tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16370576399941180132024-03-18T07:03:29.052+01:00gustia Musings from a Canadian expat in Monaco, culinary and otherwise.Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.comBlogger126125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-75865842674855712182015-10-18T14:57:00.001+02:002015-10-18T17:38:39.395+02:00Overthinking Food<div class="separator" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"They're just apples."</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">Lately I've been having a lot of light bulb moments. Not big life
changing ones, mind you, just little ones that cause me to think and make small course
corrections like a captain sailing a ship on calm waters. I had one of
these this morning while I was visiting the Ventimiglia market in Italy. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">It happened like this...</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">The Ventimiglia market is a large,
vibrant, covered market made up of six long rows of vendors selling every type
of Italian food you can imagine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The middle three rows are piled high with fruit and vegetables
imported from everywhere in Italy, France and Spain. Rows one and six span the length of the sides like culinary bookends for the fruits and vegetables. This is where the bakeries, pastry shops, cheese
specialists, delicatessens, butchers, dry goods and fresh pasta
sellers are set up. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Bunched up at the back there's a fish monger, a few florists, and a stall that
sells luggage, hats, and aprons.</span><span style="font-size: 18px;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">When I visit, I tend to shop everywhere but the fifth row is by far my
favourite. It's reserved for a dozen or so local producers, many of whom are
older Italian women from the surrounding countryside. Their tables are
overflowing with a seasonal mishmash of fruits and vegetables made up of, it
seems, whatever they happened to gather from their garden that morning or the day before. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I was strolling down row five, buying up this and that, when I
spotted one of the women selling pretty little apples. I almost missed them altogether because they were partially hidden by some bitter greens that she'd piled haphazardly around them. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">I'd never seen little apples like these before so I wanted to know all
about them. What breed were they? Was the tree native to here? Are
they always this small? Where was her farm?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I started my food interrogation with "what were they called?" but instead of answering, she shrugged, put a handful or two of them into a little white bag and replied, "they're just
apples." </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I laughed out loud. "They're just apples." I
repeated. This was my lightbulb moment which was: perhaps that's all I needed
to know.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">Over the years, I've developed a habit of asking growers a lot of questions
about the food I'm buying. Sometimes they share interesting information about their products, perhaps a recipe. I love hearing their stories and look forward to repeating them when I serve meals made with the ingredients. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">This insatiable need to know the story behind the food we eat has become </span><span style="font-size: 18px;">a trend lately. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">We crave
accountability and provenance and we love a good food story and I confess I'm as guilty as the next person. Just ask my friend Colin who sells his
products at the Lansdowne Farmers' Market in Ottawa. He jokingly calls me
a "food spy" because when we first met, I asked him so many questions
about what he was selling he grew suspicious. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">T</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">o my Italian apple vendor in row five, her apples were just apples. Simple. There was no story. Her apples were delicious, pretty, and a only a few Euro per kilo. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">So this is my story about having no story about the apples.
Old habits die hard.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com6Ventimiglia IM, Italy43.7912366 7.607586399999945643.7453941 7.5269053999999453 43.8370791 7.6882673999999458tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-2912386174437508862015-10-13T09:43:00.000+02:002015-10-13T15:58:19.511+02:00Caste Dining in Monaco<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry, you're just not fancy enough</td></tr>
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While I was having my hair done at my favourite salon in Monaco recently, I was chirping away to my long-time hairdresser Jean-Louis about the fabulous lunch I'd just had at a newish Lebanese restaurant in Monaco called Oliban.</div>
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It was the third time I'd dined there in 6 months. The first time was with good friends from Canada, the second was with two fab American friends, and again a week ago with five of my foodie girlfriends for a Vegetarian Supper Club lunch. They hit it out of the park each time.</div>
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Oliban is perched atop Monaco's oldest traditional food market, Le Marché de la Condamine. It's easy to get to on foot, there's ample parking if you're driving, and four of Monaco's six bus routes stop nearby. All of that convenience aside, I keep going back because the staff are gracious and accommodating, the dining room is beautifully decorated, and they use linen table cloths and napkins, catering to a little <i>ideé fixe</i> of mine that all restaurants should have linens. But above all, the food is outstanding. To find all of these qualities in one restaurant in Monaco is truly a miracle to be celebrated, tweeted and shared.</div>
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I thought, therefore, that Oliban had a winning formula but apparently not. Joe, a long time Monaco resident and go-to guy for what's-what and who's-who in the Principality, burst my bubble.</div>
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"Jennie," he said with his hypnotic French accent. I love that he calls me Jennie. "How was the food?" he asked, frowning.</div>
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"Excellent" I said. "It was fresh, delicious, they did a great job on presentation. It was some of the best Lebanese food I've ever eaten." I showed him photos of some of the dishes I'd taken on my phone. While he took a look I added, "The service was great too and it wasn't that expensive."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oliban's delivery. Your fresh vegetables have arrived</td></tr>
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"Well," he said, looking at me in the mirror, scissors in one hand, chin in the other. "I don't think it will last."</div>
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What? How could he think it wouldn't last? I presented my case.</div>
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"The food is amazing, the staff's great, they use real linen, and I saw crates of fresh vegetables and melons being delivered there this morning." That to me was the best part - I counted six cases of fresh parsley alone. </div>
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"<i>Mais, no</i>," he said, "but that's not how it works here. You should know that," he scolded me with a "tsk tsk" noise for effect.</div>
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He continued... "You know the <i>nouveau riche</i>, and (he turns up his nose) you know, <i>les</i> snobs would never go there because there's no <i>voiturier</i>, (guy to park your car) it's above the <i>Marché </i>and <i>les snobs</i> would never be seen at any restaurant on top of the market. It's not chic. Not the place to see and be seen. They don't care about the food."<br />
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His declaration crashed down on my newly coiffed head and for the rest of the day it slowly dawned on me that he'd made an important point. I<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">n Monaco, and probably elsewhere, whether we admit it or not, there's a caste system for most things and dining is one of them.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excellent Tabouli, good friends and linen</td></tr>
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I'd always thought I was more or less an egalitarian diner but in the same way that some restaurants in Monaco aren't my scene because they cater to perfumed Pucci posers, places like Oliban was not theirs. </div>
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After my conversation with Jean-Louis I've been thinking about my own food caste system. For example, in Monaco I'd never go to the tourist restaurants, (lower caste) because the food is mediocre and you feel as though you're being processed and taken advantage of. </div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Then again, I've dined at roadside chip wagons and food trucks but only if the food is excellent. In Hong Kong I've sat at a cracked plastic stool at one of the most dodgy looking street food joints you could imagine simply because they served some of the best tofu pudding in Kowloon. Both d</span>efinitively lower caste.</div>
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Probably the highest caste restaurant I've dined in is Monaco's über-luxe, three Michelin-starred Le Louis XV now "Alain Ducasse at the Hotel de Paris." At first glance, paying €230 for their Menu Jardin, a 4-course Tasting Menu may seem expensive but if you add in all the extra goodies like the <i>amuse bouche</i>, the herbal infusion tea cart, grand finale marshmallow and ice cream course, flawless service and the sumptuous room, it's a steal. I've always left there feeling as though I were floating on a cloud and it had been well worth the price.<br />
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I think to be a true food lover is to abandon pretension and a caste system of dining altogether and just eat. I think the goal of authenticity, good food and service should be what makes a worthwhile dining experience - not if there's a <i>voiturier </i>or if you'll be seen. We have enough of those. </div>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com3La Condamine, Monaco, Monaco43.7349329 7.423264000000017443.723459899999995 7.4030940000000172 43.7464059 7.4434340000000176tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-45735120237081215902015-06-16T17:40:00.000+02:002015-07-18T19:20:45.557+02:00Little Kitchen by David Forestell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The serene and soothing Little Kitchen</td></tr>
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During our annual visit to Hong Kong last year, our friend, chef David Forestell and his wife Vivian invited us to dinner at their tiny apartment in Sai Wan Ho. When I say tiny apartment, I mean tiny apartment. It was a tight fit for we three strapping Canadians and the petite and pregnant Vivian all at the same time.<br />
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Our dinner was fabulous. </div>
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For hours, David effortlessly brought dish after deliciously crafted dish from the kitchen and as we feasted we talked about our mutual love for tea and food, the pending arrival of the baby, and David and Vivian's preparations for opening a new restaurant that they would eventually call "Little Kitchen."<br />
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When dinner was done and we could eat no more, I asked to see the kitchen, imagining that since David was a professional chef, it would be massive. I was wrong. The kitchen was about the size of 4 telephone booths stuck together. I was speechless. How could he create such a stunning feast in so small a space?<br />
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I left their apartment that night in silent admiration for David's talents and a spoken promise to never complain about the size of my own kitchen again.<br />
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Not long after our dinner, David opened his Little Kitchen a few blocks from his and Vivian's apartment in Sai Wan Ho and when he invited us to be his guests again it's all we could talk about in the days leading up to it.<br />
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To say that Little Kitchen was an unique dining experience is not really doing it justice. David has created something exceptional that begins with the colourful walk from the MTR (Hong Kong's subway) through the lively streets of Sai Wan Ho.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few of the colourful food shops along Shing On Street</td></tr>
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Sai Wan Ho is not a neighbourhood that caters to tourists. It's a slightly gritty, down to earth sort of place with a steady hum of traffic noise, buzzing crowds, towering high-rise apartment buildings and no English signs nor speakers.<br />
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We took the MTR from Kowloon where we were staying to the Sai Wan Ho stop, and climbed our way back into the light of day. After crossing the busy, crowded main street, we made our way to Shing On Street which was lined with shops piled high with fruits, vegetables, dry goods and heaps of medicinal herbs, many of which we couldn't identify. Most of the shops had chaotically plunked bins of this and that outside on the sidewalks turning them into culinary labyrinths making them difficult to negotiate given the number of other people trying doing the same. We turned left.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7g9I7k2ANRGh5fJhYZOhMrzES7B3jnzWGhtPpeBvu-LXY644yTDOV8f3KeP-RW5eIRquSQkQsr5tTjiJtBpdyNLn47HJDB_AfzAJllnZB18oaj9NaywzsKAz02Pcp0UPgaMpS4TuXv4BT/s1600/Collage13Trans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7g9I7k2ANRGh5fJhYZOhMrzES7B3jnzWGhtPpeBvu-LXY644yTDOV8f3KeP-RW5eIRquSQkQsr5tTjiJtBpdyNLn47HJDB_AfzAJllnZB18oaj9NaywzsKAz02Pcp0UPgaMpS4TuXv4BT/s640/Collage13Trans.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top left then clockwise: a little ginger visitor. <br />
"Up the back" alleyway behind Little Kitchen. <br />
A nearby food vendor where David sources some of his ingredients<br />
Look up - Little Kitchen is on the second floor.</td></tr>
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On the second floor of a 6-storey turquoise-coloured building on Sai Wan Ho Street, festooned with hanging laundry, peeling paint, tangled electrical wires, and air conditioners clinging to window sills for dear life, is Little Kitchen.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-lVr2IkWRMnD84HRRxsqupwaiO7T4XrdDNGe4vfKLtJQJ9k-w0aeYDznFEe99EKuH8VSB-S1M48uCs2fjd57d8JeL9yMh9H9S2pLOcjvB4GopkYyQSaECsAzdALEeYJ4NUvKPuwFx-_0/s1600/LittleKitchenStreetscape2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-lVr2IkWRMnD84HRRxsqupwaiO7T4XrdDNGe4vfKLtJQJ9k-w0aeYDznFEe99EKuH8VSB-S1M48uCs2fjd57d8JeL9yMh9H9S2pLOcjvB4GopkYyQSaECsAzdALEeYJ4NUvKPuwFx-_0/s640/LittleKitchenStreetscape2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Circle marks the spot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"Those who know, come up the back," reads the website. "The back" being a gritty, somewhat dubious-looking alleyway. We chose to enter through the front which is a shared with the other building tenants. We climbed the narrow staircase with a father and son who were headed home for the night. </div>
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After our colourful journey we weren't sure what to expect when we arrived but any uncertainty that had formed in our minds went "poof" the minute we walked through the door. The light, the decor and the greeting combined to give the room a zen-like, soothing ambiance. We instantly felt relaxed, and looking forward to dinner.</div>
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Because we'd arrived early, we snagged a coveted table facing the open kitchen so we could watch David at work at the stove and the pass. Behind us were tall windows facing the street that filled the room with daylight that gradually transitioned into an ever-changing light show thanks to the outdoor neon signs hanging from the buildings across the street.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi9jz6LH1ZVez49sQpucjFWeDtloKK6FVIJbkPCAWf5aLEeTkm9MZbXCtvOeJtzl1ezKrXZLn72lpb8gZGr4-pR276me6BQlY-ZgPmBynm98Dsgjl-Lhaf5PKttmjdDqq2x5CJNXKe4te3/s1600/Collage11Trans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="483" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi9jz6LH1ZVez49sQpucjFWeDtloKK6FVIJbkPCAWf5aLEeTkm9MZbXCtvOeJtzl1ezKrXZLn72lpb8gZGr4-pR276me6BQlY-ZgPmBynm98Dsgjl-Lhaf5PKttmjdDqq2x5CJNXKe4te3/s640/Collage11Trans.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our table</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Our dinner was truly delicious. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">David prepared a special, five course vegetarian menu for us that began with a glass of carrot soup topped with goat cheese foam and ended with fresh mint tea and a little paper bag filled with delicate, just-baked sabl</span>é<span style="font-family: inherit;">es to take home. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">Non-vegetarian diners are treated to David's <a href="http://www.littlekitchenhk.com/menu/" target="_blank">creative, seasonal, prose-like fixed menu</a> that changes each week. </span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">Here's this week's menu:</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">FIRSTS</span></div>
</div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">Artichoke Salad: Variations on Theme, </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">Counterpoints of Bitter, Sweet and Herbal</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">NEXTS</span></div>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">French Duck and Lentils: </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Tamed and Rigorously Formed, </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Accents of Sour, Caramelization and Concentration</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">MAINS</span></div>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">MSC Atlantic Cod: Sustainably Caught, </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Substantiated with Ocean Memories, </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Summer Hopes and Green Intensity</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">FINISH</span></div>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Really Red Cherries: Multiple Renderings, </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Supported by Richness, </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #363636; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;">Sweet/Tart Balance, and Crunch</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #363636; font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 19.6000003814697px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimGx8D6NGKGVpX9KbkzQzPTSQv7gnbUp5izJDTB33FI7lqlt-KsafcVbeb_mPavugOrUm8ItYvGm-kvZpb0KVarO64w73Zg3SZWJkS-RSAM65SdHyB-mqojUGuPNXfpAUY6Ly74AzrToBT/s1600/Collage12Trans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimGx8D6NGKGVpX9KbkzQzPTSQv7gnbUp5izJDTB33FI7lqlt-KsafcVbeb_mPavugOrUm8ItYvGm-kvZpb0KVarO64w73Zg3SZWJkS-RSAM65SdHyB-mqojUGuPNXfpAUY6Ly74AzrToBT/s640/Collage12Trans.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top left then clockwise: <br />
Teaware, David plating,<br />
the sturdy dining tables designed by David<br />
David plating,</td></tr>
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We loved everything about Little Kitchen. We loved the contrast between the quirky outside setting and the peaceful, pristine, zen-like inside. We loved sitting at the thick wood dining tables that David designed himself. We loved the unique dishware and the feel of the paper thin glassware that he'd brought back from Japan. And above all, we loved the food.<br />
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<br />
Despite what culinary magazines lead you to believe, finding a chef like David with the confidence and skill to express his unique culinary vision is rare to find. If you're in Hong Kong you should go.<br />
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We can hardly wait to visit again next year. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpHEFCeU2adzNfAtkiHYeEd4tO0qSW1VUTJ5vqDzq6MzSKRu_loFRHe3yk1JyfZLrv736nwQlUiLarM092paVe2O7n7rNaHJ3j1Vl3mBaYWw8_0jYsbFJNx0xSO9L8_T5PXlM7smvauHui/s1600/Collage15Trans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpHEFCeU2adzNfAtkiHYeEd4tO0qSW1VUTJ5vqDzq6MzSKRu_loFRHe3yk1JyfZLrv736nwQlUiLarM092paVe2O7n7rNaHJ3j1Vl3mBaYWw8_0jYsbFJNx0xSO9L8_T5PXlM7smvauHui/s640/Collage15Trans.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh herbs on the back balcony</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwiv1qxSSSB3wibX3gzSdBDXlxOnnxpAtWyM1MC3V2Ai3CI2FwY_azNl7iGBo-WU7rDBPI2tDxt2lAFncpfxeBX-SU9TSyUtjDaTRvcMV0DdL6BtxvWx3M_cmicd02ZjWtBHbQqxAqGdZ2/s1600/LittleKCollage-DROP1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="556" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwiv1qxSSSB3wibX3gzSdBDXlxOnnxpAtWyM1MC3V2Ai3CI2FwY_azNl7iGBo-WU7rDBPI2tDxt2lAFncpfxeBX-SU9TSyUtjDaTRvcMV0DdL6BtxvWx3M_cmicd02ZjWtBHbQqxAqGdZ2/s640/LittleKCollage-DROP1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top left, then clockwise: look for the Little Kitchen sign<br />
Holiday decoration<br />
Dishware from Japan<br />
The business cards mimic the floor tiles</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRQKlQ_JbVGjWQIyluZUcOVr5fG3cfJGyd4dwmpKNeMlvOddDuX7tV-a5wcB-a7webLvjR4FQZY4CUCcpo2kpaHEkOn6Lz0ulB10NRWYfrn3hZ0MXr-8Wflng1ZAxffhKCA9TWjLE_mo4d/s1600/Collage9TransTEST2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRQKlQ_JbVGjWQIyluZUcOVr5fG3cfJGyd4dwmpKNeMlvOddDuX7tV-a5wcB-a7webLvjR4FQZY4CUCcpo2kpaHEkOn6Lz0ulB10NRWYfrn3hZ0MXr-8Wflng1ZAxffhKCA9TWjLE_mo4d/s400/Collage9TransTEST2.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.littlekitchenhk.com/#about" target="_blank">Visit the Little Kitchen Website here</a><br />
