Some things you just do not mess with

You may think this is an Oh, Bev post. You know, based on the vaguely confrtontational title. But you'd be wrong.

This is about Rob baking. And following (more or less) a recipe. Because some things are sacred. Not in the "Hey it's a cathedral/mosque/synagogue/other place of worship and we should maybe respect that faith's religious beliefs while inside" sort of way. No, the flippant sort of sacred that I tend to use a lot more.

I am talking, of course, about Toll House cookies.

For those of you unfamiliar with this recipe, I'm sorry for your wasted childhood/allergy to one of the included ingredients. I've been eating these since I was a wee lad and making them since I was a slightly less wee lad. I almost considered doing something different with it this time (adding ingredients, things like that), but I wisely changed my mind and just followed the damned recipe (with obligatory adjustments, mainly involving vanilla and salt). So, for your viewing pleasure, here we go.

THE SACRAMENTS

So, here's what I used for this round of cookies. You can see the stuff wherever I put the pictures this time.

250 g butter, softened
310 g flour
1 tsp and change salt
1 tsp baking soda
150 g white sugar
~165 g brown sugar
Vanilla (Lots)
2 eggs
400 g dark chocolate (70%)

Don't add tomatoes. That's just a bad idea.

Yeah, they don't exactly sell semi-sweet chocolate chips out here, so I went with a few bars of dark chocolate. Between chopping and tasting, I'd say 380-390 g of the stuff actually made it into the dough. I probably chopped it a bit too finely, but this is manly baking time (more on that later).









WE THREE BOWLS

First off, I cut the butter into cubey things to let it soften a bit more quickly. You know how I am with stirring in butter. Not great, that's how. Meanwhile, I combined the flour, salt, and baking soda in a small bowl (or tried- it was almost too much for the small bowl). This gave a nice little photo opportunity with the chocolate.

Say cheese! But seriously. Don't add cheese either. That's also a bad idea.

COMMUNING WITH THE DOUGH

And at this point, I started making the actual dough. I went ahead and combined the two sugars, the vanilla, and the butter, slowly adding the butter (1 cube at a time) and trying to stir it as much as possible. Around this time, Bev decided to enter. She advised that I mix the dough with my hands to get the butter in there even better/more easily, as I was using a wooden spoon. I prefer to do these things the way I've done them (since that's worked in the past and I have no reason to think they won't keep working), but she certainly didn't help her case by adding something along the lines of, "It makes it much more sensual that way."

What. No. I'm not wasting dough on my hands unless I'm trying to get it onto cookie sheets or I'm cleaning the bowl. Also, sensual is not a term I like to associate with baking. Apt though it may be, just no. She also proceeded to add something about how much fun it was to lick your fingers afterwards. No, Bev. Again, not wasting dough, and second, I don't want to hear you talking about sensual and licking, because that makes me want to throw bleach onto my brain. Whatever hallucinations the lesions that produces will be a long respite from the mental image you just had to give me there.

Let's temper that with an image of the dough, post egg.

What do you know, it did become a bit of an Oh, Bev post.













Anyway, I got the butter in pretty well (without resorting to my hands) and proceeded to add the eggs one at a time, stirring as I went. This makes the dough look kinda ooky, but that's why we don't stop here. That and it's bat country.

Then I gradually stirred in the flour mixture, which gets tough because good Lord does the dough thicken. But that's part of the greatness. One reason that I don't want to waste the dough on my hands earlier is because (despite what I literally just said) it's delicious on its own. Salmonella be damned. I've yet to have that problem, and even if I did, it'd be a small price to pay for the deliciousness of Toll House cookie dough. It's even fine without the chocolate.

So thick. So delicious. Marry me, Toll House.

After the flour went in, I added the bajeepers out of that chocolate. And lo, a terrible beauty was born.

Terribly DELICIOUS.

BAKING THE FLOCK

Before

And now's around where things supposedly get really easy. I say supposedly, because like everything that's theoretically easy (pasta, rice, etc.), I always manage to screw it up somehow. Basically, instructions are to throw the oven to 375 F/190 C/T6/460 K and bake the cookies (put in tablespoon sized globs) for 9-11 minutes or until they're cooked.

And around now, you're probably saying, "Gosh, Rob, how could someone as handsome and intelligent and incredibly modest as you screw something like that up? The instructions are incredibly clear!"

And I reply with, "Oh you. Yes, those instructions seem clear, but you really want to use a teaspoon, NOT a tablespoon, to get the right volume and spacing and such. And also, ovens lie to you. They lie something fierce."

But Toll House cookies aren't about uniformity. They're about delicious. Yes, some got a bit burny on the bottom. Yes, some are a bit bigger than others. Yes, some got a bit conjoined. But they're still phenomenal. If I could change anything in how I did this one, I'd throw in more baking soda- these came out a bit flatter than what I'm used to getting, and I think it comes from the extra sugar (the American recipe calls for 3/4 cup sugar and 3/4 cup brown sugar I believe (maybe it's 1/4 cup of both), but I clearly added more brown sugar) and the extra chocolate (336 g corresponds to the actual pack of chocolate chips you get from Nestle). But regardless of the "goût particulier" that Bev somewhat complained about from (she claims) the baking soda, they were still well received by Bev and Elmo, and the teachers at my school ate them up. I also got a comment from the directeur (read: principal) about how this sort of thing helps with the ladies.

Cue knowing nod. Not that I have any ulterior motives with this New Year's Resolution or anything.

Now if you'll pardon me, I'ma have one more before I go to sleep.

Montpellier Days 1 and 2!

Okay, here I am typing into a Word document because the Wifi doesn’t work right now. But it all works out because I’M IN MONTPELLIER! Which really doesn’t merit that much excitement in the grand scheme of things. I mean, it’s great that I’m away from Combs, especially given my most recent “Oh, Bev” posting (speaking of, she was much nicer the next day- maybe I was just in a bad mood that night, maybe there’s a reason I don’t like dealing with other people AKA Bev while I’m cooking, but either way, much better, even though she did her usual vaguely passive-aggressive, “Oh I wish I had the money to travel like that” and being somewhat critical of my initial plan to go to Avignon (thwarted by a lack of lodging opportunities the night before) because I guess she didn’t think that I maybe wanted to see the Palais des Papes rather than a general medieval French town? But I digress and prattle on in my parentheticals), but Montpellier has been kinda meh. Don’t get me wrong, lovely city, plenty of museums to see, but the ones I’ve seen so far have been somewhat mediocre/not really my thing, and there’s a distinct lack of bodies of water to take pictures of canals and bridges. But that doesn’t stop me from trying!

Anyway, yes, I decided on Montpellier on the advice of another assistant because Avignon was booked and I couldn’t figure out lodging on the cheap anywhere else. I grabbed an early TGV out of Paris (having gotten far too little sleep, as I’ve been doing over the past couple of weeks, alas) and got into Montpellier just before noon (like, 5 till) and made the 15ish minute walk to my hostel. And this would have been great if the hostel wasn’t closed (and I mean doors locked, no one inside) from noon until 3. And so, I wandered. Want to see what I saw?

Of course you do. And I want Word to stop this extra spacing baloney so that I don’t have gaps you can drive a truck through between my sentences.

So right off the bat I got to see the Place de la Comédie, which is very nice and sunlit and full of overpriced restaurants and cafés that are surprisingly (or maybe not given the convenience) hopping around noon. And there’s a MacDo that I considered going to today to get Wifi, but I settled on another café down the street to get a more French experience and part with more of my euros than I otherwise would have. But the café crème was very good, and they served it with a little bit of chocolate. Daww. However, that’s more of a later thing, but you knowing it now saves me the need to go back to it later (or something like that). Either way, your chronology gets to be a bit wacky, as is my wont. Just pretend you’re reading Les Mis around the time of that really long sentence about Louis d’Orléans. Wait- no. Don’t do that. That sentence is really boring and uses semicolons like I use parentheses.

