A picture is worth a thousand words: Kauai sunsets

February 3, 2011 by Beth Shepherd

Big Papa and I just got back from six MUCH needed days in sunny, warm Kauai. Neither of us had ever been to the Hawaiian islands. Our brief trip was just what the doctor ordered: relaxing and a shelter from the storm currently surrounding us.

As part of my A picture is worth a thousand words series, I’m going to be posting photographs I took on our trip. First up, sunsets of course!

Ke’e Beach Na Pali coast Kauai sunset

Hanalei Bay Kauai sunset

Tunnels Beach Kauai sunset

Kilauea Road (near the Kilauea Lighthouse) Kauai sunset

A picture is worth a thousand words: Food in Armenia

January 26, 2011 by Beth Shepherd

Traveling in Armenia is a feast for the senses, particularly where food is involved. Dolma, kufta, amazing yogurt and ice cream…and of course, Pakhlava (which many other countries call Bakhlava)! Here are a few pictures of delicious treats I enjoyed on my visits to Armenia.

Delicious Armenian dolma

Sweet fruit leather

Lamajoun Armenian Pizza: lamb and garlic with a squeeze of lemon and a side drink of Tan or spiced yogurt

Armenian kufta in Yerevan

The most amazing ice cream in Yerevan

Ditto on deliciousness for the yogurt, served here with a sprinkle of nuts on top and bread

Want to see more deliciousness? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!

A picture is worth a thousand words: Travels in Armenia

January 25, 2011 by Beth Shepherd

“You’re still you and we’re still us,” Big Papa told me the other day. He’s right, of course. But in the past couple months it’s been hard to remember this in the midst of tackling various issues around two parents with dementia, one going on Medicaid and one about to move into an assisted living “memory” unit. Add to this some unspeakably frustrating and scary turns of events related to our adoption. And then just for kicks this week, toss in one trip to the ER (me for an infected thumb) and a totally to-the-rim flat tire. Let’s just say that who “me” is feels like she’s buried under a mountain of misery.

That’s not how I want to be. I’d like to dig out from under this sense of being overwhelmed and without control and find a bit of peace in my days. Joy even.

Ironically, at a time which would seem like exactly the right time to write, I can’t. I’ve started a sentence of this and a paragraph of that, only to crumple the page (or hit the Delete key). Many times writing is supremely cathartic, but of late, not so much.

Then today, I had a mini-Epiphany when I was looking through some shots from a few of the trips Big Papa and I have taken. Who am I? I’m a writer, yes. And, I’m a photographer too.

So today, and this week, and maybe for a couple weeks to come, I’m going to share of bit of myself through the images I’ve taken. If the words for a story aren’t passing easily through my fingers to the page, I can show the pictures that tell a story as seen through my eyes. As the adage goes, sometimes:

A picture is worth a thousand words.

First up: Travels in Armenia

Mountains and clouds in Armenia

Garni Temple

Monastery of Geghard

Candles and prayers at the Geghard Monastery

Light through Geghard Monastery

Thick as pea soup

December 15, 2010 by Beth Shepherd

Gray fog and clouds as dense as mid-winter lambs’ wool filled the sky, while rain poured down in buckets, helping Seattle live up to its reputation as the ‘rain city.’ During the dark, dank days that seem to stretch on forever, I start dreaming about soup. And this past weekend, one soup in particular: pea soup.

Back in 1980, when I studied abroad in the Netherlands, I lived in the home of a 72-year-old woman whom I affectionately called, ‘Oma.’ Oma made the best darn pea soup I’d ever had. Hers was a soup that changed my idea of what pea soup was possible of being.

“So thick you can stand your spoon straight up in it,” is what she would say as she served up a bowlful of her stupendous soup. Pea soup which is called ‘erwtensoep’ or ‘snert,’ by the Dutch is a thick stew chock-full of green split peas, different cuts of pork, celeriac or stalk celery, onions, leeks, carrots, and often potato. Slices of rookworst (Dutch smoked sausage) are added a few minutes before serving. It is customarily served with rye bread (roggebrood) topped with bacon, cheese or butter. The bacon is always ‘katenspek’, bacon which has first been cooked before being smoked. It’s a one-stop shop of a soup if there ever was one.

