Nuts and bolts

Woe betide the service who provides my land phone line and internet: I've been without any connection since 11 October, and many many phone calls later with members at the technical desk, they promise a solution by the end of the week. Pictures and recipes are stored up, just like nuts and apples. I hope to continue my usual activities soon. PS: I see the movie Julie and Julia on Saturday!

Four: Have More Meals with Friends.

Have More Meals with Friends. This is what I thought when K. served coffee and S. made omelette on toast. Food that would rival that of any Californian diner, a few weeks back in the sunniest corner of The Netherlands.

Report more about meals with friends, too. Why not keep these pages, reduce the rhythm of posting somewhat, and occasionally dwell on pleasant meals? There is a decisive downside to deleting this blog: links disappear, and gone is the easy consulting of how tos in my own archive.

Berlin in Food

Sunday, Kantine Berliner Ensemble, 7.19 p.m. Kartoffelsalat mit Bockwurst.

Monday, Spandau, 12.35 p.m. Rolladen filled with home-made pickled pumpkin, Brussels sprouts.

Tuesday, Sophienstrasse, Bäckerei Balzer, 2.03 p.m.

Wednesday, Friedrichstrasse, Café Einstein, 5.37 p.m.

Thursday, Potsdamer Platz, Lutter & Wegner, 5.07 p.m. Berliner Kartoffelsuppe mit frischem Majoram.

Friday, tofu salad at the day spa, 1.55 p.m.

Saturday, Gourmet Etage KaDeWe, 4.16 p.m. Fried sardines.

Sunday, Münzstrasse, Café Oliv, 12.38 p.m. Bircher Muesli.

Haute Cuisine and Babies at Li Cwerneu

Ever so rarely, when special times occur, we dabble in haute cuisine in these pages. This time partner-in-crime/blogger Oleandri and I ventured south, into river Maas/Meuse territory. It was one of those rare summer evenings, balmy -in the water near the city of Huy, a water-skier towed by a boat performed tricks in the setting sun.
In Huy our stop was Grand'Place 2, where chef Arabelle Meirlaen and husband Pierre Thirifays skilfully hold the reins. At Li Cwerneu - old French from Burgundy times for the bell man, while savoring a 5-course menu of cuisine intuitive, we had a gastronomic evening.
En route, babies were our main topic. How big our surprize then upon discovering that babies and haute cuisine are greatly married in Huy. Even before our starter, a series of color, taste, and hand-picked vegetables and flowers, we heard a small baby noise from the kitchen.
When next we tucked in a Tartare de Boeuf Bleu Blanc Belge with wasabi mayo and Belgian caviar, we realized that chef, husband, fellow cooks and personnel in betwixt work were all tending to a very small infant.
What a feat for mom and dad of this 1-star restaurant, we marveled, while savoring cod with artichoke mash, peas and red beet. Dad's approach was so relaxed, we murmured. This topic stayed on our plates of veal from Corrèze and seasonal veggies.
Around our plates of cheese and sweetness, dad answered our most pressing questions. Was this a girl? Check. Was this a new-born? Two and a half. Did mom breastfeed? Check.
We really thought we had seen or heard it all by the time boxed sweetness and a cup of hand-picked calendula in tea were rounding off our meal.
Not so. The pièce de résistance came at the end: by contemporary means, we were all connected to a number one - a 25-month old. The owners here had more plates to spin than just cotton candy.

Moon over Brussels

Moon over Brussels, 24 August 2010, 9.26 p.m.

Garden beauties

I'm in dire need of a pick me up. To chase the deluge of last Monday's rain, here's a memory from mid July, when I basically lived on the porch: Achillea millefolium, a curry plant, and cynara Cardunculus from the garden.

July brings...

I'm writing this after an evening of decadence and bliss in the same Cherry Garden where my sister and I recently collected some bounty. No camera, no company. Just me and the proverbial snake. Seven days of harsh sun had done wonders for the dark harvest on heavy boughs and branches. I picked. I ate until I couldn't see another cherry. The sun was setting in the distance between the trees; I hurdled a ladder and a laden box through tall nettled grass. Meanwhile, the ribes niger or nigrum in my garden is growing in that same good sun. July portends more fun with summer fruit.

Quick bite in town

Before a board meeting, a quick bite. Mamma Roma, Brussels, Monday 7 June, 7:45 p.m.

