Tag Archive for Guest Bloggers

Taawd Talks French

October 19, 2008 Widowism 2 comments

Chef’s widow has her trip to Paris.  I have mine.  I’m Todd from taawd’s thoughts.  I’m honored to be asked to guest blog while she’s on holiday (that’s how the Europeans say it, when in Paris…)

Here’s one of the days from my European trip that included a couple of day in Paris.  There’s a few extra nuggets added from the original post.

I went with one of my co-workers and we did Paris quickly.  Our day started today around 11:00am.

First stop was the Jardin du Luxembourg. It was beautifully landscaped. The streets of Paris might be dirty but the French respect their landmarks. We heard kids laughing all over the place as they fed ducks in the ponds around the grounds. You couldn’t help notice the Greek influence there.  We did get lost trying to find it. We spent a great deal of time being lost. Make sure you prepare better than we did.  Do not try to be spontaneous on a European vacation, that ain’t happening.

I thought we needed to see the Sacred Coeur. That was easier said than found. We walked what seemed like miles upon miles, asking everyone who didn’t speak good English how to get there. We finally stumbled upon it. Word of advice, take your hiking shoes because it is up on a hill and it is a steep one. The church is just as I’d thought it would be from seeing pictures but I did not know about the panoramic view of Paris you could get from that hill. It was something you couldn’t stop looking at.

We really needed some lunch by this time. On our way up to the church, we got some jambon and fromage (ham and cheese) sandwiches from a bistro. When in France do as the French do, oui? We also used the side of the hill in front of the Sacred Coeur to relax our feet and eat. A sidewalk performer sang everything from Lionel Richie’s “Stuck on You” to The Eagles’ “Hotel California”. We had to laugh because he kept putting the emphasis on the wrong syllable on the word “hotel”, he didn’t hit “ho” but “tel”. It sounded funny.

We went inside the church and I don’t want to keep describing things the same way but it was beautiful and very inspirational. I am not Catholic but you couldn’t help feeling “un peu” closer to God.

Our next stop was some shopping. We decided to take the Metro instead of the RER this time. It was packed. Some fellow tried to get on without paying but the driver spotted him, parked the bus, yelled out a few lines in French and then threatened to call the police before the guy got off the bus. We made a couple of stops and even got to see the famed Moulin Rouge on the way. It was kind of like one of those things where you look up and say “oh look, that’s the Moulin Rouge.”

We ended near the Arc de Triomphe. It is mammoth. I was awed by how big it was. I thought almost as much of the drivers who whiz in circles on the roundabout surrounding the Arc. It was time for some shopping on the Champs Elysees. Wow, the throngs of people pumping lots of money into Paris’ economy. I thought I saw a lot of people on the Magnificent Mile in Chicago but this was something much more. At this time, we were so tired from walking, it actually hurt.


One of the best parts of the trip to Paris was “Boeuf for deux”.   It cost 50 euro, about 75 bucks at the time.  The worst part, we were in Paris so there is no way to take home a doggy bag. We didn’t want to anyhow because the meat wasn’t even extra rare. “They just ran a cow through a warm kitchen”.  Be sure to at least try the language when you are there.  The French don’t like people who don’t even try to speak French.

OhMommy Does OhParis

October 17, 2008 Widowism One comment

Paris is everything I imagined it would be. And more. I have been fortunate enough to travel the world some and have to agree that Paris, truly is, one of the most beautiful places in the world.

We saw Paris by foot and by ambulance with three kids in tow.

We arrived in Paris at the crack of dawn and instead of resting the kids were all like, “We want to see the Eiffel tower” and “Mama, where is the Eiffel tower?” and “Are we at the Eiffel tower yet?” and “I don’t seeeeeeeeee the Eiffel tower” and “I really WANT to see the Eiffel tower, now!”

So guess what we did first? Before resting. Before breakfast.

We set out to see the Eiffel tower. Without a map of Paris, by foot, that is.

On the train, into the city, we borrowed someone’s map which helped us decide where the closest stop was to the Eiffel tower. “Should we buy a map?” I asked my husband. “No. We should be able to see the Eiffel tower and we can walk toward it.”

Sounded okay to me, the sleep deprived mother of three, after an overnight flight across an ocean. The Eiffel tower IS rather large and we CAN follow it and everyone KNOWS the best way to explore a new city is by foot. And. I reeeeeeeaaaaalllly want an awesome picture of us in front of the Eiffel tower. How classy would that picture look on the wall of my house?

