L’autre jour en faisant les courses, je tombe nez à étiquette avec un morceau de raclette Riche Mont. Ne pouvant décemment renier mes origines et résister à cette furieuse envie de raclette, j’attire discrêtement l’attention de MonsieurChéri.

Hîîîîîîîîîîîîî !!!!! Chéri regaaaaaaarde !!! d’la racleeeeeeeetttte !!!jenveuxjenveuxjenveux !

Désir qui ne pose pas de problème, vu que je suis encore un peu indépendante et libre (non, faudrait pas qu’on croit que je doive demander la permission pour tout, je teste surtout si l’idée d’une raclette le tente, tout en lui faisant habilement remarquer que moi, j’en veux), et que MonsieurChéri aime expérimenter, surtout si c’est avec du fromage (au grand dam de son frêre, mais à vrai dire on s’en fout un peu. C’est suffisamment rare)

Bref, nous prenons le fromage. Qui dit raclette dit cornichons. Qui dit Allemagne dit… cornichons sucrés, c’est bien, vous suivez. Raclette + cornichons sucrés = no-go. Spa possible.
Alors on a passé 10 minutes devant le coin cornichons, pour trouver les plus petits, et histoire d’assurer un peu le coup, je prends même des petits oignons blancs.

Et avec tout ca j’en ai oublié le jambon (sans déconner, c’est vrai. Oui j’ai honte)

Hier soir c’est le grand jour. Le grand soir. Bref. Les pommes de terre à la vapeur, la raclette découpée en tranches… je teste les cornichons et les oignons par acquis de conscience (;)) et retiens le flot de larme qui menace d’emporter le barrage moraliste et tolérant envers d’autres cultures. Le juron “mais put*** de bor*** de mer*** c’est quand même pas la mer à boire que de pas mettre de sucre dans les cornichons !!!”, ca, j’ai pas pu le retenir. Evidemment, les oignons étaient aussi sucrés. C’est pas mauvais, hein, mais pas avec une raclette, quoi….

Du coup j’ai testé : j’ai pris quelques oignons, les ai rincés, puis noyés dans du vinaigre (non sucré, ô miracle) et du sel (non sucré). Au final, ils étaient presque salés. Faudra que je reessaie en les gardant plus longtemps dans le vinaigre.

Puisque je ne me suis pas encore offerte de machine à raclette (*clin d’oeil subliminal discrêt et sans aucune arrière-pensée*), j’ai rien trouvé de mieux que de faire fondre le fromage dans une poele.

C’était pas mauvais, c’est pas vrai. Mais ca n’avait rien à voir avec une raclette. Même le fromage je ne l’ai pas trouvé très bon. Très fade en tout cas. Je suis super frustrée !!!! J’veux rentrer à la maison, me faire une raclette dans une atmosphère conviviale, avec un bon petit vin blanc (que j’ai oublié aussi), des trucs SALÉS et du fromage avec du goût.

Pfffffffff.

If you have been following this blog, you’d know that we are all about affordable eating. And what can be more affordable than eating dinner at a friend’s house?

So when Tina (a.k.a. Dr. Binz) invited me over for a raclette dinner, I couldn’t say no. Besides, I have never had a raclette dinner before. So free dinner + new food experience = happy Kookie.

For those of you who don’t know, this is what the raclette grill and the raclette pans look like.

Here’s how it works, the heating element is located just below the top metal plate but about 2.5″ above the grill bottom. This gives enough space so that the raclette pans can fit underneath the heating element. When the device is on, the raclette grill can simultaneously heat the cheese on the raclette pan and grill meat and vegetables. Talk about multi-tasking!

The major component of the raclette dinner is well the raclette. Raclette is a salty cheese derived from cow’s milk. The cheese originates from Valais in Switzerland but the dish has crossed the border to France and even to Wallonia in Belgium (Sorry Oui, it’s in the French-speaking region).

Aside from the cheese, the traditional components of the raclette dinner would be boiled potatoes, gherkins (small cucumbers), pickled onions, capers, and some dried meat.

The German version : put whatever the hell you want!

I piled by little pan with tomatoes, fresh champignons, some slices of mini salami, and a slice of bacon. I slapped a piece of raclette on top shoved my pan into the grill. After 10 minutes, voila…

Drool-worthy ain’t it?

We also grilled some meat while we were waiting for the cheese to melt. Here’s a fair warning. The stuff on the raclette pan does not smell when it’s cooking. The problem is when you grill the meat on the metal plate, all the fat that boils off sticks to everything in the room. You may ask, “Why not grill it outside then?”. You see the raclette is typically prepared during winter, and eating outside at near freezing temperatures is not fun.

Raclette dinners are great when you have a few friends over for dinner. The process of preparing your own pan coupled with good dinner conversation is a recipe for an enjoyable night.

Now if you will excuse me, I have to bring my clothes to the washing machine. I need to wash the bacon out of my fleece jacket.

A raclette: alternativa à fondue

Em uma pequena reunião entre amigos num domingo à noite, descobri um jeito novo de somar boa comida, boa companhia, boa bebida e horas de conversa em volta da mesa. Uma das coisas que mais gosto em uma refeição na verdade, é ficar ali, beliscando e falando, bebericando e ouvindo.  Afinal, para sentar na sua mesa não se convida qualquer pessoa. 

A Raclette foi a grande surpresa para algumas pessoas naquela noite. Inclusive para mim. Para quem não sabe, a raclette, de origem suíça, funciona como uma fondue. Uma grelha acoplada a uma pedra de granito quente, para fritar pedaçinhos de frango, carne, salsichas, salmão, o que quiser. A grelha frita e a pedra mantém o calor. Embaixo da grelha, espátulas fundas onde se coloca pedaços de batata cozida com queijo em cima. Coloca-se a espátula embaixo da grelha quente, e voilà! Batata com queijo derretido ou até gratinado. O comensal pode comer a batata com as carnes, e com outros ingredientes disponíveis na mesa. Azeitonas, cebola, cenoura, presunto, shoyo, a criatividade é que vai definir.

 O objetivo é ir comendo devagar, à medida que os elementos vão ficando prontos.

Bom, foi mais ou menos assim que aconteceu na noite de domingo. Uma dica: Na hora de apreciar uma refeição com a raclette, não vá com muita sede ao pote. É preciso ir comendo devagar, porque os ingredientes podem demorar um pouco para ficarem prontos. Afinal a raclette é para confraternizar em volta da mesa.