Erwtensoep is traditionally eaten during the winter and is emblematic of Dutch cuisine. You can even find the soup at ‘koek en zopie’ outlets, small food and drinks stalls which pop up during wintertime along frozen canals, ponds and lakes in the Netherlands, and cater to ice skaters.

During my recent trip to Amsterdam, a bowl of “echte” (authentic) erwtensoep was one of my “top ten” food treats to hunt down and savor. On my last night there, I found it and ordered up a bowl with a snifter of korenwijn (aged Dutch gin). Both did their job to bring back happy memories and take the chill out of my bones on that cold, windy night.

I made the soup for Big Papa on Sunday. Pumpernickel bread from Tall Grass Bakery stood in for the roggebrood and added a touch of molasses sweetness as we dunked and nibbled. We washed down our pea soup with a delicious hard cider, Bellwether, ‘King Baldwin,’ which we brought back home after a trip to visit relatives in upstate New York. It’s light fizz and dry apple flavors perfectly complimented the soup. And, Oma would have been proud. Our spoons stood straight and tall! Even our cat was impressed.

Erwtensoep

4 bacon slices, chopped*
½-1 small onion, chopped
1-2 medium leek (white and pale green parts only), sliced
1-2 large carrots, peeled, chopped
½ cup chopped celeriac (celery root – peel skin and then chop) or 2 stalks celery, chopped
1-2 garlic cloves, minced
4-14 1/2-ounce cans low-salt chicken(or veggie) broth*
1-1/4 cups green split peas, rinsed and soaked overnight (I soaked mine for four hours and they were fine)
2 bay leaves
3-4 small potatoes, chopped (optional: I used Yellow Finn)
2-3 smoked sausages (Dutch preferred, otherwise, German Bratwurst-style), cooked and sliced (1/2 inch slices)*

Preparation

Sauté bacon in heavy large pot over medium-high heat until crisp and brown. Add onion, leek, carrot, celeriac and garlic and sauté until vegetables begin to soften, about 6 minutes. Add broth, peas, and bay leaves and bring soup to boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover and simmer until peas are tender, stirring occasionally, about 1 hour. While soup is brewing, cook sausage in a separate pan, slice and set aside. Add sausage and cook for another half-hour. Soup should be thick and peas “decomposed.” Season soup to taste with salt and pepper.

*Vegetarian Note: You can make this recipe vegetarian-friendly by omitting the bacon and sausage, or instead, adding the vegetarian equivalent.

Want to spoon in some more? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!

Happy things

November 25, 2010 by Beth Shepherd

Eleven months ago, Big Papa and I started a new habit. Every night, before we go to sleep, we take turns and share a few “happy things” from our day. Then we offer an “appreciation,” something about each other that we are grateful for.

I came up with this idea to counterbalance the frustration, fears and stress in our lives: aging parents, work, home improvement projects, illness (ours or others), aches and pains, insecurities, and the bumps along the road in our journey to adopt. Sometimes it seems like it is so much easier to focus on problems and negativity in life, or all the things we want rather than everything we have.

This might sound Pollyannaish, but I have to tell you, it works! We’ve kept the nightly ritual going and now, nearly a year later, I can honestly say that going to sleep at night with happy thoughts in my brain, has made me a happier person.

Sure, I still fret about our adoption, wish I could buy jeans a size smaller, and feel sad to see my father slip away bit by bit. Careless drivers make me angry and I continue to miss my friend Dee, who passed away two years ago (and who I always called on Thanksgiving Day to tell her how grateful I was for her friendship).

That said, I feel much more aware of the little things that bring me joy each and every day. Maybe it’s a morning when the Cascade Mountains are so clear it feels like I could reach out and touch them. Or a cold afternoon spent watching the birds enjoy the new suet feeder. I don’t feel like I’m bragging when I cite accomplishments from my day that I am proud of: a good work out, two articles written for my writing group, an organized closet or a tasty meal that I made using herbs from our garden.

It is so energizing to share these happy moments with Big Papa along with one appreciation for something he did or said or just for being the wonderful person he is. Hearing the things that make him happy puts a smile in my heart. And, when he tells me what he appreciates about me, I feel noticed, acknowledged, and loved. Sharing our ‘happy things’ and ‘appreciations’ has been one of the best things we’ve done for our relationship…and for ourselves.

