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PLEASE NOTE
Please note for updated BLOG news and postings regarding MSM (Main Street Magazine) Please visit:
http://mainstreetmag.wordpress.com/
Our website is www.mainstreetmagazine.net
Chocolatier Zach Townsend
Featuring Chocolatier Zach Townsend of: “Pure Chocolate Desserts”
Tilly Rivers
Women crave it, men hoard it, and Aztec kings were said to have been the first to eat it- but whether we prefer a gooey chocolate truffle or a mug of hot cocoa, chocolate is the number one indulgence for most of us- and certainly a favorite during “love month”- otherwise known as February, and Valentine’s Day!
According to a study done at the University of Michigan in the United States, chocolate contains chemicals called opioids. Opioids are also found in opium, and they serve to dull pain and give a feeling of well-being to people who ingest them. According to the study, people who eat chocolate produce natural opiates in their brains that soothe their nerves and make them feel good. When the receptors that detected opioids were blocked, that chocolate craving was lessened.
So, you have to ask yourself- if you are a 'Chocolatier'- you certainly must have one of the best jobs- ever!
Meet Zach Townsend!
Zach is a chocolatier who has owned Pure Chocolate Desserts by Zach in Dallas, TX for eight years, specializing in entremet-style chocolate desserts for small and large private and public events. He also a food writer for Dessert Professional magazine, and additionally provides French to English translation services specifically targeted to pastry and savory food magazines and books.
Below is the interview MSM had with Zach.
MSM: Please introduce yourself to the readers.
ZT: I am also an assistant to Rose Levy Beranbaum, two-time IACP Cookbook of the Year award-winning author of nine books, including The Cake Bible and most recently Rose’s Heavenly Cakes.
My background is in international business, having graduated from Thunderbird School of Global Management in Arizona. There I learned a great deal about entrepreneurship, which has always been a passion of mine, along with food. I love to make food for people. I get a great deal of enjoyment out of knowing that I’ve created something that people enjoy. I’ve always had a particular passion for desserts and pastry, and more specifically chocolate. I come from a family that has always loved enjoying and preparing food together, so this business is a natural extension of that passion for me.
MSM: Tell us what is meant by the phrase, 'superior chocolate'
ZT:This is actually a very important question with a somewhat elusive answer. However, I am a member of the Fine Chocolate Industry Association whose mission is to support the development and innovation of the fine chocolate industry and best practices. You can read more about the Fine Chocolate Industry Association at www.finechocolateindustry.org. We define “superior” or “fine” chocolate (according to the FCIA site) by “both a selection of high quality ingredients and also by the unique artistry that a chocolatier uses to create chocolates, truffles and other chocolate confections. In general, there are five areas that combine to define a fine chocolate product: cacao origin and processing, chocolate production practices, non-chocolate ingredient quality, the chocolatier’s technical expertise, and artistry and presentation.”
My definition certainly adheres to the definition of that of the FCIA. It starts with the handling of the cacao bean all the way to the manufacturing of the chocolate from that bean by the chocolate maker. A chocolate is superior in the way that one might consider a fine wine superior.
MSM: How long have you been working with chocolate?
ZT: I have been working with chocolate in some capacity for almost twenty years.
MSM: How did you become friends with Michel Jambon, and how did he influence you?
ZT: I became friends in college (Murray State University in Murray, Kentucky) with Michel’s son, Marc Jambon. During visits to Paris, Marc invited me to his parent’s home on several occasions where I got to know his family well, including Michel. One day I had a conversation with Michel about his chocolate company Jeff de Bruges, and he told me about how the company was founded, how it got its name, and its objectives in the European chocolate market. He also talked to me in depth about French and Belgian chocolates. It was the exposure to the chocolates at Jeff de Bruges (now with several locations throughout Europe) that I started to appreciate fine chocolate and the making of superior chocolate products and what that entails. My love of finely-produced chocolates started with my relationship with Michel and his family.
MSM: Chocolatiers are distinct from chocolate makers, who create chocolate from cacao beans and other ingredients. In layman's terms, what exactly is a chocolatier?
ZT: A chocolatier is simply someone who works with, studies, and is devoted to working with chocolate to produce a chocolate product enjoyed by the consumer, such as a box of chocolates or truffles, candies, etc. Chocolate makers are those companies that buy and roast cocoa beans and turn them into chocolate that chocolatiers then use.
I’m a bit unusual when it comes to chocolatiers because my product is a specific type of dessert rather than chocolates. I do make “chocolates” but the majority of what I make is baked products, so I also consider myself a baker. Perhaps the best way to describe me is a chocolatier who bakes or maybe a baking chocolatier. I consider myself a chocolatier because I’m devoted to it solely. I study it, I take a great deal of time to choose the correct chocolate when making one of my desserts in order to emphasize its flavor and I’ve become an expert at using it.MSM: Can you tell us about the European style of entremet? What is the process involved?
ZT: The term entremets has a very interesting and long history dating back to medieval times. Its oldest translation means “between dishes” referring to any type of side dish, but it’s also a general term these days in French that can simply mean a dessert. Its definition has morphed somewhat though it still maintains the basic idea of entertaining with interesting flavor combinations. This term now applies exclusively (at least as far as I know) to the dessert industry. Traditional entremets are a specific type of construction of multi layers and flavors that have a particular appearance, containing layers of mousses, ganaches, ultra-thin cake, crunchy layers, etc. Its construction takes place in metal cake rings to help ensure the layers stay consistent in thickness and to produce a nice, clean appearance.
When I design my desserts, I take this entremets style approach and I have always loved these types of cakes because of the many layers that are involved. I’m an American but I don’t personally prefer American-style layer cakes where the cake layers are quite thick, sandwiched between traditional fillings such as buttercreams and other types of icings. I prefer ultra-thin layers of cake that blend within the other layers of the dessert but still provide some texture. I don’t adhere 100% to the traditional entremets style and some of my items do have flavors and an appearance that are a bit “Americanized” (my Gianduja Hazelnut Praline Layer Cake is my only traditional American style layer cake that I offer – and it’s popular!), but my style is best representative of this entremets approach. I also prefer minimalist decoration and straight or simple lines in both the cake and its décor.
MSM:What is the difference between white and dark chocolate?
ZT: The confection that is considered “white” chocolate is composed of sugar, cacao butter and milk solids (or milk crumb) and usually vanilla. It contains no cacao solids and therefore has not been technically treated or defined as true chocolate. Cacao solids and cacao butter are what make up what is defined as “cocoa liquor” (not a true liquor), or “cocoa mass” that is obtained from crushing cacao beans.
