Crème Brulée?

Benoit recently found out that he would be on a worksite on the seaside for the next six months.  Considering that I am still on vacation and that now it is in a way my duty to follow "my man," I agreed to spend the next few weeks with him.  We are currently living in a fully equipped, two story house with a 10 minute walk to the beach.  Life is hard, I know.  I am currently enjoying sleeping in, watching tv (finally, we don't have a TV connection in Nantes), and spending a few hours in the afternoon working on my much needed tan.  Depsite the dream of such a situation, I cannot help but too confess that it's not as fun when you spend all day by yourself and that it rains 4 out of 7 days a week.  Hmmm...I am trying to find things to keep myself busy and not too lonely, which consists of activities such as reading, blogging, doing french cross words, watching movies, working on my head for the wedding in two weeks, and taking advantage of the fully stocked kitchen!  Last night, I tried my hands at a first attempt of homeade crème brulée, inspired by the frequent thoughts vers my father...HI DADDY!! :) Result: I cooked it too long, I bought 33cl of liquid fresh cream instead of 50cl of thick fresh cream that the failed to tell me since it was pubished in the early 1990's--apparently a time where they thought that the cook would just somehow "know" to use 50cl of think cream when noting "a small container of fresh creme." Again, being the French gentleman that he is, Benoit finished his portion without saying a word until not one bite was left in his dish.  Afterward, he told me that it was "pas terrible" which literally translates into something like "I am trying to be nice in saying that its not terrible but there are not too many things that tastes worst than this."  He described my crème brulée as "egg cream." Hmmm, it's something that I need to work on, but then again, it was my first attempt at THE most famous French dessert.

Would you like to have a shot at it?  I would love to hear what works and what doesn't if any of you feel adventurous enough to take on such a task!  Come on, give it a shot.  I can assure you that yours will be better than my "egg cream!"

Recipe for Crème Brulée:

Ingredients: (for 4 people)

- 4 eggs

- 1/3 cup sugar

- 1/5 cup brown sugar

- 1 tsp. vanilla extract

- 2 cups of heavy whipping creme

1) Preheat oven to 325°F

2) In a large bowl, add eggs and sugar.  Beat with a fork until the mixture starts to become somewhat white (small bubbles will start to form).  Add cream and vanilla to egg-sugar mixture and continue mixing with a fork until homogeneous.

3) Pour mixture into 4 recipiants that are oven safe (see pictures below):

or

Place the recipiants with creme brulee in an oven safe pan, filled half-way with water (see image below):

Bake for around 1 hour.  Once the crème brulée starts to rise, they are done!

4) Let cool.  Place them in the refrigerator.

5) At the moment you want to serve them, sprinkle with brown sugar.  Heat a metal spoon on the stove (make sure you don't hold the spoon with your bare hands while heating it!  Use a think oven mit).  Once the spoon is heated, immediately place it on the crème brulée in order to "burn" or rather "caramelize" the brown sugar.  Serve immediately.

Bonne chance!

My first experience at a French Camp Ground (and yes, such a thing does exist in France)

Final destination of day #2: Douarnenez.  Benoît and I decided that it was time for a shower (or rather I decided that it was about time that I washed my hair), and headed toward the nearest campground.  For 16€, we were granted a parking spot, a small piece of land to pitch our tent, bathroom facilities, and a shower (however, hot water only available from 7am to 7pm).  I learned that with the large amount of vacation time annually given to the majority of French citizens, those who cannot afford to rent a house/hotel at the beach are willing to pay about 300€ to stay the month at a campground.  Not a bad idea in theory; however, such a vacation is considered extremely "boef" (low-class) and risks a certain demise of social status.  It is interesting to find that a situation like camping is indeed rather "out of place" in French society and to get the feeling that such a concept is looked down upon; whereas on the contrary in the United States, camping is just another style of a what could be a great vacation!