On our mapless walk through the narrow and uneven cobblestone labyrinths of streets we unexpectedly stumbled across many quintessential French icons. On this four hour walk through the streets of Paris. I learned one thing.

You CAN NOT see the Eiffel tower from every point and the streets do not run parallel and you WILL walk around in circles before noticing you are back where you started and then you become pissed that NO ONE in Paris speaks English. You become so angry that you almost want to forget about ever seeing the Eiffel tower.

“Do you want to stop for lunch?” My husband asked me, “No. I just WANT to get to the flipping Eiffel tower already.”

We finally found a business man and stopped him for directions while the kids played in a manicured topiary maze. “Do you speak English? I asked him. “Oui, yes I do.” Finally, I smiled. “How do we get to the Eiffel tower?” He looked at us and smirked, “Are you really walking there?”

By the time we FINALLY reached the Eiffel tower by foot, at 2pm in the afternoon, every single person in our family needed to use the restroom. We tried to find an English speaking person for directions to the Eiffel tower’s restrooms.

The Eiffel tower is a busy place. It is a VERY busy place in the middle of the afternoon and the ONE bathroom facility is even a busier place. After we did what we needed to do, I rounded up the gang to do what I wanted to do. I wanted THAT picture. As we walked away from restrooms, my eldest child tripped and fell and howled in the gravel walkway.

I scooped him up and surveyed the damage. Clean knees, a tiny scratch on his elbow, some pebbles in his mouth, and a bloody forehead.

Shit. Excuse my French.

I looked around and screamed out my husband’s name. A woman, a mom, whom spoke no English, rushed over to me with a fist full of tissues. I held Jay in my arms while sitting in the gravel. I soaked up some blood with the tissues and surveyed the damage again. It was a rather deep wound, an uneven wound, a wound where I could see some of the white fat tissue squeezing out.

Shit. Pardon.

I screamed out my husband’s name again. The woman, who spoke no English, found security. I saw my husband and security approaching me and I tried not to look at Jay’s wound because I could not let my children see that I WAS FREAKING OUT inside. I was not only on the verge of tears I was about to vomit from tiredness, from hunger, from the sheer ugliness of the wound.

Security whisked us away to a secret door that led to the basement of the Eiffel tower. The main command station where the French army men with very huge and very real machine guns hang out protecting Paris’s most famous icon.

Not every six year old boy has a picture in the command station underneath of the Eiffel tower. He was not happy when he learned that we were waiting for the ambulance to take us to the “Hopital Necker Enfants Malades” on rue de Sevres street in Paris for stitches.

I totally FINALLY got THAT picture of one of us in front of the Eiffel tower. Jay in his sister’s stroller with an ice cream cone and wrapped head wasn’t the picture I envisioned hanging on the walls of my house. But it will do.

Back in Cleveland, Jay stopped the lady filling the olive cart at Heinens. “I got stitches, see? Right here.” He pointed to his forehead. “I tripped at the Eiffel tower and fell and sliced my forehead right open.” He proudly explained. “Wow. You fell at the Eiffel tower, in Paris? What were you doing at the Eiffel tower?” She asked. “We were getting ice cream.” Jay smiled.

OhMommy from Classy Chaos

Motorino Motorocks My World

October 16, 2008 Widowism 3 comments

My husband’s first restaurant opened to friends and family last night, a full year after its anticipated opening date (oops).  It was a proud moment for the Palombino family – even though the service was awful, the orders weren’t printing in the kitchen, and our vintage delivery bike was nearly stolen, we were open. It was an extraordinarily special day for me, because for the first time in four years, I had the opportunity to eat my husband’s food.

Mathieu cooks for hundreds – occasionally thousands – of people each day, but I have never been one of them.  I’m not a jealous woman, but it can be hard to handle a stranger raving about my wildly talented husband and his delicious food when I haven’t experienced it for myself.  Honestly, I don’t know how I’ve allowed this to happen – I love my husband and I love to eat.  Our schedules are crazy, we never have a babysitter, he has a huge banquet, I have a headache… there’s always something keeping me from dining while he’s in the kitchen.

Needless to say, it was a huge deal for me to sit down at a table and order from his menu last night.  While I didn’t actually get the food that I ordered (see “awful service,” above), it was amazing.  My admiration for my wonderful husband didn’t need reinforcing, but it gives me confidence to know that the pizza I ate is the same pizza that puts a roof over our head and keeps our son in diapers.  Hopefully, the octopus I ate is the same octopus that will put me in a great winter wardrobe, but I’ll wait until next week to bring that up.

