Bliss
What a wonderful weekend.
Friday evening I took Bunny dog with me to meet Lara at Kitty O'Shea's. I had asked a few other friends to join, but only one other showed up - her ex. It was fine though. We talked about work stuff - mostly about the labor situation in Europe and things related to that. I am so lucky to have friends who generally do very interesting things - I learn from them.
Bunny dog was running around off his leash and flirting with a group of 35-40 year old blonde secretaries from the European Union. Every time he came around the pillar and headed towards the bar they squealed and begged him over saying how cute he was. I had to have several 'discussions' with him about the fact that he was brought along to chat up MEN not women - useless animal.
All of a sudden it was 10:30 and I felt as if I were on the deck of a fishing boat in a very windy storm. Oh, no, I had eaten no dinner. I had slurped a couple plonky glasses of wine which were hitting my stomach like acid. Bad move.
So Lara and I made it our quest to go to the kebap place near my house. She ordered for both of us. I stood chatting with my neighbour who we had bumped in to on the metro. He walked around the neighbourhood with us and ended up coming in for a glass of wine and to continue our chat. I swear to god, the next time I looked at my watch it was 4 am. I almost screamed - how on earth did the time pass by so quickly. I shoo-ed the neighbour out and washed the remainder of my kebap down with ice-cold Evian. Bunny dog was so 'down for the count' and out of it he could hardly move - he had to be coaxed upstairs for sleep.
Saturday morning, I got up early enough to walk Bunny dog and grab some croissants from the best bakery in the neighbourhood - La Maison de la Tarte - back in time to see the Saturday cooking shows. I slurped very sweet, very milky tea (a habit learned from my ex rasied in Southern Africa) and crispy, chewy, light croissies. Heaven.
Saturday evening I was lucky enough to be invited to dinner by two friends (a couple)at their home. They live outside of Brussels - in Grimbergen - just on the edge of the outer city limits where industrial estates turn in to true farmland. Tiny villages dotted in between canals and bridges. They have a sweet house in the town which they are renovating. However, the minute you walk in, it feels warm and lovely and comfortable.
He is obsessed with old wood-burning heaters that are meant to stand in your living room. He collects them - the one he has put in the main room is ornate black iron and heats the place so nicely - a warm, toasty heat like there's bread in the oven. She has two large Belgian Bouvier dogs who are rather sophisticated older ladies. Ucalele is blind and not so well, and Wibke is old, but spritely and chipper. Both of them completely ignored Bunny Dog much to his chagrin.
These friends are really special to me. He has been a close friend since I moved here 6 years ago. We have always had this great affinity for Sunday afternoon talks - with him usually hanging out until dinner is in front of him. Then he started dating the girlfriend - and things usually change after stuff like that. But that didn't change and now both of them are good friends. You know, it's not often that a single person can hang with a couple for hours on end without feeling like an intruder. The two of them never make me feel uncomfortable and they truly welcome me and we all enjoy one another's company. A lot of laughing, old stories, re-told, re-enacted, embellished.
She made such a wonderful dinner. Starting with appetizer - salmon and fish salad on tiny fish-shaped crispy crackers. Champagne to accompany.
After a brief rest, she brings out a huge pot of spectacularly tasty, homemade leek soup (a Belgian Specialty) - made with the winter variety of leeks from her Father's garden. Creamy, peppery, fresh, green.
After another rest she made salmon and sea bass filets baked with carrots, onions, leeks, tomatoes, cream and white wine served with peeled, boiled Charlotte potatoes - the best Belgian variety.
Believe it or not, a tarte with winter red and black currants and raspberries followed. Green tea.
What a spectacular, lovely evening. Bunny dog and I were thoroughly spoiled. What a treat.
Sunday, slept off the last vestiges of a pleasant meal. Dog out, picked-up a croissant for breakie with a cup of tea. Back to bed, Bunny dog leaning on me with his paws up in the air. Me ploughing through a good book. Sun trying to break through the clouds.
One of the last quiet, cold, snuggle-in-bed-late, weekends before the birds start their twittering, noisy spring cleaning.
Food Hotties
Last night, another night in Heathrow's Terminal-1 after a long day of meetings -waiting for news of my delayed flight home to Brussels. As is customary, I go to the bookstore and dog-ear all of the cooking magazines for a while. They are so big and colourful in the UK - not like the sophisticated, snobbish-looking (and expensive) Saveur Magazine or Gourmet. These have splashy, sassy coloured, in your face, get out there and cook pictures. I can't help myself. I have gourmand's disease.