Variedade com os ingredientes

 Agora sobre a raclette em si. Um pouco da estória desse estilo suíço de comer. No original a raclette é feita com queijo suíço, raspado, que é comido com batatas inglesas. Daí a palavra francesa racler, que quer dizer raspar. Na verdade o queijo é o ingrediente mais importante da raclette. É um dos pratos preferidos na Suíça e em alguns países da Europa ele faz muito sucesso.

 Como a fondue, esse prato é mais para ser apreciado durante o inverno. A grelha quente acaba por elevar a temperatura do ambiente e quem estiver encarregado de cuidar das carnes e dos queijos para não queimarem, pode querer colocar um ventilador por perto.

 Como quase sempre acontece em nosso país, acabamos transformando tudo o que chega por aqui. Com a raclette moderna, abrasileirada da minha reunião com amigos, colocamos ingredientes da nossa preferência, adicionamos katchup e a maioria substituiu o vinho por sucos gelados e refrigerantes. Mas ficou tudo uma delícia. Tanto a raclette, quanto a conversa e a companhia.

  Assista um vídeo que ensina como se prepara uma reclette!

Ich muss nochmal schnell was nachtragen. Gestern habe ich meine erste warme Mahlzeit in meiner neuen Wohnung essen können, weil ich auf die glorreiche Idee kam den fehlenden Herd mit meinem Raclette zu kompensieren!

Jetzt kann ich mir auch ohne Microwelle und Ofen warme Sachen machen *freu* Gestern gab es dann Frikadellen, Brot, Pilze, Mais, Käse und Ei. Einfach herrlich

Dimanche, se sont refermées les portes de la Fiac, grand-messe annuelle de la scène artistique contemporaine. Pour la modique somme de 28 euros, les visiteurs ont pu, durant 4 jours, admirer (ou conchier, selon l’humeur) des oeuvres signées par 4200 artistes et présentées par quelques 210 exposants.

28 putains d’euros.

Le message est on ne peut plus clair: toi le pauvre quidam qui pige que dalle à nos monochromes et à nos vaches coupées en deux et immergées dans du formol, tu peux toujours courir pour t’initier à notre bizness. Si tu sais pas quoi faire de ton week-end, rabats-toi plutôt sur Darty, ils font des promos sur les raclettes! Comment interpréter ces tarifs prohibitifs autrement que comme un repoussoir à pauvres, destiné à laisser les riches conclure tranquillement leurs affaires tout en conservant la caution populaire que confère l’emploi du terme “foire”.

J’ai toujours récusé l’idée populiste selon laquelle il y aurait, d’un côté, les “vrais gens”, humbles, modestes, simples et terriens, incarnant la France d’en bas et de l’autre, les élites, cérébrales, ricanantes et cyniques; ceux là même qui déterminent les normes du bon goût. Cette dichotomie est à mon sens moins mensongère qu’elle n’est inconfortable: je n’ai jamais su dans laquelle de ces deux boîtes rentrer.

Aux personnes culturellement paresseuses qui pensent que l’art d’aujourd’hui, c’est le règne du n’importe quoi; à tous ceux que l’on qualifie pudiquement de réacs parce qu’ils clament que les artistes d’aujourd’hui, rompus au cynisme ambiant, se moquent du public en ne produisant que des non-oeuvres; à tous ces indécrottables tenants du “C’était mieux avant” qui diagnostiquent la décadence culturelle, j’ai toujours répondu qu’il fallait se garder de tirer ce genre de conclusions. Que le meilleur moyen de tordre le cou à ces idées reçues était encore d’aller voir les oeuvres en vrai. De se faire une opinion au contact de la création, de s’en imprégner et surtout d’éviter d’essentialiser l’art contemporain en le réduisant à une sorte d’entité monolithique.

Pendant toutes ces années, j’ai lutté pour ne pas être du même bord que ce gars au rire sonore qui t’explique entre deux petits rots que l’art contemporain c’est de la branlette pour tarlouzes. Si je défendais l’art contemporain, c’était d’abord pour me démarquer de ce rôteur en survet’…

Aujourd’hui, je dois admettre que le chant des sirènes réactionnaires m’envoute un peu plus à chaque vernissage auquel j’assiste, la Fiac étant la goutte d’eau. En effet, que penser d’une scène artistique censée promouvoir l’audace, l’innovation et l’exploration formelle et qui s’est irrémédiablement enfoncé dans la logique du filon. Les enjeux pour la plupart de ces exposants, sont énormes: il s’agit, un peu à la façon des placements en bourse, de maintenir la valeur économique d’un nom et d’en  pérenniser la stature internationale. Les artistes, matière combustible nécessaire au fonctionnement de ce système, ne peuvent se permettre de prendre le moindre risque en explorant de nouvelles formes. Ils n’en finissent plus de peindre le même tableau durant des décennies, pour le plus grand bonheur spéculatif des collectionneurs.

Quelqu’un m’a récemment parlé de cette anecdote concernant Picasso dans un restaurant, qui aurait voulu, à l’apogée de sa gloire, régler une addition en griffonnant un dessin sur la nappe. Le restaurateur, un peu trop gourmand, lui aurait demandé de signer le griffonnage, ce à quoi le peintre répliqua qu’il souhaitait seulement régler sa note, et non pas racheter l’établissement.

Ce genre de couleuvres, on a pu l’avaler pour le génie espagnol qui a redéfini à lui seul les fondements la peinture moderne; elles sont beaucoup moins faciles à digérer aujourd’hui lorsqu’il s’agit d’individus qui ont basé leur travail sur le vide, la non-virtuosité, l’attrait pour la laideur et le refus de la valeur-talent: le Prix Marcel Duchamp récompense chaque année un artiste contemporain pour l’ensemble de son travail et intronisant les Claude Closky, Tatiana Trouvé ou encore Philippe Mayaux et faisant d’eux les nouveaux maîtres de l’époque.

Avec toute la bonne volonté du monde, il est difficile de se laisser imprégner par ça:

ou encore par ça:

De l’union entre création artistique et capitalisme moderne est né ce genre d’aberrations. Tel réseau d’influence décide de la valeur de tel artiste et décrète que l’ensemble de sa production est géniale. Le champ de la critique est déserté, il n’y a plus d’oeuvres, ne restent que des noms. On n’achète plus un tableau, on achète un Soulages (si on a 400 000 euros qui traînent dans les poches). Dans ce nouveau système de valeurs, tout se vaut. Tout est beau, donc rien n’est beau.