<br /></div>
Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-67735254746400681312014-12-13T16:02:00.000+01:002015-10-13T16:10:47.216+02:00Culinary Curiosity and the Urchin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyulS-VHbEys2RcFCoimFh7Pj7DnSyPfTSZCSOLER7Dr_JI1TzAiOgnUZo3EIPTuBhtrzWbOVSuhOZRtzWv6afSpCnnenIXoRfTx63dkSPkoPv1zx1TCDRAW8qb-JnxW-NSRO0LVp4DTUS/s1600/Daniel+with+Urchin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyulS-VHbEys2RcFCoimFh7Pj7DnSyPfTSZCSOLER7Dr_JI1TzAiOgnUZo3EIPTuBhtrzWbOVSuhOZRtzWv6afSpCnnenIXoRfTx63dkSPkoPv1zx1TCDRAW8qb-JnxW-NSRO0LVp4DTUS/s1600/Daniel+with+Urchin.jpg" width="484" /></a></div>
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<br />
Saturday morning is my favourite time to go to food market in Menton.<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's
the one day of the week when the market swells with local
producers who bring their delicious, fresh products from the countryside to town
to sell to appreciative customers like me. It's also cheaper than my regular market in Monaco and always a great opportunity to people watch.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEmllIQiIFdy_HACo7qE2ihgthPIAQShkiA5XPV2n09zQAzV1SPQ-3aKslh0WpR_3FQ8tedifP4VNl0cZPyA-mFkMhsdc1zDjuL-9mHHOaMw-EeV0zyguczlMzFuabCIFOQ9jAjqkmTyW/s1600/SeaUrchin6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEmllIQiIFdy_HACo7qE2ihgthPIAQShkiA5XPV2n09zQAzV1SPQ-3aKslh0WpR_3FQ8tedifP4VNl0cZPyA-mFkMhsdc1zDjuL-9mHHOaMw-EeV0zyguczlMzFuabCIFOQ9jAjqkmTyW/s1600/SeaUrchin6.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A typical crowded Saturday in the Menton market</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
On Saturdays the market closes at 1:00 so if you arrive after 10:00, the crowds are
thick and the side walks are narrow so you get pushed and shoved, squished, and elbowed like a bargain hunter on Black Friday. And believe me, older
French women take no prisoners when it comes to scooping up the last
handful of spinach or bunch of carrots even if its not their turn.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The line up to buy sea urchins</td></tr>
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Today, one of the <i>Poissonnerie</i> (fish and seafood specialist) was selling oysters and sea urchins for the first time this season so
his stand was 3 deep with customers for most of the morning. I squeezed
on by, thinking I'd wait until the crowd thinned.</div>
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After I'd finished my shopping, I looped back<i> </i>and<i> </i>saw that there was a lull in the crowd so I scooted over for a
closer look and to take some photos. I'm a vegetarian, so for me
seafood is purely a curiosity and photo opp. </div>
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It didn't
disappoint. To me, sea urchins seem like the artichokes of the seafood world, their nasty spikes guarding their luscious interiors. Unless you understand how to prepare
them, you avoid them.</div>
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While I was taking photos, head
down, I heard a young boy behind me in the crowd asking the <span class="st"><i>Poissonnier</i></span> in perfect
French, "would it be at all possible to have a demonstration of how to open
them?" What an enlightened child, I thought, me snapping and clicking
away, eyes down. And what a great chance for me to get some interesting
photos.</div>
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I kept my attention on the <span class="st"><i>poissonnier's </i>voice and hands<i> </i>as</span> he deftly grabbed a spiky urchin in his palm, and ignoring the sharp
spikes, cut it in half through the middle with heavy metal
scissors. As he progressed through each step of the process, he described his
technique to the young boy who had moved closer to the front of the
little crowd that had gathered behind us and now stood right beside me.</div>
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When the <span class="st"><i>Poissonnier</i></span> had finished opening the sea urchin, he put down his scissors, shook the sea water out of both halves and pulled out a spoon. He scooped out some of the orange paste from the inside and held the spoon out to the boy. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVxVTzJ_hQtbzN1oiwN8e0ScNNJLrKhWWMbPjhCx45m7zxo5Ga6rvI4IwTWZWe5Aphe4nRhjC06VXDoLKokmuJrFNvmzhLsROgI3x9dqsxGZJgwpLgYpNVmmj-P-RhJxm5RhA5pBGa_A1/s1600/UrchinSpoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="572" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVxVTzJ_hQtbzN1oiwN8e0ScNNJLrKhWWMbPjhCx45m7zxo5Ga6rvI4IwTWZWe5Aphe4nRhjC06VXDoLKokmuJrFNvmzhLsROgI3x9dqsxGZJgwpLgYpNVmmj-P-RhJxm5RhA5pBGa_A1/s1600/UrchinSpoon.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I turned to see the boy's reaction to the moment of truth and it was then I recognized him. He was the young son of a dear friend of mine. With this distraction, another member of the audience shot out his hand so he was the lucky one who got to sample the sea urchin.</div>
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With that, the show had drawn to a close so we went off in search of his mum. <i>En route</i> we chatted and I got the rest of the story. It seems he was trying to convince his mum to buy him some sea urchins and wanted to gather a bit of knowledge so he could prepare them himself. I felt obliged to champion his cause.</div>
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What I loved about this tableau was that my friend's son is barely 10 years old. I think he showed considerable culinary maturity to want to try something as unusual and singular as sea urchin. They aren't the prettiest of things to eat, an acquired taste I've been told. It made me wonder if adventurous taste in children can be nurtured or it's more nature?</div>
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I think with my friend's son it was nature. His mum tells me he's always been open to trying new things.</div>
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The boy his mum and I retreated to a nearby <span class="st"><i>café</i></span> for tea. Nurture, nature and adventurous palates aside, he was still a 10 year old boy so in between sips of his hot chocolate he announced that although he was keen on trying sea urchins, he hated foie gras. Ah youth...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijn234kDYhLhQdCHreLM19t_QAKRpmA8I5xlBPGhgF-1qSN5s-dqjYylDnxgJPsdRGgsZqCAwS2rFcnZEpfGKYSFRImVuyrKMqXnhcphyphenhyphenv1hsXKEkzj0hP2dScowj41UojBdVj381VYelm/s1600/SeaUrchin3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijn234kDYhLhQdCHreLM19t_QAKRpmA8I5xlBPGhgF-1qSN5s-dqjYylDnxgJPsdRGgsZqCAwS2rFcnZEpfGKYSFRImVuyrKMqXnhcphyphenhyphenv1hsXKEkzj0hP2dScowj41UojBdVj381VYelm/s1600/SeaUrchin3.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-45279655329778360212014-11-26T17:17:00.000+01:002015-04-09T11:31:26.469+02:00Food and Factory Merge at the Maltby Street Market<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I don't know about you, but when I think of a food market, I <span style="font-family: inherit;">usually picture</span> rows of vendors selling fresh fruits and vegetables<span style="font-family: inherit;"> in the sunshine with a <span style="font-family: inherit;">sprinkling of craft stalls and prepared</span> </span>food <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">vendors</span></span> thrown in for good measure<span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">London's Maltby Street Market at Ropewalk <span style="font-family: inherit;">isn't</span> that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ropewalk is </span>a
narrow alley<span style="font-family: inherit;">, about the length of a </span>city block,<span style="font-family: inherit;"> situated </span>in Bermondsey,
steps from the Thames and within eye-shot of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Shard" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: inherit;">th</span>e Shard</a>. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">At one end is Jensen's Gin<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: inherit;">D</span>ist<span style="font-family: inherit;">illery </span>and </span>at the other,<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Buddy's Buyz, a junk shop filled with an e<span style="font-family: inherit;">c<span style="font-family: inherit;">lectic jumble of <span style="font-family: inherit;">s</span>econd hand vintage </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">treasures<span style="font-family: inherit;">. W<span style="font-family: inherit;">hile <span style="font-family: inherit;">I was</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">there having a browse,</span> Bu<span style="font-family: inherit;">ddy was humming along to <span style="font-family: inherit;">a </span>Beatles <span style="font-family: inherit;">record playing on a turntable. After a few minutes I joined <span style="font-family: inherit;">in.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2JnDs1R63Cn8rCy3Bm7OTfUqgdagEVOKJ8tDjhyphenhyphen7KKQS72jZ_IJeVOuurUr9VBnns2mHLFMGXReuQ0GX8-l4SzFTOe0a_TGP8cm1_qV0lXIal79HYKYd3VGc4y8q1eRs7YnhUNSbDgykz/s1600/Maltby30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2JnDs1R63Cn8rCy3Bm7OTfUqgdagEVOKJ8tDjhyphenhyphen7KKQS72jZ_IJeVOuurUr9VBnns2mHLFMGXReuQ0GX8-l4SzFTOe0a_TGP8cm1_qV0lXIal79HYKYd3VGc4y8q1eRs7YnhUNSbDgykz/s1600/Maltby30.jpg" height="484" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lost luggage, coffee sack cushions and a 16th century ladder - a few of the re-purposed treasures at LASSCO </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">On one side <span style="font-family: inherit;">of the alley i</span>s a huge warehouse<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: inherit;">and </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">retail space</span> </span>owned by architectural salvaging <span style="font-family: inherit;">specialist</span> <a href="http://www.lassco.co.uk/lassco-news/category/lassco-foodie-news/" target="_blank">LASSCO</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">. <span style="font-family: inherit;">Their <span style="font-family: inherit;">shop is</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">beautifully</span> organized and <span style="font-family: inherit;">filled </span>with <span style="font-family: inherit;">interesting </span>re-purposed goods <span style="font-family: inherit;">making it </span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">a destination unt<span style="font-family: inherit;">o itself</span></span>.</span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">O</span>pposite LASSCO and spanning the length of Rop<span style="font-family: inherit;">ewalk is</span> a <span style="font-family: inherit;">succession</span> of <span style="font-family: inherit;">6 metre<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>high, </span>arch<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">-</span>fronted </span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">weathered</span> brick barrel vaults.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Above the barrel va<span style="font-family: inherit;">ults is</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> a railway bridge.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Altogethe<span style="font-family: inherit;">r </span></span>the opposite of <span style="font-family: inherit;">a </span>pretty Farmers' Market<span style="font-family: inherit;"> scene.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz85djwHQ01Gqw-LQ7TPlu2orE4dtDIsv6groO8W3KYidLPFCNxB2Hq1G28qQJYsZSc-GMXcEKagria325wPpPA2s0vMpIoDk9mmRTcRyu_EJQkHtx-vcvfa5GlxdV9lL8lq8vrble-evY/s1600/Maltby15.jpg" height="640" width="481" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">During the week<span style="font-family: inherit;">, </span>LASS<span style="font-family: inherit;">CO <span style="font-family: inherit;">stockpiles </span>reclaimed wood,<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>floorboards, and industrial equipment <span style="font-family: inherit;">within </span>the<span style="font-family: inherit;"> barrel vaul<span style="font-family: inherit;">t</span>s. <span style="font-family: inherit;">Bu</span>t </span>on the weekends<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">, food <span style="font-family: inherit;">vendors arrive <span style="font-family: inherit;">to create </span>pop-up <span style="font-family: inherit;">cafes, <span style="font-family: inherit;">complete with cooking equipment, tables,<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: inherit;">chairs, and food displays<span style="font-family: inherit;">, transforming </span>the <span style="font-family: inherit;">space </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>from industrial <span style="font-family: inherit;">stockyard</span> to <span style="font-family: inherit;">the </span><a href="http://www.maltby.st/" target="_blank">Maltby Street <span style="font-family: inherit;">M</span></a><a href="http://www.maltby.st/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: inherit;">arket</span></a>.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And why not?</span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">stock<span style="font-family: inherit;">yard</span></span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">is closed </span></span></span></span></span>on the weekends and given London's often wet weather, the arches <span style="font-family: inherit;">are</span> a perfect place to keep dry and set up dining and food prep areas.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'd be the first to <span style="font-family: inherit;">admit</span> that it<span style="font-family: inherit;"> sounds odd</span> on paper<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>but <span style="font-family: inherit;">th<span style="font-family: inherit;">is</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">unlikely union</span> </span>creat<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">es </span></span>a unique, vibrant, and completely en<span style="font-family: inherit;">chanting <span style="font-family: inherit;">place.</span> </span>P</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">hotographically it was a gem.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Having lived in M<span style="font-family: inherit;">onaco and France for almost 15 years, <span style="font-family: inherit;">a </span>collaboration of this sort would be un<span style="font-family: inherit;">likely</span> here. <i>Interdit! Pas possible! Compl</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="st"><i>è</i></span>tement fo</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>us!</i> (Not allowed!, not possible!, completely crazy!) </span>But here it was in London, it was genius, and by 10<span style="font-family: inherit;"> o'clock</span> it was completely packed<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and buzzing with <span style="font-family: inherit;">customers.</span></span> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">If you're looking to <span style="font-family: inherit;">buy<span style="font-family: inherit;"> fruits and vegetables <span style="font-family: inherit;">y</span>ou'd probably be be<span style="font-family: inherit;">tter off <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">fighting the crowds at the </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Borough</span> Market</span></span></span></span></span></span>. <span style="font-family: inherit;">I</span>f, on the other hand, you're looking <span style="font-family: inherit;">for <span style="font-family: inherit;">a place to meet friends<span style="font-family: inherit;">, do a bit of shopping</span> and enjoy a meal of sustainable foods<span style="font-family: inherit;"> prepared by passionate British food a<span style="font-family: inherit;">rtisan<span style="font-family: inherit;">s, </span></span></span>in a<span style="font-family: inherit;">n unusual and inspired setting, </span></span></span>this would be <span style="font-family: inherit;">it</span>.
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bring your camera<span style="font-family: inherit;">, an appetite and arrive early</span>.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One fresh food vendor and a Focaccia craftsman</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oysters with herb butter, spinakopita and beautiful bread</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salmon, vendors, and forklift</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The menu at Comptoir Gourmand</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6LF5-2_ghflSyNkzqodHYo2D3ykuUhMFxLL_MOm0y2GwPWW_Mjqoi3Ni8SK4Un50HPj8d1R7X9nCrx9r7MLs2HqiiTYx9lJ31ymiEovGjR5GnQ6_AbFsQNsJAeh2Ncc2SpxgV-fwLjCkf/s1600/Maltby13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6LF5-2_ghflSyNkzqodHYo2D3ykuUhMFxLL_MOm0y2GwPWW_Mjqoi3Ni8SK4Un50HPj8d1R7X9nCrx9r7MLs2HqiiTYx9lJ31ymiEovGjR5GnQ6_AbFsQNsJAeh2Ncc2SpxgV-fwLjCkf/s1600/Maltby13.jpg" height="564" width="640" /></a></div>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com8London, UK51.5073509 -0.1277582999999822351.1912379 -0.77320529999998222 51.8234639 0.51768870000001777tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-7804038047950150332014-10-17T21:09:00.000+02:002014-10-17T21:09:17.561+02:00Mare's Milk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilO7sshaFbrT3zoXrQFw956D4JdkwYLZVFPVSAK6TTrgRWFYoodJthYOPwzSOlr9nZZKyyaDTVmmoHsh8F4iMsdJ-Reu6wVt0O-LcoYE2IOmLxSPDDhFocLDwDJcfS7JDQqg4IDY_qVHxV/s1600/Horse3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilO7sshaFbrT3zoXrQFw956D4JdkwYLZVFPVSAK6TTrgRWFYoodJthYOPwzSOlr9nZZKyyaDTVmmoHsh8F4iMsdJ-Reu6wVt0O-LcoYE2IOmLxSPDDhFocLDwDJcfS7JDQqg4IDY_qVHxV/s1600/Horse3.jpg" height="640" width="484" /></a></div>
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Even though I never drink milk of any kind other than a wee spoon of foam stirred into my<i> </i><span class="st"><em>Caffè d'orzo</em> </span>when I'm in Italy, I couldn't resist buying a bottle of mare's milk or <i>Lait de Jument </i>when I spotted it in the cooler at my local natural foods shop. Milk from a horse? How strange is that? Of course I had to try it.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindVJeJcpOp45JNkggl2rLRJqKtWp1uMOvTjtWNo2uXmJRgjZ4qrF2fWA-5luEgDxN8MYeSN_yRgFi2ckMvpjS8tkLplz40ndX7hn97AglD1JP0Fm3CNJMvZthQ1IsUbKhlAOgHkSNATqp/s1600/Horse2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindVJeJcpOp45JNkggl2rLRJqKtWp1uMOvTjtWNo2uXmJRgjZ4qrF2fWA-5luEgDxN8MYeSN_yRgFi2ckMvpjS8tkLplz40ndX7hn97AglD1JP0Fm3CNJMvZthQ1IsUbKhlAOgHkSNATqp/s1600/Horse2.jpg" height="484" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cow's milk on the left, horse milk on the right. The horse milk is a lot whiter</td></tr>
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From that same cooler in recent years I've had sheep milk, goat milk and unpasteurized cow's milk, all of which were delicious and made excellent fresh cheeses when I didn't know what to do with the rest of it after I'd had a few sips. The French seem to excel at dairy products of all kinds. If you've ever seen the football-field length of the dairy section at any Carrefour Supermarch<span class="st">é you'd know what I mean.</span></div>
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I had an idea of what the goat and sheep milk would taste like because I eat fresh goat and sheep milk cheeses now and again but I had no such clue for mare's milk.</div>
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I cracked the seal and poured a bit of it into a glass and without further ado, down the hatch it went. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLs_OSHm_LProiq5igJMK4TEt-z2QJVsSdQotMUuArxlCcMHTEbcqhXtgSkV5Enfy-IJiqiVewGqJmCaaBlNjUURr7TwfCwf5N4eIrsaUuTpDoDxxOxt05SsJM6_0-o4schdSoSd7mdOji/s1600/Horse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLs_OSHm_LProiq5igJMK4TEt-z2QJVsSdQotMUuArxlCcMHTEbcqhXtgSkV5Enfy-IJiqiVewGqJmCaaBlNjUURr7TwfCwf5N4eIrsaUuTpDoDxxOxt05SsJM6_0-o4schdSoSd7mdOji/s1600/Horse.jpg" height="640" width="484" /></a></div>
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It tasted surprisingly plain and watery, like a skimmed cow's milk with a bit of chestnut honey added. There was no single prominent flavour like you find with a goat's milk for instance.</div>
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I
can't say it would ever replace cow's milk but the producer, <a href="http://www.chevalait.com/#" target="_blank">Chevalait</a>, lists numerous health benefits on its website and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/laitdejument.chevalait?fref=ts" target="_blank">Facebook</a> page. </div>
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In their farm just west of Paris, the Belgian owners, a husband and wife team, keep about 180 mares who collectively produce about 90,000 litres of milk per year. They ship the fresh milk to health food shops within France, Belgium and Germany. They also manufacture other mare's milk products such as soap, cosmetics, and powdered milk.</div>
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If you're a mare's milk lover and you have <span class="st">€2,000 burning a hole in your pocket, you can adopt one of their mares and earn 5.5% interest paid out as </span><span class="st">€110 worth of milk every year. Not a bad return for betting on a horse!</span></div>
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<span class="st">Would I buy horse milk again? Probably not. But speaking of benefits, I did find my daily run curiously easier than usual the following day.</span></div>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-7770271500209809702014-05-24T05:29:00.000+02:002015-04-09T11:31:50.970+02:00Making Marmalade with Vivian Lloyd<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vivien's handful of just picked bitter orange</td></tr>
