Sacre Beurre and Souffle

My spinach souffles--after they'd fallen.  The content of  other small ramekin is in my tummy!

We are in the middle of a national crisis here in France. No, it's nothing like threat of nuclear incineration, but it's just as bad--there is a butter shortage.  

I did not know about this until just recently, as I have always been able to get as much of my favorite, unsalted spread as I need. But my Facebook page is flooded with stories of empty shelves.  One of my friends has even taken to hoarding the precious yellow delight.

Like any frenzy, I guess it feeds upon itself, because my favorite brand was sold out today in Monopriz--luckily there were other brands available.  I haven't felt it necessary to buy extra barquettes and put them into the freezer, but the holidays are nearly upon us and I certainly want butter for Christmas baking.  So perhaps tomorrow a trip to the "big" grocery store is on the to do list.

I did get 50 cents worth of spinach, and combined it with some fresh cream, and, yes-- a little butter and farm fresh eggs and made my first souffle in France.  I used to make spinach souffle all the time back in the 70's, when I was spattering my beloved Joy of Cooking.  It's one of the few cookbooks I brought with me and it never lets me down.  But here's the funny thing about memory--there is no recipe for spinach souffle in the Joy of Cooking. I wonder what recipe I used.

Back then I was never been able to cook with such wonderful  ingredients--these egg whites whipped nearly instantly and two of these eggs would probably have been enough, rather than the three called for in the recipe.

Fresh spinach, butter, cream, eggs, a little fresh Parmesan

I made a large souffle and two small ramekin-sized ones to boot.  The apartment was redolent with baking spinach and eggs and nutmeg.  They rose and browned beautifully and indeed, are nearly a meal in themselves.  What a difference fresh ingredients make.  How lucky I am to be able to get them.  All told, with the eggs and the spinach and the milk, the souffle cost probably less than $3 to make and I have enough for 3 or 4 meals.....and today I spent 5 Euros for the ingredients for vegetable soup and grilled eggplant,  Oh yes, and another 1 Euro 50 for a slab of pumpkin that I will use to make a practice pie.  How lucky I am to have access to such good ingredients!  If only hope the butter supply holds out.

Hibakusha

Poster announcing the exhibit

Two framed pieces

This afternoon I finally made time to go see the Hibakusha exhibit that's been here in town for a while.  I was so afraid I would miss it; time does have a way of getting away from me here.  It is a collection of drawings and artwork done by the survivors of the nuclear bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, effectively putting an end to World War II with Japan. 

Incinerated bodies

Holding on for dear life

I remember as a girl that we observed these days faithfully, with a moment of silence. Now the August anniversaries come and go without much attention, or so it seems to me.

Larger piece in the stairwell

As I expected, much of the artwork was dark--lots of blacks and reds.  What did strike me was the primitiveness of many of the drawings and sketches. After I thought about it a while, it made sense, as these were not done by professional artists--most of the art was an attempt to recreate what they remembered.

The organizers of the exhibit explained that there were almost no photos of the human carnage, as by the time photographers arrived on the scene, the bodies had been removed.  Professional photographers and artists did eventually get there, but in the immediate aftermath, documenting the scene took a secondary role to saving lives.

A crane curtain hangs in the stairwell

White cranes in the glass case

I was enchanted by the cranes--I learned  the story of Sadako and the 1000 Cranes when I was a young teenager.  I wonder if school children still learn this.  There were two "curtains" of cranes handing in the stairwell and a cloud of cranes of all sizes hanging overhead.  I thought of all the souls of the departed.

From under the crane "cloud"

I know it's easy to wallow in pathos over the horror of those bombings.  I have to try to keep some perspective; we were at war, after all.  It's so easy for me to sit in the safety of distant future and pass judgment on the use of those bombs.  The Japanese certainly committed their fair share of atrocities on their enemies.  Nobody has clean hands.

Blue crane

           But this?  This power that we have to exterminate in a single blow, entire cities?  To poison the air and ground?  To inflict suffering on so large a scale on our fellow human beings?  There just has to be a better way.  

And when I hear leaders rattling nuclear sabers, I can only trust that cooler heads will prevail.  