Prioritairement, il s’agit donc pour les artistes de séduire le bourgeois et lui donner la possibilité de défiscaliser son patrimoine. Que penser d’un art qui se veut l’héritier des avant-gardes dans ce qu’elles avaient d’irrévérencieux et qui se retrouve en bonne partie subventionné par l’Etat, soumis de ce fait aux diktats de ce dernier. Marcel Duchamp, qui fut en son temps, désigné par André Breton comme “l’homme le plus intelligent du XXème siècle”, serait probablement atterré par l’informe boîte de Pandore ouverte avec l’exposition de sa fameuse pissotière et les ready-made qui ont suivis. Lui qui servait un idéal révolutionnaire, ne se doutait pas que cent ans après lui, des imposteurs se réclamant de sa démarche, serviraient le conformisme le plus obscène. Comment ne pas ressentir une irrépressible et dadaïste envie d’entarter tous ces bipèdes suffisants que sont les galeristes, invariablement accoutrés de la même façon (Agnès B pour les jeunes qui ont le vent en poupe, Pierre Cardin pour les vieux marchands d’aquarelles aux abois), qui sont là pour vendre mais qui, paradoxalement répugnent à donner d’eux l’image peu flatteuse de marchands du Temple.

Je sais que La réalité des arts plastiques est la même que pour la musique, le cinéma, ou encore la photographie: on ne peut plus peindre, sculpter comme il y 100 ans. C’est ce qu’ont montré les peintres américains de l’après-guerre: après Auschwitz et Hiroshima, on ne pouvait décemment plus montrer le réel comme on avait coutume de le faire avant le grand carnage.

Pollock, Rothko et d’autres ont fait perdre à l’art son pucelage millénaire, mais il est permis de préférer la magnifique pucelle d’antan à la putain nihiliste et désenchantée qui tapine désormais dans les galeries des grandes métropoles.

Bon c’est pas tout ça, mais faut que j’aille chez Darty, ils font des promo sur les raclettes à ce qu’on m’a dit.

So gegensätzlich können einzelne Tage sein. Wo an meiner alten Hochschule der Mittwoch ohne Zweifel zum stressigsten Tag der Woche gehörte kann ich mich über den Uni-Mittwoch in Bonn wahrlich nicht beschweren. Gerade mal eine Vorlesung steht im Stundenplan.
In Zukunft wird der Mittwoch wohl eher zum Lernmittwoch auserchoren, heute jedoch nicht! Heute dreht sich bei mir alles um eine Idee, die ich gestern hatte. Ich könnte doch meinen Raclette-Grill zum Zubereiten warmer Nahrung verwenden bis ich mir eine Microwelle mit Ofen kaufe, bzw leisten kann. Also ich halte die Idee für grandios und werde es sicherlich ausprobieren.

Warum ich nicht in der Küche koche? Ganz einfach, meine Küche besteht aus Spüle und Kühlschrank – mehr nicht. Noch nicht…

Presseportal openBroadcast) – Dinkelsbühl, 26. Oktober 2009 – In vielen Familien sind Raclette und Fondue in der kalten Jahreszeit, besonders zu Weihnachten und Silvester, Tradition. Gemütlich zusammen sitzen und nach Herzenslust schlemmen – mit dem Raclette Fashion und dem
Fondue Harmony von Rommelsbacher werden lange Winterabende zum geselligen Erlebnis.

Raclette Fashion – Ein Genuss für die ganze Familie
Schnell sind Familie und Freunde am Tisch versammelt, wenn es Raclette gibt. Jeder bekommt sein eigenes Pfännchen und kann es nach Lust und Laune füllen. Ob mit Kartoffeln, frischem Gemüse, Mixed Pickles, Krabben oder Wurst – es gibt viele Möglichkeiten, sein ganz eigenes kleines Gericht zu kreieren.

Link zur Pressemeldung

Last saturday a friend of mine decided to give a surprise birthday party for her boyfriend inviting us to eat a typical french dish: Raclette.

It was a long time i was waiting to try it, but i also though that was going to be a good occasion to cook a nice birthday cake. The problem is that Raclette is mainly a plate based on melted cheese. This means the dinner was going to be quite heavy and the cake needed to be kind of light. This is the reason why i made the fruit Crostata.

But let’s speak about the “Raclette”: the name of this dish comes from a french verb “racler” that means “to scrape”. Originally in fact, they used to take the melted cheese from a big piece of cheese, scraping it. The cheese we used was a specific one made exactly for this dish and that we found in “La Fromagerie” here in London (Marylebone High street). It’s all about melting the cheese and eating it accompanied by potatoes, salad, tomatoes, ham or dried meat, gherkins and pickled onions.

To prepare the cheese there is a specific little machine that allows you to choose a portion and melt it, as you can see it in the pictures. So finally it’s an easy and quick plate to make, but good, fulfilling and the most of the fun is to prepare it and eat it with your friends all together. Then, of course, a good french red wine is a must to complete the dinner! Thank you Morgan and Guillaume!

The italian cake instead is just an optional!

PS. Mamy, sabato per il compleanno del nostro amico, io mi sono incaricata della torta, mentre loro hanno preparato la cena, ovviamente francese. Hanno cucinato “Raclette” che non e’ altro che un particolare formaggio francese che si fa fondere (ma non e’ da confondere con la fondue) e si mangia accompagnato da altre “delicattessen”. Insomma non una cosa proprio leggera, ma pensa che per farla hanno proprio una macchina apposita. Assurdo! Comunque ci siamo divertiti un sacco preparando i nostri piattini e la festa e’ uscita molto bene.

Großartige Dinge geschehen zur Zeit in meinem Leben und in meinem Kopf flirren die positiven Gedanken wie in einem Tanz umher.

