Gilbert Days

Each year in November our town hosts a parade celebrating "Gilbert Days".

I've never been.

I've been meaning to take our kids, but somehow every year for the last 11 years I've "forgotten". Truthfully it's more like I've forgotten to try and remember.

Probably because I am not the biggest fan of parades. 

But this year was different.  My little girl was going to be in it. She was going to get to ride on the float for her dance company even.

I still didn't get to go.  Christopher and Zach had swim lessons.

So John and Nick went and cheered loudly.

Divide and Conquer.  That's how we roll.

Anyway, they were under strict instructions to take pictures and/or video.

So really, it was like I was there. For the most important part anyway. Only I didn't have to deal with parking and crowds and all that other nonsense to actually be there.

I'm just here for the food, part 2

So, day two in Paris.  (note to self- don't procrastinate.  It's hard to remember details more than 2 months later, and it gets harder to write by the day)

I woke up bright and early and headed back to my cooking class. This day we were baking.

We learned to make a basic croissant dough  and used it to make 4 different types of breads/treats.

Did you know it takes three days to make croissants?  Day one you just make the dough, then it has to rest in the fridge over night.  He even wasted some dough to show us what happens if you don't let it rest long enough.  Not good. 

Day two you add the butter.  This is the tricky day.  First, you have to have a nice cool kitchen, because you DO NOT want the butter to melt.  VERY, VERY BAD.  If it melts, it won't form those layers that make the croissants so flaky and wonderful.  I was told by my teacher that I was in trouble because I live in Phoenix. Anyway, you start by rolling out the dough in a perfect rectangle, then you roll out the butter into a perfect square that is exactly 2/3 the length of the dough, but exactly the width. Then you do some folding action and make an envelope, or a letter, I can't remember which, and then you need to roll out another perfect rectangle, and fold it again. And do that again, and again, and again.  And possibly again.  It's best to put it back in the fridge/freezer every couple of roll and folds to maintain the integrity of the butter.  When you are all done, you will have something like 60 layers of dough and butter.   

The next day the dough is ready to use.  You can roll and cut out triangles to make croissants.

Interesting fact, these croissants aren't burnt.  In traditional French baking, things come out a little more "rustic".  It's the whole "layers of flavors" thing.  The bitter taste of the darker bits, combined with the flaky yet softer inside, and the sweetness of the butter, make for an over-all "true experience".  It's hard to find them, (cause it takes three days, so most people have their dough shipped in) but if you stumble across a little place that claims to make their own and they look a little on the burnt side, chances are you've found yourself a gem. He even pulled out a traditional cookbook and in almost every picture of food in it, there were little blackened bits on the food. 

You can add chocolate to make pain au chocolat, (yes, that's the same picture, but now you are looking at the heavenly rolled up thing in the top right corner)

Then we rolled out the croissant dough,  spread pastry cream on it, sprinkled on some gingerbread-type spices and rum raisins and chopped up pistachios and then sliced it up into little wheels and baked it (sorry, no "after" pics)

And finally we made little danishes with pastry cream and raspberries.  He showed us how to cut and fold it to make a little bowl for the filling.  This was the teacher's before we baked it.  He made a little one, mine was bigger (more raspberries, but once again, alas, no pictures of the finished product) 

Finally,we made a focaccia.  I was wary about this one.  We started off chopping up green olives (I'm not a fan- the black ones in the can I can eat in one sitting, but any others cause my nose to turn up in disgust) we added that to the dough we prepared (a different dough, not the croissant dough) and added Parmesan cheese as well. Then we added the dough to a "greased" pan.  And by "greased", I don't mean "just enough to cover the bottom and sides"  I mean like half a large bottle of olive oil was poured into the pan. Then I was the lucky contestant who "won a spa treatment" and got to spread the dough out in the oil and try to make the dough fill out the corners.  It didn't work that well.  Although, after I cleaned off the oil that was literally dripping from my hands, they did feel pretty soft. So I did get a bonus spa treatment out of it after all.   The teacher cut some diagonal slits in it in a pretty design, then we let it bake.  One girl asked where the oil went (cause the bread came out pretty dry looking).  The teacher told us it "evaporated". 

So I was prepared to not like it very much.  Green olives + the entire annual production of virgin olive oil from a whole tree = not something I would normally enjoy. 

