Showing posts with label artsy-fartsiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label artsy-fartsiness. Show all posts

Monday, March 19, 2012

Spring Impressions: My Watercolors

Detail, Spring Rose
inspired by CheyAnneSexton


Mushrooms
inspired by Yael Berger
 I have not been as diligent as I'd hoped about sharing my amateur artistic endeavors.
Partly because photographing art is really challenging (perfect light is hard to come by these days), and partly because I've been super busy painting. :)  
Last term I took an acrylic class, which taught me exactly how  much I did not know about painting (but it was fun).  This term I am taking a watercolor class, and, despite the odd crisis about shadows, shading and perspective, it's teaching me how much I do know (or maybe it's all just starting to sink in).

Watercolor, so far, is my favorite medium. I love working with water. I love the fact that your paints dry on the color plate or palette and you never have to worry about them again.  I love that it's not messy and that it's so quick.  It doesn't involve a lot of the complexity regarding drying and waiting that oil or acrylic do.  And besides all that, it's dear to my heart because it's the first type of painting I ever seriously put my mind to learning on my own.
Radishes / Beets?
inspired by Yael Berger

I've really enjoyed the class so far, which has been going for about a month or so.  It's given by the same teacher I had for acrylic though the crowd is really different.  I'm also finding that because of the minimal clean up watercolor requires, I am also painting a lot outside of class in my own time. And Roman is slowly but surely being tamed into don't-touch-the-watercolors submission.  I also think I'm enjoying it because I've made a friend with a girl in my class and we've started meeting up outside of class for painting sessions as well - usually involving drinks and snacks :) - and have even embarked on a project: making a book illustrated with our watercolors.

This idea originally started when a friend of mine in London told me she was taking an art class in which she was writing and illustrating a children's book about her son.  That sounded right up my alley and so I thought, why not use my watercolors to do it? That has slowly morphed into making a keepsake for Roman to have about Portland in time for when we move to Denver at the end of May.

So not only do I enjoy watercoloring but now my hobby also has a short-term goal and purpose, which elevates it to something more meaningful for me.  And as fun as trawling Etsy for inspiration (see The Joy of Color and CheyAnneSexton for just two that I really love) and objects to copy - a fantastic way to observe and learn techniques when you don't have a teacher in front of you - I'm looking forward to taking some of my personal photographs or ideas and making them an entirely original piece of work.  God knows I have enough photographs to do it.
Spring Rose, with border
Anyway, I wanted to share some of my "work" thus far. I am really proud of my flower (title picture above), which I think really encompasses the feel in Portland right now. Spring is springing and the whole world seems to be boisterously desperate to embody that beautiful sunshine that blooming flowers are. As for the rest, they are a mix of things I've done in the past two months, and while some of them are decidedly crappy, I'm pretty proud of them too. :)
*  *  *

Detail, radishes / beets?
I'm really proud of these stems!

Maine countryside, from a book
 
Little bird, copy from here
Non-Descript Landscape
Moody Maine coastline,
copy of a Charles Wright original
  



Spring flowers

  
San Pellegrino Blood Orange


Ruby Red Grapefruit, lame attempt at this
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Thursday, March 1, 2012

Happy 30th Birthday Matt (& a Waffle recipe)!





It's a landmark!  A landmark best celebrated with homemade waffles (on an antique Wagner

Celebrating 30 years of Mat
cast-iron waffle iron), 18 year old Macallan Scotch (hellz yes, Matt loves his wife now!) and your closest friends and family. 

But since the latter are all too far away, I brought them to 
breakfast through a giant photo and memory scrapbook that I've been working on for the better part of the last month and a half. 

Over 30 of Matt's friends and family contributed by filling out a cheesey but sweet questionnaire of my creation, and sending in pictures and all their best wishes for the Birthday Boy. 

He was duly surprised, nay, struck and moved. :)  Thanks to everyone who contributed!

Roman's contribution
The Marcus Farkus Brotherly page
So yes, this post is mostly-congratulatory in nature, but also part-braggy regarding my latest crafting affair / super online-birthday-find (the amazing waffle iron).  Either way, hope it's a memorable day for my partner in crime, and here's to another couple of 30-year adventures, this time as a couple the entire time :)

Happy 30th Birthday Mizzle-Mazzle!  

* * *

Crisp, fluffy, delicious, birthday waffle-yness
Here's my newly found recipe for the best waffles ever.  Seriously good.  At least 10-times better than any silly "gaufres de lieges" we had in Belgium, which tells you something.