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Back in February when I told one of my foodie friends that marmalade
expert Vivien Lloyd was paying me a visit, our conversation went
something like this...</div>
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"Vivien Lloyd?" she asked, her voice rising with excitement. "You mean THE Vivien Lloyd, the marmalade expert?"</div>
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"Yes, that Vivien Lloyd," I replied, cool as a cucumber. "Do you know her?"</div>
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"Of course I do," "I have all her books," she replied. "You're kidding right?"</div>
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"No I'm not kidding," I countered. "She'll be here for a few days during the Lemon Festival and we're going to make marmalade together."</div>
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"OMG!" she yelped, a note of envy in her voice.</div>
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OMG indeed! I couldn't believe my luck.<br />
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Our get together would be a leap of faith for both of us. We'd never met before nor even spoken to each other. We'd tweeted back and forth about citrus fruit and I'd learned a lot about marmalade and jam making from reading posts on <a href="http://www.vivienlloyd.com/" target="_blank">Vivien's website</a>. From time to time I tweeted photos of the citrus growing in our garden but when I tweeted a photo our kumquat trees dripping with plump, luscious, bright orange kumquats, she may have decided it was high time she flew in for a closer look. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ciiykoMQvJIRahqo5fZYxyNB9x2H7tyAIFM4moWhgwaIKle4OSudLkOhR4XFxLEUAe5vkLxO63vyt3AqPRStBV9BaaVyg4pbpgTS1rjk06JvutlCzyPgABj6KzQ43pCtLCKCGfHLF8dC/s1600/Vivien9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ciiykoMQvJIRahqo5fZYxyNB9x2H7tyAIFM4moWhgwaIKle4OSudLkOhR4XFxLEUAe5vkLxO63vyt3AqPRStBV9BaaVyg4pbpgTS1rjk06JvutlCzyPgABj6KzQ43pCtLCKCGfHLF8dC/s1600/Vivien9.jpg" height="640" width="484" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vivien and her kumquat tree, Lady Marmalde</td></tr>
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I post from time to time about marmalade on Gustia (some would say, gone on and on) and also about the exceptional quality of Menton's citrus so when I suggested to Vivien that Menton's Annual Lemon Festival would be an ideal time to visit, the deal was done.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-Ij0q-o-I2-EoCPnUly6UUBtTtATvCpJrp17WrzCU2dwMQIgT2mCZjKuR1uAw-tbDSsceeJ8K8j48mVQiDm22pzG9TqY0nz69GrBFL8pyTeqgZU7gG2SGmJ-vLUz_wv9Y0bm-0kcCgs0/s1600/Vivien.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-Ij0q-o-I2-EoCPnUly6UUBtTtATvCpJrp17WrzCU2dwMQIgT2mCZjKuR1uAw-tbDSsceeJ8K8j48mVQiDm22pzG9TqY0nz69GrBFL8pyTeqgZU7gG2SGmJ-vLUz_wv9Y0bm-0kcCgs0/s1600/Vivien.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giant orange and lemon sculptures at Menton's Annual Fête du Citron</td></tr>
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No doubt about it, she has the Midas touch when it comes to marmalade. Seven of this year's winners in the <a href="http://www.dalemainmarmaladeawards.co.uk/" target="_blank">World's Original Marmalade Awards </a>in Cumbria had been taught or mentored by her. What an exceptional opportunity this was for me to learn her techniques first hand and raise my preserving game.</div>
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Her visit seemed to fly by. Over three days, while we discussed, picked, prepared, cooked, potted, dined
and chatted, I learned the many subtleties and nuances behind making Vivien's award winning marmalades. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPNP9_UewA-WwtbgJ34BXFOFin_mPwdTQu_174ei3zwrtRLzuJ7ollREvA4BfHDT22kc3sK4oIARFc3axVQumO0JtmfY8pZNCUpq93c5KPKD84AUczjBEGUevy7f9wNSvU1Fxb85Ax8ydU/s1600/Vivien3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPNP9_UewA-WwtbgJ34BXFOFin_mPwdTQu_174ei3zwrtRLzuJ7ollREvA4BfHDT22kc3sK4oIARFc3axVQumO0JtmfY8pZNCUpq93c5KPKD84AUczjBEGUevy7f9wNSvU1Fxb85Ax8ydU/s1600/Vivien3.jpg" height="302" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An overnight soak for the orange peel to soften it</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6j4GJxeBeogyR0wQmkdx3BWeMCSc_vXjkJd32feeVTHfAUG5XD3AFPFpywpH8qDkHzfsN6Bva1ozfE3mxM9weVeGEsPuf7ukd89nIeHFMk7A2rMksarDkzXEYceCH079sJAfc6u1Tyx5R/s1600/Vivien4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6j4GJxeBeogyR0wQmkdx3BWeMCSc_vXjkJd32feeVTHfAUG5XD3AFPFpywpH8qDkHzfsN6Bva1ozfE3mxM9weVeGEsPuf7ukd89nIeHFMk7A2rMksarDkzXEYceCH079sJAfc6u1Tyx5R/s1600/Vivien4.jpg" height="302" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beginning of lemon-lavender marmalade</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQdKVTBN1MXQbrY-avv1JJZEGNYDdypLw1tTarSvCZhC6rgyzn2dZuA-1Scuv87wgXho-B_sWh9hk_xIUoLhB0a5SJAXnRxdlBncbJrfu_6SAnAj_o7E7FtSP0fIkd0fbsXCP24cmLTka/s1600/Vivien5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQdKVTBN1MXQbrY-avv1JJZEGNYDdypLw1tTarSvCZhC6rgyzn2dZuA-1Scuv87wgXho-B_sWh9hk_xIUoLhB0a5SJAXnRxdlBncbJrfu_6SAnAj_o7E7FtSP0fIkd0fbsXCP24cmLTka/s1600/Vivien5.jpg" height="400" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Testing the set. This is ready</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigpAadw87AY5srfTel3fAvJqohYfncznhJdj_zgXPJ4G5pm0238cmcXLEzqxBxSFHR7jzZK4bS2BaJ6hZW1_lBKMn9NGnQt1U3J5yc8bfY-_flS9M-Jg_h0xVHCrfIl_NnMDOM9VwGguuH/s1600/Vivien8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigpAadw87AY5srfTel3fAvJqohYfncznhJdj_zgXPJ4G5pm0238cmcXLEzqxBxSFHR7jzZK4bS2BaJ6hZW1_lBKMn9NGnQt1U3J5yc8bfY-_flS9M-Jg_h0xVHCrfIl_NnMDOM9VwGguuH/s1600/Vivien8.jpg" height="478" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The morning after for the peel in our three-fruit marmalade</td></tr>
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It wasn't all nose to the preserving pan though. We visited two of my favourite food markets, one in Ventimiglia, Italy and one in Menton, France. We acted like tourists at the Lemon Festival and indulged in a bit of shopping for good measure. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh757z8BfMhkilIs5zDZS6V-El3S-KVMwwMvVBATvHtJhqYy2Sot-nQny3GzZ6geu8BgvGczJnf4Gzbp607SY8onvVK9HZOPrYMbd8GQtij0F3zSMamAk3i7MFCSwLoPV1B7N5z4EOInkLj/s1600/Vivien11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh757z8BfMhkilIs5zDZS6V-El3S-KVMwwMvVBATvHtJhqYy2Sot-nQny3GzZ6geu8BgvGczJnf4Gzbp607SY8onvVK9HZOPrYMbd8GQtij0F3zSMamAk3i7MFCSwLoPV1B7N5z4EOInkLj/s1600/Vivien11.jpg" height="484" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little citrus retail therapy</td></tr>
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We bought a kumquat tree and one of Vivien's Twitter followers crowned it "Miss Mamalade." It now resides on one of our terraces snuggled between ancient olive trees and mature bitter orange trees. I promised to send Vivien all of Miss Marmalade's kumquats in perpetuity. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHpnjXkmgw54gTVRqaEDFusyh6wv2pDneoJZwz5IuSLLMj3o5Poy2K9_CGR-a0ynMLOrRbPmRCVlc3MIhvPe2dA7ChyMDkHsa0nSgg0pEJnq1XP1KbVQhkNxr2AEfgdYWY75mO_30BHbWY/s1600/Vivien6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHpnjXkmgw54gTVRqaEDFusyh6wv2pDneoJZwz5IuSLLMj3o5Poy2K9_CGR-a0ynMLOrRbPmRCVlc3MIhvPe2dA7ChyMDkHsa0nSgg0pEJnq1XP1KbVQhkNxr2AEfgdYWY75mO_30BHbWY/s1600/Vivien6.jpg" height="484" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perfect bitter orange marmalade</td></tr>
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On the last night of our visit we prepared Vivien's special lemon curd by combining some of Menton's coveted lemons and some super fresh
eggs we'd bought from a local Paysanne vendor. The preparation was wondrously slow, an exercise in patience and observation. The taste and texture was sublime.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Q3X-v72DNCrltHgcThWZUiZ2He4p_4ZnotkP_t8u9hkJ8SpnOfCE3WvYR074itEEOYnthqOpL4UFvjChyPEFqOH8PCRhAvH4Ok2s-CvVlHNakNAAs_W6gqhESnbOnn67nul72ITg8518/s1600/Vivien7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Q3X-v72DNCrltHgcThWZUiZ2He4p_4ZnotkP_t8u9hkJ8SpnOfCE3WvYR074itEEOYnthqOpL4UFvjChyPEFqOH8PCRhAvH4Ok2s-CvVlHNakNAAs_W6gqhESnbOnn67nul72ITg8518/s1600/Vivien7.jpg" height="484" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sublime, delicious lemon curd</td></tr>
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Throughout our visit I kept thinking we need more people like Vivien. People who reach out and are passionate, talented and generous about helping others and sharing their immense knowledge.</div>
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We parted friends and talked about collaborating on a future project or two.</div>
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One thing's for sure, I have a new understanding about marmalade and I'm so grateful that we were able to share three inspiring days together.</div>
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I scored a Silver Certificate at last year's Original Marmalade Awards. Next year, I'm going for gold.</div>
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Some posts (the "on and on" bit) on Gustia about marmalade and citrus:<br />
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<a href="http://gustia-food-finds-feasts.blogspot.ca/2012/04/mixed-citrus-and-mandarin-marmalade.html" target="_blank">Mixed Citrus and Mandarin Marmalade</a><br />
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<a href="http://gustia-food-finds-feasts.blogspot.ca/2011/05/marmalade-thats-worth-weight.html" target="_blank">Marmalade that's Worth its Weight</a><br />
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<a href="http://gustia-food-finds-feasts.blogspot.ca/2012/05/marmalade-and-woman-in-my-dining-room.html" target="_blank">Marmalade and the Woman in my Dining Room</a><br />
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<a href="http://gustia-food-finds-feasts.blogspot.ca/2012/03/rescuing-mandarins.html" target="_blank">Rescuing Mandarins</a><br />
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-83686631195570053382014-03-30T16:02:00.000+02:002015-04-09T11:32:07.665+02:00Citron Carpaccio and a Change of Heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSW0_VksvYVgaTPbgzaFAVoSTkutSzU-WMQbQCpniKMzR0ee4qUSKCY7v8wUxfJboM65nj9UA-WDdyGpOAKkkQg_2zEUyJKp8BRwKbgBDfnnQH1xZj0-R8vnZjdjpBPFwt1z568lsQ_Z3/s1600/Citron11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSW0_VksvYVgaTPbgzaFAVoSTkutSzU-WMQbQCpniKMzR0ee4qUSKCY7v8wUxfJboM65nj9UA-WDdyGpOAKkkQg_2zEUyJKp8BRwKbgBDfnnQH1xZj0-R8vnZjdjpBPFwt1z568lsQ_Z3/s1600/Citron11.jpg" height="474" width="640" /></a></div>
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Every spring, I go on a bit of a citrus binge at the local markets, buying up bergamots, kumquats, grapefruit
and citron whenever I spot them followed by a leisurely afternoon in the kitchen making marmalade and jam. I've been getting some interesting results with poaching citron peel so I'm always especially on the lookout for them.</div>
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Even though they resemble a lemon in shape and colour, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Citron" target="_blank">citron</a> certainly
don't taste like a lemon. They have a thick, spongy, white pith with a tiny bit of
sour flesh in the centre. The bumpy skin has a soft lemon flavour but
none of the intensity nor acidity of a lemon. They're traditionally used for making
preserves or candied peel.<br />
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In France, citron are called <i>cédrat</i> and in Italy they're <i>cedro</i>. No one would fault you for walking right by the knobbly, misshapen looking citron
while thinking, "something is seriously wrong with those lemons!" </div>
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But this post really isn't about the citron and what to make with it. It's about simplicity and a culinary change of heart.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeT4bPyQii1C-3IbBTT5YeGNCkNgNhp3YGUUjkjW5fpO2xSWmYnjfJzev2p1AaNqDefJKuWDCV6C3TBbQFmq4ORSjd8EVBzpAh9weDxvE9btAHNv1Uims-ANrafPSvrONyGjRdc5jqTUCF/s1600/Citron2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeT4bPyQii1C-3IbBTT5YeGNCkNgNhp3YGUUjkjW5fpO2xSWmYnjfJzev2p1AaNqDefJKuWDCV6C3TBbQFmq4ORSjd8EVBzpAh9weDxvE9btAHNv1Uims-ANrafPSvrONyGjRdc5jqTUCF/s1600/Citron2.jpg" height="484" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cedro in the Ventimiglia market: "<i>Brutti ma buoni</i>." Ugly but good</td></tr>
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If you've ever bought anything from a food vendor in Italy or France, more often then not, they'll advise you in the most detailed and definitive way, the perfect thing to make with what you're buying. Take this morning for example. I bought a small black truffle and some
wine from a vendor in Italy and our conversation went something like this: "This wine is excellent with poached fish,
especially <i>Dorade</i>, and remember to add some rosemary with the poaching water and lots of salt, but remember to use sea salt, not regular salt" he continued, "and the best thing for the truffle is to use a young olive oil and shave it on scrambled eggs and by the way, I hear Vincenzo's artichokes are very good today, very tender, but a bit expensive." Me nodding politely.</div>
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Their advice is usually about how use their ingredients to prepare meat or fish dishes and since I'm a vegetarian, their words generally go in one ear and out the other. I confess that over the years I've become a bit blasé and adept at tuning out most of what they have to say, while I politely smile, thank them, and then head off to the next stand. But this morning I had a change of heart. </div>
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This year and last, after buying citron at the markets in Italy and France, three different vendors recommended that I eat it thinly
sliced and topped with olive oil and salt. Sounded crazy to me since I'd been using them to make jam and marmalade. When I bought some citron in Italy today, the vendor gave me the same recipe and it seems that the fourth time was the charm. When I got home, I pulled out the citrons, my mandoline, my best olive oil, some fleur du sel and gave it a try. </div>
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My first thought after my first bite
was, "why had I waited so long?"</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXt6uh7B1JPiftGMJTZTS65bT_n9z8ahFt-MhokAE8cEHEk4ez67bz1kdIj80bevB1xB5nDk92-toXrpb9G95jrm_8IDmuCmgZnPJMD8OedCeoKj_SeWitSfEb_x0AznITfZNTlH-gbR6/s1600/Citron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXt6uh7B1JPiftGMJTZTS65bT_n9z8ahFt-MhokAE8cEHEk4ez67bz1kdIj80bevB1xB5nDk92-toXrpb9G95jrm_8IDmuCmgZnPJMD8OedCeoKj_SeWitSfEb_x0AznITfZNTlH-gbR6/s1600/Citron.jpg" height="484" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thinly slicing the citron on a mandoline</td></tr>
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The texture of the white pith was soft and yielding like a <i>porcini</i> mushroom. The flavour was sublimely delicate, like a fresh perfumed lemon with the volume turned down. It reminded me not of a flavour but of a feeling: The same feeling I get when I'm eating the first of the spring peas or of the scent of lettuce
freshly cut from the garden or the smell that lingers on my hands after I've touched tomato branches. Ethereal. Fleeting.</div>
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I've never seen citron prepared this way on restaurant menus anywhere in Italy or France. For me it's an example of pure<i> terroir,</i> right from the grower's trees and imagination. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif8Tr2At9_A1v2d6uHWegMHA3sDwZ8totVHvg9IfL-EztlSdd6AgYhxcBhz3CtcBY2VVuAgQweOD1jTXjjV-OmGo7PCJhpnT5nSSaaEx7GoiZ3S3h1Kh-zUTagW2196-jdR8WYiKpRSLCq/s1600/Citron9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif8Tr2At9_A1v2d6uHWegMHA3sDwZ8totVHvg9IfL-EztlSdd6AgYhxcBhz3CtcBY2VVuAgQweOD1jTXjjV-OmGo7PCJhpnT5nSSaaEx7GoiZ3S3h1Kh-zUTagW2196-jdR8WYiKpRSLCq/s1600/Citron9.jpg" height="515" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adding citron to my favourite salad of artichokes, arugula and shaved Parmesan was a good idea too</td></tr>
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The citron experience has taught me to be more humble, to cast off my "little Miss know-it-all" attitude I sometimes have when it comes to the vendors' advice. With my right hand in the air, I hereby vow to listen as they offer up their recipes, meaty or otherwise. They are the ones who know the subtleties of their products and how to consume them. I owe them that.</div>
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With the same open heart, I bought some of Vincenzo's artichokes as instructed and they were fresh, sweet, and fabulous. I sliced them, added some fresh arugula, shaved Parmesan, olive oil and sprinkled more chopped citron on top. <br />
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I think I'll return the favour and share my new recipe with the citron vendors.</div>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-36054941282720046942014-03-23T18:10:00.000+01:002015-04-09T11:32:39.315+02:00Our Olive Trees get a Haircut<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sometime around mid-March, little buds start to appear on our ancient olive trees. Not long after that, Darrio arrives to give them their biennial haircut. </div>
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Trimming olive trees is no easy task, best left to the professionals like Darrio. </div>
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Our olive trees
are very tall, some have been estimated at 800-1,000 years old with
trunks as wide as a Smart Car. Each of them is gnarled with
age, like an old arthritic oak tree. They always make me feel so young, like we're just passing through and long after we're gone and forgotten, they'll live on.</div>
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Despite their advanced age, by September they each produce masses of little
olives and a profuse number of leaves, year after year without any help nor interference from us.<br />
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We like to keep our trees trimmed neatly but not as severely as you see in some public parks here where they resemble coiffed poodles more than majestic olive trees. </div>
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Our guidance to Darrio is classic: to trim the trees so that a swallow could fly through the branches without touching its wings. So off he goes. </div>
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For a week or so, the usual stillness of our garden is broken with the constant sound of Darrio's
gas powered olive branch cutter. From early morning to late evening,
his generator growls. "Chunk" we hear as he cuts through a branch,
"Swoosh" as the branches heavy with slate coloured leaves hits the
ground. It takes him almost a day to trim each tree and by the time he's finished, the base of each tree is piled a metre high with
branches and leaves. It's so tempting to jump on the pile and throw everything around like a kid playing in fall leaves but we don't; the olive branches are hard as steel and the leaves are capable of slicing skin.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old olive wood on the wood pile</td></tr>
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And speaking of olive trees, while I was poking around the garden last week I found a little surprise tucked into one of the trunks. Seems like all the rain we've had recently revealed that one of our past gardeners was keeping a secret... Based on the shape of the bottle, he was Burgundy fan!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're next!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-43758318048285863312014-02-12T20:26:00.000+01:002015-04-09T11:33:04.846+02:00Seen but not Heard. Cemetery Portraits<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijNo-7F0Jgqs7FfYC0g6jyWMr10oMRLXKOOStTjfsritpXGibgtQNOe67VA53YXri3zbvPBYwdzGIp64ATamI82qfpiPw1ZxC_tH0YIXQOpxgIanYnXhuQc1Jx0f7iXahIgdhDJDIz-gE1/s1600/Cemetary17.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijNo-7F0Jgqs7FfYC0g6jyWMr10oMRLXKOOStTjfsritpXGibgtQNOe67VA53YXri3zbvPBYwdzGIp64ATamI82qfpiPw1ZxC_tH0YIXQOpxgIanYnXhuQc1Jx0f7iXahIgdhDJDIz-gE1/s1600/Cemetary17.jpg" height="484" width="640" /></a></div>
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When I'm in Menton, and I'm in the right mood, I like to visit the ancient cemeteries. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvFE3XZgSgJrkF1AaTDoBIdfdZkaSXEzM4AHf1xZAVYeHd8OitH36QHpGXmy4WPscLnNN22oFU1GZBQa_5k7ceddP4yb94T2fK5uRE3nF0cpDi_EJfy_97gmV7_C1_mM_fHtCW9irDSuUA/s1600/CemetaryCat1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvFE3XZgSgJrkF1AaTDoBIdfdZkaSXEzM4AHf1xZAVYeHd8OitH36QHpGXmy4WPscLnNN22oFU1GZBQa_5k7ceddP4yb94T2fK5uRE3nF0cpDi_EJfy_97gmV7_C1_mM_fHtCW9irDSuUA/s1600/CemetaryCat1.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a>Both the popular<i> Cimetière du Vieux-Chateau</i> and the lesser known <i>Cimetière du Trabuquet</i> have enviable panoramic views from their grand perches high above the town. I find both to be beautiful in their own way but it's the <i>Cimetiere du Vieux-Chateau </i>where all the tourists go. Believe it or not, it boasts <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.fr/ShowUserReviews-g187231-d2271279-r144362380-Cimitero_del_Vecchio_Castello-Menton_French_Riviera_Cote_d_Azur_Provence.html" target="_blank">its own Trip Advisor page,</a> filled with glowing reviews, I might add.<br />
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There's a friendly tabby who frequents the <i>Cimetiere du Vieux-Chateau.</i> She seems happy to
spend her days there like a feline guardian, taking in the sun and, I like to imagine, chasing the occasional mouse. She probably finds serenity here since it's <i>interdit</i> (forbidden) to bring dogs past the big front gates. I imagine that visitors, who may have fallen into a contemplative or generous mood, pause to offer her a little scratch. I know I do.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93k_D20D2e2o-3qRuxD5uAWkLFt4zJwcmmeyZ8i2As-5fu_cY7IioYNgMkvQPq4dwGqgS98sHbNDjDEi2TR5QiHAcgSZqYuxrUx1QwNi2ndhdJl5cVjw2mMeutrSj0AvTO06qF5jp24HA/s1600/Cemetary2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93k_D20D2e2o-3qRuxD5uAWkLFt4zJwcmmeyZ8i2As-5fu_cY7IioYNgMkvQPq4dwGqgS98sHbNDjDEi2TR5QiHAcgSZqYuxrUx1QwNi2ndhdJl5cVjw2mMeutrSj0AvTO06qF5jp24HA/s1600/Cemetary2.jpg" height="400" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the <i>Cimetiere du Vieux-Chateau</i></td></tr>
