Pregnant Discharge Look

My maternal grandmother; Rosanne Fortoul

Rosanne was born August 20, 1879 in Lyon.

His parents Anthony and Rosanne Fortoul Demaille, was a baker, at 37 rue grol in Lyon, in the district of the Cordeliers, behind the Church of St. Bonaventure, at the corner of rue Thomassin.
The cradle of the family is at Fortoul LANS, a hamlet Jaussirs near Barceloneta in the Alpes de Hautes Provence. In the 1980s, I met Jean Remy Fortoul, our distant cousin, who was still living in the beautiful farm family with many children. In the late 1800s, the region experienced a major Barceloneta rural exodus, as the land was too poor to feed their many children. It is in this context that my great-grandfather found himself in Lyon.

child, Antoine, was seriously injured by a kick from his horse in one eye. Before changing to the predicament of the young boy, his mother took him by train to see the priest of Ars, who was famous at the time, with great hope in the heart, but John Vianney, the Cure ARS, could not find that the loss of an eye, it nevertheless reassured the mother and child by making them promise that if Antony kept the faith, save the other eye. At 37, in June 1886, he had to be removed and put his eye patient, and then a glass prosthesis. All his life he remained very concerned about his eyesight and often looked at with a small round mirror, his eyes remained sound, mirror, my mother has always, and he carried in the pocket of his jacket.
The day he left the hospital GOD, located next to the family business, Rosanne awaiting his father on a stone bench, next to the porch of the hospital. She wore a hand to his mouth when his father came suddenly, early in his amazement swallowed it and did not dare tell his parents, but this happy event does not affect his health.

My grandmother passed Rosanne therefore his childhood in Lyon, with her sister and her little brother Lcy Antonin, amidst the lively district of the Cordeliers, at the time with the Mercantile Exchange, the halls of Lyon, the Galeries Lafayette. ..


Rosanne, played on the banks of the Rhone, and Sunday in the beautiful Parc de la Tete d'Or. Sometimes, she would visit her grandparents in the valley of the Isere Les Éparres, about fifty miles.

A winters day, so that "she had left in haste to see his grandparents, all alone, sitting on the lap of a passenger, his little legs were above the door in the freezing cold. Arrived destination, the small market could not Rosanne, feet almost frozen and covered with chilblains, but again, there are no reports of unpleasant consequences.


In the years 1887 1890, with the restructuring of the street Grol, the family was expropriated and had left Lyon. Antonin, with money from the compensation for expropriation, built a restaurant in the Hotel Les Éparres of Combe. Rosanne would then have approximately 8 years.



is the coffee shop of the valley, my grandmother Rosanne, serving customers, knew my grandfather, Joseph Porcher. He was a baker at a few kilometers Nivolas Vermelle away.


Joseph, born April 7, 1872. Raised in a family of modest farmer, very soon he was apprenticed. Travaiileur and prudent man, he had left the profession because of baker's asthma caused by flour. As his stepfather Antonin, he built a hotel restaurant, opposite the bakery and waited for the launch of the business, run by Rosanne, to abandon and sell the bakery. From that moment, the little family propera quickly. Those were the days and fortune smiled on entrepreurs. With six children, Rosanne, was the hotel restaurant, assisted by a nourice, my paternal grandmother, and staff while Joseph bought a farm to supply the restored and managed a weaving workshop.

With success, a chjangement Rosanne found in the character of Joseph, her husband. love life took a back seat in favor of its business and suffered much in Rosanne.

Joseph knew and survived two difficult tests, first the removal of his family and the mobilization for the war of 1914 -1918, then the English flu which caused more deaths than World War! But in fact the new scourge of modern times who killed him because he died of cancer Sept. 9, 1936, he was 64.
Rosanne was then 57 years old and my great father's estate organization in anticipation of his impending death, benefiting his son to the detriment of his daughters and especially his wife! Nobody knew why he had not done this. Machismo, to benefit his boys, or did he fear his wealthy widow redo his life? I think it's jealousy, fearing that Rosanne can rebuild his life. In this way

Rosanne found himself overnight helpless, completely dependent on its enfants.Dans his generosity, Joseph bequeathed to his wife, a dependency of two pieces in the farm, probably to avoid that ends with Rosanne hospice service! It who had built up with his hands much of the family wealth!

She stayed a while at the hotel with his son Raymond and his beautiful daughter Bertha, who had inherited it, then left, following disagreements, as was predictable, with his son Rene, who had inherited him, the family farm. At the farm, went Rosanne useful in dealing with meals and housework, while Martha was working in the fields. Martha kept her beautiful mother until the age of 80 years.

Rosanne was happy for all his years but with its complications Health, Martha asked Joan, Yvonne and Elise, girls Rosanne,, take care of their mother. My grandmother went to school, in rotation, with his daughters for a year or two, then to the condition of increased dependency, linked to old age, Yvonne and Jeanne found the load too heavy.
I remember when we went to visit him at Yvonne. My aunt complained of not being able to care for her mother. Rosanne resigned then suggested: "My daughters put me in a nursing home, I do not want to be a burden."
My mother replied: "Never! Prepare your things, I'll take you home »
Rosanne was so happy to find themselves in front of her house she loved so much, this trade had been all his life! She spent the rest of his life sitting in her wicker chair on the sidewalk in summer, or behind the kitchen window in winter, watching "his" hotel taken over by his son Raymond was delighted by the comings and goings of customers and staff, and satisfied with the development of the family business.
She often recited rosaries, knitting socks and underwear, always wanting to feel useful to 85 years.