Ingredients
The Wagner in all its glory.
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 egg yolks
1 3/4 cups milk
1/2 cup canola oil
2 egg whites

1 bad-ass-mofo-who-don't-take-no-shit-off-nobody-stove-top-Waffle Iron



Method

1. In a medium mixing bowl stir together flour, baking powder, and salt. Make a well in the center.

2. In another bowl beat egg yolks slightly. Stir in milk and oil. 

3. Add egg yolk mixture all at once to the dry mixture. Stir just till moistened (should be lumpy).

4. In a small bowl beat egg whites until stiff peaks form (tips stand straight up).

5. Gently fold egg whites into flour and egg yolk mixture, leaving a few fluffs of egg white, Do
not over-mix.

6. Spoon waffle batter into your waffle iron, making sure not to overfill it.

Serve with real maple syrup and copious amounts of butter!


Tips for using a stove-top waffle iron: Make sure it's super hot before making any waffles.  Then spray it copiously with spray-on butter and/or oil.  Leave the waffle for about 1 1/2 - 2 minutes per side, flipping to check doneness (look for browned, crisp edges and the ability to lift off the iron in one pieces without much flimsiness).



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Friday, November 18, 2011

November's a Turkey.


November is a Turkey.  

A fickle creature who hides in the background for most of the year and then suddenly starts running around ubiquitously, flaunting all sorts of colorful, once-hidden feathers, fattening itself - and you - up for a closely-guarded and fiercely-defended couple of weeks a year.  One day it's Halloween, all pumpkins and skeletons, and the next there's flocks of surprisingly nimble birds with a waddle wreaking havoc on rural roads while subconsciously also conjuring images of crispy roast skin and giblet gravy to go a-dancing sugar-plum-style inside our little heads.  The world seems to, overnight, go into orange-yellow-red-and-brown overdrive.  The trees are holding on for dear life and yet screaming with colors you would otherwise swear couldn't exist in nature (at least not on "dying" leaves anyway) and it's sensory overload with the crunching and raking of leaves and the howling of the dry autumn wind and the herds of squirrels hoarding acorns and chestnuts for the winter to come.  There is no desert here (well, technically there is) - and Roman seems perfectly happy to allow himself to be overwhelmed and full submerged into the many splendid colors of this cozy month, leaving Abu Dhabi full and firmly in the past.  

I must admit the whole thing is paradoxically nostalgic for me.  I grew up Mexican in a place where the leaves go from green to dead in a month's time.  Nothing pretty about it.  And the last Thanksgiving we had was in a desert where we were outnumbered by Brits, Kiwis and Arabs and it was probably 80 degrees outside (no trees there, for the record).  And yet, to me, November is always, absolutely, a Turkey.


This year we are hosting Matt's parents at our house for Thanksgiving.  I am so excited - and not because this is the first time I'll be cooking up a Turkey Day meal by myself, but because it's the first time I'll be doing it for Matt's family since we've always celebrated at his parents' house when we're in the States (if I wasn't at home).  Matt's parents are excellent cooks and have sophisticated appreciation for good food, so the heat is on.  And they also have the advantage that they are native New Englanders: there's just something so authentic and true about the way New Englanders cook Thanksgiving.  It almost feels like a natural extension of the way they normally eat - as if the Pilgrims and Indians have breathed a special breath of true-ness to the food that grows and is eaten here.

I've had a lot of fun decorating the house for Thanksgiving, with a little help from Roman.  I went cheesy and did the Thanksgiving Hand-Turkey with him one day as a craft project.  I kept one for myself and sent one to the grandparents.  Now I need to teach him to gobble and print out one of those color-your-own-Indian-feather-band things for the night-of. :)


* * *

The Menu

For my part, I've decided to go hardcore this year: I am buying a Turkey from a local Maine farm (Alewive's Brooks Farm in Cape Elizabeth) that grows them free-range.  It's not a heritage bird or anything but they only raise 200 a year and, hey, at least it's a slight deviation (improvement?) from my usual grocery store Butterball.  I'm interested to see if it really does taste better, especially given that it costs 5-times as much.

To make sure I don't ruin the bird, I am using my tried-and-tested method of religiously following Delia Smith's "Turkey Timeline."  For those of you who don't know Delia, she is the British Julia Child.  And even though her article is for Christmas Turkey (the Brits don't celebrate Thanksgiving, duh), it is such an easy, step-by-step timeline and ensures I am totally organized the day of.  You can use her traditional recipes (I love the use of bacon rashers to keep the breast moist) or substitute your own recipe.  Either way, it always works perfectly.  Take note, newbies.

