truths about the mind before neuroscience. I have only begun to read Proust and the infallibility of memory but each essayis promising -Igor Stravinksky, Elliot and Positivism, Escoffier and the discovery of umami. This is an enlightening, thought-provoking work that illuminates some of the mysteries of creativity through an exploration of art and its contribution to science.
So take your little B&N 20% sticker and give it to someone for the holidays. I can't think of a better gift. 858. webfeet - 12/22/2008 8:05:01 PM My daughter recently learned how to write two words: the and me. Then she put them together, and invented a secret club called The Me (since I wasn't allowed to join, I don't really know anything more about it except that she is, naturally, the only member). Sometimes I feel like The Me when i post here.
Now I have to bake Christmas cookies again. These are not great. These are not even inspiring. These are Martha's silly thumb prints from her eezy peezy holiday issue. I'm going to smear some hershey kisses inside a blob of dough and call it a day.
What sort of lovely holiday offerings have people made?(Webfeet's attempt at Not being The Me)
I was a hit (of course) at a Hanukkah party saturday after bringing Jewish Egyptian food writer Claudia Roden's Clementine Cake (as adopted by one Nigella Lawson). one word: divine.
859. alistairconnor - 12/24/2008 2:33:04 PM Well I got a $25 book voucher from Whitcoulls today. Unfortunately those are $NZ so it's only worth one book.
"The Me" is a good theme. My theme is coming to terms with the adolescence of one's daughter. Luckily NZ boys are hopeless so there is nothing to fear.
My offering to the family feast (buffet for 25 or so, indoor/outdoor if it doesn't rain) is some French delicacies : pate, fromage, fois gras etc : and a shitload of smoked fish of the finer varieties, which is what I miss most in France. 860. judithathome - 12/24/2008 4:13:57 PM This me and her husband are going to deliver gifts to the neighbors tonight...I'm so happy to include Steven, the "little" boy next door who grew up, joined the Army, and arrived home for 2 weeks leave before shipping out the Afghanistan.
Our gift boxes are filled with dark chocolate pomegranate, almonds, milk chocolate raisins, cinnimon encrusted macadamias, and hulled, salted pistachios. 861. webfeet - 12/31/2008 3:56:02 AM Welcome back to 'the me' with your host, webfeet.
tonight, i am unfortunately out of wine and feel too lazy and irky (is that a word) from not being able to write well this afternoon. this, in fact, is better for the bad writer, not to be able to drink anything. The choices are either Goya cooking wine or St. Germain, a heady liquor made from (WINK WINK) elderflower, that is like the Elysian fields of booze. Neither fits my mood. And i don't have any prosecco which is just as well because I should be reaching for a homely tea bag of twinings and pining into my laptop sober.
Today I went to Whole Foods market at the Time Warner Building to shop for New Year's Eve and felt like I was entering a church. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. The Time Warner building is like the vatican of malls; it's huge, and feels a little austere and there are whole families of europeans walking around with cameras. and there are probably pigeons outside in the plaza. Gimmicky and over-priced, everywhere in WF there are jumbo boxes of gumdrops and peppermint marshmallows, and there is something sour and unfestive about an underground market in New York City. And then I went off on this whole loose tangent about missing New York of the eighties and wished I'd see homeless people with brightly colored ski hats--instead of screechy touristas who literally heckled me with 'la la' when i reprimanded them in the fitting room of bloomingdales to stop moving from cabin to cabin leaving behind clothes, like gypsies, on the floor and banquettes. And then, actually, when I went to complain, the sales woman was tone deaf. No, literally tone deaf, in that she was literally a mute and started to do LA LA back to me, only it was louder and I think her tongue was forked and no-one except the small, disinterested que was even listening to me. so i left, still wishing i could find new york of the eighties. I'm never going to find it. I did find, however, a gory hunk of bleu d'auvergne which is the best thing in the world.
So, I take it, alistair, that you didn't strangle the geese yourself, like michel's now deceased pauvre tante emilie, so tell us, where do you buy your foie gras? and from what region?
I praise you for your classic good taste, Judith. It isn't really the holidays until someone sends you one of those.
862. Jenerator - 1/1/2009 11:56:41 PM I have missed you Webfeet! 863. webfeet - 1/2/2009 2:17:51 AM And I you, Jenerator. I told you I liked the oyster shots. I think that was, sadly, like a year ago. I must have a different sense of time because that doesn't feel that long to me.
Not that anyone cares (except perhaps fans of The Me) but I will be posting more frequently as opposed to let's say letting gaps of six months go by at a time before I lure myself out of the brillo pad of my thoughts and post here. I'm fond of this site, after all. Perhaps I have reached the age where things that are constant take on a greater meaning. Oh, who knows? Isn't that boring to analyse it?
In anticipation of your next question, Jen, The Me has generously offered to conduct a brief tell-all interview.