Zum Glück bin ich gut im Sortieren…

Wahnsinns-Tag

Gestern hat mich meine Mama am frühen Nachmittag von zuhause abgeholt. Wenn jemand diese Szene in einem Comic aufgezeichnet hätte, hätte er Mama wohl Stielaugen verpasst (Augen auf Sprungfedern *gröhlz*), denn es war, als sprängen sie ihr raus, als sie den großen Sack entdeckte. Ok, ich bin nicht der Nikolaus oder sonstwas, aber ich hatte trotzdem Geschenke für Mama, Papa, Zwillingsschwester & Stiefschwester, genaugenommen waren es “Endlich hab ich dich wieder”-Sackerl für Jeden mit kleinen Überraschungen.

Aber Mama machte mir ordentlich Konkurrenz, denn ich glaube, ich hätte auch fast meine Augen verloren, als ich etwas Knalloranges im Kofferraum der kleinen Familien-Kutsche entdeckte: Orange Klappsesseln. Ich habe nämlich Mama kürzlich gesagt, wenn mehrere Leute in meine Wohnung auf Besuch kommen wollen, müsste sie mich vorher informieren, weil ich dann noch zusätzliche Sesseln besorgen müsste. Tja, Mama hat das Problem gelöst und noch dazu auf eine sehr “gscheite” Art und Weise: 1. orange passt gut in meine Wohnung und 2. Klappsesseln lassen sich platzsparend verstauen.

Ich fragte Mama dann, ob sie kurz raufkommen will, sich meine Wohnung anschauen. Mama sagte Ja, weil bisher hatte sie ja nur ein paar Fotos von meiner Wohnung gesehen. Also kramte ich nochmal die Schlüssel raus und Mama und meine kleine Schwester (Stiefschwester) haben mir die Sesseln hochgetragen. Mama fand es schön und ich fand es schön, dass sie es schön fand. Also ich hab dann Mama und meiner Schwester die Räumlichkeiten gezeigt und Mama meinte, sie könnte mir mal Ausmalen. Wir haben dann noch ein paar Dinge besprochen und sind dann wieder runter zum Auto.

Dann fuhren wir zwei Fast-Nikoläuse und unser Fashion-Victim mit den bezaubernden Grüberln zum Einkaufen und dann haben wir was gegessen. Meine kleine Schwester hatte einen Muskelkater und brauchte immer eine Weile, bis sie ihre müden Knochen aufgesammelt hatte und aus dem Auto gekrochen kam. Später gings dann zur neuen Wohnung von Mama & Anhang. Ich muss euch sagen, ich war verzaubert. Dort ist zwar Alles sehr eng und vollgeräumt, aber Mama hat ihrem kreativen Talent Ausdruck verliehen und alles so lieb dekoriert, dass ich aus dem Staunen schon fast nicht mehr rauskam. Und was mir auch sehr gut gefallen hat, waren die warmen Farben. Viel orange und viele kleine Schmetterlinge *schwärm* voll süß =)

Instant Idiotie #1:
Jetzt hätt ich fast *schärm* geschrieben *lachz* Das erinnert mich an Omas Nachtschärm, oder wie man das Ding halt schreibt.
Nochwas… Ich bin froh, dass wir nur Fast-Nikoläuse sind und keine ganzen Nikoläuse, irgendwie passt das nicht, Weiber mit Bart *kichaz* außerdem bin ich froh, dass wir auch keine Läuse sind, weil weibliche Läuse haben rosarote Turnbatscherl und um die müssten wir uns sonst streiten, wenn wir Läuse wären *rofl*
Und da fällt mir noch was ein… bzgl. Essen… also, ich sags euch, diese Riesen-Berner waren zwar sehr gut, aber meiner Ansicht nach auch schon ein bisschen pervers… fragt mich jetzt bitte nicht warum… denn ich halt diebezüglich lieber meine Fresslade geschlossen.

Ähm ja, weiter im Text: Also ich hab mich in der neuen Wohnung gleich sehr wohl gefühlt und Mama und ich haben uns dann in den Wintergarten gesetzt und haben ein bisschen geplaudert. Wir haben Cappucchino getrunken, Kekse gefuttert und ich habe Ma ein paar Ausdrucke gegeben und hab ihr dann die Highlights der ausgedruckten Hoppala-Sammlung vorgelesen.

Instant Idiotie #2:
Schon wieder? Ja! Ich hätt nämlich jetzt fast “Kekse getrunken” geschrieben… wäääh, flüssige Kekse… gräuselig!
Ach, da fällt mir noch ein, bei den Keksen waren so runde Dinger und so Kipferl-förmige, ich hab irgendwann vor mich hingemurmelt “Du bist, was du isst”, also: Hallo, hier spricht das Kipferl! Oder eher: Hier spricht Mamas “Küpfi” (das ist ne Anspielung auf das erste Telefonat mit Ma)…
Sch*ße, jetzt krieg ich gleich ne Identitäts-Krise… Bin ich nu n Küpfi oder n Scherzkeks?Vielleicht bin ich auch manchmal ein Schmerzkeks (dazu komm ich noch)…

Später kam dann noch meine Zwillingsschwester, sie hatte auch Sprungfeder-Augen, als sie mich sah, denn sie wusste ja nicht, dass ich da war. Irgendwie scheint in unserer Familie der Knuddel-Wahn ausgebrochen zu sein, weil es aufeinmal so herzlich zugeht. Bei Mama, bei meiner kleinen Schwester, bei meiner Zwillingsschwester, bei Jeder wusste ich anfangs nicht, wie mir geschieht, weil ich nicht mit dieser herzlichen Begrüßung gerechnet hatte. Aber ich hab es geschehen lassen und genossen =) Umarmungen machen positive Gefühle… und das fünd üsch guuut *grinstz*

Insgesamt waren wir dann ein Haufen Weiber und der Freund meiner Zwillingsschwester war der Hahn im Korb *kikiriki* also wir haben uns dann um den Tisch versammelt und Raclette gegessen *leggasmegga* Danach hat sich die nun nicht mehr hungrige Meute im Wintergarten angestaut, Kaffee getrunken, geplappert wie die reinsten Wasserfälle und unheimlich viel gelacht. Erinnerungen an seltsame Unfälle in der Kindheit und später haben einen Lacher nach dem Anderen verursacht.

Dabei musste ich dann dem süßen Grüberl-Monster unfreiwillig Gesellschaft leisten und mich als Leidensgenossin outen, denn ich hatte auch einen Muckikater. Aber nicht am ganzen Körper und nicht wegen dem Sporteln, sondern in den Bäckchen wegen dem vielen Lachen. Ich glaub, ich hab schon jahrelang nicht mehr so viel gelacht, es tat mir verdammt gut.