Otherwise, I'm attempting to do a combination of Southern and Northern classics with the menu.  Here it is in theoretical form.  We'll see how much I actually manage to pull off well but at least I know that nobody will go hungry on my watch. :)
* * *

Appetizers:

Homemade Pork Rilletes * (adapted the recipe) served with
Baguette Toasts
some stinkily delicious Pont L'Eveque
and some Raclette for good measure

Cocktails / Drinks:

Mains:
Lemon-Herb Roasted Turkey & Giblet Gravy

Sides:
Kentucky Corn Pudding (the not-so-secret "secret" recipe)
Mashed Potatoes
Texas Roadhouse Rolls (yeah buddy!) & copious amounts of their cinnamon butter

Desserts:
The Best Chocolate Chip Cookies Ever. Period.

*Asterisks denote recipes I've never tried before.  Say a little prayer for me.
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Friday, November 4, 2011

Channeling My Inner-Matisse.

Detail of "Limonata San Pellegrino"; Acrylic on Canvas
Because I studied Art History I was sure I knew something about art.  I could tell you, if given the chance, about the techniques that are used, the lighting, the colors and how they do or do not work.  I could pontificate on different schools of thought, widely-hated critics, different philosophies, and even make pretentious jokes about obscure movements that make me sounds super-pretentious but smart.  I could proudly contextualize the particular painting into a dazzlingly complex network of historical events and personal experiences that may or may not have influenced the artist during the time it was produced, leaving you with an impressive knowledge of pre-industrial France or post WWII Spain and far too much information on what artists had STDs and slept-around or cared about the rights of hay-harvesters.  It's all very impressive conversation at dinner parties.  But take me out of the museum, put a canvas in front of me - or, actually, you don't even have to go that far - put a piece of paper and pencil in front of me and tell me to produce a piece of original art and I clam-up completely.  Painfully.  Cluelessly. 

I realized about 5 years ago when I was teaching ESL at a high school in Upper Manhattan that I had zero knowledge of actually making art myself, despite having devoted the better part of my college education to studying finished artistic endeavors.  Irony.  And as I sat in the art room at the High School for Law & Public Service (don't get me started on the absurdity and complete randomness of school names in Manhattan) trying to imitate a Japanese ink-drawing along with my students, I realized how the last time I'd actually taken an art class was in 4th grade.  Mrs. Allen, to be exact.  We did some "perspective" if I recall (an old western town with a big long perspective-filled street down the middle) and patterns and basic things like drawing shadows on a drawing of a wonky little cube.  And I was pretty bad.

So in 2008 I decided to teach myself how to watercolor - something that is, let me tell you, much harder to do than it sounds.  I used some amazing watercolors we'd bought in Mexico several years ago as my guide and actually did some decent amateurish work while on vacation in Greece.  Nothing to write home about, though (even though I did, of course, pictures included :)).  I will, however, gladly brag that a German couple offered to buy one of my paintings as I sat doodling it on the beach in Rhodes.  I was so taken with the fact that someone would actually like something I created as a memento of their vacation that I resolved to give it to them free of charge (they offered me $30 in case you're wondering).  I never saw them again, so it's now hanging in my bathroom.  Good times.

But my watercolors were kind of boring and after further ruminating on my lack of artistic skill for another couple of years, I finally took the leap and decided to take a semi-real art class this fall: Acrylic Painting.  I figured I probably had a good chance of not being the absolute worst person in my adult education course (being given, fittingly, at an arts high school here in Portland) because of my highly-developed aesthetic sensibilities and all that. :)  So now I've been going every week to a class of about 10 people consisting of the most motley crew I've ever seen.  And thinking of it now, I'm not even sure I'd be considered "the normal one."

Anyway, we produce something every week and some people bring their own stuff to work on.  It's truly amazing how much of a window into the soul a person's art is.  It's scary when the super-put-together-scientist-power-mom can't draw a simple tree.  It's also pretty humbling when the otherwise seemingly-bourgeois overweight businessman paints the most beautiful still-life or landscape. Who knew all that was floating inside that mind?  Not me.

The best / most challenging part of the class for me is making the rounds to look at other peoples' work and having them do the same to you.  It's like a therapy session where no matter how horrific what you're doing is, everyone gives positive reassurance - including our hilarious little ancient teacher who looks like a fully-dwarfed Salieri from Amadeus.  Fitting, given that with a stroke of his paint-brush he could literally annihilate my pathetic-little budding-artist's-self-esteem.  But Charlie wouldn't do that, no matter how much he hates my penchant for pinks, corals and bright-ass greens. :)

I've done some of the "exercises" Charlie has given us and I've branched out as well.  I figured it might be fun to document my progress or lack-thereof on my blog what with it being a blog on supposed aesthetics.  Here are my first works.  Matt tried his best to be a "fan" but asked that I wait until my later, more "developed" works to actually hang them in the house.  I, of course, then quickly ran around sprinkling pathetic artwork in random places all over our house.  :)

* * *

Exhibit A: The Monster
This sat in our reading room for the whole first month of my class.  I think Roman said he was scared of it at some point.
"The Monster" as Matt called it; our first "exercise" in painting with basic colors.  Yikes.

