À demain, Berlin

I am sitting at my computer, wrapped up to my eyes in the enormous orange scarf that Katia lent me for my trip to Berlin. It is more like a fleece blanket. "You will need this," she told me, smiling slyly as if I were in for the unexpected. Which happens to be exactly what I am looking forward to.

This week has been a tad strange, because I have been on the verge of sickness, aka incredibly sleepy all the time. It hasn't been good for the speaking two languages game, but it hasn't seemed to negatively effect my teaching. As the week passed, I became more comfortable and energetic with my classes, and I think my comfort is rubbing off on them. This afternoon, as we were working in small groups to plan our 'dream vacations,' a girl asked me, in hesitant but focused English, "What is your life like in America? Is it different than my life here?"

The fact that her interest in US life overpowered her fear of speaking English says a lot. So many students, after ooo-ing and ahh-ing at my photos of Oregon and California, tell me how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful place. The use the word "beautiful" to describe all of America, even New York City. It's so funny to me because truthfully, I told her, life isn't that different.

I need to sleep to wake up for my 5:45 train to Paris, but I'm sure I will be writing more about finding the balance between learning, speaking and fun in my lessons, and figuring out the attitudes and strengths of all my different classes. Report back in 10 days!! xoxox

Food Blog Pretense, Ep. 2: Vegan Moussaka

On Hawthorne in Portland there is a Lebanese restaurant situated in a big old craftsman house. It is relatively new and called TarBoush. I feel bad bringing people there because all I can say is "Well, I eat the moussaka, and it is ridiculously delicious. Are other things good? Ummm...probably?" Luckily it seems the other dishes match up. Eggplant is one of my favorite veggies, but I'm ordinarily banned from moussaka due to the cheesy bechamel sauce. It usually contains meat too. At TarBoush, though, they do it "right," by my standards. The eggplants define the dish, and it includes chickpeas in the thick tomato sauce.


So this weekend, aside from consuming two huge kebab sandwiches, too much sesame chocolate, and more pastry than usual, I also successfully copied that non-purist moussaka and was incredibly pleased. Erin and Kelli got on the train around 4, taking two giant apples from the crate in the garage, and I was left to myself in the kitchen. I was tired, but hungry and had been dreaming about this moussaka since I bought the shiny purple gems at the market last week. Never worry about not having everything you need for a recipe. Impromptu cooking is a life skill, especially for young people in new kitchens. I was pleasantly surprised by the light cinnamon flavor and the perfectly mushy nature of the baked eggplant. The simple bechamel sauce even made the house smell like cheese, according to Katia : ) I will definitely make this again!

The eggplants, laying out to sweat.

Vegan Moussaka (haphazardly oversimplified from avalonwine.com)

1 medium eggplant
2 medium zucchinis

2 medium potatoes (or 4 little ones)

One can or 1 1/2 cups of cooked chickpeas
1/4 cup olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, sliced
28-oz. can crushed peeled tomatoes (I used the 16oz can + a couple of fresh heirlooms)
1 teaspoon dried oregano (oops)
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon (I used about a teaspoon or more)
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice (oops)
2 teaspoon sea salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
 

 For the Bechamel:

1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 cup unbleached flour
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg (I threw in a bit of cumin and lots of pepper, just because)
2 cups soy milk (I used oat milk, which was a bit thicker)
1 tablespoon cornstarch diluted in 1/2 cup water (or two tbsp more flour)
1 1/2 teaspoon sea salt 

(some nutritional yeast, if you've got it, would make it a bit "cheezier"). 
 
VEGGIES: Heat over to 375 F. Slice the eggplant lengthwise and salt both sides of each thin slice. Leave them to sweat while you cut the zucchini and potato lengthwise into slices. After about 15 minutes of sweating, wash the eggplant with water, and toss all three veggies in olive oil and pile into a casserole dish. Place the dish in the oven, rearranging the veggies about so often as you make the tomato sauce.