Most of us living in the U.S. have a lot to be thankful for. There is great abundance in our lives, yet we often fail to appreciate what we have in the midst of harried days, and the perceived pressure to be more, do more and have more.

In honor of this year’s Thanksgiving holiday, I celebrate the happiness in my life. There is so much I appreciate:

Big Papa: many hours of listening, his steadiness and love, and a big hug every day
A healthy, strong and fit body
My home: a roof over my head, a bed to sleep in, good food to eat
Friends: old, new, near and far
Maggie, our cat, who makes me smile and laugh
The beautiful northwest that I am so lucky to call home
Being able to write my thoughts and put them out there for the world to see
That my family members are all still alive and able to see the happiness in my life
My own backyard: the garden, the birds
Mamas with Cameras, my writing group and Mom’s Night Out
Trips around the Sound, around the state and over the seas
…and a few wondrous things – that for now – I’ll keep close inside my heart

To my friends and family, and to anyone who reads this post, may a day of thanks be yours. Between running here and there, cleaning the house or cooking up a storm, take some time to remind yourself of the beauty in your life, and of the people, places and moments that make you happy. Close your eyes and think deeply about someone who touches your life, someone you appreciate. Better yet, pick up the phone or take them in your arms and tell them.

Together, we can build a village: Passports with Purpose

November 15, 2010 by Beth Shepherd

As an adoptive-mom-to-be, one of the things I am most proud of is being part of something bigger than myself. Big Papa and I are putting a roof over the head of one little kid, forever.

It’s hard to describe the feeling I get when I think about how life-changing this is. Which is why I am delighted to be one of the bloggers hosting a prize for the 2010 Passports with Purpose. Passports with Purpose is now its third year. Last year, Passports with Purpose raised $30,000 and built a school in rural Cambodia. Where there once was nothing, there is now a place for children to learn.

Beginning November 15th, you can participate in the third Passports with Purpose fundraiser. This year the goal is $50,000, which will be used to build 25 homes for the Dalits, India’s most neglected class of citizens. Brick by brick and donation by donation, we are going to make a difference – you are going to make a difference – for families who have never owned land.

Every penny of your donation – 100% – supports LAFTI, an independent nonprofit organization dedicated to improving the lives of Dalits (untouchable) in India. Here’s the sweet icing on the cupcake of giving: for each $10 tax-deductible donation make, you can enter into a drawing for the prize of your choice. The prizes are amazing! Gear, trips, hotel stays: the list is endless. Check ‘em out!

And lucky me, because as one of the prize hosts, I get to gush about one unbelievable prize (total value over $700):

One night at Willows Lodge in Woodinville, Washington (accommodation for two people in a luxurious northwest-style room and arrival wine tasting for two in the fireside cellars), AND
Dinner for two at the Barking Frog restaurant, AND
A half-day Woodinville Wine Trail tour for two courtesy of EverGreen Escapes

Willows Lodge is only 25 minutes from Seattle and is located on five landscaped acres bordering the Sammamish River in the heart of Western Washington’s wine country. It’s a comfortable, luxurious haven where you can rejuvenate your senses and experience award-winning cuisine (hello Barking Frog restaurant!). It’s no wonder Willows was selected for Condé Nast Traveler’s Gold List.

Barking Frog restaurant is a destination all its own. As one of the most highly regarded restaurants in the Northwest, Barking Frog excels in American regional cuisine with Pacific Northwest influences. They are also known for a phenomenal wine list, the majority of which features Washington wines. In fact, they were awarded “Most Innovative Wine List” by the Washington Wine Commission, and received Wine Spectator’s Award of Excellence five years in a row.

Rounding off this trifecta is a half-day wine tasting excursion with EverGreen Escapes. You will be picked up and dropped off at your hotel by a highly qualified and knowledgeable naturalist and wine guide. Over the course of your five-hour tour, you’ll taste world-class wines from the very best Washington vineyards. Snacks of local meats and cheese are included as are all your tasting fees. In addition to tasting delicious northwest wine, you’ll learn about local winemaking history and the art of viniculture.

It all sounds pretty divine, doesn’t it? The only catch is you have to promise not to tell me about the fabulous wine-filled, relaxing weekend you had, okay?