Exhibit B: "Bougainvilleas in Guanajuato" & Detail of highlighting
This was taken from a photo I took in Mexico several years back; I am really proud of my flowers and the bright colors, but I hate the building.


Detail of my bougainvillea: notice the use of yellow and blue to highlight. 
Very exciting.

Exhibit C: Limonata San Pellegrino

I am toying with the idea of doing a series of paintings of San Pellegrino drink cans.  I take one with me to class every single week, so why not.  The blood orange is up next.  I am obsessed with my lemons and their "shading / highlighting."  See detail above.


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Monday, January 31, 2011

"Capeando" with my Friend Frida K: Chiles Rellenos de Picadillo

Frida Kahlo: Mexican Woman, Artist & Great Cook

"A la nina no le gusta capear."  

"The girl doesn't like to batter things." 

I can almost imagine my grandmother saying that phrase to one of her girlfriends during afternoon coffee in Mexico City, shaking her head hopelessly and shrugging her shoulders, in reference to my mother, her youngest daughter.  It's an odd thing to think of, both because it probably never happened and because it's really such a shockingly unimportant thing to know how to, much less like, batter things.  And by "batter" I mean "battering" in the way that Mexican women know how, to create an endlessly fluffy mix of beaten egg whites and beaten egg yolks to coat various things and then fry them: Chiles Rellenos - stuffed peppers - are the most widely recognized and pertinent example here.

My mother hates battering things.  She hates getting her hands dirty, especially getting things under her nails - I inherited this trait, incidentally - and she also hates laborious, elaborate cooking.  So whenever I brought up making chiles rellenos and how to do it I usually got the same conclusive response after an elaborate explanation on method:

" Es una friega capear."

"It is a pain in the ass to batter things."

Fair enough.  We all have things we hate to do in the kitchen: I hate using double baths to melt chocolate, I hate having to put things in ice baths (seems so pointless when you can just run them under cold water), and I hate pouring powdered sugar into a bowl because it's impossible not to be dusted with a cloud of it.  I am very paranoid about over-beating whipped cream, buttercream icing, and am usually too lazy to refrigerate or wrap things in plastic wrap as often or quickly as I should.  So I don't blame my mother for having her battering issues.

But actually, I don't really think that the "capeando" part of making Chiles Rellenos is the hardest or most "pain in the ass" part of the whole rigmarole.  For me it's the roasting and peeling.  I hate roasting Poblano peppers (or any peppers for that matter), because I truly hate peeling the charred skin off the peppers once I'm done.  It's messy, it's never as easy as the recipes say it will be, and it's the step that always gets skipped on instructional videos.  Sure, wouldn't it be nice if a bowl of roasted, peeled, de-seeded and de-veined Poblano peppers just magically appeared next to your chopping board like in those videos?  Yeah - that's never gonna happen.

For these reasons, among others, we almost never had Chiles Rellenos at home.  In fact, the only times we ever had them was when we went out to eat at Pancho's, and that was almost never (I still maintain Pancho's has the best ever sopapillas and truly applaud the "raise & lower the mini Mexican flag on your table" method as a great way of quickly getting service from waiters).  Plus I always got given a hard time if I wanted to order them because nobody else in my family even really liked them.  It was a hard knock life, what can I tell you?

Anyway, dammit, today I was feeling homesick and determined to have some Chiles Rellenos if it killed me.  I decided that in my mother's absence (despite not liking to make them, she does know how) I would pull out the next best thing in culinary terms - a cookbook Matt bought me several years ago and which is still one of my favorite, for both its amazing recipes and its nightly aesthetically pleasing layout, pictures, and content: Frida's Fiestas: Recipes and Reminisces of Life with Frida Kahlo

This book follows Frida's style through party menus which in turn follow special occasions and holidays in the Mexican culture and the charmed but tragic life of Frida Kahlo.  It's filled with interesting biographical tidbits, original photos from La Casa Azul, and artwork by Frida, of course.  It's simply amazing.  