Meyer Lemon Mystique

May started with a frisson of emotion in a Californian garden: my first encounter with Meyer lemons, of Alice Waters fame. I stepped up close to a tree, and smelled the thick rind of a specimen freshly picked. The lady of the house does all sorts of things with them in her kitchen and isn't prepared to live in a country that doesn't have lemon trees in gardens. And I, I am left with a new desire: the desire to handle this fruit one day and be overwhelmed by its fragrance.

Two omelettes

Forget the ocean, though it's near. Forget the pizzazz of Silicon Valley. Sunny dust settles in the tiny farmer's town of Pescadero. The American flag stands exceptionally tall. At Duarte's Tavern, locals greet each other, greet the owners and have a second breakfast.
It's not yet eleven and too early for artichoke soup, though the kitchen is full of Spanish clatter. Pans sizzling and bread ovens warming up. I ordered the Mexican omelette: a perfectly folded thin omelette enveloping one long green pepper.
When I read Jason Epstein's account of making omelettes au bain marie, and over low heat, Duarte's omelette sprang to my mind. And when a friend gave me some very fresh eggs, I tried my hand at it.
As I prepared it without butter, my first attempt still ended up as scrambled eggs.
At Duarte's I had room left for Olallieberry pie, freshly baked and still hot. Thanks, Tea and Cookies, for luring me to the delights of Northern California!

In shipshape shape but reading (1)

The ash cloud has kept me extra muros a bit longer. So we read.

During a Mediterranean meal this week with friends I hadn't seen for a while, it took little time before we broached the subject of food, farmer's markets and home-grown vegetable gardens. One of my convivial table companions mentioned Jason Epstein's memoir Eating.

The New York-based former editorial chief at Random House wrote in fact two memoirs: one about books, another about his relationship to food, which started in his grandmother's wainscoted kitchen in Maine.

The book is a fluid recollection of lessons in cooking, meals and encounters. Memoir is larded with recipe, but in broad, effective strokes, like a seasoned cook, not a didactic cookbook writer. Epstein was the editor of many a famous chef.

In matters of food, Epstein is no purist, but an epicurean omnivore without complexes. He's knowledgeable about the seafood goodies of the East coast, and not at all squeamish with live lobsters. His doctor put him on a diet, but he ends the memoir with a tarte tatin. The very last sentence is: And life goes on.

Epstein uses the word shipshape in Eating - Tony Curtis was in "shipshape shape" too in Some Like It Hot.

Interludium

Another extra muros experience. Meanwhile, enjoy Spring.

Mystery herb's identity unveiled: anise hyssop

Herb nusery and plant seller Duizendblad couldn't post this, but this is what she wrote about our mystery herb in ice cream:

"without having a sniff - then I would be sure - I'd say Agastache foeniculum (dropplant) or anise hyssop. It should smell of anise and mint...."

Signs of Spring, cont'd

Do you remember this? Well, here's the update for you. Not a single credit goes to me-the previous owners planted these.

Still nippy for the time of year. Last year I had my first evening meal al fresco on 19 April. I hope to post one soon.

Happy Easter!

Happy Easter! This installation was set up and photographed for me by I.S., clever boy of eight, a couple of weeks ago. The giant blue egg is his. He had a lot of fun trying different settings and lighting with his dad's camera.

Sortie à Mons

Outing in the hilly city of Mons, just voted cultural capital of Europe in 2015. Apart from its amazing collegial church in Brabant high gothic style (15th century), its Gutenberg Bible, its fine food and utopian Mundaneum archive, I also admired some unusual pastries in this bakery rue de Nimy. Mons really merits another long visit.

Pommes de terre (marzipan)

Covered fruit pastries, very unusual.

Litzer, very unusual (they probably mean Linzer).
Luxembourgeoise, very unusual.
Maybe the baker has Alsace or Lorraine roots.

Signs of Spring

I'd already noticed their little heads, but only just today -one day after storm Xinthia, we had the weather to photograph them. True, only 5 ° Celsius still, but sunny and dry: first signs of manicured opulence in my garden. Tulips and crocuses, faithfully present each year.

New Year at the Windmill

Spent a couple of hours on the last day of January at this restored windmill for the annual New Year's Drink. Some horsemen stopped by. Still winter, but almost a foreboding of something lighter, something warmer.

Thalassa thalassa

It's becoming a serious tradition: the Walk on New Year's Day. That walk was held, and soon repeated by one on the beach. The waves were unusually high.
It was bright sunny and cold. The sand was frozen and very easy to walk.
Some like to walk on a full stomach, while others prefer an empty one and like to wait.
Whenever the polders are coated with snow, hunters are not allowed to shoot pheasants which come out to play.