Ach ja, da fällt mir noch ein, ich hab meiner Zwillingsschwester dann den Ausdruck mit den Hoppalas gegeben und sie hat sich gebogen vor Lachen. Und das witzige bei ihr ist, sie lacht nicht so laut wie ein Traktor (wie ich), sondern wiehert eher leise vor sich hin, wird dann knallrot wie eine Tomate und windet sich dann wie ein Wurm vor Lachen. Ich musste schon alleine vom Zusehen lachen und Mama gings genauso. Der Freund von meiner Zwillingsschwester hat dann ein paar lustige Schnappschüsse gemacht.

Die Sache mit der Lache meinte ich, als ich was von “Schmerzkeks” schrieb, weil meine Zwillingsschwester hat sich schon so gewunden, dass ich glaubte, sie kratzt noch ab. Also echt, bevor ich ihr nochmal so nen Ausdruck gebe, hol ich lieber vorher noch die Rettung, nicht dass sie mal vom Sessel kippt, lang hin und tot umfällt.
Instant Idiotie #3:
Zumindest weiß ich jetzt, was ich tu, wenn ich mal ne Pizza backe und eine Tomate zu wenig hab… Ich hol mir meine Zwillingsschwester, gib ihr was zum Lachen und ernte dann ihren Kopf *fieslachz* naja, vorher müssten wir vielleicht noch ihre Haare grün färben, damit sie wirklich wie eine Tomate aussieht.

Mama und meine Zwillingsschwester haben mir dann gesagt, dass nicht die Hoppalas an sich so witzig sind, sondern meine blöden Kommentare. Das erinnert mich wieder an das, was meine kleine Schwester gesagt hat… und sie hat schon Recht, wir zusammen, also alle Weibleins in dieser Familie, könnten gutes Kabarett machen =)

Jedenfalls ist meine Zwillingsschwester dann mal müde geworden und hat mit ihrem Freund die Kurve gekratzt (naja, solang sie nur die Kurve kratzt und nicht abkratzt, ist es recht). Danach hat Mama mich nach Hause gefahren und das Grüberl-Monster hat uns begleitet. Wir haben uns dann nochmal gegenseitig bedankt, umarmt und verabschiedet.

Ich bin dann rauf in die Wohnung und hab gleich mal den Inhalt meiner Tasche ausgeräumt… eine orange Vase, Socken, Unterwäsche, Schuhe, T-Shirts… (Danke, Mama!). Als ich mittags abgeholt wurde, war die Tasche noch voll, als ich abends ankam, war sie wieder voll. Mittags waren ja noch die Sackerl drin: 1 für Mama mit Sachen für ein Entspannungs-Bad, 1 für Papa mit Süßigkeiten, 1 für meine kleine Schwester mit viel Pink, 1 für meine Zwillingsschwester mit einer Kaffeetasse mit einem verrückten Gesicht und drinnen einem Zettel mit der Warnung, dass sie sich nicht so stressen sollte, sonst sieht sie irgendwann so aus, wie das Gesicht auf der Tasse.

Tja, dann hab ich eigentlich nur mehr die Sachen verräumt, die Klappsessel ausgepackt und verstaut und dann hab ich mich schon an den Compi gesetzt und hab kurz darauf zu tippen begonnen…

Wahnsinns-Wandel

Diese ganze Familien-Sache tut mir sehr gut…
- die Umarmungen
- das Reden
- die herzliche, offene, lockere Art meiner Familie

Ich kann mein sonniges Potential voll ausleben, lachen, fröhlich sein,…

Ich lebe auf und erkenne, dass das Leben bunt und schön ist.

Ich fühle mich befreit und habe auch an Selbstsicherheit dazu gewonnen.

An alle Familien-Mitglieder:
Ich hoffe, ihr habt auch was vom Kuchen, denn ich will nicht, dass ihr zuwenig bekommt und dass es einseitig wird.
Mit Worten kann ich mich zwar nur begrenzt revanchieren, aber Folgendes will ich trotzdem unbedingt gesagt ähm geschrieben haben:
EIN HERZLICHES RIESEN-DANKESCHÖN AN EUCH ALLE !!!

Wahnsinns-Getippsel

*Uff*
Jetz isser fertig… der Blogeintrag…
glaub ich jedenfalls… hoff, ich hab nix ausgelassen…
naja… ich hör jetzt auf… Gute Nacht!

Thursday was a particularly delicious day that was more about eating than cooking!

My team mate Jo turned 24 (am feeling so very very old) and as Jo is a complete cheeseaholic but has never visited the holy grail of dairy – Neals Yard Dairy at Borough Market. It’s a cheese lovers paradise and I can never walk out empty handed!!! Came away with a divine blue cheese with the intention of making a pear, pecan & blue cheese salad tonight but as luck would have it I have left it in the fridge at work!! ggrrr….Monday night then!

My favourite place in London

So one of the things I always see (and smell) at Borough is the Raclette stall. I have never tried Raclette and so Thursday seemed like the perfect day to give it a go.

According to our friends at Wikipedia Traditional Raclette is a semi-firm, salted cheese made from cow’s milk. However, varieties exist made with white wine, pepper, herbs, or smoked. The cheese originated in the Swiss Canton of Valais and it is usually fashioned into a round of about 6 kg (13 lb).

The Raclette cheese round is heated, either in front of a fire or by a special machine, then scraped onto diners’ plates; the term raclette derives from the French racler, meaning “to scrape”. Traditionally, it is accompanied by small firm potatoes, gherkins, pickled onions, dried meat, such as prosciutto, sliced peppers, tomato, onion, mushrooms, pears, and dusted with paprika and fresh-ground black pepper.

Our serving at Borough was served with just potatoes, small gherkins & pickled onions and it was comfort on a plate. Such a treat!

Raclette under the grill

Louise digs in!

Cheesy Jo enjoys her toasted cheese sandwich!

So from one yummy meal to another! In the evening I headed into Covent Garden to meet my dear friend Meredith for a long overdue catch up. It is such a joy to enjoy a long dinner with a fellow cook and food lover! My current favourite restaurant is Wahaca (opening in Canary Wharf in Nov – awesome!!) – its amazing and so reasonable for the quality of food and the location! Wahaca serves Mexican food but no Taco Bell style food. Check out the menu on their website – I guarantee you will be salivating in seconds!! Similar to Wagamama there is a no booking policy (so there can be a queue), close tables, open kitchen and general chaos!

