"It ain't what ya eat but the way how ya chew it." -- Delbert McClinton

 I met Delbert McClinton once, back in 1972 when he was playing some spot on Jacksboro Highway near Fort Worth and I was an 18yo college guy cruising for girls. What I ran into in that part of the world was honest-to-God women at least 30 smoking two packs a day and working maybe two jobs while their kids were at school. Way beyond my junior league but the music was good. Delbert still performs occasionally though he's in his early 80s. Great combination of blues, rock and country. He's in a class by himself.

The photo is of pommes de terre dauphinois -- otherwise known in the US as potatoes au gratin or sometimes scalloped potatoes. Over here the butcher shops (boucheries) sell raw meat but also various prepared sides and this is always one of them. Thin-sliced potatoes with cream, butter and milk plus whatever seasoning/cheese one chooses to add. But it's the process that makes this dish work just a bit better and (like so many things) it's how you get there that's most important.

The Italians have a pasta dish from Puglia (the heel of Italy) called all'Assassina. Normally one boils pasta separately then puts sauce over it or under it or (with butter or pesto) rolls it in. But with this dish, the pasta (usually spaghetti) is cooked IN the sauce. It's the process. not so much what's in it. So it is with this potato dish. Normally you slice raw potatoes, layer your cheese and whatever like a lasagna then bake it for an hour or so until it all comes together. In this case, you put your garlic, sliced potatoes and whatnot in boiling milk until they're about done, then top with cream, butter and cheese and bake.

The result is you're not tasting layers. Instead, you are tasting the combination of all in a wonderfully bubbly mess. Boiling milk is usually a bad idea. The closest we come is scalding milk for hot chocolate or something. But the French don't give a shit. There's curdling and a bit of a mess to clean up from the pot after it all goes in the oven to bake. C'est la vie and c'est le cuisine. C'est La France in the kitchen and pretty much elsewhere too.

My mom was a Dallas native born in Highland Park and raised across Denton Drive from Love Field, where my dad mustered out of the Air Corps after the war. She never lived out of Dallas County and used to tell me there were three ways to do things -- the right way, the wrong way and the Texas way. Of course to her the best way was always the third option. Even though she traveled a bit to Europe, Hawaii, Mexico, the Caribbean and even North Africa, her best way was always the Texas way. We never agreed on this after I moved out of the state at 20.

(An aside here. Mom had the hots for Charles Boyer when she was a teen and loved the movie "Algiers" with him and Hedy Lamarr. It's the one with "come weeth mee to ze Casbaaaah" and the inspiration for Pepe LePew. One time she and dad went to Barcelona and took a side trip to Algiers to actually see The Casbah and it ruined her image. It's pretty much a dump anymore. Sorry mom.)

There are plenty of ways to do the same thing and even improve on them by making a few adjustments. When we stop appreciating or seeking these, a little of us dies. Thinking Our Place is the Best Place is a handicap. It might work for now. It might be the Best Place in this situation. We don't have to physically move to make This Place a Better Place. But too often too many find That Place and it's their Only Place and it becomes a museum in the physical sense or, worse, in an emotional and attitudinal sense. "This is what and who and where we are and that's it. Take it or leave it."

I can think of no sadder turn. There's always a better way. Even if we stay where we are.

   

   

  

"I think of a hero as someone who understands the degree of responsibility that comes with his freedom." -- Bob Dylan

 We're just back from three days over in Reims, the capital of the Champagne region. It's less than an hour east on a train and in the middle of rolling hills near a national park. While much of the train ride is in a trackline that obscures the terrain, there is enough visible to know it's a strong area for cattle and other livestock, plus rapeseed (we know it as canola) and other stuff. All in all, a gentle few days in an ideal location near good restaurants and an easy stroll to the train station, plus a 13th-century cathedral (Jeanne d'Arc stepped here) and, of course, all the champagne producers.

In this year-long adventure, we have now been schooled in the production of both champagne (here) and rum (Martinique), enough to make us snobs should we choose. However, such snobbishness usually comes with a (literal) price tag we're unwilling to pay. If anything, it has helped us make some wiser decisions when looking at labels so we can squeeze the maximum out of our fixed incomes.

Reims is located between the champagne-related vineyards to the south and the so-called Zone Rouge to the north. The Zone Rouge is an off-limits area of World War One trench warfare left worthless by unexploded ordnance, poison gas remnants, human and animal remains and other detritus from The War To End All Wars. Entire towns and rural areas are considered 100% useless for human, animal or agricultural use. While the area has been slowly shrinking due to cleanup efforts over much of the past century, estimates are it will take up to 700 years to make the region usable again. Only slightly farther north is the Belgian border and the Ardennes, location of invasion in both world wars.

