Green Bay to Paris...and Back Again

I check airfares on a weekly basis, hoping to find some sort of incredible deal for September. I've tried all hours of the day and night and every day of the week and I can make no sense of any of it.

When push comes to shove, we have our strategy and it is simple: As few plane changes as possible, damn the cost. I'd rather pay more than lose a suitcase, even for a day or two.

So far, this strategy has paid off, even though it has meant that we take the same flights to the same hubs at the same times and days of the week. That means a pleasant hour-long flight from Green Bay to Detroit, supper in the Motor City, and a 9 p.m. flight to the City of Light.

So far we have been very pleased, even though the layover in Detroit drags a bit. We have a cyber cafe that we like, and we scope out a new restaurant to try on the way home.

We get to Paris mid morning the next day: Just in time for a mid-afternoon nap before we hit the cobblestone streets looking for sustenance and scenery.

One pre-flight custom is a drink in the bar at Green Bay's Austin-Straubel Airport. There is nothing special about this, except that it feels decadent to drink before noon on a weekday.

I love Green Bay, and what's not to love (in my book): It's a city, although a small one and I like cities a lot. I like the way they evolve, the way they grew in no particular order, and I appreciate their role in history. I like the ebb and flow of neighborhoods, and the dynamics of downtown. I have seen Green Bay morph from a sleepy little town with a storied football team and smoke stacks to a fairly sophisticated small city. For some of that, I was in the heart of the action and part of my job involved selling the city.

How could I not love a city that played such a pivotal role in my parents' courtship and in more ancient family history? You could say I came of age in that city, longer before the more exotic and esoteric pleasures of Madison beckoned me.

So I was excited three months ago when I stumbled upon Packerland Annals, a thoughtful blog written by a man who is unabashedly in love with his adopted city. Calling himself Bruised Orange, the blogger tackles everything from downtown development to historic neighborhoods to standout architecture to (of course) the Green Bay Packers. What shines through is his unbridled interest and sincere affection for Green Bay. Every city should have its own Bruised Orange, someone to uncover legends and capture neighborhoods and ask questions the mainstream press does not ask.

Most large cities have bloggers who concentrate on politics. This guy focuses on bricks and mortar and downtowns and the many, many characteristics - some hard to define - that contribute to a community's sense of place. All things I consider as important as food and drink.

The flu is finally running its course and I hope to be back in the food business at least part time very soon.

Anything with Chocolate

Minor illnesses may well be our body's way of tugging at our ear and saying, "Listen."

Listen, says The Body, "You've got to take better care of me."

And so I argue back, "I got a flu shot. I wash my hands a lot. I've been eating more vegetables. What do you want?"

It turns out my body just wants some time off from life's whirlwind. Time to get back in touch with what really matters.

It's just a theory, but it's one we all hold to, right? One way or another.

I'll be the first to admit that when push comes to shove, meeting deadlines and Getting Things Done takes precedent over caring for my body. But I think I have learned my lesson. I never want to feel this sick again.

While tapped by the flu bug, I was also tagged by two fellow bloggers.

Erika of Tummy Treasure challenged me to come up with a braise for The Braisy Chain. Now my husband is the Braise King at our house. He likes to experiment with chicken wings and slow cookers. And ribs, too.

I am not allowed in the kitchen just now. So instead of actually making something braised, I offer you Braised Short Ribs with Chocolate and Rosemary, a recipe I stumbled upon a while back.

I intend to make this as soon as I am feeling better and not spewing germs. I will report back to you, complete with photo.

Christi of Charm and Grace. asked me to reveal seven random or weird facts about myself. Random I have done, but weird I have not. So I thought, why not?

Here goes:

(1) I believe chocolate enhances the flavor of just about everything.

(2) As a child, I hated meat and would chew mine and then hide it on a little ledge under the table. It did not take my mother long to figure out what was happening.

(3) In order to fall asleep at night, I design entire cities or buildings in my mind. This rare talent has taken me from ancient Rome to late 19th Century Oak Park, Ill., in two days.

(4) I have seen and heard things I cannot explain, but I do not believe in ghosts. I have had many dreams that have immediately come true.

(5) I can remember what I wore on many occasions or dates. Test me.

(6) I can recall my first nightmare: I was in church with my mother and a chicken was running around scaring me.

(7) I am not generally considered a mathematical genius, but I once placed ninth on an all-school math test.

There you have them. Seven weird facts. Well, OK, maybe the first one is not so weird.

But it's a fact.

Want to play? Go ahead! I am supposed to tag others for this, but my policy is to issue a general invitation. The seven facts game has been around for a while, but it's always fun to give it a new twist.