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One thing that always fascinates me
about French cemeteries is the custom of placing photos of the dearly
departed on gravestones and tombs.</div>
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At first I thought the practice to be a bit macabre but over the years,
my eyes have gradually become accustomed to the portraits and now I see a
poignant beauty in them, a way of expressing loyalty and remembrance to loved ones.</div>
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It
takes courage to look at some of these portraits, especially the ones
of children and infants but I thought they were worth sharing. </div>
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Would you want your portrait placed on your grave? I can't decide about mine.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweeping sea views from the <i>Cimetiere Trabuquet</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRs5mxR9CgsgZR7oZzGKluYTWDi4mWYuWzi-UhYIU5Q22sEyMFT8wvz8jh4BBy30kXhU8vk3ZQa9DQk5WHB3js6a5Qtwv8XCi7Ows9eR4F74SR5iImGQSGYCw7VC5BmlXde1M7w743HHBl/s1600/Cemetary20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRs5mxR9CgsgZR7oZzGKluYTWDi4mWYuWzi-UhYIU5Q22sEyMFT8wvz8jh4BBy30kXhU8vk3ZQa9DQk5WHB3js6a5Qtwv8XCi7Ows9eR4F74SR5iImGQSGYCw7VC5BmlXde1M7w743HHBl/s1600/Cemetary20.jpg" height="484" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Military graves in the <i>Cimetiere Trabuquet</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH9un5s1V5ezkF4kdWgHWqCYXX1SWFFsS4jc0TcnHHNp7G0G50NAFeTKo8KRj8yBFd8KdxiI813Uptu1bNC4Rud-swmN8B01c99-cSzWAG7U9muC2v9xNm19wBsB9kSKlhv4YmyBXyL-UP/s1600/Cemetary27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH9un5s1V5ezkF4kdWgHWqCYXX1SWFFsS4jc0TcnHHNp7G0G50NAFeTKo8KRj8yBFd8KdxiI813Uptu1bNC4Rud-swmN8B01c99-cSzWAG7U9muC2v9xNm19wBsB9kSKlhv4YmyBXyL-UP/s1600/Cemetary27.jpg" height="608" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">On April 24, 1952, there were torrential rains in Menton causing a landslide in which brothers Charles and Eugenie Giordan and their granddaughter Monique Corradi perished. <span class="notranslate">Charles Giordan's body was found 37 years later, buried one metre deep near his property.</span></td></tr>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-71460563164208695192014-02-03T20:05:00.000+01:002014-02-04T11:03:27.733+01:00Seeking Nostalgia on Cat Street<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Lately it seems I've been seeking nostalgia. </div>
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I've started a collection of scratchy, old French 78 RPM shellac records that I love listening to on my equally old and scratchy French gramophone. The idea of digging through boxes of old photographs and postcards or finding a shelf of vintage cookbooks makes me giddy. Perhaps it will pass, probably when I run out of space.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeGJKk6Xk8IsiJ5B7vZ-J0t1mWu0JrzH7nXCeYNRYTp36TroNeIXhubm54k43uZ2AANiX4fFNt349TAXFtoNc2pBU-USsk0_03278RHdEda0t3K3Mt30mJeesP4fA8kWcuEgs0pAoK_-H_/s1600/Photo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeGJKk6Xk8IsiJ5B7vZ-J0t1mWu0JrzH7nXCeYNRYTp36TroNeIXhubm54k43uZ2AANiX4fFNt349TAXFtoNc2pBU-USsk0_03278RHdEda0t3K3Mt30mJeesP4fA8kWcuEgs0pAoK_-H_/s1600/Photo2.jpg" height="302" width="400"></a></div>
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Wherever I travel, I research the local flea markets and garage sales, any nook and cranny where I may find treasures. God love Hubby for indulging me.</div>
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I can't quite put my finger on exactly what it is about an old photograph that pulls me in and makes me want to own it. I think it starts with the sense that a moment in time is being captured. Following that, I feel a wistfulness that perhaps the person in the photo passed away and that's how it wound up in a box of old photos: given away by accident or worse, by heirs who saw no value in keeping it. </div>
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I pull myself out of this swirl by imagining that it was once a treasured possession for someone in the past. It's a little bit of an emotional storm.</div>
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In Hong Kong recently, I poked around Cat Street, always a gold mine of
quirky vintage goodies even though some of them are overpriced for the tourist trade. I
found some intriguing black and white photos and some 2 1/4" transparencies that have lost all their once vibrant colours over time and faded to a cheery pink. After a bit of
negotiating, (natch) they were mine. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Who are the people in these
images? Are they still alive? What were their lives like and how did
these photographs manage to end up in a dusty old box of photos on Cat
Street? </div>
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I wish I knew...</div>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-77533523443157008452014-01-16T18:05:00.000+01:002014-02-01T05:04:09.416+01:00Luxe Snacks at the Christmas Village, Monaco Style<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Now that the holidays are just a memory and a frightening number on the scale, I thought I'd tell you how, for us in Monaco, all those kilos got there in the first place.<br>
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Every December, Monaco's <i>Port Hercule</i> is transformed into a charming Christmas wonderland or a <i>Village de Noël. </i>It's similar to those that pop up during the holidays in cities and towns all around France and it's quite pleasant to bundle up and stroll between the little wooden huts buying charming, inexpensive gifts and grabbing a snack <i>al fresco</i>. But that's where the similarity ends...<br>
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First of all, you'd never recognize it but Monaco's<i> Village</i> is in
the exact same spot where the pits are set up in May of each year for
the Formula 1 Grand Prix race. Multi-million dollar race cars zoom around Monaco and end up here at the finish line where the Prince, along with anyone in the general vicinity, is doused with champagne by the driver of the winning car.<br>
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Mixed in with the traditional fare you'd find at any French <i>VIllage, </i>Monaco offers the sorts of food you're more likely to indulge in at a high-end gastronomy event than an outdoor Christmas Village...<br>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There's champagne of the white or <i>rosé</i> variety served in flutes that are glass, not plastic. There are a selection of fine red and white
wines to wash down <i>foie gras</i> on toasted <i>brioche</i> and a variety of oysters.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Beside the oyster stand is one selling steaming plates of mussels and
cold sea urchins with lemon wedges. Pinky wipes are kindly provided as needed. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There's Bellota ham from Spain and Hungarian Goulash. And i</span>f it's not luxurious, it's probably strange like giant marshmallows </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">coated in chocolate </span>called <i>Têtes du Choco</i> and on the savoury side of strange, "Cheese and Fries" and Badass Burgers from a
"Secret Recipe transmitted from Biker to Biker." Looks to me like the Cheese and Fries were copied from Quebec and look a lot like <i>Poutine</i> to this Canadian girl! </span><br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RVl9jtDXeLj-utH5dalLkbuSTtRzT2scD5w71MkBjanvo7xc5PBqfv83jEjfb7Rjqt1cBRpTC3yTWKqpuMLCe_UtJAJa76kFD65MO90LbI543KpIWfM3o6DNxk2LD-kqSVScjX95W4ZX/s1600/Monaco+Christmas+fair5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RVl9jtDXeLj-utH5dalLkbuSTtRzT2scD5w71MkBjanvo7xc5PBqfv83jEjfb7Rjqt1cBRpTC3yTWKqpuMLCe_UtJAJa76kFD65MO90LbI543KpIWfM3o6DNxk2LD-kqSVScjX95W4ZX/s640/Monaco+Christmas+fair5.jpg" height="514" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monaco's Port Hercule. A Christmas Fair in December, the Grand Prix pits in May</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">If you or the kiddies would like to munch
on something more traditional, there are old standbys like Churros, waffles, or crêpes spread with Nutella or doused with Grand Marnier. There are entire booths devoted to <i>cochonnerie, </i>(I love that word) which is<i> </i>the French term for junk food like</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> lollipops, candy apples, and </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">cotton
candy in your choice of 10 flavours.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Personally, I prefer a modest helping of yeast-raised, sugar coated doughnuts made </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i><span class="font_2">à</span> la minute</i> while you watch and lick your chops.</span> </span><br>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Apart from the food and gift stands, there's entertainment with daily
puppet shows, karaoke, magicians, games, a Ferris wheel, a beautiful
antique carousel, a skating rink, and sprinkled here and there, creepy looking
sculptures. </span><br>
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Good friends Christine and Geoff and I took a spin around the skating rink one fine and sunny day which was quite pleasant until a giant teenage girl careened
into Christine and then took me out along with her. After we pried our aching bums off the ice, we called it a day
and fled to the safety of the Ferris wheel to take in the spectacular view.<br>
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One thing for certain,
people in Monaco may not be skilled skaters but they're definitely
skilled eaters. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Opposites attract: <i>foie gras</i> to go and <i>Têtes de Choco</i>, giant chocolate covered marshmallows</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The skating rink where the pool usually is</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Decisions, decisions...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your choice of 10 different oysters or sea urchins with 5 different wines. This stand was very popular</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheese and fries sounds a lot like Canada's Poutine. Hamburgers are rare in these parts</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0Xf_1EfzInNwxyQgRzeDbFV6OSoDUoI4f3Gov48lcTAs9RtRy2N6NwP6taOardAsyoVldMFYuMeRf4JkSJPLljKPXog92XtVMl0xBAdgeqMgnRzya7QIIzSelEgZyJdN-SEEzr9pCtjg/s1600/Monaco+Christmas+fair9DROP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0Xf_1EfzInNwxyQgRzeDbFV6OSoDUoI4f3Gov48lcTAs9RtRy2N6NwP6taOardAsyoVldMFYuMeRf4JkSJPLljKPXog92XtVMl0xBAdgeqMgnRzya7QIIzSelEgZyJdN-SEEzr9pCtjg/s640/Monaco+Christmas+fair9DROP.jpg" height="278" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmmm. Doughnuts...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZQWwhBNNHgzg8qx4upSrNoBFrCsgGTHulk4mSaUW4OQ09PuQB19DtuDPxFUFkA8FEsbHV8ZMDVwZzWgVt-sbS5_LhEBxSBpfObPsftB2b8EHjmLADGoiFg0URjC3YjzbMgyWuldaK2BCV/s640/Fair+Food22.jpg" height="432" width="640"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBFdgQwIn7pcH8Rj69jyGBbmYsl14HIHw7fDukk70hxAym1jAZsTo5N9f2I2jdkLFQsui22QILV0yp5x5qSAtF92e7DNE4RaJWfBXcdShr_QHo-QDH5O3yKxUyKciEEvtMelenIKKOanRk/s640/Fair+Food23.jpg" height="432" width="640"></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5HlyrivF3Ax3Tiocc0dkfQ7AIFrXj6Yxx1D2IfjO30sGGOEAHA2h8DUxjs4TFXfotAZEoA9amtRbBetDOmBjKTe8NBLJrHs9GJtAKaBdg7HxFDPSIrXokkPwXZRxDDiz2ZXOE5pSXt8u/s1600/Monaco+Christmas+fair3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5HlyrivF3Ax3Tiocc0dkfQ7AIFrXj6Yxx1D2IfjO30sGGOEAHA2h8DUxjs4TFXfotAZEoA9amtRbBetDOmBjKTe8NBLJrHs9GJtAKaBdg7HxFDPSIrXokkPwXZRxDDiz2ZXOE5pSXt8u/s640/Monaco+Christmas+fair3.jpg" height="542" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Creepy sculptures here and there</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxBBG4Iu08uE3urNkcoqFTRbSpDP6rRhXhlS0F0C3SQzj7cgIGicflWWAsinkgm50YNzJDM9sHwCQA5hKxU0v5r6_cJhl0e9VIL5PyX1-TvD2e2PRF3PwmNVsIWnpGsBHhljjE3dKPb63/s1600/Fair+Food20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxBBG4Iu08uE3urNkcoqFTRbSpDP6rRhXhlS0F0C3SQzj7cgIGicflWWAsinkgm50YNzJDM9sHwCQA5hKxU0v5r6_cJhl0e9VIL5PyX1-TvD2e2PRF3PwmNVsIWnpGsBHhljjE3dKPb63/s640/Fair+Food20.jpg" height="432" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the bird's eye view from the Ferris wheel</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJV_B4ut-m4HeFRDHKyz2sGRc-sWCmMpy5x0vQU2LYcpEwb4fUDxsJT6dOoT5RHUyf3BKkPfwmM_zeTL59-rHfebU2U0IQPqrV-I7-f43AbM6Qqu7nhbUPwnjL11qshe2IwWsUS7uKefvY/s1600/Fair+Food9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJV_B4ut-m4HeFRDHKyz2sGRc-sWCmMpy5x0vQU2LYcpEwb4fUDxsJT6dOoT5RHUyf3BKkPfwmM_zeTL59-rHfebU2U0IQPqrV-I7-f43AbM6Qqu7nhbUPwnjL11qshe2IwWsUS7uKefvY/s640/Fair+Food9.jpg" height="483" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the hand painted panels on the beautiful antique carousel</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zfUR0DIjzRN7JYOrm0fEu-gUfvW-TrB6d6QtOW2m7Td1BZwAPnQSB-UKX7kQWnhwCOTg4KxXLDd8X5OFTH-OMQXX9fWDNIxz5_INx2rW66rlW3pGyTLdIq9-VFLi_QSpKElWYAmNrcQq/s1600/Fair+Food25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-zfUR0DIjzRN7JYOrm0fEu-gUfvW-TrB6d6QtOW2m7Td1BZwAPnQSB-UKX7kQWnhwCOTg4KxXLDd8X5OFTH-OMQXX9fWDNIxz5_INx2rW66rlW3pGyTLdIq9-VFLi_QSpKElWYAmNrcQq/s640/Fair+Food25.jpg" height="432" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe someone will drop some <i>Foie Gras</i>...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZ0rhy79GJ5d1O6zBp3WWO4rFU5YJaRRNPvu71SOkfcsNils6TUfnWgj2jcqb-DoBZTpceTIu2-d_e8wdSyxQT3mvmlpg1kA_UA0s8AnqrDilHV3xaEcXUygGqzbrrNsx6jCMUtKqTSFR/s1600/Fair+Food31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZ0rhy79GJ5d1O6zBp3WWO4rFU5YJaRRNPvu71SOkfcsNils6TUfnWgj2jcqb-DoBZTpceTIu2-d_e8wdSyxQT3mvmlpg1kA_UA0s8AnqrDilHV3xaEcXUygGqzbrrNsx6jCMUtKqTSFR/s640/Fair+Food31.jpg" height="344" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bird's eye view from the Ferris wheel</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6II3I8aQt_xshO8f-eBwyHriZ4cpK0_27mRyVFNAs6blBiATda2Ktl6JXW2sIwfe_A2AiMfIhw5hXbJFfZWhyphenhyphenfHkEK84Ta3QibwRFvOsgOpiVE-jQQ5f_k6cqwqIYzsmLxvBegCwRauX/s1600/Fair+Food17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6II3I8aQt_xshO8f-eBwyHriZ4cpK0_27mRyVFNAs6blBiATda2Ktl6JXW2sIwfe_A2AiMfIhw5hXbJFfZWhyphenhyphenfHkEK84Ta3QibwRFvOsgOpiVE-jQQ5f_k6cqwqIYzsmLxvBegCwRauX/s640/Fair+Food17.jpg" height="432" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See you next year!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNh2oo3DyjDTYbIjuQJOgqZvDQ3gsv0p7-l51u_CMJgyfHRwxeev-3SjgBkeUrK_zjZNhJCkuoDLSKzId8huZMA2JgegqCJtsThxVtJOGBYuYokGLSSQfSU7H6wLq6s1Q2OTTGZzKceO_U/s1600/Fair+Food15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNh2oo3DyjDTYbIjuQJOgqZvDQ3gsv0p7-l51u_CMJgyfHRwxeev-3SjgBkeUrK_zjZNhJCkuoDLSKzId8huZMA2JgegqCJtsThxVtJOGBYuYokGLSSQfSU7H6wLq6s1Q2OTTGZzKceO_U/s400/Fair+Food15.jpg" height="400" width="270"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_eZA1tf6nwMoaW87jDCYi8hH1daepoAP89egbNpGHk9Axw2P4TN6TvAvKJbgNCPK57fxv9vCPgV76dxwgngLYqj3dxZQiQBAWLTgY8MhO0Cql94WIu5lTM-zvqW7z-vh54XnmBO_ywKk/s1600/Menton+Christmas2013+-+14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtdMbwoGYit6tTW7CSu2FmI0xFcccSTylMa2b8BAo2G38Q7dq3pVEfF4JVmWBlO6sW362r0sVn6wGRSuGRQ8zsBIrl4Ucl_DbgmsuNdNbzUNY9-6mgqC24pXu4x0Bgl0kfWkGBd-VgsLpn/s1600/Menton+Christmas2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtdMbwoGYit6tTW7CSu2FmI0xFcccSTylMa2b8BAo2G38Q7dq3pVEfF4JVmWBlO6sW362r0sVn6wGRSuGRQ8zsBIrl4Ucl_DbgmsuNdNbzUNY9-6mgqC24pXu4x0Bgl0kfWkGBd-VgsLpn/s640/Menton+Christmas2013.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi2dJICCt-fWZhW7auTcNpZwxe1CVENJXqNaZ0RfTQ6LnGE3iBEvFscq5ZEAO_72n2Dlk9SleTfaG0m_6-pqYgKPW9p5fvPeN8_6VMwjTbT5y9iKpBJ5piPbIZufljRg9OTPz-LsqKc8R5/s640/Menton+Christmas2013+-+2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="432" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Paysanne</i> vendor Madame Francine and her wonderful mandarin oranges</td></tr>
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I love visiting Menton's market any day of the week but around Christmas, I enjoy it even more because it's busier than usual and that makes for a lively and festive atmosphere.</div>
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This Christmas Eve though, it all went a bit pear shaped when it poured rain and the skies were heavy and grey making it seem more like a trumpet with a mute than the silver flute it usually is. Very few people had braved the rain and the vendors were worried because hardly anyone had come to buy all of their festive offerings. <br />
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Rain doesn't bother me in the least so Hubby and I were two of the few who arrived and hustled here and there, gathering this and that, all the while juggling wallet and umbrella. After shopping for an hour or so, the rain started coming down in
buckets so we skedaddled back home, dragging our bulging and wet granny cart
behind us.<br />
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Thank goodness New Year's Eve was a different story...<br />
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The skies were a clear bright blue, the sea was glistening, it was 10<span class="st">°c and </span>the air was fresh with a breeze from the South and the market was happy and crowded. Very crowded.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqyt2bKv8iMD3-HMBgTHXoTAs1yxZA5Ykw0ykeYRG078VHuW-Q_qlLgK_HMBnuvXfQ4CHO1n4EqC6s8rwAAD5871-Fyg2jhSu9u0x1wlWt9ctPWoFuLY5FjxHnVHkcfEq4sy6nyqhAzGR/s1600/Menton+Christmas2013+-+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqyt2bKv8iMD3-HMBgTHXoTAs1yxZA5Ykw0ykeYRG078VHuW-Q_qlLgK_HMBnuvXfQ4CHO1n4EqC6s8rwAAD5871-Fyg2jhSu9u0x1wlWt9ctPWoFuLY5FjxHnVHkcfEq4sy6nyqhAzGR/s640/Menton+Christmas2013+-+6.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A brief break in the rain on Christmas Eve<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0PJaL3B-CW_wtzpGsUUtKiPcr787rBiaBqoao8Q9hPVtN4yzH8qR_BheRXtaIZKp0FaTE3gk8yKanqhyPpMeoX7dOrNhy87YoRB93X0NwjVPIZ5bW61ikIBxCI7ensQR8hvxL9ZIbVB5/s640/Menton+Christmas+New+Years+2013+-+6DROP.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="432" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think Menton's buildings look better in the sun</td></tr>
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The lines to buy oysters and bread were two and three deep, less so for vegetables, fruits and cheese. Menton's luscious oranges, kumquats, and lemons were on sale here and there. We waited patiently in the long lines like everyone else and when it was finally our turn at the front, we took the time to thank the vendors for all the wonderful things they produced for us throughout the year.<br />
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Traditionally it's bad luck to wish anyone "<i>Bonne Année</i>" before January 1st but we wiggled around that by saying, "<i>Bonne <b>fin</b> d’Année</i>" which seemed fine since anyone to whom we said it said the same back.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEhH7s7KWWHFJE8GhAPUvY4BAObiL4q7jM1JBcqy_MNvVveLWXPLyyc0iGXshdZJkiNpN1WMJ3nPt9rQPRnDFj3CdzMON1794roygeZrMe7xLl-afcIgDrWyQTrjBFuGVB5QQOy3qR8s9/s640/Menton+Christmas2013+-+Volpi.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="432" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mentonnaise author Jean-Claude Volpi</td></tr>
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Passionate Mentonnaise author Jean-Claude Volpi set up a table where
he was selling some of his well researched and wonderfully illustrated
books
about Menton. He also had a huge selection of rare vintage postcards
that he was selling for a song. I scooped up quite a few of those.<br />
<br />
A beggar brought his cat and dog with two adorable puppies that
attracted as much attention as the oyster vendor. In all, New Years Eve
was a wonderful second chance at holiday cheer for vendors and
customers alike.<br />
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Now that the holidays are drawing to an end, calm has once again descended upon us.<br />
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I'd like wish each and everyone of you who visit and follow my blog a<i> Bonne Année</i>, happiness and good health in the coming year and beyond.<br />
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May
your soufflées always rise, may your pie crusts always flake and
may all who sit at your dinner table arrive with a happy heart and a good appetite!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I bought one of Mr Volpis' postcards of Menton in the sun. This one is from 1972</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr Volpi was selling his vintage postcards of Menton</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone enjoyed the sunshine on New Year's Eve </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tagged tuna. All that was left was the tail!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big crowds to buy oysters and seafood</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seafood, oysters, <i>moules</i> were selling like hotcakes</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Locally grown bananas, holly, mistletoe and fresh baby carrots</td></tr>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-62179447026353999782013-12-22T13:03:00.001+01:002013-12-27T22:05:35.858+01:00Food Tripping in Nice<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhACJmXU9tWUwTYpCP6tXCGhRmAhv-rv9u14tyfqsyGlOGTf0Z_6Tle4XVWnAHc9zJimqrVmysm6P1h1aCyqqlbYCZ_lbAETWbotHtIHnooYwB6s-3mG2RPhTNuePy6t3aEw6uFwdSWJPuJ/s1600/Nice3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhACJmXU9tWUwTYpCP6tXCGhRmAhv-rv9u14tyfqsyGlOGTf0Z_6Tle4XVWnAHc9zJimqrVmysm6P1h1aCyqqlbYCZ_lbAETWbotHtIHnooYwB6s-3mG2RPhTNuePy6t3aEw6uFwdSWJPuJ/s640/Nice3.jpg" width="534" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Nice's beautiful sun streaked arcades</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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When gifted photographer and fellow food-obsessed friend Ayako invited me to join her for a day of foodie exploration in Nice I jumped at the chance. </div>