The towns and areas within an hour's drive read like a 20th-century military history lesson -- Soissons, Verdun, Chateau-Thierry, the Marne River, the Somme, etc. Not far to the west lies Normandy and its similar list of later battlefields.

Like our stops in Vienna and later in England, all these places are stark reminders of the difference between freedom and independence. While the US waves the flag and goes endlessly on about Independence Day and personal liberty, the "mah freedoms" crowd largely has no idea of what freedom really is or what it costs anymore.

The US hasn't seen its territory occupied by a foreign invasion force since 1814. It has not been bombed, seen its citizens subject to roundup and aggression by alien oppressors or had its daily life affected and infested by imposed rules handed down by another capital in a different country. While oceans certainly don't anymore offer the isolation of the past, our physical separation from Europe and Asia has shaped and continues to shape how we view ourselves and others. From first grade on, we have been fed book after book of comfortable Paul Revere-style homilies about our glorious Founding Fathers and, several times a year like this weekend's Memorial Day, we drag out Old Glory and take a minute of silence to remember those who paid the ultimate price in defense of liberty and the good ol' USA.

On foreign soil.

This isn't to say that sacrifice isn't worth honoring, because it certainly is. But that sacrifice wasn't made down the street, in this same town or (often) literally in the same house where the family still lives. Over here, the neighborhood was bombed flat, neighbors were lined up against that wall and shot for resisting or forced at gunpoint onto a train bound for Buchenwald.

There are reminders here every day in every city, town and village about what happens when fascism takes over. In Austria, the reminder is mainly about how so much was destroyed because too many chose flag-waving and blaming the innocent over compassion and education. In England and here in France, the bombs and artillery and firing squads and home invasions and occupations were the result of too many remaining silent while a minority took control of a complacent political system without effective opposition.

In short, the main difference is the US created its own warrior class when it ended the draft in the early 1970s. Not that we weren't deservedly sick of that jungle war (that I narrowly avoided) in Southeast Asia. But the result has been sending the same volunteers on repeated deployments while rewarding the battered returnees with free meals and claps on the shoulder from those whose day-to-day remained unaffected. We watched war on TV while here in Europe they watched it out the window or heard it overhead. The front line wasn't Out There. It was Right Here. That made everyone a veteran. It's not forgotten.

Nearly 80 years after the end of that last world war, Germany, Austria, France and so many others who suffered during the conflict are doing that "freedom" thing so much better than the US because the US hasn't learned that freedom is not simply individual rights. It is a collective safety valued more than how far one can push the limits of personal behavior. It is recognizing the responsibility of freedom in all its forms from personal safety to a comprehensive education to the value of being secure in one's self. For everyone.

Liberty. Equality, Fraternity.                        

"French is the language that turns dirt into romance." -- Stephen King

 I was at the grocery picking up a few items this afternoon and the 20-something cashier, whom I deal with several times a week, totaled my items and smiled and said, "Fourteen forty-seven." In clear English. My eyes got big and I said, "very nice" and she says, "you can help me work on my English."

We're now nearly five months into our French immersion and I am learning only too slowly. While the written word is comparatively easy, the spoken is not and it's largely due to the shortcuts and duplicities that can make English look simple. Of course, that's easy for me to say. But we got a short tutorial from our landlord today when she came by to water the plants on the balcony.

She speaks pretty good English, but we try to engage her in French as often as we can. She does her best to stifle laughter, but took time today to write down some subtleties. As in any language, there are some things like guttural sounds that don't translate well. For example, we had been mispronouncing the city of Reims, where we are headed next week. It's as if you pronounce the R and the M but the two letters in between are a sound unfamiliar to English. I get it.

Spanish has no real similarity to the soft G, as in "general." This makes it difficult for some fans of the Los Angeles Dodgers to pronounce the team name. It comes out "Doyers." In Los Angeles, you can buy shirts that say "Doyers" in the familiar team script. I almost bought one once, but figured it might be misinterpreted as a slur outside of Southern California. It's not. But so it is with French -- it takes time to learn the native mouth movements and that's the frustrating part.

We met new friends for lunch Saturday in Paris -- the kind of meet-up you have with folks you know on Facebook and through mutual friends but turn into actual face-to-face things. It was one of the most enjoyable days we've had lately, expanding our usual one-on-one over champagne and nice food. We'll be seeing them again.