Hope

 

Fraternite Generale and La Cite

On the way to our place in line

Yesterday I joined hands with 2000 other people, many of whom were students, and we formed a human chain around the interior wall of La Cite.  The sponsoring organization, the Fraternite Generale, has as its aims, extending the hand of fellowship to friends and strangers alike while sharing ideas of peace, equality, dignity.  (and for me I add sororite)  It's a worthwhile thing to do, and a way to make connections while sharing my love of Carcassonne.  So, my friend Jackie, who's visiting from Ohio, and i hopped on and off  the #4 bus and headed toward the appointed meeting spot at the Narbonne gate.

Lots of students of all ages

Leaves are starting to show color

It was a hive of activity; people had been getting into place since 9:30 and it was just after 10 when we arrived.  We received our participation buttons from the registration tent (I knew the woman who handed us our souvenirs of the day--Carcassonne really is a small town), and armed with instructions to go where we were directed on the other side of the drawbridge, off we went.  We didn't know if we were red or blue--so the traffic director told us to pick a side.  Blue tt was and we headed south, up the incline of the lices (that's the word for the space in between the inner and outer walls and it's pronounced like lease) to find an empty spot to fill with our hands and arms.  We walked about half-way up the cobbled street and found a place between some other senior citizens and a group of high school students.  We claimed this as ours and waited instructions.

Roof lines of the Cite

The event was full of students, and they were full of energy.  Along with the whooping and shouted conversations typical of teenagers, the students next to me broke into the Marseillaise, changing key with every new phrase.  Alas, the French National Anthem is no easier to sing than the Star Spangled Banner.  I joined in on the chorus....

Remnants of parish church Place Marcou

Working on a 1000 year old church takes basic skills

Finally, the magic moment came when the citadel was completely encircled and aqll hands were joined.  It was fun, and a great opportunity to extend the hand of friendship to strangers of all ages.  I will do it again next year, as it's become an annual event and this year was extensively covered by the media.  It's not the first time I have dragged a visitor to some odd happening here in Carcassonne.  The opportunities for such events are frequent.\

Red awnings---"eyelids"

Afterward, we made our way up into the Cite proper to go to the artist's cooperative.  On the way there, we stopped in at my favorite photographer's gallery and learned, to my great dismay, that they are closing definitively within the month.  I will need to go back and get a couple of prints, as his work is stellar.  I am so sad to hear of his closing; his was one of the only two places I recommend for souvenir purchasing.  The second is the artists' co-op.

But my dismay at his closing paled when I got to the artists' co-op only to find it emply and shuttered!  Oh nooooo.  It was the only place in the tourist trap maze of the Cite to purchase truly local handicrafts.  I had just been there only two weeks before and ther was absolutely no sign that they were closing their doors.  I am sick at heart, as there is now nothing in the Cite that is locally made--there are the obligatory soap from Provence stores, and of course some food stores that carry canned cassoulet (yuk,if you can't get freshly made, don't bother) and jars of local jams and olive oil, but that's about it.  I get it that tourists want cheap souvenirs, and they son't seem to care that the plastic medieval shields and swords are all manufactured in China or Malaysia.....I was and still am, very upset about this.

Model of the fortress walls around the base of this monument

Ever since I started the history translation project, I've had a different feeling about the walled city.  I know we need tourist dollars and in order to get those dollars, we have to put up with a certain amount of unthinking behavior--really--do you see how narrow and crowded these streets are and yet you still bring both of your big dogs?  And if anything, I have learned that the Cite has always been and is ever-changing.  But la Cite is more alive to me now than it's ever been--the stories buried in the stones are closer to the sruface and I can hear their murmurings.  I just hate to see her covered in toruist gewgaws.  

Tower shadows

 

Amsterdam Shopping

A wall of blue and white

I had only one item on my to-buy list---horseradish!!! It's harder to find here in  Carcassonne than it should be;  it seems to be something eaten in the north, but not here in sun-drenched peppers and garlic country.  My former neighbor at Rue du Pont Vieux found a small jar about 18 months ago, and made me a present of it  I had been hoarding it, trying to make it last.  But it was gone and I decided to bring back some from Amsterdam.

I went into the little grocery store next door to our rental apartment only to discover that they did not have any horseradish.  Furthermore, several of the clerks didn't even know what I was talking about.  One young woman, who did know, told me that she'd looked for a year to find it.  Surely I couldn't be hearing this correctly, but my friend Shelley can vouch for me.