Fruit for Sick People

I have been waiting for a springlike day to show you these lovely raspberries from a vendor on Rue Cler.

I am told it was about as springlike as we can expect today - with temps in the 20s - but I cannot say for sure as I came down with the flu everyone else has.

When I am sick, I want only fruit. This probably stems from childhood when I was given comforting things like apricot nectar and bananas when I was bedridden. Tea and toast were another sickbed standard.

"Eat light, you'll feel alright," my mother would chirp, bringing me a tray. There was usually some embellishment on the tray, like a canned pear with raisin eyes and a cherry mouth. I felt cared for and secure and on the mend.

I had major surgery once, and went without solids from Wednesday to Saturday. My first meal was a small box of Cheerios. They were like some sort of manna to my hungry palate. I have loved them ever since, though they were never childhood favorites.

Chicken noodle soup still works, though I buy the low-sodium stuff now and it's not the same.

My husband provides the same loving care my parents did, but now I worry that he will catch whatever I have.

This time around, I've been living on a totally decadent but simple treat: Ice cream in orange juice. I could blend it and make a smoothie, but I just dump the scoop of ice cream in the glass of orange juice so it's more like a float. I know it is not healthy, but it soothes my sore throat and banishes my fever.

What's your favorite sick time antidote?

Cabin Fever and a Craving for Spring

Winter is wearing thin.

It's been mostly gray here and in some places the snowbanks are 10-15 feet high. We've seen a pattern of snow, cold, thaw, snow, rain, sleet, snow, cold, thaw all winter long. There's been more snow than anything else. We keep reminding ourselves that this winter has been good for seasonal outdoor activities and businesses that support them, but that is - pardon the pun - cold comfort.

I've been buying potted tulips for my office and wearing more pink. I have indulged in a bit or retail therapy. But color and shopping can only do so much to brighten a long and dreary season.

I want to smell and feel spring. I want that lightness that comes when we shed our heavy winter clothing. I want to hear birds again.

Last winter was eased by the anticipation of Paris in May. This year, we'll have to wait until fall - that will be a treat, to be sure, but it is still a long way off.

Fortunately, I can easily recall the feeling of a spring morning in Paris and I have hundreds of photographs that remind me of the light greens, the cool breezes, the smell of flowers and greenery and baguettes and chocolate.

I took the photo above while waiting for the No. 42 bus to Opera Garnier. I thought this cafe looked inviting.

What do you do to chase away the seasonal blues?

Chicken and Barley Soup on Sunday Night

What began as an ice storm tinkling against roofs and windows early this morning turned into a full fledged blizzard by noon. By suppertime, a civil defense alert was issued warning us to stay off the streets.

As if. We can barely get our back door open.

It is soup making weather here in Wisconsin. I made Kalyn's Chicken and Barley Soup, because I had all the ingredients and it helps me live up to my goal of eating good carbs and more grains this year. I had a small amount of stewed tomatoes on hand and in those went, giving the soup a tangier taste.

I paired it with pita chips, cheese and cole slaw, because that's what we had on hand.

Tomorrow, everything will be delayed at least two hours while we dig out from under the last onslaught. This is getting old!

What did you cook on Sunday?

Sweets and Flowers

This year I bought four red heart-shaped ramekins, hoping to impress you with some delectable dessert.

Last year it was a heart-shaped cake mold.

As usual, I had good intentions but little time. And as usual, the day sort of sneaked up on me.

So I leave you with these desserts from the bakery on Avenue de la Bourdonnais, at the the foot of the Eiffel Tower and some lovely late-spring blooms from the Jardin des Plantes on the other end of the Left Banke.

Enjoy!

Snow, Spring Rain and Seven Questions

It's coming.

Another onslaught of snow. After three mild winters, we're being dumped on this year. It started on December first, and save for a thaw over the holidays, it's been coming down ever since. In some places, the snow banks are 10-14 feet high.

By this time tomorrow, we may have 10 more inches.

All this bluster and wind and wet only makes for a sweeter spring. And a wetter one. But I don't mind. I love spring, especially those green days when rain has fallen and the sun is breaking through.

Nowhere is that more lovely than in France, I have found.

Blogging from France, Betty C. of Cuisine Quotidienne tagged me to respond to these questions, asked in French but answered in English.

Le dernier live que j’ai savouré

I do not recall enjoying a book as much as Joanne Harris’s Chocolat. But that was eight years ago. About a year ago, Harris came out with a book that featured several key characters, The Lollipop Shoes. But it has not been published in the U.S. yet and I could not find a copy in Paris. I snagged one recently as my gift to myself for Valentine’s Day. Why not? It takes place in Paris.