Our suburban experience is delightful, though there is much less to do outside our front door. It takes time to go places, such as my hike up to a 1500s church this morning. Going out to eat requires at least a bus trip and a return to Paris requires at least 30 minutes between bus and train. We miss the immediacy of the Big City but the slower place here is also nice. Paris is accustomed to tourists, but this area is not. Like with the grocery cashier, we're seen more as oddities and a learning experience when it's clear we're not here for just a week or so. "Why are you here?" seems to be the main question. Well -- we planned it that way.

In our remaining month, there will be at least three more trips to Paris for me. I have a croissant class there this Friday. Next week we'll both be going to Reims (however you pronounce it) to taste some champagne, then the week after to Giverny (easier to pronounce) in NormanDEE to see Claude Monet's house and garden. All these trips require trains into Paris and some Metro time and each one will offer some lures to linger and maybe pick up something else we don't need in a city we dearly love.

All that said, we're looking forward to our North American return at the end of June. There will no longer be a language barrier (well, it's Canada so maybe a little. I say that with a smile). The neighborhood looks great from a grocery and strolling standpoint and it'll be good to experience some actual time in British Columbia. I visited a series of times when I lived in Washington, but it was only for the day. We'll be in an actual house (how-oos, as they say) and back to a separate bedroom, as opposed to the current studio arrangement. The place looks tiny, but we'll work things out like we always do.

The photo at the top is of our desserts this evening. We don't know if we'll ever be able to find that kind of thing again when we leave here, at least on a consistent basis and without having to drive someplace. It'll all be part of our ongoing readjustment.

We are forever changed, making us both more patient with some things yet more intolerant of others. It's  the real dichotomy of being Out Here. It's difficult to say which is worse.

    

  

    

    

"I have against me the bourgeois, the military and the diplomats, and for me only the people who take the Metro." -- Charles de Gaulle

 This spider web (you can find a bigger one online) is the Paris Metro system. This is actually the easy map because there's no overlay of the major streets. This is just the stops. This map also just shows only the Metro itself, not including the outlying trains to the suburbs where we are these days.

If you've spent any time in a major city, especially in Europe or Asia, you know how all this works. The US has a few cities with similar operations, but they're sadly rare. In Vienna it's the UBahn, in Liverpool it's Merseyrail and in London it's the Underground. You need to know which line to get on and the direction you're headed. These days Google Maps can give you several options from Point A to Point B, including interim bus lines and actual walking times from place to place. This wasn't known the first time I tackled this in 1972, when there was plenty of trial and mostly error on my part.

I got used to decent public transportation in New Orleans. Folks there gripe about the buses and streetcars but I could go for days without having to crank my truck. Everything I needed was within walking distance or a few stops away via bus or streetcar. The French Quarter was 15 minutes. The move to Southern California was nearly as good, giving me rail access to the Pacific at Oceanside in 20 minutes then up to LAX in little over an hour or down to San Diego in another 30 minutes.  

Paris runs largely on an honor system. You're obviously expected to have a ticket and entering the traffic area of a station is prohibited without one. But sometimes you can't buy a ticket on the bus taking you to the Metro station (the same ticket is good on both), so they give you a little grace to buy one when you get there. This isn't so in Vienna, where plainclothes agents can and do stop you. One time I got tagged by one and proudly showed my ticket, only to discover I had bought the ticket for locals and not visitors. I was promptly fined $100 (payable right now) and escorted to a machine to buy the right one or I'd be booted from the system. Lesson learned. Sorry Fritz.

The Paris system is known for its long walks and extreme lack of accommodation for children and the handicapped. There are virtually no elevators. Escalators are not to be expected.  This means any mom with a child in a stroller needs to bring a traveling companion to lift this kid up and down the many stairs. You're in a wheelchair? Take a bus, but don't expect help from the driver. London, Liverpool and Vienna are much more user-friendly, with lifts at pretty much all stops. 

Paris (like London) is one of those systems you can shortcut once you learn it. There can be several ways to go from one place to another if you know how the lines work and which stop at which stations. Just today I found a much faster way to get into the middle of Paris by noticing the lines going into the suburban train station. It's almost a game. Google will tell you to get off the Metro and then catch a bus then walk a little while. But you can shorten the walk and eliminate the bus ride if you just ride the Metro one more stop and walk back a block or two.

