Making a raclette

Saturday at noon my phone went. It was C, from my local French family. “Have you had raclette?” I was asked. My mind thumbed through the old brain cells in a vain attempt to find some reference point on which to base an intelligent reply. Was it a disease? Some kind of sport perhaps involving the use of tennis rackets as snow shoes? I remembered that in the distant days when I was investigating trailer tents, that Raclette was one of the makes that I looked at.

Of course these deliberations took a mere fraction of a second on my personal super-computer. “I don’t think so” I replied.

“Do you know what raclette is?” I confessed that I didn’t. I gathered that it was some sort of meal involving cheese, so I said that I was available for the experience.

An hour later saw me once again in their kitchen. There was a large platter of thin slices of posh smoked meats and discs of sliced dried / smoked sausage.

A small table had been positioned at one end of the kitchen dining table and on it sat a round electrical plate, with a heating element below, under which were a series of 8 little pizza slice shaped mini-cooking pans.

The apparatus was plugged into the wall near the sink, and the electrical cord stretched across in mid air to said round machine.

I was informed that when they had switched on the machine, it tripped the main power switch, but that they had discovered that by unplugging the fridge freezer, their power supply was man enough for the job.

Apparently there are 2 different levels of power supply, with the higher power option costing more, so they have the one with less juice.

C told me that raclette was a special type of meal eaten only during the winter months. Special raclette cheese is available only during these months. The procedure for eating was explained to me. You put a slice of raclette cheese into your little non-stick triangular pan and place it under the heating element. You take a baked potato and scrape the skin off (I said that I would eat mine with the skin on, so C took it off my plate and scraped the almost non existent skin off my potato. Did I not realise that all the pesticides were in the skin? I said that I wasn’t worried, so she then said that she had not washed the potatoes. I said that I was not worried about that either). Freshly scraped potato on my plate, I had to select some meat and put that on my plate too. The cheese in my little pan was now bubbling away, so I retrieved it and was shown how to tip the cheese out onto my plate. The next step was to eat a bit of potato, cheese and meat at the same time.

This process was repeated until the potatoes and the cheese ran out.


Once I was home again, I looked up raclette in my French / Eng dictionary. I means melted cheese. In the old days before the electric raclette machine, people would place the big round of cheese near the fire and scrape (racler) the melted cheese off it onto the food on their plate. Further searching and I find out that raclette cooking comes from Switzerland


This form of communal cooking, not to be confused with a fondue, now leaps out at me from the weekly publicity, the cheese counters, and in the electrical sections of shops, whereas before I had not noticed the word at all.


Looking at amazon.co.uk. I see that they sell these machines too. The top hot plate can be non stick metal, for cooking pieces of meat or crepes. Some have heated stone tops for searing your pieces of meat, fish or vegetables. The most ambitious not only have the upper cooking surface, but also a fondue pot as well! The Leclerc eco brand raclette grill costs just under 20 euros! There are also recipe books for this form of cooking.


Now time for a siesta before tonight’s community get-together.

Having a Crêpe time - Wish you were here?

The phone goes. The display says that it is my friendly French family and not some Spanish bloke babbling on about Pepito. “Have you eaten?” I reply that I haven’t and immediately get invited over to eat crepes as it is French pancake day (Not held on the same day as the English Shrove Tuesday, which is 2 or 3 weeks later.) Did I want an egg? I said that I would like an egg. Egg? C is cooking it now, so I shoe and coat-up and head out into the cold.

I arrive and the youngest daughter indicates which chair I should sit on at the kitchen table.


My first crepe has got an egg and cheese inside it. The second one has a generous amount of Gran Marnier liqueur on it, the third has sugar on.


M and I reminisce about the first time we had a crepe with Gran Marnier on and for both of us it was on holiday in the South of France.


I have brought a pack of Happy Families cards along and I teach C and her daughters how to play. I lose. S’no faer.


The next day I am walking up my path towards the house when Madam’s bedroom window opens and she leans out and asks if I want to come in for a coffee. I say okay and wait for her to come downstairs and let me in.


Small dog is pleased to see me and jumps up to be petted. I sit down at the table and the coffee arrives via the microwave. Then a plate of folded up pancakes arrive. I am to help myself, so I eventually have three before leaving. It is still Christmas in her living room, the tree is up and still three quarters decorated, decorations and Christmas ornaments are still scattered under the tree. This is because of her bad back and leg, which is slowing her progress in packing it all away. Every night her flashing Christmas lights pulse their blue light out into the garden, much to the annoyance of at least one neighbour 2 gardens away.