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Ayako is as demanding and as curious as I am when it comes to food, probably more so and she's been roaming around in Nice lately, weeding out the good foodie places from the bad and the ugly. During her outings she's been texting me photos of her gastronomic discoveries that leave me crazed with envy and wanting to share some of the fun.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cours Salaya</td></tr>
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Even though it's only a half hour drive away, I can count on my fingers the number of times I've visited Nice since moving to Monaco over a decade ago. Compared to the gentility and safety of Monaco, I find Nice rather edgy and unfriendly so it takes something really worthwhile to blast me out of my cocoon and down the coast. This foodie day was it.</div>
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<span class="st">W</span>e agreed on the Cours Salaya as our rendez-vous point. <br />
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The sky was an achingly clear blue and about 13<span class="st">°, perfect weather for exploring the narrow streets of Nice's Old Town. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg833yI0_eDJCvhdhMqOmogoqJx3qH27BNzd7VqjerEncUbFA5mT6jCXCawHYH661Hur8OLgY2BcNczV-M7-HiAQ1WDbXvEaYAFJIYO_pevN_4dVJY6474DkDCdfq31_GAWN9VuKu8aSO8u/s1600/Nice9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg833yI0_eDJCvhdhMqOmogoqJx3qH27BNzd7VqjerEncUbFA5mT6jCXCawHYH661Hur8OLgY2BcNczV-M7-HiAQ1WDbXvEaYAFJIYO_pevN_4dVJY6474DkDCdfq31_GAWN9VuKu8aSO8u/s400/Nice9.jpg" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of only two <i>Paysan</i> vendors remain</td></tr>
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On Mondays there's a fun, but expensive, antiques market. Today being Tuesday, the vendors sell fresh food and flowers with some soaps, tea towels and some charming artwork for tourists thrown in to the mix. </div>
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After roaming down both sides of the <i>Cours</i> to see what was on offer, I was somewhat saddened to see that out of the 30 or so vendors, just two were <i>producteurs</i> selling their own locally grown products - all the rest were resellers. This sent a bit of a chill down my spine. I've been seeing over the past few years the number of <i>Paysan </i>vendors dwindling and close to extinction. So sad. On we ventured...</div>
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Ayako and I spent the day roaming around, visiting some of her new food discoveries and when it was all said and done, we spent a wonderful day together which included a vegetarian lunch and abandoning ourselves to some delicious pastries - something I rarely do. The other shoe dropped when we had a flat tire and encountered perhaps the rudest woman we'd ever met in the <i>parking</i> at Nice Etoile. So it goes...<br />
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I thought I'd share with you some photos of Nice and what we saw during the day. Maybe you can join us next time?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaREA6D9Rc4omV3YtbvyfrzVI-eUvI3fdx9KMzLRKmAdtlcx959TJD6S5PKibfDWcAcWeyDYD-XtcMbxYGfRrthAoTa-mExGecMIuCDqsDSacNUUv8igbqPmsb4jn37smgTqpcmu7FQTTm/s1600/Nice2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaREA6D9Rc4omV3YtbvyfrzVI-eUvI3fdx9KMzLRKmAdtlcx959TJD6S5PKibfDWcAcWeyDYD-XtcMbxYGfRrthAoTa-mExGecMIuCDqsDSacNUUv8igbqPmsb4jn37smgTqpcmu7FQTTm/s640/Nice2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pastries at Deli Bo were worth the calories</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mushrooms from France and the USA</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo5NTAFLouHbAWWVHzLv8LSbFA1UcczFUqkn6Dg36q9f-erKlEK8ODPW-RnTXJyyoNmen1dq0j-Dy_62DRDgo0FOO-uVNEH9LIM2CekAl9sWMvYiFwZhbPNbBaO2OV2XUvPGQZDWeCXTD/s1600/Nice5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo5NTAFLouHbAWWVHzLv8LSbFA1UcczFUqkn6Dg36q9f-erKlEK8ODPW-RnTXJyyoNmen1dq0j-Dy_62DRDgo0FOO-uVNEH9LIM2CekAl9sWMvYiFwZhbPNbBaO2OV2XUvPGQZDWeCXTD/s640/Nice5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little tulip embryos in the Cours Salaya market</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnuj8ISK3kWU0RRxW7J0qqpTaFoCrlps5npW050teo3BL0Ug7xS6KofJNyVwUwF5k0tIfxuESCynBeuCN7y3v4msvzgir0KKlE6_oUSRidj3sxCeGl1eHxkHC5r-__GYOnJKZ8XYUqgWc8/s1600/Nice6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnuj8ISK3kWU0RRxW7J0qqpTaFoCrlps5npW050teo3BL0Ug7xS6KofJNyVwUwF5k0tIfxuESCynBeuCN7y3v4msvzgir0KKlE6_oUSRidj3sxCeGl1eHxkHC5r-__GYOnJKZ8XYUqgWc8/s640/Nice6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwgKHqn3Y1BK77Xdt9EPHfT6bznNl79F16mzUgdt4X8GZ57OG2B22qDmjhXKExVRk8ajy6QvEDMwItmmPUZEtI2AvZmrhw_jDCy_tUOvHa83MPDDP1yKOfU4ZjASfsZwuWzYh6Y4PdIFa3/s1600/Nice16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwgKHqn3Y1BK77Xdt9EPHfT6bznNl79F16mzUgdt4X8GZ57OG2B22qDmjhXKExVRk8ajy6QvEDMwItmmPUZEtI2AvZmrhw_jDCy_tUOvHa83MPDDP1yKOfU4ZjASfsZwuWzYh6Y4PdIFa3/s640/Nice16.jpg" width="382" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJApCyLgHEf8kTm93Ihjb4ny0844Qx7oVJbd4RrIT-2SfKjAB3aTrfoRKlgqOb8wlqm-PxuxQKWj1_LZGF82RdRJTBnaXPy46acSBee6oi6YAlCK24K01VqzyGZzHPyIv3u7tGVPVwf3_/s1600/Nice7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="524" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJApCyLgHEf8kTm93Ihjb4ny0844Qx7oVJbd4RrIT-2SfKjAB3aTrfoRKlgqOb8wlqm-PxuxQKWj1_LZGF82RdRJTBnaXPy46acSBee6oi6YAlCK24K01VqzyGZzHPyIv3u7tGVPVwf3_/s640/Nice7.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mail delivery the traditional way</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm a real fan of vintage French signage</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQU077fCaEVXLKMhV3LH_RuifImMf2t3a6Xt4PVPAAUuT4Fmku19H0_gAFYx4_Mz9Q7htHQ6mOLTifeEhwZdF87FOiKpvnbwP9FKkk4fSm4ySfNDW4QRPaStcRWj8I9wjA0R0dRr6JGEr/s1600/Nice10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQU077fCaEVXLKMhV3LH_RuifImMf2t3a6Xt4PVPAAUuT4Fmku19H0_gAFYx4_Mz9Q7htHQ6mOLTifeEhwZdF87FOiKpvnbwP9FKkk4fSm4ySfNDW4QRPaStcRWj8I9wjA0R0dRr6JGEr/s640/Nice10.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fish market in the Place St François</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUL6MxXaSwTYKgIXSAbYe-3cHQ437QZnYJFUJaad8P86Ic3ogwfIV2TDyr9c3qgM1glXb8ulGAIkAWvJXhck4MTc0xJIJ49Rl_cwgkm80i58OT18kUj8TPkoTBOl_a_P9qdUEQcZbRgj4U/s1600/Nice11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUL6MxXaSwTYKgIXSAbYe-3cHQ437QZnYJFUJaad8P86Ic3ogwfIV2TDyr9c3qgM1glXb8ulGAIkAWvJXhck4MTc0xJIJ49Rl_cwgkm80i58OT18kUj8TPkoTBOl_a_P9qdUEQcZbRgj4U/s640/Nice11.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chestnut Pannetone at the Italian shop</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw2k1gI_-OkBbgilEJTvELb0kTv9j798YWdZmo-7jqkobqRFDWcKm9SBqglirfjWhzFlkofcP9Woa4eivYLGuIky0oPEhO2ITbVsk68YV_8-4SUFCCBtrZbztN_W8XMrNs5J-GmaIzigHL/s1600/Nice12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw2k1gI_-OkBbgilEJTvELb0kTv9j798YWdZmo-7jqkobqRFDWcKm9SBqglirfjWhzFlkofcP9Woa4eivYLGuIky0oPEhO2ITbVsk68YV_8-4SUFCCBtrZbztN_W8XMrNs5J-GmaIzigHL/s640/Nice12.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marzipan fruit from a vendor in the Cours Salaya</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHldNlB0_vpeCLbxo_V6n0mfNcyjFT6aBlsrzM2CDJtvNGhZM0l5Jql2oK75jluuaNPQjgpwdIzbdLu1z1nCLN-JHHBdOAvxYB6NXucDQfX1y9piEoInDQ4XOO-dqMgmqe5od0kqUJIypD/s1600/Nice13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHldNlB0_vpeCLbxo_V6n0mfNcyjFT6aBlsrzM2CDJtvNGhZM0l5Jql2oK75jluuaNPQjgpwdIzbdLu1z1nCLN-JHHBdOAvxYB6NXucDQfX1y9piEoInDQ4XOO-dqMgmqe5od0kqUJIypD/s640/Nice13.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fig sausage from a vendor in the Cours Salaya. It's served with cheese or just eaten as is</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSDhD4TzubI_deZoY56h8NcaOEOaiD2eMoTvd1-2blWqGYtjjvbvzjQ1q57dNmn7dYYfeMeL5zCPeK6Y3AFkSjx-byC-Iinfp71oKmgbxO1EeFiUMoKS71S9fUM-5ybxrjBtOpw5cBcvIV/s1600/Nice18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSDhD4TzubI_deZoY56h8NcaOEOaiD2eMoTvd1-2blWqGYtjjvbvzjQ1q57dNmn7dYYfeMeL5zCPeK6Y3AFkSjx-byC-Iinfp71oKmgbxO1EeFiUMoKS71S9fUM-5ybxrjBtOpw5cBcvIV/s640/Nice18.jpg" width="486" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favourite building in Nice: Tête Carré by French artist Sacha Sosno. It's a public library.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkWmsGK1za9o_3uyq3dleNwcwrCUfIRIn2Qj058OvBRxpW97wUJd0nbsg1AXRqU2OnW1Qf_OJc-n3p7XGxaSbMqUxtPxWv_vbqa5aD-2bC0_wrUS7AKnTeX4isZw2ddfjJr87e-0OgRr84/s1600/Nice119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkWmsGK1za9o_3uyq3dleNwcwrCUfIRIn2Qj058OvBRxpW97wUJd0nbsg1AXRqU2OnW1Qf_OJc-n3p7XGxaSbMqUxtPxWv_vbqa5aD-2bC0_wrUS7AKnTeX4isZw2ddfjJr87e-0OgRr84/s640/Nice119.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holdiay decorations here and there</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLthfD8NcsVUpSXkTHWKdAjGGxSx9E-FVRGf51rvfgtB6ausHpsmuXwxxZBwzOq6MGOu59IKkNLxfre49q2vgAM_XyElt6GzFADYRnp695HQ9Ak2G4gA1DBzIu7kJccbEv3qwSjPi6yf-I/s1600/Nice14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLthfD8NcsVUpSXkTHWKdAjGGxSx9E-FVRGf51rvfgtB6ausHpsmuXwxxZBwzOq6MGOu59IKkNLxfre49q2vgAM_XyElt6GzFADYRnp695HQ9Ak2G4gA1DBzIu7kJccbEv3qwSjPi6yf-I/s640/Nice14.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peeking inside a <span class="st"><i> boucherie </i></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="st"><i> </i> </span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqdb-BRxwUZsr3T9xJFjxbAV_caYInPdNkJck3XmKReTNyuffuQ9EjLldDEbUyv6lmyekpyxirnRvsdRoa2HCkg3m1MmzspvvTeQoQB5zPMnJCSi_cp3TWV1XEruGfGWgDVOJj7JnFtiR/s1600/Nice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpqdb-BRxwUZsr3T9xJFjxbAV_caYInPdNkJck3XmKReTNyuffuQ9EjLldDEbUyv6lmyekpyxirnRvsdRoa2HCkg3m1MmzspvvTeQoQB5zPMnJCSi_cp3TWV1XEruGfGWgDVOJj7JnFtiR/s640/Nice.jpg" width="432" /></a></div>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-25133510239516426562013-12-08T15:47:00.000+01:002013-12-20T17:19:20.536+01:00A Starbucks for Monaco<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqgqYI7UJ-YD9rqtNdCk-OXlIZZZU3XMyu5OnXISzK8DGlrXQbr6Zvtcfqsby9CT10_fKIcrKWCBJItD0mj5DCiaOx_5ABZaM1Fo9FZmQ6AN-iW27Lsue08YLeijPzsWQtIj77I6kmpH4/s1600/Starbucks7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuqgqYI7UJ-YD9rqtNdCk-OXlIZZZU3XMyu5OnXISzK8DGlrXQbr6Zvtcfqsby9CT10_fKIcrKWCBJItD0mj5DCiaOx_5ABZaM1Fo9FZmQ6AN-iW27Lsue08YLeijPzsWQtIj77I6kmpH4/s640/Starbucks7.jpg" width="640"></a></div>
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When I arrived at Monaco's brand spanking new Starbucks this morning, there was an empty dark grey Lamborghini parked on the sidewalk out front, idling away. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNlCPClkUcZp4gGBprZMdRa8iW1xhbwPFL8KgqjEzfTRXXNONVA4WH0szydsW8D1-kf3ElIjNOlA56Z99qKaeF2W-8BPWq6pBHMNwAdRDOccEX-o4FvCXheOQyW21uFq0nKhKKvnafApAS/s1600/Starbucks3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNlCPClkUcZp4gGBprZMdRa8iW1xhbwPFL8KgqjEzfTRXXNONVA4WH0szydsW8D1-kf3ElIjNOlA56Z99qKaeF2W-8BPWq6pBHMNwAdRDOccEX-o4FvCXheOQyW21uFq0nKhKKvnafApAS/s400/Starbucks3.jpg" width="400"></a>By the time I'd pulled out my camera, its owner had left the shop with a distinctive Starbucks paper cup in his hand, slipped into his car and roared off. I imagine this will be a common scene from now on. The idea of "take out" coffee in a paper cup doesn't exist here. </div>
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On Wednesday, Monaco's first ever Starbucks opened to great fanfare, ribbon cutting, and the revelation that Princess Charlene along with two local businessmen were the driving force behind it. Hats off to them. The <i>café</i> scene could use a bit of shaking up around here.</div>
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Monaco has a huge number of <i>cafés</i>, <i>buvettes</i> and tea rooms but most of them are what I'd call "Old School." In other words, a
bit frayed around the edges, uncomfortably cramped, and frankly, unwelcoming. On the luxe end of the spectrum are tourist haunts like the Café de Paris where for €20 you can get a weak pot of tea and watery hot chocolate served by war-weary, surly waiters. Alas, what you're really paying for there is a luxurious perch from which to people watch. Truth be told, for €20 it's quite the show!</div>
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Many of the old guard <i>café </i>and shop<i> </i>owners<i> </i>seem to harbour an innate disdain and suspicion towards foreign brands, especially those which may alter the status quo or steal patrons away from them. </div>
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So along comes a shiny new Starbucks in the bottom corner of a shiny new block of apartments, shaking things up a bit. To begin with, its interior and sprawling terrace are extravagantly spacious for the Principality where commercial real estate costs an average of €25,000- €50,000 per square metre. </div>
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When I walked in this morning to take a peek, there was pleasant music playing in the background, a lively buzz, and staff who were smiling and helpful. Such a fine sight to see that they offer soy milk as an alternative to cows' milk. This is completely unheard of in these parts. What a breath of modern fresh air it all is.</div>
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Since I never drink coffee, today was about the 5th time I've ever stepped foot in a Starbucks. I guess you could say I'm mostly indifferent about the brand because I've never really had the need to go into one. All that changed this morning. I've already made plans to go there with some friends <i>après-skating</i> on Wednesday to check it out.</div>
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As they say, location is everything.<br>
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<b>UPDATE </b><br>
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I dragged Hubby and some curious Canadian friends to Starbucks last Wednesday afternoon, <i>après-skating</i> so we could share the Starbucks experience together.<br>
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When we arrived, there was a very slow moving line that snaked out the door. When we finally got to the counter to order, it became clear why the line was moving at a snail's pace. Suffice to say that more staff training and a sense of hustle is required. Generally speaking, in my experience, efficient American service doesn't translate into French.<br>
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Other notes: unfortunately they used UHT milk in their beverages but to their credit, they used soy milk that was not too sweet. Hubby also noted that his cinnamon bun was stale.<br>
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Nonetheless, despite its faults, I think I'd go back on my own for a steamed soy milk and just to sit in a spacious, modern <i>café</i> and access their free WiFi.<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ydt3RzGvxHLEoLokcRawhoITQlBzgAd_K8wqLscFy1Qz2xXT7QzSdluZxOVxID0rOeasQ-UXweynoAEl2Fa_gRKnKYSQp5Q8Vo7RQwx-LJ3yuRZ3lp598olBAiSbTyBjCMMeGpR2ma2P/s1600/Starbucks5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ydt3RzGvxHLEoLokcRawhoITQlBzgAd_K8wqLscFy1Qz2xXT7QzSdluZxOVxID0rOeasQ-UXweynoAEl2Fa_gRKnKYSQp5Q8Vo7RQwx-LJ3yuRZ3lp598olBAiSbTyBjCMMeGpR2ma2P/s640/Starbucks5.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the outdoor terrace</td></tr>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-53853512706894431942013-11-20T22:11:00.000+01:002013-11-20T22:11:45.331+01:00A Spot of Tea for 200<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The English Countryside themed table at the Glebe House Tour Tea</td></tr>
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When my dear friend and neighbour Suzanne asked me to run a Tea Party for 200 people this Fall, my head caught on fire. But in a good way. </div>
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Suzanne is the talented chair of Ottawa's <a href="http://www.gnag.ca/index.php?page=134" target="_blank">Annual Glebe House Tour</a> and the Tea Party is held for the participants at the local community centre mid-way through the tour. </div>
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My mind raced - what a chance to roll three of my passions into one: sharing my tea cup and table ware collection, baking for a big crowd and fund raising for a good cause. </div>
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First step was to recruit BFF and partner in decorative crime, Sean. His expertise with staging and keen eye for design is impeccable. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMi6AIJP1qcvD-U9wD1IWoCvWYwUIhsmAufqHcV02hoPhs6mJbXOOiiZW2kAV0Hqe-hI9re9ryV7bYNxvVyirX3TaK5dIPcA6h2-Vnhd-f-VorACxp6eX_cK3t4O7yJWVfITXVMe6BPoi8/s1600/HouseTour5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"> <img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMi6AIJP1qcvD-U9wD1IWoCvWYwUIhsmAufqHcV02hoPhs6mJbXOOiiZW2kAV0Hqe-hI9re9ryV7bYNxvVyirX3TaK5dIPcA6h2-Vnhd-f-VorACxp6eX_cK3t4O7yJWVfITXVMe6BPoi8/s640/HouseTour5.jpg" width="384" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The English Countryside</td></tr>
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We put our heads heads together over the summer and decided to theme each of the 6 tables after a different type of home decor. I developed sweet treats to match each theme, and off we went.<br />
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The English Countryside</div>
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(Tea Brack Fruit Cake)<br />
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Asian Influence</div>
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(Matcha and Black Sesame Shortbreads)</div>
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The 50s</div>
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(Apples, Orange Cream-Filled Ginger Sandwiches)</div>
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French Provincial</div>
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(Macarons, Meringues, Pâte de Fruits)</div>
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The Crazy Cat Lady</div>
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(Cat Shaped Sugar Cookies)</div>
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The Groovy 70s </div>
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(Oreos and Gluten-Free Chocolate Chip Cookies)</div>
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I created special "House Tour" gingerbread caramels and we sprinkled those here and there for everyone to enjoy. <br />
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Like a community barn raising in days gone by, local businesses donated their time and goods, neighbours were asked for favours and husbands and friends were swept into the fray and put to work. Children painted charming pictures of their homes to decorate the room. Six delightful young women donned aprons to became "Tea Ladies" and helped with the set-up, serving the tea, and the washing up. If there's one thing I really miss about my old neighbourhood it's the way everyone pulls together for the greater good. We couldn't have done it without everyone's help.</div>
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The tea went smoothly except for one thing: we didn't count on how hungry (or curious) our guests were. Here and there people were spotted table hopping, trying each of the different sweets. Truly flattering but, oh dear - we ran out! Clearly we must make more next year...<br />
