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my beautiful picture
Food itself has a beautiful culture. Regardless of location the special attention paid to cuisine is a savory blend of geography and personal taste- something I have always been quite fond of. The complexity of food runs much deeper than the end result of dinner, and I believe it is th
e journey to that place that I am madly in love with. It starts with Saturdays farmers market, that lies on the french side of the Swiss border. I'm not sure why but I decided a while ago that once I arrive here I only speak french, and its a fun game I play with the adorable scruffy bearded farmers. I usually resort to that quite mademoiselle who over thanks and smiles alot but hey is that person really so bad? I don't think so, in fact a quite enjoy her.These short yet invigorating interactions always make my heart race and make something as small as buying cheese a challenge. The dairy farmer with clean but worked hands slices samples for me to try and then chuckles at my reactions to the flavor that I have personally deemed "elephant". I suppose this is a fun game for him as well. As recommended, I ask for the fromage du cumin,(great choice belinda) and I can tell my selection makes him think twice about this silly American with little taste for bleu cheese. The game continues, he asks how much I would like and although I hear others responding with weights and amounts I'm only quipped with "en pue"... (a little). he nods and asks in English if the amount he has chosen will do and I persevere with my Français and tell him it's perfect "Parfait!". This continues with each stand yet each exchange is a touch different depending on the character. My f
avorite fruit seller sing-speaks about fruit and calls me Bella which is unnecessary really because he had me at pamplemousse. The conversation starts after my attempted french leads him wondering what my native tongue really is. "Deutsche?" he asks, "Non" I respond. Espagnol? Anglais?. I laugh and he realizes I'm not giving up on this one so he slowly continues in french and he keeps asking me to talk louder although I think he can hear me, hes trying to get me to raise my confidence and my voice together. It kind of works. As I'm walking away with my apples he asks "Estate- Unis?" (United states?). "Qui" I tell him, while he mock cheers himself for the obvious. With produce in bags strung over my shoulder I head to the grocery store where products like crepe batter, pre-made duck confit, jars of bechemele sauce and croissant dough are readily available. Meal creation becomes a gourmet mental party. Unintentionally I wow my peers with the elaborate dinners I create that put that their grilled cheese to shame. I cook because I love it , its my art. Getting the timing right and finding complementary flavors is putting a puzzle together to make a beautiful picture, my beautiful picture. Dinner is one place I realize that I am the oldest person on this trip. There is a certain level of maturity and independence that differentiates between eating to sustain and eating for the beauty of it all. It is here that life reminds my soul how old it is. Bon appetit mon ame.
e journey to that place that I am madly in love with. It starts with Saturdays farmers market, that lies on the french side of the Swiss border. I'm not sure why but I decided a while ago that once I arrive here I only speak french, and its a fun game I play with the adorable scruffy bearded farmers. I usually resort to that quite mademoiselle who over thanks and smiles alot but hey is that person really so bad? I don't think so, in fact a quite enjoy her.These short yet invigorating interactions always make my heart race and make something as small as buying cheese a challenge. The dairy farmer with clean but worked hands slices samples for me to try and then chuckles at my reactions to the flavor that I have personally deemed "elephant". I suppose this is a fun game for him as well. As recommended, I ask for the fromage du cumin,(great choice belinda) and I can tell my selection makes him think twice about this silly American with little taste for bleu cheese. The game continues, he asks how much I would like and although I hear others responding with weights and amounts I'm only quipped with "en pue"... (a little). he nods and asks in English if the amount he has chosen will do and I persevere with my Français and tell him it's perfect "Parfait!". This continues with each stand yet each exchange is a touch different depending on the character. My f
avorite fruit seller sing-speaks about fruit and calls me Bella which is unnecessary really because he had me at pamplemousse. The conversation starts after my attempted french leads him wondering what my native tongue really is. "Deutsche?" he asks, "Non" I respond. Espagnol? Anglais?. I laugh and he realizes I'm not giving up on this one so he slowly continues in french and he keeps asking me to talk louder although I think he can hear me, hes trying to get me to raise my confidence and my voice together. It kind of works. As I'm walking away with my apples he asks "Estate- Unis?" (United states?). "Qui" I tell him, while he mock cheers himself for the obvious. With produce in bags strung over my shoulder I head to the grocery store where products like crepe batter, pre-made duck confit, jars of bechemele sauce and croissant dough are readily available. Meal creation becomes a gourmet mental party. Unintentionally I wow my peers with the elaborate dinners I create that put that their grilled cheese to shame. I cook because I love it , its my art. Getting the timing right and finding complementary flavors is putting a puzzle together to make a beautiful picture, my beautiful picture. Dinner is one place I realize that I am the oldest person on this trip. There is a certain level of maturity and independence that differentiates between eating to sustain and eating for the beauty of it all. It is here that life reminds my soul how old it is. Bon appetit mon ame.
working at josephines and our random experiments with food at the montie and milford, have made you quite the chef. i'm glad you're making spectacular meals. although, if i was there, i would still make grilled cheese(because its my fav), even though, as you know I'm a decent chef myself. ;)
ReplyDeletei love playing different people, its what makes my life so interesting :)
ReplyDeleteim glad you do also
how fun and great that you are exploring and learning so much about yourself. i love it! hmmm, maybe i'll be a taster when i see you in december! :P
ReplyDeleteRaise that voice!!!
ReplyDelete"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.' We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." (Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of "A Course in Miracles", Harper Collins, 1992. 7, Section 3])