 TOMATO SAUCE: While the veggies are softening in the oven, make this simple sauce. Heat 1/4 cup of olive oil in a saucepan and sauté the onion and garlic until the onion is transparent and lightly browned. Add the crushed tomatoes, oregano, cinnamon (a necessity), allspice (or whichever spices you choose to use), salt, pepper, and chickpeas. Simmer 5 to 10 minutes. After making this sauce, take the veggies out of the oven. Layer half of veggies in the dish, pour half the sauce over them, and do the same with the rest. Now put this casserole in the oven for 45 minutes, or as long as it takes for the eggplant to completely soften. It may take longer. Check at 30 mins and if the top is burning, cover with foil. 

BECHAMEL SAUCE: Heat the olive oil in a saucepan and sprinkle in flour and nutmeg (and nutritional yeast, if you want), stirring constantly. Whisk in the milk and salt and pepper, stirring until the mixture begins to boil. Then reduce the heat and whisk until thickened. Take the casserole out of the oven and pour the Bechamel over it. Return to the oven for 15 minutes. 

New goal: Learn to take better pictures of food.

  

Serve with white rice or grains of any kind (couscous, quinoa, ect.). 

This other recipe for vegan moussaka, which is originally from Veganomicon, a great vegan cookbook by IsaChandra Moskowitz and Terry Hope Romero of Post Punk Kitchen and Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World,  might be a more legitimate copy of the original Greek dish, but has a much longer ingredient list.  Maybe I'll try it someday in a land of cheaper tofu.

Un Bon Weekend, Indeed.

These dairy-free pastries came Friday evening as a treat from my lovely adopted family.

My weekend began with a situation that made me giggle at myself and the ways of the world. Minutes before dinner on Friday night I was chatting with my little sis about my worries that I was imposing on the family, as Grandma had arrived that morning with giant wooded boxes of apples, squash and bulbous heirloom tomatoes. She is from the country, doesn't understand a thing I say in French, and began cleaning the house within minutes of her arrival. I felt in the way and so obviously foreign. She had invited me to dine with them, though, and when I sat down at the table, I realized it wasn't just out of obligation. They had left a square of spaghetti squash au gratin without cheese on top, and when I apologized that I had to leave to meet a friend they sat me back down for a second, refilled my glass of kir (blackcurrant liqueur and white wine) and brought out two boxes of pastries from the Asian bakery. There, Katia told me, they use oil instead of butter. Awwwwwww : ). My uncertain feelings disappeared completely as I thanked them profusely and took a piece of orange-blossom brioche and a sesame almond shortbread pyramid cookie. And on this perfect note, I went out on the town with a big group of other La Rochelle assistants and drank and danced away my Friday night.

On Saturday Alexandra, Kelli and Erin arrived on the train. A wander around the port and a day at the beach (no swimming but lots of sun) began our vacation-esque weekend. This also brought us to the conclusion that this year might feel like one long weekend, in the best of ways.

We ate kebabs, saw La Rochelle by night, ate more kebabs and woke up to a lovely Sunday of strolling around town and taking pictures of weird vegetables.

It's funny meeting people and bonding so quickly. It was like hosting old friends in my new home. Nothing was new, however, about the niceties of waking up slowly on a Sunday morning to a room full of friends, a bit hungover but ready to get out of the house and into the sun. We got breakfast at the boulangerie across the street and wandered into town for coffee by the port. The town took a while to wake up, too, so we got to mosey in solitude until the afternoon when we sat by the beach and people-watched. There is a lot to talk about when you've just met someone and have already had so much fun.

An impressively huge and billowing French flag that appeared recently; Erin in the beautifully kept botanic gardens that we stumbled upon today. It was like wandering in to someone's brilliant backyard obsession, but it has open entrances on three different city blocks. I had walked upon it my first full day in La Rochelle but hadn't made it as far as we did.

