Day 54: A jewish flan for a Spanish and Italian dinner…multicultural "check"
- Marlena Skrabak
- Aug 4, 2019
- 6 min read
Updated: Aug 21, 2019
This was a morning for the Louvre. I planned it and I knew it had to happen, one way or another. My creative project was done. All I had to do was finish up the paper paired with the creation, to provide insight on my process and other such information.
The Louvre though should and did come first. And I did it alone. As I walked from the apartment through the Jardin des Tuileries, I felt a sort of calm wash over me. The sun was hitting just right, the air was fresh, the leaves were rustling, it wasn’t too packed. Maybe my last stroll through the garden, I soaked it all in, as much as my human sponge brain would let me. The feelings from memories are what stays and I wanted to make sure that this would become a part of my repertoire.
I tried to find the rooms that would be empty, to explore the spaces that I have never seen before. It’s a big museum, it’s not that hard to do. I accidentally ran across the room where the Mona Lisa is normally held. But, I found out she was taking a little vacation somewhere else in the museum and I did not feel it was necessary to go and find her. I wanted to see what the rest of the tourists were not looking at. On making may way, I decided to stop into a Pylones in the Carousel du Louvre. It was on my gift list. So as the days were dwindling, I felt that this was a good time to make this necessary stop. Aside from picking up what I needed, the cashier was kind of cute and may have been too nice to me to have not been flirting. I did not stay long enough to find out. I had this day to myself, the only plan being to make dinner later in the evening. The solitary exploration continued.
I ended up walking down a street I remember exploring during the first day of discovery for the program. The last time I was here, I did not stop into the bakery that everyone else had gone to. This time, that would not be the case. I mean, there were only so many more croissants that I could get in France, I better not skimp now. Unexpectedly getting an almond croissant because it looked so enticing, I made the best choice that I possibly could have. Still warm, the buttery almond-y goodness slid down my throat with such ease, it was hands down the best one I had ever had. Admittedly, I did not try the almond croissant from Blé Sucré, but this one was quiet heavenly. Boulangerie Julien was doing something right, that I knew. As I started eating it on the street, I felt that I needed to consume it in a proper setting. So I made my way to the Seine. How could I not!? I had to treat good with good. It would be distasteful not to. Finding some lawn chairs made to be enjoyed by those walking by, I sat down right where the water started and tore apart the buttery, doughy goodness. The sun was beating down comfortably at first, but then my black jeans were doing a little too much soaking and it started to hurt. Not wanting to leave just yet, I slid may bag onto my lap to protect my searing thighs. Despite acknowledging that I did not have that much work to do, the one major necessity was creating the plan for my presentation tomorrow. Out of all the places to make my temporary office as I wrote out the outline on my phone, the Seine’s shore was not a bad one, not bad at all.
Once I felt that I had done a sufficient amount of work to justify more walking, I made my way towards the Marais, just up from where I had been soaking up the vitamin D.
Maybe I am predictable but I had to walk Rue Vieille du Temple. One of the first streets that struck me as hip and popping, it still holds a special place in my heart. Deciding to head up to &otherstories (I know, I know), I had a moment of pretend shopping i.e. trying on just for the sake of knowing what it would look like. Admittedly, the vibrant pink corduroy jumpsuit was conceptually doing it for me, but it just wasn’t my size. Bummer as it was definitely a statement piece that I would have had to muster up the courage to wear. I mean it was practically a big old colorful sign that said "LOOK AT ME." That takes guts to wear and I wanted to make it one of my unsaid goals…being able to feel the power of slipping something that loud on. Not coming to the Marais to shop for myself, I headed towards the jewish bakeries, the original reason I came to the area in the first place. We were going to make our host family dinner to say thanks for the past two months. Not having the time to also bake a dessert, we thought it would be endearing to get them a cake which had sometimes been discussed. With not much to go on, I was looking for something that was like a cheesecake in one of the Rue des Rosiers stores. Long story short everyone, I quite horribly guessed that one of the cakes was what had been talked about. It looked like it could have been a cheesecake. All I can say in defense of myself is that I definitely did not expect it to be what it actually was…I’ll leave the mystery to be discovered later…
Not being able to help myself, the baklava in the window looked so inviting, I had to get some for myself too. Who knew when I would be back here! I might as well just go for it. Just add sugar to more sugar why don’t I!? Carrying the cake box precariously in my hands alone with the wrapped baklava, only one of the items made it all the way back to the apartment without being dropped. Thankfully it was the cake. The baklava took a beating, but it really didn’t matter. It tasted the same no matter what. Nutty, honey, and overwhelmingly good. On the warm walk home, I was afraid that the cake had melted in my hands because the bottom started to sag. When finally back for inspection, it was still in one piece, just not the piece I wanted it to be…
Before making it back though, I had to stop bye the grocery store too to grab some of the necessary ingredients to pull off tonight’s feast. With my list in hand I walked out with goat cheese, arugula, lemon, spaghetti no. 5, asparagus, tomatoes, garlic, and olive oil. All of the quintessential food groups listed…
Making my way back, I worked only for the shortest time before the dinner making, but my presentation plan was practically finished. Like our past experience with baked goods, we slightly miscalculated how long it would take us to pull this off. We really did try our hardest. What can I say. The three of us just aren’t perfect. I know, what a big surprise.
Opinion: we made a pretty darn good dinner, by my standards at least. I also found it extremely refreshing not to be eating meat at dinner as it always makes me feel quite heavy afterwards.
The dinner was as follows: bruschetta and melted goat cheese, lemon, and asparagus spaghetti followed by arugula salad and tortilla de patatas. Killer is all I am going to say. The tortilla was my responsibility. While nervous to be cooking and mess it up for this family, I did enjoy the fact that I was making what my mom makes for me very frequently. This tortilla though had two obstacles. One was that the olive oil that I needed had a temperamental bottle, so much so that one of us had to go back to the store to see if they could rectify the situation. The second was that the tortilla needed to be flipped at some point…FLIPPED I SAY. Needless to say, everything that needed to be done was accomplished with minimum damage and the food all made it to the table in essentially one piece. Or at least approximately the piece we intended it to be. For the sake of working hard, I hoped that they enjoyed the meal, but it was quite the stretch from our typical dinners. If not, oh well. We still had a positive representation of the food we decided to represent.
The dessert though…tsk, tsk. I screwed up. It was…FLAN and NOT CHEESECAKE. In short, I did not live that one down with may two compatriots. I got the feeling that no one particularly liked it, and I felt very much at fault. Well, I have to learn how to deal with failure one way or another…
Cleaning up the kitchen mess we made, we laughed so much, food started coming back up, water went a little everywhere, and we were the definition of giddy. I’m chalking it up to exhaustion and the fact that we were in the home stretch of the program and the experience.
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