The various actual train stations (gares) in Paris send trains to different areas. The main station (Gare du Nord) is mostly northern France plus London through the Chunnel, Amsterdam, Brussels, etc. Gare de L'est goes east to Reims etc while Gare Saint Lazare heads west to Le Havre, Calais and the rest of Normandy. This decentralization is a huge help.

All this is a long way of saying how much we'll miss these systems when we have to leave, especially to return to an area that sneers at public transportation as a boondoggle and a threat to property values. It's a three-mile drive to the closest commuter rail and more than five times that distance to a bus stop. I don't want to hear you gripe about gas prices Bubba. That's just another cost of freedom, right? Just like the costs of insurance and upkeep. It's something we'll have to do once we return in the fall because there's no option. It's a shame, but too late to do much about it now in most of the US.

We'll be using the trains for a couple of upcoming trips -- to see the Champagne region in Reims and over to see Claude Monet's house and garden in Giverny (Normandy). It's literally walk out the door, get on a bus, ride to a train, get on another train and you're there in an hour. The cost? Less than gasoline from Dallas to Waco. That's in addition to just going into Paris for lunch if we want.

Adjusting to things Out Here hasn't been particularly difficult. The hard part will be adjusting to going back.

  

    

 

   

       

"...time changes everything..." -- Tommy Duncan

 Yesterday I attended a local memorial service for the end of World War Two in Europe. May 8th 1945 marked the end of the Nazis with the signing of an unconditional surrender in Reims (where we will visit later this month) and what eventually became the rebuilding of war-ravaged Europe under the Marshall Plan.

The date is only nominally celebrated in the US, as is the date of the Japanese formal surrender (Sept 2nd), largely because the US mainland was never invaded or occupied. We pay more attention to Pearl Harbor and D-Day. But you can bet May 8th is hyper Big Shit from Moscow to London.

Anyway....

All of that got me to thinking about the huge differences between my g-g-generation and that of my parents. But while generational differences have always existed, there are things that also connect us. In Texas, for instance, it's that Bob Wills swing from the 1930s and '40s. My mom liked Chuck Berry. Music, cuisine, holidays and ethnic traditions are only a few of the things that can serve to unite.

I got to thinking, though, about the impact of social media. For the most part, Facebook is the only place I participate. I dumped Twitter long ago and Instagram seems a reach too far. I know it's considered a platform for the aging, but Facebook is where I can find friends and family and it's enough so I won't apologize. But that bridge is now unique in our history, no matter which platform(s) you choose.

I wonder how my impressions would have changed had the same technology been available to me and to my parents, say, starting in about 1968. What about if I had been able to see my parents' random photos and thoughts and whatever they decided to post, as my kids (and, hell, grandkids) could/can see mine in real time?

My dad, on business trip to San Antonio...

(photo of whiskey in a glass in hotel room) "Mexican food with clients tonight. Boring af but gotta do it. Catching Gunsmoke before crashing. Gaawwwwd...."

My mom, after doctor visit in 2006...

"Doc says I have colon cancer. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Now what?"

What about their impressions and my reactions? Of course, they were of a generation that just didn't discuss certain things. While I could go to them and ask pretty much anything and expect an honest answer, some of those answers would have been unpleasant and/or borne of learned prejudices. What if I tried to say I was gay or trans? What would have been their reaction to my political posts? Or mine to theirs (my mother was a particularly hard-core right-winger). Or calling out hypocrisy (a hawk on the Vietnam War until her boy neared draft age, then looking at options for that Canadian lifestyle)?

There are a few things I don't share on social media, but it's a short list. My kids can and do see what I am saying and, if they agree or not, they know how I feel daily. And it's a two-way street. None of my three are shy.

I published my first newspaper article when I was a senior in high school in the Dallas Morning News, so it was clear from early on I wanted to write about, well, something. Before I went to Europe in 1972, my mom bought me a journal. I actually kept it, filling it almost daily with my impressions about how some of my traveling companions were dicks and which girl had a nice ass and how I ducked into a bar to guzzle wine and listen to the jukebox while shooting pool and smoking cigarettes.

What she had expected was to see a journal filled with her precious boy's wide-eyed wonder at the Eiffel Tower, the Roman ruins and Big Ben. She picked it up and read it (without asking me) and was horrified. Having social media would have pretty much prevented a lot of that but, well...

"...the dark clouds are gone and there's blue skies again..."

"If you have extraordinary bread and extraordinary butter, it's hard to beat bread and butter." -- Jacques Pepin

 A couple of food notes as we head into a new week....