“I’m afraid the lights do not belong to me ” I replied apologetically when asked if those damn lights which flash all evening are mine.. they are my tenant’s.


Following on from yesterday’s post about what I have read over the last couple of months. I also listened to Steig Larsson’s Millennium trilogy “The girl with the dragon tattoo”. “The girl who played with fire” and “The girl who kicked the hornet’s nest”. His writing style really annoyed me, as he kept repeating the same things over and over again, but the storyline was very good. It’s well worth a read, and was voted listeners’ choice 2009 by Audible readers. Altogether, his trilogy has sold more than 12 million copies worldwide (summer of 2009), and he was the second bestselling author in the world 2008. The novels take place in Sweden, mostly in Stockholm. Karl Stig-Erland Larsson (15 August 1954 – 9 November 2004) was a Swedish journalist and writer, born in Skelleftehamn outside Skellefteå. Mr. Larsson died having only published these three volumes. However the main characters Mikael Blomkvist and Lisbeth Salander (a grown up Pippi Longstocking) will live on in a trilogy of films based on the books.


I also read a two volume novel by Christian Signol based on generations of a wine growing family. 1996 : Les Vignes de Sainte-Colombe, tome 1 (Prix des lecteurs du Livre de Poche)1997 : La Lumière des collines, Les Vignes de Sainte-Colombe, tome 2 (Prix des maisons de la Presse 1997) .


With over 800 pages all written in French this took some time to read. I began it in September last year, and put it aside as the constant theme of history repeating itself, began to get on my wick. However, I finally battered through it recently, and it can now rest in peace. The other French fiction book that I read recently was ”Parce que je t’aime” by Guillaume Musso which turned out to be rather Twilight Zone-ish.


And there was me thinking that I was not doing much. The local cinema has been under excelling itself recently in its choice of films, so the first feature film that I have seen there this year is “Gainsbourg – vie heroique http://www.gainsbourg-lefilm.com based loosely on the life of French legend Serge Gainsbourg as he puffed his way through a never-ending stream of cigarettes, and close encounters with Ms. Bardot and Jane Birkin.


The film itself was rather long and in places simply bonkers. There are so many clips of the film and other bits and bobs on the web site that there is not much need to go and see the film.

That's entertainment

One of my Christmas presents was the DVD set of series 1 – 6 of “Trailer Park boys” which is a Canadian comedy. I didn’t realise that Canadians did comedy but it had 5 stars on Amazon. The episodes started slowly, with no gags at all, and continued in much the same vein for all of the episodes. I gradually got sucked in and had to try and ration myself to one episode per day. It is the story of a group of friends who live in a trailer park when they are not doing time in prison for theft, growing cannabis, etc. Well really only one of them lives in a trailer. One lives in a car parked beside a trailer and Bubbles lives in a garden shed. I can recommend people to watch it if they get the chance. There is a further series, a feature film and a DVD of Christmas specials, but unfortunately they are not available in a European format as yet.

I have listened to William Boyd’s Audible audio book “Ordinary thunderstorms” which is a departure from his usual style of writing and was a timely reminder of how the big drug companies might be tempted to bump people off and attempt to cover up fatalities during testing, to reap the huge profits available to a company with a 20 year exclusive licence to produce and supply a new drug. Most of the book is about the “hero’s” attempts to drop out of society into the world of the homeless, desperate and destitute, to avoid a killer who has been hired to kill him and retrieve drug trial information that comes into his possession when owner of the paperwork is killed.


Way back in the early nineties in Bristol, the library service used to have an annual “Black History Month”, promoting the literature of black and Afro-Caribbean writers. It was during one of these months that in amongst the “worthy” writings, I stumbled across the author Walter Mosley and his creation Easy Rawlins. Brutal tales of the black underclass struggling to stay alive in the white dominated U.S.A. Easy mostly survives by doing favors (favours) for people who have come up against life threatening situations in exchange for a car tune up or a meal, often aided by his friend Mouse, a born killer. At least one of the mystery stories “Devil in a blue dress” has been made into a film, with Denzel Washington, Tom Sizemore, Jennifer Beals. The two that I read last week were “Bad boy Brawly Brown” and “Six Easy Pieces”


Today I finished “Porno” by Irvine Welsh. Some of you might remember the rather nasty film “Trainspotting” about a group of young druggies in the Leith / Edinburgh area of Scotland. This reunites the main characters,Sick Boy, Rent, Spud, and the increasingly unhinged psychopath Frank Begbie, who survived. Much of the dialogue is written in Glasgow / Leith dialects and rhyming slang, so many readers might give up. Having lived in Scotland and Glasgow for many years, I could hear it all the voices in my head. A depressing picture of life and death amongst the drunks, junkies, and the downtrodden as Sick boy and some of his pals set out to make a groundbreaking pornographic / art movie.


