Can I Teach You to Cook?
I throw my feet off the bed and on to the floor.
Finally standing.
The second time is a charm. Je me réveille.
Je me lève. For some reason I think in French this morning when I wake the second time.
Maybe it’s because French is the language of Les Misérables. This whole weekend I’ve struggled with The Tomorrow. What comes after this? I ask. When I think of The Now I am ok - more than ok- I’m Good - but Fear grabs me by the throat in The Tomorrow. I lean back my head and a knife touches the artery that connects my heart and brain, the blue thread between feeling and knowing.
Those who know me best know they shouldn’t worry when I speak of pain - but rather when they hear silence.
Yes. Silence is the deadly one.
Not words.
Words are not that which kills you.
When I’m talking - writing - it means I am comfortable with the uncomfortable. I’ve learned to sit side by side with feelings I would rather not feel, like companions on a bus. We travel together but to different destinations.
Je pense en Français aujourd'hui. Italian is language of happiness and love. The French can moan and complain like no one else on earth, I think, except perhaps the Brits, so here-into-fore you should read my moanings with the accent of a Brit trying to speak French.
For some reason I hear Meryl Streep in the role of Julia Child as the voice over to this text - God she’s played some good roles, she played the Devil so well.
I watched Julie and Julia on Good Friday and it made me feel like baking. I’m an artist not a scientist. I rarely bake as baking has to be measured and timed which are things I do not do.
Tell me your recipes.
You say.
But how can I teach you to cook when I do not measure?
I fear I’ll just frustrate you.
At half past 5 on Good Friday I dashed out my door before the Alimentari De Rossi Paolo on the Salizzada San Samuele closes at half past 6 and pick up the ingredients for French Cheese Puffs.
The owner of Ristorante La Feluca was playing with his kids in the Campo San Maurizio. I almost don’t recognize him. In quarantine his hair had grown curls like in a Caravaggio painting but when he smiled his mask fell down below his chin and I recognize him and call out - Ciao! We normally see each other at the gym. Me on the Eclipse. Or
Doing weights. He doing crunches.
When I pass Nonno Bepi - more deli than grocery store- I see they are open too. And they are selling flowers and plants! It makes me so happy I stop and buy a huge pot of Rosemary struggling with it on my hip to carry it home. We must revisit this topic of Rosemary. She - the oldest of healers- has lots of wisdom to offer you.
But today- today is Easter- and on the day He has Risen, I have risen too, after my second sleep finding hope yet again - hope is mine - and so now I am making French Gougères. Confession I used too much butter so instead of round they fall flat like biscuits but their taste is so perfect I do not care. After all I told you. Perfection is dead. Gougères are party food. They should not be eaten alone. So I text Art and see if he and his partner want some too.
I don’t bake often. Baking is a science and I’m an artist not a scientist- but this is a forgiving pastry, flexible and free. First you heat the milk. Add butter, salt, pepper, and a pinch of nutmeg when it is scalded. Here’s the secret- you don’t slowly sift in the flour. Nope. Dump it in all at once beating vigorously with a wooden spoon.
The wooden spoon is essential.
Silver won’t do.
And when the Dough coats the bottom of the pan immediately add cold eggs. Cutting them in. Then use a chalky cheese - I use Parmesan, some Emmental - the French tend to use Gruyere.* Pulse the batter until it’s thick and smooth and Form them into little balls and press your thumb print in the middle like you do with snickerdoodles. I open the oven and put them on the tray. Tonight it’s more unseasonably rose wine I’ve decided. A Candlelit dinner for one. I light the candles and I open my windows and stream Andrea Bocelli’s concert in the Duomo di Milano sharing hope. Music for hope.
Note to the reader: if you skip the cheese this is the base for profiteroles! Bake sans cheese then cut apart scooping ice cream and drowning in chocolate sauce.
OUR SPONSOR:
Truly Venice is a trademark owned by Property Solutions, a Swiss based company that operates as an agent for property owners wishing to lease their properties for short and long term stays. The company was founded in 2007 by a small entrepreneurial team that sees a great opportunity in offering people all over the world an alternative accommodation to hotels going beyond the traditional tourist trip.
We aim to offer a personalised service, organizing restaurant bookings and taxi services, finding the appropriate meeting and exhibition space as well as offering flowers, special wines and food baskets. Property Solutions is a customer focused company that values your ideas, comments and thoughts. We encourage you to give us feedback on any aspect of our business, whether it be about the website, the service or one of our apartments.
WEBSITE: www.trulyveniceapartments.com
INSTAGRAM: @trulyveniceapartments