  

That being said, it was SO GOOD.  Especially when we spread raw butter made from unpasteurized milk with a little sea salt mixed in for good measure. (BEST BUTTER EVER.  I need to figure out how to get my hands on some of that.  Make friends with a dairy farmer or something.) And PS- it was still really good later that evening when it wasn't quite as fresh, and there wasn't even any butter. Once again, sorry no pictures. My hands were too busy (and dripping with oil) to take any "befores", and I was too busy eating to take any "afters".  Priorities.

So that concludes my culinary adventures in Paris.

I spent the rest of the day wandering around Paris.  I intended to spend the afternoon at the Louvre, but it was closed. So, I intended to just wander the streets on foot, soaking it all in until I had to catch my train back to Belgium. 

I did just that for a little bit, but then I got accosted by a gypsy and a con artist while crossing a bridge.  At least I assume that's what they were.  They made me for a stupid American, and I was caught in their clutches.  The first one tried to give me a "gold ring" she thought I dropped, and it was good luck if I gave her something.  (Money, naturally)  She claimed to be starving, and needed money to buy bread.  I gave her the coins in my pocket, which amounted to about 3 Euros.  By this point, I was a little annoyed I had been taken.  I knew she was a professional beggar, pretending to return worthless pieces of metal to their owners, then demanding a reward for her act of kindness.  Then, I fell into the clutches of a deaf mute (yes, deaf and mute) He was clutching a clipboard, with a piece of paper masquerading as a petition for the advocacy of all the deaf mutes in France.  (seriously) I am sure the guy was a con artist, but he had the perfect con going on claiming he was both deaf and dumb, therefore any arguments I had literally fell on deaf ears as he had me trapped on that bridge shoving the clipboard in my face, begging I write my name and country of origin in their correct spots. Then he pointed to the donation column and demanded some money. All the while creeping me out while he kissed his hand and wiped it on my shoulder like I was some kind of angel saving him from his wretched life. I handed him the smallest bill in my wallet, 5 Euros, (all my change having just been given to that gypsy)  and then he pointed out the small handwritten note written on the side of the paper "Minimum donation- 10 Euros."  He was really annoyed I wouldn't give him more than the five.  I finally got away, really annoyed with myself and with them (cause I truly believe them to be con artists- I saw several more people with clip boards going after tourists, and when I started to think about why the petition was written in English, and why there were SO MANY deaf mutes in Paris, I knew I was taken.  Don't get me wrong, I have no problems giving to the needy, but usually I walk away feeling good, not angry and annoyed and stupid and taken.  

I elected to spend the rest of my afternoon enjoying a lunch inside a cafe. I was hungry and mad at Paris and myself, and food was the answer. (plus I had to use the bathroom, and that's for paying customers only).  So after a very leisurely lunch of a ham and cheese crepe, a coke, and a lemon tart, I was feeling much better.  I should mention that my lunch was also pretty entertaining as I watched the waiters and waitress interact.  It was a slow day,  so they'd stand around and talk, (in French, so I didn't understand them) but then the waitress slapped a waiter across the face, and he told me it was cause she was crazy about him.  She argued that he was the only crazy one there.  (In English for my benefit).  As I stood up to leave, I tied my scarf around my neck (it was chilly out), and a waiter (the one who got slapped) stopped me and adjusted the knot of my scarf for me, (not that I did a bad job, but it was more like a friendly thing. Sorta, "There you go, now it's perfect."

And with an "au revoir", and my renewed faith in Paris, I headed off to the train station to spend the evening with John.  (seeing as it was our 15th anniversary and all)

John and I met up that evening for a nice dinner in Brussels (he worked all day so even if I didn't go to Paris, we still wouldn't have spent any more time together, in fact I beat him to the hotel, and I got lost on the way) and then the next morning he dropped me off at the airport so I could head home while he stayed and worked.

It was a fantastic trip in almost every aspect, (I was definitely lonelier in Paris than I thought I'd be) but I was ready to come home.  I missed my own bed, and especially my kids. Plus, I was a little worried for my dad's sanity after being a mom to my four rugrats for 12 days.  Any longer and I might have found them duck taped to the wall. I am pleased to report they all survived.  However, I think it will be a few years before I will be able to convince him to do that again.   Kinda like pregnancy.  You have to forget exactly how bad it was before you can think about having another one. 

Oh, and this last picture is for Nick.  They were packing up as I walked by, but I passed a whole orchestra (at least a dozen musicians) playing in the subway. 

I'm just here for the food- part 1.5

My cousin Jessica, left me a comment on my post about eating in Belgium and I thought it warranted an answer in the form of it's own post.

