Ever since I can remember, I’ve been crushing white pepper on everything I eat. Everything hearty, I mean, I wouldn’t dare to pepper up a perfectly good crème brûlée, of course. Anyway, its spicy aroma lifts up everything else, right into culinary heaven, one might say—forgive my being so enthousiastic about it, but you can transform the stalest of store-bought ravioli into a fine dish with just a bit of olive oil and some freshly crushed pepper, don’t be shy, one cannot overdose, and with all that puristic allure that comes with a meal like this, you might even appear as a hell of a cook. And if they ever find out there’s some incredibly healthy stuff enclosed in peppercorns, I will make it to my 150th birthday. At the very least!
This morning, I felt very French. Very, very French. So, instead of having my usual toasts with tea, I had to leave the house to get some Franzbrötchen at my local organic bakery. They are not really French like a croissant, but the Franz-part of the word comes from the time when Germany was occupied in the early 1800s, when Napoleon had just invaded the country, and he was definitely a Frenchman, a Franzos’. Nothing lasts forever, and the Russians made him go back to where he came from—later the French got sick of him, too, and sent him far off to St.Helena, an island so secluded nobody really knows where it is. Anyway, Franzbrötchen are part of the culinary leftovers of that time and I do enjoy them a great deal: a buttery, crispy, cinnamon flavoured delight to have with your coffee in the morning, and, in my case, François Truffaut’s masterpiece “The Last Metro”. As I’ve said, I felt very, very French this morning.
My omelettes are all a disaster. They never look like an omelette should look like. They rather look like some sort of flattened scrambled eggs, strangely stacked on a plate. My omelettes aux champignons are the worst, I always overdose with mushrooms because I sliced far too many in the first place. I just can’t help it. Then why do I continue making them, one might wonder… I’ll tell you why. Because an omelette is the next best thing to a marriage proposal. And I keep saying yes, yes, yes, a million times yes, to them…
The best thing about dieting is the amount of salads you’re going through. French salads, Greek salads, Italian salads, American salads, basically every nation that claims to have come up with an original dressing. You do need an awful variety of salads as there’s nothing but salad to look forward to: salad for lunch, and salad for dinner, lately, I even tried salad for breakfast. And since I like them best with roasted sunflower seeds (they’re so very crunchy und yummy, plus the roasting gives the salad an air of something, well, roasted), I even put our garden’s entire bird population on a diet. Why? Joey doesn’t share food! And neither does Clovis!
I’ve been feverish and cranky for days now, I’ve been doing nothing but coughing and sneezing and complaining about it. You see, I am a victim of the worst flu ever. I had to spend New Year’s Eve in bed, and when I finally woke up from the fireworks, which were great as I was later told, the fireworks were over. Then I slept some more. And then, my mother brought me the best tea ever, some strong Assam from Mangalam with milk, accompanied by the best sandwiches ever, basically toast, cream cheese and some herbs. I can’t say that I feel any better, but I’m certainly a lot less cranky.
I love a good müesli. It’s probably the best the Swiss ever invented. Of course, there are their Rolexes, Patek Philippes, Vacheron Constantins, and such, too, but let’s face it, there’s a limit to any timepiece, isn’t there? They tell us what time it is and that’s that. A müesli, however, makes you strong and supplies you with wonderfully nutritious nutrients and charms you out of bed each morning with its promise of heavenly delights, with the taste and smell of cream and cherries, or milk and raspberries, or any dairy product and berry you like. It doesn’t look too good on a plate, though. Once you stirr it all up, it all becomes a mess. But one can’t have it all, can one?
The best thing about having a garden is having an apple tree in that garden, especially one that carries Boskop as these are the best for baking apple cakes. They’re slightly sour which presents a nice contrast to the sweetness of the dough and wonderfully aromatic. We had lots, this year, and thus we had to make a lot of apple pies, and apple cakes, and apple tarts, and apple jalousies, and, well, you get the point, don’t you? What’s second best about having an apple tree in your garden is the fact that you really know every single apple growing on it is as organic and as healthy as it possibly gets. So, here’s to you, good old apple tree of mine!