The Me: So, webfeet, why don't you have a book contract yet?
webfeet: [Caresses her throat, as if swallowing a lozenge.] Is attempted to reply in convoluted french parce que..and then stops. The truth is so much funnier. I mean, it wasn't funny. Not back in June, at least. My agent decided to go vampire. Fantasy, pornotica, romantica, all these new genres that ended in the letter 'a' took precedence over my manuscript (which, as you know, you know nothing about deliberately). And she asked to see my manuscript, after launching a racy romance on-line venture, in January. Now, had I known she was going to be the boogie night's agent, I would never have queried her. And, rather than wait, I decided to plow on, depressed and saddened at having come so close at having missed the chance to be able to brag at my h.s. reunion, and played the field instead, and am now waiting for a callback. When you snag an agent on only the second query, things really are too good to be true. That is the lesson I learned.
The Me: [nods sympathetically] how did you cope with this, this setback?
webfeet: I crammed myself with cakes this summer in the south of france. and worked. and worked. and worked. And that's where you find me now...
The Me: A mess?
webfeet: No, I like to say wisened, no longer a vierge. Well, time's up The Me. I have to finish my calvados and go running on this arctic night with my husband and celebrate the last teeny weeny seconds of that fleeting, depressingly ethereal feeling called the holidays by looking at my parents' neighbors Christmas lights. It's been great.
The Me: Anytime.
Stay tuned for our next segment of The Me when webfeet, smarmy now at having lost her innocence in the world of publishing, namedrops that she actually had lunch with someone who was close friends with Harold Pinter. In Paris. 864. Jenerator - 1/2/2009 5:26:12 PM Webbie,
The solution was/is simple: just alter your manuscript!! Change the heroine into a Jane Austen reading Lycan and the antagonist into an espresso wielding obsequiousness vampire who feels conflicted about it all. Throw in some gratuitous sex and voilà - publishing contract! 865. Jenerator - 1/2/2009 5:27:57 PM Make that a vampire who struggles with his obsequiousness. 866. Jenerator - 1/2/2009 5:30:15 PM If you need any more advice, I am always available!
:-) 867. alistairConnor - 1/2/2009 5:30:54 PM No, I didn't strangle the geese; the foie gras was Labeyrie brand, such as you could find in any big supermarket in the midwest, and probably canned in Bulgaria.
I have spent the last couple of weeks, lacking oxen to sacrifice, in pouring out copious libations of French wine to the gods to celebrate my return with pomp and prodigality. Ensures a warm welcome, and masks the fact that I am broke. Sponging off friends and relatives is the name of the game, and it's all going swimmingly, sun burns and good beaches galore. 868. webfeet - 1/6/2009 12:10:38 AM Welcome back to The Me. Today's theme was going to be addiction and penance yet it's been modified to offer constructive ways of dealing with post-holiday letdown with the addition of the new guide, 'Creative Ways to be Frugal in 2009'. Anyone who cares to offer a frugal tip is welcome to participate.
Now, living in an agricultural region, with livestock all around you, Alistair, it's like an open-air market. First tip on the list: offal. Yes, offal. Cheap, plentiful and good foryou albeit an acquired taste for many--offal is vastly underrated. Whether it is tripe, head cheese or coeur du mutton, if the French didn't invent clever ways of turning organ meat into appetizing concoctions fit for kings, than Escoffier was merely a one-trick pony, deglazing his way to culinary repute. Even the most squeamish can overcome their fears with a good reduction sauce and a stick of butter. Bon appetit. A very funny blog, which I am not going to bother hyperlinking, sorry, is Year of the Glutton. Written by a brit, it's all about organ meats and is well-written and very funny.
Frugal tip #2. Write vampire fiction; any kind will do, whether it's paranormal vampire fiction; or 19th C vampire fiction, or any genre you can think of, it is probably going to take you to the top the slush pile. When you envision your characters, just think fangs and channel Anne Rice, who is now a born again Christian.
Frugal tip #3: Root vegetables. From Julia Child's French Chef Cookbook:
Navets A La Champenoise
(turnip and onion casserole)
2 1/2 lbs yellow turnipsor rutabagas
2/3 cup finaly diced pork butt (or 3tbs butter)
2/3 cup finely diced onions
1 Tb flour
3/4 cup beef bouillon
1/4 tsp sage'salt and pepper
2 to 3 TB fresh minced parsley
Peel the turnips, cut into quarters,. then into 1/2 inch slices; cut slices into 1/2 inch strips, and the strips into 1/2 inch cubes. Drop into boiling salted water and boil uncovered for 3 to 5 minutes until tender. Drain.
If you are using the pork, sauté slowly in a 3-quart saucepan until very lightly browned; otherwise, add the butter or oil to the pan. Stir in the onions, cover, and cook slowly for 5 minutes without brwoning. Blend in the flour and cook slowly for 2 minutes. Remove from heat, beat in the bouillon, return to heat and bring to the simmer. Add the sage, then fold in the turnips,. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Cover the pan and simmer slowly for 20 to thirty minutes, or until turnips are tender. If sauce is too liquid , uncover and boil slowly for several minutes until liquid has reduced and thickened. Correct seasoning. Fold in parsley and serve in a hot dish.
Tip #4 (write a cookbook with a dead culinary legend.)