After having paid the daily fee and given the key to the gate, the both of us were invited by the receptionist to the "apératif" hosted by the campgound.  I was all for it; however, I could tell that Benoit was somewhat bothered by the fact and prefered to find a restaurant and have a drink in town with more "civilized" people of his social class.  Here, again, is another moment where I ask myself, "where am I," for I find that such distinction and discongrueity between social classes is not in the least as previlent in the United States as it is in France.  One may think that such a behavior is pretentious or rather snobbish; however, having grown up in a country previously ruled by kings and barons for the majority of its existant, I would consider Benoit's attitude rather "normal."

That evening, I learned how the tell the different between a good restaurant and bad one.  Upon entering, one must first take a look at the menu before being seated.  If the restaurant is serving everything from meat, to fish, to crepes, to crustaceans, DON'T EAT THERE.  Usually, when providing a large variety of option, the food at the restaurent is fozen and not fresh.  So instead of eating a seaside pizzeria/creperie/moulerie (a restaurant specializing in mussels--yes, that does exist in France), we decided to eat a restaurant hidden on a back street with only 2 menu options (given by the waitress, there was no printed menu).  Benoit chose to have the mussels and fries and I opted for the macorole, which was caught that morning by the cook himself who was also the brother of the waitress (small town obviously).  After filling ourself to the brim with fresh seafood and a caraf of wine, it was time to head back to our humble home (aka the tent).  Note:  At this point it is about midnight, in the lower 50's, and rainy.  Laura is tired and not a happy camper--especially not having access to a shower for the past few days.  We arrived at the campsite and noticed that the entry gate was indeed securely locked for the night.  The electronic key that we were given by the receptionist supposedly gave us entry access "after hours"; however, was for some reason or another "deactived."  Result = we must park the car outside the campsite and walk "a mile uphill both ways" to our tent...in the cold and in the rain.  Luckily, by that time, our sanity about cracked and we decided to finally embrace the hilarity of the situation and do a "photo shoot" of the both of us posing as homeless people.  Ha ha!

(Benoit and I are temporary moving to his family's beach house today! He is on a worksite at Croisic for about 6 months and decided it was better to "move" there instead of driving a total of 3 1/2 hours everyday.  Being the sensitive gentleman that he is, Benoit was worried that it would bother me that we moved to the beach until my classes start on September 12th.  I told him, "Au contraire! Pas de problème!" I have absolutely no problem living at the beach for 2 weeks in a big, old, stone, fully-equipped French home, are you kidding?!)

Better Understanding of Why the French Have a Negative Reputation chez les Américans

We clean up quite nicely after spending the night in a tiny red Renault (French brand of the car) and no access to a shower until the next day.  Here we are the morning in Perros-Gueric at a cafe enjoying our what the French call "big coffee" (which is about half the size of a tall coffee at Starbucks) and our butter croissants :) Yum!

Here are some of the pictures that we took upon leaving Perros Gueric.

Next stop, Douarnenez by way of a small French town called Sizun where we met an old, endearing, traditional French woman with one heck of a strong character.  She was missing an arm, but nevertheless still very elegantly dressed.  She works in the tiny gift shop of the 14th century stone church.  She talked to Benoit and I for about 45 minutes, telling us stories of her childhood and how to skin a rabbit in less than a minute (I'm serious).  Upon leaving the shop, Benoit described her as "Une dame d'autrefois" (A true woman of her time).

Here in the town of Sizun, there is one church, one town hall, a tabacco store, a small supermarket (much smaller than the Dandy Dollar for those of you who remember and knew it), and one bar.  Benoit and I had packed a picnic lunch that afternoon and he decided we should eat in the church courtyard because they were in the process of restoring the church and he wanted to observe their work (typical stone mason lol).

Our picnic lunch, baguette and fromage included of course!