Le film qui m’a le plus transportée

That is a tough one. My current favorite is “Indochine,” with the always-spectacular Catherine Deneuve. But I love “Red” and “Blue” from the Tri-Coleurs trilogy.


Le plat que je mets au dessus de tout

All of them. Really. Oh, I have to choose. Anything that tastes of the Mediterranean area – perhaps seafood with tomatoes, garlic, peppers and olives.


Mon plus souvenir des 10 dernieres années

Lying in the sun in a spot I know in the Midi-Pyrenees area of France that is equidistant from the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean. The air smells of juniper and sunshine and sea breeze. Runner up: Standing in the sunshine on the site on Les Halles in Paris last May and feeling incredibly happy, surrounded perhaps by the spirits of my ancestors.


L’instant beauté que je préfère

A nap. Really.


L’endroit où je me sens le plus moi-même

The beach, always the beach.


Mes petits moments de bonheur

Saturday afternoons in winter, hunkered down at home with my husband; spring mornings when the birds are chirping and I can smell the earth; the glow of a lamp at twilight; seeing my niece smile and hearing my stepdaughter laugh; small victories at work; seeing how well my staff gets along with one another; planning our next trip to France.

Now, instead of tagging three more bloggers, I am going to challenge any reader who wants to respond. Just let me know if you choose to follow up so I can post a link back to your blog in a subsequent post.

The Best Day of the Year

If ever there is a turning point in winter, surely it is Valentine's Day.

By Feb. 14, the days are longer and there is a perceptible shift in the angle of the sun. Sunsets are vivid again, as they are in December, and on warmer mornings there is a feeling of spring in the air.

It is, of course, a boon for florists and card companies and jewelers and it really isn't a holiday, but nonetheless, I think it might just be my favorite special occasion.

I remember the fun of getting valentines at school, and bringing them home in a small tissue or construction-paper-covered "mailbox" and usually also finding something special on the table that night, like chocolate cake or cutout cookies.

My mother would get roses and one year, my father got one for me, too, a pretty pink bloom with a tiny fake pearl heart on a stick, also pink.

I especially loved Valentine's Days that fell on Fridays as they added something special to the weekend. I could reread my cards, savor the scent of my rose, and eat more cookies.

I became engaged around Valentine's Day, and most years, my husband remembers with a dozen roses. This has been especially fulfilling at times when I've worked with many women, as I often get the largest and deepest red arrangement. Ha! Mine are bigger than yours!

This year I gave my husband a new snow blower and a box of chocolates and a list of things I might enjoy.

I'll make him a special meal. Salmon perhaps. Surely something heart healthy.

What are your plans?

Mourning Susan

I wish you could join me for a cup of coffee and something sweet and comforting today.

It is sunny but bitter cold and blustery here in northern Wisconsin. I am comforting myself with small household tasks and the food that always soothes me: Unremarkable casseroles and pasta dishes. Nothing to write home about, nothing to blog about.

If you were here with me, I would tell you about Susan, who is gone, gone too soon. I read her obituary yesterday and mourned her, though we have not crossed paths in many, many years.

We were grade school classmates, she — the pretty little blond girl who was teacher’s pet — and I – the more rebellious dark-eyed and dark-haired misfit.

I say misfit, because in those days, I was one of the few non-Poles in a school still affiliated with an ethnic parish. My mother felt awkward in that nearly “foreign” church, and my father was not a church-goer. We were forced to join the parish in our part of town, and that was that. But the feeling of not belonging pervaded my years there, from 2nd to 8th grade.

Susan belonged.

She was sweet but spirited. (She got to play Mary in the Christmas pageant, a role I yearned for.) Her parents were plain, good unassuming Poles from the country who attended church together and likely prayed together in the evenings, something my parents did not do. (I thought we were on the road to perdition for that.)

Susan’s parents lived frugally in a small tract house, and remained there until retirement as far as I know. I am certain they were thrifty and sensible and good, and provided balance and good counsel in their four daughters’ lives.

In my young mind they were the ideal Catholic family, and that image followed me into adulthood, although I did not know it and did not think about it and I often ridiculed it.

Still when it came time for high school, Susan went to the public school, while I was consigned to navy blue uniforms at the Catholic school where my parents had met and where three generations of my family were educated.

We never really saw each other again after grade school.

Oddly enough, we dated the same guy once, a big boisterous blond. It was a date of convenience for me, and I recall how often he spoke of Susan while I pined for someone else.