In this season of giving,’ tis better to give than to receive. Yet Passports with Purpose lets you do both, because even if you don’t score one of the cool prizes, you’ll go to sleep with a roof over your heard knowing you’re making it possible for others to do the same. Together, we can make a home for those who never had one. Together, we can literally build a village.

And last, but not least. Thank you sponsors: BootsnAll, LiveMocha, Round the World with Us, HomeAway, Traveller’s Point, Hostelling International, Quintess, Raveable, TravelPost, and Uptake.

Dutch treats

October 27, 2010 by Beth Shepherd

Temperatures hovered in the 50s and the wind added a crisp bite to the air. No matter, I was on a mission in Amsterdam’s Albert Cuyp market. Patat frites (French fries) with mayonnaise was the fix I was after: a cone-full of delectable crispy potatoes topped with a dollop of lemon-tinged silky smooth mayo on top. Then again, maybe a fresh stroopwafel (syrup waffle cookies), dripping with hot caramel might do the trick. I could balance the sugary sweetness out with a nice hunk of creamy boerenkaas (farmer’s cheese).

Oh Amsterdam. How I love thee. Once, as a young college student, I lived in this city of sinful delight, and no I’m not referring to the Red Light District or the abundant marijuana. I’m talking about the food. Dutch food is a treat. After a three decade absence, when I found out that I was going to have the opportunity to spend a few days in the city I adored, I can tell you flat out that my list of “must taste” goodies was quite long.

First there’s the cheese. Gouda, Edam, Boerenkaas, even Frisian Clove Cheese (from the north part of the country, Friesland, and made with cumin and cloves). They are all equally tasty and I can never decide so I just nibble on a selection throughout the day.

Then there’s the bread. Put a chunk of cheese on a healthy slice of roggebrood (rye bread) and I am one happy camper. The chewy, heady bread combined with rich flavorful cheese is a match made in heaven. In fact, for nearly nine months straight during my college semester stint in Holland, I ate that duo for lunch.

Breakfast options were all heartbreakers (or heart stoppers, depending on how you look at it). Pindakaas (Dutch peanut butter) slathered on rosijnenbrood (raisin bread) was a favorite, occasionally mixed with hazelnut paste or even some hagelslag (chocolate sprinkles) sprinkled on top. Of course, hagelslag on its own with a schmear of fresh farm butter was mighty fine. That’s how the Dutch eat it.

Just remembering the veritable “spread” (quite literally) of items to slather on bread is enough to make my mouth water. Aside from the peanut butter and hazelnut paste, jams and jellies of every fruit and hue awaited. Appelstroop (apple syrup), in particular, was divine drizzled on…well, just about anything.

In fact some folks find appelstroop pairs nicely with Poffertjes. These small, fluffy, spongy buckwheat pancakes are traditionally served with butter and powdered sugar. You can find them at Albert Cuyp too. There’s something mesmerizing about standing in front of the poffertje booth while someone – often dressed in a kitschy “old” Dutch costume – whips up your warm and wonderful treat.

If your stomach is starting to churn while reading this, consider a pot of tea and a few hopjes (coffee drops) or salty licorice drops to soothe your digestive woes. Just be warned that the plethora of licorice (black only) choices might give you a headache. Coins, cats, diamonds and windmills: the shapes alone are enough to make your head spin.

Soft or hard? Salty or sweet? Slightly salty or pucker-your-lips salty? Whichever direction you lean, there is a licorice for your liking. Most folks have a love-hate relationship with licorice. I fall solidly on the love-it end of the spectrum which thrilled the “Oma” (grandma) whose home I stayed in and reminded my mother of my own grandmother who was also fond of black licorice.

One of my favorite dishes that Oma made during my semester abroad was a fantastic erwentensoep or pea soup. She always reminded me that it wasn’t “echte” (real) erwentesoep unless you could stand your spoon upright in it. Chunky and chock-filled with peas, carrots, pork and sausage, this soup was the full-meal deal.

Something else I grew to love and long for once I left Holland, was Indonesian food. You could find all sorts of Indonesian snacks, even in vending machines. Little fried balls of this and noodle dishes of that.

Can’t decide? Then get thee some rijstafel or rice table: and endless variety (sometimes as many as forty different dishes) of sates, noodles, meats, fish, and pickled veggies all served with rice.

On my recent trip, I found out that there was Indonesian take-out just a half a block from my B&B. It was amazingly tasty and brought tears to my eyes as I stuffed myself, and reminisced about rijstafel of days gone by, while looking out to the rooftops of Amsterdam from my top-floor B&B room.

Oh for heaven’s sake, I haven’t even dipped into descriptions of the liquid refreshments. The Dutch are renowned for their beer and jenever (Dutch gin). I’m not much of a beer drinker (my loss, I’m sure, given the Dutch reputation for a good brew), but I had a special fondness for Korewijn, which is a jenever that is aged for several years in oak casks. It is smooth and a lovely tummy warmer after an icy bike ride home.

On New Year’s Day, the Queen’s birthday and a few assorted holidays, ‘Advocaat’ was also popular. Advocaat is a rich and creamy liqueur made from eggs, sugar and brandy. It has a smooth, custard-like flavor. Occasionally it’s so thick that it’s eaten with a spoon. My Oma served it with a touch of whipped cream and some powdered chocolate.

For the non-drinkers amongst you this brings us to the final Dutch foodie lust item on my list: chocolate. Droste cocoa, with whole milk, fresh of the stove was a near daily indulgence, particularly during the long cold winter of 1980 when I lived in the Netherlands. After growing up on Nestle, I can tell you that once I sipped on deep, dark, delicious Droste it was impossible to go back.

Chocolate took many other forms too. Aside from the Hagelslag mentioned earlier there were many shops with enormous assortments of homemade confections. My love affair with high quality chocolate began right then and there.

Let’s just say that during my three-day stay, I managed to check off a fair number of items from my list of much-missed treats. And, if your pants are feeling a bit tighter after reading this post, you now understand why I gained twenty pounds in the nine months I lived in Amsterdam. Smakelijk eten (Tasty eating)!

Looking for more lekkere (yummy) treats? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!

Deux cafe sil vous plait

October 6, 2010 by Beth Shepherd

There’s nothing like a cup of fresh espresso, particularly if one is fortunate enough to drink it in the city of light. Sitting at a sidewalk café and sipping from our demitasse, Big Papa and I watched the world go by, Parisian style.

Across the street at a butcher’s shop, two little girls stood outside waiting for their mother. Dressed in pink and red they coordinated with the colors of the shop to a ‘t.’ Small dogs sat on the laps of doting owners. Cigarettes hung between fingertips of passersby. The white noise buzz of cars and conversation played in the background.

This scene was repeated over and over on street after street. Cafés spilled out along avenues as large as rivers and sandwiched themselves into corners on the tiniest of crooked side streets. Friends, lovers, parents, and students nestled two by two at petite tables, hands holding warm porcelain cups, musing about life.

In Seattle we have many fine restaurants. There are outdoor farmers markets and high end organic grocery stores. But we do not have a café culture like they have in Europe. Starbucks may say they try to create the “third place” and indie cafes might attempt to emulate international coffee culture by placing a few tables outside, but it’s just not the same. Maybe it’s the weather (this year’s non-stop rain isn’t exactly conducive to sipping street-side or maybe (more likely) it’s our social culture – the rush, rush, I need my coffee and I need it now. To go. Or folks sit silently staring at their laptops or texting away madly on their iPhone.

During our recent jaunt to Paris, I also noticed that café goers with an open laptop beside their cuppa java were far and few between. Sure there were iPhones and Paris is hardly anti-technology, but most of the people we saw not only managed to make it through a cup of coffee or two and actually interact with their companions, they even seemed to enjoy it.

I found it refreshing. Taking the time to disconnect electronically and reconnect with one another seems to be rapidly disappearing art in the ‘ole U.S. of A. And while there were many things I was grateful to come back stateside to, a slow cup of espresso and a good long chat shared with someone you care about, was a perk of Europe I was sad to leave behind.

I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee.

~Carly Simon

Want to sip on some more? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!

A lovely day in Epernay

September 29, 2010 by Beth Shepherd

Outside our train window, vine covered slopes stretched out as far as we could see, knitting together small villages with red tiled roofs and wooden shutters. The river Marne gracefully cut a green swath along the edges of this landscape. A more peaceful scene I could hardly imagine which belied the history of fierce World War I battles that took place along the Marne’s banks.