Yes, I did eat a waffle.  Smothered in dark Belgian chocolate and strawberries.  And yes, it was good, but, I gotta be honest, not great.

I've had better.  And readers in Utah will rejoice in knowing that so far, the best Belgian waffles I've ever had are in Salt Lake City. True story.

I am sure that there are some in Belgium that can rival those found at Bruges Waffles and Frites,  but the waffle I had wasn't one of them.  The toppings were delicious and plentiful, but the waffle itself left a little to be desired. 

While I am sure the ingredients were top-notch, the waffle was a little rubbery.  It was a touristy area, and it was a slow night because of the rain, and they had a stack of waffles waiting to be re-warmed when some tourist walked in and ordered one.

On the other hand, in Salt Lake, you can get a waffle made by Belgian, with ingredients imported from Belgium, made fresh when you order it.  Every time I go there, I ask myself why I am not eating there EVERY SINGLE DAY of my stay in Utah.  You can tell the owner takes pride in his little establishment and the food he serves, as opposed to some employee handing out waffles to the tourists who in many cases don't know any better.

Anyway, so that's good news to most people.  Odds are anybody reading this will find themselves in Utah before they do in Belgium.  And if you haven't been, do your self a favor and stop by and have yourself a waffle, and some frites. (fries) you won't be sorry.

I'm not one to publicly share spiritual thoughts/insights/observations much. 

For whatever reason. 

I should probably work on that, but I wouldn't hold your breath.  Change comes slow for me.

Anyway, I did have something I wanted to share. 

While in Paris, I enjoyed looking at the giant Monet paintings in the Orangerie.  I was mesmerized by these 6 foot tall paintings. Over 1950 square feet of canvas.  Monet was obsessed with painting these and it took him like 12 years to complete them.  What was more amazing was that he finished when he was 80 years old and was nearly blind from cataracts.  Although he painted them for the Orangerie, he died before they were installed.

Anyway, while standing up close and contemplating how this old, nearly blind man could paint these, especially when up close, the paint strokes look like mere blobs. 

You have to stand back to appreciate their beauty and how it all combines to make one lovely scene.  While his eyesight failed him, his vision did not.

Anyway, the thought occurred to me that life can be like that.  Up close things might look like big globs that make no sense, and we, with our limited vision can't see the whole canvas right now.  But our Creator does see. Our Heavenly Father has a plan, and sometimes it makes no sense, and sometimes we just have to have a little faith that one day we will see the beautiful canvas stretched before us, and it will be amazing.

I'm just there for the food

After we landed in Brussels, we had a few hours to walk around (in the rain). 

We wandered around,

stopping into my favorite cookie store to buy another tin of cookies,

We went in search of chocolate, which is of course ridiculously easy, as every third store is a chocolate shop, in fact the hard part is picking which store(s) to shop at or better yet, learning to not even look, and just walking away (after the first two or three stores of course). 

And I needed an overnight bag for my little excursion into Paris the next day.

Speaking of which- This is my train ticket. Ü

Clear up until the morning of, I was like "I can totally do this!  I've been to Paris before, I've got books, and maps, and Paris has a great subway system, I can do this. I took the kids to Disneyland on my own.  I can do this.  I drove the kids to Utah on my own.  I can do this. I'm a fairly independent person.  I can do this."

Of course courage gave way to nausea and anxiety the next morning. 

I had to get up at 4 to catch the 6 am train to get to Paris by 8 to be to my class by 9.    There's a lot of variables in there.  Finding the correct train platform, train car, my seat, hoping everything runs smoothly and on time, then once I get to Paris, I have one hour to make my way to my class.  Without getting lost.  And given that English is not the first language of most people I meet along the way asking for help or getting directions could prove difficult. 

Anyway, I didn't get breakfast that morning.  by the time I figured everything out at the Belgium train station, I had some time to spare, but my stomach wasn't up to accepting food just yet.  So I played sudoku on my phone. And possibly Angry Birds.

Everything went smoothly, and I arrived at my destination with 10 minutes to spare. 

So, I know it's no Le Cordon Bleu institute or anything, and in fact I think the name is a little cheesy, but it got excellent reviews, and it was all in English.  It was the perfect choice for someone like me.  Each class was 3 hours long, you learned to make about 5 different things, and class sizes are small (5 students). 

And I loved every minute of it.  Both days the other four students were pretty quiet, so I did most of the talking and question asking.  I wasn't going to waste my money being shy or worrying about asking stupid questions.