The book transports you to a different time, a different place, and a different way of living: a time and place where cooking for your family all day was a feminine duty and pleasure, a time of avant-garde art and revolution, and a time and place of unabashed nationalism and love of country.  It makes my heart hurt for Mexico, a Mexico that was and is no more.  But heartache aside, at least it allows me to savor some of those sorely-missed flavors, even if it does mean roasting and peeling Poblano peppers all by myself, and then battering them without my mom around to complain with. :)


* * *

Chiles Rellenos de Picadillo
adapted from Frida's Fiestas

Serves 2-3

Chile Relleno de Picadillo con Salsa de Tomate
Not to put you off, but this is not an "easy" dish to make.  Not that it's incredibly hard either, it just takes time, patience and perseverance.  My mom sure isn't kidding about "capeando" being difficult - as batters go, egg is not the easiest or least messy to work with, but it is delicious, which makes the trouble well worth it.

Picadillo is a ground beef based dish made with chopped vegetables and tomato.  It is eaten on its own or used to stuff things with in Mexico.  I think it pairs perfectly with these peppers but if you're vegetarian or simply looking for an alternative, chiles rellenos can be stuffed with cheese (probably the most famous iteration of this recipe).  Use queso blanco if you can find it, if not throw in some cheddar or mozzarella.

* * *

Ingredients
4 Poblano Chiles, roasted, peeled, de-seeded & left intact
(Substitute: Anaheim chiles or bell peppers in a pinch)
Oregano Mexicano
4 eggs, separated into whites and yolks in two bowls
4 tbsp flour
salt and pepper

For the Picadillo Stuffing:
2 tbsp vegetable oil or shortening
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2lb ground beef (~250g)
1 medium potato, peeled, cooked and cubed
1-2 carrots, cooked and chopped into squares
1/4 cup tomato sauce
1 chicken bouillon cube (optional)
thyme, marjoram, oregano (to taste)
salt and pepper (to taste)

*Note: This is my picadillo recipe: Frida puts shredded cabbage in hers, which sounds great, but I don't generally do that, nor did I have any on hand.

For the Salsa:
2 tbsps olive oil
Zanahorias & Cebolla
4 large tomatoes, roasted, peeled, de-seeded
& roughly chopped  (substitute: 1 can chopped / whole tomatoes & juice)
1 medium carrot, sliced finely
1 medium onion, sliced finely
1/4 cup vinegar (white)
1 pinch sugar
salt &pepper (to taste)
1 tsp Mexican Oregano


Method:

1. Make the picadillo by sauteeing and mixing the ingredients in order above in the hot oil or shortening.  Do not add other ingredients until after the onion and garlic are fragrant and translucent.  Add seasoning while the meat is still raw.  Allow to simmer for 10 minutes to allow the flavors to meld.  Set aside.

2. For the salsa: In another small pot, heat the oil then add the onion and cook until translucent.  Add the carrot and saute for a few minutes.  Then add the chopped tomatoes, vinegar, sugar, salt and pepper. Simmer for 10 minutes, then add the oregano.  Simmer until the tomatoes have broken down and the sauce is, well, a sauce. :)  Set aside.






3. For the chiles: the best way to roast them if you have a gas stove is to hold them over the flame directly using kitchen tongs.  I simply set them down on the flame and turn them occasionally, then use the tongs to make sure I get every little area of the pepper completely charred.

4. Immediately put the hot, black-charred peppers into a sealed plastic bag and leave until they are cold enough to handle (10 minutes).  Using a butter knife, gently scrape all the charred skin off, leaving the pepper in tact.

Chiles Poblanos: Roasted, Peeled and de-seeded

5.  When you are ready to stuff and fry the peppers: Heat 1/2 to 1 cup vegetable oil in a pan or small pot (the oil should go about 1/2 to 2/3 of an inch up the side of the pan).  Make a vertical slit down 2/3 of the length of the pepper and remove the seeds, taking care not to rip the pepper.  Using a spoon, place 1 -2 heaping spoonfuls of picadillo into the cavity of the pepper.  Then dredge in the flour mixture (flour, salt and pepper).

6. Meanwhile, beat the egg whites until they form medium-hard peaks.  Then beat the yolks until slightly foamy.  Combine the two gently into one bowl - use immediately.

7.  Using a slotted spoon, gently place one pepper into the egg mixture and cover it in the "capeada" or "batter."  Gently remove from the batter with a slotted spoon and place immediately in the hot oil.  Fry until golden on both sides, about 2 minutes, and batter is cooked through.

Serve immediately with the tomato salsa spooned over the top.
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Saturday, December 5, 2009

An Austere but Eye-catching Beauty: Sea Buckthorn


Sea Buckthorn: an eye-catching beauty.
image credit


There is a cute little flower and plant stand at our local mall that I pass every time I go shopping. In the leadup to our Thanksgiving feast-orama I kept my eyes peeled for something simple, sturdy and colorful that would make a striking yet understated centerpiece to the Thanksgiving table. If chosen correctly, this piece of foliage could also serve as an enduring autumnal-transitioning-into-invernal
centerpiece for the house.