Big Papa and I were heading to Epernay, a small town of 25,000 residents in the heart of the Champagne region of France. Founded back in the 5th century by tanners, Epernay was passed into the hands of the Counts of Champagne in 1024. The town is roughly 88 miles from Paris; our train ride took 45 minutes with a few stops at smaller villages along the way.

Once there, we moseyed up the appropriately named ‘Avenue de Champagne,’ passing by many of France’s famous champagne “houses”: Moet and Chandon, Castellane, Mercier, and Perrier-Jouet. It was fascinating to imagine that underneath our feet more than 100 kilometers (or over 328,000 feet) of tunnels dug into chalk soil were sheltering millions of bottles of aging champagne.

Ah, champagne. I confess I rather like the bubbly and so a chance to tour and taste champagne in Champagne was a pretty big thrill. It is, after all, the wine of celebration. No other wine has quite the same reputation for launching ships or toasting weddings. Its meaning is universal.

As wines go, champagne – as we know it – is a relatively recent “invention.” Before the mid-1600s there was no fizzy champagne. The only wines made were “still wines.”

Although Dom Pérignon has been credited as the inventor of champagne, in reality he was only a contributor to the process now associated with bubbly wine. Pérignon was a Benedictine monk who, in 1688, was appointed treasurer at the Abby of Hautvillers, near Epernay. Included in Dom Pérignon’s duties was the management of the cellars and wine making. The bubbles in the wine are a natural process arising from Champagne’s cold climate and short growing season. Of necessity, the grapes are picked late in the year. This doesn’t leave enough time for the yeasts present on the grape skins to convert the sugar in the pressed grape juice into alcohol before the cold winter temperatures put a temporary stop to the fermentation process. With the coming of Spring’s warmer temperatures, the fermentation is again underway, but this time in the bottle. The re-fermentation creates carbon-dioxide which now becomes trapped in the bottle, thereby creating the sparkle.

For Dom Pérignon and his contemporaries, sparkling wine was not the desired end product. It was a sign of poor wine making. He spent a great deal of time trying to prevent the bubbles, the unstableness of this “mad wine.” Although he was not able to prevent the bubbles, he did develop the art of blending grape varietals. He also found a method to press the black grapes and yield a white juice, improved clarification techniques to produce a brighter wine than any that had been produced before. To help prevent the exploding bottle problem, he began to use the stronger bottles developed by the English and closing them with Spanish cork instead of the wood and oil-soaked hemp stoppers then in use. Dom Pérignon died in 1715, but in his 47 years as the cellar master at the Abby of Hautvillers, he laid down the basic principles still used in making champagne today.

Sparkling champagne was only about 10% of the region’s output in the 18th century. But over the years, it became increasingly popular as the wine of aristocrats and royalty. Its influence in the world of wine continued to grow until, in the 1800’s, the sparkling wine industry was well established.

Big Papa and I chose the ‘Mercier‘ house of champagne and signed ourselves up for their tour which involves riding a laser-guided automatic train through caves 100 feet underground. Mercier was founded in 1858 by a young entrepreneur by the name of Eugene Mercier. He was 20-years-old when he started the Mercier champagne house. Mercier was a forward thinker and believed in the power of advertising. To further his reputation as a world-class champagne maker, he built the world’s largest wine vat for the 1889 World Exhibition; it took 150 oak trees to construct the vat which held the equivalent of 200,000 bottles of champagne.

After our Mercier tour we continued up the road to see the castle once owned by the Mercier family. Yes, the castle. I have to admit, it was all a bit surreal. On our way back, we stopped at Castellane and managed to nab two spots on the final tour of the day where we learned a bit more about how champagne is bottled, packed and shipped.

Of course one of the highlights from our day was the several glasses of champagne Big Papa and I enjoyed. As with all true champagnes, our glasses held a blend of three grapes – Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, and Pinot Meunier. Smooth fine bubbles, a bit of fruit aroma and a touch of toast and apple on the palate. Delicious!

I must say I was a bit sad to leave lovely Epernay and would have liked to continue tasting our way through the rest of town. But we did buy a small bottle of bubbly to bring home, and have an occasion in mind for when we’ll pop the cork!

