I am desperate

I am so desperate for sports on a Sunday I agreed to go to a pub with my Irish friend and watch Hurling. 

Do any of you have any idea what Hurling is? Well let me give you a brief intro to this very odd combination of lacrosse, field hockey, and soccer. 

It is an outdoor team played with sticks called hurleys and a ball called a sliotar. Hurling is the national sport of Ireland. 

The object of the game is for players to use a wooden stick called a hurley, to hit a small ball called a sliotar between the opponents' goalposts either over the crossbar for one point, or under the crossbar into a net guarded by a goalkeeper for one goal, which is equivalent to three points. The sliotar can be caught in the hand and carried for not more than four steps, struck in the air, or struck on the ground with the hurley. It can be kicked or slapped with an open hand (the hand pass) for short-range passing. A player who wants to carry the ball for more than three steps has to bounce or balance the sliotar on the end of the stick and the ball can only be handled twice while in his possession.

Is this crazy enough yet? No, do worry there is more...

 

Side-to-side shouldering is allowed but body checking or shoulder-charging is illegal. No protective padding is worn by players. A plastic protective helmet with faceguard is required. All the positions wear the same number and the jerseys do not have the players names on them.

So after being trapped in the elevator I went to the pub to watch my crazy Irish friend cheer half in English hald in Irish at Tipperay played Cork. Thank God Tipperary won because I am pretty sure my firend would have keeled over if they had lost. 

Honestly I really enjoyed sitting in a bar on a Sunday watching men play a stupid game, next week she is getting stuck watching me watch the Yankees.

Sunday and Fear

Worst Nightmare:
This past Sunday my biggest fear came true, I got trapped in an elevator. I was on my way to the bar to watch Hurling ( I will explain that later) and I felt that I needed to take Pepe out for one last walk. However, seeing as I was wearing heels and the fact that my stairs are really steep and Pepe tends to run down them I decided against my better judgement to take the elevator. Big Mistake. Somewhere between the 3rd floor and the 2nd floor the elevator decided to stop. And of course because it was only going to be a quick walk I did not bring my phone.

Fear sets in: 
So here I am trapped in an elvator that is so small my suitecases had to go in one at a time when I moved in. I try to open the door, no such luck, I try to press the emergency button and that just makes a ear piercing screech. So on a Sunday, Mother's Day to be  precise, at about 4pm I am trapped in a elevator with no one in my building. 20 or so minuets go by and I hear the door below me open, oh thank god, right?

Help:
Well sorta... It is a friend of one of my neighbors, only problem is he speaks no English and just a little bit of French. With lots of hand gestures, and some French, English, and Italian thrown around he managed to comprehend that I was suck and that I needed him to call the service number that is on the sign on the first floor. He calls and from what I gather the company is sending someone, when and who? I have no idea.

Nice Neighbors:
The next person to see me trapped in my personal hell suspended a couple of meters off the ground is my very disheveled elderly neighbor who lives 2 floors below me. I manage to tell him that someone called and that the serviceman should be on his way. Being the caring man he is he goes off in search of the man who first called the service. He cannot find him but believes me sane enough that I did not make up the man. This neighbor mind you speaks not a word of English and my French is terrible at best. Yet this sweet old man does not want to leave me alone in the elevator so he knocks on my 3rd floor neighbors door. She is an equally elderly and frail woman who is in her full housecleaning garb, slippers, housecoat, apron, and rubber gloves. She becomes concerned for my safety as well. I try to tell them both (and myself at this point) that I am fine, someone will come and help me out. Sensing that I am starting to panic, I have been in the elevator for almost and hour and a half at this point, the woman takes two chairs from her apartment sits them on the landing and my neighbors sit "with" me until the serviceman comes. I wish I could have videotaped the way the kept peering at me thought the grates of the elevator door and tried to understand my broken French. Looking back it was quite hilarious, they are now convinced I am a nutty American.

The Climb: Two hours afer getting stuck in the elevator the serviceman arrived and with the simple turn of a key and push of an override button he was able to release the door and free me form my "cage of fear". It was not an easy escape however, first Pepe was hauled out, then my shoes and then I had to climb out. Now the 3rd floor landing was about at my shoulder level so a simple push with my arms and climb out was not happening. **FYI boys: girls center of gravity is lower than yours so pull-ups/push-ups are more difficult for us.
Anyway with some help from my neighbor and the elevator man I manganged to get myslef out, not without some serious bruising though.

I look like an assault victim. But at least I have survived one of my biggest fears, I would like so congratulations for that. As well as no one calling me crazy when I take the stairs.