Low-maintenance but beautiful was my game. With those prerequisites in mind, I knew flowers, unless potted, were out of the question. And besides, I did not want to go
the Poinsettia route although my family has established luck with those Christmas flowers.**

The flower stand offered a variety of evergreen wreaths, garlands, bunches of leaves and branches of many sorts - real or fake, bare or full of white fluffy poofs. But one thing caught my eye on day one and continued to do so until almost two weeks later when I finally bought it: a bucket full of tree branches with nothing but bright, brilliantly orange berries on them. I didn't ask the name then, though I should have. I just knew those two big branches of berries were my perfect centerpiece.


It turns out they are from a species of Central Asian / Eastern European shrub called Sea Buckthorn, and though deceptively austere in appearance - no leaves, no flowers, just berries and wood - the species is surprisingly versatile, delicate and above all, beautiful.

* * *
Top 3 Interesting Things About Sea Buckthorn
the bold and the beautiful

3. Resilient Little Bugger
Though the berries fall off easily and they are an awkward and ostensibly delicate thing to carry home from the florist, these shrubs in their full and natural form are about as resilient as plants come. They can survive temperatures up to -40C (that's -40F for you Americans), and are drought AND salt tolerant. They can grown in sand, soil, you name it. Sadly, their resilience means they tend to spread and create ugly large thickets if not kept in check - and they have gigantic thorns when fully mature. Oh well.



2. Berry Good Indeed.

In the Cold War the Russians and East Germans developed a new and improved Sea Buckthorn plant that was tougher, more resilient, yielded more berries, and spiked only westerners with its thorns. Ok kidding about the last part but I guess you could kind of call it the "communist sea buckthorn." :)

The reason they did this is because of the possible precious nature of Sea Buckthorn berries. While nothing has been proven as to their possible benefits with regards to things like cancer or other diseases, we do know that they contain almost 12 TIMES the Vitamin C of oranges, and can
be combined with other sweeter, less astringent juices to make a delicious breakfast smoothy!


1. "She's a Beaut, that One."
There are male and female Sea Buckthorns, which makes sense since the name sounds like some kind of mythical creature out of Harry Potter.

The female, of course, is the only one that bears the much-sought berries. And I say much-sought with no socio-political agenda in mind. I say sought-after for one very simple rea
son of great importance to an aesthetist such as I: their eye-catching beauty.

Or in technical terms:
"The combination of fruit shape and size, together with the contrast between the colour of the fruit and leaves, contributes to the ornamental value of this plant."
* * *

Here is one of my favorite shots of my lovely Sea Buckthorn branches:




* * *

**My grandmother once received a poinsettia as a Christmas gift from a house guest. This was back in the 70s. She took it and planted it in her front garden. It thrived and is currently still alive and well, in tree form, in her front yard in Mexico City.
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Thursday, August 6, 2009

So Chic en Belgique (Part II)


A Brusselian street:
visions of cobblestones still dance in my head.

London bridge is falling down. And it's raining cats and dogs.


Well, no, it's not - London bridge is in Arizona and all the cats and dogs are safe and sou
nd. But it might as well be with all the other absurd things happening around here.
Among them:
- London is STILL freakin' hot
.
- London has also become ridiculously HUMID (I thought I left Texas for a reason?).
- And yet, it's raining like hell the night before I embark on my first camping trip since Girl Scout days
.

Oh, the irony. But, I am not here to talk about our upcoming camping trip in the English countryside (that's for a later post!) -
I'm here to finish reporting on the beautiful madness that was our super-cool (said with a Belgian-French accent) trip to Belgium. It's good to have an extra week or so to digest one's travel experiences before fully spewing them onto the virtual word-canvas that is the blogosphere. So without further ado, part II of So Chic en Belgique. :) Brace yourselves - this is a long one.


* * *

The Chicness That is Belgiqueness
(in anecdote form):
Parts IV-VII
or, when in Bruges, leave your kids at the hotel

IV. The Much-Hyped Bruges: No Dogs, err, Kids Allowed.
We had heard so much good about Bruges. So much good and so little bad, in fact, that I have to admit I started to wonder how a place could be so absolutely wonderous. Bruges this, Bruges that, did you see the movie? oh the beauty! oh the sights! Yadda yadda. I was predictably skeptical.

Architecture in Bruges;
for some reason they make me think of mustard and horseradish.

