After a lot of delays in the blog, I have finally managed to get down to write this one, and promise to update it daily from now.
I will write about eating today, a subject very close to my stomach. Eating in France is pretty simple, a large chunk of meat, few leafy vegetables and bread. Bread is a major obsession in France with at least 28 varieties available in common stores. However, the two most common varieties are croissants and baguettes. A croissant as most of you know is a crescent shaped bread, in Paris it is soft and flaky het never dry, the thin layers seem to be buttered and usually make for a fine breakfast with a cup of coffee. Now we come to the ‘baguette’ the bread French love for lunch, snacks, sandwiches, etc. It has a soft core, which is very spongy yet not wet, very fluffy and sometimes flavoured. The outer layer, which would be the crust, is made from the same stuff that is used in modern tank armour. I am sure this is a very French way of doing it, where you go through this teeth loosening manoeuvre to reach to the good part of life.
Well since now that I have relocated to the India House in the City University campus; I have my own room and a small common kitchen. The prices of a cooked meal being high, I decided to do some shopping and use the facilities. The local supermarket provided me with a bewildering choice of foods, all of which I am a stranger to. However I did manage to buy some egg, bread some ketchup and mustard sauce and a little cheese. I did not find any fresh vegetables and so bought some canned beans and greens.
This brings me to my first cooking experience. Before I start: I would like to claim that I am an edible cook when it comes to an Indian kitchen [note to disbelievers: that certificate is from my mom]. I can toss up a simple sabzi a few chapattis and dal. However, here I did not have any of the basic ingredients found in a normal Indian kitchen. Hey, I am in France, how difficult would it be to make something simple. So I open a bottle of beer [note to self: bad idea] and get down to some cooking. My initial plan was to heat the beans and boil some eggs, but I already feel like Anthony Bourdain, rustling up something, I take out the pan add some beans and veggies, and set it on a boil. I am getting good at this, I decide to ‘balance’ the flavours with some ketchup and then get bolder and decide that the full ‘bouquet’ of the flavours can be ‘brought out’ with some mustard sauce [note to self: at least I can write like those shows]. With all these wonderful French words in my head I decide to ‘julienne’ a potato into the broth and then ‘top off’ the flavours with a beaten egg. The result I was sure would be a fine example of ‘haute cuisine’ that I would astonish guests later in my life. As they dug into my dish I would regale them about how I came up with the idea as a lonely law student in a Paris hostel many, many years ago.
Well: the results were not as expected, the goo that was the result of my flights of fancy was horrible. Eating humble pie was never this literal. I tried, and then left for the cafeteria where you get a student discount. The next morning I kept it simple. I boiled the eggs, heated the baked beans and toasted some bread and had a perfect breakfast [note to self and others: when you see mom or grand mom look into the refrigerator, take out a few random things and rustle up a meal, you are seriously underestimating the experience and skill that takes]. With my new found respect for all people who can cook, I am much wiser now. I will limit myself to a simple breakfast or a snack and leave the rest to Antony Bourdain.
This brings me to the cheese, the wonderful cheese. Well the salty shit that Ihave been eating at home, be it brittania or amul, is not actually cheese: the french term for it is 'salty shit'. Cheese in its myriad varieties is a creamy, flavoured, heavenly thing; which actually smells like the countryside, [note to others: this is an inexpensive variety bought at the supermarket]I will write about eating today, a subject very close to my stomach. Eating in France is pretty simple, a large chunk of meat, few leafy vegetables and bread. Bread is a major obsession in France with at least 28 varieties available in common stores. However, the two most common varieties are croissants and baguettes. A croissant as most of you know is a crescent shaped bread, in Paris it is soft and flaky het never dry, the thin layers seem to be buttered and usually make for a fine breakfast with a cup of coffee. Now we come to the ‘baguette’ the bread French love for lunch, snacks, sandwiches, etc. It has a soft core, which is very spongy yet not wet, very fluffy and sometimes flavoured. The outer layer, which would be the crust, is made from the same stuff that is used in modern tank armour. I am sure this is a very French way of doing it, where you go through this teeth loosening manoeuvre to reach to the good part of life.
Well since now that I have relocated to the India House in the City University campus; I have my own room and a small common kitchen. The prices of a cooked meal being high, I decided to do some shopping and use the facilities. The local supermarket provided me with a bewildering choice of foods, all of which I am a stranger to. However I did manage to buy some egg, bread some ketchup and mustard sauce and a little cheese. I did not find any fresh vegetables and so bought some canned beans and greens.
This brings me to my first cooking experience. Before I start: I would like to claim that I am an edible cook when it comes to an Indian kitchen [note to disbelievers: that certificate is from my mom]. I can toss up a simple sabzi a few chapattis and dal. However, here I did not have any of the basic ingredients found in a normal Indian kitchen. Hey, I am in France, how difficult would it be to make something simple. So I open a bottle of beer [note to self: bad idea] and get down to some cooking. My initial plan was to heat the beans and boil some eggs, but I already feel like Anthony Bourdain, rustling up something, I take out the pan add some beans and veggies, and set it on a boil. I am getting good at this, I decide to ‘balance’ the flavours with some ketchup and then get bolder and decide that the full ‘bouquet’ of the flavours can be ‘brought out’ with some mustard sauce [note to self: at least I can write like those shows]. With all these wonderful French words in my head I decide to ‘julienne’ a potato into the broth and then ‘top off’ the flavours with a beaten egg. The result I was sure would be a fine example of ‘haute cuisine’ that I would astonish guests later in my life. As they dug into my dish I would regale them about how I came up with the idea as a lonely law student in a Paris hostel many, many years ago.
Well: the results were not as expected, the goo that was the result of my flights of fancy was horrible. Eating humble pie was never this literal. I tried, and then left for the cafeteria where you get a student discount. The next morning I kept it simple. I boiled the eggs, heated the baked beans and toasted some bread and had a perfect breakfast [note to self and others: when you see mom or grand mom look into the refrigerator, take out a few random things and rustle up a meal, you are seriously underestimating the experience and skill that takes]. With my new found respect for all people who can cook, I am much wiser now. I will limit myself to a simple breakfast or a snack and leave the rest to Antony Bourdain.
The next blog will be about the court visit, wait, not about law but about the beauty of the courtrooms.
