Category Archives: France

Cannes Day One

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Traveling to foreign countries is always a mind-altering experience. You know? Seriously? Forget lighting up, tuning in and tuning out or turning on or whatever they called it in the Sixties. If you live in America, traveling outside of this country will blow your mind.

Because it all happened in a blurry dream state, I barely remember the past 24 hours. I know that we woke up at 3am in Los Angeles and drove to LAX, parked in a reliable airport parking spot which shuttles you to the airport. I know that they dropped us off at the Delta terminal but that it was the wrong terminal and so we had to roll our baggage half way around the airport (“It’s just about a five to seven walk. I do it on my lunch break every day.”) to Alaska Air, which partners with Delta. I know we waited about 45 minutes to check-in and get on board. This, because of heightened security measures which did not let you check things in automatically.

An instragram shot of Alaska Air's check-in line

 

I know that we then flew to Seattle, where we had about a four layover. We wandered around that giant airport — which has its own subway system — and I know, at some point, I used their free wi-fi. I know that we got on the plane there, Air France this time, and flew seven hours to Paris. I know that we had our neck pillows and our eye covers and our blankets. I know I tried to sleep that whole time but really just laid there, with my eyes closed.

Emma looking like a prisoner of war

I know that, at some point, they began serving breakfast. Somehow we would get to Paris, wait in two more very long lines before finally getting on a plane to beautiful, peaceful, extraordinary Nice. And we would rent a car and get lost driving around the hills behind Nice. We would drive a long time before realizing we were lost. We would find ourselves on toll roads with no euro, having to use the intercom to speak to the workers to explain in English (which none of them speak) why we had no euros. What morons they must have thought we were. One guy just let us through without paying. An alarm went off. I hope I don’t get charged a fine.

But through all of this, a running dialogue is going on in my head as I explain to my daughter yet again why I am making yet another stupid person mistake: “This is how you learn things,” I said. “You make a mistake and you learn something.” And it’s true. We keep learning things as if we’re headed for some kind of plateau of knowledge – because THEN, maybe then we will have figured it all out. Only to then die. Yes, life. Ah, life.

Painted nails and nearly black hair - ready for Cannes

She looked at me like she felt sorry for me. Poor mom. Someday she’ll realize how cool I am. Right? Right? Kids are funny when they travel. They always want to come until they actually start realizing what a hassle it is. Things are made so comfortable for Americans. We really are like those soft, chubby passengers on that giant cruiser in the sky in Wall-E. Just hook us up and take our money.

But when you travel to other countries you see that it’s so not about you, especially here in France in parts that don’t cater to American tourists. I keep saying “je suis Americaine!” as if it’s some excuse as to why I’m so clueless. They just blink back at me: “And I’m supposed to care because…?” In America we are mostly raised to respect the almighty dollar. That’s really what customer service is all about. You know they can’t really treat you that badly because it will cost them in the end. In France and Italy, the two foreign countries I’ve traveled in most, they don’t give a crap about that. They appreciate your politeness more. It’s hard to get your mind around. In America, it’s backwards: the customer is always right. Here, it’s more like, the nicer you are the better service you will get. Act like an entitled American and be prepared to have people treat you poorly.

It is surreal.

Today is officially the first day here. We will drive from Juan Les Pins, where we ended up staying, to Cannes proper, where I will fight the crowds for a parking spot, then walk into the Palais du Festival. The South of France, the coast near Cannes, has many beautiful villages. Like Italy, there are those the tourists flock to and those the tourists don’t yet know about. All up and down the coast — except Cannes and places that everyone already knows — you can find the prettiest, quietest, sweetest little French towns. And those are really what France is all about, I dare say. I am acting as though I’m an expert when in fact, this is my third visit to France and two out of three of those times I was only in the tourist areas. Now we’re staying in Juan Les Pins, which really doesn’t have many Americans. The reason being, most people who comes to the Cannes Film Fest prefer to stay within walking distance. Now that I’ve rented a car, I know the reason why: it’s god-awfully expensive.

For the amount of money the car cost, plus the hotel, we could have stayed in one of the expensive hotels close to La Croisette. Oh well: live and learn. Make mistakes, lots of them, and then learn more.

Onward and upward. Day One.

 

Friday Night Dinner

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Before I dive into the Field of Greens cookbook (read: it will never happen), I thought I’d take a stab at posting some pics of a dinner I cooked for my dad last week. My dad likes to eat almost anything. It’s always great to cook for people who will eat anything because that means one is never pressured to be the best at anything. And, try as I might, I am a B average cook at best. Maybe even a C average. This isn’t to say that I’m a bad cook (well, erm) but just that there are so many better cooks out there, and when it comes to food blogging — I have pretty much sucked at it.

One thing that is hard to screw up is authentic ragu. I learned how to make it on my first trip to Italy (yeah, the one where I got knocked up – maybe Ragu is the reason why). Emma’s father Luca makes the best Ragu. In fact, he is the son of two great chefs, his mother and his dearly departed father. I think I made it clear that we broke up upon my return to the states and I have raised Emma as a single parent. Hard. Not as hard as having more than one kid and doing it alone, but it is hard anyway.

Luca’s mother cooks the best food I have ever had – and that includes all of the great restaurants in Italy and France. She once made a tomato sauce using cherry tomatoes that blew my mother fucking mind.

Anyway, so the reason I made this Ragu was because I still had some left over ground meat that my mother gave me – it is organic, farm-raised beef that belonged to a friend of hers. Ground beef – there are lots of things to do with ground beef – burgers, tacos, shepherd’s pie…but ragu has the benefit of tomato sauce, which is very good for you. And my dad tends to like that kind of stuff since my grandmother used to make him great meals, including spaghetti and meatballs.