We had a selection of Street Food to start – Pork Pibil, Shrimp Ceviche Tostada, Chorizo & Potato Quesadilla and Devon Crab Taquito, accompanied by a Margarita or 2……

An hour or so later we were ready for a bowl of Chicken Tortilla soup – it was so delicious but I just couldn’t fit anymore….. I loved the way his dish was served. All the ingredients were arranged in the bottom of the bowl and a hearty tomato soup is poured over this at the table. Oh, and there were a few more Magarita’s…..

A fab day full of a variety of culinary treats and great company!

Every summer, loved ones and I convene in New Hampshire to reunite and swim in a lake and rejuvenate in various ways and, most importantly, to eat some amazing cheese. OK, the cheese is not quite as important as the loved ones and the reuniting, but it is pretty damn special.

I was blessed to grow up, from the age of four on, in a wonderfully tight-knit neighborhood. There were single people and families, kids with whom I learned to ride bikes on my dead end street. There was the beloved bachelor professor who lived downstairs from me. There were roommates and people who lived down the block, flitting in and out of the weekly dinners that were a constant for the rest of us, and then there was Colleen. Colleen was just about the most beautiful and sophisticated person I could imagine. She lived next door to us with a family of friends, and they had all met in Switzerland. Colleen had lived all over Europe. We called her driveway “piazza,” strung with twinkle lights and decorated with a small gondola. She traveled the big world and broadened my littler one with exotic chocolates and mementos and enchanting stories. Once she phoned me from an AIRPLANE for goodness sake. My mind was blown.

It must also be said that Colleen is from the Midwest, all American charm and stories of swim meets and big families and having too long legs as a girl. She grew up spending summer days on a lake with brothers and sisters and cousins, water-skiing and swimming and all kinds of neat things. When I was about six, she bought a house on a lake in New Hampshire, in large part so that she could share that experience with her loved ones. It is a fantastic house, and she fills it with fantastic people throughout the summer.

Because a few cornerstone members of our neighborhood crew first met in Switzerland, we took to spending Swiss national day, August 1, at the lake house and, though the date has varied over the years, the tradition of celebrating with raclette has not.

Raclette is an amazing thing. It is a semi-firm cheese, and also the dish named for the cheese, traditionally served melted with fresh ground pepper and boiled potatoes and cornichons and little pearl onions and cold cuts (though I traditionally forgo those last two things). It is a washed rind cheese, and I thought it was offensively stinky as a kid, but now I find it somewhat mild. My palate is either more sophisticated or rather more dull than it was twenty years ago. Go figure.  In any event, the raclette is creamy and smooth and just the tiniest bit stinky-cheesy and one of the best things that you could ever hope to eat.

Nowadays, it is possible to purchase various types of electric raclette grills to make melty cheese in your own home. Many of these little grills have individual pans to melt down individual slices of raclette. While I would never say no to my own little portion of melted cheese, and while I’m sure raclette tastes phenomenal under any circumstances, it’s worth pointing out that the name raclette comes from the word “racler,” to scrape, and I am both pleased and unduly proud to consume raclette prepared the old-fashioned way every summer with some of my very favorite people.

Here is how it’s done.

Step 1: Procure half a wheel of  cheese. Not a sliver, not a wedge. An entire half wheel of cheesy awesomeness is required. Place the cheese with the cut side facing a fire. Our traditional racleur was not able to make it this year, but he rigged up this system years ago — a contained fire with a grill grate against which coals can be stacked to maximize heat exposure while keeping the cheese safe from flames and ash — thus enabling us to forge ahead with our cheese-loving ways with relative ease.

Step 2: Scrape-a-scrape! The racleur flips the cheese for even melting and watches, with a keen eye, to see if it is ready. Once the outermost layer of cheese has melted, the racleur removes it from the fire and uses a special flat knife to scrape the melty goodness onto a waiting plate. Inevitably, there will be some excess along the sides. This is scraped upwards and inwards, onto the flat surface of the cheese, for additional melting and eventual serving. The crispy, rindy bits are known as the religieuse after the nuns to whom this part was relegated until other people caught on that it was awesome. At least that’s what I was told when I was a kid. Maybe it’s called the religieuse because eating it makes you feel close to God? That seems entirely plausible. Would someone less ignorant and better with French please step in here and clarify?

Step 3: Repeat. Repeat until everyone is fed and happy, and until someone else dons the apron and gives the racleur a chance to eat. 

Step 4 (Optional, but recommended): Let me have a go! Cheese lover that I am, I was thrilled, after 22 years of this wonderful tradition, to get behind the cheese for the first time.

Step 5: Wrap leftover cheese in foil, refrigerate, and make rösti in the morning. My mom handles this part, frying leftover potatoes with grated raclette until crispy and brown, while I make a big pan of eggs that inevitably takes way longer than it should, and eventually we all sit down to one of the best breakfasts of the year in a sunny spot on a lovely lake, and I, for one, feel blessed and happy with hot food and cold juice and lazy days with friends who feel like family.

I had my first Tartiflette at a restaurant in France while on a skiing trip – it was amazing.  I found a recipe on the back of block of Reblochon cheese and have been making it ever since.  You might find it difficult sourcing Reblochon, so use Raclette as a good substitute.

Ingredients

• Bag of potatoes
• Half dozen Shallots
• Medium tub of Crème fraîche
• Packet of cubed Pancetta

Method

1. Par boil the potatoes in a little salted water.
2. Chop the challots.
3. Fry the pancetta in a little oil.  You may substitute the pancetta with cubed ham or chopped bacon.  Add the shallots and fry a little longer.
4. Take the potatoes and slice enough for a top coat.  The rest can be chopped and put into the bottom of the oven dish.
5. Add the fried pancetta, shallots and Crème fraîche and mix well.
6. Now place the sliced potatoes on the top.
7. Slice the cheese and layer on top of the sliced potato.
8. Pre-heat oven to 425f.
9. Place oven dish in the middle of the oven for 40-45 minutes (or until top is brown)

Serving

Serve with lettuce leaves, cold meats and of course, a glass of wine.