We live in yet another of those wonderful French areas where great food and related supplies are in easy walking distance. The US, outside of a few areas like parts of New York City and DC and some others, is sadly unfamiiar. This has me gearing up to replace what we can once we're back to our usual spot early next year. We can buy French butter online at three times the cost, so I will be doing my own thank you. I know specialty stores sell some of it, but I'd enjoy the challenge more. I have already mentioned my croissant class later this month in Paris. I have the official government-mandated baguette recipe. I just need the right pans.

Say what you want about Ireland (as mentioned earlier) and the Germans, but the French are the potato masters. From fondant to dauphinois to gratin to so much, the cutting, slicing and prep for potatoes is considered an art and is the basic entry skill (along with dicing onions) for culinary work. I watched a short master class today, while walking to the grocery store.....

The boucheries (butchers) offer all kinds of raw meat in addition to rotisserie chickens and some side items like potatoes and whatnot. Sometimes eggs and other basics. Like major US grocery stores, they have a large chicken roaster with a glass front that holds around 30 whole chickens turning on spits. I used to work one at Rouse's in New Orleans.

The drippings from these chickens fall into a large tray at the bottom of the roaster. It's hot and about six inches deep and, eventually, will have to be cooled and thrown out. It's a messy job usually done by either the owner or some grunt at the end of the day, like dealing with the grease from a deep fryer. Part of the kitchen business.

Anyway, I was walking by one today when a woman walked out with what I thought was a flat of 30 eggs But no. Closer inspection noted they were peeled potatoes. She dumped them into the vat of chicken drippings to cook.

What an epiphany, at least for me. No wonder this all tastes so incredible. Fondant potatoes and other dishes are similar in the cooking in butter or various oils. But just dumping them into the hot chicken drippings never crossed my mind. Of course, doing this at home would take the fat from roasting many chickens (not that I don't do that anyway) but lesson learned for future use.

Of such small things are we taught, hopefully daily. Especially in a kitchen and with children.

I am not dealing with today's news of the mass murder at a mall north of Dallas. For at least a little while, I have to focus on positive shit in a country getting increasingly negative because of a fucked-up minority. But it's for another day.

The past two days have brought an actual working oven into this apartment and I was able to get the lights above the stove working so we're pretty much fully functional in the kitchen. Our rocky start with the young landlords appears to have been resolved by some face time and each of us putting in a little effort. They are in their 30s and subleasing this place as a rental, so they're on a learning curve. Not only do they have to deal with tenants but also guard against damage that could be held against them by the building's owner. It's a balancing act I wouldn't be willing to do, so we're helping where we can.

As mentioned earlier, it takes a week or so for things to balance out in a new place. We now know the bus and train system, as well as the location of the necessary retailers. Some are about a two-mile round trip (no bus from here, depending on direction) but a pleasant walk through a really nice neighborhood and park.

Another note: small businesses are the rule here. Like literally mom and pop. It's yet another thing the US claims to love and support but really doesn't. No wonder the National Federation of Independent Business is always so pissed off and reactionary. If people actually supported those local businesses, maybe they wouldn't always be clamoring for another tax break. Life is hard, Horatio Alger. You're always telling others to just deal with it, so here ya go.

We're looking at some neat stuff coming up in the next month or so, on a pretty slow roll now that we're more settled. Spoken French remains a bit of a mystery but getting easier. Shrugs and raised eyebrows go a long way in GallicWorld. And of course smiles always work anywhere.

"A recipe has no soul. You as the cook must bring soul to the recipe." -- Thomas Keller  

     

"Chaotic action is preferable to orderly inaction." -- Will Rogers

 If there is ever a country that can be accused of chaotic action, it's France (though England can certainly argue). The pursuit of liberty, equality and fraternity was tough enough over 200 years ago, as the French attempted to follow the US example of creating its own self-government. Despite the recent protests over the retirement age, I would argue the French and most of the EU are doing a much better job of Being The US these days than is the "land of the free," which is hamstrung by the idea of individual freedom over the common good.

This photo is one of several I have taken of public buildings with the French national motto. Despite being a traditionally Catholic country, the French shy from a motto like "In God We Trust" because they know they can't. It's something they learned from the US, which has forgotten it. Fully a third of the US electorate wants more God in the classrooms and public buildings, despite multiple Supreme Court rulings over the decades saying you can't do that. Sorry, but God isn't the answer here so please shut up. Man needs to stand up and, these days in the US, it's not happening in the interest of our democracy.