For a chocolate to be considered officially a “dark” chocolate it must contain, according to the FDA, at least 35% cocoa liquor (but most contain 50% up to 100% cocoa liquor). The rest is sugar, vanilla and usually an emulsifier such as lecithin. The percentage cacao is what is represented when you buy a dark chocolate bar that says, for example, 65% cacao on the package. Also, a dark chocolate can be referred to as either semisweet or bittersweet, but the percentage cacao a chocolate must contain to meet one of these definitions is not officially defined. Some chocolate makers make chocolates with 62% cacao and call that semi-sweet where other chocolate manufacturers call that bittersweet. These terms are subjective. In general, for my purposes, I consider any dark chocolate with a cacao percentage of up to 59% to be semisweet. 60% and over for me I consider bittersweet. The amount of bitterness detected in a chocolate, however, is determined by many factors in the making of that chocolate, including cacao bean types, how the beans are processed, etc. I’ve tasted a 100% cacao dark chocolate by Richart (meaning it contained no sugar at all) that had very little bitterness. Generally speaking, the higher the percentage cacao of the chocolate, the more prominent the bitterness will be.
MSM: Professional chocolatiers study topics including:the history of chocolate,modern techniques of cultivation and processing,the chemistry of chocolate's flavors and textures,chocolate tempering, dipping, decorating, and molding,confectionery formulae based on ganache, sugar syrup, and/or fondant- whew- sounds exhausting ~smiles~ what did you 'love' to do the most? Is this true today?
ZT: What I love to do the most is design a dessert and decide on its flavor and textural layers and then decide if I want it to be white chocolate, milk chocolate or dark chocolate based, depending on other flavors I’m using in it, then design its appearance. It sometimes takes me quite awhile to decide if a dessert is best suited as a square, rectangle, circle or other shape. I do believe there are shapes for particular flavors that are more appealing than others for that flavor. I don’t know why, this is just how my mind works when designing a dessert. I assume other pastry chefs think this is true as well. Its shape is part of its personality. Other than that, I love all aspects of chocolate, including its history, understanding its chemical make up, etc. I don’t believe you can call yourself a serious chocolatier unless you understand all aspects of chocolate.
MSM: What's the flavor profile of the chocolate you use as a base?
ZT: I use many different types of chocolates, but mostly I use Valrhona due to its consistently superior flavor profile and workability and its quality and the many options that the chocolate makers produces. I love choosing from all their chocolate options simply to make it more interesting for my customers and to educate them about their flavor preferences.
Unlike some chocolatiers, I use white chocolate and milk chocolate and respect their place in the dessert and chocolate world as much as I respect and appreciate dark chocolate. Some chocolatiers refuse to work with white or milk chocolate because these chocolates have a reputation of being “inferior” to dark chocolate, though that’s no longer true because the more reputable chocolate makers these days make some excellent white and milk chocolates with very nice flavor profiles. I believe they have their place, and there are many customers I have who prefer these over dark chocolate. It’s more common to use white and milk chocolates in dessert making than one sees in chocolates and truffles, in general.
MSM: How do you come up with flavor combinations for your sweets? Where does your inspiration come from?
ZT: My inspiration comes from many places. I go to Paris often and taste many things and become inspired. I’ve many times spent two straight weeks walking the streets of Paris eating chocolates and pastries all day (not an easy feat!). Sometimes I try to reproduce exactly what I’ve tasted and its appearance because I want to bring that experience back to my customers (though everything I make has my own little twist on it). Sometimes I drink something and the flavors of that drink inspires a new dessert. Other times it just comes to me by asking “what if….” I don’t usually follow flavor fads (such as bacon and chocolate that has appeared a lot lately). I prefer classic flavor combinations, but I may experiment with an extreme version of the flavors or a different combination of them or introducing some interesting textural elements.
MSM: What's your favorite kind of chocolate to eat?
ZT: Dark chocolate is my favorite, something along the lines of 72% to 74% cacao, but Valrhona Manjari at 64% is one of my favorite due to its flavor profile. I also love the milk chocolate Jivara Lactée by Valrhona because it has so many delicious flavors running through it. El Rey makes a very nice milk chocolate as well. Chocolate makers have lately been making their milk chocolates a bit “darker” by adding more cacao liquor thus making it less sweet and with more flavor.
I’ve tasted some beautiful chocolates by Scharffen Berger, Richart, etc. I’ve tasted so many over the years that it’s hard to remember all the wonderful ones I’ve had. I really am excited that there are many small American chocolate makers that are making big names for themselves in their dedication to producing fine chocolates, such as Askinosie, Patric, and Original Hawaiian.
MSM: Favourite food/drink to pair with chocolate?
ZT: Some may call it boring, but the pairings I like are not anything outrageous or exotic. Nothing beats a handful of almonds with a great dark chocolate. Nuts and chocolate together are just so awesome. Their flavors and textures are made for each other. I also like butter and chocolate! I make a wonderful milk chocolate butter with lemon verbena. Milk chocolate and lemon I love together as well as coffee and chocolate. I also love chestnut and chocolate. Some teas with chocolate I love as well. My cake called “Manjari” (named for the chocolate I use) uses a black current tea sabayon as its base.
As for drinks, a great sweet dessert wine or port can’t be beat. Also, try good quality single malt whiskeys with chocolate – excellent!
MSM: Are there any chocolate myths out there that you would like to correct or validate?
ZT: Dark chocolate is superior to white chocolate or milk chocolate. This is not true. The quality of the chocolate is dependent upon many factors from bean to bar. Just because a chocolate is dark doesn’t mean it’s a better quality chocolate than a well produced white or milk chocolate or that it necessarily will taste better to you. Don’t be afraid to admit to enjoying a good quality white or milk chocolate! Find a reputable chocolate maker that makes a good range of chocolate and then try several until you find one that suits your taste preferences.
MSM: Any predictions for future trends?
ZT: I believe we’ll continue to see trends toward mixing unexpected savory ingredients with chocolate, such as olives, different spices, etc.
MSM: What is your most popular seller?
ZT: My Strawberry Bed cake in the spring (a white chocolate mousse and strawberry cream-based cake with almond sponge, Grand Marnier liqueur and strawberries) and my Intense line of cakes, which are my darkest and most decadent.
MSM: What part of being a chocolatier do you love the most?
ZT: Making something that my customers enjoy and that becomes part of the enjoyment of their special moments, like birthdays, weddings, and anniversaries.
MSM: Last thoughts
ZT: If you are a chocolate lover, go out there and try everything you can to educate your palate. Be dedicated to fine chocolates and fine chocolate makers and support them as much as you can.
A Little Inspiration
'About Love' Short Story
Anton Chekhov's Famous Work
At lunch next day there were very nice pies, crayfish, and mutton cutlets; and while we were eating, Nikanor, the cook, came up to ask what the visitors would like for dinner. He was a man of medium height, with a puffy face and little eyes; he was close-shaven, and it looked as though his moustaches had not been shaved, but had been pulled out by the roots. Alehin told us that the beautiful Pelagea was in love with this cook. As he drank and was of a violent character, she did not want to marry him, but was willing to live with him without. He was very devout, and his religious convictions would not allow him to “live in sin”; he insisted on her marrying him, and would consent to nothing else, and when he was drunk he used to abuse her and even beat her. Whenever he got drunk she used to hide upstairs and sob, and on such occasions Alehin and the servants stayed in the house to be ready to defend her in case of necessity.
We began talking about love.