Anyway, since I had to wander around with my backpack (you know, the Philmont pack that has served me well lo these many years), I decided to shy away from museums a bit, which disrupted my initial plans a little. I went by my hostel and then backtracked to the gare to get an idea of how long it takes to get there when you know where you’re going (and to find more or less the most direct route). Then I continued to wander and came across the Faculté de Medecine, where you can find the Musée Atger, which I wanted to visit after I got my stuff dropped off at the hostel. Then (after a jaunt back to the hostel to check on how long it would take to get to the Atger from the hostel, because I had nothing better to do I guess), I went over to the Jardin des Plantes.

In all its planty goodness

See that? It's all closed.

The Jardin des Plantes is actually pretty cool in theory, but in December, it loses a bit of its allure. The concept behind it is that the medical school established it as a source for the students to do research on botanical remedies and such. (I’m sure Bev, naturopath that she is, would love this until she realized that this is how the so-called “medical mafia” finds new drugs. Of course, even then she’d probably deny it because she knows what she knows, and she’s read things, and I’m too young to understand. /rant) Again, I’m sure in summer, it’s absolutely wonderful with all sorts of flowers. As is, it was surprisingly green, mainly due to the evergreens and cacti they’ve got there.

Also, a significant portion of the gardens are closed for renovations or some such. Ah well.

And then I kept wandering, where I saw such things as…

A nice French street

A nice view

How precious. Anyway, my shoulders thoroughly hurting after all this, it was finally 3, and after getting a bit lost again, probably looking vaguely ridiculous with my giant backpack, I meandered back to the hostel and got checked in, whereupon I met a group of American students studying abroad in Aix-en-Provence (2 from Vandy, one from John’s Hopkins, one from Barnard, who called Barnard a “girl’s school.” I was amused by the latter’s comment).

Anyhoo, I convinced them to come along to the Faculté de Medecine to see the Musée Atger, because hey, it’s free, it’s open, and it could be fun. So we went there and saw a surprisingly well-furbished building (French universities are pretty run down- we admittedly didn’t go into any classrooms, but the hallways in some places were a bit sketchy looking). We finally figured out where the museum was (it’s housed within the Faculté, but there are no signs for it when you just go in), and we made our way up there!

Hooray!

And then we found that it’s closed for electrical work. Basically this weekend only. Great. Fine. We didn’t want to see any of your Italian and Flemish drawings anyway. Nyah.

So we headed next door to the Cathedral (St. Pierre I think?), which was nice. I took pictures. They’re the obligatory ones, and you can head to the Picasa to see the interior shots, but I’ll give you a nice exterior shot of it.

See? Wasn’t that nice? Of course it was.

Then we went to see the Arc de Triomphe (or tried- one of the people in the group had a rather irritating tendency to just suddenly run off in another direction, which made keeping the group together a tad difficult) and the park around it. It was very pretty, though cold.

Around this time, we were starting to get a bit cold (by we, I mean they, because I’ve gotten a bit used to the Parisian winter, where there’s no sun and it’s a bit colder, so I can deal with wind and such. They’re only a few weeks into Aix, where it’s likely warm enough to not make a huge difference), and then we started to get hungry, only to find that places for dinner only open at 7.

But at 7, dine we did. I found a little Italian place down a side street near the hostel that had pretty cheap (under 10 euro) main dishes. It was an incredible buy- the portions were pretty well sized, the waiter kept bringing us water and bread without us having to ask (which is somewhat rare from what I’ve seen of French restaurants, but then that’s just the Parisian ones). I opted against dessert, but one of our party went for it, getting an ice cream thing and initially asking for one spoon. He probably thought, as I did, that it’d be maybe a scoop or two with a little bit of topping.

We thought wrong. Thankfully, the waiter convinced us to go with 5 spoons (for the 5 of us), because this thing was huge. It was about 4 scoops of coffee ice cream, a Nutella center, a chocolate mousse topping (which was gigantic- took us about 5 minutes to get through just that part), and had some sliced almonds over the top. I wish I had had the presence of mind to have gotten pictures of this, because it was goodlordamazing.

And then after dessert, the waiter brought out some (I think) Limoncella (lemon after dinner drink- sorta like a somewhat alcoholic lemonade?).

Basically, it was quite possibly the best value French dinner I’ve had since I’ve been in France. Full and tired as I was, I opted to go to an Internet café (because the hostel Wifi, as I noted before, is down. Grr.) for a bit to check e-mail and run my Mafia (yeah, I have a problem) and check my webcomics (crap, forgot XKCD. Oh well- I’ll get that next time I find Internet.). At this point, I finally met my roommate, an older (40s maybe?) German actor who is trying to improve his French. So I got some French speaking in, read a few more pages of Madame Bovary (yeah, that’s what I’m reading right now. It was great for the Monet expo, which I’ll talk about in a shorter post than this one, because I’m on page 3 of my Word doc and am only almost through day 1), and went to sleep, whereupon I was awoken several times by the older German fellow snoring and then some 3^rd roommate snoring.

And so ended day 1.

Day 2 began with me eating way too much of the free breakfast (bread and cereal with material for hot chocolate and some sort of orange nectar thing which was terrible but likely had vitamin C, and I don’t want the scurvy) and heading out to find museums. Unfortunately, all the museums I’ve seen thus far (one more for tomorrow- the actual art museum) forbid photography. I don’t really get why they forbid ALL photography, because it’s not like these are newish things that could be copied or something, but whatever. Anyhoo.

First museum was the Musée de l’Histoire de Montpelier (I think- maybe I’ll check before I post this, but probably not). It’s actually really cool- it’s in the crypt of the old cathedral, which was destroyed during the Revolution. The guy who was working when I got there was really cool, and you basically walk an audioguide while they show you pretty bad animations and films of the history of Montpellier. Got to see the crypt, a couple of reproductions of sarcophagi looking things, and got to see the ossuary. Very informative and a cool atmosphere, and like I said, the guy running it was really good about the tour. Plus, I was the only one there, so he was basically my personal tour guide.

Also it was free (since I’m under 25) and gave me a ticket for two other museums.

After that, it was around 11:30, and since most of the museums close around noon, I didn’t want to try any of them and just wandered, whereupon I found a charming little exposition of barrels.

Seriously.

Apparently it’s an organization (located in an old cathedral I think) that runs programs to get underprivileged kids in the area involved in art and other organizations. While some were a bit too modern-art for my taste, most of them were really cool. Again, they’re all on Picasa, go, check them out. They’ll be on Facebook too, of course. Also, there was some sort of sweepstakes where you could win either your weight or a barrel of wine (wasn’t clear on the translation)- different wines for different prizes (1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd, etc).

Anyhoo, I wandered a bit more and ended up settling for that café I mentioned earlier. After that, the museums were again open, and I went on over to the Pharmacy and Chapel museum, which was surprisingly interesting given the size. It was basically 3 rooms, and the guide explained the whole history of the pharmacy, which was run by nuns and was (I think) the first laïque and government sponsored pharmacy for the poor in Europe. The tour guide complimented me on my French (rough start because I was coming off of some time on TV Tropes, which always throws me into English-mode), and we got to see two rooms of the pharmacy (including various receptacles for medication and such) and a chapel with a few paintings.

Then I went to the Musée du Vieux Montpellier. This one houses Renaissance and Revolution-era stuff. It’s pretty much self-guided, and…  I wasn’t too impressed. I did get a few pictures before the lady said that it wasn’t allowed. Mostly maps and rooms and some portraits that weren’t well labeled. Cool if that’s your thing, but not really mine. But hey, it was the last of the three free ones (Pharmacy being the other, and the exposition being free but unrelated).

