Thyme For Cooking, the Blog

MOA - the Mall of America

Minneapolis used to be famous for its lakes, Minnesota being the 'Land of 10,000 Lakes and Minneapolis having over a hundred of them in the metro area.  Life in summer was centered around water - boating, skiing, swimming and just walking, biking or roller-blading around lakes.  That is where people went to see, be seen, meet and greet.  Then some guys built a huge indoor mall in Canada. Canada, of all places!  Well, folks in the U.S. couldn't have that!  The biggest mall in the world in Canada! So the bidding wars started and Minnesota won.  The Mall of America was born.  It actually is not the largest in the world (those are in China) nor even the largest in North America (the one in Canada is still bigger) but, please, don't tell anyone in Minnesota....let them have their dream (it is the most visited!).  Besides, there is hope - Phase II is in the works.  Plans are afoot to build an equally humungous building right next door - on the south side...Ikea just built a store on the north side.  It will be connected by skyways, of course, and is meant to house hotels, conference centers, spas, more restaurants, (apparently the more than 80 that the MOA has to offer are not enough) unique retail offerings (read 'really, really expensive') and space for 'cultural events' (something more than a 14 screen cinema).  Maybe, because they will be connected, this will get the coveted 'largest in the world' title. 
Anyway, regardless of title considerations, all of the people who fly in from all over the world to shop must have a decent place to stay.  Can't have them chauffeured off to downtown - they might be foolish and spend money there.  And they certainly can't be expected to stay in less than brand new 5 star accomodations or eat in 'lesser' restaurants (whatever that means).  There are actually chartered flights into Minneapolis full of people who come to shop at the MOA...lots of them...I have a hard time grappling with that fact. 
Here are a few MOA facts:  over 80 restaurants (30 fast food, 20 'sit-down' the rest 'specialty' - coffee, cheese, pretzels, chocolate, etc.) more than 520 shops, over 11,000 employees, 7 'attractions' - the amusement park (see my photo album on malls), walk-through aquarium, flight simulator, etc.  If you spent 10 minutes in each shop it would take 86 hours to do the whole mall.  There are 5 levels to walk around - 3 of which are the main shopping area.  It takes me about 30 minutes to circle each level (once has to look at a few things...and there are snacks - cheese to taste, chocolate to sample,) longer if I actually buy something (usually socks for mon mari).  The only thing that keeps me from buying tons of stuff is the knowledge that I have to carry it back with me...and there is that nasty 23 kilo (50 lb) weight restriction on checked bags.  So unfair....I bet they don't do that on the shopping charter flights....

The Flood Run....or Invasion of the Harley's (motorcycles, that is)

I grew up on the Mississippi River - no, not on a raft like Huck Finn, but in one of the many small towns on either side.  The one I grew up in, on the Wisconsin side (the other side being Minnesota), had a population of 287 when I was born.  Now it is 285.  Saturday the population increased by thousands of people in full leather riding Harley's.  It was the 41st annual Flood Run, commemorating the devastating flood of '65 when a group of bikers came to Nelson to help sandbag the shore.  The small towns up and down the riverbanks were so appreciative that they offered free food and beer (it is Wisconsin, after all) in thanks.  The bikers have been back every year since - and every town has a 'beer tent' and barbecue for them....although, with all of the cops around there may have been some bottled water consumed, as well.  When I was young it would be 40 or 50 bikes.  This year, driving along the river was next to impossible:  in the 8 mile stretch between Nelson and Pepin it was one continuous line of bikers (mainly Harley's) staggered (not quite side by side, but close) the entire way.  In little old Nelson the bikes were parked liked sardines as far as one could see in both directions going out of town.  It has gotten to be quite the legitimate event, raising money for the Gillette Children's Hospital, but, with all of these 'boys and their toys' it seems like more of an opportunity to see whose is biggest ;) 
The run goes down the Wisconsin side of the river some 120 miles, then crosses over to return on the Minnesota side.  It's a beautiful drive at any time of year and the locals in the small towns are making the most of nature, with gift shops, antique shops, ice cream stands and anything else to make a few dollars cropping up like dandelions (spring, and all that).  So no one gets left out in May there will be the "100 mile garage sale" (boot sale, rummage sale, whatever....one person's junk is another's treasure).  Everyone on both sides of the river is invited to participate: put your junk stuff on a table, slap a price tag on it and prepare to do some serious haggling.  This time it's cars and pick-up trucks that line the roads (no room on a bike for the goodies) as the folks from the 'Cities' (Minneapolis and St. Paul) drive down the river road in search of the undiscovered prizes (like the Van Gogh that the locals thought was ugly so had it in their chicken shed blocking a window...or was it a Renoir?).  The frozen north has thawed...spring is in the air....