The first day my teacher was a cute girl named Briony.  I got her life story because I wondered what would possess someone to want to teach cooking to Americans in Paris.  She was a pastry chef who was born in Australia and has lived all over the world. But while living in Scotland, she fell in love with and married a Parisian, so this is where she has made her home. She owns her own cake decorating business but teaches there part time cause they asked her to and they are willing to work around her schedule. 

This is a picture of the ceiling.  I love it.

Anyway, on to the food.  I'm going to just start off by saying it was all really good.  Even if I had any reservations, I loved it all.  So, I am not going to comment how yummy everything was, because I would be repeating myself over and over.  

We made mango creme brulee.  You cut a mango into little cubes and place them in the bottom of the ramekins and then bake as usual.  I usually add fresh fruit to the top of creme brulee, but this was a first to bake it, and I never would have thought of mango.  She says raspberries would be really good too.

Next up was a chocolate souffle.  The only thing is, I would omit the shot of espresso and flavor it with orange juice or something.

The pear sable was a fun dessert.  We baked pears and basted them in baking spices and butter and honey.  Here's one of the places where I run into a bit of a problem recreating it at home.  It calls for "3 tablespoons of mixedspice (the kind used for gingerbread)"   Besides being in French, the label was pretty vague about what spices were in it. Ginger? Clove? Cinnamon? in what combinations?  I will probably just play around with it, trial and error, I might not get it exactly right, but unless I start getting wild and crazy and experimenting with non-gingerbready type spices I should be fine.  My next obstacle is finding the pastry rings that you bake the hazelnut sable in (the round cookie-cake thing under the pear)  They are expensive on Amazon.  I think I've heard tuna fish cans work great, I just haven't been able to eat tuna fish since before I was pregnant with Christopher.   Oh, and then we topped it with a caramel sauce.  

Next up we made Madeleines.  They are little tea cakes, sortof a cross between a cookie and a muffin.  I liked them so much, when I got home, I jumped on Amazon and bought a pan. 

Finally we made Napoleons.  This was hands down my favorite. 

Before I tell you about them, I need to mention something.  I didn't get to eat it until later that evening because I was so sick after class.  After not eating breakfast, and the anxiety and the adrenalin and all that, then eating not one, but three decadent desserts for lunch (the creme brulee, the souffle, and the pear sable- the ones that can't be transported easily) and I ate EVERY BITE, cause gosh darnit I paid for it, but I totally thought I had the flu that afternoon. 

After class I went to the Orangerie, which is a museum that is home to two rooms of Monet art that was specifically designed for that building. 

Two oval rooms where you are entirely surrounded by whole panels of water lillies. 

The art was amazing of course,

but by the time I left, I wasn't feeling so well.  I grabbed a "take-away" ham sadwich from a cafe, and headed up to my room.  I was hoping a little protein might do me some good.  But my room was freezing. and I just sat there in my bed with the covers pulled up, looking for something interesting on TV (which is hard since I don't speack any French other than "oui" and "non" and "see-voo-play" and "merci".  At this point I really started to think I had the flu.  Which would totally suck because I was all alone in a foreign country, with one ibuprofen to my name, and an appointment with a tour group to go up to the top of the Eiffel Tower that evening, and another class the next day, and I was headachy and nauseus, and freezing my tail off.  Anyway, between the one ibuprofen, some protein in my system, and an answered prayer to a speedy and full recovery,  an hour later I was totally fine.

At which point I was able to take my trip to the Eiffel tower, which was awesome, btw.  In Europe, the thing seems to be to pay a tour guide if you want to see anything.  You will pay about double, but you will learn something in the process, and you can avoid standing in line for HOURS.  The line to the Eiffel tower was incredible.  It was AT LEAST two hours long.   Anyway, it was fun. 

There are three levels, I went to the top.  I only have a fear of heights if there is nothing between me and falling to my death.  (Like I am on a ledge or something)

One cool fact I learned- when Hitler was occupying Paris, the elevator mysteriously "broke" the morning he arrived in town, and they didn't seem to be able to fix it until the day after the Allied forces regained control of the city. So Hitler never went up in the Eiffel tower.  

Anyway, after I settled into my hotel room for the night, I dug into my goodie bag I had stashed in the mini-bar, and thoroughly enjoyed a couple madeleines and the whole Napoleon. 

Sandwiched between two layers of puff pastry (which is literally a thousand layers of dough and butter, and oh so flaky and tender and delicious, was the most amazing pastry cream.  It was made with a praline paste, and I will tell anyone that listens that that stuff is like crack. 