Getting there from Brussels sounded easier than it was - probably because the people who told us about it traveled without an infant in tow. An hour long train ride with everyone and their mother-in-law-with-a-bad-leg on which there are no reserved or assigned seats: not exactly ideal. On the local trains it's first come first sit, so it was a miracle we nabbed seats at all; the aisles were entirely full of the standing and perturbed. And despite having a baby in his arms, Matt still got glares for not giving up his seat. (Gee, I wonder why the two 15 year old boys in front of us listening to their iPods didn't give up theirs? Bitter? Me? Never!) Mean glares for papa bear. Strike one.

Our arrival into Bruges;
getting a seat on a crowded train makes me want to click my heels.


Anyway, we made it to Bruges eventually and managed to somehow still be in high spirits.

First stop (at my request) was a little tea room I'd looked up rumored to have the best hot (Belgian) chocolate in town: Tea-Room De Proeverie. It took a little walking, but we finally came to it and found it to be a beautifully quaint little place nestled just outside the medieval center of Bruges. It was empty but for two or three people sitting inside, and at the entrance were two seemingly cheerful people making delicious looking chocolate creations of some sort.

I all but cart-wheeled inside, almost maniacally chomping at the proverbial bit. It was warm outside and as a rule I don't drink
hot chocolate anyway, but this hot chocolate was too good to pass up because it was the kind where they give you an actual piece of chocolate which you then dip and swirl in the hot milk to create your own drink. (Kind of childish to still love doing that, but hey, life is too short to be a snoot.) Weather and general dislike of hot chocolate be damned*, we waltzed inside. I'd just requested a table when the chocolate-making-waitress spotted Matt and Roman, and therefore, the stroller. Her smile disappeared and she warned me that if we couldn't fold the stroller and put it behind their door, we wouldn't be served. There was nobody in the place, and plenty of room for the stroller (which is not very big to begin with). When I told her the baby was sleeping and we couldn't fold it up, she shrugged and said they couldn't serve us. We were literally turned out. Wth? No hot chocolate for mama bear. Strike two.

Next stop: De Vlaamsche Pot. Because of all the hype surrounding Bruges and its picturesqueness, I made it a point to try to find the absolute perfect restaurant at which to have a late lunch / early dinner before we headed back to Brussels. I wanted something quaint, traditional but with a real Flemish flair, something with that certain Belgian...je ne sais quoi. :) After much internet research and pouring over what seemed like every restaurant review out there, I fell in love with De Vlaamsche Pot.

Spotless, tastefully decorated, and boasting what was hailed by many a visitor as the best, most authentic Flemish Beef Stew in Bruges, I decided it was the place for us. Armed with their address
and phone number, we made our way over at around 5pm for a very early dinner (perfect timing for catching an 8pm train back to Brussels). To get there we had to fight our way through a swarm of European tourists so thick the sidewalks were almost completely invisible. Silly people stopping every two feet to buy another chocolate or postcard masked any antique charm the architecture might have had. Oh, that and the fact that every chain store and restaurant on earth seems to have hit Bruges. (There was a Pizza Hut prominently set up in one of the bigger squares we stopped at. Shame, really.) We eventually came to Helmstraat and our restaurant.

De Vlaamsche Pot is as quaint in person as on the web (if not more). The restaurant looks like a tiny Flemish home, decorated with beautifully rustic and yet somehow modern wooden tables and chairs. The atmosphere is relatively casual, yet adult. Too adult, apparently because prominently displayed on their front entrance was a large sticker with a picture of a stroller and a giant strike through it: no strollers, no children allowed. What is this place? I can understand not allowing children into a Michelin-starred restaurant, or a formal place in the middle of a busy dinnertime, but Bruges seemed to have a complete ban on children and strollers altogether! How did we end up turning into Snoopy in Snoopy Come Home!

I asked the waiter if he was serving dinner and he said yes, happily, excitedly - until he saw the stroller. We were asked to sit outside and given terrible service. He was friendly enough, but we felt so uncomfortable Matt had to get up and walk around the block every time Roman made a noise - and the place was empty except for two other couples, one of which was seated inside! No love for baby bear. Strike three! Bruges officially strikes out in my book.


But enough complaining - the food was awesome. We ordered the Flemish beef stew, which comes out in a not-so-mini mini cauldron with an even mini-er cauldron full of homemade apple sauce. You are given a giant bowl, which the waiter fills with freshly made Belgian Fries, which he brings out in an aluminum frying dish and servers directly onto your plate. You then presumably serve the stew over them. The stew is very sweet, even without the apple sauce. And it goes perfectly with a trappiste. :)

Meaty, morsely deliciousness of the Flemish persuasion. And fries, with which everything in life is better.