Bonne Maman from Something Sweet

Guest Poster Turned Fangirl Makes Fool of Herself: Film at 11

October 14, 2008 Widowism 5 comments

When the Widow asked me to guest post for her while she was in Paris, I jumped at the chance. I mean, seriously, who wouldn’t want to the keys to this kingdom? You know they have some great food in the fridge. I wonder if there are any Chef-prepared leftovers around here anywhere? And she drinks way better wine than I do. I just hope they don’t lock their liquor cabinet.

Before I go much further, I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Jill from over at Charming & Delightful. I am a bit of an amateur foodie myself, which is what first drew me to Chef’s Widow — the chance to live vicariously through someone living a life I can only dream of. You see, I love to cook and I’d love to go to culinary school, but I lack a little something called discipline. And I like to go to bed early, so the life of a chef is not really in the cards for me.

I’m a Sales Widow myself, so I can relate to the Widow’s struggles to raise a family with a husband who’s away from home so often. Plus, the girl is just funny and fabulous. And her kids have ridiculously cool names! What’s not to like?

But I have a confession to make. My first thought upon accepting this great guest posting honor was “How I can work Iron Chef Symon into my post?” Because you know she hangs out with him, don’t ya? And her Chef is often one of his assistants on “Dinner Impossible.” So, you know, he might actually read her blog… in his free time, which I’m sure he has soooo much of.

And, OK, I’m just going to say it. I have a major-league crush on him. He was one of my favorites from the beginning of “The Next Iron Chef,” right up there with Chef Besh (another chef crush of mine, by the way). And seeing him on that show made me want to go to Cleveland and eat at his restaurants. I’ve never been to Cleveland. I don’t really know anyone who lives in Cleveland. Why would someone just go to Cleveland? I have friends from there, but I figured there was a reason they didn’t live there anymore. Everyone I know who’s from Cleveland now lives in Chicago. For real, like half the city of Chicago came from Cleveland or one of the surrounding areas.

But there must be something to it if a fabulously talented chef like Iron Chef Symon (and Chef Sawyer) has set up shop there. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a city snob or anything — one of those people who thinks there’s nothing outside of NY or Chicago. I’m a small-town girl at heart who just happened to move to Chicago for a boy and a job. But my entire experience with Ohio can be summed up in two words: Cincinnati Airport. (Which is actually in Kentucky, so I guess that doesn’t even count as an Ohio experience. Damn!)

But then Chef Symon entered my world via one of my favorite things of all time – The Food Network. He became the Iron Chef and I actually started watching that show because there was finally someone other than Alton Brown on it who interested me. Then he took over on “Dinner Impossible,” another show I had never really watched, and I added that to my Food Network repertoire. Then, I found Chef’s Widow here in bloggy land and found out that she actually knew him, like in real life. Not just from TV. And suddenly I was only Two Degrees of Kevin Bacon away from Iron Chef Michael Symon. Squeeeeeeee!!!

But I didn’t want to write some ridiculous fangirl post about how awesome he is. About how wonderfully creative he is in the kitchen. Or how he can make even chocolate covered bacon sound appealing. Which, I guess now that I think about it… I love bacon. I love chocolate. God, now I love him even more. Pure genius!!

Anyway, now that I’ve gone and embarrassed myself, potentially in front of the Iron Chef himself, I’m just going to go crawl back to my little corner of the world. Thanks, Widow, for letting me relive my most mortifying high school memories. Man, I thought I had gotten over that whole “inappropriate displays of affection” tendency. Guess not! That’s what a sexy bald man in chef’s whites will do to ya!

I Love Paris In The Fall

October 12, 2008 Widowism One comment

 

The Day Before the Dawn: Brunch at the Tremont Tap House, kiddies, Rodenboch, friends.  Doesn’t get much better.

Tomorrow we are off to Paris.  And I have promised the Chef that the interwebs will no longer be my best friend.  For seven days.  And I am ok with that.  My carpal tunnel has been rearing it’s ugly head as of a late, so I think I will give my poor hands & wrists a break.  Plus I’ll need them to lift all the wine glasses that are bound to come my way.

I have asked a few friends, a few I know, a few are inerwebbers, to post in my abode while I am away.  This week I will feature some the most famous bloggers in the entire world universe!  Muuuuwhaaa haa!!!

Enjoy them.  Commentize them.  Love them.  Stalk them.  Make out with them.

 

Au Revoir


PS Whoever left me that nasty comment about my taste in boots can suck it!