Anyway, so it’s easy to make ragu but you have to be patient. There are lots of different variations – some people use milk, some use nutmeg, some use just onions, or garlic and onions. Here is how I did it.

1 lb of ground beef
Two cans of crushed tomatoes
1 onion
1 head of garlic
nutmeg
salt & pepper
basil

I don’t think basil is used to make traditional ragu, but mine needed it at the end. I think that next time I will use a different combination of tomato — maybe some sauce, some paste. Mine didn’t have that great flavor like Luca’s did this time. I have made it better in the past.

Here’s the thing. You brown the onions, then brown the meat. Add some grated nutmeg if you want. Here is where I added the garlic, which is optional. You then add the tomato sauce (whatever combo you decide) and here’s is the key – you simmer it on low for at least two hours. Seriously. When it’s done, the tomato sauce had reduced to the most delicious, concentrated stuff you’ve ever tasted. And the thing is, it coats the pasta because it is oily and concentrated at the same time. So it doesn’t slip off the noodles, but rather gently coats them.

Salt the noodle water.

By the way, I started off the meal with roasted shrimp to be eaten with cocktail sauce — olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper — a squeeze of lemon. Roast for about ten minutes or so until just pink. I think I cooked it at 350. Pictured above.

For dessert for my dad I made some blueberry compote. It was all quite good. Not perfect, but good enough.

Birds in Nice Airport

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All of the years I’ve been reading about the Cannes film fest and no one ever mentioned that there are little sparrows roaming around, setting up camp, and pestering the passengers before.

As I left very early Thursday morning, en route to Germany and then back to Los Angeles (more on that marathon flight in a moment) I caught the sunrise at the Nice Airport and declared it to be the prettiest airport I’d ever sat in. The thing about Europeans is that they do everything just a bit nicer than we do it here. There is much to love about being here in Los Angeles – my creature comforts are within a five mile radius – coffee, yoga, Whole Foods – but the quality of life overall seems, to me, nicer in parts of France and Italy. How can I explain it?

Like this sculpture just a-sitting there in the terminal. One can’t believe it.

Sunrise at the Nice airport was something to behold. The whole terminal seemed designed for beauty – the sea, the mountains, the sky. Oh, and I really learned the value of being the early bird because if you can get there earliest you can select a better seat. If you arrive late, you have to take what they have left.

Birds soared right and left, and would bravely land on my table, knowing they might get a crumb or two.

Some might be inclined to consider them unsightly or germ spreaders – but to me they were little bursts of life. And I needed it at 6am. I’d woken up at 4am and lugged my bags down my hobbit stairs at the B&B I was staying in. I could have taken the train and then a cab from the Nice station – but frankly, lugging my bag up and down the stairs was a horrific prospect at 4am, so I just dropped $100 on a cab.

This turned out to be the best choice as I was there easily and early and mostly sweat free.

You never want to be behind me in the security line, trust me, especially this time. I was wearing boots, which meant I had to pull them off each time. But it wasn’t just boots, it was:

Laptop out of bag
Purse
Camera bag
Scarf
Laptop bag
Boots
Coat

So, all told, around four or five treys. Not a pretty picture. Each time I was certain I would forget something. But I didn’t lose a damned thing – not a ticket, not a boarding pass, not a key – I remembered it all.

When I finally lugged all of my shit to the terminal to hunker down until my 7:45am flight, I was relieved to see that bright, pastel sunrise – an impressionist’s inspiration if ever there was one.

Cannes Is…

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Being at Cannes is like uncorking a bottle of champagne. It maybe spills over a little bit, tastes sweet and pungent. You feel like you’re a part of a party just because you’re drinking it. It is cause for celebration and yet it is its own thing. I feel out of sorts in a way, but in another way, totally at home. I could do this permanently. Well, if it weren’t for the fact that I miss my child too much. That is the part of it I don’t like so much.

I have spent many days away from Los Angeles and California and I always find myself not just coming back – but anguishing over not being around my own cozy little corner of the world. I have Los Angeles in my biology somehow and that too is a fact.

I am sitting in my room at my affordable, charming B&B at 4am because, typically, jet lag hits the second day. I just can’t sleep. So I figured I’d sit up, turn on the light and use the quiet, coffee-less hours to get some work done. These are long days, covering the Cannes film fest. Long days, clockless, timeless days. I came in at midnight and so that means I’ve had four hours of sleep, if that. Part of the problem is that someone came through the upstairs and made lots of noise, waking me up. Once up, I couldn’t drift back down.
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Brad and Angie More Breakup Rumors

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This came from Howard Stern’s radio show, posted by someone over at ONTD:

While listening to Rosie Radio this morning Howard Stern popped in for a little surprise talk and they got on the subject of Brad and Angelina. Howard said that they are no longer together and Rosie asked Howard if he actually knew that or was just going off of the tabloids and Howard said the he knows that. Rosie asked how and he said that he knows people and knows things and that he can pretty much say for sure that they are no longer together.

Howard said that even though Angelina Jolie is the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen that Brad should have known better since Billy Bob Thorton, a man who has a fear of antiques and only eats orange food, said that she had too many problems for him.

So there ya go. Howard Stern is a pretty honest guy and I believe pretty much everything that comes out of his mouth.

I hope it isn’t true. Maybe they’re just taking a break from each other. But all those kids – relationships have a hard time staying healthy when just one kid comes along, but that many kids in that many years?

Their relationship, as lived through our eyes, moment by moment, picture by picture, detail by details, seemed like a fantasy. The births in Africa, the flying lessons, the international adoptions, the twins, the animal-noises sex, the big house in France, the sexy photos for W magazines, the red carpet displays of affection – that yellow dress at Cannes. It was a moment for our time – and why is it poor old Brad Pitt is always the guy who has the girl and they become the couple that defines our time?

A trip down memory lane: