Tableau Vivante

But my waistline doesn’t.  That’s gorgeously plump chicken slow cooking and dripping its fat onto a pile of potatoes in a roasting tray. All open air, which wouldn’t happen here in the States. But dang. The smell wasn’t just suggestive, it made unseemly demands of me. And I obeyed. Oh, I obeyed.

“Agriculture IS cool.”

Me, at the Parent Washington Navel Orange Tree in Riverside, CA, 2008-03-17

Looking around Riverside, it’s hard to imagine that only a few decades ago, the valley was awash in citrus groves and vineyards. In fact, Riverside was the epicenter of the nation’s orange industry at one time. You can still see the ragged remnants of that history here and there – patches of land with skeletal grape vine stumps or dead trees amidst weeds and dust stuck in-between technology centers and warehouses. But there is one place, in the middle of Riverside’s residential hubbub, where that history is well cared for and guarded by an imposing iron fence.

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Whenever I buy root veggies with tops at the market (beets, carrots, etc.) they always ask if I want the leaves removed. At first I would say yes, but this past year I started saying no. Seeing all that green get tossed onto asphalt always gave me pause. Seemed a bit of a waste. The thing is you want to top your root veggies – the leaves tend to suck nutrients (and flavor) from the roots in an effort to stay alive. And I do so when I get home. But instead of tossing all that foliage, I use the tops for quickie bouquets. I added rosemary to yesterday’s carrot tops for some height and voila, a pleasing all-green spring display on my backsplash. It won’t last terribly long. But for a few days it’s a nice reminder of market day.

In springtime, it’s usually a little overcast in the morning. The marine layer creeps in from the ocean and unless there’s a nice warm sun to help burn it off, it hangs over us in the valleys. This weekend, we’re anticipating some rain, so the clouds had a colder edge to them. Quite pretty though. And pretty ideal for photography. It’s like having the whole sky as your personal soft box. (more…)

“To claim that wines should not be changed is a heresy; the palate becomes saturated and after the third glass the best of wines arouses nothing but an obscure sensation.”
Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin (1755-1826)

As I enter what might be my “third glass” phase of food blogging, I’m trying something new to avoid the above mentioned obscurity. But before heading face first into number three, let me toss around the first two.

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I take a lot of pictures of pretty fruits and veggies at the market. But the ugly ones definitely merit some face time. These seemingly bruised and battered pears aren’t abused Boscs, as I had originally thought. They’re a variety Joe at Walker Farms calls “Winter Pear”. When I first saw them last week I was going to pass them by. Joe insisted I try them. I am ever so glad he did. Big, juicy pear flavor. Fragrant like a fruity flower. Musky just enough to make you go wow. Ugly? At first glance, I’ll admit that yes, I was turned off. Lesson learned. He parks these under a yellow tarp so the picture above is a bit on the amber side. (more…)

In an e-mail to someone yesterday morning, I gleefully typed, “…and today I’m having lunch at the candy store.”

Sounded like a child’s Hansel and Gretl dream. I indulged in an imaginary plate full of caramels, chocolates, and lollipops with a childlike glee. The reality of that little voyage would of course be one sickened, over-sweeted stomach. But it immediately put me in ‘wonder-mind’ prior to my much anticipated lunch at the candy store.

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Maybe someday. But not this day. Simple lunch today - somen with whole mini shitakes and edamame, dilled cucumbers, and blood orange slices.

This shot was taken looking through the corner glass of a butcher’s meat case (in Rue Mouffetard) as he was pulling cuts for a customer. It’s one of my favorite shots from the trip. It’s not especially great, composition-wise. But I remember the moment very clearly.

It was the moment when I wished JJ was with me. I think it was because on the day I went there, the street was full of couples holding hands. February 16th - the first Saturday after Valentine’s Day. I was working Valentine’s Day so I didn’t give it much thought that I was thousands of miles away from him during a “love holiday”. But Saturday, it felt like I was the only lone woman on the street. I’m sure I wasn’t. But at the meat case, I remember turning around and taking it all in and then wishing I could buy one cut of ‘rosbif’ with him to take back to a rented apartment for a decadent lunch.I liked France. But I love JJ. Food just isn’t the same without him.

A little bit of macaron comparison is underway here. During my past few days in Paris, I was sickity sicky sick. The cold air outside would hit my lungs and I’d be leveled by a string of coughs that made me unfit for human company, let alone trips on the Metro or strolls along the Seine. For health’s sake, I confined myself to a one block walking radius from my hotel. Normally, this situation would have had no redeeming aspects. I anticipated pawing at the window of my room, full of longing and a pout stretched across my mouth as I watched Paris be interesting and tasty without me.

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