When Jaz Cummins of Londonist approached me for an interview for their London blogger series, I was naturally delighted to oblige. As usual, I’m late with posting the result, which went live on Monday 6 July. And, as usual, ‘better late than never’ is my catch phrase. Voilà – the Epic answers to some Jaz-y questions.

The London Blogger Interviews #22: Epicurienne

What’s been your favourite cause, series or post on the blog?
I thoroughly enjoyed writing about our travels in Malaysia, which earned me a few fans in that part of the world and an interview with the Malay Mail, and you don’t have to ask me twice to write about Italy. But my favourite ever post has to be the video entry I made for the London Bloggers’ Meetup competition stating why I deserved to win a ticket to Blog08. I promised to wear big, wooden clogs to the conference, which someone obviously decided to test, because I did in fact win. And yes, I wore big cow-pattern clogs to the conference, earning me more than my fair share of odd treatment, but I’m pleased I did it.

Tips I can share with wannabe clog- wearers are 1. take them off before taking stairs OR take out comprehensive medical insurance before attempting to go up or down any number of steps. 2. they’re very warm. 3 wear thick woollen socks to make them really comfy. 4. they’re completely waterproof and 5. they make great pot plant holders when you get home.

What are your ‘last supper’ essentials if you had one day left to eat in London?
This is a really tricky one. I think if it were my last day in London, I’d go to Borough Market for breakfast, taking whatever was seasonally available for a snack. Needless to say, I’d take a tonne of photos to remember it by, and probably splurge on a few culinary bits and pieces for my new kitchen cupboard, wherever that might be.

I’d probably lunch somewhere Asian, like LiKo in Lisle street, where the tempura noodle bowls are fantastic value and you really get the feeling of being somewhere completely different from London, which is one of the reasons I like it so much. If my bank balance was looking really healthy, I might be persuaded to go to Nobu. But the main event of the day would be dinner. I’d invite our friends over for a big raclette buffet with asparagus and new potatoes, garlic button mushrooms and sweet vine tomatoes, with some fine French charcuterie courtesy of Monsieur, Epic’s herby chicken fillets and some crusty sourdough bread from the Hammersmith Farmer’s Market. I guess my last day in London had better be in May, given how much I love asparagus! The raclette would come from La Fromagerie in Marylebone, and I’d ask the nice chap at Nicolas to supply a few bottles of his driest Provençale rose to wash it all down. I have a tendancy to make myself hungry when describing food. That would be right now.

Would you feel more or less connected to London, or missed out on things without your blog?
I’ve lived in London for 15 years now, so you might say there’d be something wrong with me if I didn’t feel connected to London by now. However, the blog has made me feel a greater connection to London through extending my London-based community.

It also makes me think twice about things we take for granted as Londoners, which can be of interest to readers elsewhere in the world.

How has your blog connected you to another community of bloggers in London? The world?
In my earliest blogging days I found out about the London Bloggers Meetup Group, run by the most welcoming self-confessed marketing blagger Andy Bargery. Through the Group I have been lucky enough to meet a lot of London-based bloggers, which is definitely helpful when most of the people you might get to know through a blog live miles away. The LBM Group gives a sense of reality to writing in the ether.

As for the rest of the world, I have had the great good fortune to ‘meet’ a group of regular readers, who give me a kick up the backside when necessary, are also funny, supportive and intelligent folk. I count them as friends and they live as far afield as the States, Japan, Australia and Paraguay.

What’s the most underrated thing about London?
It might sound crazy but in my opinion the weather is the most underrated thing about London. Why? Because when the sun shines, even if it’s just for a few hours, it transforms everyone’s demeanour from grumpy to friendly. Admittedly, it can be too grey, too cold, too wet, too depressing at times, especially in the winter, but even that’s good because it means we don’t take the good weather for granted. Ever. Even the heavy snow in January seemed to unite neighbours as they moaned about not being able to get to work, whilst secretly enjoying building their snowmen and igloos.

And for some general London chat…Where do you live and why do you love it?
I live in Maida Vale, which neither Monsieur nor I knew very well before moving here. It didn’t take long to convince us that it’s a great place to be in London, though. It’s handy for getting to the West End and has good connections to most parts of London. It’s not far from Paddington. It’s leafy in summer with hidden communal gardens where we can picnic. There’s a great sense of community. On Guy Fawke’s Day there are some fantastic fireworks displays in the area and at the end of a rough day at work, it FEELS like home. There are some great pubs in the neighbourhood and people are as friendly as I’ve ever found them to be in any part of London.

At our tube stop there is one London Underground employee whom I swear must be the happiest man in their employ, writing silly messages on the whiteboard each morning to cheer us on the way to work, and Little Venice is a picturesque place to visit – with canal cruises to take with visitors and decent eateries with water views. Right now, I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else in London, although now I’ve said that, we’ll probably find ourselves on the move.

What’s your favourite place in London?
My favourite place in London would have to be around the river. At lunchtime I sometimes walk down to the Thames near Hammersmith, where I work. There’s always a tonne of interest going on down there – rowers in training, people walking their dogs, runners, pub-goers, interesting places to eat, strange buildings… The river gives a sense of openness. When entertaining visitors to London, it gives a lot of options. I love walking along the various sections of the South Bank, be it in Battersea Park or past the Tate Modern, or hanging out at Butler’s Wharf, or taking photos of Tower Bridge, or having a pint by the boats at St Katherine’s Dock… There’s the wobbly bridge to cross, strange river traffic to watch, not to mention the wonderful views of the city, including St Paul’s and the Gherkin. If you want to invite me somewhere, just make sure it’s on the river and I’ll be there, bells ringing loudly.

What do you know about London that noone else does?
I once met a woman whose husband fell seriously ill quite out of the blue. He went into a coma and the doctors were quite certain he wouldn’t come out of it. The woman had heard about the Tyburn Convent at Marble Arch, going there each day to pray for her husband. He subsequently made an astonishing recovery, encouraging his doctors to write about it in medical journals. They couldn’t explain it. Everyone called it a miracle and the woman has no doubt that that’s exactly what it was. So if you’re ever in the honest need of a miracle, I would recommend visiting the Tyburn Convent, which is dedicated to the Catholic nuns who were hanged during the Reformation on the site where Marble Arch now stands.

