My Drunk Kitchen

I know I haven't been the most consistent and regular blogger this past summer (past year? two years? whatever), but hey, summer is a magical time where you pack in all the fun and slothfulness you can, while you can. Especially if you live in a place where the sun don't shine all the time.

This little thing here is simply hilarious. Who doesn't get into the sauce while cooking? On television sitcoms and dramas, one person cooking and one observing and conversing usually equals one bottle of wine, easily. You'd think that two bottles of wine for two people on a given evening was the norm if all you did was watch people cook in the land of television fiction. On the rare occasion that I have surpassed half a bottle for my lonesome self, headache, hangover and unquenchable thirst have resulted. This gal's name is Hannah Hart. Yay for you, Hannah.

Costco nation

Costco: I didn't know if it was day or night/I started buying everything in sight.

I am freaked out. Costco depresses me. I know everybody doesn't have the same opportunities I do to visit farm stands and little markets, but I will fight to the end for inspirational shopping. Costco doesn't even look like it belongs on our planet. It could be on the moon. It has no relationship to the outside world as I know it. The lighting, the temperature, the outrageous abundance. The store has no life and no contact with anything that comes from the earth. Everything is packaged, sterile, clinical. Nothing about the food is emotional. And there is a wicked genius at work, mixing the organic with the terribly processed.

That's not me I'm quoting, but it could be. It's Eric Ripert, one of many Frenchies who have made it in America as a master chef and television star. I don't know which channel he's on. It could be the food channel, or one of them (assuming there's more than one). I don't know because I don't watch television in general; and if I had to choose one thing to never watch, it would certainly be daytime television. He's been nominated for an Emmy, by the way.

I found the quote above by googling the words "Costco depresses me". I googled those words because I actually went to Costco yesterday, a rare event in my world. I am not even a member! That's like saying you are a Commie in this country. Well, I am pretty much a Commie. I believe all members of a community should share their gains instead of stocking up like maniacs at Costco and then hoarding it all. Anyway, Costco. What can I say? You get there and notice that on a rare sunny Saturday afternoon on a holiday weekend, the parking lot is full. What few places to park you see have people standing in them and saving a spot for one of the thousands of grocery getters driving recklessly around the parking lot.

You go inside and it is like stepping into the Twilight Zone or a casino in Vegas. You lose all sense of time, and not in a good way. There is no natural light whatsoever. It could be midnight. In fact, it is midnight -- the midnight of the soul. I always feel I am part of some end-of-the-world hoarding spree when I step inside Costco. For the record, we do not shop for food at Costco. That would be like.... an apt metaphor escapes me at the moment. Let's just say it would not be nourishing in any meaningful way. We were looking for some flowers to plant on the deck. A neighbor told me Costco had a good selection at incredibly low prices. In fact, Costco never has a good selection of anything, but it always has unbeatable prices. The quality of these plants was mediocre at best, which made me want to buy every single one and give them all a loving home. How healthy can it be for plants to live inside Costco, far from the light of day and nature?

I will spare everyone the depressing tally of what my fellow shoppers were stocking up on. But let me just ask if other people besides me believe that five-gallon bags of chips, even if they are labeled "organic", are probably not the kind of food item that is going to help America win the undeclared and mostly unfought war on obesity.

On the way home, Walt and I were ranting about all the bad drivers out on Saturday afternoon. I realized that the vehemence of my rant had more to do with the way Costco makes me feel: like the world is going to hell in a handbasket and that's not such a bad thing considering the state it is currently in. So I said, "Going to Costco makes me..." and Walt finished my sentence for me: "...hate Americans". Or maybe he said "hate America" or "hate the American way of life". Whatever. Yes. What he said.

Going to Costco makes me want to go to the nearest fruit and vegetable stand or farmer's market and just breathe in the odor of ripe tomatoes or ripe peaches. It's too early for either where I live. But I'm sure there are many seasonal olfactory treats at the farmer's market in my neighborhood. I think I'll head up there and take several really deep breaths.

France has a few "hard discount" stores like Costco, but not located inside city limits. It also has supermarkets and even hypermarkets. However, you can always find someone to worry that the the local marchés are an endangered species. Thankfully. I mean, for as long as people worry aloud about them, they stand a chance of surviving. I shopped daily in France without ever getting into my car. I didn't have a car, in fact. In Paris, it was always on foot. In La Rochelle, on foot or by bicycle.

Below, the open market in La Rochelle(the covered market, which you can see on the left in the photo, is superb); my bike in La Rochelle (the pretty mauve one with the basket); some melons.

Mais c'est un scandale !

A wedge of roquefort, back when it was affordable in America

I have just read something in Le Monde that makes me angry and terribly sad. Showing that it has an impeccable sense of priorities, the US government has announced plans to triple the customs duty on roquefort cheese imports starting on March 23. Even more outrageous is that this huge increase applies only to roquefort, a cheese made from ewe's milk that is produced exclusively in a very precisely defined geographic region in France (see below). Why? To retaliate against the very sensible European ban on hormone-injected beef from the US.



Ostenibly, the tarif is being raised to force Europe to accept our hormone-laden beef. In 1998, the WTO ruled that the European ban on this horrible shit was not backed by science and, when Europe did not immediately open its borders to hormone beef, the US promptly drew up a list of products that would be subject to higher import duties. So after a decade-long impasse, the US has decided to get things moving by targeting roquefort.

The decision was made by Bush appointee Susan Schwab, just days before her mandate comes to an end. Thanks, Susan. You bitch!

The European Commission has indicated it will file a complaint against the US with the WTO.

So all you roqufort lovers out there, enjoy it while you still can. And remember, although they are not really the same at all to real cheese lovers, you can console yourself with different varieties of bleu cheese: bleu des causses, bleu d'Auvergne, forme d'ambert, etc. But save your money. Don't buy roquefort in the US. Soon enough, you'll have enough money to visit France. You'll find roquefort for sale all over France, but if you have time, visit the real Roquefort.

Some information about roquefort and Roquefort:

The region in which the milk used to make this cheese is collected covers a 100-km radius around the village of Roquefort-sur-Soulzon, which is in the French department called the Aveyron. The collection area in fact includes many different French départements (it's more complicated, but think of them as counties): La Lozère, L'Aveyron, Le Tarn, L'Aude, L'Hérault and the Gard. But the cheese is only aged in a specific part of Roquefort-sur-Soulzon, within the natural caves of Mont Combalou, where the temperature, soil and natural ventilation combine to give roquefort its inimitable taste, which is also attributed to the particular breeds of sheep whose milk is used (Lacaune,Manech and Basco-Béarnaise), their diet and their ability to withstand harsh weather conditions and extreme variations in temperature.

Here's a cheese map of France, which I will try to enlarge. Remember, De Gaulle once remarked that a country with 400 and some odd cheeses was ungovernable. Maybe, but what a great place to run amok.