After meeting and conversing with our one-armed friend and filling ourselves to the brim with fresh bread, cheese, rabbit terrine, hard cider, and figs for dessert, we were "on the road again" and met some new friends along the way! (see below)

Continuing on to our destination of Douarnenez, we quickly passed by the city of Quimper.  We had originally heard wonderful things about the charm of this town; however, our appreciation of its beauty was quickly tainted when we met a sleezy, old wine vender.  This salesman, who in a way resembled a jolly Santa Clause, but only in appearance and not demeanor.  He claimed himself to be a linguist, speaking 6 different languages (English and Polish included); however, I was not convinced with his simple phrases.  He "held us hostage" in his shop for over an hour (literally), recounting us stories of his travels, his 5 wives (his current wife is supposedly American with Polish heritage--what a coincidence, yeah right), and his understanding of Polish pride (again yeah right, he has 100% French blood running through his veins).  After mindless listening to his word vomit, he threw out his opinion of Americans: the discards of European heritage.  Ok, mister I've about had it with you!  At this point, I was completely and utterly insulted and began to create a plan of clever revenge in my head.  I appeared to have taked his comment lightly; although Benoit knew by the look on my face that I was read to strangle the man, I asked him what kind of wine he had to offer me.  Now, this was a special kind of wine store, selling only "organic" wine without suffites.  I am sorry but the French have been making wine since centuries ago and to say that your wine is better because it is "organic" does not cut it for me.  He asked me what kind of wine I liked, clearly thinking that I was a naive, petite American girl, and I told him that I prefered red wines with a bold flavor and a semi strong finish like Malbecs and Chateau-Neuf Papes (THANK YOU DAD FOR ALL OF THE NICE BOTTLES OF WINE WE SHARED TOGETHER OVER THE SUMMER AND EDUCATING ME IN MY LEARNING OF DIFFERENT TYPES OF WINE!).  Right then in there, the man's mouth dropped open and his eyes grew wide.  He told me that he might have ONE wine that would please me and even then he hesitated.  I politely told him no and that it was about time we take a visit around town.  I took Benoit by the hand as we left the store and he smiled at me with such pride that I was able to cleverly tell the "concard" (asshole) off myself!  From that moment on, we were able to visit Quimper in peace.

Roughing it, but somehow I don't really mind

After travelling an X number of kilometers at 130 km/h, Benoit and I finally reached our destination for the first day of our roadtrip, a town called Perros-Gueric (also and more widely-known as the city of the rose colored granit).

That would make one heck of a nice countertop!

We arrived just as the sun was setting and quickly (and illegally) parked the car in order to take advantage of such a beautiful view.  These are some of the pictures I actually took myself.

Now you see the large rock/cliff in the picture above?  Yes, we climbed it.

Now it seems to be that there is no such thing as liability in France.  If you want to do something that is potentially dangerous to your health, that is totally up to you.  For example, there were no signs telling telling us that we could or could not climb to the very top of the cliff nor ropes blocking off dangerous areas.  Neither were there steps or pathways to show us in which direction to climb.  It took us about 20 minutes to climb all the way to the top and the entire time I couldn't help but to think, "If Mom or Grandma Trach ever saw be doing this, I would never hear the end of it."  However, I can assure you that the view we saw from the summit was well worth the scrape I had on my knee.

Benoit and I were both starving ffter our "small" rock climbing adventure and decided that since we were in the heart of Brittany, it was absolutely necessary to eat at a creperie for dinner (The regional speciality of Brittany is in fact crepes, and what we call "crepes" in the United States has absolutely no relation to the actual crepes in France--sorry Mom, I know you do love your fruit and yogurt crepes at Bob Evans).  

At the creperie with our cups of hard cider.  Poor Benoit, after driving in the car all day.

Now, since we are both running on a limited budget and hotels in France are about twice the price than the hotels in the United States (exchange rate not included), we had two options concerning our sleeping arrangement.  Option #1: Drive around in the dark in a city we are both unfamiliar with until we find a camp site to plant our tent.  Option #2:  Park and sleep in the car.  Now the images you are about to see differ tremendously from the ones posted above.  Prepare yourselves...yes we chose option #2.

Thanks Benoît.

Unfortunately, Benoit nixed the "built-in shower" option whenever he bought is new car, so the theme was dingy and greasy for the rest of the day.  At least we had this to wake up to in the morning! (See picture below).