Have you ever been sick on the tube?
No, thankfully I have never been sick on the tube, as in physically lose my lunch all over someone’s Jimmy Choos. I’ve felt faint in summer and claustrophobic on sardine days and certain armpits have made me gag at times, but luckily I’ve always made it to my stop without having an Exorcist moment. Having said that, as I was thinking about this question, I overheard a guy on the street chatting to his friend about having vomited on the tube the night before. That made me chuckle.

Anything else we should know?
Nope, I think that covers it. Thank you for asking me to do this interview.

www.epicurienne.wordpress.com

For a link directly to the page, please click here.

Just a quick journal post today as it’s late and we have to be up early tomorrow morning to drive to London for the funeral of Major Jo Norton, a colleague Salvation Army officer and a good friend. We have been leading worship at Sleaford Corps again today, and I was pleased to be able to watch the whole of the German F1 GP. On our way home from Sleaford we picked up a friend of Sarah who will be staying with us for a few days, while Sarah prepared a lovely raclette meal for our arrival! The above photo was taken for a press release when we move to Leicester in a few weeks.

View from one of our hotel windows

On our winter trip across Europe, the hubby and I traveled from Amsterdam to Vienna to Munich to Lake Lucerne Switzerland. Not only would I recommend this series of cities to anyone, but I really can’t wait to do it all over again!
Driving from Munich to Lake Lucerne was a ridiculously beautiful trip. The mountains, perfectly paved roads, forests, and cute architecture kept me entertained while E drove our adorable little VW, zipping along on roads without speed limits. We stopped at a rest stop at the Swiss/German border, and I was dumbfounded. It was beautiful, almost like a ski lodge, and motorists were relaxing with cups of espresso, wine, beers, and full meals. It was a far cry from the McD’s and an overcrowded restroom here in the states!
Entering Switzerland, we drove through some absolutely breathtaking countryside, with sheer bluffs into lakes/rivers, and rocky snow capped mountains on the other side. Before we knew it, we had pulled up to our hotel, Hotel Drei Könige.

Holiday decorations

Situated on the corner of a centrally located street in Lucerne, this hotel was perfect for us. Our room was large and offered windows to the street on several sides. It also had a fan! I can not sleep without some sort of white noise, and after over a week without, I finally had it back!
Our view from our window was of Gutsch Castle and Gutschwald, and I literally spent about an hour just looking out onto the street and up at the mountains. Switzerland is SO beautiful, and the air is so clean.

Lake Lucerne at night

With food always on my mind, I had a couple of things I wanted to try in Switzerland:
Alpine Macaroni - a cheesy noodle dish with apples, onions, and potatoes. Hearty, creamy, salty, tangy, and sweet. Yes please!

Raclette- heated cheese served melty and hot with potatoes, gherkins, and bread. Give me anything with potatoes and pickles, and I am a happy gal, but this nutty, slightly salty meal really provides a feast for the tastebuds.

Fondue- gruyere and emmental cheeses, mixed with cherry kirsch liquer and garlic, served with bread. I loved the garlicky, sweet, and creamy taste of the fondue and the way the crisp wine cut through the creaminess.

All paired with Swiss white wine, Neuchatel.

I managed to eat all 3 of these things during our few days in Lake Lucerne, and while I do not have photos (sorry!) I can remember the sensory experience that Swiss dining brought to me. My favorite dish, surprisingly, was not fondue, but the Alpine Macaroni. I ordered this in a very cosy little restaurant with dim lighting and stone walls. I was completely surprised by how much I liked Swiss white wine, and when I was presented with a metal pot of Alpine Macaroni, I was in heaven. It is a simple dish of noodles, cheese, potatoes, onions, butter, and chopped apples or applesauce. Such a sweet and savory unexpected combination that really stuck to my ribs!

that's me

Our time in Switzerland was not cold at all, even though it was January, I ended up taking my coat off at times, especially when we were climbing up to Gutsch Castle and exploring the hillsides and city walls of Lucerne.

One of the highlights of the trip was a lake cruise, where my love and I got to relax, drink Swiss wine, and stop at the little towns around the lake itself. The weather was truly insane, pouring rain, then sun, so we were able to get an amazing sense of how the lake and mountains look in a variety of weather types.

Rainbow over Lake Lucerne

Lucerne Lion Monument

In a nutshell, our trip to Lucerne was full of great food and wine but also lots of walking and hillwalking, cruising, looking at art and architecture, listening to music (hello free concert by the Salzburg Chamber Orchestra!), and relaxing. We went in winter, but I am pretty sure this is a year round destination that I would like to visit again very soon!

On Saturday the 27th of June Stanley Jordan, the James Taylor Quartet and some acquaintances of mine will be playing in the streets of Mandrisio. This little town in Switzerland, nestled between lakes Como and Lugano will be hosting this rather groovy part of the Lugano Jazz Festival. I am thinking Sun, Samba and Raclette.

How can I not be there?

Exactly. Hence I will attempt to harness the power of twitter, my mac, my camera, my mobile and a bloody expensive roaming data package to bring you live updates from this little 24 hour trip to the Swiss Alps and back.

Wish me luck…

Après le sondage-maison, voici le sondage-chalet! Vous pouvez déterminer lequel de ces Québécois racle avec le plus d’élégance, de grâce, de dynamisme et de style! Le choix est le vôtre, il ne coûte rien et ne rapporte rien! Si le choix vous apparaît trop difficile, cliquez sur l’image pour vous remémorer l’histoire derrière la photo!

Choix no 1 : Gaël “Gawel” Le Corre-Laliberté

Choix no 2 : Etienne “Fiz” Fiset

Choix no. 3 : Etienne “Tchab” Chabot (l’histoire s’en vient! Sur vos écrans d’ordinateur lundi prochain!)

While in London, I was so excited to visit the Borough Market, a very nice market where you can buy delicious food to take home to cook, or just walk around and taste many of the products made in each stall. I tasted fresh pasta, wonderful salads, juices made with real fruits (even wheatgrass!), and an infinity of cheese varieties with toast, and a wide range of olives and olive oil from many Mediterranean countries, including Spain of course!!

I love cheese, so one of my favourite moments was watching a raclette being made in a stall, ready to take away. Raclette is originally a Swiss way of eating cheese. The cheese is melted over fire and then scraped onto bread or boiled potatoes with a raclette (scraper). I have had raclettes many times, at restaurants, friends houses, etc. but I had never seen it made authentically in a stall before!

If you go to London, don´t miss it!!

-Rocio