When I posted a photo of Salmon Tiramisu, or tiramisu au saumon, to Facebook, I received some interesting comments from my American friends. They simply could not imagine eating this as an entre with salmon.
First of all, salmon tiramisu is heavenly. And there’s nothing sweet and sugary about it. The French don’t eat sugar before a meal (as in never; it’s a sacrilege). They eat something salty, and salmon tiramisu satisfies that taste.
The Italian dessert tiramisu is made with mascarpone cheese, egg yolks and sugar. The cake-like ladyfingers layer are dipped coffee.
Salmon tiramisu is also made with mascarpone cheese and egg yolks, but rather than adding sugar, salt is added.
Tiramisu literally means “pick me up” in Italian and has the idea of something that makes you happy. There are several legends floating around about the origin of the Italian dessert. One refers to Venetian women who ate the dessert to give them energy for a long night of lovemaking.
Salmon tiramisu definitely makes me happy. It’s my new favorite entre.
Recipe for Salmon Tiramisu:
250g mascarpone cheese
4 slices smoked salmon
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons chopped chives
4 sprigs chives
Chop salmon into small pieces, about 1/2 inch thin. Lightly saute in olive oil. Add salt and pepper, and let it cool. Separate the yolks from the egg whites. Beat the egg yolks and add to mascarpone with a little salt and pepper and chives. Beat and fold in the egg whites. Place cooled salmon pieces in the bottom of a glass dessert dish. Drizzle a little lemon juice. Top with mascarpone mixture. Garnish with slivered almonds and a few sprigs of chives. Refrigerate for 12 hours. Serve cold.
Alternatively, you could use the same recipe with blinis. Toast blinis and spread mascarpone mixture on top. Garnish with smoked salmon and chives. Makes a great appetizer.
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Go directly to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Continue reading
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In a country of wine and romance, the French get a kick out of donning plastic, inflated sumo suits and wrestling a similarly clad competitor to the ground. Continue reading
Visit the photo gallery and read more about Camargue’s natural bird habitat.
The Flamant Rose. It means “flamingo.” The header photo was taken in la Camargue, a natural park situated on the Mediterranean.
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In April, I had the opportunity to be at a soirée for the start of the wine season at Domain de Bel Air, the home, vineyard, and winery of Didier and Isabelle Michel. The winery opened for the season with an all-day affair, attracting locals and tourists to taste the first wines of the harvest. Continue reading
The U.S. has SOLs and the SAT. In the French education system, if you want to do anything beyond Lycée (France’s high school equivalent), you have to pass le bac, an entrance exam for students planning to attend university.
As usual, we are learning as we go. The end of my son’s second year is almost finished, and as he has decided to stay in the French education system to finish school, we had to seek out educational opportunities. We were still trying to figure out how the French education system works; we have learned that obtaining the French Baccalauréat is almost a must.
His first year in France, he entered the French education system in Terminale S (S for science) with an agreement that he would not take the Bac. The private school didn’t want to bring their overall scores down, and with his entry level of French, it’s certain he would not obtain a good “note.”
After one academic year and a weekly private French course, his oral and written French were better than mine were after two years (learning as I go; no French course for me). Then it was time to move on. Well….
Easier said than done. That agreement not to take the Bac bit us you-know-where. There are very few options for a serious student who has not passed the Bac. To enter university, it’s a must; to enter most other types of specialized schools, it’s a must. So we went backwards a bit.
He decided to redoublé, repeat a year, and entered Première. This would allow him a year to prepare for the French Bac exams, taken at the end of Première, and then a year in Terminale to prepare for the final Bac. He wasn’t too happy about this at first, but there is a silver lining.
First, his French language skills after the one year spent in a private French school were excellent. Second, he could have applied to some schools that are more hands-on and geared toward his chosen field, design or art. We were looking at options for him to go into a two-year Bac prep program with an art and design focus. The French education system is so different from the U.S. system, I was trying to get him to look at it as not taking two steps back, but rather as getting some really interesting and focused training in his chosen field while preparing for the Bac. Yes, this means he would lose one year before being eligible for university, but what’s one year for an 18-year-old? After two years living in Europe, I’m finally losing that American mentality of “this is the way Americans do it.”
There were other options. He could enter an international program and get OIB, option internationale du baccalauréat, which he could take entirely in English. This is an internationally recognized option of the French Bac. If we had followed this option when he first arrived, I might have considered it; but now that he’s fairly fluent in French, it seems right to both of us that he should just continue in a French school. Also, the one program that we found that offers this option is private and very expensive, about 22,000 euros for one year.
We also discovered the option of the IB, International Bac, partly in English and partly in French. We found a two-year program in the International section of a public school (meaning FREE). But it’s a general education program. This would feel more like he’s repeating a year, as he would be taking the same subjects he’s already had.
In the end, we decided on the IB, and he entered Lycée Georges Duby in Aix-en-Provence. It has turned out to be an excellent choice. He takes a few courses in English, and the rest in French, including a French course designed especially for non-native speakers, to help him prepare for the French Bac at the end of Première.
We were fortunate to get a place in this school, as we were told by the director that more than 6oo students apply for 1oo places. We are finding this to be the norm in France–acceptance to high school is not a given; you have to find an opening and gain acceptance, particularly if you haven’t moved up through the system or are looking to change schools.