Working and Shopping Indoors

Minnesota and Wisconsin are in the frozen north of the U.S. - at least in the winter.  In the summer it's hot.  In Minneapolis the thermometer can dip to -40F  (-40C) in the winter and top out at 100F (38C) in the summer.  Then there is the 'wind-chill factor' (winter) and hordes of mosquitoes and 'no-see'ums'  (summer).
To counter this lovely climate the powers-that-be took shopping inside.  Over 40 years ago the first covered, indoor shopping mall was built, Southdale.  It was quickly followed by Rosedale, Brookdale, Ridgedale....and many, many more.  These each housed 100 plus stores, restaurants, services,  etc. and gave rise to 'mall rats' (people who spend all of their time hanging around the malls), 'mall walkers' (people who walk around the malls in trainers for exercise) etc.  More on malls next week when I will tell you more than you want to know about the biggest mall in the world, right here in Minneapolis....the Mall of America!
Back to Minneapolis.  Downtown stores suffered.  The city suffered (all of the malls were in the 'burbs).  But wait, there's an answer!  Some of the high-rise office buildings had been connected  by skyways - basically covered bridges, going from building to building at the second floor level.  These were expanded.  You can now live, work, dine and be entertained in Minneapolis without ever going outside.  You never need to face the elements...or smell the roses...or gas fumes, as the case may be.  You don't need a 4-season wardrobe, or sunscreen.   The skyway system connects over 80 city blocks and is more than 8 miles (13.5km) in length.  There are 'you are here' maps everywhere.  I have seen them ....all....often.  I used to know my way around but after 10 years and many more skyways, I find my self walking in circles.  When you are in the skyways it is hard to orient yourself.  You only get sporadic views of outside landmarks.  Inside the buildings the skyways weave in and out of offices and go through the center of the department stores.  I have walked for 30 minutes to cross the street and gone all the way around the perimeter of the system - stopping and looking at the building I was trying to get to in every skyway...so close but yet so far away.    For people who know them they are wonderful, filled with everything one could want: fast food and fine dining restaurants, shoe shine stands and cash machines, news agents and a Starbucks on every corner (if there were corners, that is), gift shops, drycleaners, florists for when you forgot it was your turn to pick up the dry cleaning, grocery stores, if it exists you can find a version of it here.  At noon, when the hordes break for lunch, it is like the lemmings going over the cliffs.  One either goes with the flow or gets out of the way.  If I have an hour to kill when I am downtown I wander the skyways - it's fascinating.  If I actually want to get someplace I take the lone escalator down to street level, find a door and walk outside....it's so quiet and peaceful out there...and there are streets signs and other useful stuff.  I can see where I am going...and I can get there....

Eating out in America - the importance of 'elbow room'