Stay tuned for a recap of my vegan moussaka victory, and most likely handfuls more pictures of sun-drenched La Rochelle. It's all so picturesque I can't help myself. If they are all starting to look the same don't worry because the seasons are changing as I type and in less than one week I'll be off to Berlin for vacation! Wait, haven't I just started work? Yes, yes I have. Thank you France :)

Other Sunny Day in the Port

I sit at a café with restaurants on both sides. The sun it out and shining over the thick market building onto my face. Many of the buisnesses are closed for lunch, and people walk around with baguettes and little quiches and sandwiches in hand. There are students here, colorful and relaxed, drinking in the afternoon. The ladies at the table besides me order fresh-squeezed juice of some kind and pull their packed lunches (the french call any pre-made lunch a Pic-Nic) out of their bags. They place yogurt containers, tupperwares of rice and veggies, and fruit onto the table. A woman from a restaurant across the way walks into the café with a plate of steaming potatoes, veggies and ham. She comes out empty-handed, having delivered someone's lunch.

 Noticing this, I take a handful of muesli bread from my bag. I crave this bread full of dried fruit and soft almonds everyday. To my right, at Kabob Oasis, cylinders of lamb spin on the spit. A man brings meaty sandwiches to a table of men at the café. The lines are far less rigid here. Food and business moves freely and comfortably between cafés, restaurants and the market. I enjoy being in the middle of this, watching the exchanges happen, primarily those of friendly recognition that seem to accompany service.

Does that second picture hurt your eyes? Mine too. After I stood up from that table to walk down a shaded side street I could only see spots.

 I have the feeling often, here, that things are happening around me that I don't fully understand. For instance, I wonder if it is alright for me to be here. The students have left and the café is full of gray, older men who all seem to know each other. A couple men stand on the ledge of the café, not on the sidewalk and not inside. Have things actually shut down for midday? At least they are kind enough to let me stay. I wish I could drink espresso after espresso without going loony.

I don't know the purpose of these flags that just sprung up, but they looked like a special occasion, twirling in the wind. I'll probably talk about France's sentiments towards America at a later date, but for now, they like us much more than I expected. They are also proud of us for Occupy Wall Street and for Obama. To both I've heard, "I didn't think the Americans had it in them."

Some Things I've Seen

Because this is a blog primarily for those who want to read about the intricacies of my life abroad, I decided to post some bits and pieces of my daily writing here. Everyday of my life here is not packed full of things to blog home about, but going abroad does make my mind more observant, interested, and creative. It is this, and the overall poetic nature of living in La Rochelle, that makes even my most simple days something to jot down notes about...

I wanted to give you more scenes from La Rochelle, but these pictures are not from today. Today I only saw the sun through gray clouds. Perhaps I will always live in a gray city? At least the gray here doesn't threaten to break into rain the second you walk out the door.

A very old man carries a tiny sleeping baby in a pouch on his chest. He sings softly, though not just for the baby. I pass him three times as I wander through the Wednesday market. While I walk aimlessly back and forth between the stands, each selling a similar selection of fruits and vegetables, it seems this man is walking to walk and not looking for anything.

Charred beets sit in piles on tables at the market. Just today I realize that they are beets. I looked in awe the other weeks, for I thought they were some kind of tropical fruit, roughly textured and sweating. I buy one for lunch and read the sign. They have been roasted in a charcoal fire. They are deep red and their skin is bubbly. I eat one for lunch with bread and two hardboiled eggs.

A teenage girl offers a warm, hopeful “coucou” to another teenage girl in the crowded courtyard of Lycée Josue Valin. The girl's salutation is met with a snide, empty glare and a calculated brush on the shoulder. Both girls stand up straighter, and the first shrugs and walks on, hurt. They both wear heeled boots like every other French highschooler seems to wear,.