Hmm. Am I the only one who looks through the magazine on top and then buys a nice, smooth copy stacked underneath?
Late February, still feeling so cold. It's rained here for ages. Drizzly, somber rain. I need verification that spring indeed is coming - because am not so sure on days like this. I need to cook something life-affirming. Springy. Something to waken the taste buds, tease me into the flavours and feelings of spring. Baby lamb's lettuce with bites of goat's cheese, and a honey vinaigrette. Farfalle with Arugula Pesto, succulent, tiny, spring lamb chops with rosemary, E.V.O.O. (Extra Virgin Olive Oil) sea salt and freshly cracked, black pepper - lightly grilled. Perfect triangles of cooled polenta fried to a light golden brown in butter and E.V.O.O. served with a tiny spoon of tart, fresh tomato sauce. Fresh berries and a dollop of whipped marscapone cheese with grated lemon zest. Ya! Need an army to eat it tho.
Wow - there she is again. This is getting ridiculous. She's in every magazine and she's writing books like crazy. How many tricks must publishers and TV networks play to get men to cook. Giada di Laurentiis. The latest darling of the US Food TV Network. She's a hottie - but unlike Nigella, she's petite and all about business. She always has a lot to get done in each show, and this makes her shows seem a tad rushed. Nigella sort of wanders in to the kitchen and without us realising it, she has pulled-out a four-course dinner for 10, and a pitcher of watermelon margaritas in a half hour time slot. Giada is like a hot pepper, on fire, sexy. A cooking feminine speedy Gonzales.
She has a classical sense of style in most things except for her dress. And she is dressing to please the men folk. I once saw her on a show wearing a half halter, half tube-top that could easily be found in Tonya Harding's trailer. She's got the rack for a top like that - meaning - big. I just hope that her taste is dictated by the TV executives and not herself!
Whoever's in charge, they are on to something smart. Not sure if these hotties actually make men want to cook; the jury is still out on that. One thing for sure, is that if a woman has Giada on TV, there will be little to no resistance from a man in changing the channel. My American friend Mike (who is a great cook) is a devotee of Nigella. I think he dreams of her finger-licking, luscious, lip-licking antics and wishes he would wake one morning to find her in his kitchen - wearing pink jammies and with tossled hair - making blueberry muffins and freshed-squeezed juice for him of course. I am not sure what he thinks of Giada. I bet it's saucier though.
Ok - back to what to make for my 'Welcome Spring' menu. Roasted asparagus, Pollo all Scarpariello - crispy chicken with a lemony, tangy sauce, maybe a bit of tagliatele with fresh wild mushrooms in a cream sauce as a starter. A light lemon souffle for desert. Now, who's coming for dinner?
The Dutch Fred Flintstone
Why do I bother?
I had a date with the Dutchman - you know, the one I met when out with the girls a couple weeks ago. Tell me, did he have that black tooth when I met him at 5 am in a downtown bar? Did he smoke like a chimney then? Did he excitedly finish every sentence with a fist banged on the table as if a punctuation mark? Did he have those big, wide-wristed paw hands like Fred Flintstone's? Was his shirt too small to cover his belly then? Did he.. oh who cares?
My beer goggles must have been pretty fogged-up that night.
Don't get me wrong, he's a very nice man. Smart, witty, kind, intelligent, not terrible looking (as long as he doesn't smile), tall, enthusiastic, gentle, polite - you know, all the stuff I want in a man. But he's got something against him - besides the Darth Vader tooth.
He's only 31. I knew I wouldn't like him purely for that reason. I just can't get my head around dating younger men. I just can't feel good about it. I need for the guys I date to understand that I learned to dance from my brother to The Doobie Brothers song
Black Water (you know, Old black water, keep on rollin Mississippi moon, wonÂt you keep on shinin on me).
I want to hang with someone who won't cringe when I say I have seen The Police in Concert - opening for the Go-Gos no less. And definitely want someone who DOESN'T say - 'Who are the Go-Gos?'
Nice guys like The Dutch Fred Flintstone don't deserve the punishment of my 41 years of well crafted prejudices. They don't deserve to have me dismiss their re-crafted version of history as they know it.
Man's first steps on the moon in 1969 - My parents let me stay up late to watch coverage of that - on a fuzzy black and white TV. Riots in DC. Tear gas on the mall to disperse the Vietnam War protesters on the 4th of July. Reagan being shot at the Hilton Hotel down the street from Mom and Dad's house. ShantyTowns at University protesting Aparthied in South Africa, where we were when the shuttle exploded, glued to the CNN coverage of the Berlin wall being smashed graffiti-coloured bits.