Finally, I went to the Musée Languedocien, which houses a bunch of Roman/Greek/Egyptian artifacts. I didn’t know photography wasn’t allowed for a while, so I got a couple of shots. But I didn't put captions in here, so you get a wall o' text and the chance to look at the pictures on facebook/picasa. They weren't that great, honestly, but the albums are worth looking at anyway.

Ultimately, I wasn’t a huge fan of that one either. At the end, I did ask the worker a question, and he was really good about answering it. I think if I’d had a guide, it would have been a much better experience. Also, it was 6 euros. That’s a pricey ticket for a pretty small museum. I guess that’s why I was the only one in there? (Seriously, there was NO ONE going to museums today- I saw one tour group in Vieux Montpellier, and I think they may have hit Pharmacie as well, but it was bizarrely empty. Maybe something else was going on that I should have been doing instead?) Anyhoo, I finished that and headed back to the hostel, whereupon I proceeded to throw some pictures on my compy and get this thing written. Whereupon I used far too many “anyhoos” and continued to do a very event-based blog rather than giving any real perspectives. Maybe they will come later? I don’t know.

And for tomorrow (wow, hit the 5 page mark without pictures), I’ll hit up the actual art museum, maybe walk around a bit more, and hopefully have a groovy time. I’ll be back in Combs on Monday (hopefully after Bev has gone back to work after lunch), and then I will do some more baking- going to do cookies (likely Toll House or a variant) and maybe a quiche to run through some eggs and have something for (as Pete would say) brekky. Yeah, I’ll get Pete introduced in here soon, hopefully. Still lots of catching up to do, but this Word doc thing might be an idea.

EDIT! Yeah the quiche didn't happen. Oh well. Cookies did, though, and are forthcoming on the regalia.

I'm Sorry, Old Chum

Hey everybody.

It's time for an "Oh, Bev." It was originally going to be lighthearted. Then she pulled some shit last night, followed by shit tonight. Now you get the lighthearted one. You also get a rant.

But first the lighthearted bit! This "Oh Bev" can be said with a slightly dismissive but mostly amused tone, kinda like, "Oh, you wacky hooligans, putting a hat on my mailbox. When will you learn that mailboxes don't wear hats?"

Apparently there's a manifestation tomorrow- I don't know about what, but it's apparently education based because some teachers at my schools are striking (of course), but I'm not, because I think the children of France are better served by me working, and it's they that I serve, really, rather than the French government. Yeah, that's right- Rob makes himself look superior because he doesn't want to get docked pay.

Anyway, that's just backstory. This is the Oh Bev.

The other evening, Bev said that she would go to the manifestation tomorrow, if the weather was good.

What.

I mean, I get that it sucks to be out in the rain, and I get that the French seem to love going to manifestations. Hell, I love them too, when I can go- the food there smells great, there are lots of parades and people and stickers, and who doesn't love parades and people and stickers? Okay, fine, I can get not loving parades and people necessarily, but stickers? That's a sad life.

But to decide not to go to a manifestation because it's raining? Really? You crazy, Bev. You crazy.

And now I rant. And this is why I have the subject- I'm sorry for what I'm about to put my blog through. I... I'm just really pissed. Like, absurdly pissed. Not in the fun British way either. In the hot-blooded, American, "Let me declare war on something because I got me some anger to work out" pissed.

Every once in a while, Bev makes me a meal. Likewise, I share one with her. Nothing too fancy- pasta and cream sauce with chicken from me, maybe some fish and salad from her, things like that. Generally, my food gets criticized ("The rice is too sticky," "The pasta is too firm," etc.), but I like how it tastes, so I brush it off. I don't criticize her stuff, because, a.) it's good, and b.) I don't think it's right to criticize something someone made for you. It's the footie-pajama problem. If Aunt Flo gives you footie pajamas that you hate, you still wear them when Aunt Flo comes around. You at least wear them once to let people see them so they can tell Aunt Flo you wore them and how much you liked them or something along those lines.

But hey, Bev means well, she usually says it's good aside from this one issue, and I know that my rice and pasta have some issues sometimes (though the sauce, AKA the important part, is generally pretty solid).

There's also the issue of Bev believing that she has to give me all sorts of unsolicited advice and tips in the kitchen, and because she said them, and because she "knows what she knows," it's clearly the... freaking gospel (the time for swearing will come, don't you worry little F-bomb. Your time in the Enola Rob is coming). For example, she's a believer in the olive oil school of pasta (add some olive oil to keep the pasta from sticking together). I was not raised in that school, and having (finally) tried it both ways, I prefer without. But she will still INSIST that you need to add olive oil, and otherwise it's crap (more or less).

And that brings us to our second Oh Bev moment. And this and the third one are not funny, wacky moments that just make you wonder a bit, but hey, no harm done. These are... freaking death glare Oh Bev moments.

Monday night, I'm making some rice to go with my red beans and sauce. I'm not super at making rice, but whatever, it comes out as rice, albeit a bit overcooked sometimes, and I eat it, and everything's groovy. Anyhoo, having had some bad luck with rice cooking uncovered, I try it about half-covered this time. Bev comes in and is doing her cooking thing in the kitchen and says, "Normalement [Note: God do I hate this word. Let's go with a translation of normally- I just hear it so much from her and in her arguments with Elmo (the new name for Bev Jr the female) that it has taken a super condescending tone], you don't cover the rice." And I'm feeling a bit antsy, because she and Elmo are in the kitchen working on cooking, and I'm trying to get out of their way, but I was in there first. So I reply (pretty calmly I might add) with, "Well, I think it depends." To which she gives a, "Well, I know what I know," while basically throwing up her hands.

Fast forward a few minutes, and I'm taking the rice off. She asks if it's sticking together a lot, to which I reply no- it was a bit overcooked maybe, but not terribly so. And I go to attend to other things, and she looks at it, and gives it a dismissive laugh that I hear through my headphones and do my best to ignore.

Wow Bev. You're good at this politeness thing, aren't you?

But hey, she just didn't think my cooking was that great on that one and was trying to give advice on something that she's aware that I've had trouble with now and again. Far out. No worries. Honestly, got this ranted out to Kara (who is a wonderful person for listening to me rant about shit like that), and wouldn't have made it to the annals of Oh Bev (if annals they may be called).

If not for tonight.

Tonight, I was making some Bourtheto for Bev and Elmo. I had made Bourtheto for the first time on  Sunday for a CouchSurfing thing in Melun. Fun times were had by all, and the people there REALLY enjoyed the soup. Hooray! So of COURSE I'll let Bev and Elmo have some- heck, Bev was watching me make the soup and wanted some and was nice enough to let me borrow a pot to take with me, so I figured she deserved a chance to taste the soup, which she complimented at the time!

I proceeded to ask Bev if she'd rather I make the bourtheto tonight or tomorrow (while at the Monet exhibit, or rather in line for the Monet exhibit but that's another story, so I could get back to make it if necessary). She said she'd be back tonight around 8 PM and that she'd prefer I do it tonight. Groovy. Easy enough thing to make, just needs some chopping and mixing and we're pretty much set.

8 PM rolls around and I've got the soup on its way- not quite there, but close. Gotta add the fish and let that simmer for about 20 minutes and we'll be good. Of course, Bev isn't home yet, so groovy.

8:20 rolls around. I'm about 2 minutes away from being done when Bev gets in and talks to Elmo and some of Elmo's friends who are around (I think doing some stuff with dreads but possibly learning letters and numbers and colors- I had my headphones in, so it's hard to say).