“How love is born,” said Alehin, “why Pelagea does not love somebody more like herself in her spiritual and external qualities, and why she fell in love with Nikanor, that ugly snout—we all call him ‘The Snout’—how far questions of personal happiness are of consequence in love—all that is unknown; one can take what view ones likes of it. So far only one incontestable truth has been uttered about love: ‘This is a great mystery.’ Everything else that has been written or said about love is not a conclusion, but only a statement of questions which have remained unanswered. The explanation which would seem to fit one case does not apply in a dozen others, and the very best thing, to my mind, would be to explain every case individually without attempting to generalize. We ought, as the doctors say, to individualize each case.”
“Perfectly true,” Burkin assented.
“We Russians of the educated class have a partiality for these questions that remain unanswered. Love is usually poeticized, decorated with roses, nightingales; we Russians decorate our loves with these momentous questions, and select the most uninteresting of them, too. In Moscow, when I was a student, I had a friend who shared my life, a charming lady, and every time I took her in my arms she was thinking what I would allow her a month for housekeeping and what was the price of beef a pound. In the same way, when we are in love we are never tired of asking ourselves questions: whether it is honorable or dishonorable, sensible or stupid, what this love is leading up to, and so on. Whether it is a good thing or not I don’t know, but that it is in the way, unsatisfactory, and irritating, I do know.”
It looked as though he wanted to tell some story. People who lead a solitary existence always have something in their hearts which they are eager to talk about. In town bachelors visit the baths and the restaurants on purpose to talk, and sometimes tell the most interesting things to bath attendants and waiters; in the country, as a rule, they unbosom themselves to their guests. Now from the window we could see a grey sky, trees drenched in the rain; in such weather we could go nowhere, and there was nothing for us to do but to tell stories and to listen.
“I have lived at Sofino and been farming for a long time,” Alehin began, “ever since I left the University. I am an idle gentleman by education, a studious person by disposition; but there was a big debt owing on the estate when I came here, and as my father was in debt partly because he had spent so much on my education, I resolved not to go away, but to work till I paid off the debt. I made up my mind to this and set to work, not, I must confess, without some repugnance. The land here does not yield much, and if one is not to farm at a loss one must employ serf labor or hired laborers, which is almost the same thing, or put it on a peasant footing—that is, work the fields oneself and with one’s family. There is no middle path. But in those days I did not go into such subtleties. I did not leave a clod of earth unturned; I gathered together all the peasants, men and women, from the neighboring villages; the work went on at a tremendous pace. I myself ploughed and sowed and reaped, and was bored doing it, and frowned with disgust, like a village cat driven by hunger to eat cucumbers in the kitchen-garden. My body ached, and I slept as I walked. At first it seemed to me that I could easily reconcile this life of toil with my cultured habits; to do so, I thought, all that is necessary is to maintain a certain external order in life. I established myself upstairs here in the best rooms, and ordered them to bring me there coffee and liquor after lunch and dinner, and when I went to bed I read every night the Vyestnik Evropi. But one day our priest, Father Ivan, came and drank up all my liquor at one sitting; and the Vyestnik Evropi went to the priest’s daughters; as in the summer, especially at the haymaking, I did not succeed in getting to my bed at all, and slept in the sledge in the barn, or somewhere in the forester’s lodge, what chance was there of reading? Little by little I moved downstairs, began dining in the servants’ kitchen, and of my former luxury nothing is left but the servants who were in my father’s service, and whom it would be painful to turn away.
“In the first years I was elected here an honorary justice of the peace. I used to have to go to the town and take part in the sessions of the congress and of the circuit court, and this was a pleasant change for me. When you live here for two or three months without a break, especially in the winter, you begin at last to pine for a black coat. And in the circuit court there were frock-coats, and uniforms, and dress- coats, too, all lawyers, men who have received a general education; I had some one to talk to. After sleeping in the sledge and dining in the kitchen, to sit in an arm-chair in clean linen, in thin boots, with a chain on one’s waistcoat, is such luxury!
“I received a warm welcome in the town. I made friends eagerly. And of all my acquaintanceships the most intimate and, to tell the truth, the most agreeable to me was my acquaintance with Luganovitch, the vice-president of the circuit court. You both know him: a most charming personality. It all happened just after a celebrated case of incendiarism; the preliminary investigation lasted two days; we were exhausted. Luganovitch looked at me and said: “‘Look here, come round to dinner with me.’
“This was unexpected, as I knew Luganovitch very little, only officially, and I had never been to his house. I only just went to my hotel room to change and went off to dinner. And here it was my lot to meet Anna Alexyevna, Luganovitch’s wife. At that time she was still very young, not more than twenty-two, and her first baby had been born just six months before. It is all a thing of the past; and now I should find it difficult to define what there was so exceptional in her, what it was in her attracted me so much; at the time, at dinner, it was all perfectly clear to me. I saw a lovely young, good, intelligent, fascinating woman, such as I had never met before; and I felt her at once some one close and already familiar, as though that face, those cordial, intelligent eyes, I had seen somewhere in my childhood, in the album which lay on my mother’s chest of drawers.
“Four Jews were charged with being incendiaries, were regarded as a gang of robbers, and, to my mind, quite groundlessly. At dinner I was very much excited, I was uncomfortable, and I don’t know what I said, but Anna
Alexyevna kept shaking her head and saying to her husband: “‘Dmitry how is this?’
“Luganovitch is a good-natured man, one of those simple-hearted people who firmly maintain the opinion that once a man is charged before a court he is guilty, and to express doubt of the correctness of a sentence cannot be done except in legal form on paper, and not at dinner and in private conversation.
“‘You and I did not set fire to the place,’ he said softly, ‘and you see we are not condemned, and not in prison.’
“And both husband and wife tried to make me eat and drink as much as possible. From some trifling details, from the way they made the coffee together, for instance, and from the way they understood each other at half a word, I could gather that they lived in harmony and comfort, and that they were glad of a visitor. After dinner they played a duet on the piano; then it got dark, and I went home. That was at the beginning of spring.
“After that I spent the whole summer at Sofino without a break, and I had no time to think of the town, either, but the memory of the graceful fair-haired woman remained in my mind all those days; I did not think of her, but it was as though her light shadow were lying on my heart.
“In the late autumn there was a theatrical performance for some charitable object in the town. I went into the governor’s box (I was invited to go there in the interval); I looked, and there was Anna Alexyevna sitting beside the governor’s wife; and again the same irresistible, thrilling impression of beauty and sweet, caressing eyes, and again the same feeling of nearness. We sat side by side, and then went to the foyer.
“‘You’ve grown thinner,’ she said; ‘have you been ill?’
“‘Yes, I’ve had rheumatism in my shoulder, and in rainy weather I can’t sleep.’
“‘You look dispirited. In the spring, when you came to dinner, you were younger, more confident. You were full of eagerness, and talked a great deal then; you were very interesting, and I really must confess I was a little carried away by you. For some reason you often came back to my memory during the summer, and when I was getting ready for the theatre today I thought I should see you.’
“And she laughed.
“‘But you look dispirited today,’ she repeated; ‘it makes you seem older.’