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Where would you have liked to sit? <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcWnMN6oG4klfLq4A-fET0wlbhz9SCcVQtnEpY0jGtCKLD99GLgRKigrEUFdw4Lqo6-KwvwCd-Bul49zJXzp79bOnrbe86hmrxKldMNYc6C7V63uJNETFr4nvZnbBibGF7gclG4PNwXOD/s1600/HouseTour9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcWnMN6oG4klfLq4A-fET0wlbhz9SCcVQtnEpY0jGtCKLD99GLgRKigrEUFdw4Lqo6-KwvwCd-Bul49zJXzp79bOnrbe86hmrxKldMNYc6C7V63uJNETFr4nvZnbBibGF7gclG4PNwXOD/s640/HouseTour9.jpg" width="502" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Sesame and matcha shortbread cookies at the Asian Influence Table<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPZsuKU6NBn6laMz6wOfpuCZylZh22GI5wXTkk4G8HOsRPxxDBSx8mY8SYoxc322yoBXf135EVkr1xQSBp5-ozU3HL4UfZ_OWj_CrtZl68YDgrossSAYdceLttNPLrphYmDkKH5sDG5s2/s1600/HouseTourCollage+EnglishDROP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPZsuKU6NBn6laMz6wOfpuCZylZh22GI5wXTkk4G8HOsRPxxDBSx8mY8SYoxc322yoBXf135EVkr1xQSBp5-ozU3HL4UfZ_OWj_CrtZl68YDgrossSAYdceLttNPLrphYmDkKH5sDG5s2/s640/HouseTourCollage+EnglishDROP.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little friends and Tea Brack cake in the English Countryside table</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLYPE-jerkH0LdRUuWdIJpqC2AWN_4FM5PvjU6qo5YGPmXyqlxm5MhaTySPpaKPHCtA33zS9eOiQYYZEhqe8lDVsOQHcxFfJ_DCjAmguJN-iXJTL_XrmB6ClV-mP0ih5jcAHcGDB8cOEU6/s1600/HouseTour115jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLYPE-jerkH0LdRUuWdIJpqC2AWN_4FM5PvjU6qo5YGPmXyqlxm5MhaTySPpaKPHCtA33zS9eOiQYYZEhqe8lDVsOQHcxFfJ_DCjAmguJN-iXJTL_XrmB6ClV-mP0ih5jcAHcGDB8cOEU6/s640/HouseTour115jpg.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 1950s Table</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqI_K6GaJc9oxZ2kYxyxtyTyndrCHRvAAR0EqWOARmnZil8Jev3wrdIZ-fTb2sIhclWwnHzq0PzeCCAwUXB5aqV2P90zQO84fhFZrM0Jaj0QUEW6tvm3iB8Xenii_b4zi7-UjOpcA33lC/s1600/HouseTourCollage+50%2527s-2DROP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPqI_K6GaJc9oxZ2kYxyxtyTyndrCHRvAAR0EqWOARmnZil8Jev3wrdIZ-fTb2sIhclWwnHzq0PzeCCAwUXB5aqV2P90zQO84fhFZrM0Jaj0QUEW6tvm3iB8Xenii_b4zi7-UjOpcA33lC/s640/HouseTourCollage+50%2527s-2DROP.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orange cream filled ginger sandwich cookies at the 1950s Table<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN7ERpkFJguqbcCSwGWJcCx3HCxERFaXFBaZeIDSZu5eAuXjVYNz4cRrC52P2csSh2-NURM_W2EXd7blSjnh7sAm-_0VABFkHFzLHj0rSyLtU0es_HqCIXpaMrxkUj6jH2AqYpX7Xsghhv/s1600/HouseTour117jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN7ERpkFJguqbcCSwGWJcCx3HCxERFaXFBaZeIDSZu5eAuXjVYNz4cRrC52P2csSh2-NURM_W2EXd7blSjnh7sAm-_0VABFkHFzLHj0rSyLtU0es_HqCIXpaMrxkUj6jH2AqYpX7Xsghhv/s640/HouseTour117jpg.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">French Provincial Table</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDsB4SLy4H1ttH2ukqPqtnAJgvn35o17L1pnBg_OtzqxQO8l84TnnSwW9iS8mMXNRAJ9SAkYFkB7RlqhJQNO691GeBu4D6Yi-a5FjOWG7rJVud4sMVeVc87OqNDMeD_thlShGsnVCKfguy/s1600/HouseTourCollage+FrenchDROP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDsB4SLy4H1ttH2ukqPqtnAJgvn35o17L1pnBg_OtzqxQO8l84TnnSwW9iS8mMXNRAJ9SAkYFkB7RlqhJQNO691GeBu4D6Yi-a5FjOWG7rJVud4sMVeVc87OqNDMeD_thlShGsnVCKfguy/s640/HouseTourCollage+FrenchDROP.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pâte de Fruits and Chocolate Hazelnut Macarons at the French Provincial Table</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaDt3_jzt-X8nmBURhaLD5HU7nByeccPiyIh9jZCR-cyG6vfrQoK-8vQ6jPx-GjbrthGle7D_uNnezz198h1NTwP_JfofiMNaEr2O9zxVclv33z2NVsOvzujRF2kN2zafVfD0T0c9c2fq/s1600/HouseTour31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaDt3_jzt-X8nmBURhaLD5HU7nByeccPiyIh9jZCR-cyG6vfrQoK-8vQ6jPx-GjbrthGle7D_uNnezz198h1NTwP_JfofiMNaEr2O9zxVclv33z2NVsOvzujRF2kN2zafVfD0T0c9c2fq/s640/HouseTour31.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Crazy Cat Lady</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiAtPU8rRC-7cOzlrXrV8PFSsUfyLyqCmmVHD4Xr8pnMaWBin1BdRF1IDmlHPU37nteeuZ8wiioHWiicj0wyWaXqfQs5t174KZdMuiVsUA1iuCfRD-CguXSTEEN4D2Y7wNEDrK5PHJcJoT/s1600/HouseTour28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiAtPU8rRC-7cOzlrXrV8PFSsUfyLyqCmmVHD4Xr8pnMaWBin1BdRF1IDmlHPU37nteeuZ8wiioHWiicj0wyWaXqfQs5t174KZdMuiVsUA1iuCfRD-CguXSTEEN4D2Y7wNEDrK5PHJcJoT/s640/HouseTour28.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh dear, I think<i></i> the Crazy Cat Lady is me!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhIe1RnrvYCYLU8NK85rbf4VM2zG42bV81KNMPH7hXgPwdDEKDRXLyQ447L2BKj06OTskx59I5FZW37BmvYcJPfCyUbNfPWathKCHaQiibF7b3Tic3BB-xi6G3LQSuNssXnratamglW11O/s1600/HouseTour20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhIe1RnrvYCYLU8NK85rbf4VM2zG42bV81KNMPH7hXgPwdDEKDRXLyQ447L2BKj06OTskx59I5FZW37BmvYcJPfCyUbNfPWathKCHaQiibF7b3Tic3BB-xi6G3LQSuNssXnratamglW11O/s640/HouseTour20.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Groovy Baby! The 70s Table. Oreos and chocolate chip cookies, natch!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBR6Z3s5iEZ_DlcjuY-xyeJZMTwrEqr0k7tH5_QQF1s13CCYsLGaFMWKUG4TE8HSNb4ndeoxMRTUpbonCnPOtERKGKvgKDGUDhlIZ2GzSqcEC-oRJ5M4kiE-jXDVAgNBd3TEO-DgwvVsHc/s1600/HouseTourCollage+70%2527sDROP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBR6Z3s5iEZ_DlcjuY-xyeJZMTwrEqr0k7tH5_QQF1s13CCYsLGaFMWKUG4TE8HSNb4ndeoxMRTUpbonCnPOtERKGKvgKDGUDhlIZ2GzSqcEC-oRJ5M4kiE-jXDVAgNBd3TEO-DgwvVsHc/s640/HouseTourCollage+70%2527sDROP.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 70s Table. That's my own troll doll that I played with in the 70s</td></tr>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-30363015295299282192013-11-17T17:13:00.000+01:002013-11-18T09:02:51.689+01:00Changing the Way we Start the Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I don't know about you but of all the meals I prepare in a day, breakfast is usually the one stuck in a rut.<br>
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Same thing, same room, same time. Yawn!<br>
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This morning I changed all that ... Instead of putting our morning fruit in a bowl or a plate, I made <i>brochettes</i>. I cut the fruit into pieces and impaled on sticks and put the brochettes into a vintage vase I had never used, sitting in a cupboard.<br>
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It was a small change, brochettes are nothing new. it was quick to make and nothing elaborate but it was different and it started our day off with a laugh.<br>
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Sometimes it's all about taking a moment to rethink what you do all the time and making a small change that can open you up to larger ones.<br>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-50018721818005458632013-11-12T17:28:00.000+01:002013-11-18T09:04:21.236+01:00A Crown Roast of Frankfurters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My vegetarian version of the Crown Roast of Frankfurters</td></tr>
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On one of our cherished "Trailer Trash Days," an all-day flea market and thrift shop extravaganza, BFF Sean and I scored a strange black and white vintage movie magazine from the 1950s. Near the back of its fragile pages was a short recipe section.</div>
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"Americans are known far and wide as great consumers of the frankfurter. And for good reason!," the article, "Tasty Tricks with Frankfurters" began.</div>
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Well, that got my attention.</div>
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One of the recipes was for a Crown Roast of Frankfurters. How could I resist a vintage recipe with frankfurters, especially one where you had to sew them together with a needle and thread? My "Home Ec" teacher would be so proud.</div>
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And what a perfect occasion to have Sean over for dinner and set the table with some of my vintage housewares.</div>
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Being a vegetarian, I altered the original recipe a bit, substituting the frankfurters for Yves Jumbo Veggie Dogs. Inspiration struck when I decided to fill the crown with Mac and Cheese instead of stuffing. The result was a pleasant surprise: the strong seasoning in the veggie dogs infused the Mac and Cheese with a wonderful smoky flavour.</div>
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After cocktails and before the main course, I served Iceberg lettuce wedges with a choice of home made blue cheese or Ranch dressing. To serve with the Roast, I prepared mixed vegetables cleverly disguised to look like vintage sides that would have come from a can: diced Carrots Vichy mixed with fresh garden peas and sautéed sweet corn with green beans.<br>
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Strange, I know, but loads of fun and truly delicious. I must try the other recipes too!<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The original recipe</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Vegetarian Crown Roast</b><b> of</b></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Frankfurters</b></span></div>
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The original, non-vegetarian recipe called for wrapping bacon around the frankfurters to give it some structural integrity. I skipped this but next time I make it I'll substitute leeks for bacon. The instructions for the leeks are included below.</div>
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Serves 6 <br>
40 minutes 350 F/180 C <br>
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<b>Equipment</b><br>
6" spring form pan<br>
Darning needle and about 1.5m of kitchen string<br>
Foil<br>
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<b>Ingredients</b><br>
20 jumbo veggie dogs <b>or</b> enough to fill the perimeter of a 6" spring form pan<br>
2 long leeks, green part removed<br>
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<b>For the mac and cheese </b><br>
2 1/4 cups elbow macaroni<br>
3 cups whole milk<br>
3 tablespoons unsalted butter<br>
3 tablespoons flour<br>
1/4 teaspoon salt, pepper<br>
2 teaspoons prepared dijon mustard<br>
3 cups (6oz) shredded aged cheddar<br>
1 cups (3oz) shredded aged Gouda<br>
1 cups<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(3oz) shredded medium Gouda<br>
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<b>Topping</b><br>
1 cup soft white bread crumbs <br>
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted<br>
few pinches of salt<br>
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<b>Method</b><br>
<b> </b> <br>
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<b>Prepare the Crown</b></div>
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1. Cut a length of foil long enough to form a collar to fit around the inside of the spring form pan with a few inches to spare. Don't trim the top of the foil, it should come up above the rim of the pan. Remove it from the pan and lightly coat one side with oil or butter. Set aside.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sewing the frankfurters together</td></tr>
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2. Lay the hot dogs side by side and sew them together at about 1- 1 1/2" from the top and bottom. Be sure to leave about 3" of string at the end of each section. Form them into a cylinder inside the spring form pan. They should fit snugly so if you need another hot dog to achieve that, add it to the chain. Tie the ends of the strings together to secure it. Trim the ends of the string.</div>
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3. Slice
the white and light green part of the leeks in half lengthwise and poach in
salted water for 1-2 minutes, drain, cool, and separate the stalks so
you have many individual ribbons. Create lengths of string by tying the ends of the leeks together so they're long enough to wrap around the Crown. Tie the leeks around the frankfurters at the top, bottom and middle. Make pretty bow if you like. Secure
them in place with a few toothpicks here and there.</div>
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Wrap the outside and top of the crown with the foil and place it in the spring form pan. Make sure you cover the tips of the hot dogs with foil - this will prevent them from drying out in the oven. </div>
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<b>Prepare the Mac and Cheese</b></div>
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<b> </b></div>
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1. Cook the macaroni in salted water until barely tender, drain in a
colander and rinse with cold running water. Drain and set aside.</div>
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2. Melt the 3 tablespoons of butter over medium heat in a large saucepan. Add the flour and stir until it bubbles but not brown. Slowly stir in the milk and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and
simmer for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from the heat and stir in
the salt, pepper, cheese and mustard. Taste and adjust seasoning.</div>
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<b>Assembly </b></div>
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1. Fill the crown with the mac and cheese.</div>
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<b>Bake</b> for 40 minutes at 350F (180C)</div>
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<b>Finishing</b></div>
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Lift the spring form pan from the side of the crown roast and slide it onto a serving plate. Remove the foil. Remove the toothpicks you used to secure the leeks. </div>
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You can spoon your vegetable sides around the base of the Crown Roast to make a pretty presentation.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkVGf2QrK_2InnPcUDi0Bih4FARBEVt0-2jjZ_JGNoJ8F0a-dj5UIQyxwaKLnMUX_DONME6Ax3ZiCCRdiqJaU22iHbI5HNhRrgc2yl3uCQbbh0Zz2VFwK9j5vNq5gUOzEaCggDPwuIoWY/s1600/HotDog2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkVGf2QrK_2InnPcUDi0Bih4FARBEVt0-2jjZ_JGNoJ8F0a-dj5UIQyxwaKLnMUX_DONME6Ax3ZiCCRdiqJaU22iHbI5HNhRrgc2yl3uCQbbh0Zz2VFwK9j5vNq5gUOzEaCggDPwuIoWY/s640/HotDog2.jpg" width="640"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRCY3aT6bB3om0IzVg1o0XITRpoAJh9R1_XK8R4GPuLv0ed9FjF2_RIz73-2uDAobhnRtLm-0YXRYDhWRTFjYnxDle1pftTL12Yg33gjp-gl0jII1TjHDCBEN3F64HuPU0g9bxZQcBlcWU/s1600/HotDog7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRCY3aT6bB3om0IzVg1o0XITRpoAJh9R1_XK8R4GPuLv0ed9FjF2_RIz73-2uDAobhnRtLm-0YXRYDhWRTFjYnxDle1pftTL12Yg33gjp-gl0jII1TjHDCBEN3F64HuPU0g9bxZQcBlcWU/s640/HotDog7.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vegetable masquerade: fresh garden peas with Vichy Carrots, fresh sautéed sweet corn with green beans</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEV-NGSw6xDZ4ZxDPaeD-r6vtSMJy34sRIVi5EQ74afz8iPo3AuMr2fAwPvUxFlafEGxdA3McDdezWfENNasE3loz8tKyCpw1ePrRk-VFGRBalEAz0nlxXZxffR4llLzJHWjRuDvfjEtow/s1600/HotDog6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEV-NGSw6xDZ4ZxDPaeD-r6vtSMJy34sRIVi5EQ74afz8iPo3AuMr2fAwPvUxFlafEGxdA3McDdezWfENNasE3loz8tKyCpw1ePrRk-VFGRBalEAz0nlxXZxffR4llLzJHWjRuDvfjEtow/s640/HotDog6.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iceberg wedges with Blue Cheese or Ranch dressing</td></tr>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-81381161280418983142013-11-08T15:32:00.001+01:002013-11-08T15:32:18.823+01:00Inspired by Charlie Trotter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"I have always considered vegetable cookery the most interesting part of cuisine. ... It is sincerely one of the most sensual joys of my life," wrote Charlie Trotter in his introduction to his 1996 book, "Cooking with Vegetables."</div>
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I remember pulling the book from the shelf and leafing through it in the "Special Cookery" section of my local Chapters Bookstore and becoming so excited by it that I think I may have skipped to the cash to buy it. It cost $70 in 1996 - quite a lot of money for me at the time but all these years later, I still have it. It was worth every hard-earned penny.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">At first, I found Chef Trotter's recipes intimidating, complicated, and daunting for a home cook like me:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Baby Carrot Terrine with Shiitake Mushroom Salad,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">50 Year-Old Balsamic Vinegar</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Warm Tamarind Soup with Meyer Lemon </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">and Satsuma Mandarin Sorbet </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oven Roasted Rosemary Plums with </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Black Sesame Seed Brittle Ice Cream</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtdbHOY7dXMo-fgZc8ebtlJo58oDxcuvFxcajqE7nvzatl2TU2SJTIIN0a_gppeAp5Y_1lkGC3W1_8OXJsJCp5cTeyxiJwt4PnKLctFpcD5dZsWH9MekDknHE1Q-T13RCHfcIZvyRweIp/s1600/CharlieTrotter5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtdbHOY7dXMo-fgZc8ebtlJo58oDxcuvFxcajqE7nvzatl2TU2SJTIIN0a_gppeAp5Y_1lkGC3W1_8OXJsJCp5cTeyxiJwt4PnKLctFpcD5dZsWH9MekDknHE1Q-T13RCHfcIZvyRweIp/s640/CharlieTrotter5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Baby Carrot Terrine with Shiitake Mushroom Salad,</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carrot Juice Reduction, Dill Oil, and 50 Year-Old Balsamic Vinegar</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">But when I leaf through his book now, almost 20 years later, his recipes no longer intimidate me. Instead, they motivate and inspire me to bring my cooking up a notch. Perhaps it's because</span></span> I have many more years of cooking experience under my belt and these days<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">, I can find, and better afford, many of the more unusual ingredients he calls for in his recipes.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've often read that most people buy cookbooks not to cook from but to dream by. Chef Trotter's books were that for me, and still are. But more importantly, his book crystallized something I've always held in my mind and heart, that vegetarian cuisine could be a sophisticated, edible form of art.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was revolutionary at the time. In 1996, vegetarians didn't have much choice when it came to dining. We were mostly an afterthought or worse, an inconvenience. The best some chefs could do was steamed vegetables with rice or Fettuccine Alfredo, take it or leave it. I often just left it.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And here was Chef Trotter's book with detailed recipes, poetic descriptions, beautifully presented food, and suggested wine pairings. Remarkable. </span></span></span></div>
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Not only was Chef Trotter a gifted chef, he was passionate about buying food locally from farmers, foragers and even children from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cabrini%E2%80%93Green" target="_blank">Cabrini-Green</a>, a controversial and now defunct Chicago Housing Project. This was long before "buy local" went mainstream like it is today. <br />
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Chef Charlie Trotter died this week of a ruptured brain aneurysm. So sad. </div>
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Who knows what other inspirations he had in store for us.<br />
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-74365894537113991632013-11-01T22:48:00.000+01:002014-01-05T23:52:21.251+01:00The Octopus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpX8OdEX1zjbrW77TqVo1CAqBGUmDY4KiQOulEaoP2jIIgdRENv4gNMVGDSqPDbxF8N4i6BnLKXl7jgbLU7UTT5x0p3kv6ylEMLblMav32qtMokC8_0I1qy56YY2zhUycAlKF9e1rkDv9/s1600/Squid4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpX8OdEX1zjbrW77TqVo1CAqBGUmDY4KiQOulEaoP2jIIgdRENv4gNMVGDSqPDbxF8N4i6BnLKXl7jgbLU7UTT5x0p3kv6ylEMLblMav32qtMokC8_0I1qy56YY2zhUycAlKF9e1rkDv9/s640/Squid4.jpg" width="640"></a></div>
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For all of its perceived sophistication, the C<span class="st">ô</span>te d'Azur has some remarkably peasant-like activities going on here and there. You'll spot them if you're paying attention and you know where to look. </div>
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For instance, one of our neighbours keeps a hen house with an annoying rooster that crows throughout the day starting at around 5AM. We have yet to locate the little bugger.<br>
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Further inland, you'll still spot villagers with baskets heading into the woods to forage for wild mushrooms and most mornings in the early Fall, I hear the "pop, pop, pop" of hunters shooting at wild boar in the hills surrounding us. </div>
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These modest pastimes are quite a contrast to those which generally speaking, occupy the moneyed set in nearby Monaco. They can be found swirling around the Casino Square foraging for trinkets at Chanel or Graff depending on their budgets.</div>
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Every now and then, we have little encounters that keep it all real and today we had one such encounter.</div>
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Hubby and I often hike in Italy from the mountains down to the sea on what we call "The Cactus Walk," so called because the middle part of the walk takes us along a narrow gravel path through a series of sprawling commercial greenhouses filled with little cacti. Before we discovered The Cactus Walk, I'd always wondered where all those little cacti came from!</div>
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After passing through the greenhouses, we continue along a creaky, narrow, metal footpath clinging to one side of a steep valley. When we're not clutching on to the guardrail for dear life and carefully watching where we're stepping, we sometimes pause and take a moment to marvel at how the valley has been gradually overtaken by morning glories over the past few years.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A marker for The Way of St James</td></tr>
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Next, we cross a little bridge over some railway tracks and connect with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Way_of_St._James" target="_blank">The Way of St James</a>, a Christian Pilgrimage route dating back to the mid 11th century. Eventually, the path descends closer to the sea where there are rocks to climb on with pretty tide pools. Further along is a charming little beach. Today was a holiday in Italy and France so the beach was busy with families and couples sunning themselves and paddling around in the calm water. </div>
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On the path beside the beach, we spotted a bare-footed<b> </b>man walking a few paces in front of us toting something on a stick. His grey hair, tanned skin and proximity to the beach reminded me of one of <a href="http://www.magnumphotos.com/Catalogue/Robert-Capa/1948/FRANCE-Pablo-PICASSO-1948-NN139093.html" target="_blank">Robert Capa photos of Picasso on the C<span class="st">ô</span>te d'Azur .</a> When we got closer we realized he had an octopus. </div>
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We stopped for a chat. </div>
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The man was Italian but luckily we were able to communicate with each other in French.<br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinner captured</td></tr>
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He told us that catching octopus was quite easy. He stood in the shallow water near the rocks on the sea shore, dipped in his hooked stick and scooped out dinner. </div>
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He'd been catching fish this way for 40 years but lately he's noticed how few fish there were. Octopus, he said, were still an easy catch.</div>
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When I asked him how he was going to prepare it, he said he'd ripen the octopus for a day or so to tenderize it and then serve it with potatoes and large Spanish beans.</div>
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If he wanted rosemary to season his dish, there was a big patch of it growing wild further along the path. I'd grabbed branches of it just to take a sniff now and then. </div>
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Personally, I'd rather spend my time on the beach fishing like he does rather than a trip to Chanel any day.</div>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-3282200584429340622013-10-24T11:41:00.000+02:002013-11-02T10:07:53.652+01:00From Ventimiglia to Pigna<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When
dear friend Meghan arrived last week for a three night pyjama party, she shared with me
that she'd been communicating off and on lately with an Italian man named Enrico. I
grew alarmed. What about her boyfriend? Who is this Enrico fellow?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkscuXyzOPUj-rgahwxwqZJSGEAmGo9-hDo9lMzUE0tln7odEb2w2mfNjG4eoajryKfzaKczkuqaTO1pZJEyh630LVJ5yrwI38fvXs2lKe1FNJ-y6O2V34biMxiWp7AHaexzArjLWIltyo/s1600/PignaPost2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkscuXyzOPUj-rgahwxwqZJSGEAmGo9-hDo9lMzUE0tln7odEb2w2mfNjG4eoajryKfzaKczkuqaTO1pZJEyh630LVJ5yrwI38fvXs2lKe1FNJ-y6O2V34biMxiWp7AHaexzArjLWIltyo/s400/PignaPost2.jpg" width="400"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh look! Fresh Pigna beans in the Ventimiglia market</td></tr>
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As it
turned out, I had nothing to worry about. Enrico and his family grow
Pigna beans, one of only 16 certified Slow Food growers in and around the small, pretty, hillside Italian village of Pigna, population 900 and shrinking.</div>
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Meghan had been in
contact with Enrico to arrange a visit so we could zoom out to his shop in Pigna and
fill our car with some of his family's creamy, dreamy, white Pigna beans before they were sold
out for the season. Because of their popularity and scarcity, selling out is a definite risk.</div>
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But
our little bean buying adventure became more memorable than we'd
expected. We were convinced we had fallen into a culinary fairy tale...</div>
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To
get to Pigna, we needed to drive through the sea-side town of Ventimiglia, just
across the border with France. Once there, naturally we couldn't just drive by the magnificent food market so we wrangled our granny carts out of the car and dove inside to see what was on offer that day.</div>
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An hour or so later, our carts laden with goodies, we were all in need of refreshments.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rina and a family-sized bag of Pigna beans</td></tr>
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Just a short walk from the market is a favourite place of mine, the Bookcaffé where I often stop for a quick orzo or two after battling the crowds at the
market. Popping in there has also become an excuse to visit with the
fabulous Cindy, a young Italian-American woman whose lively and engaging conversations have
caused me to miss many a train back to Monaco. </div>
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While we
were lounging around sipping orzo and eating focaccia, Meghan called Enrico to let him know that we were on our way. Ever the gracious hostess, and Cindy's Italian being much better than ours, she offered to speak with Enrico on our behalf. She grabbed the phone to get directions to his shop.</div>
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Who would have guessed that years ago, Cindy had been married in Pigna and Signora Rina, Enrico's mother was a dear friend of hers. Quite a coincidence. Their conversation went on for a bit and by the time we'd downed our second or third cups of orzo, Cindy had written out detailed directions to Enrico's Pigna bean shop. Today, the shop was being manned by Signora Rina and her husband, Nino. </div>
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After many kisses, hugs and thank yous for Cindy's help, off we went. </div>
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I'm not sure what Cindy said to Enrico, but when we finally arrived at the family's shop, Rina and her husband Nino greeted us like we were long lost friends.</div>
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After a few formalities, Rina and Nino led us into a small, dimly lit room. There was a musty smell in the air that reminded me of an old wine cellar we visited years ago in St Emilion. It didn't strike me as the sort of place where expensive dried beans were being measured and destined for exclusive food shops around the world. </div>
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At the back of the room was a wooden counter where large sacks of just dried beans sat on the floor. In one of the sacks was a small enamelled cup used to measure them and then fill the familiar, official white Pigna Bean canvas bags. Rina pointed out that the bags, which were supplied by the growers' consortium, cost <span class="st">€</span>1 each and were required for selling the beans. I had the impression that she thought the bags were very expensive.</div>
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Once we decided on the number of bags we wanted to buy, money was exchanged, the bags were tucked into our hot little hands and then Rina and Nino wrote out their family recipe for a sweet cake made with cooked Pigna beans. This is something I must try.</div>
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I confess I tuned out a bit while Meghan and our hosts were conversing in Italian, but it gave me a chance to take in the room a little more closely.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNFDDcyJ4YyOuBx9vYewSathom_LIRfQYibXhFleovuSUEuxD2y56jc05OXZTjM9YcY9rJ2Ir9CnZgN9s_2uLSdXxmtZ7oxB-DYUtDZBWKj1OWgCR4HmUrySGkIJx2Tn-UizYXKXqFzhT/s1600/PignaBeans15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNFDDcyJ4YyOuBx9vYewSathom_LIRfQYibXhFleovuSUEuxD2y56jc05OXZTjM9YcY9rJ2Ir9CnZgN9s_2uLSdXxmtZ7oxB-DYUtDZBWKj1OWgCR4HmUrySGkIJx2Tn-UizYXKXqFzhT/s400/PignaBeans15.jpg" width="400"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rina's family recipe for a sweet Pigna bean cake</td></tr>
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Off to the side of the room there was a tall wooden case that I suspected may have been an antique gramophone. I have a thing for the crackly sound of 78's and antique gramophones in general so I can spot them a mile away. In fact, I own two of them and hundreds of 78s. </div>
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I asked to take a closer look so Nino kindly opened the lid. I turned the crank, Nino lowered the tone arm and the room filled with the scratchy, sound of Frank Sinatra singing <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGXacSFkS9A" target="_blank">Among my Souvenirs</a>. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ov6Lcl648nDXj-pQT4Mg8YT2qtp65KHBlf9tNOlXWKTSBDqSSw6CTVPmnb1uu_aiG5VDWPLZh5hl5tLSgIPWyROXi7ZrK6rB-yINDBrlQ1YQ9MTnJvne7SBvWG43-sbyk5QlmHyyXZ7o/s1600/PignaBeans11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ov6Lcl648nDXj-pQT4Mg8YT2qtp65KHBlf9tNOlXWKTSBDqSSw6CTVPmnb1uu_aiG5VDWPLZh5hl5tLSgIPWyROXi7ZrK6rB-yINDBrlQ1YQ9MTnJvne7SBvWG43-sbyk5QlmHyyXZ7o/s400/PignaBeans11.jpg" width="400"></a></div>
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While the wistful song played, our hearts soared and goosebumps rose on my arms. The sound of that song, being in the little village, the smell of the room and the open arms and generous way that we were being treated was magical.</div>
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Beside the Gramophone was another musical treasure, an antique player piano, pushed up against the wall. We'd showed such appreciation for the Gramophone that Nino and Rina wanted to give us a closer look at this too. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPXP2S8y9DkEYmiARvZvDb7Db1GplnJ8nNLuu6MMjqrxryVtzka5El6yHDSqxJfJqs8AZayHGBqBjBKM-nNHv0jtxa-Gip0hUv_gMAp7Kcu_NhYZ1CnfumImnhAEEE5aLL0rgulg7AqAx/s1600/PignaBeans14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPXP2S8y9DkEYmiARvZvDb7Db1GplnJ8nNLuu6MMjqrxryVtzka5El6yHDSqxJfJqs8AZayHGBqBjBKM-nNHv0jtxa-Gip0hUv_gMAp7Kcu_NhYZ1CnfumImnhAEEE5aLL0rgulg7AqAx/s640/PignaBeans14.jpg" width="432"></a>We all gathered around it. It had a concrete hurdy gurdy roll and was extraordinary heavy. We all grabbed a corner and pulled it out from the wall. The thing was built to last and a beast to move. </div>
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Sadly, it no longer worked but it had had a lovely life. Ages ago it belonged to the Pigna dance hall and there were plans afoot to raise funds to send it north for restoration. </div>
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They pointed out the side of the piano where there was a play list of 10 songs available on the roll. One of these songs was "da Ventimiglia a Pigna." It was a song dedicated to the journey we'd just taken to get there. </div>
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That journey in our little car had taken us just under an hour but I imagine that during the era that Pigna's inhabitants were dancing to the music provided by the piano, the same journey would have been a monumental undertaking.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZIl5aUgXnJDEVHbTSNxoI_h9wohKYTRTnguXPrwywyYIMRUOtEHwupKqKukyOUyVd8l5tapoEwzf64V9QDd1IGlS8YL1vRz9VDthvXFvlXTiMIdEfiUFgrWXvH95uAXj9i-tD5xtgiiE/s1600/PignaBeans18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZIl5aUgXnJDEVHbTSNxoI_h9wohKYTRTnguXPrwywyYIMRUOtEHwupKqKukyOUyVd8l5tapoEwzf64V9QDd1IGlS8YL1vRz9VDthvXFvlXTiMIdEfiUFgrWXvH95uAXj9i-tD5xtgiiE/s640/PignaBeans18.jpg" width="640"></a></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ifH43x6qJSRxi-_UHehA7N6QUGtdW7b9Oq58z1h4Uixul63XR9LECBcJY4WWmOYSH8xS2sl5ibnBtE4zk96mDajePfzMOiCLAZcEPxogLJBhAvOcwBGoDN8SdiHm-2Hd05x4Kbl5n9Iz/s1600/PignaCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="614" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ifH43x6qJSRxi-_UHehA7N6QUGtdW7b9Oq58z1h4Uixul63XR9LECBcJY4WWmOYSH8xS2sl5ibnBtE4zk96mDajePfzMOiCLAZcEPxogLJBhAvOcwBGoDN8SdiHm-2Hd05x4Kbl5n9Iz/s640/PignaCollage.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turn the crank on the left to match the number of the song you'd like to hear. Song #5 is from Ventimiglia to Pigna</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2UCgw2d-xm3VFzh5wLebTdC3uqaF4KiF_q4xqwqNOaR0DERO9b5FuIKrAe-K7AJjTB-9rA63spo1lDwUUw3mmbBaYKMSMg3Wo82rHHUJgimt5HT9DxNtSJdq0ERTse9hZ8qxUz1cYffD/s1600/PignaBeans19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2UCgw2d-xm3VFzh5wLebTdC3uqaF4KiF_q4xqwqNOaR0DERO9b5FuIKrAe-K7AJjTB-9rA63spo1lDwUUw3mmbBaYKMSMg3Wo82rHHUJgimt5HT9DxNtSJdq0ERTse9hZ8qxUz1cYffD/s640/PignaBeans19.jpg" width="640"></a><br>
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When we finally left the shop and said
our goodbyes in the fresh air, we noticed that across the street,
casually spread over tarps on the terrace, were more of Enrico's Pigna
beans drying in the mountain air. The secret to drying the beans
properly said Rina, was to leave them in their pods until the beans were
completely dried. No doubt about it, those beans had a spectacular
view to dry by.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGjzEixQ3glyTbIrLZnxNJRzPUNwwv3oABGtb8IwHpvwQ7eBtU_0NnXi-s9Q_eSXobvn98tZdFGkn2Vb0NmihLEwEaPERWmFMsDHAw3UXGGgRtXRRjfWvfD3104RFSdwoG-VSd-cErUH5q/s1600/PignaPost5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGjzEixQ3glyTbIrLZnxNJRzPUNwwv3oABGtb8IwHpvwQ7eBtU_0NnXi-s9Q_eSXobvn98tZdFGkn2Vb0NmihLEwEaPERWmFMsDHAw3UXGGgRtXRRjfWvfD3104RFSdwoG-VSd-cErUH5q/s640/PignaPost5.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pigna beans casually drying on tarps</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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By
the time we left we were new friends. Nino and Rina invited us to take
part in the family's olive harvest and Rina ran inside and reappeared
moments later, hands held out holding two small bottles of their
family's olive oil.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNNQhhoX7kfKnVoWTAsYjmmpPH2SSvBVRlEXqOww3unMOuRQBwK4VRQpt66BiY_HuhLhmiCu5xpEfHR6gwGFo50DzHkCCjW45tHFNLGTYxEqBnDGFcUtFojbR1e4XSNRYEQEdoE6z3Dwgo/s1600/PignaBeans16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNNQhhoX7kfKnVoWTAsYjmmpPH2SSvBVRlEXqOww3unMOuRQBwK4VRQpt66BiY_HuhLhmiCu5xpEfHR6gwGFo50DzHkCCjW45tHFNLGTYxEqBnDGFcUtFojbR1e4XSNRYEQEdoE6z3Dwgo/s640/PignaBeans16.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view to dry by</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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They were so lovely I had to do something to reciprocate. I reached into my purse and handed Rina two plump McIntosh apples that I had grown myself, one of a coveted 12 or so that I had brought back from Canada about a week before. I'd popped them into my bag to share with Meghan and Hubby as a surprise snack on our drive back home. </div>
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Thinking about it, those apples were my own Slow Food operation. I'd grown them on a tree at our home in Canada, 10 steps from our back door. Over the years, we'd nursed that tree from a twig to a robust producer of fine apples.</div>
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I could think of no better people to share them with than Rina and Nino.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDafHr90ZlLFQL4MjPa2l2et7JI8_rzp22x9V_-1-oXQI-A2xqBIBADC2ZTtTYgn6-7bx0sc1jujglUiZezDZz0vuXx7dsbWhPTF56IDkTMDgArg-F-cP_RyhmtSsxhAZ-Cu5FB37ywoU/s1600/PignaPost4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDafHr90ZlLFQL4MjPa2l2et7JI8_rzp22x9V_-1-oXQI-A2xqBIBADC2ZTtTYgn6-7bx0sc1jujglUiZezDZz0vuXx7dsbWhPTF56IDkTMDgArg-F-cP_RyhmtSsxhAZ-Cu5FB37ywoU/s640/PignaPost4.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">McIntosh apples into good hands</td></tr>
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<b>Practically Pigna </b></div>
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Pigna beans are grown only in and around the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pigna,_Liguria" target="_blank">pretty hillside village of Pigna</a>, a lovely 40 minute drive inland and a gently climb 280m skywards from the coastal town of Ventimiglia.</div>
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Around 4,500 kg of Pigna Beans are produced annually between the<a href="http://www.slowfoodfoundation.com/pagine/eng/presidi_italia/dettaglio_presidi.lasso?-id=2993" target="_blank"> 16 registered growers</a>, most of whom sell their beans to retailers around the world in characteristic white cloth bags. </div>
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They are available locally from October to December.</div>
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Small,
bright white and with an incredibly silky texture, according to Rina and Nino, the
beans get their unique flavour from
the water in the nearby sulphur springs that growers use to nourish the
plants during the growing season. Rina pointed out that the beans grown in nearby towns don't taste the same as Pigna beans.</div>
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Only a small number of Pigna beans are sold fresh in
their pods but they can be found occasionally, in some nearby Italian markets like Ventimiglia and Dolceacqua. Most of them are sold dry and exported. </div>
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A 500g bag of Pigna beans cost <span class="st"> us €</span>16.</div>
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Personally, I
prefer them finished simply with a drizzle of olive oil, some chopped
herbs and salt, but near Pigna you'll find them on menus cooked into
hearty goat or wild boar stew.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjxZmC4xlfQVMJaLUq0K_J3lpFW9NdMRWi7HBXzie1hbpGpo-gn6n-O3tdlU0rW3SpPjHhJQCioBoQLpLDyzzoF4naS5Yyd6ucn5Ri7f7m6w9piNSctnTZknR9WaiAKyi8881fC-NXTWw/s1600/PignaBeans6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyjxZmC4xlfQVMJaLUq0K_J3lpFW9NdMRWi7HBXzie1hbpGpo-gn6n-O3tdlU0rW3SpPjHhJQCioBoQLpLDyzzoF4naS5Yyd6ucn5Ri7f7m6w9piNSctnTZknR9WaiAKyi8881fC-NXTWw/s640/PignaBeans6.jpg" width="640"></a></div>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-56536701246065989402013-07-03T23:12:00.000+02:002013-07-04T03:32:51.976+02:00A Bright Spark on Sparks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxEjylbllrQPczx3nRR4sDIu3ePbsHRfF9MJNEkWWxM3DDrK-zm4WETTyarVxO6zJooyp7ddZmVPb5zXpj5MPMgDoTisEExNE0CWPQHlCj25V6oUUxhQo2vEO9ADomn0GepmVQ-MUk0H_/s1600/Spark+on+Sparks2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Li_8SmUW3NlpYMdGZbmgiIYDwW9ijY0YcglocgVBEmqCAltD7inKaJd-eewWqgqe_SL-iJHhtcEgWci4yiIeFto4OmukAzNPJCpfNfxRVmEgZlXX9PC4CGTimrieOjgpfKPhZS7ZlmTZ/s1600/Spark+on+Sparks18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Li_8SmUW3NlpYMdGZbmgiIYDwW9ijY0YcglocgVBEmqCAltD7inKaJd-eewWqgqe_SL-iJHhtcEgWci4yiIeFto4OmukAzNPJCpfNfxRVmEgZlXX9PC4CGTimrieOjgpfKPhZS7ZlmTZ/s640/Spark+on+Sparks18.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">VaVa Vegan's tempting vegan doughnuts at the Sparks Street Farmers' Market</td></tr>
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When the new Sparks Street Farmers' Market made its début a few weeks ago, I power walked right over there like nobody's business to take a look. </div>
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When I arrived, I felt like a tourist, with my camera slung around my neck, snapping pictures and staring up at the beautiful, imposing stone buildings, all goo-goo eyed like a foreigner visiting Ottawa for the first time.</div>
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The truth is that I can't resist a new farmers' market and Sparks Street has always held a special place in my heart. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvDdFXzvm5eokl5MHdNbqsyE4uUZOw22ntt6PQoS8j_PtMD_UByYksKP-lI741DrI-zGKHBmlI1AMI4W7I8lsUeiXLdORMd31XTmSkRTAcjMZ-8ZzE8aHQ6_6v4MC3Uu2x5PIsq6Pcixv/s1582/Spark+on+Sparks5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvDdFXzvm5eokl5MHdNbqsyE4uUZOw22ntt6PQoS8j_PtMD_UByYksKP-lI741DrI-zGKHBmlI1AMI4W7I8lsUeiXLdORMd31XTmSkRTAcjMZ-8ZzE8aHQ6_6v4MC3Uu2x5PIsq6Pcixv/s640/Spark+on+Sparks5.jpg" width="640"></a></div>
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I grew up in Ottawa and when I was a little girl, my
dad would pile my sisters and me into the car and off we'd zoom down town to pick up my mother who worked at Metcalfe and Sparks. More often than not, we got there early and my dad would treat us to some freshly roasted giant cashews from the now defunct Morrow's Nut House or if we were really well behaved, we'd score a trip to the Green Dragon Chinese Gift Shop to buy some cheap but fascinating Chinese do-dads. I'm heartened and somewhat amazed to see that it's still there, a bit dustier and more charmingly dishevelled than I remembered it.</div>
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As an adult, I
grew to appreciate the architecture along Sparks Street and I think the buildings are some of
the most beautiful and majestic in the city. In my opinion, with these buildings as a backdrop and the peaceful luxury that only a "pedestrian-only" policy can provide, Sparks Street is a perfect place for a market.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmw0d25VxzDtDRBSzqwlm9pQJN1Dul3pdKy85CQQes1xyPIGsZZk3odfSCRufrUjJVzeGdGLwzLxLq3efpkLPsP6oI9FY0eJxAyiaLgmjWgHHtL9_DA-lQXwCG2NjAg68ITWe8C71blG08/s1557/Spark+on+Sparks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmw0d25VxzDtDRBSzqwlm9pQJN1Dul3pdKy85CQQes1xyPIGsZZk3odfSCRufrUjJVzeGdGLwzLxLq3efpkLPsP6oI9FY0eJxAyiaLgmjWgHHtL9_DA-lQXwCG2NjAg68ITWe8C71blG08/s640/Spark+on+Sparks.jpg" width="640"></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRjtdw6PkhV-sxj9NcY7fpMy_LBho8FaYFp_UAOYYBDk2T8PqlIPpXytKjsyFMI33jDYJlfY2xjSW9ffHIDqt4zLdWeQuKOBa4jAFKth8M_TkDe01oCF2SbuKFpqzIEVnPVqtOz-DIHhd/s1600/Spark+on+Sparks26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRjtdw6PkhV-sxj9NcY7fpMy_LBho8FaYFp_UAOYYBDk2T8PqlIPpXytKjsyFMI33jDYJlfY2xjSW9ffHIDqt4zLdWeQuKOBa4jAFKth8M_TkDe01oCF2SbuKFpqzIEVnPVqtOz-DIHhd/s640/Spark+on+Sparks26.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old postcard of Sparks Street, circa 1917. Note the Vaudeville theatre on the right. I found this at a flea market</td></tr>
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On opening day, there was just a handful of vendors whose booths started at O'Connor and ended at Bank Street. I was happy to see some familiar faces had taken their chances and were giving the new market a go. </div>
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The always charming Mike of Ottawa Valley Honey was there, and when I saw him at the Brewer Park Market a few days later, he told me that business had been both brisk and profitable. Just Farms, Hearty Bakery and Art is In were there as was Theressa Cummings of VaVa Vegan with her tempting vegan sweets and clever display.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPzVVV3cmQJPP2Ko80Hye0MSevDTdzvUQo9Qs-f3YTAdHeDJYQoQngfXklQmthVdEupBa-4o8S2sx_xBt5MmXID9YKE0aFNfplKtiEvd1Fhv2jQDLr7DtmYRuJaKbvqZynR-IWD4UOcIeq/s1298/Spark+on+Sparks15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPzVVV3cmQJPP2Ko80Hye0MSevDTdzvUQo9Qs-f3YTAdHeDJYQoQngfXklQmthVdEupBa-4o8S2sx_xBt5MmXID9YKE0aFNfplKtiEvd1Fhv2jQDLr7DtmYRuJaKbvqZynR-IWD4UOcIeq/s400/Spark+on+Sparks15.jpg" width="400"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob and Ken of Trie</td></tr>
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There were two new faces, Rob and Ken of Trie<b> </b>who brought<b> </b>a portable crepe making cart along with a supply of fresh and dried mushrooms and unusual wood products. When I arrived they were in the midst of whipping up some buckwheat crêpes filled with cheese and arugula. They told me that as the season progresses they will be selling their own home grown hazelnuts, nectarines and more mushrooms. I bought some of their fresh shiitake which looked as though they'd just fallen from an illustration. They were delicious grilled. </div>
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I
think the Sparks Street market is off to a good start. I remember the
Lansdowne Farmers' Market in its infancy when there were just a few
stands and a handful of customers clustered around the entrance to the Cattle Castle and look at it now. Who would
have predicted it would become the huge hit that it is today?</div>
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Will Sparks Street ever become a destination market? Perhaps. I think it's perfectly situated for residents who live nearby in the condos that are seemingly popping up everywhere in the down town core. If it's to succeed I think it needs many more vendors. </div>