Ask someone who opposes abortion to give a non-religious reason why, then watch them struggle with a response. Yet reproductive rights are increasingly infringed by a minority. There has been some hopeful pushback lately, but the longer-term threat remains.

Speaking of the Supreme Court (and the French), why isn't there a large and loud mob outside the court building throwing Molotov cocktails and pushing police lines and demanding Clarence Thomas resign? Where is the outrage in Congress against such a blatant and obtuse violation of not just ethics but possibly the law itself? The last administration deadened us to lying, cover-ups and daily corruption so much that we apparently are just immune to it anymore. Call it gaslighting, political Stockholm Syndrome or what you want. But it's where we are. Merrick Garland has lately had some success on the criminal front but that's separate from the absolute hypocrisy of the GOP on our debt ceiling. I mean, these mfers voted for huge tax cuts and now want spending cuts in the name of fiscal responsibility when they've done everything  that's the antithesis. But their sycophants in Congress just go along.

Sometimes I just sit on a bench and get teary about the sheer ignorance of too many in my native country and how they're willing to wreck it. 

Denise and I were talking early today about things we'll miss when we go back to the US. I can't speak for her, but my list includes....

Decent public transportation and no need for a car. Just eliminating fuel, insurance and maintenance saves an easy $400 a month -- not including a car payment.

Related to that -- the ability to walk to excellent produce, a bakery, desserts, meat and pretty much any other thing we want or need on a daily or weekly basis. A post office. A bank. Name it. 

Concern about crime -- especially guns. Of course it can and does happen anywhere. But not nearly as often or with as much violence. Yes -- it's the guns. The US has created its own prison where folks feel like they have to get a gun to protect themselves from others with guns. God won't help you there either.

Education and curiosity about more than just one's own country. The ability to converse with, understand and appreciate how others see things.

There are others of course but that'll do for now. As frustrating as a few things have been over the past ten months, they pale when compared to all we've learned.

From the rights of workers to womens suffrage to civil rights to voting rights to the war in Vietnam to BLM to, well, pretty much name it -- Being Nice doesn't usually work. The late Rep. John Lewis called it "good trouble" to actually get stuff done.

There's a ceremony coming up here in town this Monday (May 8th) to mark the 78th anniversary of the end of the European part of WWII. The flags in front of City Hall have already been changed from all French flags to those of the US, the UK, Belgium, the Dutch and others who shared in that victory over fascism. You can bet I'll be attending.

Too many in the US are more concerned about waving a flag than caring about what it represents. These days I am living in a place that appreciates it a lot more than the country that inspired it.

We need more of the good kind of chaos too.

   

     

        

"...I've learned that home isn't a place. It's a feeling." -- Cecelia Ahern

 I am lucky enough to have had several homes, at least in terms of where I've been comfortable and feel welcome upon return. But they don't always remain home. I evolve or they evolve or both. While I am a Texas native and official resident, spent nearly 20 years in FL raising my kids and almost a decade in New Orleans, none feel like much of home anymore. It's not like I'm adrift because I am not. But anymore I view home as where we are and making do at the moment. It's as comfortable as I can be these days and I delight in it.

Our ten months Out Here sees us in our fifth "home," with three more to go until we have to make some decisions after the first of the year. Each stop has been different and educational on various levels We have been blessed, screwed, perplexed, amazed and bamboozled along the way. Each place we go, I try to put myself in the place of the Airbnb host, who has had to put up with tenants of widely varying quality in terms of cleanliness, demands and challenge. I have several friends who have hosted and I have been a landlord myself, so I get it. But y'all. Seriously.....

The biggest thing I have learned is small touches of civility are everything. My photo is of a dish rack I bought today. I also bought two bowls and two small plates because this apartment is pretty much barren (except a nice balcony) of anything to make staying over two days a bearable experience. We have a decent corkscrew, a functional (if small) refrigerator and a stovetop. Plus a microwave the landlord assumed would substitute for the non-functioning real oven shown on the Website. If I see an oven, I expect it to work -- the same way I expect the toilet in the bathroom photo to actually function. I'm picky like that.

Our first stop in Vienna was actually an okay place in a Cold War-era high-rise typical of that part of the city, which suffered plenty of bomb damage during WWII. There was a tiny elevator to our 3rd floor flat, which was filthy when we arrived. The owner was Chinese and spent most of his time in Asia, relying on a couple of local minions to manage the unit. The place clearly had not been entered for months, leaving a layer of dust everywhere, a fallen window curtain (we had to hang a bed sheet) and a full-size built-in refrigerator that had not been adequately cleaned after it had stopped functioning some years before. In short, the whole place was a failed time capsule that took three days for us to clean. But, to the owner's credit, he replaced the clothes washer and the TV on demand.