8:25 rolls around. I've taken the bread out of the oven where it was heating, I've got the soup ready- just adding some parsley as a last touch- and Bev comes in and asks:

"So what are we having with the soup?"

For your reference, dear readers, bourtheto normally has tomatoes, onions, white fish, and potatoes. I throw in some beans as well for good measure, but very little. It's a pretty hearty soup. As a result, I respond with:

"Well, Bev, it's a pretty hearty soup." To which she says something along the lines of,

"Oh, I know there's fish in it, but I don't think that'll be enough. I think rice would go well with it."

I take the hint, but am rightly pissed- I've been working on this soup for the past hour or so (easy, but time consuming with the chopping and moreso with the finely chopping so as to feel more manly), and Bev comes in to say what should go with my dish. I respond with a slightly (okay, more than slightly) angry but still controlled:
"Okay, I'll make some rice, but I'll take about 20 minutes." I honestly do not think we need rice- bread is implicit and will go fine with the soup, and the soup really is pretty goddamn hearty. I also don't want to be up until 9 cooking, because they'll take forever to eat and I'll be stuck at the table and I need to get to sleep so I can work tomorrow (I would be in bed already, but this needed writing. I'm currently an hour behind schedule. Thanks Bev.) But I make the mistake of being overly accomodating, like I do, and start to make the rice.

A couple of minutes later, and a conversation with Elmo (basically, "Wow, that looks like a hearty soup." "I know, right? But your mom doesn't think so." "Oh. Is that why you're making rice?" "Yep.") later, I've put the rice in the boiling water. NOW Bev comes in and says that she had forgotten about the potatoes, and boy, I guess it is a really hearty soup and we don't need the rice, huh? But we can have it anyway. (Bev ends up being the only one who eats any of the rice at dinner. The rest comes with me for lunch tomorrow. Bitch.)

I make the rice. The soup, rice, and all that get out there. We start eating. Oh, also, the implicit bread? Apparently not implicit. That will also get used by me tomorrow. If they use it, I will be rather ticked. If they get mad at me for using it, they get a rant.

Anyway, we start eating. And their response? "Oh wow, the potatoes aren't cooked." Admittedly, to their credit, they proceed to compliment the soup afterwards and Bev remarks that it's bizarre that they weren't cooked after the were on the stove for as long as that. Me, I thought they were a bit firm, but there's nothing wrong with a bit of firmness, even in a soup.

And yes, through all of this, I made some key errors. I didn't tell Bev about the potatoes. I didn't refuse to make the rice. I didn't mention the bread and assumed it was implicit.

But that does not give you the right to guilt me into adding something to a dish I'm making.

What the FUCK Bev? Where the FUCK did you learn- oh yeah. Here's the other good part.

Remember in the last Oh Bev when I mentioend how she believes there's this medical mafia? She's been on that the past few nights, and how drug companies run the world and keep good, alternative medicine down (alternative medicine including theories that HIV doesn't cause AIDS, by the way), and how they prevent drug discoveries from happening because it would keep them from making money.

Wait- what does Rob sorta want to get his PhD in at MUSC? Pharmacology and drug discovery? So Bev is basically insulting his hopeful future profession in medicine AND in science?

And this brings me back to my interrupted question.

Where the FUCK did you learn tact?

Seriously, my chest is hurting a bit because I'm so pissed. I need to get out of Combs this weekend- I can't take Bev this weekend. At all. Trains will get booked and I will get the fuck out of dodge, because I don't need her shit right now.

Sorry about the profanity. And I'm sorry this rant wasn't as funny as the boron rant.

Fucking boron...

Rob Goes Nanners

Freaking finally. It only took me three days to get this post up. Jeez, I need to start blogging earlier.

Our story begins with Rob deciding to make banana bars, because he wanted to get rid of some sour cream and some cream cheese. In his search for a means of doing so without just eating it straight, he came across http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Frosted-Banana-Bars/Detail.aspx and http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Cream-Cheese-Frosting-II-2/Detail.aspx, which appeared to make a delicious dessert sort of thing that had to be baked (thereby satisfying the New Year's resolution) and used both cream cheese and sour cream.

And then it went to heck. Sweet, delicious heck.

THE STARTING LINEUP

Yeah, we'll start on the right this time. And we'll also start out with the cake on this one. Compared to the last baking venture (the Apple Bavarian Torte with Streusel, or... um... clevernameclevername... Landa's Delight? Was Col. Landa Bavarian? Yeah, they ate strudel... I'll stick with it anyway, because Christoph Waltz is groovy and Green Hornet is coming out soon, but I digress), this was pretty simple prep-wise. But I digress again. Here are the ingredients:

1 greased pie pan (the recipe recommends a jelly-roll pan, which I didn't have. Also, I used demi-sel butter).
125 g unsalted butter
200 g white sugar
100 g brown sugar
2 eggs
1.5 tsp vanilla
Sour cream (~250 g)
250 g flour
2 g/0.25 tsp salt
5 g/1 tsp baking soda (I added about 1.5 tsp by accident/being a clumsy cook, as will be further evidenced later)
4 ripe bananas
Cinnamon
1 tsp honey
1 tbsp cocoa powder

Yeah... About those last few. I'm really not sure how much I added. Especially the cinnamon. Smell and taste liberally I guess? Won't be too hard to taste liberally I imagine.

FOREBODING PORTENTS

And now to the left!

First thing I did was cube the 125 g unsalted butter and mix with the sugar (white and brown) until it was, as I put it in the notebook, "smoothish." As you may have noticed in the picture, it was not smoothish. I have never been good at stirring in butter, and cubing it did not help matters here.

So soften your butter a lot, and don't cube it. It will make things easier.

Alternatively, use an electric mixer, because that's just much better.

Next, I beat in the eggs one at a time and added the vanilla and sour cream. I had to guess on the amount for the sour cream- I had 500 g and tried to spoon out about half. You end up getting some really runny batter, which had me a bit worried. Basically, things were off to a mediocre start in the asylum.

Then you assemble you some dry goods. Namely, you mix the flour, salt, and baking soda and try to avoid adding an absurd amount of baking soda like Rob did, because that was just dumb.

OH HEY GUYS THIS ISN'T SO BAD

Then you mix those dry goods that you just lovingly put together into the soupy batter. And strangely enough, it thickens it up nicely. Whodathunkit, right?

At this point, I peeled 3 bananas and mashed them as best I could before mixing them into the batter. Around this time, since I'm working with a gas oven, I preheated it to T5/T6, which is like 180 C?  Ah, close- 175 C or 350 F or 450ish K. Either way, heated up that oven. Heated her up quite nicely.

And then I padded for space to keep a layout that doesn't look like crap, which is a futile battle here methinks.

OH GOD KILL IT WITH MORE

Yeah, look up at that picture we just finished with. Look at the color of that batter. It's a nice yellowy tan, right? Reminds you of chocolate chip cookies and licking the bowl and saying, "Screw you," (with commas as penance to the English people) to salmonella?

Now look to your right.

That's kinda brown. And there's a story behind that. A story of Rob being stupid and ending up lucky.

So Rob makes this batter, gets the bananas in, and he decides that he's better than recipes. Recipes are for mere mortals (thanks, Dad). Rob is from a lineage of people who don't need no stinkin' recipes. Rob's dad can make chili that, if personified, would basically be Don Draper AND Roger Sterling. The recipe for that chili encourages going off the book and possibly off the grid.

And now s**t gets Greek and Shakespearean and Absurd.