My best Amsterdam "score"

And it was eagle-eyed Shelley who spied it in the larger supermarket a block further down the street.    Out I came with a score of three jars!  Now I won't have to scrimp so much on it.  I could now call the Amsterdam trip a complete success, shopping-wise. And they were only 60 centimes a jar, a steal if you don't factor in the plane ticket!

Sweet and delicate egg cup

Really!

 

The other item I thought I might like to bring home was a piece of Delft, preferably a pot to hold my jade plant.  Larry, Shelley and I hopped off the #5 tram en route to the Delft store, because I spied a wonderful antique shop, full of glassware, and porcelain and silver---anyone who knows me realizes that I cannot simply walk by such a shop.

It was dusty and crammed with all manner of lovely things--and I always wonder what stories the silver pieces could tell.  The proprietress spoke no English when I told her how lucky she wasa to work surrounded by so many beautiful things. There were no bargains, but I found a sweet blue and white egg cup for only 6 Euros.  

Oh yes, we then stopped at a cafe for a drink and a piece of lemon tart--this one was very different from what our local patisseries offer.  More ike lemon chiffon pie!  Yummy, though.

 

Coffee and a pastry--it must be 4:00

We did find the Delft store, thanks to Larry's search for just the right water bottle.  (We all seemed to have our own searches to undertake)  I had been warned by Lauren, who'd visited the store the previous day, that the prices, especially for the Royal Delft, were astronomical....I found a smallish sort of container for the jade plant and it was a mere 16,000 Euros!  I did buy a piece of the "lower grade" porcelain--I seem to be collecting tiny little bowls on my voyages.  I now have one from Barcelona and one from the artists' coop here in Carcassonne.  I use these tiny little bowls to parcel out peanuts for snacks!  A dosage cup, if you will.  

That center jar could almost hold my jade plant

The items in the store were lovely to look at, but there they must remain--too pricey for my budget. 

My modest little "dosage cup"

The prices of the Delft made me look at the piece I bought in 1975 in Dutch Curacao with fresh appreciation!  $30 back then was a lot of money, but glad I spent it then--now the same sugar bowl would be several hundred dollars!

Thrilled with my blue and white

All in all, the shopping aspect of my trip was a great success!  I have some useful (and tasty!) souvenirs.

Amsterdam Museums and Canals

Drawbridge in ther background

Larry, Shelley and I indulged in a boat ride along some of Amsterdam's canals. Seeing the city from the water provides a perspective that simply walking or riding a tram cannot furnish.

Sun's out

We started at the port, actually in front of the Central Station.  The sun had come out and the gray skies cleared to a china blue.  We took our seats and were treated to interesting facts and sights.  It was a great way to get photos that would be impossible from the banks of the waterways. 

Tall boats not allowed

River cruise line ships at rest in the harbor

I did not realize that \Amsterdam's homes and buildings are sinking....especially the very old ones, built on pilings driven into the reclaimed land. It makes sense.  Wooden pilings rot after centuries and the houses that these piling support reveal this in drunken tilting, forward and backward, and from side to side.  One section of town is labeled "The Dancing Houses" due to the precarious leaning of the buildings.  

Dancing houses

Dancing houses with houseboar

I suspect that just like every major metropolitan area, Amsterdam is a very different city if you have real money than the Amsterdam of the drug tourist.  We passed houses along the canal selling for millions of dollars---and I have to say that I did not see one single For Sale sign the entire time I was there.  Even in the area where we stayed, the building were very well maintained-h-a not inconsiderable feat given the complicated construction and paint schemes.  I also marveled at the number of black houses--a color I am definitely not used to seeing here in terra cotta south of France.

Well kept houseboats--tres expensive these days

Library viewed from the harbor

Statue of St. George slaying the dragon--tonier section of town

House of the heads

While I took lots of photos on the cruise--the museums were a different story.  Photos are not allowed, and it makes sense to me--I want to concentrate on learning about what I am seeing and do not want to concentrate on photography.  Of course, there is always some jackass who has to defy everyone with a cellphone camera.  I visited the Anne Frank house and the Van Gogh museum, which was about all I could process in the short amount of time I had.  No photos I could take could do justice to either experience--people who want to know what these places look like can find their websites on the Internet.  Both museums did what a good exhibition should do--moved me, educated me, and piqued my curiosity to learn more.  For me, these two places were the pefect choice for my introduction to Amsterdam's many museums.  (Next time, though, it's to the Diamond Museum and the |Museum of Bags and Purses!!!)  