Liverpool was a third-floor walkup in a house over 100 years old. Plumbing was decrepit and water pressure anemic enough until a freeze brought catastrophic failure to the entire neighborhood's 1918-era plumbing. This was not the landlord's fault, but he broke his nuts trying to make things as right as he could. I will forever appreciate that, even though there wasn't much he could do. I consider him a lifelong friend and the neighborhood itself is magnificent.  Despite the British rain and cold (it was Labor Day through Christmas), I will always have a soft spot.

The move to Martinique was the polar opposite. A gorgeous deck view of the Caribbean and every day is 84 degrees with a 20% chance of rain year-round. Our apartment was beautifully appointed and equipped by our landlords, who are two of the nicest people imaginable. They invited us on their local excursions to Mardi Gras and up into the mountains and gave us free rein to their pool and the herbs in their garden. They brought us bananas and plantains (their business). Again -- lifelong friends.

Paris was a change to a highly urban spot in a another 3rd-floor walkup in an old building. Ideally located near a Metro stop and an easy walk from, well, everything Parisian, we'd go back in a heartbeat. If they'd get rid of that awful "oven" -- a contraption that promises to do everything from a microwave to a grill to actually baking but does none of them well, even if you can figure it out. But we made it work for a month.

....so now we're here and figuring out a new spot until returning to North America in late June. At least we'll be back to a whole house to ourselves instead of apartments and there will be (hopefully) adequate kitchens so I can resume what I do.

Staying someplace for three months isn't the same as three days or a week. Part of what allows us to do all this is being able to cook at home and that demands certain things we thought would be provided by a place that invites "long-term" stays. But clearly that's a nebulous term, so a few observations if you plan on doing it yourself....

Being within an easy walk to grocery and public transportation is everything.

You will have to buy certain things like brooms, a Swiffer, some kitchen utensils and some hand tools to just make daily life work. You will leave them behind but it's more than worth it. Just think of it as making things easier on the next tenant and earning a little goodwill from the landlord. If they care. Fortunately, ours have appreciated.

Be close to a green space. Being able to walk outside and watch the neighborhood is important and meeting the neighbors brings a host of benefits. Even though we froze in December in Liverpool, we were outside and had some wonderful conversations. 

Language is a barrier when discussing metaphysics, politics and science. Pretty much everything else can be figured out with facial expressions or switching to a third language. More folks are reasonably literate in various languages than you'd expect.

That said, do all you can to speak the local tongue. You might suck at it, but the effort is always appreciated. Americans have a reputation for being overly proud and insisting their way is the best. But you have to remember virtually every other country in the world has been doing it way longer than our measly 250 years so shut up and sit down John Hancock.

So much more to say as we go along. Probably back to food later in the week. But seeing video of the demonstrations in Paris and watching the news from the US means a busy mind. Then there's the upcoming coronation in the UK (insert eyeroll here). And it's only midweek.

"...I've always been crazy. It keeps me from going insane..." -- Waylon Jennings    

  

   

 

"The best way to execute French cooking is to get good and loaded and whack the hell out of a chicken." -- Julia Child

There have been many true words about cooking and, specifically, French cooking. But few are more true than this one. The photo is from a local food/wine event we'll be attending in a coupla weeks. 

Food has been my business for over 15 years. Even in retirement I cook almost daily and doing it Out Here in various kitchens with varying power sources and appliances has been a mostly enjoyable thing. It all comes down to making decent food and dealing with what's available. But even when I'm not actually firing a pan, the education continues. I have been actually paid to cook in all environments, from self-employment to small restaurants to very upscale to supermarket hotlines to major chains to a ritzy country club and even two years in an assisted-living facility. Experience in food trucks and from a BBQ trailer kinda rounds it out.

Even with all this, I am only a beginner. I can hold my own in a few things (some French among them) but I look at so many others with so much greater experience and skill that I am awestruck and a bit fangirl. But being Out Here and buying daily groceries and cooking every day has been An Experience leaving me with opinions. All are certainly arguable but my experience is just that.

To wit....

In Vienna, we noticed a review of Restaurant Amador -- a Michelin three-star experience in Beethoven's old neighborhood north of the main city and adjacent to a winery. Looking at prices, I expressed the opinion that no meal was worth that amount of money. But, on the other hand, opportunity to dine at a three-star (the highest possible) might never come again. So we made reservations for the tasting menu.