See, Rob sees this batter and thinks, "This would be great with cinnamon. Maybe some vanilla. I won't write down if I put in vanilla, because I don't care about my blog-reading public." See, all 5 of you? Rob's a jerk sometimes. And Rob shakes in some cinnamon. Can't really taste it too well, so he adds some more. Still can't taste it, so he gives up. Then, with absolutely no reason to do so, he adds a teaspoon of honey. Why? Well, it's on hand, and everyone likes honey, right? Never mind that it's in too small a quantity to do any good and is basically just a waste of honey.

But these are innocent mistakes. These are just preludes to something bigger. These are Iago getting Cassio drunk. These are Iago and whathisface yelling at the other whatshisface about black rams and conjoined twin beasts.

Then Rob grabs the cocoa powder. And not like hot cocoa mix. Oh no. 100% baking cocoa (that he wishes Bev would stop using like she does, because he should have more left. This is why he now has a baking nook behind the plant where he stuffs all his kitchen business). And what's this? He's taking a large spoonful of it? Well, I mean, surely he'll just take a small spoonfu-

Nope, he went for the heaping tablespoon. Well, I mean, surely he'll realize that so much chocolate will be a bad idea before he puts it-

Oh geez. He just put in the whole thing. And now the batter is dark brown. And all you can taste is chocolate.

And that's why the recipe lists 4 bananas. He proceeded to mash up a 4th banana to temper the chocolate. More on this later. He then mixed this monstrosity together and shoved it into the oven out of his sight, like a kindergartener picking his nose and wiping it on the underside of his desk puppy that got into the trash.

BEATING THE BAJEEPERS OUT OF THE SWISS

And with that, he started on the frosting. And what did the frosting require?

250 g confectioner's sugar
1 tsp vanilla
125 g unsalted butter
480 g Petit Suisse

And he learned from that previous attempt at creaming things together and didn't cube the butter!

That did absolutely no good. He did his best on the whole mixing thing, threw in the vanilla, and sifted in the sugar (gradually of course) before giving up briefly. Around the time the cake came out of the oven, he gave it another shot and let it warm up and whisked the crap out of it. Didn't get it entirely smooth, but again, soften your butter and/or use an electric mixer, because damn.

PHIL WOULD BE PROUD

The cake came out of the oven after about 45 minutes- Rob had set the oven a bit low (like 160 or 170 C). After a bit, he gave up on the whole time thing and just checked the center of the cake with a knife. Maybe he was harking for a rat?

These attempts at referencing Shakespeare doing anything for you?

Anyway, the knife finally came out clean (though the damned spot wouldn't come out), and he let the business cool. For a long time. This is around when he was doing that re-whisking thing for the frosting. Ultimately, he thought the cake was cool enough to put on the frosting, which was mighty runny, so he had not too high hopes as he put it in the refrigerator so things could maybe set and thicken.

Rob was thoroughly mistaken. As you can see to the left, Rob had himself a nice little piece of it with breakfast (which is in the oven- a bit of bread that would then be buttered and jammed). The frosting thickened up nicely, and the dessert did the nice progression of flavors thing. You know what I mean? Of course not. The banana came in a bit stronger than I'd thought (maybe could have gotten by on 3), but the chocolate was still there, and they didn't really overlap on the palette- you work through one and the next flavor comes on in.

The frosting still has some butter chunks that you'll notice now and again, but that's not necessarily terrible, depending on how enriched your childhood was by sugar sandwiches and such.

It's still around, still delicious, and still very nanners.

CHRONOLOGY BE DAMNED ONCE AGAIN

Ugh. I just got done eating dinner. It's about 11:10, and I just got done with that. Not for the fun reasons like last night either (wherein I dined with Susan II and her group of students from Franklin College at a wonderful little French place. I had some wonderful rabbit in goat cheese with potatoes. In fact, let's spice up the parenthetical with some pictures. PICTURES! WITH CAPTIONS! SO AS TO NOT GO ON TOO LONG IN THE PARENTHETICAL!

Wabbit Season! The wabbit was in a chèvre (goat cheese) sauce with fresh mint, a side of potatoes, a bit of endive, and some watercrest. It was quite delicious and thoroughly nommed.

So, to help my dear second cousin who was struggling to join the happy plate club, I offered to take a small bit of beef. This was not a small bit of beef. It was also thoroughly nommed and enjoyed. With Bearnaise sauce!

BUT FOR ME, IT WAS TUESDAY! Oh, wait. No. I had a point here. Yes. Yes I did. And it was that it was a delicious dinner that went on long enough to ensure me getting to be around 1 AM last night, just in time to get up at 6:15 to get ready for work, ensuring that I very nearly did a blog post while hopped up on caffeine, but was sidetracked by the dinner issues about which I shall presently rant back in the regularly scheduled blog.), but rather because when I got home, Bev was using the frying pan that I needed to make sauce for my rice and beans and delicious. Then she started to cry because Bev Jr. won't get up for school and is always hostile towards Bev. (Note to self:  Remember that awesome name for Bev Jr. the daughter, and come up with an awesome name for Bev Jr. the son, who has yet to make an appearance in this part of the Interwebs.) Basically, she ended up taking until about 9 before she was finished with the stove area so I could start my sauce and rice. Should I put up pictures of it?

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. You're about to get sick of food pictures though. Or I'll just put the banana thing in a subsequent post. Let's do that, because this is ridiculous shit son. Eep. Just cussed another swear. And I mean, the bananas deserve their own post, because it's baking, bro.

So given Bev's presence, qui me gêne toujours dans la cuisine, I didn't get as many pictures snapped off of this as I might have. And of course, they're all on the Picasa and will hopefully make it to the Facebook, if I can spread the Wifi sufficiently thin. Of course, this depends on me getting all my other stuff up quickly enough to get them up before my cognitive capacities fall to the onslaught of fatigue, because damn have I not done a good job with this whole sleep thing this week. But enough about my pictures. Let's look at my pictures!

This was basically me having run out of leftover spaghetti (which will be posted on later. See the subject line? Wasn't lying.) and wanting something cheap and easy to make tonight. Cheap, yes, easy... well, also yes, but more time consuming than I might have thought. First step was sautéing (sautéeing? sautaying? Whatever, French words with those sorts of accents shouldn't be put into English participles/gerunds/present continual/that ing thing) a bunch (about 8 oz) sliced/chopped mushrooms in butter with 2 cloves of diced garlic and half a chopped onion. Lot of chopping going on in these parts. Also a lot of Bev moving around and her presence just gêning the bajeepers out of me. (See what I mean about those French words?)

Then, while they were sauté-- while they were COOKING, I started chopping the rest of the onion, boiling water for rice, chopping another clove of garlic, chopping a pepper, and chopping carrots. Around this time, I through in 300 g lardons (think a mix between diced ham and bacon- not sure on an exact translation), just to get them cooking and take up space left by the shrunken mushrooms. I threw in the rest of the veggies as soon as I could. Of course, by that time, I think I went ahead and through in the rice. Eff. I THREW in the rice. Good Lord, that was bad. I would like to formally apologize for that mistake- that was unacceptable, and I am sorry and apparently had my hand on something on the mousepad that damn near deleted this whole post. Thank heavens for CTRL+Z.

So yeah, threw in the carrots and peppers and remaining clove of garlic and half an onion. Then I sliced 2 tomatoes and threw them on in. Around this point, I was feeling a bit pressed for time, so I kinda rushed cooking the tomatoes and just threw in some red wine (cab sav from Chile, if you're wondering. It also got used in the spaghetti that will get mentioned soon enough. I tried to corkscrew it open, and found it was a twist off. Didn't bode well, and the portents went unignored. Also, as for why cab sav, reservatrol, baby.) and the can of red beans (slightly drained but not by much. Throughout all of this, I'm adding decent portions of basil, oregano, cayenne, cumin, and italian seasoning. In fact, I started that around the mushroom sauté-- COOKING bit. That's right, kids- read the instructions carefully first.