“The next day I lunched at the Luganovitchs’. After lunch they drove out to their summer villa, in order to make arrangements there for the winter, and I went with them. I returned with them to the town, and at midnight drank tea with them in quiet domestic surroundings, while the fire glowed, and the young mother kept going to see if her baby girl was asleep. And after that, every time I went to town I never failed to visit the Luganovitchs. They grew used to me, and I grew used to them. As a rule I went in unannounced, as though I were one of the family.
“‘Who is there?’ I would hear from a faraway room, in the drawling voice that seemed to me so lovely.
“‘It is Pavel Konstantinovitch,’ answered the maid or the nurse.
“Anna Alexyevna would come out to me with an anxious face, and would ask every time:”‘Why is it so long since you have been? Has anything happened?’
“Her eyes, the elegant refined hand she gave me, her indoor dress, the way she did her hair, her voice, her step, always produced the same impression on me something new and extraordinary in my life, and very important. We talked together for hours, were silent, thinking each our own thoughts, or she played for hours to me on the piano. If there were no one at home I stayed and waited, talked to the nurse, played with the child, or lay on the sofa in the study and read; and when Anna Alexyevna came back I met her in the hall, took all her parcels from her, and for some reason I carried those parcels every time with as much love, with as much solemnity, as a boy.
“There is a proverb that if a peasant woman has no troubles she will buy a pig. The Luganovitchs had no troubles, so they made friends with me. If I did not come to the town I must be ill or something must have happened to me, and both of them were extremely anxious. They were worried that I, an educated man with a knowledge of languages, should, instead of devoting myself to science or literary work, live in the country, rush round like a squirrel in a rage, work hard with never a penny to show for it. They fancied that I was unhappy, and that I only talked, laughed, and ate to conceal my sufferings, and even at cheerful moments when I felt happy I was aware of their searching eyes fixed upon me. They were particularly touching when I really was depressed, when I was being worried by some creditor or had not money enough to pay interest on the proper day. The two of them, husband and wife, would whisper together at the window; then he would come to me and say with a grave face: “‘if you really are in need of money at the moment, Pavel Konstantinovitch, my wife and I beg you not to hesitate to borrow from us.’
“And he would blush to his ears with emotion. And it would happen that, after whispering in the same way at the window, he would come up to me, with red ears, and say:
“‘My wife and I earnestly I beg you to accept this present.’
“And he would give me studs, a cigar-case, or a lamp, and I would send them game, butter, and flowers from the country. They both, by the way, had considerable means of their own. In early days I often borrowed money, and was not very particular about it—borrowed wherever I could—but nothing in the world have induced me to borrow from the Luganovitchs. But why talk of it?
“I was unhappy. At home, in the fields, in the barn, I thought of her; I tried to understand the mystery of a beautiful, intelligent young woman’s marrying some one so uninteresting, almost an old man (her husband was over forty), and having children by him; to understand the mystery of this uninteresting, good, simple-hearted man, who argued with such wearisome good sense, at balls and evening parties kept near the more solid people, looking listless and superfluous, with a submissive, uninterested expression, as though he had been brought there for sale, who yet believed in his right to be happy, to have children by her; and I kept trying to understand why she had met him first and not me, and why such a terrible mistake in our lives need have happened.
“And when I went to the town I saw every time from her eyes that she was expecting me, and she would confess to me herself that she had had a peculiar feeling all that day guessed that I should come. We talked a long time, and were silent, yet we did not confess our love to each other, but timidly and jealously concealed it. We were afraid of everything that might reveal our secret to ourselves. I loved her tenderly, deeply, but I reflected and kept asking myself what our love could lead to if we had not the strength to fight against it. It seemed to be incredible that my gentle, sad love could all at once coarsely break up the even tenor of the life of her husband, her children, and all the household in which I was so loved and trusted. Would it be honorable? She would go away with me, but where? Where could I take her? It would have been a different matter if I had had a beautiful, interesting life—if, for instance, I had been struggling for the emancipation of my country, or had been a celebrated man of science, an artist or a painter; but as it was it would mean taking her from one everyday humdrum life to another as humdrum or perhaps more so. And how long would our happiness last? What would happen to her in case I was ill, in case I died, or if we simply grew cold to one another?
“And she apparently reasoned in the same way. She thought of her husband, her children, and of her mother, who loved the husband like a son. If she abandoned herself to her feelings she would have to lie, or else to tell the truth, and in her position either would have been equally terrible and inconvenient. And she was tormented by the question whether her love would bring me happiness—would she not complicate my life, which, as it was, was hard enough and full of all sorts of trouble? She fancied she was not young enough for me, that she was not industrious nor energetic enough to begin a new life, and she often talked to her husband of the importance of my marrying a girl of intelligence and merit who would be a capable housewife and a help to me—and she would immediately add that it would be difficult to find such a girl in the whole town.
“Meanwhile the years were passing. Anna Alexyevna already had two children. When I arrived at the Luganovitchs’ the servants smiled cordially, the children shouted that Uncle Pavel Konstantinovitch had come, and hung on my neck; every one was overjoyed. They did not understand what was passing in my soul, and thought that I, too, was happy. Every one looked on me as a noble being. And grown-ups and children alike felt that a noble being was walking about their rooms, and that gave a peculiar charm to their manner towards me, as though in my presence their life, too, was purer and more beautiful. Anna Alexyevna and I used to go to the theatre together, always walking there; we used to sit side by side in the stalls, our shoulders touching. I would take the opera-glass from her hands without a word, and feel at that minute that she was near me, that she was mine, that we could not live without each other; but by some strange misunderstanding, when we came out of the theatre we always said good- bye and parted as though we were strangers. Goodness knows what people were saying about us in the town already, but there was not a word of truth in it all!
“In the latter years Anna Alexyevna took to going away for frequent visits to her mother or to her sister; she began to suffer from low spirits, she began to recognize that her life was spoilt and unsatisfied, and at times she did not care to see her husband nor her children. She was already being treated for neurasthenia.
“We were silent and still silent, and in the presence of outsiders she displayed a strange irritation in regard to me; whatever I talked about, she disagreed with me, and if I had an argument she sided with my opponent. If I dropped anything, she would say coldly: “‘I congratulate you “If I forgot to take the opera-glass when we were going to the theatre, she would say afterward “‘I knew you would forget it.’
“Luckily or unluckily, there is nothing in our lives that does not end sooner or later. The time of parting came, as Luganovitch was appointed president in one of the western provinces. They had to sell their furniture, their horses, and their summer villa. When they drove out to the villa, and afterwards looked back as they were going away, to look for the last time at the garden, at the green roof, every one was sad, and I realized that I had to say good-bye not only to the villa. It was arranged that at the end of August we should see Anna Alexyevna off to the Crimea, where the doctors were sending her, and that a little later Luganovitch and the children would set off for the western province.