There are lots and lots....and lots of fast food restaurants in the U.S.  And there are lots and lots of 'non-fast food but still 'chain' restaurants...the kind that serve every meal in a skillet; or ginormous breakfasts all day long.   Both of these types serve gargantuan portions for very little money (relatively speaking) and most Europeans love them (maybe not McDo's...).  At the opposite end are the 'fine dining restaurants'.  Some of these are wonderful, some, in my opinion, try too hard: Pan-Seared Imported Foie Gras with Fresh Maine Blueberry Sauce and Ginger/Garlic/Chutney flavored with Lemon Grass and Lemon Curd".  The prices reflect the number of adjectives in the item.  The above starter would be about 35 US dollars.  In the middle there are the privately owned, family and ethnic restaurants; still huge portions (this is America, after all!) and a little pricier than the chains.  These are becoming very popular and prolific - thankfully (even here in the Midwest).
The one thing all of these restaurants have in common is the desire to serve lots and lots of diners.  Even the fine-dining restaurants will expect to 'turn the tables' at least twice if not 3 times an evening.  This is a term (again, my opinion) apparently unknown in most of Europe where one normally owns the table for the afternoon or evening.  In one restaurant that I installed a computerized ordering system in they expected to 'turn the tables' every 20 minutes during lunch.  In other words, every table would serve 3 sets of diners during the one-hour lunch period.  This mentality has permeated all restaurants.  If you set your fork down - anywhere on the plate, you run the risk of having your plate whisked away immediately, empty or not.  There are 'servers' ("Hi" she giggles.  "My name is Tulip Blossom and I'll be your server today.") roaming the dining room in search of items to clear.  Wine glass empty?  Gone.  Bread plate empty?  Gone.  Make the mistake of going to the loo (rest room) in between the main course and dessert?  You'll come back to non-extistence: napkin, water glass, everything, cleared and the chair pushed in.  The idea of not clearing plates until everyone has finished has not found a place here.  I am often the last person with a plate at the table (maybe I should shut-up and eat.....).  I commented on it last night and my fellow diners said it was so they could have 'elbow room'.  I have eaten dinner out 3 times since I have been here.  The servers are at the table so often - bringing plates (one or two at a time), clearing plates ( the same) asking each person if they like the wine, the starter, the main course, etc. one can hardly have a private conversation.  It's all very friendly and all that....I just miss the somewhat aloof, arrogant French or Spanish waiter who brings the food and wine to the table, assumes it is all done to perfection, and leaves one in peace to eat and talk and drink....   

All French hate Americans...and other myths

My younger brother (who does not have a passport) was patiently explaining to me that all French people hate all American people.  The fact that I live in France, have French friends and neighbors and have traveled extensively in the country didn't seem to carry much weight in the argument.  It's obvious that the reports and articles by American reporters....and comedians (Jay Leno?) are more accurate than my mere one-person familiarity.   
The discussion came about because his wife (my s-i-l) and my sister are coming for a visit in the fall.  Neither my brother or my b-i-l (sister's husband) can understand why.  My younger brother's reasoning stems from the fact that (apparently) the written word is more important than actual real-life experience.  My b-i-l concerns does come from actual experience.  He was in Paris (once) with some friends (Army buddies) and came to the conclusion (after 1 night) that Paris is filthy and the French hate Americans.  A thought comes to mind that he and his friends were, just possibly, in parts of Paris that I would never venture into and that, again, just possibly, they may have had one or two beers (maybe 3?  They were on leave from the Army after all).  Could it be that they might have exhibited say, excess exuberance?  Is it possible that, while loudly proclaiming which (read 'all') aspects of French culture were not (in their opinion) up to American standards someone set their next drink on the table a little too firmly?   Could someone (horrors!) have disagreed with them?
We will never know what actually happened to form his belief (selective memory).  But both he and my brother warned their wives to beware - and then assured them that, after 10 days, they would return in complete agreement with their husbands that France is not suitable for Americans.  (Such dutiful wives!)   Fortunately my sister and s-i-l are a wee bit more open-minded - I mean, they are  coming to France after all.   
I can't decide who to introduce them to first:  the sweet elderly lady next door who always greets me with open arms and 4 kisses (I live in the Vendee, 4 is required)?  Or any other of the residents of our little hamlet?  Or the anyone that I know?  I have yet to meet an unfriendly person.....oh wait, there was that waiter once, at a seaside cafe on a Sunday in August.....What was his name? 