And then I served it all over the rice and had a bit of bread with it. It was pretty good, and I have leftovers, which is the important part, right?

So I suppose I should throw on some spaghetti pictures. But you know, I'm feeling fickle tonight and want to get to the banana business, because that's much more fun. The main notable thing about the spaghetti was that I actually picked up ground beef from a boucherie for it. It was some fine looking beef, but I also paid about 6.50 euros for about a pound of it (assuming they didn't go way overboard on the amounts). Other than that, usual bolognese sauce recipe: Take tomato sauce, veggies, beef. Brown beef, sauté veggies, add sauce, simmer and spice. And meanwhile cook some noodles.

Aw heck, I'll throw on at least one picture of the meat, because you've been good boys and girls this Christmas, right? Yeah, that's right- Rob's feeling patronizing now. Run and hide.

Look at that meat. There appeared to be like no fat on it. And yeah, I just used like in that way, but I like my conversational stylings. Give me a fireplace and polio and I'll cure the Great Depression.

Too soon?

And here the sauce is in its intermediate stages. I probably just added the tomatoes and tomato sauce. But not tomatoe sauce, because I'm not Dan Quayle.

And here we have pretty much the completed sauce and now Mrs. Robinson is on my iPod, so let me put it in the pantry with my cupcakes and listen to the candidates' debate.

And here we have the scenic finished product with a glass of the Chilean cab sav that was really not that great.

And then I ate it and it was bitter, bitter, but I like it because it is bitter, and because it is my heart. awesome.

On to nanners?

On to nanners.

Keeping that promise

Okay, much as I would love to post my banana thingy (ahurrr) and go to bed, I said I'd put December in the next post, which is now this one. So let's talk about December in Paris and try to avoid pretending that you want to talk about other things. And there comes in that famous second-person blogging. Great. I'm already starting to write like things I don't like. And there goes my vocabulary.

Okay, break time for a bit. Gonna clear out the head a bit.

Okay, a bit of Metalocalypse and conversation and no music helped out. Now then, December.

After the wine expo, it was basically December. Funny how it works out that shortly after the last weekend in November, December comes.

Okay that rhythm sucks. I'ma go brush my teeth so I don't eat any more of that banana business that is so delicious.

Now let's do this.

So December! It, um.

It snowed? A lot?

Nah, I kid. It snowed, but plenty more happened, or so I think, but I'll leave all that business for the philosophers and GOOD LORD I NEED THIS RHYTHM TO GET BETTER. GROOVE- COME BACK.

Dear Reader will help. It often does.

Maybe it did. Let's find out...

Okay, so December was actually pretty uneventful in Paris, though I was admittedly only in Paris for like 3 weeks in December, and a lot of that was Christmas, which will be covered later, because that's the way Gerry wants it. And while we must confound Gerry at every term, I'm going to go with his wisdom in this case.

So yeah, Paris started out with free museum day! The first Sunday of a month, pretty much every museum in France is free for everyone (excluding some private exhibitions and such, but who cares about those). Before that, I think there was also a visit with Grace and one of her absolute brats darling little children that she so lovingly cares for as an au pair to the Science museum for an expo on Science Fiction. All these pictures are on the Picasa, which once again is http://picasaweb.google.com/rbcameron3, and the specific photos from that should be under Museums and Expositions. Of particular note are the photos putting posters for Soylent Green and Zardoz next to each other, because we all know that an iconic movie with Charlton Heston has the same cultural impact and relevance as a crappy movie with a balding Sean Connery sporting a ponytail and a diaper. It also identified Ghost in the Shell as an example of urban decay but not for their stuff on cyborgs and robotics. It also also misidentified Zuckuss' mask as that of 4-LOM, which is just absurd, right? Who's with me on this? But it was still an impressive exhibit, so I'll forgive it these snafus, for I am a magnanimous blogger who will certainly smack the bajeepers out of you if you wrong him so help him Blog. Or something that makes more sense. Still finding that groove.

Anyhoo, museum day got off to a decent start as I went to the Musée d'Orsay and found this:

Yeah. Look at that line. Really drink it in. Get a nice feel for the heft of it. Thankfully, the line moved pretty quickly and I was in the museum soon enough. I made it through pretty much all of the permanent collection that was there (a bunch of Monets are at an exhibition elsewhere in Paris that I still need to get to), save a couple of rooms, and got to see the exhibition on Gérôme.

But Rob, you may be saying, forgetting that quotation marks might be useful in a text based format to indicate that you're talking and aren't just the blogger being a pompous ass (shame on you for even considering giving other readers that impression), who's this Gérôme fellow? I hear he's the guy, but I wanna be the guy too!

Well, he's a dude. He painted and sculpted some stuff in the late 19th century, including some pretty impressively photorealistic paintings. A lot of his stuff was a bit more historical/orientalist, and he definitely had a tendency to go with lots of anachronisms in his paintings, but the end result was still pretty nice.

After Orsay, I headed on over to meet Grace at Musée Rodin. I'd already seen Rodin- oh, also, you can't take pictures in Orsay, so that's why there aren't any- so I just sorta tagged along so she could see it, but I got some nice pictures anyway.

AND HERE THEY COME NOW!

Starring The Gates of Hell!

Also featuring SassyPants Hugo and his amazing heads, able to undress you with their eyes at 50 feet!

And introducing, Obligatory Shot of The Thinker!

And after all that (since the indoor part required money and I was having none of it), Grace and I met up with Olivia (another assistant from up North AKA Utah, because I have no sense of geography, but she went to Haverford, so you can't blame me for thinking, right? Okay, fine, blame me, it was a silly mistake to make and wasn't too just) to go to the Centre Pompidou.

There, we said the word tubes far too many times. It was glorious. Those were the halcyon days, riding on the escalators that would shake violently if you grabbed the handrails, moving through the tubes at breakneck speeds of 3 mph, seeing Paris from within tubes, like some sort of cheap imitation Jacques Cousteau but without the super-poetic narration, but dangit I'm trying here, but it's too fun to say tubes (and you have no idea how hard I had to fight to keep from saying "tube fun to say tubes," such is the allure of tubes).

Tubes.

Tubes tubes tubes tubes tubes tubes.

Okay, there we tubes.

I mean, there we go.

Anyhoo, Centre Pompidou has a lot of the contemporary art stuff. Not terrible, but as contemporary art can be, some of it is a bit "Huh?"

For example (before I get into the few pictures I have from there), there was the colonoscopy video playing on the floor. Or "Barbe bleu," based on the Perrault story but with an all-female cast and lots of very "Modern independent art film" choices for camera angles and dialogue. I just remember, "Would you love me, even with this beard?" Which I assume was supposed to be very vaginal and would lead to the art being lauded in some circles. Also there was some string that got cut, which, hey, umbilical cord. Hooray for subtlety I guess? Or just straight up incomprehensibility or unwatchability, as I walked out midway through and kinda stumbled back in later. But enough about my discomfort with the female form.

And onto pictures!

So first, we have a lovely lightbulb dress. It's wonderful, isn't it? I think it was in the feminist art section, which is where most of what we saw was, so groovy. I don't quite understand it- maybe something about the objectification of women by the fashion industry and their not caring about their comfort with what they wear? But then, I don't think they really got the point, since this dress would totally be able to pass on a runway I think. Ah well. I'll just go with it. It's not terrible looking on a stand I guess? Probably wouldn't want to approach someone actually wearing it. Why yes, I am just trying to pad for some space so there's not a huge blank space between the end of this business next to the picture and the start of the next one. Thank you for noticing. Do you come here often? Haven't seen you around much before- you should come by more! Bring your friends, too- they always help things.

My God- I think my blog just became as bitter and unsuccessfully ironic as that sculpture.

And onto a more interesting sculpture! Of course, I didn't take down names on these guys, because that would make way too much sense! But I like to call this one "Make 'Em Laugh." Some of you know why- you can explain to the class

Hint: It has to do with the mannequins and a song. Go to Youtube.

And while I really wanted to do that banana thing tonight, I'm exhausted and need to meet Susan II tomorrow (a cousin who's an English prof at Franklin College and is taking a group to France right now). Also I'm apparently scary when I'm tired. To which I say...

Ummm...

Nuh uh.

Where am I? Over here!

For all two of you who might be reading this who would get that joke, good on you.

But seriously, I have no clue where my updates leave off. I mean for serious. What the hell, damn guy.

Okay, it's looking like you've seen the apple pie and Annecy, but not much since then.

Good Lord am I vaguely tired. Not like to the point of "MY EYES ARE FALLING! MY EYES ARE FALLING!" and it turns out to be the table of contents (yeah obscure American humor- such a children's book hipster this guy. Who does he think he is? King of the trees?) and certainly not to the point of "Oh, look at those lovely red worms filling up the board next to Dr. McKeever" (true story. Another true story from that class- I feel asleep in an exam review session while he was answering a question that I asked. This took place during a semester when (GOOD GOD IS BEETHOVEN'S 9TH ROCKING RIGHT NOW) I was doing about 15 med school applications and secondaries and oh by the way taking 5 classes. This resulted in a lot of all-nighters and lots of falling asleep in classes but valiantly struggling not to do so and trying to keep it discreet, but there is NO way you can do that subtly.)

(Yeah long parentheticals.)

Also there should be a period somewhere up there. Here's another for good measure.

.

Now that we've got our punctuation nice and balanced and have left the grammarians thoroughly fainting in shock, let's figure out what I'ma talk about. TO THE PICASA WEBS.

Oh yeah- I have a photo thingy there (technical term, that). Here's a link: http://picasaweb.google.com/rbcameron3

But yes. Let's talk about December in Paris I guess? Pretty pictures there, and a decent start to this, as is the music, as we've now got some "Black Dog" by Zepplin. I totally just went back and added in quotation marks to appease the many English majors who read this. Didn't stop me earlier, but hey, hooray for inconsistencies.

Actually change of subject. We're not doing December yet. That can go in the next one, as there will hopefully be several, including a regalia or two this evening. I know I've got something in terms of Oh Bev, but I can't think of specific examples, which shames me deeply.

No, dear readers (oh God totally watching that tonight), we're watching (actually oh snap, I'm going to watch that between blog posts. It will totally free up my writing style, because it's not like I'm playing fast and loose with grammar rules and the things that I vaguely reference and now we're on Cocaine by Clapton, who I find sorta meh, but he's supposed to be groovy I guess?), no, not watching, rather talking about something more fun and deadly.

We're going to talk about the Wine Expo.

That's right- Wine Expo. Technically it's Le Salon des vins des Vignerons Indépendants, but we'll call it the Wine Expo.

So here's what goes on: You pay 3 Euros (if you're a student- you can usually find a deal to get a ticket for cheaper anyway). They give you a glass.

They set you loose on an unsuspecting populace of vineyards.

Really, it's for these smaller vineyards to get their product out to restaurants and collectors, but it's basically "If you like wine, come here and taste as much as you want and get a snazzy glass for a low, low price." You can of course buy bottles as well, but I was like, "Hey, this is good, but is it worth paying about 5x more than I could pay for a cheap AOC wine at LIDL? No, I need to save money rather than take advantage of this opportunity to actually get really good wine for pretty cheap."

You can't see this part of the post yet, but you'll know it when you see it.
And to that I say, See?

Anyway, I went over two days with Stephen and one of his friends who's assistanting in Corsica (as well as a bunch of others who are around because some reason, and yes, the "because some reason" was intentional because I wanted to avoid profanity on that point, but it was tempting nonetheless. The things I do for you crazy kids...). See? Here's Stephen and Corsica Johnny. Corsica Johnny... took a while to leave the first night. It was a bit frustrating for all involved, as it was cold outside, and I had a long train ride home. Oh, and music- just got through Celeste Aida being sung by some bro Jon Vickers. But yes, it was a great time- there were all sorts of wines (a sommelier friend- is Richard a sommelier yet? Help me out Fijis who read this...- was floored by the size of the (EFF Just started like 3 conversations and am getting a bit overwhelmed- also, music, went through Wake Up by Rage Against the Machine (screw quotation marks, too many people) and am now on the Money Song from Avenue Q) exposition. It was like a 63 page long pdf of the vineyards there. And lots of people.



Taking a break to nom. Stephen proves his sobriety.

 So yeah, we basically went and drank (and spat- déguster, c'est recracher after all) for most of the time. But we also brought food with us (bread, yogurt, fruit, and a Twix in my case) to nom in the interim and avoid nastiness.

Also EFF MUSIC. Um, Wolf or whatever by Metallica and now Letter Duet from Figaro by some ladies, and you can marvel on who they might be. And now I'm Not Wearing Underwear Today from Avenue Q. And now another will start, and it's Welcome to the Jungle by GnR.

As for the wine, it was really good for the most part. They kinda blend together after a while no matter how hard you try. Mainly, we'd just go to a booth and try their driest white and go down the list from there, but then you run into personal preferences, and after a few hours, your palette gets pretty screwed up. There was one great wine that I remember- Symphonie I believe was the name. It was actually a really apt name for the wine. A sweet but not cloyingly so white wine (and when I get to the parts where I actually SHOULD use parentheses, I don't. Way to go, Rob.), and I couldn't find the booth after that first day where I tried it. Ah well. And now we're on "This Is Who You Are" from Beethoven's Last Night by Trans Siberian Orchestra, accompanied by Bev and Bev Jr having the whispered arguments that you get at night when they think I might be asleep. Oh, scratch the whispering part. Le sigh.

Let's temper that story with an unrelated picture of the crowd.

But yeah, it was a good time, aside from one booth. (See? An attempt at linearity!). That one booth was one where we all kinda sidled up, and Stephen and I hung back for a second. Everyone else gets a tasting of a red. Stephen and I come up and ask for what she'd recommend. She proceeds to rant at us (us being Stephen and me) about how it's not just about tasting and how it's (OH GOD IT'S TANK BY THE SEATBELTS OM NOM NOM) about the vineyards selling their wine to people, and we shouldn't be wasting her time. This was directed uniquely at Stephen and me, and if there was at any point a chance that we would have bought wine from her, she certainly screwed it over.

But after that, there was more wine to be had, and it was groovy. Got myself a wonderful ham and cheese sammich- the food there was pricey of course, but it was really good. There were also people selling wine cellar materials and such. But you know, I honestly didn't take enough pictures of the place, and it was really basically just us going around and tasting wines for hours on end. Lots of fun, but doesn't make for riveting blogging.

So I'll leave you with a picture to give you an idea of the size of this place.

That's a view from the corner of an empty convention center warehouse. Now imagine that packed with tables of vineyards. Awesome.

H-TS < 0

Hey everybody,

Just going to give a quick update- I need to head out and grab some dinner in a bit. I decided Thursday around lunch that I wanted to travel to Strasbourg this weekend, so here I am! It's been a lot of walking so far- today I hit the Museum of Contemporary and Modern Art, the Cathedral, and went over to the European Parliament. Unfortunately, the hostel has been sorta dead, so I've been on my own for the most part. That's no problem for museums and all, since I can go at my own pace, but it does complicate dinner. I was hoping to meet SOMEONE today to go grab food with and maybe hit a bar later, but nothing doing so far. I'll try to find a place where I can grab something and read a book I guess. Good thing I brought a couple (Shadow of the Hegemon, which I'm rereading, and the Tony Abbott compilation that my parents got me for Christmas).