Our starter was a homemade pate, which was decent - probably chicken liver. It was served with a confit of onions and some salad and berries. The berries did not necessarily enhance the experience, and neither did the ranch-like dressing. Very odd combo, IMHO.


Dessert was a forgettable berry parfait of some sort. I don't go for that kind of thing. I'm in Belgium. Give me chocolate dammit.

Roman really wants my fries.

So, no, we probably wouldn't go back to Bruges. Yes, it was pretty and quaint - just like they said.
But no place is worth going to that doesn't like the Master of the Forum. Period.

*It is a little known fact about me that one of my greatest fears and worst nightmares is to be caught in a sauna wearing a thick unrefined wool turtle neck sweater while being force-fed really hot hot-chocolate. Because I always think of this ridiculos scenario when offered hot chocolate, I generally don't drink it. Somehow I got past this image as I stood before De Proeverie.

* * *

V. French Baguettes, Fries & Waffles on Steroids (if steroids were a good thing).


Back safe and sound in good old Brussels, Matt and I indulged in the other noteworthy foods ubiquitous in Belgium: baguettes, fries and waffles.

We ate at the same little sandwich shop near the Galerie de la Reine every single day for lunch: De Pistolei. We spotted it because there was always a line out the door and because it had the most gigantic and delicious looking baguettes we'd ever seen. They were easily 4 feet high and prominently displayed in the window. At 3 Euros a pop, it was a cheap and delicious lunch. I don't know what it is about French and Belgian bread, but it has powerfully addictive qualities. The soft, chewy crunchiness (contradictory, I know) it one of the textures I can never get enough of.

The fries in Belgium are unique because they are served with ketchup and mayonnaise. They are also much thicker - more akin to steak fries in the States, yet somehow lighter. They come wrapped in a paper cone and are eaten using a diminutive little pitchfork.
Being that annoying person who loves to eat her ice cream with an espresso spoon or the little flat mini-shovel pre-packaged ice cream often comes with, I am a huge advocate of the midgi-fry-fork. :)

And lastly, the Belgian waffles, or "Gaufres de Liege" as they call them. According to our cab driver (infinitely informative, I warned you), the original Belgian waffles are made with sugar in the batter and therefore not eaten with all of what we perceive to be the "traditional" accoutrement. No chocolate sauce or whipped cream or dribbly strawberry topping.

If you want to be authentic, you eat them plain.


We didn't want to be authentic. :)

* * *

VI. Manneken Pis: The Biggest Waste of Time Ever.

I will waste as little time on this as possible: if you go to Brussels you will be virtually bombarded with random awful souvenirs of a little cherub-like boy, naked, peeing. It's a fountain - much hyped. You'd think it was a masterpiece of art, or a gigantically triumphant celebration of the cherub-form. it is neither. What it is is a ridiculously small fountain on a random corner with a bunch of tourists stupidly taking pictures of it (without knowing why) and then going to buy the even more ridiculous Manneken Pis cork screws (yes, with a cleverly placed screw). Sad, sad, and sad.

Sadder still is tha
t we wasted the time and energy to walk there at all. Well, at least we got was this semi-artsy picture.



* * *

VII. Magritte & Marat: Art in Belgium

I was an art history major and somehow I did not remember that Magritte, Brueghel and Rubens were Flemish and/or Belgian. I also had no idea the much acclaimed "Death of Marat" by David was housed in Brussels. Armed with these facts alone (the last one would have been enough), I chose to devote an entire afternoon on our visit to Brussels to trawling the Musee des Beaux Arts and the Magritte Museum.
It was well worth the 13Euros per person, which gave us access to three museums: The Musee des Beaux Arts, the Ancient Art Museum and the Musee Magritte.

For the record, Death of Marat was worth the trip. That painting is amazing.



Death of Marat
a picture of a picture



a picture of a picture of a picture

I thought the museum excursion might be risky with an infant, but amazingly enough Roman was enthralled by all the colors (notably in the Magritte paintings). He was quiet and cooperative the entire time and he was especially taken by a giant globe made entirely of beetles (I won't start a rant on post-modern art here). There were lots of highlights in the museums, but I have to admit, I probably had more fun taking ridiculous pictures of Matt and Roman. Here are some choice shots:


Roman is clueless that Prometheus is being ripped to shreds behind him. Apparently so is Matt.
Ah, to be a child again. >:)

Deep thought #27.39: does life mimic art or art mimic life?


Good thing, cause I've always wondered what a giant
globe
made entirely of dead beetles would look like.

* * *

Go to Belgium. The end. :)

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