Damn, there seems to be a pattern emerging here. It’s a good job that I have the hilarious DVD’s of series 1 – 6 plus the Christmas specials of the Scottish Comedy “Still Game” written by, and starring Greg Hemphill and Ford Kiernan to watch. These comic gems follow the lives of 2 Scottish pensioners living in a run down estate somewhere on the outskirts of Glasgow, where there is one pub, one bookies (No not a book shop, but a betting shop) and a small convenience store. In the midst of this desolate and graffiti strewn landscape, where hope is probably some child’s name, they struggle along on their pensions and keep clear of trouble.


Once again I am rationing this one. There are subtitles to aid those who don’t quite understand some of the words that are spoken, but it isn’t a translation into what might pass for “normal” English. Yes, quite a change of scene with this little series, I think you’ll agree.....

On the record player, yes record player, is the album "Moving Waves" by Focus that I used to put on before going out to the student union discos, the track "Hocus Pocus" 

Taking a shower with Cher

Yes, I was teaching English to the nursing students again. In a bit of role play revision, a student was demonstrating posing the questions needed to fill in the hospital admission form.

I had decided that I had a bad leg and took a shower once a week, whether I needed it or not. I took my eye off the ball for a second and of course I was immediately thrown a curved ball. The student was trying to find out why I didn’t shower more frequently and I had said that I had to lean on my stick whilst taking a shower and that it was therefore hard to wash using only one hand.

“Why not you take shower with Cher?” she asked.
Did I mention that the French Health Service is one of the best in the world? No wonder it is Billions overspent if this is the kind of service on offer.
The image of taking a shower with Cherilyn Sarkisian, who will be 64ish on May 20 this year was an amusing one. For example, who would do the singing, and what outfit, if any would she be wearing?


Some confusion ensued as I tried to keep a straight face. I had no idea what she was trying to say, but I mumbled on about Cher the American singer (I am not supposed to speak French as this is their English immersion hour).


Eventually some of the students understood what I was going on about and started to laugh.


Of course the student was asking why I didn’t take a shower with a chair. ...


I must try harder, concentrate more........

Committeed

At the recent annual general meeting of the local area residents friendly society, we reviewed the years happenings, and new committee members were sought.



I sat on my hands, but my friend Rene volunteered me to be on some committee which has 7 members and who meet with the Conseil General about twice a year, but who had not had to attend any meetings at all last year. (I think).


We now have a rough itinerary of events for the forthcoming year, including games evenings, a trad bal on the 1st May, a treasure hunt in town, on foot instead of in cars etc etc.


The membership fee has risen from 8 euros to 10 euros per family.


After the meeting it was time for the real business of the evening. Seeing in the New Year with Galettes, round cake with a hole in the middle (polo mint shape) and wine. Small children whizzed about grabbing pieces of gallette, hoping to find a small porcelain figure in their piece of cake, thus bringing themselves good fortune for the year and the right to be king for the day.


I found a red porcelain fish in one of my pieces and someone popped a gold paper crown on my head.


I received an email requesting my presence at a meeting of the association committee this Monday evening to discuss the recent AGM. I have no Idea why they want me there, but it gets me out of going to an extra choir practice which is scheduled for the same time.

It’s up to you not to hear the call up

A couple of weeks ago I got a notification through the post informing my that it was my duty to go and have my Grippe A (swine-flu) jab, sometime within the next 10 days.

The piece of paper helpfully told me where I was to go to get my injection. Luckily it was in town, so I could walk there.


I set off on Friday morning, aiming to get there for 10am, giving them time to deal with the initial rush of eager dart boards.


It was a bitterly cold day, so I had a hat, gloves and a scarf on to supplement my big coat.


Of course the grippe A clinic was closed all day on Friday. I did my best Gallic shrug and headed home again.