At the Van Gogh museum

I HAVE to go here

Be careful getting out on the driver's side

old boat and autumn leaves

From Creagerstown to the Concertgebouw

A dream come true

I had only one real MUST do item on my list during my Amsterdam visit---and that was to hear a concert at the Concertgebouw.  All my lifer I have listened to recordings made by the world class  resident orchestra in this world-class concert hall.  I never really imagined I would be able one day to be there, in that splendid acoustical space and hear beautiful music.  But the opportunity did present itself and we obtained tickets to hear the Faure Requiem.  I had to be there.

Gamely, the Collins clan joined in--even though the program was not particularly to  their taste.  Andrew kept referring to it as "the show."  And I laughed every time.  

Andrew and his mom in front of the hall

The concert hall is a bit far to walk from where we stayed, so we took a cab.  The driver repeatedly pointed out to us the recklessness of the other drivers and bike riders and taught us the Dutch word for "Crazy."  We arrived at the hall too early for the concert and too late to get a real supper....so we went around the corner to a local brasserie for bar food and wine.  I had the Dutch specialty "bitterballen."  They are supposed to be finely ground beef, but mine tasted vegetarian.  They weren't bad, and the spicy mustard dipping sauce certainly cleared my sinuses.

Some seats are on stage behind the singers/instrumentalists

On to the concert---the hall is lovely, but I have been in more beautiful ones--more ornately decorated, more comfortable seats.  But once the concert started, none of that mattered.  I have been in a lot of concert halls, but I have never heard acoustics this perfect.  The first piece nearly stopped my heart--a piece by Knut Nystedt...a capella and done simultaneously from the stage and the two sets of doorways on both sides of the hall.  It was perfect...and that kind of distance is hard to program for and even harder to make work in performance.  It was an homage to Bach--Immortal Bach.  I could have departed the hall when it finished, completely satisfied.  It was that well done.

From out seats--the organ is played in the Faure

I didn't really care for the Shostakovihtch, and unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) I developed one of those awful coughing spells that forced me to leave the auditorium.  I only hope the sound of my hacking didn't carry back into the hall, even through closed doors. The staff was kind and gave me a seat and a glass of water until I recovered.  I could still hear the performance, but they couldn't hear me, thank goodness.

Andrew and Lauren after "the show"

There was an intermission--drinks for everyone and Andrew had booked a table with sweets and wine awaiting him.  The restrooms were not particularly crowded, and were immaculate.  There were bars set up all around the perimeter of the hall and people were visiting and enjoying a glass of bubbly.  So civilized.

Chandelier in the hall

After the intermission, we heard a lovely Faure Requiem---for me it's the gentlest of the Requiems and the most hopeful.  The soloists were superb, and the chorus excelled.  There were only about 22 singers on stage, which goes to my point--choral singers don't have to sing loudly--they have to sing together\.  The final In Paradisum made me believe again in angels.

Chandelier in the entrance

I found myself thinking about the last time I heard that piece live---in Brookings, Oregon, done by the ORCA Singers.  I was too wrapped up in the mechanics of it at the time--trying to get everything perfect--to realize just what a good job that choir actually did with the piece.  It was one of the highlights of the time we were together.  And having heard it orchestrated as it was supposed to be, I am even more  in awe of Jerry Moffit's skill and determination and  his mastery of the piano reduction.  For my money, he is the best musician in Brookings, and one of the best I have ever had to great good fortune to work with anywhere.

Ceiling lighting

After the performance, were able to walk down to the stage, center aisle and take photos.  I am not one for being photographed, but for this venue, I would make an exception.  I am from Creagerstown, Maryland, and grew up in a house with no indoor plumbing.  I never expected--ever-- in my life to be here, and believe me, I take none of this for granted.....going off to Amsterdam to the Concertgebouw is the equivalent of jumping to the moon.  I needed proof--mostly for myself---that I was truly there.

We got ourselves a ride home--it was a fitting end to a long day.  Fortunately, we had no early morning appointments for the next day, so we could enjoy a slower-paced morning.  Good-night all--for it indeed was a good night,  and I was up the ladder to my Dutch nest. 

Pinch this girl from Creagerstown