The more I think about it, the more and more I appreciate the relationship that Benoit and I have together.  To think that two people who speak different languages, come from different cultural backgrounds, spent a year apart, shared one bathroom while both being terribly sick with the flu, and now temporarily living and spending practically every waking moment together after not having seen each other for 5 months straight; what Benoit and I have is rather amazing and commendable.

"Home Sweet Home"

Before continuing with the brief and somewhat injust descriptions of the beautiful sights and wonderful moments Benoit and I shared on our tour of Brittany, I must say after sleeping in the car, living out of a duffle bag, and not always having access to a shower, "There is no place like home." (Hi Molly and Bethany!!)  Here is a picture of the living room/dining room of Benoit's apartment.  Benoit says I should consider where we live "chez nous" (our home), but as my school year approaches in Angers, France and the increased number apprehensive looks continue to appear on the faces of fellow traditional Catholic French family and friends concerning our current living situation, I am careful not to get TOO COMFORTABLE living in his apartment.  

Anyway, here are some pictures of "chez nous," (notice particular details in the decor--beautiful handmade table cloth from my wonderful, beautiful, and loving mother, newly updated and running quickly and efficiently as ever Mac computer thanks to "Gadget Dad," and the fleur-de-lis wine accessories graciously given to me by Molly (Benoit thinks they are very elegant gifts and not in the least cliché!--luckily, he has nothing against the old French monarchy, which held the symbol of the fleur-de-lys).

It is interesting the see and witness my way of adapting to this rather simple style of what we would call "French living."  As I often say, I feel like I have been transported back in time, into the era of the 1960's where gutting a fish is a common day ordeal (see below),

and inviting friends and family over to see and admire your newly purchased, top of the line electronic washing machine (also see below).

In addition to these "flashblack in time" experiences, which in a lot of ways are rather exhilarating, funny, strange, and refreshing all at the same time; Benoit and I have been invited to numerous luncheons over the past few weeks, hosted by his partents or parents of mutual friends.  Of course each lunch is served over a period of 3+ hours consisting of an aperitif, 3-5 course meal (depending of the family), with a conclusion of coffee and chocolate afterwards.  A common senerio would include coffee on the terrace/patio, men with their brandy and cigars, woman smoking their "Virginia Slim" cigarettes in their elegant summer attire, prosing the idea of a possible friendly game of croquet.  Common question I then ask myself, "Where the heck am I?"  However, despite the strangeness and frustraction of such "twilight zone" sitations, I must say, "It's a Wonderful Life." :)

Perros-Gueric or Bust

We left the city of Concale with bellies full of fresh oysters and the beautiful coast  of northern Brittany ahead of us.  

Our next destination would be the city of Saint Malo, one of the most famous port cities and tourist attractions in northwest France.  The warm summer sun was shining brightly and gave a sereal image to the reflections of the boats stationed on the water.  Benoit and I were so excited to have arrived on such a beautiful day; however, our morale disappeared rather quickly while waiting over an hour in order to find a place to park.  Obviously, everyone else who was touring France that day had the same idea in visiting Saint Malo.  Yet, like a true Frenchman, Benoit found just enough space on one of the side streets to sueeze ourselves into place and worm out of paying the fee of public parking.  

Thanks to moments like that, and many others I assure you (wink wink), that I am happy to be dating a beautiful, traditional, and at times extremely stubborn and proud Frenchman.

(Close your eyes Dad!)

Here are some of the beautiful sights of Saint Malo:

Two fun facts about Saint Malo.

Fact #1: The famous explorer Jaques Cartier, who is noted for discovering Canada, is barried in the 11th century church in the center of Saint Malo.  If you recall, he is also the guy who invited the Cartisian square for those of you who are math nerds!  Here is a picture of is tomb.

Fact #2:  Saint Malo is one of the strongest fortified cities in all of France.  It was attacked many times, mostly by the English (sorry Elizabeth lol), and is still standing in top condition today.  Why? Because it was constructed to be a fort INSIDE a fort.

Next stop and final destination for the first day of our Brittany roadtrip, Perros-Gueric--city of the rose colored granit the line the shoreline.  However, we were obligated to first take a detour (see picture below).

To be continued...