Susan and I continued on separate paths, but I thought of her often, whenever I recalled those lonely years in grade school. I wondered, of course, where she was until sometime in the last decade when I looked her up online.

Oddly enough, I looked her name up a week or so ago, idly wondering what she was up to.

Now I know. Susan was dying.

Death seems incongruous when it happens to a golden girl like Susan, golden at least in those precious grade-school years. I suspect she lived the remainder of her life in private and without fanfare, certainly never splaying her emotions out for all to read on a blog.

Still, she was someone’s wife and someone’s mother and a daughter and a sister and an aunt.

And a classmate, a contemporary. Each time someone my age dies, all the others die all over again, friends and colleagues and classmates . . . Cathy, Kris, Eileen, Joy, Diane, Gayle, Grove, Larry, Smitty, Michael . . . each from a different phase of my life, a different workplace, a different school, a different time.

Forgive me for writing not about food, but about the need to grieve and seek comfort.

How Do They Do It? How Do You?

About seven months ago I acquired a lovely new job that keeps me constantly challenged and intellectually stimulated.

It also keeps me on the run.

As a result, my posts have diminished to one or two a week.

More importantly, I am seldom it the kitchen, except on weekends when I am not too tired.

The upside is that my husband has prepared more meals lately, especially on nights when I get home at 7:30 or 8 p.m.

Take last night for example. He made ribs from his own recipe, tossed some herb-y fozen potatoes in the oven and cobbled together a lovely green salad.

Why does someone else's cooking taste better than your own? It may have been the best meal I've ever had.

Two weeks ago he made pot roast with vegetables (above) and dumplings. I don't have to tell you that this is the kind of meal that comforts and delights. And it did.

Bottom line is: He is a catch. He prepares good, old-fashioned comfort food, the kind our grandmothers used to make. He has always been supportive of my career, which has always been the kind that requires long and odd hours.

Even with such support, I can't figure out how to post here more often, or how to visit other blogs.

How do you all do it? How do you cook such lovely meals, write such lovely posts and still have a life?

You continue to amaze me, readers. Thank you for being there and staying with me.

Salad for Dessert? Grapes with Walnuts in a Sour Cream Dressing

Wisconsin is getting slammed with blizzards this winter, after three relatively easy years of light snow and moderately cold temperatures.

We are eating our share of of hearty and savory dishes these days, so it was a pleasant surprise - and a treat for the palate - to stumble upon this dessert of fresh green grapes, walnuts, sour cream, cream cheese and brown sugar.

I have long been a fan of topping strawberries or blueberries with a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkling of brown sugar. It's easy and elegant.

I never thought about pairing green grapes with sour cream. But my sister introduced me to this at an impromptu lunch we had with our mother over the weekend.

I am hooked. You will be, too!

Here is is:

2 large bunches green grapes, stems removed

1 cup sour cream

1 cup cream cheese, room temperature

1/3 cup Splenda/brown sugar blend

1/2 cup chopped walnuts

Blend sour cream and cream cheese. Add grapes. Toss. Top with brown sugar and walnuts.

Le Train Bleu, Le Quincy et A la Biche au Bois...

During the week, my husband and I are far too busy to think, and some nights we see each other for only a few minutes, it seems.

I may not come home from whatever function I've had to attend until 8:30 or 9 p.m., by which time he has chilled out and is ready to nod off.

But we cherish our weekends. They give us time to run errands and do laundry together, plan and even dine out once in a while. This weekend, with one arm of my family about to take off for a winter vacation, we've been reminded that we have a two-week visit to France coming up in the early fall. We have plans to make.

For most of our time in France, we'll be at a private home surrounded by vineyards, just in time for the vendange.

But for a few days, we'll be up in Paris, this time at a yet-to-be-determined hotel in walking distance of Gare de Lyon and Gare d'Austerlitz.

We are familiar with the area and have already chosen three restaurants we hope to sample: Le Train Bleu, Le Quincy and A la Biche au Bois.

Here's what famous chocolat guy and man-about-Paris David Lebovitz has to say about A la Biche au Bois: "Not fancy but a lot of fun, and great food. Order one of the fixed menus and save room for the cheese course."

At Le Quincy, I understand the owner is both welcoming and dramatic. The restaurant, just down the street from A la Biche au Bois, is quite small and not well known to tourists, so they say.

Le Train Bleu, of course, was made famous by MFK Fisher. It is known for its elaborate interior and its ability to cause diners to speculate about the personal histories and circumstances of other diners.

Your comments on these and other restaurants near the Bastille or Gare de Lyon would be much appreciated below.

I can hardly wait. Planning is so much fun.