A small car in a sea of SUV's

I have owned  and driven my share of SUV's (Sport Utility Vehicle).  I liked them for two reasons:  one sits up very high and can see the world; and, they are great in snow (which there used to be a lot of in Minnesota...in the winter, mainly).  Car owners, (the poor unfortunates) used to complain that they were big and one couldn't see around or over them to get a good view of the road.  'So what?' I thought.  Now, being a renter of compact (read 'tiny') cars when I return for a visit, my thoughts on the subject have undergone a slight change.  Yesterday, returning for my sister's house, midway through the 2-hour drive on the motorway I had a moment of clarity.  I mean real clarity - the group of SUV's  that I was trapped in the middle of suddenly parted and I could see.  There were farms and rolling hills, a small herd of bison off to the left and a pretty river on the right. The sun was just setting and everything was bathed in that lovely late-afternoon glow.  What a beautiful drive!  Five seconds later I was surrounded again and my view was of dark-colored paint, expensive, silver hubcaps and windows tinted so dark they had to be hiding someone either very, very important or very, very dangerous. 
In the 10 years since I left the Midwest the SUV's have gotten bigger (as has so much else in the States).  And, NO, it is not my imagination.  They are bigger.  I could not do the laundry in any of my vehicles (although it was always a secret desire of mine...I do so love doing laundry.  What could be better than to be able to do it continuously?)  I actually saw, with my very own eyes, an advert for a new S.U.V. that had a clothes washer and dryer in the back along with a small refrigerator.  This was so (according to the ad) the busy mom could provide a nutritious treat (coke and cookies) for her children and wash their dirty uniforms from (insert activity here) while chauffeuring them to (insert activity here).  I am exercising great restraint to not begin my diatribe on children who are kept so constantly busy by their parents that they don't have time for such mundane things as schoolwork and creative playtime and just sitting and watching the clouds and...Oops - back to driving.  The only positive note on my drive was, because it was Easter Sunday, there were not a lot of semi-trucks (articulated lorries) on the road.  They are so big that my little car could drive right under them....well, I might be decapitated, but at least I could see for a minute..... 

Green Bean Casserole

Growing up in the Midwest there is a universal staple at holiday tables: Green Bean Casserole.   One could say of a lot of classic food (Cassoulet, for example) that there are as many recipes as there are cooks.  Not true of GBC (Green Bean Casserole).  There is only one recipe and curses are rained upon the head of any 'so-called fancy cook' who dares make a change.  I was entrusted with the task of preparing it last fall at my sister's house for a family gathering (in my honor, as I was visiting from 'Europe').  I sprinkled a bit of thyme into the mix and, maybe, just a touch of basil....there might have been some garlic...  It was roundly scorned and, for the most part, untouched.  I ruined dinner with my 'foreign ways'.   I have to admit that I (apparently) never had the official recipe.  I realized this last evening while visiting a friend.  She was bemoaning the fact that her daughter insisted on GBC every time she was home for a visit.  My friend wanted to be daring - maybe serve carrots, with the Easter ham.  Horrors!  You'll ruin dinner!  Absolutely not! 
She found the perfect gift for her daughter.  Campbell's Soup Company (the perpetrator of GBC and the maker of the 'condensed' soups that haunt American childhoods) has made a casserole dish just for GBC.  Imprinted on the bottom of the dish is the recipe - so people like yours truly can never muck it up.
Here, (please, forgive me) I give you the official Campbell's Soup Green Bean Casserole Recipe: 
1 can green beans (15.oz)
1 can Campbells Cream of Mushroom Soup (10oz)
1 can French Fried Onion Rings
1/2 cup milk
dash of pepper
1 tbs soy sauce
Drain beans.  In a large bowl mix beans and 1/2 of the onion rings.  In another bowl mix soup, milk and soy sauce.  Add to beans and toss lightly to mix.  Put into a casserole.  Do not deviate from this by adding herbs or other fancy seasonings....such as garlic.  Top with remaining onion rings and bake at 350F (175C) for 30 minutes.   Remove and serve to happy Midwestern diners.   
One final note:  Julia Child once said that there are two types of people in the world: feeders and eaters.  No comment.  Tater Tot Hot Dish, anyone?

Be Careful What You Wish For....

