Seasonal labor

 

Here we go again – the season of back aches, filthy fingernails, sore muscles, rusty knees, tired arms and dirt.  Not to mention weeds, lots and lots of weeds.  Yet again, I swear I’ll get the better of them this year, I swear I will. 

You’ll see.

I promise.

Geez, who am I kidding.  I'll start off strong and then fade faster than cheap jeans in hot water. 

darn it.....I hate being truthful with myself.

Got milk?

 

I’m certain one of the unexplored benefits of living in Europe is the ease of drinking out of the liter milk carton versus the gallon.  I would even say it’s 3.78 times easier – and still no glass to wash.

Exact Change Please

On Saturday, I went to pick up a few odds and ends.  Since the total for some nuts and bolts, a paintbrush, and some masking tape were rather minimal, I paid cash.  I handed the cashier a twenty and then patiently waited.  She held the bill her hand and just stared at me.  I felt awkward, so I did a double take to make sure I gave her enough, sure enough, I had.  She looked at me and repeated the total, “18euros and 42 cents”, with an emphasis on the later.  You see, French cashier like exact change, and I didn’t have it.

For the most part, I try to give the cashiers exact change, but I don’t always carry a fully loaded change purse with me.  Sometimes I can give them a penny or five cents to round it out; it makes it easier for them and my pockets a little lighter.  The “voluntary obligation” of always having the exact change is something I struggle with.  I was cashier back in high school.  I learned to make change without the register doing it for me, so I question why the obligation of always having that 42 cents on command.  Isn’t the register full of money to do that exact thing for them?

If I wanted to get philosophical, I can state I am doing my civic duty by helping out another human being by holding up the check-out line as I search my pockets for any spare change to make her life easier.  Or, I can argue I’m hurting society by making that cashier more dependable on computers and not letting her use her brain to do some simple math.  In the end, I’m not sure which is the right choice.  I’m either going to be shamed into carrying pounds of coins or simply have to accept the disgruntled looks.  For someone who’s been working hard on fitting in, I find it strange that I’m leaning towards the later.  But given that many of my pockets have holes and that I absolutely hate to sew, I seem to have no other choice.

Les Giboulées de Mars

 

In like a lion and out like a lamb….

We might wait for the lamb-like gentleness of late March, but in France, the lion and lamb part of the weather are all mixed together in one day.  “Les giboulées de mars”, translated as “spring downpours” is the transitional moment between winter and spring with strong winds, random showers, snow, hail, and plunging temperatures.  Often, between showers, the sun comes out and gives the impression of a pleasant day.

The first of the month, we were graced with 10 inches of snow, which melted the next in the near 60 degree (F) temperatures.  That was followed by two days of non-stop monsoon like rain, a day of sun, and then grey skies which occasionally showered us with hail or melted snow.  Today, snow has been predicted and we’re hovering around freezing.

I guess whatever you call March, where ever you are, March is March.  It’s not the luminous joys of winter nor the soft tender greens of spring.  It’s a passage between the two, sometimes all in one day or painfully stretched out over a month. “Les giboulées de mars”, or “the lion and the lamb” are the harbingers of spring, which everyone impatiently waits for, no matter where you are.

That's It?

Forget the hail tapping on my window and the rolling grey clouds clapping thunder, I’m thinking spring!  This little baby just popped its head up over the weekend.  I seeded it, along with 50 others, last week.  We’ve got tomatoes growing, and all different kinds.  It’s a small compensation for Christophe's comment, “You seeded 50, that’s it?”

“Just for now,” I smirked.  “The rest of the plants will be started in the greenhouse later this month.”  (Back at you; head whip and cocky grin.  Why?  Because he’ll be planting them and then we’ll see about that “only 50” comment.)

Neufchâtel: I “heart” cheese.

Neufchâtel Coeur de Bray

Given the abundance of cheese France produces, I’ve decided to tackle the subject once a month in a series of posts that bring some of the lesser known cheeses, (at least outside the France borders) into focus.  Some cheeses have a complicated history which I try to boil down to what makes them unique and notable, and others simply developed from “farm cheeses” made to be consumed where they were produced.  Either way, “Cheese” gives me a chance to explore one of the gastronomic delights of France and justify my excursions to a cheese monger as “research”.  And the research can be oh, so grueling…

Neufchâtel, a French cheese from Upper Normandy, is made from unpasteurized cows’ milk.  It is a soft cheese, and is in the same family as a Camembert or Brie.  Its taste falls somewhere between the two, not overly sharp nor sweet and mild.  According to legend, during the 30 year war (1618-1648), young French girls would show their attraction to English soldiers by giving them cheese in the shape of a heart.  Nowadays, the heart shaped cheese is called “Neufchâtel Coeur de Bray”, and the cheese itself is fabricated in other forms and sizes.

The French Neufchâtel should not be confused with the American counterpart, which was created in the late 1800’s by a New York dairy farmer.  His attempts to recreate the French cheese failed, but what he had instead was a low fat version of cheese cream now sold in supermarkets.