“We were a great crowd to see Anna Alexyevna off. When she had said good-bye to her husband and her children and there was only a minute left before the third bell, I ran into her compartment to put a basket, which she had almost forgotten, on the rack, and I had to say good-bye. When our eyes met in the compartment our spiritual fortitude deserted us both; I took her in my arms, she pressed her face to my breast, and tears flowed from her eyes. Kissing her face, her shoulders, her hands wet with tears—oh, how unhappy were!—I confessed my love for her, and with a burning pain in my heart I realized how unnecessary, how petty, and how deceptive all that had hindered us from loving was. I understood that when you love you must either, in your reasoning’s about that love, start from what is highest, from what is more important than happiness or unhappiness, sin or virtue in their accepted meaning, or you must not reason at all.
“I kissed her for the last time, pressed her hand, and parted for ever. The train had already started. I went into the next compartment—it was empty—and until I reached the next station I sat there crying. Then I walked home to Sofino….”
While Alehin was telling his story, the rain left off and the sun came out. Burkin and Ivan Ivanovitch went out on the balcony, from which there was a beautiful view over the garden and the mill-pond, which was shining now in the sunshine like a mirror. They admired it, and at the same time they were sorry that this man with the kind, clever eyes, who had told them this story with such genuine feeling, should be rushing round and round this huge estate like a squirrel on a wheel instead of devoting himself to science or something else which would have made his life more pleasant; and they thought what a sorrowful face Anna Alexyevna must have had when he said good-bye to her in the railway-carriage and kissed her face and shoulders. Both of them had met her in the town, and Burkin knew her and thought her beautiful.
© Copyright, 2011 Main Street Magazine/Rain Enterprises
As seen in the February Issue of Main Street Magazine.
Printed in Canada, ISSN: 1920-4299 by Rain Enterprises
To find out how to receive your free copy of MSM check out
http://www.mainstreetmagazine.net/
'About Love' Short Story
Anton Chekhov's Famous Work
At lunch next day there were very nice pies, crayfish, and mutton cutlets; and while we were eating, Nikanor, the cook, came up to ask what the visitors would like for dinner. He was a man of medium height, with a puffy face and little eyes; he was close-shaven, and it looked as though his moustaches had not been shaved, but had been pulled out by the roots. Alehin told us that the beautiful Pelagea was in love with this cook. As he drank and was of a violent character, she did not want to marry him, but was willing to live with him without. He was very devout, and his religious convictions would not allow him to “live in sin”; he insisted on her marrying him, and would consent to nothing else, and when he was drunk he used to abuse her and even beat her. Whenever he got drunk she used to hide upstairs and sob, and on such occasions Alehin and the servants stayed in the house to be ready to defend her in case of necessity.
We began talking about love.
“How love is born,” said Alehin, “why Pelagea does not love somebody more like herself in her spiritual and external qualities, and why she fell in love with Nikanor, that ugly snout—we all call him ‘The Snout’—how far questions of personal happiness are of consequence in love—all that is unknown; one can take what view ones likes of it. So far only one incontestable truth has been uttered about love: ‘This is a great mystery.’ Everything else that has been written or said about love is not a conclusion, but only a statement of questions which have remained unanswered. The explanation which would seem to fit one case does not apply in a dozen others, and the very best thing, to my mind, would be to explain every case individually without attempting to generalize. We ought, as the doctors say, to individualize each case.”
“Perfectly true,” Burkin assented.
“We Russians of the educated class have a partiality for these questions that remain unanswered. Love is usually poeticized, decorated with roses, nightingales; we Russians decorate our loves with these momentous questions, and select the most uninteresting of them, too. In Moscow, when I was a student, I had a friend who shared my life, a charming lady, and every time I took her in my arms she was thinking what I would allow her a month for housekeeping and what was the price of beef a pound. In the same way, when we are in love we are never tired of asking ourselves questions: whether it is honorable or dishonorable, sensible or stupid, what this love is leading up to, and so on. Whether it is a good thing or not I don’t know, but that it is in the way, unsatisfactory, and irritating, I do know.”
It looked as though he wanted to tell some story. People who lead a solitary existence always have something in their hearts which they are eager to talk about. In town bachelors visit the baths and the restaurants on purpose to talk, and sometimes tell the most interesting things to bath attendants and waiters; in the country, as a rule, they unbosom themselves to their guests. Now from the window we could see a grey sky, trees drenched in the rain; in such weather we could go nowhere, and there was nothing for us to do but to tell stories and to listen.
“I have lived at Sofino and been farming for a long time,” Alehin began, “ever since I left the University. I am an idle gentleman by education, a studious person by disposition; but there was a big debt owing on the estate when I came here, and as my father was in debt partly because he had spent so much on my education, I resolved not to go away, but to work till I paid off the debt. I made up my mind to this and set to work, not, I must confess, without some repugnance. The land here does not yield much, and if one is not to farm at a loss one must employ serf labor or hired laborers, which is almost the same thing, or put it on a peasant footing—that is, work the fields oneself and with one’s family. There is no middle path. But in those days I did not go into such subtleties. I did not leave a clod of earth unturned; I gathered together all the peasants, men and women, from the neighboring villages; the work went on at a tremendous pace. I myself ploughed and sowed and reaped, and was bored doing it, and frowned with disgust, like a village cat driven by hunger to eat cucumbers in the kitchen-garden. My body ached, and I slept as I walked. At first it seemed to me that I could easily reconcile this life of toil with my cultured habits; to do so, I thought, all that is necessary is to maintain a certain external order in life. I established myself upstairs here in the best rooms, and ordered them to bring me there coffee and liquor after lunch and dinner, and when I went to bed I read every night the Vyestnik Evropi. But one day our priest, Father Ivan, came and drank up all my liquor at one sitting; and the Vyestnik Evropi went to the priest’s daughters; as in the summer, especially at the haymaking, I did not succeed in getting to my bed at all, and slept in the sledge in the barn, or somewhere in the forester’s lodge, what chance was there of reading? Little by little I moved downstairs, began dining in the servants’ kitchen, and of my former luxury nothing is left but the servants who were in my father’s service, and whom it would be painful to turn away.
“In the first years I was elected here an honorary justice of the peace. I used to have to go to the town and take part in the sessions of the congress and of the circuit court, and this was a pleasant change for me. When you live here for two or three months without a break, especially in the winter, you begin at last to pine for a black coat. And in the circuit court there were frock-coats, and uniforms, and dress- coats, too, all lawyers, men who have received a general education; I had some one to talk to. After sleeping in the sledge and dining in the kitchen, to sit in an arm-chair in clean linen, in thin boots, with a chain on one’s waistcoat, is such luxury!
“I received a warm welcome in the town. I made friends eagerly. And of all my acquaintanceships the most intimate and, to tell the truth, the most agreeable to me was my acquaintance with Luganovitch, the vice-president of the circuit court. You both know him: a most charming personality. It all happened just after a celebrated case of incendiarism; the preliminary investigation lasted two days; we were exhausted. Luganovitch looked at me and said: “‘Look here, come round to dinner with me.’