Yeah, this post wasn't nearly wacky and stream-of-consciousness enough, but I'll get something better up soon! And Monday, I'll be baking again, so there'll probably be a few posts then. So fear not! I'll hit my groove again soon enough!

Getting to know the Asylum

Once again, I'm back, and I've got the rest of the Bergerac in my Wine Expo glass. Oh yeah, that's right. Wine expo glass. Is that this entry?

Well, no, it's not. This entry is on Combs-la-Ville, but I figured I'd give a shout out to a future entry to sorta make sure that I don't forget it. So, without further ado, let's talk about where I live.

I live in a little town/banlieue called Combs-la-Ville (Aside: To any Combs-la-Ville officials who want to pay me to be their official blogger during my time here, I'll take the case.), which is located about 30 minutes south of Gare de Lyon on the RER D. It's out in Zone 5, and a lot of people, even in Paris, haven't necessarily heard of it. Honestly, rightly so- it's not like Orly or EuroDisney or Roissy, which have landmarks that make them somewhat memorable. Supposedly Combs has an old village that it was built around, but I haven't quite found that one yet.

Anyhoo, SLIDESHOW TIME!

Actually no. Let's just find some decent pictures. Not too many. I don't want this to become "OH LOOK AT ROB'S FISHING TRIP TO PODUNKTOWN! HE SURE CAUGHT A WHOLE LOT OF NOTHING." That would be unfortunate.

Still, it'll probably happen. Here's hoping for walleye.

Wow that was a terrible joke. Let's just go to the photos and avoid more of this, shall we?

Yes, we shall.

Anyway, to start off, here's the kitchen where I work! Bev seems to be a believer in feng shui, but based on this picture, you may get the idea that she's not too solid at the practice yet. I... would tend to agree. Admittedly this is with the laundry rack hanging, but it's still not a bad idea of the space you've got to work with. Still, it's better equipped than a lot of my Parisian friends' kitchens.

I HAVE HEARD THE WHISPERED TALES OF IMMORTALITY. BLAH BLAH BLAH FROM AN ANCIENT BOOK I TOOK A CLUE.

Sorry, listening to Xanadu by Rush. Wonderfully light. But yes, it's well equipped kitchen, though it's sometimes interesting to reheat food- no microwave (not unusual) and very few saucepans with which to reheat my meals at times. Usually there's at least one though, so it works out. Anyhoo, enough of my culinary habitation- you get enough of that on the regalia posts.

This is a bit of graffiti on a concrete thing on a field near where I live. It gave the blog the rest of its name, because I thought that was a pretty clever play on words (Combs L'Asil or Combs the Asylum for the Frenchly-challenged), probably influenced by the fact that I was reading The Stranger in French at the time, wherein Camus uses "l'asile" for the home in which Meursault's mother lived. No, I won't call that spoilers because the book freaking starts with "Maman died today." OH NOES I SPOILED THE FIRST LINE.

Anyway, enough of that rant. Sweet lensflare, right? I'm sure we only really need that one picture of that block, right? No way it would become a running theme for the seasons or anything, right?

Right?

Yeah, you wish, wacky internal dialogue. Here's a picture of that same wall in the snow. Snow hasn't been too thick here yet (maybe a few inches and all, so a lot for the South, from where I hail, but not much for reasonable folk who have seen this strange white downpour from the sky. Usually it's been gray and cold with some sort of precipitation, be it mist or rain or blizzarding (but more on that later). Of course, that's basically the expected weather in this part of France for this time of year, so I mean, it works out decently, right?

Wait. No. No it doesn't. It just means I'm near Paris with mediocre weather, but THAT works out okay, because hey, Paris. Yeah, there should be another comma there. I apologize to my various relatives with degrees in English.

Still, there are some pretty decent parts of Combs. It just took me about a month to wander enough to find them, which is a shame. I mean, this street is on the main drag where there are a lot of the classically French shops- there's even a square with a boucherie and poissonnerie, which I didn't think would be around here until I found them. I still need to make it to these places- I tend to stick with the really cheap supermarkets, but it's a new year, so I might as well give it a shot, right? Aside from the fact that they were closed today, so I'll have to wait until soon to start shopping there.

Yeah. Look at that snow. One day, it just started to really come down, so I took the logical step and walked outside (bundled as best as I could muster) and took pictures rather than staying in the (somewhat) warm inside.of the house. About 10 minutes out of the house and I couldn't see anything out of my glasses thanks to snow accumulation. Yeah. It was ridiculous. Of course, you can't see much of the flakes there. But I'll see if I posted a picture with better pictures (and by posted I mean here, because I tend to post all the pictures and then write, and I can't remember just yet).

Oh yeah, that's right. I didn't put any sort of logical chronology here. So yeah, I was actually really surprised to find this view off the main drag- it proves that there are actually NICE parts of Combs. Admittedly, I discovered today that a lot of them have more or less guard dogs, which is annoying when you're just trying to walk around out there. But that's just off a few side streets. And I guess that with the reputation what Parisian banlieues have (that's right, I used "what" like an old fogey), that's not too unreasonable. Still annoying to get barked at constantly.

Of course, I don't live anywhere that nice. In fact, I live in an HLM (Habitation à Loyer Modéré, AKA Projects). I didn't actually know this until a few weeks in- it's not a bad setup for me, honestly. I've got my room (which I really should clean sometime, but probably not tonight because I need to get some sleep somewhat soon), a kitchen with an oven, and Internet access. So what if Bev and Bev Jr (for whom I'll remember a clever name eventually) yell a fair bit? It's funny to hear them try to yell via whispers when Í'm trying to sleep.

And now we're back to the snow. Hooray! You can actually sorta see the snowflakes if you squint. This is actually the streeet I live on, AKA The Road of The Sulky Frigate, which would be a great song title or band name (patent pending). Yeah, it's a bit of a walk to a bus station, but nothing too unreasonable. Heck, getting to the train station is just 20 or 30 minutes walking, which seems like not too bad for a suburb. Plus, I get some exercise (that I don't necessarily want after a night out at bars) when the buses aren't running. And it's sorta pretty with all that strange white blasphemy coming down.

As for the rest of Combs, well. I did initially ask my landlady if the area was safe. Her response was that of course it was! And honestly, she hasn't been too wrong- I don't feel too unsafe walking home early in the morning, though I do tend to make sure no one's following me or anything anyway- heck, I did that in Davidson. Still, the past few weeks have left me a bit more doubtful. For example, there's this, which is the charred remains of a motorcycle/dirtbike/scooter/something on two wheels with a motor, right by a playground on the way to my bus stop. Not sure what happened, but it seemed worth a picture. Then, when I got back from Munich, I found that the Société Générale branch near where I live (which gave me a lot of trouble for opening an account, which is why I went elsewhere) had gotten broken into. As in, the glass pane on the door was shattered and it looked like maaybe some arson had occurred. I didn't take too close of a look, especially since now there's a guard dog chained to the door. I'll try to get a picture of that over the next few days maybe.

Anyway, I think that works as an update for Combs for now. Gives an idea of the scenery and all that. Not a terrible place, and though a bit sketchy in some places, there's still bits I need to explore a bit further. I also need to get a damned library card so I can start reading. I've got only a few books, and I've read through most of them already. Even A Wrinkle in Time, which I thought was extremely overrated and just poorly written. But I shouldn't end the blog on that sort of negativity, right?

Right.

I'm sure Madeleine L'Engle has many redeeming qualities.

And Bev Jr. just walked in. I suppose I should brace myself for the shouting soon.

Ah, family life.