For the sake of my little finger’s cushion
I must sharpen my kitchen knives – the point at which I have to use force to cut a tomato is long gone… I hate doing it and blame Jean-Claude Dreyfus (Delicatessen cannibal butcher if you recall) for making it seem so creepy… But I sliced into the cushion of my little finger last week and it still hurts (the cut is healed, but the trauma from how much force I was using when the knife came down – aïe ouille).
Wouldn’t you think twice about going anywhere near a knife or sharpening one after watching Delicatessen? Me too.
Sugar, coffee and making ducks
Last night I was lamenting the fact I have not drank any coffee for about 4 or 5 months. I love coffee – but it doesn’t love me back. Actually it pretty much hates me. Since this is clearly an abusive relationship it is logical for me to steer clear.
And as I was letting out a sad sigh imagining how much I would enjoy coffee at that very moment, the sigh became longer and more pronounced (probably audible in the Northern hemisphere by that point) when I thought of the delight that would also be making a duck in my coffee. I don’t know what the practice is called in other countries, but in France it is ‘Faire un canard‘ (don’t ask me: I just speak the language, I didn’t come up with it). And it’s as simple as taking a sugar cube, dipping it into coffee, and chomping on it.
The art of the perfect duck however not so simple: don’t dip in too long or the sugar cube will become saturated with coffee and begin to crumble – either in your cup, or even worse in your mouth when you are expecting a crisp chomp. Don’t dip in too little, or you won’t taste enough coffee and it will take a while to work your way through chewing a largish lump of dry sugar. This is speaking from years of practice: my parents let me make canards in their coffee as a child, long before I was allowed a cup all to myself.
Even though I swore off sugar more than a decade ago and I can’t handle coffee (you’re following right?), about now they both sound just like heaven. Especially if the sugar is shaped like a little ducky.
Sigh….
I found the little sugar ducky here. In case you want a box of 12, in which 11 are white sugar and 1 is raw.
Memories from childhood: eat your chocolate
You might call it snacking between meals. We call it ‘le goûter’ or ‘le 4 heures’ as it takes place at 4PM.
Every French child looks forward to 4PM as a treasured ritual (a daily mini Christmas if you will). That’s because typically you’re not handed an apple. Think cake, biscuits or chocolate and bread instead – ‘du pain et du chocolat’ (not to be confused with ‘pain au chocolat’ which you buy from a boulangerie – and while still a legitimate goûter, not an everyday thing).
When I was little I definitely didn’t have anything against chocolate, but I usually ate my bread first. Which meant I often didn’t have room for the chocolate after that. A lady from a day care centre I stayed at actually told my mum she’d never seen this before – or had to utter the words ‘Now eat your chocolate’. Ha!
I still have goûter everyday. And if 4PM comes around and I’m not hungry, I’m genuinely disappointed. And if by 3:30 my stomach is rumbling, I do a little victory dance in my head and start thinking about what I’ll be having.
Even if it’s not that exciting some days (yes, I do eat apples for goûter now) it still feels like a treat and it stirs some very strong memories.
In the gorgeous ‘Le goûter‘ blog (written in French), a lot of other people feel this way and share. Read about their goûters, you will see what I mean.
Le goûter, it’s not snacking between meals – it’s a way of life.
(Image from ‘Le goûter de Damien‘)
How you can tell I’m cooking with a migraine
My vinegar Brussel sprout soak and bug check were much shorter than usual and I even found myself thinking ‘If I eat a bug it won’t kill me’.
I did not stir my polenta with my favourite wooden stick (I always stir polenta with a wooden stick). Instead, I stirred everything cooking in different pots using the same spoon (lentils, polenta and onions), and justified it by thinking ‘So what? It’s all going to mix in my stomach anyway’.
I did not even go into frustration or grumbles when I noticed I was out of pumpkin seeds and had to substitute sunflower: I just thought ‘Bah, that’ll do’ instead of contemplating a dash to the supermarket during peak hour traffic.
And to top it all of when dinner was ready I nearly started eating without saying ‘Bon appétit’.
My head hurts… But I pulled dinner off and my stomach is satisfyingly full of Brussel sprouts, lentils and polenta (and maybe a few bugs). My head hurts too much to care.
(Image is from here)
What I’m sniffing today and why
I don’t eat sugar: I swore it off around my 18th birthday and I’ve pretty much stuck to that principle since. To be clear, refined sugar (in anything) – fruit and I, we’re all good. I know: why, right? Many reasons. That’s all you’re getting from me in terms of an explanation right before dinnertime.
But with all this in mind, in my pantry I still have a teeny packet of vanilla sugar. I have it for one reason only: my grandmother kept a huge jar of it and the smell of vanilla sugar is woven into many of my memories of her. Today I took the little packet out and sniffed it at length, repeatedly: it’s her birthday (she would have been 96). I miss her just that little bit less when I smell vanilla sugar (I said I didn’t eat sugar, I didn’t say I don’t like the smell!).
(Photo and how-to for making vanilla sugar from the amazing-looking Baking Bites).
Is something wrong with me?
If given the choice between a bowl of (vegan) ice-cream and a bowl of grated carrots (with flax meal on top!), I will take the carrots.
Yes, really. So I ask again: is something wrong? Because I feel totally normal.
(Image is from here).
Cheap thrills
I am right now thoroughly enjoying a bowl of beetroot and corn, and wearing one of my favourite pieces of clothing (a white blouse with some circular embroidery going on all over).
Now usually, when I eat beetroot, I put on an apron. Yep. Because I’m kind of clumsy. But today against my better judgement I am relishing the laziness and have skipped the apron. So I’m eating something purple that stains like nothing else, and wearing white.
It makes me feel like I live so dangerously and on the edge. Yep. Sad.
What am I doing wrong?
1.Boil water.
2.Add water to instant coffee (organic and fair trade I might say) and a teeny bit of cocoa powder.
3.Stir.
4.Add soy milk.
5.Microwave 1 minute (soy milk was straight out of fridge).
6.Taste: beurk*. Big time. Every time. Honestly!
Am I the only person in the world who cannot turn instant coffee into a decent cup of café au lait?
*Just in case you need to confirm your suspicions of what I am trying to say.
(Image is from here)
Saturday correspondence
Dear hair: why so dry? I seriously am on my way to looking like a crazy witch.
Dear Angus and Julia Stone: why so mumbly? I thought you were talking about Dustin Hoffman having a tantrum in your song ‘The Beast’ (‘stomping Rainman’??), instead of understanding your sweet poetic reminder to have your life under control (‘don’t be running late’)*.
By the way, I love your music.
Dear weather: why so hot?
Dear France: why so far?
Dear Bonsoy: why so full of iodine you had to be recalled? I cannot live without you, and have had to do without my drink of choice for the last few weeks. Not cool.
Dear teeth: why so sore? You are not only still killing me, you are sharing your pain with my right eye and ear. Why?!
Dear Lucas Paw Paw ointment: why made primarily from petroleum jelly? I thought you were good for me. You bastard.
Dear sugar-free vegan dark chocolate: hello.
Dear Christian and Mira: let me kiss you on the nose. It will make me feel better. I know neither of you like it much, but please take one for the team (ie, me). Much appreciated.
*If you think this is funny, consider this other musical misunderstanding of mine: ‘Hey now, you’re an oyster’.
(Image is from here).
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