“This was unexpected, as I knew Luganovitch very little, only officially, and I had never been to his house. I only just went to my hotel room to change and went off to dinner. And here it was my lot to meet Anna Alexyevna, Luganovitch’s wife. At that time she was still very young, not more than twenty-two, and her first baby had been born just six months before. It is all a thing of the past; and now I should find it difficult to define what there was so exceptional in her, what it was in her attracted me so much; at the time, at dinner, it was all perfectly clear to me. I saw a lovely young, good, intelligent, fascinating woman, such as I had never met before; and I felt her at once some one close and already familiar, as though that face, those cordial, intelligent eyes, I had seen somewhere in my childhood, in the album which lay on my mother’s chest of drawers.
“Four Jews were charged with being incendiaries, were regarded as a gang of robbers, and, to my mind, quite groundlessly. At dinner I was very much excited, I was uncomfortable, and I don’t know what I said, but Anna
Alexyevna kept shaking her head and saying to her husband: “‘Dmitry how is this?’
“Luganovitch is a good-natured man, one of those simple-hearted people who firmly maintain the opinion that once a man is charged before a court he is guilty, and to express doubt of the correctness of a sentence cannot be done except in legal form on paper, and not at dinner and in private conversation.
“‘You and I did not set fire to the place,’ he said softly, ‘and you see we are not condemned, and not in prison.’
“And both husband and wife tried to make me eat and drink as much as possible. From some trifling details, from the way they made the coffee together, for instance, and from the way they understood each other at half a word, I could gather that they lived in harmony and comfort, and that they were glad of a visitor. After dinner they played a duet on the piano; then it got dark, and I went home. That was at the beginning of spring.
“After that I spent the whole summer at Sofino without a break, and I had no time to think of the town, either, but the memory of the graceful fair-haired woman remained in my mind all those days; I did not think of her, but it was as though her light shadow were lying on my heart.
“In the late autumn there was a theatrical performance for some charitable object in the town. I went into the governor’s box (I was invited to go there in the interval); I looked, and there was Anna Alexyevna sitting beside the governor’s wife; and again the same irresistible, thrilling impression of beauty and sweet, caressing eyes, and again the same feeling of nearness. We sat side by side, and then went to the foyer.
“‘You’ve grown thinner,’ she said; ‘have you been ill?’
“‘Yes, I’ve had rheumatism in my shoulder, and in rainy weather I can’t sleep.’
“‘You look dispirited. In the spring, when you came to dinner, you were younger, more confident. You were full of eagerness, and talked a great deal then; you were very interesting, and I really must confess I was a little carried away by you. For some reason you often came back to my memory during the summer, and when I was getting ready for the theatre today I thought I should see you.’
“And she laughed.
“‘But you look dispirited today,’ she repeated; ‘it makes you seem older.’
“The next day I lunched at the Luganovitchs’. After lunch they drove out to their summer villa, in order to make arrangements there for the winter, and I went with them. I returned with them to the town, and at midnight drank tea with them in quiet domestic surroundings, while the fire glowed, and the young mother kept going to see if her baby girl was asleep. And after that, every time I went to town I never failed to visit the Luganovitchs. They grew used to me, and I grew used to them. As a rule I went in unannounced, as though I were one of the family.
“‘Who is there?’ I would hear from a faraway room, in the drawling voice that seemed to me so lovely.
“‘It is Pavel Konstantinovitch,’ answered the maid or the nurse.
“Anna Alexyevna would come out to me with an anxious face, and would ask every time:”‘Why is it so long since you have been? Has anything happened?’
“Her eyes, the elegant refined hand she gave me, her indoor dress, the way she did her hair, her voice, her step, always produced the same impression on me something new and extraordinary in my life, and very important. We talked together for hours, were silent, thinking each our own thoughts, or she played for hours to me on the piano. If there were no one at home I stayed and waited, talked to the nurse, played with the child, or lay on the sofa in the study and read; and when Anna Alexyevna came back I met her in the hall, took all her parcels from her, and for some reason I carried those parcels every time with as much love, with as much solemnity, as a boy.
“There is a proverb that if a peasant woman has no troubles she will buy a pig. The Luganovitchs had no troubles, so they made friends with me. If I did not come to the town I must be ill or something must have happened to me, and both of them were extremely anxious. They were worried that I, an educated man with a knowledge of languages, should, instead of devoting myself to science or literary work, live in the country, rush round like a squirrel in a rage, work hard with never a penny to show for it. They fancied that I was unhappy, and that I only talked, laughed, and ate to conceal my sufferings, and even at cheerful moments when I felt happy I was aware of their searching eyes fixed upon me. They were particularly touching when I really was depressed, when I was being worried by some creditor or had not money enough to pay interest on the proper day. The two of them, husband and wife, would whisper together at the window; then he would come to me and say with a grave face: “‘if you really are in need of money at the moment, Pavel Konstantinovitch, my wife and I beg you not to hesitate to borrow from us.’
“And he would blush to his ears with emotion. And it would happen that, after whispering in the same way at the window, he would come up to me, with red ears, and say:
“‘My wife and I earnestly I beg you to accept this present.’
“And he would give me studs, a cigar-case, or a lamp, and I would send them game, butter, and flowers from the country. They both, by the way, had considerable means of their own. In early days I often borrowed money, and was not very particular about it—borrowed wherever I could—but nothing in the world have induced me to borrow from the Luganovitchs. But why talk of it?
“I was unhappy. At home, in the fields, in the barn, I thought of her; I tried to understand the mystery of a beautiful, intelligent young woman’s marrying some one so uninteresting, almost an old man (her husband was over forty), and having children by him; to understand the mystery of this uninteresting, good, simple-hearted man, who argued with such wearisome good sense, at balls and evening parties kept near the more solid people, looking listless and superfluous, with a submissive, uninterested expression, as though he had been brought there for sale, who yet believed in his right to be happy, to have children by her; and I kept trying to understand why she had met him first and not me, and why such a terrible mistake in our lives need have happened.
“And when I went to the town I saw every time from her eyes that she was expecting me, and she would confess to me herself that she had had a peculiar feeling all that day guessed that I should come. We talked a long time, and were silent, yet we did not confess our love to each other, but timidly and jealously concealed it. We were afraid of everything that might reveal our secret to ourselves. I loved her tenderly, deeply, but I reflected and kept asking myself what our love could lead to if we had not the strength to fight against it. It seemed to be incredible that my gentle, sad love could all at once coarsely break up the even tenor of the life of her husband, her children, and all the household in which I was so loved and trusted. Would it be honorable? She would go away with me, but where? Where could I take her? It would have been a different matter if I had had a beautiful, interesting life—if, for instance, I had been struggling for the emancipation of my country, or had been a celebrated man of science, an artist or a painter; but as it was it would mean taking her from one everyday humdrum life to another as humdrum or perhaps more so. And how long would our happiness last? What would happen to her in case I was ill, in case I died, or if we simply grew cold to one another?