869. webfeet - 1/7/2009 11:59:56 PM Tip #5 Stalk your own goose and make your own foie gras. The pastry chef and owner of the bakery in my parents' village was recently arrested for catching a goose in the town green; witnesses saw him running after the animal and then stuffing it into a bag. Poor goosey loosey. No doubt she was going to be fattened up and jarred. He was Danish, actually.
The idea could be the basis of a lovely vegan children's story, a genre, in case anyone has missed it, that is slowly emerging. It could be called, 'The Goose That Got Away' and you'd see the evil chef hiding madly in the bushes with a bag stalking it. Vegan lit is as probably as boring as vegan cuisine. We read one recently about a vegetarian dragon that was unbearable; he made tofu kebabs and converted all the other dragons.
Incidentally, my father once saw two frenchman on the golf course running after a goose with a bag. Thought this time no-one was arrested and the poor goose didn't get away.
870. Jenerator - 1/8/2009 2:08:30 AM Okay webfeet, I have come up with a Plan B since obviously you didn't like my other idea.
How about this - change your manuscript to tell the tale of the blonde and lusty village cook who is well studied in the classic French techniques and who longs to make the perfect dish that will impress the town's lone millionaire. She decides to make foie gras with the neighbor's pet goose; however, she discovers along the way that the millionaire doesn't eat meat, or légumes du pays - in fact, he only drinks blood!! She must now decide how to cook the illegal meat without the town knowing of her crime and whilst simultaneously saving them from the fiend who hunts them all at night.
871. Jenerator - 1/8/2009 2:09:55 AM You can then throw in some espresso, Jane Austen, soft porn and Prada.
Maybe *I* should be your agent!
:-)
You know I adore you! 872. webfeet - 1/8/2009 6:57:38 PM Pas mal. You know, honestly, you better keep that to yourself because it may work. Why don't you write it? And I'm not being flip when I say that. Write the next fois-gras inspired 'Twilight'. her love for offal makes her want to try human flesh... It can be like Sweeney Todd meets Juliette Binoche's 'Chocolat'. You went to brigham young, didn't you, or one of those loony christian academies? Use your theological background to write
a vampire satire. But you better move fast if you don't want your goose to be cooked. There are plenty of greedy chefs hiding in the bushes with their knives poised, waiting to strike.
Just to be boring and self-righteous for a minute, the central conceit is I like my work. So did my vampire agent. She called me, she emailed me all the time, we were this--'this' close to having lunch. Everytime I emailed her, boom, right back at me. SHe taught at NYu for god's sake! And, then, it was like pussyland. She was soliciting books for the next kinky shoe memoir, and I just thought, oh fuck. this is simply too depressing. But guess what? Am I going to walk around with my nose in the air? Oh, no. Am I going to privately mope and eat frangipane and say, "I'm too good for that?" oh, no. Heavens no. She asked to see it in January. And, oh, look at the clock. Why it's...janvier.
I really think I should be more promiscuous (or unstupid) and send it out to more than three agents.
Anyway, I just had frangipane from our three king's cake (la galettes des rois) and I feel much better.
So, get busy!
873. NuPlanetOne - 1/8/2009 9:37:02 PM Webbie...
I have been following your food tips with great amusement and with the mention of Julia Child I must boast of my brief association with that celebrated culinary icon. I had the pleasure of assisting Julia in two cooking demonstrations while at cooking school so many years ago. She was an intense and gracious personality, and although it was law by contract that no pictures were allowed to be taken without her express permission, she did allow my girlfriend to snap us working together once during the evening. Mainly because upon being successfully entrusted with her starter doughs, which I guarded with my life, and having found the ideal spot to hold them in just the right climate conditions, (A spot in the bowels of the school discovered by the school's director and I and kept secret), we managed to bake the perfect baguettes, live, in an electric home style oven, as that was a specific feature of the evening's demonstration.
She actually chose my name from a list of perspective assistants forwarded to her for a subsequent demonstration, referring to me as that 'Charlie who protected my dough.' Which gave me the nickname 'dough boy' for the rest of my time at school. Anyway, I have an excellent picture to document the experience. That is, aside from the permitted staff photo shoots behind the scenes supervised by her secretary.
Which brings me to the evil Chef in the bushes. I am reminded of a seemingly evil old Sicilian woman from my neighborhood growing up that would skulk about in the early Spring dawn to collect dandelion greens for her 'cicoria' soup and other assorted recipes, as well as for medicinal purposes. Most people thought she was creepy, as did I, but she eventually befriended me and taught me to prepare an excellent stuffed, braised honeycomb tripe. Better than my Old Man's, which tended to be somewhat bland. (The tripe tying in with your offal discussion, which was far from awful.:) Her secret being raw fennel.
So I'm thinking, apropos of your advice to Jen to get going on a vampire angle, my Old Sicilian could figure in as a slayer who knows the secret antidote to the bloodsuckers infectious bite. They rule at dusk, she toils at dawn. I think I might have to attempt a short story somewhere along this line. Anything to unblock my lazy aspirations concerning prose. Whaddathink?
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