Food Porn

Before I moved to Paris most of my life wine revolved around food and wine. Now my life really revolves around food and wine. If any of you have the same inclinations here are my top 5 food porn sights.


1. www.foodporndaily.com
2. www.foodporn.net
3. www.tastespotting.com
4. www.latartinegourmande.com
5. www.greatfoodphotos.com


I realize this may make me seem like a loser but I swear I am not obsessed. You have two choices: one, I am either very happy and I found my passion or two I am doign research for my future business.

You can pick, and if you don't pick an option that puts me a favorable light you can consider your Sunday dinner invitaion revoked....

xoxo

Exams

Yesterday was final exam day here in Paris. Before I explain the full situation let me explain how the process works. Three weeks before our exam we are given a list of ten recipes that could be our exam dish, it will be a dish we have already cooked, but this really does not make it any less stressful. On exam day we all head up to our assigned kitchen and are handed one of two colored disks. The colored disk corresponds to a dish. Yesterday the blue disk meant roast duck with glazed onions and turnips and the yellow disk meant sea bream with fennel. We entered the kitchen and found our baskets with our needed ingredients, we have 2.5 hours to cook and plate the dish. After that, our plates are assigned a number and they are taken to a panel of chefs. These are chefs from outside the school, they judge on taste, and presentation. Our chef in the kitchen grades our technique and our knowledge of the recipe. There are obviously no notes or speaking allowed in the kitchen. Very Top Chef/Chopped unh?

Anyway, with that in mind I felt very prepared, I have been studying my butt off for 3 weeks, the only thing I did not want was to have was Chef Franck as my kitchen judge. Chef Franck is your stereotypical arrogant, demeaning, Parisian. Seriously the man does not think his shit stinks. I have dubbed him "devil chef". He actually spit out my friends sauce and gave her zero for a practical. Anyway, with Devil Chef breathing down my neck I had to roast a duck, glaze onions, and turn and glaze turnips.

Let me remind you, the ingredients we receive are not from Whole Foods, they are not ready to cook. For example the duck comes with its feet still on, and yesterday my duck's feet still had duck poop on them! Try figuring out how to keep your space sanitary with poopy duck feet! Anyway the duck feet came off, the extra feathers were flambéed and plucked out, the bird was seasoned and trussed, so far so good. And then comes the garnish, well that was a different story, I burned my onions, I didn't destroy them but it was a low point, I managed to save a few but Devil Chef made note of my screw up. Other than that food comes out ok until Devil Chef informs us we have to de-bone the entire duck. That is when the serious "FUCK MY LIFE" moment happened, I have no idea how to debone a full roasted duck. Let just say for those of you who were at "pre Thanksgiving 2010" it was not as bad as the drunk carving of the turkey but it sure as shit was not pretty.

So far no phone call saying I failed so here's to hoping!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Rue Saint-Romain,Paris,France

A very belated recipie

I am sorry I promised many of you this Quiche Lorraine recipe a very long time ago...

Short Crust (for a 22cm mold)
200g flour
100g butter
5g salt
1 egg
2tbsp water

Place flour in bowl, add salt, make well in flour. Knead the butter slightly to soften and make easier to mix into dry ingredients. Mix flour and butter together until mixture reaches a sandy texture. Add the egg and cold water, mix ingredients until dough forms a ball, DO NOT OVER MIX. Wrap in plastic, flatten with palm, and chill in refrigerator for a least 20 min. 

Roll out dough on floured surface with rolling pin. Dough should be approximately 3mm thick and 2-3cm larger than mold or pie plate. Lay dough into buttered baking vessel, making sure dough is against all sides. Trim off excess dough, prick bottom of dough with fork, line dough with either oven safe plastic wrap or parchment. Fill mold or pie plate with pie weights or dry beans. Blind bake dough in 180 degree Celsius (350 degrees Fahrenheit) for approximately 10 minuets.

Filling (feel free to change ingredients, keeping cream and egg ratios) 
180g bacon (salt slab if available)
100g  Gruyere cheese (diced or grated)
3 eggs
250ml cream
salt, pepper, nutmeg

Cut bacon into cubes, blanch in cold water, skim impurities off surface of water. After water reaches a boil strain and rinse bacon. Saute bacon in butter, brown lightly. Wish together eggs and cream, season with salt, pepper, nutmeg. Strain egg mixture. Add bacon and cheese to crust and fill crust with egg mixture, bake in 180 degree Celsius (350 degree Fahrenheit) oven until top is golden brown.