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For now though, I imagine that curious tourists and people who work down town would be happy to pay a visit and buy all those good, locally made and grown goodies right on their stone doorsteps. </div>
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You should check it out too. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSHvTqNSvhkX5EhPoOpFiCYG6slrhX0xL2368ScJWEYij3Ssw978Wv_0hPXHuiFb8An68voSc4wM6utHXT6SemqwqmTPArsYBYx9b8Yu1CT7ZKkN1CeIle731BpP3EhVrOkztmbfZZrM9/s1600/Spark+on+Sparks6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSHvTqNSvhkX5EhPoOpFiCYG6slrhX0xL2368ScJWEYij3Ssw978Wv_0hPXHuiFb8An68voSc4wM6utHXT6SemqwqmTPArsYBYx9b8Yu1CT7ZKkN1CeIle731BpP3EhVrOkztmbfZZrM9/s640/Spark+on+Sparks6.jpg" width="640"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNmEcsUGei0Ssk5W4mJpDdl29xbXJsippJNVoEGO221wXlukFRVRy6xIWduJJyR8NH4MgSaltTNa6Ko17WH7hmKGsyb-t2iqN5CxcYeBn4IB3FXhylr0A49f6xSRTnvwHfqloB50lIwdr/s1600/Spark+on+SparksCollage1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNmEcsUGei0Ssk5W4mJpDdl29xbXJsippJNVoEGO221wXlukFRVRy6xIWduJJyR8NH4MgSaltTNa6Ko17WH7hmKGsyb-t2iqN5CxcYeBn4IB3FXhylr0A49f6xSRTnvwHfqloB50lIwdr/s640/Spark+on+SparksCollage1.jpg" width="640"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWYPnlgvq9DQ4PcN0MOephS7zq55ymhrG79DFDv5Bz98N0faZX5GC_sxssVSDWWs4prAtLPohyphenhyphenOUywS_jsHzS93l0VSrpSzPtCTxQhtbyYi_S1lxu7Xsv-hu4L-AxaPcXU0JN0wyahzWy/s1600/Spark+on+SparksCollage2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWYPnlgvq9DQ4PcN0MOephS7zq55ymhrG79DFDv5Bz98N0faZX5GC_sxssVSDWWs4prAtLPohyphenhyphenOUywS_jsHzS93l0VSrpSzPtCTxQhtbyYi_S1lxu7Xsv-hu4L-AxaPcXU0JN0wyahzWy/s640/Spark+on+SparksCollage2.png" width="640"></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzaF8I1mne4gbwFo2SS9Rp8Oty_Y0rDStfyPHtLXg7tqDvAsEa7vK2na6HiMuhX9QbT1ccYYonSeaObDWR_2oRXofyRdh6hjs9QKoby6lIp0eWUJNJXHuwPcrSPsmXEXeDgeylnUc4Ez9/s1600/Spark+on+Sparks16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzaF8I1mne4gbwFo2SS9Rp8Oty_Y0rDStfyPHtLXg7tqDvAsEa7vK2na6HiMuhX9QbT1ccYYonSeaObDWR_2oRXofyRdh6hjs9QKoby6lIp0eWUJNJXHuwPcrSPsmXEXeDgeylnUc4Ez9/s640/Spark+on+Sparks16.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fresh, pristine, shiitake mushrooms</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEh5jt6WbbbFMtPCxxpVDx87MMR9sbzRd9an2iD9jRHwrsz4R4F_gWWXqIZfDN9ga8RfQMCz2VWlNdxnp4MmMFKZ1nzMoOqGaGmP4cvpbsX5ANFVHTVy3GmNDCDc2VvfQQjp1e1YLC6d9H/s1254/Spark+on+Sparks17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEh5jt6WbbbFMtPCxxpVDx87MMR9sbzRd9an2iD9jRHwrsz4R4F_gWWXqIZfDN9ga8RfQMCz2VWlNdxnp4MmMFKZ1nzMoOqGaGmP4cvpbsX5ANFVHTVy3GmNDCDc2VvfQQjp1e1YLC6d9H/s640/Spark+on+Sparks17.jpg" width="606"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trie's dried forest mushrooms</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuzNNIYHkU2azBPHDuOEjFphS27yTHY-bMd52aXL32PvKyBrVhrhpnVYa82U1oUdozBbz2O9pV-ii1NWn74AsDf8TgKfGHR7-aMYrDzAqqRJ1_ubbuUHdCqLa9QzrDDr8f_pP0a-TcI3d/s1600/Spark+on+SparksCollage3DROP.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuzNNIYHkU2azBPHDuOEjFphS27yTHY-bMd52aXL32PvKyBrVhrhpnVYa82U1oUdozBbz2O9pV-ii1NWn74AsDf8TgKfGHR7-aMYrDzAqqRJ1_ubbuUHdCqLa9QzrDDr8f_pP0a-TcI3d/s640/Spark+on+SparksCollage3DROP.png" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Popsicles and ice cream</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXcmLH9bC3MFCpHM94KJ4v35MEoPh3fngFeIrQMj7kSjfDWgO_D0XtRJeKFYzdBxgx1O6dyZ91nmwAIWoNYqi2RlkPWBneRQvCTjSjuObYSuFuxFF8B4kuk53kULOYNmjb0cSr5XNEebl_/s1600/Spark+on+Sparks19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXcmLH9bC3MFCpHM94KJ4v35MEoPh3fngFeIrQMj7kSjfDWgO_D0XtRJeKFYzdBxgx1O6dyZ91nmwAIWoNYqi2RlkPWBneRQvCTjSjuObYSuFuxFF8B4kuk53kULOYNmjb0cSr5XNEebl_/s640/Spark+on+Sparks19.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring onions from Just Farms</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgnpisE3Nf9Yh32vMPxWlqNy7A5UZJo3X53i_eYcUQbLHeRmZEPoEYYlErJcRSVWfuubui3NaQngCArfQ9HAG0umJxUi3KUobWy5t1ep9a8aNCIjNORZGrUe2ixaKy7sIxNjLuu-0FIhc/s1204/Spark+on+Sparks22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgnpisE3Nf9Yh32vMPxWlqNy7A5UZJo3X53i_eYcUQbLHeRmZEPoEYYlErJcRSVWfuubui3NaQngCArfQ9HAG0umJxUi3KUobWy5t1ep9a8aNCIjNORZGrUe2ixaKy7sIxNjLuu-0FIhc/s640/Spark+on+Sparks22.jpg" width="574"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ottawa Valley Honey</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxKrj8_Aw96h9h_YYVdmfvQQVHiGh3SNK8jDyZ1UcVp1KcE5x0vfTQrExWaDvC21gD_-PkQQ9bRv_fABMksbbyiwdvWcIQCg5cRgK495HylllIOohAVI6RUaCg5n2dSLwfPKcPFGKhXKYC/s1600/Spark+on+SparksCollageBread+Drop.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxKrj8_Aw96h9h_YYVdmfvQQVHiGh3SNK8jDyZ1UcVp1KcE5x0vfTQrExWaDvC21gD_-PkQQ9bRv_fABMksbbyiwdvWcIQCg5cRgK495HylllIOohAVI6RUaCg5n2dSLwfPKcPFGKhXKYC/s640/Spark+on+SparksCollageBread+Drop.png" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art is In bread</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFOP8dvyNKcYoeOjxdyrdTvQ2m3Lb6pi0w25ItDVJOCKFNJt4C0E0a0D4AuBVrxsGW8O_idediNuGNGjYo5QySunbqp67r3t7B3FTYHiASHQeDcqgsg74mAJOjutk8JmQ41fqd2LrjbM4/s1600/Spark+on+Sparks24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFOP8dvyNKcYoeOjxdyrdTvQ2m3Lb6pi0w25ItDVJOCKFNJt4C0E0a0D4AuBVrxsGW8O_idediNuGNGjYo5QySunbqp67r3t7B3FTYHiASHQeDcqgsg74mAJOjutk8JmQ41fqd2LrjbM4/s640/Spark+on+Sparks24.jpg" width="484"></a></div>
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<br>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/SparksStreetFarmersMarket?ref=ts&fref=ts" target="_blank">Sparks Street Farmers' Market</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
between O'Connor and Bank Streets</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thursday and Fridays
<span title="To see spelling suggestions, click this word">
<span class="yiv199729960ecxsquiggly">
10am</span></span> -
<span title="To see spelling suggestions, click this word">
<span class="yiv199729960ecxsquiggly">
5pm</span></span></span></span></div>
<br></div>
Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-71799478361133605632013-06-29T02:31:00.000+02:002013-07-01T14:28:55.585+02:00Look Sharp!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykMdryZXuHfmvb78XvPBxciXF8qlLDvKiypE_MGnTizCRAxP4cRjftsgulFYKCY75Z3Pzhl8KxMNTbtslY2hTqJnHXWOXZ-d-xhW2SJMRczD6DoBz7nHT50cKKQVwWnjLVl_RQBYulFob/s1600/StaySharpB%2526W4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykMdryZXuHfmvb78XvPBxciXF8qlLDvKiypE_MGnTizCRAxP4cRjftsgulFYKCY75Z3Pzhl8KxMNTbtslY2hTqJnHXWOXZ-d-xhW2SJMRczD6DoBz7nHT50cKKQVwWnjLVl_RQBYulFob/s640/StaySharpB%2526W4.jpg" width="640"></a></div>
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Maybe it's bad Feng Shui to write a post about sharp knives after not posting for yonks but I'll take my chances since it's all for a good cause. In this case, to let everyone know that <a href="http://www.knifewear.com/" target="_blank">KnifeWear</a>, a Calgary company who specializes in hand-made Japanese knives is setting up shop in the Glebe in Ottawa <i>and</i> they'll be offering a proper "by hand" knife sharpening service using whetstones. Rejoice!</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Last Thursday, Jennifer Heagle of the food oasis, <a href="http://redapron.ca/" target="_blank">The Red Apron</a> tweeted that she was hosting a knife sharpening demonstration given by Heather of Knifewear. I promptly cleared my schedule.<br>
<br>
If you cook, you know what a pleasure it is to use a sharp knife and how a dull one can turn your time in the kitchen into drudgery. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKkbfJ1LqWgypaGGwk5cpJj0Mo-xOPvTQOaiVLlv6aFtpif3o5tIftfWLrfmIHWmaqo4RiVrQ2CkyOG0GZjwdjsJGuG-CQYSaaSMXGMuNWKruS-2xeRDmo7pmA1yBVj1UziWnLBx_zKKy/s1600/StaySharpB%2526W2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXKkbfJ1LqWgypaGGwk5cpJj0Mo-xOPvTQOaiVLlv6aFtpif3o5tIftfWLrfmIHWmaqo4RiVrQ2CkyOG0GZjwdjsJGuG-CQYSaaSMXGMuNWKruS-2xeRDmo7pmA1yBVj1UziWnLBx_zKKy/s400/StaySharpB%2526W2.jpg" width="392"></a> <br>
<br>
I own two Japanese folded steel knives but I've always cheated when it comes to
sharpening them. Like a negligent parent, I use a ceramic sharpening
cone or sometimes, (oh the shame!) a steel, so I jumped at the
chance to learn about sharpening my knives the proper way.<br>
<br>
I don't know about you but I've had my share of knife sharpening nightmares. First there was the heavy-handed guy in Canada who drives around the neighbourhood with his "grindstone in a truck" sharpening service ringing a bell while people come running with their dull blades. He cold-heartedly took the life of my favourite bread knife. More recently there was the knife sharpening reprobate in France who ruined my favourite Wusthof chef's
knife. I had the <span class="infl-inline"><span class="form-of comparative-form-of">naïve</span></span> confidence of a newcomer that being French, they'd know how to sharpen a chef's knife. Wrong! I almost wept when my beautiful knife came
back a week later, the once gentle curve of the edge was ground flat, making it a useless piece of junk. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Live and
learn and never again! </span><br>
<br>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But I digress... Let us return to our happy demonstration...</span><br>
<br>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Heather of Knifewear brought a covetous selection of Japanese knives with her. Each of them was created by a different process and after a brief explanation of how the different knives were made, their composition, virtues and disadvantages, we got down to it. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Out came her portable knife sharpening kit that consisted of </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">a towel-covered board suspended over a plastic box filled with water. Submerged in the water were her whetstones, from fine to ultra-fine. On dry land she had a ceramic steel, a strop, and a water bottle from which she periodically squirted water over the whetstones. </span><br>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0PzUW_AnxK4HHE9noB_nLd4vx0UZAVPp-JEZocR0Eoq-HFJ-SiI8uJ1E1oT5kJWKhXrGnJWoJi636iE8fccclCSWbzekBRwHw1LSHYuA2jvuJYHJmO0iYn0mz4MkQPrzQcG0SlNp7F4Ct/s1600/StaySharpB&W14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0PzUW_AnxK4HHE9noB_nLd4vx0UZAVPp-JEZocR0Eoq-HFJ-SiI8uJ1E1oT5kJWKhXrGnJWoJi636iE8fccclCSWbzekBRwHw1LSHYuA2jvuJYHJmO0iYn0mz4MkQPrzQcG0SlNp7F4Ct/s640/StaySharpB&W14.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rubber finger pads, mandatory. Calibrating the correct sharpening angle with 2 pennies and a nickel, priceless</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">While we watched and listened, Heather explained the sharpening process and the rigorous training she and her colleagues underwent in the hands of a demanding Japanese master. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To begin the sharpening process, she covered her thumbs with rubber finger pads and placed two pennies and a nickel in the middle of the first of two whetstones. She positioned the knife over the coins which served as a guide to calibrate the correct angle for sharpening. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Then
she rested the back of the knife blade between two rows of the raised dots on her
thumb pad as a guide to keep her fingers and the knife at the correct angle for the
duration of the sharpening process. Then she removed the</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> coins. How clever was that? </span><br>
<br>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Over and over again, she gently and skilfully slid the knife, back and forth from tip to heel on the first whetstone and then the other. The first whetstone had a grit number of 4,000 (</span><i>naka-to</i> or very fine) <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> and the second, 8,000 (</span><i>shiage-to </i>or ultra-fine<i>)</i><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">. She finished the process by running the knife over a strop.</span><br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The second, finer whetstone and stropping</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Testing sharpness. A soundless swoosh through paper</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">With the sharpening and stropping done, she lifted a piece of newspaper and while she sliced soundlessly through it, I imagined what a pleasure that knife would be to use. As luck would have it, were about to find out. Heather invited us to try the knives she brought and Jennifer put out a box of sacrificial fruits and vegetables. We all chose a knife and set to slicing, dicing, and chopping. </span><br>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lovely hand-forged <i>Sakura</i> (cherry blossom) knife</td></tr>
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After watching Heather's demonstration I'm not sure if I'd ever attempt to sharpen my Japanese knives on my own. What I learned is that knife sharpening may look easy when done by a skilled professional but I think I'll chicken out and leave it to them. And seeing as their new shop will be opening in early July just down the street, why not? They also offer a knife repair service. </div>
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I wonder if they can fix my Wusthof knife?</div>
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Knifewear will be opening in mid-July on Bank Street between Third and Fourth Avenue in the Glebe. <br>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-45052437021680963572013-04-28T22:29:00.000+02:002013-10-06T16:43:20.156+02:00The Organic Farmers' Market at the Star Ferry Terminal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o-VPi6yBQvE/URJgADNTwcI/AAAAAAAAFLs/U9Klsy1nQGc/s1600/Central+Pier+Market.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="484" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o-VPi6yBQvE/URJgADNTwcI/AAAAAAAAFLs/U9Klsy1nQGc/s640/Central+Pier+Market.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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With about <a href="http://www.fehd.gov.hk/english/pleasant_environment/tidy_market/Markets_CFC_list.php" target="_blank">100 Government-run wet markets in Hong Kong</a>, traditional street markets sprinkled here and there and outstanding "western style" supermarkets, the average food shopper in Hong Kong is spoiled for choice with 'round-the-clock access to fresh fruits and veg. Oh, how I envy them!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QDV1hJDIxrMHkEOFXkkA_K36nzbjMQS-i1UU1k7a9oWTRBtQI9r4Wo0mTBpnuOsF66D0SzRQjGc4xfH2R25gQT2ceWo3LOf9GZFcNSgZc1xu4uKBCUKRgYEDk8nllrkGPBnYFpbAlbpT/s1600/Central+Pier+Market2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QDV1hJDIxrMHkEOFXkkA_K36nzbjMQS-i1UU1k7a9oWTRBtQI9r4Wo0mTBpnuOsF66D0SzRQjGc4xfH2R25gQT2ceWo3LOf9GZFcNSgZc1xu4uKBCUKRgYEDk8nllrkGPBnYFpbAlbpT/s640/Central+Pier+Market2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hong Kong's official certificate of organic produce</td></tr>
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Finding organic, sustainable produce grown locally on the other hand, is a different story. </div>
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Over the years, I've sought them out like a hound and visited two in Kowloon, <a href="http://gustia-food-finds-feasts.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-organic-farmers-market-at-mei-foo.html" target="_blank">Mei Foo</a> and <a href="http://gustia-food-finds-feasts.blogspot.com/2012/03/farmers-market-at-tai-po.html" target="_blank">Tai Po</a>. I'd have to say though, that the Star Ferry Terminal Market on Hong Kong Island stands out in my mind as the most engaging, family friendly and by far the easiest
to find. After paying <span class="st"></span>34<span class="st">¢ each to ride in first class, we jumped on the ferry in Kowloon, snapped a few pics while we bobbed up and down in the harbour, and "poof," we were there.</span></div>
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The market is run every Sunday by <a href="http://www.climatechange.hk/eng/lohas-square.aspx" target="_blank">LOHAS Square or Lifestyle-Of-Health-And-Sustainability</a>. Simply put, their mission is to educate people on ways of sustainable living. Organic farming, networking within the community and recycling being three of many.</div>
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About 10 or so certified local organic food vendors were gathered in the centre of the terminal. Around the perimeter, a few other vendors were selling non-food items made from recycled materials. I bought a charming cat key chain made from recycled fabric. There was also a soap making demonstration under way. </div>
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While we were wandering around the market munching on carrots and strawberries, I stopped at one of the booths where they were making little lanterns and candy dishes from used red <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_envelope" target="_blank"><i>Lai See</i> packets</a> so of course I had to jump in and give it a try. </div>
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I sat next to an adorable 5-year-old girl and together we followed detailed instructions from the teacher while the little girl's mom generously translated for me. I made a gold fish. She made a beautiful candy dish. Clearly she'd done this before.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A second life for <i>Lai See</i> packets</td></tr>
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After trying my hand at that, next to the <i>Lai See </i>booth was another craft booth, this one, Chinese paper cutting or <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_paper_cutting" target="_blank">Jianzhi</a>. </i>The<i> Jianzhi </i>instructor pulled out samples of the different patterns you could make. Some of them were incredibly ornate and skilfully done. After a brief consultation, he suggested I give "Double Happiness" a shot and traced an outline in pencil where I was to cut with my tiny, sharp scissors. With yet another young girl beside me and Hubby encouraging me from the sidelines, we got down to it. </div>
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Like the other Farmers' markets, the vendors here were passionate about the food they
grow, offered us samples of their products and were very gracious and patient even though we had no
hope of ever conversing with each other. </div>
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But the calm and communal atmosphere of the market and the lovely vendors drew us in and left us with a warm and lasting memory. And a nice <i>Lai See</i> gold fish.</div>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1637057639994118013.post-24706659007223097312013-04-26T17:49:00.000+02:002013-04-26T21:38:42.404+02:00A Flea by the Sea<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_C6ye2XGHkY/UXlBW8IfonI/AAAAAAAAGQs/9Gi7bA2CEQI/s1600/Flea+by+the+Sea4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="484" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_C6ye2XGHkY/UXlBW8IfonI/AAAAAAAAGQs/9Gi7bA2CEQI/s640/Flea+by+the+Sea4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Of all the many <i>Vide Greniers</i> (or community boot sales, <i>en anglais</i>), that pop up in the villages and towns near Monaco, the one in Beaulieu sur Mer is one of my favourites. </div>
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I find many of the region's "<i>vides</i>" are just an excuse for vendors to sit in the great outdoors, smoke, and give their overpriced junk some air and sunshine but this one is different. </div>
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To begin the <i>Vide</i> in Beaulieu is larger than most and since the vendors are just regular folk trying to clear out some of their unwanted stuff, the junk is varied, their prices are fair and they always seem happy to negotiate and knock off a euro or two.</div>
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Beaulieu is also easy to get to by train or bus, steps from the sea and surrounded by beautiful mountains. Also my friend Meghan lives there and joins me when she can. What's not to like?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who stole my QWERTY?</td></tr>
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Even if I don't find anything to buy, I like comparing French flea market junk with the junk I find in Canadian flea markets. It's like visiting a parallel universe: same idea, different execution. Like European typewriters whose keys are laid out in a different configuration than those in North America.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ln-D0HO-SIk/UXlBAraVgaI/AAAAAAAAGPo/Z8iDyqtlOQ4/s1600/Flea+by+the+Sea10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ln-D0HO-SIk/UXlBAraVgaI/AAAAAAAAGPo/Z8iDyqtlOQ4/s400/Flea+by+the+Sea10.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The day's treasures. Total damage: <span class="st">€</span>25. Pleasure: priceless</td></tr>
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I admit to a little obsession lately with knife rests and I find <i>vide grenier</i> the best place to pick them up since not many people use them any more except <i>moi</i>. At least they don't take up much room - or at least that's what I keep telling hubby.</div>
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If you're ever in the region and want to find out where the flea markets are during your visit, I find <a href="http://brocabrac.fr/Vide-greniers-06-Alpes-Maritimes" target="_blank">this site called BrocaBrac a good place to start.</a><br />
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There's another big Vide Grenier coming on May 1 in Menton which is worth the trip.<br />
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Let me know if you find anything interesting!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Candy apples made on-site</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The annual May 1 Vide Grenier in Menton</td></tr>
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Gustiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03602047432864589953noreply@blogger.com3