A dreadlocked boy with a stickered megaphone stands on the concrete flower bed, shouting to the crowd of students in front of the school. After each sentence, the students cheer. We watch from the window of the teacher's lounge. “It is a meeting to say that there is another meeting tomorrow?” one of the English teachers asks, laughing. The teachers seem to chide the student strikes, but they have many their own. Unfortunately I missed the blockade the next day.

Louna sticks her head in my room and chimes “ça va?” when she gets home this afternoon. Her face glows. She had the same look when we drove away from L'Ile de Ré a few weekends ago after she spent all of dinner roaming around the port with Theo. She waved at him out the car window as we drove away and then became really quiet and snapped at her mom when she asked about him. I remember that she was going to hang out with him today. Some teenagers are cute and not mean.

An older man with a notably symmetrical body carries two full cloth shopping bags home from the market. The look on his face is firm but pleasant, and you can see his thick yellow teeth through the crack between his lips. He is determined and perfectly balanced, as if he walks exactly like this every Wednesday morning. I step out of his way. Later, I walk home in a similar fashion, with no symmetry at all, the bags tugging on my fingers and the top-heavy stalks of my Swiss chard threatening to tip everything onto the sidewalk.

*****

Châtelaillon

I also wanted to share some pictures of Châtelaillon, where my head teacher Isa lives. Friday afternoon when class finished she drove me out to her home and made us a lunch of boiled fish, rice, and a tomato salad. We started our meal with a French (or regional) specialty of pinot poured into the center of a halved cantaloupe. I'm not sure if it is actually spelled "pinot" because it is not like the wine, but instead thicker and sweeter, right before cognac in the distillation (or fermentation?) process. It was delicious with the melon!

Isa cuts thick slices of "real" French bread, the country-side kind. Those thin baguettes that we eat in the "city" are too hard and made with processed flour, she tells me. She has lived in the little village of Châtelaillon for over 15 years, so I suppose she would know.

Sorry that these pictures are a little overwhelming when placed side-by-side. Isa's house is full of colors and shapes and old French knick knacks, as well as two fluffy black dogs. Her pantry is in the bathroom, and the kitchen is like one on a ship, she says. Everything you need is literally right in front of your nose.

Isa also had these old prints of the La Rochelle harbor which I loved! Maybe I can find some at the vide grenier, or flea market, that I'm off to this morning with Katia.

One Saturday Morning in Autumn

It is Saturday, and even though I haven't actually started work yet it feels good like weekends should feel. It is sunny but the air is crisp...Fall. I slept in and ate a muesli and fig breakfast while searching for tickets to Berlin to visit mon amie Hannah, who is living there until at least the end of the month. And I bought a ticket! From Paris. I am SOOO excited about seeing Hannah and Berlin and Hannah's Berlin in less than two weeks! Exclamation points necessary.

I finally meandered out of my room around noon and set out to make the perfect fall meal, polenta with tomatoes which Zoë introduced to me during my last days in Portland. It is simple, warm and contains some of my favorite things: cherry tomatoes, basil, and garlic. Mmm.

I also added some leftover eggplant, mushrooms and chard.

Here is the original recipe:

Polenta:
1 tsp Sea Salt
1 cup corn grits or polenta
1-2 medium ears fresh corn, (1 cup)

Tomatoes:
2 pints cherry tomatoes
1/4 cup olive oil
2 garlic cloves
Pepper!
1/4 cup basil, tarragon, parsley
Salt




1. To prepare polenta: bring 3 cups of water to boil in medium sauce pan and add salt. Stir in grits and fresh corn and continue to stir until water returns to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered, for 5-7 minutes, stirring occasionally until polenta is thick and smooth. Cover.

2. For tomatoes, put it all in a heated skillet. Add herbs after 3-4 minutes, and sauté for 2 more minute.

 Put the polenta in a bowl and spoon the tomatoes over it. It steams delicious. And with that, plus my oversized cashmere sweater (thanx Bins), I have the *inner warmth* (teehee) to ride bikes to the Mediatheque with Katia and get a library card.