When I left for the airport in Bordeaux yesterday morning I was (of course) thinking about my blog.  'Maybe something interesting will happen traveling,' I thought.  The gods of travel mischief heard and answered. 
It snowed in London Monday morning.  Yes, that is correct.  Snow.  In April.  When I checked in for my flight I was told that the plane would be an hour late....they thought.  I quietly expressed concern about making my flight to the U.S.  "No problem", I was told.  I then asked if I could check my bag through to the U.S.  That answer was just a simple "no".  As long as I had the time I took myself off for one last pan au chocolat and cafe creme.  Two hours later I was on my way, minus two magazines.  Whenever I travel I take the accumulated stack of unread magazines with me, leaving them like a trail of breadcrumbs as I finish.  An eight inch stack leaves the house and, with luck, the last one stays on the final leg of the flight home.
I arrived in London with a full two hours to spare before my next flight.  After the ten minute walk to customs, 5 minutes to fill out the form and get through Immigration I was at the baggage carousel with 1:45 to go.  Fifteen minutes later I am still staring at the clock.  Another 10 minutes go by before we finally hear the buzzer....and all the kids who have been playing on the belt finally get knocked off.  My bag was the last to appear.  I have 1:10 to make the flight. 
Telling myself not to worry, I grabbed the bag and took off at a run to the train, wait two minutes, take the three minute ride to the other terminal and arrive at the check-in counter exactly an hour before scheduled departure.  I was comforted by the fact that so many other people were still in line.  (Stupid me....Did I think that maybe it was for another flight? No!)  I patiently waited in line another 10 minutes.  When I finally handed over my passport I was told that I was not 'in the system'  I argued for a bit, then showed her my e-mail documents.  "Oh", she said, "that flight....it's closed."  I quietly expressed my dismay, commenting on the snow, delayed flight, slow baggage, ancestry, hair color, etc.  She suggested I talk to the ticket counter 'over there'.  Off I go to the ticket counter where I was asked why I didn't go directly to the flight.  I pointed out my bag.  I was asked why I hadn't thought to check it through (see above).  After another 5 minutes of pleasant discussion and a few phone calls it was determined that I, could, indeed, still make the flight.  Now that the possibility was established I went back to the first person who proceeded to check me in.  Me, not my bag.  That I had to take to another 'zone' in order to get it on the flight.  I found the zone, handed my bag over to the nice man and was told to hurry along!  Thank you, I shall.
Next, it was through security.  I managed to plead and apologize my way to the front of the line (Blessings upon you, benevolent strangers!), but the gods were not through with me yet.  After my cabin bags went through x-ray I was chosen for a random bag search and body frisk.  No sympathy for the possible lost connection, although by now I was pretty sure they wouldn't take my checked bag without me, so I relaxed a bit.  Another 15 minute brisk walk to the gate, where I arrived just as they were paging me.  Finally, I am settled in my seat, pull out my stack of magazines and look forward to 9 hours of quiet reading, napping and recovery (maybe a glass of wine?).  At long last, a bit of luck - the seat next to me is empty......but wait, here comes someone...yes, he sits next to me.  Nice man, but I always worry when people have no reading material and say they don't watch movies.  He talked the entire way.  My magazines went untouched....I'm so tired..... 