In my class the next day, I was telling them how I took the dessert class the day before, (I think they were taking it later that day) and they wanted to know what my favorite was.  I proceeded to tell them about the pastry cream at which point the teacher produced a bag of it from the fridge, announced he eats that stuff all the time, and squirted a big gob on the back of his hand, licked it off, then passed it around so we could do the same. 

I kid you not, I have lost sleep over figuring out other ways to use this stuff.  Puff pastry takes three days to make.  I'm not that patient.   A filling for little tartlets? A filling for a cake? But what kind? Chocolate?  

And as a bonus, I learned to make my own vanilla extract.  Which I am really excited about.  All you need are vanilla beans (used ones are perfect) and some alcohol. Vodka or rum (Briony likes dark rum for this job).  And then you soak the beans in the alcohol- 4 beans to 1/4 of a cup for several days, and there you have it. I have the vanilla beans,  but the alcohol is proving to be trickier. Did you know they don't carry any rum or vodka at Target? Wine and beer, yes, but hard liquor, no.  I know this because I spent a few minutes perusing that particular aisle at the local Target, all the while worrying I was going to run into somebody I know.

Anyway, that was my first day in Paris. 

Last Italy post- I promise.

But we still have Belgium and most especially Paris to talk about.

I've been home for over a month.  I need to finish this soon or I never will.

So we'll lump the last two locations in one last post.

First off, we spent the day at Lake Garda.  It was a pretty, picturesque (albeit touristy) little lake (okay, not so little ) where we spent the afternoon.

We walked around, took in the sights and the ambiance, ate crepes at a cafe, shopped, and skipped rocks in the lake.  Okay, so I didn't skip any rocks, I am deficient in that area, my "skipping" is more of a "plunking" so I watched Nolan and Mindy show off their skills.  John got my camera away from me in a rare moment and busied himself taking some pictures.

Later we drove to Milan.  Our flight was leaving the next morning from Milan so that's where we stayed.  We got there in the evening and wandered around.  I was amused by the fact that our hotel was on Via Giorgio Washington. As in George Washington - First President of the USA.  I guess we were in Milan after all.  It is considered one of the fashion capitols of the world.  Plain old "George" must not have been good enough. Ü

With very little time we visited the duomo in town.  Unfortunately, it was closing time so we didn't get to go up on top of the duomo.  I hear it is amazing walking around the spires and statues.  We did get to go inside and check out the stained glass and other artwork, and even a couple of dead people on displays (priests? bishops? cardinals?) While many other people felt the need to take pictures, I didn't.  **soapbox alert** While mildly interesting, it sorta bothers me how tourists wander around talking and snapping photos inside cathedrals or duomos or whatever they are called.   I may not have the same religious beliefs as the people worshipping there, but I think I would be really annoyed if tourists walked around my church talking and snapping photos while I was trying to worship peacefully. I may find dead corpses on display a little morbid and even a little humorous,  but I still think snapping pictures while church is in session is a tad on the disrespectful side. I do give huge points to the fashion police who stood outside the doors and turned away anybody who wasn't dressed properly. (no bare shoulders or bare knees)   stepping off the soapbox now...

As the duomo was right next to the galleria, we stopped inside to see the one attraction I found more interesting than all the high end stores-  the floor tile mosaic in the center of the galleria.  In the mosaic there is a picture of a bull, and legend has it that if you spin on your heel on the bull's testicles you will have good luck for a year.  You wouldn't believe the divot in the floor where the lower half of the bull once was.  My ever accommodating husband spun for me so I could take a picture.  (I've taught him well, once upon a time he would be totally annoyed everytime I asked him to pose for the camera)

That's it, I guess.  Except for the random painted elephant statue we'd see here or there. 

The next morning we said good-bye to our travel companions at the airport.  We were sorry to see our time with them had ended, we'd had so much fun with them and sharing all these experiences with them, but I think they were more than ready to get back home.  I think we wore them out dragging them all over the place.  But as they were headed back home, our fun wasn't quite over yet and we were headed to Belgium.  Since we were over there anyway, John was asked to swing by NATO to help out with some stuff.  And since that meant we would be on separate continents for our 15 year anniversary, we decided I should stay and hang out for a day or two. 

Of course, since he had to work very full work days to get everything done, and since there isn't much to see and do in Brussels, especially since I've already been there before, and since Paris was a short train ride away, after spending an evening wandering around Brussels together, I headed off on and adventure of my own for a couple of days.

  

To be continued...