Remember gentlemen, it’s not just France we are fighting for, it’s Champagne!
~Winston Churchill, 1918

Want more fizz in your day? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!

Battle of the baguettes

September 22, 2010 by Beth Shepherd

Paris is the city of light. It is also the city of bread. You can’t throw a cell phone without hitting a bakery or pastry shop. Baguettes are tucked under arms wherever you go. In fact a baguette and an espresso is the breakfast, de rigueur, for most Parisians. Croissants, Tarts, Macarons, Palmiers, Langues de Chat (“cat’s tongues”), Madeleines, Brioche, Beignets…the list is endless.

Traveling in a city where wheat abounds is well and good unless you must dine gluten-free. Or, as in the case of Big Papa, have a rare and potentially life-threatening allergy to wheat combined with exercise, otherwise known as exercised-induced anaphylaxis.

One Saturday afternoon, when I was first dating Big Papa, he was out mowing the lawn when I arrived at the Urban Cabin. Unbeknownst to me, he had also just polished off a burrito for lunch. A few minutes later, he announced he might be having an allergic reaction. Barely fifteen minutes passed and we were on our way to the emergency room, his lips so swollen that he looked like he’d had collagen injections gone bad. His tongue was swelling and his entire body was covered in hives. We lovingly refer to that incident as the “Monkey Face” episode.

Then there was the time when he had a pizza at work before walking home. I got a call from a nice paramedic who told me he was O.K. but in the E.R. once again. This time, his blood pressure dropped so fast that he passed out on the street corner mere blocks from our house. When he would come to, he’d sit up and then keel over again. I’m sure passersby figured he’d had one too many to drink. He was completely pink from head to toe and the medics asked him if he’d “been at a tanning booth recently.” For anyone who knows Big Papa, this is pretty funny. We lovingly refer to that incident as the “Human Shrimp” episode.

Ironically, if exercise is not involved, Big Papa is a very pro-wheat sort of guy. He is able to eat pasta for dinner most every night with impunity as long as he doesn’t feel the urge to do a set of jumping jacks. It took several years and half-dozen trips to the emergency room to put two and two together as most of the offending meals consumed before each trip where foods he’d eaten problem-free on more than one occasion.

It should also be mentioned that aspirin is an additional complicating factor as it apparently speeds up wheat absorption. We found out about this very recently when Big Papa had a headache, took two aspirin and followed that up with a lovely meal of chestnut pasta with mushroom cream sauce (made by yours truly). He then proceeded to wash the dishes. Twenty minutes later, my dear husband was lying on our couch hooked up to an EKG machine and IVs while being attended to by the paramedics. The things guys will do to get out of dish duty!

Needless to say, after we finally figured out the culprits, Big Papa became very careful about ingesting anything with wheat in it if he planned on getting his heart rate (and body temperature) up even the slightest. This allergy is manageable when you’re on home turf and can choose from a wide range of food sources. On the road, it’s another story altogether.

This brings us back to Paris. Most cafes serve baguettes or croissants for breakfast. Finding a cafe that offered eggs or omelets proved to be something of a challenge. We asked at several places if they offered eggs ala carte or even at all. “Mais non” was a common response.

The looks we got at a few cafes were priceless. The cultural divide became very large indeed when we’d ask for a “doggy bag” to take our bread home with us. How can you explain (particularly with only two years of high school French) that later in the evening, once safely ensconced in our hotel room without plans for walking about the city, Big Papa could safely consume these delectable goodies. However, if he eats them now, an ambulance should be called “tout suite.”

Most of the time, even if we told our waiter to “hold the bread, sil vous plait,” bread was delivered, and we either left it sitting on the table or surreptitiously snuck it into our napkins and out the door. On several occasions we had to politely excuse ourselves to find another café when the waiter announced, “Je regrette…our chef is out sick today and we only have baguettes” or “Je regrette…we are fresh out of eggs.”

All in all, leaving the pastries on the other side of the patisserie window is probably a good thing for both of us. Big Papa stays out of foreign hospitals and I stay at the same size jeans. That said, as we passed by window after window filled with flakey, buttery, wheat-laden treats, I confess I felt a little wistful. C’est la vie.

Want more to chew on? Check out Wanderfood Wednesday!