Enjoy!!!

** I apologize for the metric system and I think my English has gotten worse**

An American (drink) in Paris

There is a cocktail called the Americano. It is on many bistro menus here in Paris. The cocktail has intrigued me since we inadvertently ordered one for Jimmy at dinner last week. We actually spoke about he coctail in class last week, it consists of:

1 oz Campari
1 oz sweet (red) vermouth
Club soda
An orange slice or lemon twist for garnish
In a Collins glass full of ice, pour in the Campari and vermouth, and top off with club soda. Garnish, stir and serve. 

 

The drink is actually surprisingly refreshing, and while pink it is not a fruity drink at all. There is a bit of history behind this drink, it is actually thefirst cocktail James Bond orders in Ian Fleming's first-ever Bond book, Casino Royal. In later books, he famously switches to martinis, and the Americano has been largely forgotten as a Bond drink.

The Americano was created in the 1860s in Italy and was originally named the Milano-Torino because it was made with the bitter red liqueur Campari, which comes from Milan, and the red vermouth (in this case, Cinzano), which comes from Turin. Bartenders noticed that the drink was particularly popular with visiting Americans, so they renamed it the Americano, and the name stuck.

Well mistakenly ordered by a few American's in Caen, this American is a fan. 

Pepe Update

Pepe utilizing the Velib bikes in Paris.

Visitors and excursions

Today I said goodbye to my first visitors, it made me sad to say goodbye to my friends. Price and Jimmy were excellent house guests, the rest of you now have a very high standards to live up to. I was also happy to have people make me do the touristy things, most of you know how I go out of my way to stay away form tourist attractions. However, I must admit that there are usually pretty good reasons for the monuments and places that make a city famous. So I finally made it to the top of the Eiffel Tower, Sacred Heart, the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach, and finally Mont Saint Michel. You can see for yourself how awe inspiring some of these places can be.

Any interest in visiting?

I think it's a pretty easy sell, hopefully I will see you all soon.

Things I have realized

I have learned a few things while living away from New York and the US in general.

I have learned it is nice to have time. Just time in general and I have tried to use this time to get lost. And I mean supremely, ultimately, don't know which way is north, south, east, west, or homeward bound lost. In order to do this I take Pepe for a walk and we just wander. I have discovered the most amazing little streets, and shops this way. Paris is full of miraculous surprises big and small.

There are a quite a few upsides to this method of discovery, you never know where you are going to end up or what you are going to see. Since there are usually low expectations for getting lost this meandering stress free approach provides an optimistic view of a typically negative situation. However there are a few downsides, poor Pepe's little legs get tired very quickly so I end up carrying him most of the way home. But also since there is no set route to my wandering I very rarely remember where I have been.

But all in all I see some truly wonderful things and have always managed to find my way home.

Next time your here I suggest you take a few hours and get lost!

I mean that in the nicest way possible. Really I do.
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America in Paris

I found my love
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The view

The view on my evening walk home
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Paris, Parks, Pepe, and Pickpockets

Yesterday was a beautiful day in Paris, so lovely that I managed to get a slight sunburn that is now nice and toasty brown. I felt like I was back in college studying , making flash cards, and generally being distracted in a park with Pepe.

Pepe and I had a wonderful time, he got to play with the ball in front of Les Invalides. Les Invalides is a beautiful complex of buildings with a rich history. According to the all knowing Wikipedia " Les Invalides, officially known as L'Hôtel national des Invalides (The National Residence of the Invalids), is a complex of buildings in the 7th arrondissement of Paris, France, containing museums and monuments, all relating to the military history of France, as well as a hospital and a retirement home for war veterans, the building's original purpose. The buildings house the Musée de l'Armée, the military museum of the Army of France, the Musée des Plans-Reliefs, and the Musée d'Histoire Contemporaine, as well as the burial site for some of France's war heroes, notably Napoleon Bonaparte" It is one of my favorite locations of in Paris.

Yesterday there were the the usual pick-up soccer games, and I find it amazing that almost all cars stop for the grown men running across the street to retrieve the soccer balls, in New York I have a feeling that a lot of these out of shape men would end up on the hood of a yellow taxi cab. But other than watch the soccer games I also witnessed a little gypsy boy, no more than 8, and his sister being arrested for pickpocketing a cell phone, and it was obvious that this was not his first time in the back of a police car. Just another warning keep all small electronics in your bag.

It was a beautiful day with a small lesson in Parisian life.

Hope you all come visit soon!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SYLVIE!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

LOVE YOU!!!