The course work is rigorous, as the Bac is rigorous. But despite the work load, my son is enjoying the school. He attends with students from all over the world, as this section is international. It’s a cultural, as well as an educational, experience.
And the fact that he’s losing a year, by U.S. standards, no longer seems to be an issue. The educational and cultural experience is making up for any perceived loss of time.
I read a great article on “My French Life – Ma Vie Française” about finding your true self-identity while living in another country.
In “France: a place where you can become yourself?” Australian writer Lina Vale writes about finding oneself by living in a foreign country. She notes that France seems to be a place where individualism is embraced and creativity expressed.
Interestingly, it’s a conversation I’ve had with myself frequently since moving to France. I’ve often thought that moving outside of my native culture into a totally different environment has forced me to reflect on who I am, what I believe, and what’s really important to me.
Vale writes about reinventing oneself in a new culture, and while some may choose to do so, I don’t believe it’s about reinvention, but about self discovery.
It may be that living outside of one’s native culture strips away the outer layer of superficialness and reveals the true inner self. Perhaps being faced with an environment completely different from one’s own forces one to question one’s self, priorities, and beliefs. This has certainly been true for me.
When everything familiar is removed, it forces one to question, who am I, and how do I fit into this place? It may be this process that reveals true identity.
Based on conversations with persons who have travelled outside of their countries, a similar experience may occur. Anytime we move through unfamiliar territory it can open new perspectives to us. I recall my daughter talking about this after a trip to Peru. She met people who had very little in the way of material possessions, yet she said they seemed so happy, were so affectionate and caring. It changed her perspective about what was really important to her.
Have you had a similar experience living or traveling in another country? Post your comments. I would love to hear about your experiences.
This post is a bit delayed, but I wanted to post anyway, just because it was such a memorable evening. Sifting through photos this week reminded me and made me laugh. (Click photos to enlarge)
No, Thanksgiving is not a French holiday (obviously), but I did celebrate this historical American holiday in November with my French family and friends. I invited my French guests for a true American Thanksgiving feast. They loved it. First, my very French brother-in-law showed up wearing a red, white and blue striped American flag button-shirt. His daughter had found a flag skirt somewhere, which she coupled with black sequined ballet shoes. Her school friend wore a flag T-shirt. Then the rest of the guests arrived–some good friends. The ladies were wearing matching red cowboy hats decorated with red glitter stars. Everyone was ready for the American dinner party. Just for fun, I had decorated the table and dining room in all of the flag paraphernalia I own, including some things I had picked up at the dollar store during my last visit to the States, just for such an occasion. On the menu: baked turkey breast (I couldn’t find a whole turkey), butternut squash soup, greenbean casserole, rice and cornbread dressing (made with chicken and it’s stock), cranberry-orange relish, sweet potato casserole, cinnamon applesauce, spiced fruit bread and chocolate covered gingerbread. The favorite was definitely the sweet potato casserole (Paul Dean recipe. I didn’t bother trying to explain Paula Dean). This was quite a surprise to me, because the French don’t usually eat what they call sugar-salty. Sugar is NEVER eaten before the meal and the cheese. By the way, I did not serve cheese after the meal… and no one complained! Several guests asked for the sweet potato casserole recipe and someone even asked for the dressing recipe. Oh my! I have arrived! I’ve never been asked for a recipe in the three years I’ve lived here. I even played classic Christmas music in the background–rather boring compared to the live guitars and Spanish and French music we usually enjoy on our dinner occasions. It was a nice evening, and for the first time since I’ve lived in France, it felt like Thanksgiving. Even if it was a bit bizarre.
In the South of France, in the western region of the Cote d’Azure, bullfights are a way of life. They are, in fact, to frenchmen, what football is to Americans.
The serious aficionados are faithful followers of the Spanish version of this sport; but for those who can’t stomach the kill at the end, the French have a milder version: the Course Camarguaise.
Recently, I visited the Arenes d’Arles to watch the Course Camarguaise, professional version, with two American girlfriends. We called it a girls night out and took great pleasure in attending a bullfight without our men tagging along. We had many laughs and gasps watching more than 100 young guys try to capture pom poms from the bulls’ horns, running around in the their white costumes, jumping fences to escape the bulls’ charges, and even ripping their pants when the bull got a piece of white fabric.
Literally translated, the Course Camarguaise is a “Camargue Race.” The participants, dressed in white slacks and shirts, enter the arena with the bull and play a game we might recognize as Capture the Flag.
In the Course Camarguaise, the bull, or toro, has a cord tied around his horns, a pom pom hanging from each horn, and a ribbon on his back to mark his earlier award in the judging of the bulls themselves. In the arena, the participants take turns approaching the bull at a run and attempting to remove the various attachments from the horns. Sponsors donate money toward the race, and the participants win the money as they “capture” the bull’s ornaments.
As the game progresses, the monetary stakes get higher, and the participants take more risks in approaching the bull.
As evidence that this is truly a sport that women can enjoy, the opening and closing ceremonies included choreographed dances and processionals from the Arlesiennes –women dressed in old-fashioned clothes and sporting parasols. The opening dances included choreography with horses and their Camarguaise Guardian. And at the end of the games, the Arlesiennes lined up with their parasols to salute the winners of the games. (Video of Arlesiennes, Arenes d’Arles, June 2013).
Here’s a link to a video that shows you the game in action:
FERIA ALÈS 2013 – Course camarguaise