The Saga of the Titre de Sejour, French Paperwork in 4-parts. Part IV

Back to the Carte de Sejour: We now have the coveted visa so we confidently submit our file, once again.  Since it now contains the visa, they actually open it, 10 months from the original submission. Then they send us a list of additional documents that they need – actually papers to clarify the originally requested documents.  Did the thought cross our mind that we could have been gathering these papers at the same time as we waited for the visas? Yes. Did we voice that thought?  No, it would have been met with a blank look. Why would they look at an incomplete file?  We gathered the additional papers. One, a letter from the U.S. took 4 weeks.  Then it had to be translated….officially. In June, one full year after the original submission, we send off all of the additional papers. Great, accept now, I repeat, it's June, which is almost July, which is the month leading up to August when everything closes, so nothing will be done until September.  Mid-September, giving everyone a chance to get over the summer holidays, we call to check the status.  We are told it is ‘en cours’ – in process. We wait some more.  At the end of September, we are asked to come in.  We present ourselves, giddy with excitement... at last, they are here, we think! No, we are given a ‘Récépissé’ (receipt) for our file – proof that it is, indeed ‘en cours’. This is good for 3 months.  It has our photos in it, all very official. We assume that, because it is good for 3 months we will have the actual 'Titre' within that time.  Once again, we assumed incorrectly. In mid-October, just before I leave for a week to visit my mother in the U.S., we receive the notice for the medical exam…scheduled for the week I am gone, of course. We call the number given to use for re-scheduling. No problem we are told. At the end of December, 20 months into the process and 3 days before the ‘Récépissé’, expires we are given our medicals. We pass (tough one – how is your health?  Good. Good, stamp!) Another call from the secrétaire.  Once again, our hopes are up. Once again they are dashed.  Another ‘Récépissé” good for another 3 months (our first one’s expired). In the beginning of February we get another call…Hope goes up…dashed again.  They need more photos - they have used up the ones originally submitted on the two ‘Récépissé’. Off we go to get more photos.
That brings us up to date.  Friday, 22 months after we started this 2-month process we are the proud holders of expired Carte de Sejour.  Oh yes, we had to turn the official receipts in – they were valid until April 15.....
Friday, one week after receving the expired 'Titre" I submitted the renewal..... I am already 3 months behind.

The Saga of the Titre de Sejour, French Paperwork in 4-parts. Part III

It’s an 8-hour drive to Andorra.  Did I mention that this was February?  And Andorra is in the mountains?  It’s a big ski area?  Lots of snow?  Did I mention that we stupidly believed the weather forecast that it was going to be sunny and warm?  We got to Andorra about six in the evening.  It started snowing about seven.  We have an SUV and we can drive around the high passes so we're not worried.  First thing the next morning we slip and slide up the mountain to the consulate, get our visas stamped in our passports and start the trek home, the long way, down through Spain to avoid the snow.  It’s raining at the lower elevations so no problem. About an hour out of Andorra, it turns to snow again. As we enter a roundabout just before Puigcerdá, a small town on the French-Spanish border, we hear a loud ‘clunk’ and our car refuses to move.  It is now snowing in earnest. I get out my trusty mobile and call the auto club.  After several calls back and forth, (me struggling to speak French, them struggling to understand the Yank with the bad accent) we are informed that the tow truck is on its way. Meanwhile we manage to back the car out of the roundabout and sit back to enjoy the snow. About an hour later, we see a tow truck go by heading towards Andorra.  Must be ours, we think, at last.  It was ours but he was confused by the directions and went all the way to Andorra.  Two hours later he goes by again.  Finally, just after dark, he goes by a third time, stops, backs up and asks if we are the ones needing a tow. He has now gone past our car, sitting in the same spot by the side of the road with hazard triangles out, 3 times in 4 hours…..Yes, please, we need a tow. He loads up our truck, we climb into his cab and head up the mountain (yes, up, into the heavy snow) to wherever he came from. An hour later, we are in Saillagouse. We, and our car, are dropped off at a tiny, little garage.  We are told to spend the night at the (not a, the) hotel and check back in the morning. We head off to the village in the snow on foot, no boots, no gloves, no scarves (it was going to be warm, remember) looking for the hotel. We found it, it was warm, it had wine, we stayed.
The next morning we were supposed to call the auto club to find out how to get home.  The battery on my mobile was dead after all of the calls, (naturally, I had forgotten the charger) and the phone in our room wasn't working. We head off to the bar to use the phone – that day, and that day only, the hotel would have no phone service anywhere as they were installing a new system. No worries, there is a phone booth (remember them?) just down the street.  They were correct. We found it right where they said it was. Unfortunately, it didn't work.  Neither did the next one we were directed to by the tourist office. The third one was a charm….and, it finally quit snowing. Anyway, we were taken on a 2-hour drive through the mountains to the airport at Perpignan where we rented a car and headed home. 10 days later we came back and got our car.  The problem? A screw came loose in the brake. The cost? 34 euros.                         Part IV on Monday