People, I tell ya. We arrived at like 5:30pm and were shown the very nice kitchen and prep area. The dining room (look it up) is a cave-like, white-linen experience and before long we were offered the wine-pairing option (this isn't included for this price?) so we bit on that too. Sigh.

We lost count of the two-bite courses, each of which came with a small offering of wine. The time between courses became interminable -- sometimes sitting and staring at other tables up to 20 minutes until the next round arrived. We had precision-cut seafoods, molecular foams, dainty vegetables and tiny chips of fruit  over and over and over FOR OVER FOUR HOURS until we're overly full and yet growing almost delirious from sheer boredom. The main entertainment was some guy at another table who kept leaving his business partners to take urgent phone calls outside. Dude....

...so after yet another break in service, we decided we'd had enough and asked to just get our check and go. Dessert was supposed to be like another three courses (i.e. at least another hour) and no. The server looked at us like we'd slapped royalty but ultimately brought one dessert and then the check.

....for $1300.

Needless to say, this put a dent in our budgeting. But lesson learned. We've eaten much better at Saltgrass in Ft. Worth for about $1200 and three hours less. But at least we can say we had the Michelin three-star experience.

This won't be my only post about our food experiences, which have been many both at home and going out when we can. What we've found is many spots are similar to New Orleans in that there are many restaurants but only one basic menu. In Vienna, it's schnitzel, strudel and the Sacher chocolate torte. England has boiled meat and that atrocious Yorkshire pudding. Or fish and chips. Martinique has gorgeous seafood but otherwise needs help. France remains an open case. After a month in Paris, we've yet to get out in the country to broaden things a bit. There's a trip planned to Reims (capital of the Champagne region) and maybe the Loire Valley. Opinions are reserved for now, though overall France has easily been the most delightful in a culinary sense.

General observations, again arguable based on one's personal experience...

No one in the EU/UK does beef well. They know how to cook it, but the quality is not up to par -- the one exception being Smith & Wollensky in London. Otherwise, I can buy better filet mignon at Kroger.  Unsure why this is because....

Every other raw food kicks the US ass. The lack of preservatives and care in production makes roasted chicken fall into eight easy pieces and the produce is remarkable. It's a chef's dream world.

McDonald's and Burger King are the same here as in the US. Except slower service. "Fast food" isn't. No ice in the drinks (except Five Guys). You take your tray of trash to a place and just slide the tray and trash into a slot and someone else gets rid of it. Or you have to separate it out into trash, recyclables and compost. One place in Martinique had a place to dump your leftover soft drink -- a nice idea to prevent so much liquid in trash bags. Sometimes we'd hit these places because they were closer. Don't judge.

Speaking of which, no one does burgers well here. It's an easy fallback if you want something familiar but you will always be disappointed by the flavorless meat and disintegrating bun. Also -- dill pickles aren't available. Gotta make your own.

Russet potatoes don't exist here so no baked potatoes. The Brits have "jacket potatoes" but they're different. The French have mastered all kinds of potatoes and they rule, no matter what they say in Ireland. French fries or frites are everywhere, not just in France. Too much so, I think.

A "kebab" or "kebap" is a sandwich, not something on a stick.

The idea that US restaurant portions are so "huge" is a lie. They can be, but the Euros can load it up big-time too. Schnitzel can be as large as a Caribbean island and salads might be the size of hot tubs.

Salad dressings are whatever they apply in the kitchen. It's always a nicely done vinaigarette except on a Caesar salad. Ranch? Pfft. Shut up.

Don't trust even the most mundane-looking foods. Pizzas can contain things like salmon or tuna not always obvious in the name. I got a club sandwich with a layer of hard-boiled egg.

What the US knows as bacon is hard to find here and not very good when you do. "Bacon" (like on that club sandwich) is cured but not cooked. More like prosciutto except thicker.

French butter is the best. Period. With sea salt.

Like I say -- these are general observations from personal experience. Expanding the palate is always a good thing, as surprising as it might be on occasion. Denise has acquired a real taste for fois gras, for instance. Chances are we'll never be satisfied with any croissants or baguettes we'll obtain outside of France. I will be attending a class later this month in Paris on how to make the croissants. We'll see.

Ending this entry with a quote from my kitchen hero Jacques Pepin....

"My palate is simpler than it used to be. A young chef adds and adds and adds to the plate. As you get older, you start to take away."

More truth.