The young ones don't deserve to hear why I can't stand their idol Madonna (a European favourite)- she's like Disney (another European favourite) - Both have been shoved down American's throats for ages. I am SO over her, done, dusted - put some clothes on and eat a cookie Woman!
When I look at it from another room, I do think I come off sounding sort of like an old fart-ess. But I am not. I just have standards. And I want a guy my own age who looks and acts younger a lot of the time, has a penchant for being naughty and
definitely has a sophisticated palette. Fred Flintstone was extraordinarily impressed with my local bistro - they give you cloth serviettes. Well cooked, nice, basic food - a departure from his frites and kebap after the bars routine.
Oh well, the search is still on. And I am getting a bit uncomfortable. This bird flu thing is popping up here and there - birds migrating over to Europe for the spring. Please don't let it hamper my roasted chicken habit...please
Noodle Craving
Again, I am at the mercy of a magazine article on food - Asian noodles in fact.
Pretty much anything Japanese or Chinese can put me in drool mode. It's home cooking, comfort food. I was lucky enough (damned lucky indeed) to be adopted at 2 months old, by my parents - a German American man and a Japanese American woman. While she is a seriously accomplished gourmet with a very impressive repertoir, it's her stir-fries with noodles that remind me of being a kid. Mom does Chinese food as well as or almost better than Japanese food.
Mom's noodles always included pork or chicken for the meat, scallions, slices of egg omelet, mud mushrooms and thick lo mein noodles. The noodles were cooked in water and then fried a bit in the bottom of the wok and tossed with the other ingredients. They had a crispy texture on the outside and noodle-y on the inside - which contrasted well with the meat and mushrooms. We used to shake rice wine vinegar droplets on top to eat. Salty-sour heaven.
Mom used to work when we were little and we knew by what we had for dinner if she had had a bad day. If dad was out of town, our meals on these days would consist of cold, canned, tuna which was flaked over tofu with grated, fresh ginger, on a bed of sticky rice accented with dollops of salty, seaweed paste from out of a jar. Chopsticks thrown on the table, bowls stacked ready. That was Mom's ultimate comfort food. To this day, I think she would prefer to have that meal for dinner almost any night, alone, with a pot of green tea.
When we had colds or the flu, Mom would drive us out to Wilson Boulevard in Arlington, Virginia to Vietnamese Pho restaurants - before they were so hip. She would make us deeply inhale the hot spicy broth to clear our heads. If we were particularly stuffy, it would be the Korean place. The soup there could give your nostrils second degree burns. But it worked. Off to school the next day.
The noodles in the magazine have all the glistening, gelatinous, mouth-watering texture of my noodles growing up. Rice vermicelli - tiny strands of see-through rice noodles with Chinese broccoli, enoki mushrooms and bean curd. Flat, wide rice-flour noodles with brown, soy/ginger glazed meat. Thick, worm-like udon noodles with slices of pink and orange coloured fish cake, scallion and benito flakes in almost clear broth.
The article in the magazine provides a list of must have ingredients to buy at the grocery. Aside from harissa, (strangely part of this list) I have all of the ingredients just as anyone would have ketchup, mustard and mayo. Soy sauce in light and dark, sesame oil, mirin - rice wine vinegar, sambal, fresh ginger at all times, birds eye chilies, garlic, fish sauce, tamarind sauce, star anise and lemon grass when I can get it. I have all of the noodles they suggest too.
So, tonight I'll go home and whip up a small stir fly noodle dish just like my mom makes. I will sit on the couch with Bunny Dog and watch
Master Chef Goes Large .
Saturday Night
Girls night out.
Cocktails at PP Cafe. Mint daiquiris, so good! (surprised by 2 for 1 offer on cocktails!)
Tapas - seats right at the kitchen. Ordered anything we wanted, watched the chefs bustle around. Highlight of the meal - roasted duck breast with a mint sauce. Mint must be the flava flave of the moment, the darling of the foodie world right now. Like haloumi cheese two years ago, foamed anything last year.
Then on to O'Reilly's. Champagne for a friend's b-day. Dancing, waiting for Lara's ex to show up - sensing a bit of tension in the crowd. None of us know how they will be together - again. Lara looked gorgeous - as usual. The woman can't look un-gorgeous. Pretty skin, sparkling eyes, a wry smile on her lips -ready for a rumble or some mischief. Aussie girl was pulled-together nicely. Bravely ignoring a head cold.