Saturday morning saw me off up the road again. There were people milling about, so I thought that I was probably in for a wait.


I entered the building and followed the signs to the temporary clinic.


No one was at the reception desk, but I heard a whispered, “There’s someone there” and a young lady came to the desk and checked my paperwork.


I was given a form to fill in, a sheet with the properties of the drug which was being used, and a questionnaire which asked me questions like, “Have you read the information sheet on the drug” , “Did the nurse answer any questions that you had about the process”, do you give your consent to be vaccinated” etc etc. Sure enough I had a nurse appear at my side with a pen for the filling in of the form, and she hovered whilst I completed my form.


She tried out her English, which she had not practiced since she left school 40+ years ago. She liked the English language, but also spoke Spanish.


My next stop was to see the doctor, who asked me questions like, have you been ill recently and who also tried out his English.


I then met up with my nurse again and she duly injected me in my left shoulder, once she found out that I was right handed. She told me that only 10% of people had a reaction to the drug, and most experienced only minor discomfort.


On my way out, I handed over my paperwork again and received a vaccination certificate. I was the only member of the public in the clinic while I was there.


The clinics have now been closed and local doctors are taking over the vaccination program.


In the afternoon I went to the cinema to watch a film set in the early 1900’s about the rail service that ran between my town and St Girons. This railway line was later sold to another country and workmen from that country came, lifted the tracks etc and took them away.


It is now a cycle / footpath, under which the new highway, the information highway fibre optic cable runs.


No I am not in to trains, but the proceeds were to go the the Haiti relief fund.


I trundled along and took a seat towards the front of the cinema.


A sheet of wood, covered with a red cloth had been placed on top of some of the chairs and a small DVD player and digital projector perched there, waiting for the off.


It turned out that the actual film was just over 2 minutes long, and had been taken by his great grandfather in law or some such on a day trip on the line.


The film would therefore have been too short for people to come and see said the man, so he had interviewed people who had lived near, worked on, travelled on the line and spliced in their reminiscences to make a 55 minute film. This labour of love had taken 500 – 600 hours.


After the showing which was tough to follow at times as most of the octogenarians were speaking Ariegeoise, some people were asked to comment on the film, so the showing lasted one hour and 5 minutes.


Perhaps this will finally lay to rest the fiction that I don’t know how to have a good time?

Teacher’s pit

I have been teaching English to 3 primary classes since 9th November last year. So how am I getting on?

Well, so far I have not been paid a centime, but I have faith that French bureaucracy will catch up.


I see my job as teaching the kids English, but unfortunately they have the attention span of gnats and they see the lesson as a chance to mostly whisper to each other, ask to go to the toilet, pass each other notes, etc.


Teachers over here maintain discipline by giving out lines or telling the children to go and stand in the corridor, but their favourite plan is to scream at full, piercing volume at them to regain their attention.


I have no intention of becoming a screamer. Continuously and fruitlessly asking them to be quiet is giving me a long lasting sore throat.


The nurse teaching is more interesting, as they are much quieter (at the moment) and are content to loll in their seats.


Last week I had a 3 hour session with half of the 55 students. I was accompanied by one of the course tutors, who also speaks a little English, but does not use it in class. She has a very quiet voice, and would be unheard by my primary classes.


The nursing college is in Nissen huts, which used to be a school, pending refurbishment at the College campus. Fortunately the huts are warm, very warm. We commenced the session, and I was getting quite hot. I noticed that not one student had taken off their thick coats or scarves, so I asked them if any of them wanted to take off their coats, as when it came to their smoke break out in the freezing playground, they would not feel the benefit of having their coats on. Not one student unwrapped themselves. The tutor told me that this was because they are French students and they feel the cold ........


One of the students’ main tasks was based on the questions in English that they would need to ask someone, in order to fill in the hospital registration form.


During the session, one of the students raised her hand and said “Do you ‘ave a jet?”


Now I know that technically this is South West France, but is isn’t the Cote d’Azur. I said that I didn’t understand. “Est-ce que vous avez un avion?” (Do you have an aeroplane?) I queried. No, do you ‘ave a jet?


I asked her to spell the word for me. “D-i-e-t” she said.


See how complicated language can be...


They seem like a nice bunch of students though and it will be interesting to see how things progress.


I haven’t been paid for this work either nor have my scheduled hours been authorised by the director of the college yet, but I suppose it is early days.