“And she apparently reasoned in the same way. She thought of her husband, her children, and of her mother, who loved the husband like a son. If she abandoned herself to her feelings she would have to lie, or else to tell the truth, and in her position either would have been equally terrible and inconvenient. And she was tormented by the question whether her love would bring me happiness—would she not complicate my life, which, as it was, was hard enough and full of all sorts of trouble? She fancied she was not young enough for me, that she was not industrious nor energetic enough to begin a new life, and she often talked to her husband of the importance of my marrying a girl of intelligence and merit who would be a capable housewife and a help to me—and she would immediately add that it would be difficult to find such a girl in the whole town.
“Meanwhile the years were passing. Anna Alexyevna already had two children. When I arrived at the Luganovitchs’ the servants smiled cordially, the children shouted that Uncle Pavel Konstantinovitch had come, and hung on my neck; every one was overjoyed. They did not understand what was passing in my soul, and thought that I, too, was happy. Every one looked on me as a noble being. And grown-ups and children alike felt that a noble being was walking about their rooms, and that gave a peculiar charm to their manner towards me, as though in my presence their life, too, was purer and more beautiful. Anna Alexyevna and I used to go to the theatre together, always walking there; we used to sit side by side in the stalls, our shoulders touching. I would take the opera-glass from her hands without a word, and feel at that minute that she was near me, that she was mine, that we could not live without each other; but by some strange misunderstanding, when we came out of the theatre we always said good- bye and parted as though we were strangers. Goodness knows what people were saying about us in the town already, but there was not a word of truth in it all!
“In the latter years Anna Alexyevna took to going away for frequent visits to her mother or to her sister; she began to suffer from low spirits, she began to recognize that her life was spoilt and unsatisfied, and at times she did not care to see her husband nor her children. She was already being treated for neurasthenia.
“We were silent and still silent, and in the presence of outsiders she displayed a strange irritation in regard to me; whatever I talked about, she disagreed with me, and if I had an argument she sided with my opponent. If I dropped anything, she would say coldly: “‘I congratulate you “If I forgot to take the opera-glass when we were going to the theatre, she would say afterward “‘I knew you would forget it.’
“Luckily or unluckily, there is nothing in our lives that does not end sooner or later. The time of parting came, as Luganovitch was appointed president in one of the western provinces. They had to sell their furniture, their horses, and their summer villa. When they drove out to the villa, and afterwards looked back as they were going away, to look for the last time at the garden, at the green roof, every one was sad, and I realized that I had to say good-bye not only to the villa. It was arranged that at the end of August we should see Anna Alexyevna off to the Crimea, where the doctors were sending her, and that a little later Luganovitch and the children would set off for the western province.
“We were a great crowd to see Anna Alexyevna off. When she had said good-bye to her husband and her children and there was only a minute left before the third bell, I ran into her compartment to put a basket, which she had almost forgotten, on the rack, and I had to say good-bye. When our eyes met in the compartment our spiritual fortitude deserted us both; I took her in my arms, she pressed her face to my breast, and tears flowed from her eyes. Kissing her face, her shoulders, her hands wet with tears—oh, how unhappy were!—I confessed my love for her, and with a burning pain in my heart I realized how unnecessary, how petty, and how deceptive all that had hindered us from loving was. I understood that when you love you must either, in your reasoning’s about that love, start from what is highest, from what is more important than happiness or unhappiness, sin or virtue in their accepted meaning, or you must not reason at all.
“I kissed her for the last time, pressed her hand, and parted for ever. The train had already started. I went into the next compartment—it was empty—and until I reached the next station I sat there crying. Then I walked home to Sofino….”
While Alehin was telling his story, the rain left off and the sun came out. Burkin and Ivan Ivanovitch went out on the balcony, from which there was a beautiful view over the garden and the mill-pond, which was shining now in the sunshine like a mirror. They admired it, and at the same time they were sorry that this man with the kind, clever eyes, who had told them this story with such genuine feeling, should be rushing round and round this huge estate like a squirrel on a wheel instead of devoting himself to science or something else which would have made his life more pleasant; and they thought what a sorrowful face Anna Alexyevna must have had when he said good-bye to her in the railway-carriage and kissed her face and shoulders. Both of them had met her in the town, and Burkin knew her and thought her beautiful.
© Copyright, 2011 Main Street Magazine/Rain Enterprises
As seen in the February Issue of Main Street Magazine.
Printed in Canada, ISSN: 1920-4299 by Rain Enterprises
To find out how to receive your free copy of MSM check out
http://www.mainstreetmagazine.net/
Your Garden, Your Home
As seen in the February issue of MSM
Proudly Canadian, ISSN: 1920-4299
Make a Flower Garden Basket in February
Are you ready for the sight of beautiful spring flowers? Perhaps it is partly because of winter that so many of us look forward to March and April. After all, that is when the weather begins to warm, grass turns green, and trees begin to leaf out.In anticipation of the sweet days of spring, here is a project you can create any time your winter-weary spirit calls for a lift.
Here is what you will need to make a basket of potted flowers that will be perfect for spring, summer, or any time of year.
- Materials:
- Basket, about 5 inches high, in any width or shape
- Plastic liner for bottom of basket
- Pots of flowering plants or greenery such as ivy
- Moss, Spanish moss, or wood shaving shred
- 1-2 yards of ribbon for bow
- Insert plastic liner into the bottom of the basket. If no liner is available, line the basket with two layers of heavy plastic, trimming edges to fit. Turn edges under so no plastic shows above the edge of the basket.
- Remove the plants from their foil or floral paper cover. Or, if you prefer to leave the cover intact, turn the pot over and cut out the bottom of the paper so water can drain freely out of the pots. Water plants well in the sink and let drain thoroughly.
- Arrange plants in the basket. A mix of high, medium, and low plant heights is pleasing, but several pots of one variety of flowering plant can also be closely spaced to create an even mass of flowers.
- Next, take handfuls of moss or wood shaving shred (shown here), and insert it into any spaces between the pots. It can also be used to cover any dirt that shows. Using handfuls of moss or shred will allow you to remove pieces here and there when the plants need to be watered.
- Make a beautiful bow and set it on the side of the basket. Using wired ribbon will allow you to arrange the bow as desired. A loop of wire can be used to twist the bow in place and give you a pick to stick down into the basket.
- Water plants when soil no longer feels moist. Be sure to read the care and light instructions that come with each plant you use.
- Replace any plants that perish with a new pot or green plant such as ivy.
Small Changes, Big Impact
The two golden rules of travel can be summarised by the following mantra: work out how much money you think you will need then double it, and work out how much stuff to take and halve it. And to an extent this is true; holidays invariably end up costing much more than planned, and sometimes an entire suitcase of clothes can go unworn, in favour of that one top that just looks oh-so-good.
But for a lot of people, holidays are for kicking back and letting loose so why shouldn't they pack an entire wardrobe, because "you never know"? The old cliché about taking thirteen pairs of shoes on a 4-day break may cause a lot of mirth for the more compact traveller, but "holidaying heavy" can have a more serious consequence for the environment.
Most airlines have a standard baggage allowance and anything over that amount is charged back to the customer. However, some airlines now charge for any checked luggage, citing environmental reasons; more luggage means more fuel and more fuel means more carbon emissions and subsequently less ice at the two poles. So, travelling light might actually be a good idea after all, not only for the environment but for the wallet too.