Lara's ex shows up - no fireworks. She ignores him for the most part. On to Celtica en masse. Aggressively stake out a table and chair for coats and group HQ. Aussie Girl locks on an Irish target - surprisingly soon after getting in the door. She's got the instincts. He's a rugby man.
I chit-chat to friends I see too rarely. Enjoy the live guitar. Tonight, the guitar player is an old Irish fart swilling Guinness so Aussie Girl takes no notice. Canned music after live set over. Weird though. Only every 5th song is one we just have to dance to - so we couldn't get into a groove. Hours pass, seems like minutes. Friends wander off home.
Aussie girl enjoying the Irishman and his friends, but not getting anywhere fast. We move on to Nua. Decadence in a capsule. Very strange feel that night. Leftovers sitting at the bar. Stragglers and cast-aways, hiding in corners and slouched in booths. Strobe lights. Keeping the dawn at bay. Denial. I must boogie -good music. A tall Dutchman who thinks I am super.
Lara decides to call it a night. Dutchman entertains me because Aussie girl has found her Irishman and his friends. They followed her after all. A few words, no movement. She considers letting me go on home - she'll stay for a while. Re-considers, comes with me. Dutchman reluctantly lets me go. Shared numbers.
Home by 7 am. Sleep.
Not sure how long the dog walker has been knocking on the door. Bunny dog has had a sleep-over with her dogs. It's noon. He's being returned. He looks like he and the other dogs played all night. He's got dark circles under his eyes, a little scratch on his nose, scruffy hair. Immediately on the couch - paws up in the air - asleep. Who am I to comment?
Aussie girl and I make a B-line to the Turkish place. Only a big fat gyro will do this lunchtime.
Dutchman calls as promised.
Brussels is still standing - just
Rules are made to be broken
I can't wait.
One of my best friends is coming down from London this weekend. She's an Aussie who is tons of fun. We will go out with the gorgeous Lara and cause a little trouble Saturday night. Who am I kidding? We will rip Brussels to shreds!
Aussie Girl arrives Friday evening on the Eurostar and we will stay home and have finger food and Cosmopolitan cocktails. Listen to music, prep for the next night. I want to serve yummies like endive stuffed with gorganzola and toasted walnuts, little whole wheat blinis with sour cream and smoked salmon and chives, smoked mussels on skewers with a spicy dipping sauce, black olive and Parmesan toasties, shrimp wrapped in bacon with bleu cheese and cheese stuffed roasted scotch bonnet peppers - you know, stuff like that - yummies! Well, some of those types of things - not all of them!
Saturday evening, we will meet Lara at our regular Tapas place. My favourite tapas is a slice of roasted pork tenderloin on a hunk of herbed baguette. I also love the chorizo sausages with melted manchego cheese. Besides being super tasty, it's good barrier food for a night on the town. Our place serves tapas by conveyor belt and the closer your stools are to the kitchen, the better the selection - you get the good stuff first. If you have the patience, you can march up to the open kitchen and order what you want hand delivered, which takes ages. They have tons of wine by the glass with really clear, easy descriptions of how they taste and what food matches them best. There's a glass window front and you can see the street, feel the action.
After tapas it's mints. Loads of them
Then - no rules!
Dancing, flirting, you name it. Yeah yeah, I talk big. But hey, last time I went out with the girls I picked up a band! Yes, a band. They're called Simple Plan. Was fun - hung out with the sound technician dude until 6 am the next morning and still e-mail with him to this day.
I have notified every 'single' guy I know in Brussels to get them out for a drink - It works too! Nothing like announcing that the girls are on the prowl to get the men folk moving! I also like to stir things up a bit...
Even though I say 'no rules', there are still a few.
One: Aussie Girl is not to get picked-up and snogged by another US Marine on duty at NATO. She's been there, done that. No matter how much she whines about it. No Marines. Two: Aussie Girl may not, under any circumstances, try to flirt with the acoustic Guitar player at Celtica - especially while he's in the middle of a set. No distracting winks, shakes, nods, blown kisses, free drinks, bared skin - nada!
I have included and ex- boyfriend of Lara's on my invite list. After a few drinks exes have been known to re-kindle their passions and forgive and forget for the time being. Rule three: If they even so much as touch one another (lips, hands or anything) - I am stopping that train wreck immediately!
The fourth rule is always the same. Forget about rules one through three on the night and let things happen as they happen.
Hmm, I shall have some stories to tell next week.....