This is particularly relevant for early morning flights at provincial airports, where public transport may be a little more restricted, especially in the small hours. Rather than getting up at four or five am, it may be wiser to travel the day before at a leisurely pace and stay at an airport hotel, meaning more sleep and less stress when getting that flight, and it also allows more time to eat a proper breakfast and even shop for flight essentials such as magazines and refreshments. Ultimately, it also means more time to enjoy the holiday without feeling jaded or jet-lagged on arrival.
Never has the environment and climate change been so much at the forefront of people's psyche. Small changes to individual travel habits can have a massive impact if everybody is involved, and the changes can actually enhance the whole holiday experience. So kick back, let loose and lose some shoes. Three pairs are more than enough!
As seen in the January Issue of Main Street Magazine.
Printed in Canada
To find out how to receive your free copy of MSM check out
Looking Back With Famous Chefs
(please note some language is not appropriate for younger or sensitive readers- reader caution advised)
Wolfgang Puck is one of the most famous and well respected celebrity chefs. But he’s had his share of failure.He just doesn’t let it get to him. “I learned more from the one restaurant that didn’t work than from all the ones that were successes.”He doesn’t really care much about the intrigue and competition that comes with being in the culinary industry. “Only you can judge your life. You have to live up to your own expectations.”
This is what Gordon Ramsay had to say after reading a press release that a “I’m horrified. I mean, Christ! Seventy-five per cent of my staff are French. They look at me like I’m some sort of twat that my Scottish brothers are launching two slices of bread with a fucking inch of Nutella between them, battered and deep fat fried.
“Now what the fuck is this country coming to? What are we doing to ourselves? That has to be abolished. Here we are, progressing tenfold, buying the right bread, real croissants, we’re making fresh muesli and we understand what a great cup of coffee is. And then some idiot brings out a deep-fried chocolate sandwich.
“I want to find the bastard that put that idea together. I’ve got the most amazing charcoal grill in my new kitchen. I’m going to sit his butt on it and criss-cross my name on his bloody arse cheeks to remind him. Every time he wakes up in the morning he can gawp at his arse.
“Is he fucking stupid? When these things hit France
Anthony Bourdain shares this recipe for steak Tartare in Les Halles Cookbook. “Les Halles, the restaurant, was pretty much created to serve this dish,” he says. “The key to a successful steak tartare is fresh beef, freshly hand-chopped at the very last minute and mixed table side. A home meat grinder with a fairly wide mesh blade is nice to have, but you can and should use a very sharp knife and simply chop and chop and chop until fine. The texture will be superior. And do not dare use a food processor on this dish – you’ll utterly destroy it.”Ingredients:
2 egg yolks
2 tbsp Dijon mustard (28 g)
4 anchovy filets, finely chopped
2 tsp ketchup (10 g)
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce (5 g)
Tabasco sauce, to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup salad (i.e., corn or soy) oil (56 ml)
1 oz Cognac (28 ml)
1 small onion, freshly and finely chopped
2 oz capers, rinsed (56 g)
2 oz cornichons, finely chopped (56 g)
4 sprigs of flat parsley, finely chopped
1 1/4 lb. fresh sirloin, finely chopped (560 g)
French fries, optional
4 slices fine quality white bread, toasted, quartered, for toast points
2 tbsp Dijon mustard (28 g)
4 anchovy filets, finely chopped
2 tsp ketchup (10 g)
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce (5 g)
Tabasco sauce, to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup salad (i.e., corn or soy) oil (56 ml)
1 oz Cognac (28 ml)
1 small onion, freshly and finely chopped
2 oz capers, rinsed (56 g)
2 oz cornichons, finely chopped (56 g)
4 sprigs of flat parsley, finely chopped
1 1/4 lb. fresh sirloin, finely chopped (560 g)
French fries, optional
4 slices fine quality white bread, toasted, quartered, for toast points
Directions:
Place the egg yolks in a large stainless-steel bowl and add the mustard and anchovies. Mix well, then add the ketchup, Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco Cognac
Add the chopped meat to the bowl and mix well using a spoon or your hands. Divide the meat evenly among the six chilled dinner plates and, using a ring mold or spatula, form it into disks on the plates. Serve immediately with French fries and toasted bread points.
Nigella Lawson has assets worth about £110 million (and her hubby, marketing guru Charles Saatchi, isn’t exactly dirt poor).
But she has no plans on leaving her kids (Cosimo and Bruno, and stepdaughter Phoebe) huge amounts of money. She wants them to “know that I am working and that you have to work in order to earn money” adding that “I am determined that my children should have no financial security. It ruins people not having to earn money. Husband Charles disagrees.
So what will Nigella do with her money? Maybe leave it to charity. She’s been very active with cancer organizations, after her mother, sister and first husband died from the disease.
As seen in the January Issue of Main Street Magazine.
Printed in Canada
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A Little Inspiration
A Winter Walk with Grandma
By Jacklynn MacKenzie
I can remember vividly the long, cold wintery nights, when I was a very young child, getting all bundled up after supper, donning the mitts, scarf, the heavy winter boots( with the imitation fur at the top), and heading out into the night to the store with my grandmother.
The snow lay glistening on the sidewalks, shining like so many little diamonds, under the lights of the electric poles all the way down the street.
As the snowflakes fell softly down upon us, even my hair, which was sticking out under my cap, was white--resembling my grandmothers.
I loved kicking the snow beneath my feet, and I especially loved the warm feeling (although it was very cold outside), as my grandma held my hand ever so gently, but securely. I always felt so safe with her--she was so quiet and gentle, and always so good to me---too good! I shudder to think how many times I embarrassed her in front of people, just to get my own way, or at least try to. And probably to my disadvantage, she usually gave in to my whims.
I can remember going with her to MacDonald's Store ( Not the Big Mac Place we are so familiar with today)., but MacDonald’s store down on Park Street right next to my friend Faye Ponds' house. Upon entering the store, I was always astonished to see the boat in the big glass bottle. I never did figure out just how the boat got into the bottle, although it kept me up at night wondering.
The store was filled with all kinds of groceries but they were of no interest to me. All that was on my mind, besides the boat in the bottle, were the many tasty candy treats under the glass-covered counter, just begging to be tasted. and a willing and happy taster I always was. Grandma always bought me a bag of candy, which in those days, really was a "Big Bag of Candy". There were honeymoons galore, liquorice balls, and salt water taffee, was gum shaped like lips or trains and filled with delicious, syrup, smelling like teaberry or wintergreen. There were gumdrops, hard candy, marshmallow strawberry candy, bubble gum (which I liked best). I could go on and on and all of this for just 5 cents a bag. Wow!
Grandma would buy some groceries and my bag of candy and then we'd begin our short walk back home in the snow. In the distance you could hear the bells of Holy Cross Catholic Church ringing. I always loved to listen to the church bells, but they held a special meaning on these occasions when I was walking hand and hand in the winter snow with my Grandma.
© Copyright, As seen in the January Issue of Main Street Magazine.
Printed in Canada
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