Dear Rosanne, if you knew how much I hated your pants I wore knitted especially when I had to undress day of vaccinations at school!
Dear Rosanne, I do not forget, you will always hold a special place in my heart!

I'm not quite sure how long Rosanne lived with us, but when she arrived at home my parents installed his bed in the dining room. Times have changed, because who would accept these days to accommodate an elderly parent in a small apartment and set up his bed in the middle of the stay!
This posed no problem for us, nobody complained of overcrowding and inconvenience, Rosanne except that knew she was creating trouble, but Elise, my mother never wanted to put in a nursing home, because that possibility had been discussed among the children of Rosanne.

Dear Rosanne, I do not forget, you will always hold a special place in my heart!

Rosanne died, August 18, 1965, kissing the hand of my mother, as a final gesture of gratitude to her daughter who had kept near her in the last months of his life, saying: "I leave with peace of mind. "

Tooth Abscess For Years

My paternal grandmother, Marie Morel

Marie Pierre Morel & BADIN

MOREL Marie, my grandmother


My paternal grandmother, Marie Francoise MOREL was born in LUZY in the NIEVRE on 15/09/1890.

The family origins of my grandmother

Her father Etienne Morel, was from Eydoche in the Isere and his mother Mary Eusebius Lonchamps, Oye et Pallet originating in the Jura. Marie Etienne and Eusebius, his parents met at Luzy because Stephen had come to work as a lumberjack in the forests of Moirvan, while Marie Eusébie had been placed with an uncle.

difficult life of Mary Eusébie;

Eusébie Mary, had become an orphan. While he was a widower, Julius Edward, his father died in 1877. He was returning from one market to Lons le Saunier and was caught in a snowstorm at night. He wandered all night, without finding his home and was found the next day without life, not very far from the village leaving his four children; Fortuna Eusébie Marie, Victoria and Vital orphans. In the town of Oye et Pallet, the emotion was great and a high cross in his memory. The cross still existed in the 1980s.

the death of his father in 1877, Mary Eusébie, born in 1869 was 8. Mary was supported by his godfather and guardian, Eusebius, his uncle, he was blacksmith at River Drugeon in the Jura, the birthplace and place of origin of the family Lonchamps. Going into the Jura, in the 1980s I met the descendants of the family of Eusebius, they still lived in the family home, above the shop Forging, which was still equipped with its old tools, it was moving. It seemed that a door was opened and Julius Edward and Mary, my great grandmother would come and join us.

Siblings of Mary Eusébie

concernat other children, I have no information on Vital, but Fortuna became a carpenter in the village of Vaux and Chantegrue, Victoria, she was a teacher at PREMERY . My mother had a painting of his protrait revealing a thin face and harminieux. Of four children, Victoria, was fortunate to be supported and raised by an uncle, a rich Luzy on wine merchant, and was a brilliant student. In Victoria, I have a certain amount of information, especially that they had three torment in his life, First of all, when the separation of church and state, she had to choose teaching secular, very pious, she lived it as a waiver of his faith. Then his only son, Pierre Dubois, a brilliant captain, died in the war of 14-18 and was a heartbreak for Victoria. Finally, quite possessive nature, they said in the family, with respect to his only son's relationship with his beautiful daughter were always difficult and confrontational


Eusébie Marie, She lived a life much more difficult.
Of his seven long years of military service, Etienne Morel, her husband had kept a difficult character, and his job logger and sawyer in the forests of the Morvan did not have to drink than water . To its credit, it should be noted that the profession of woodcutter was very difficult and physically. A Luzy, his wife often sent her daughter (my grandmother Mary) search Jules, lingered with his colleagues in the pub. The couple did not get along, so not very good. A few years later, for some reason, but just be out of that environment Etienne lumberjack, Luzy the couple left and went to live Eydoche in Isère. Etienne were carrying out a carpenter's workshop in the house Eydoche and at the end of their life, Stephen and Mary lived more or less separated, each in a enfant.Marie Eusébie died at age 70, May 13, 1938 of breast cancer. Stephen, born January 16, 1859, died in 1945 at the end of World War II 86 years old! They rely, however, every two, side by side for eternity in the cemetery Nivolas Vermelle.

Back to my grandmother, Marie Francoise Morel, their daughter .

Young enough, she went to live with his paternal aunts Eydoche. This time, she told us, children, anecdotes that revealed his character pretty well, kept goats when his aunt, Mary loved to ride on their backs, making them run in the fields! aunts surprised, because of the little milk that was doing the evening milking!
Mary knew my grandfather, Pierre Badin, in coming to work as a housekeeper at my maternal grandmother to Rosanne Nivolas Vermelle.
Mary had a strong character, very deliberate. Young, she was the prmière the village, wearing dresses that Devoille calves and caused a scandal the Church. She was also the creation of innitiative premiert labor union in weaving mills or she worked hard.

Mary led a life very needy; weaver working with the grueling hours of the day, she took the time to do hours of households outside the zone of the plants and obligations familliales!
All her life she was very dedicated, relieving its neighbors and keeping his parents and step parents in their old age. My aunt Marinette, explained that to accommodate all this little world, we separated the room with curtains to give some privacy to the various occupants. At night, neighbors sometimes type came to the shutters to pick up my grandmother, caring for patients. The morning was very early morning waking, but nonetheless, she took on her sleep, go to relieve the suffering of each other.

She underwent two tests a few years apart, the death of his son Pierre, fullisé by the Germans, just hours before the release of Grenoble and the loss of her husband, my grandfather, Peter, won by the long and painful disease of tuberculosis, a disease that caused so many deaths in these years!

With child marriage, Mary was alone in the little house "of the square." House she inherited the brother of his stepmother, Rose Perrin, in gratitude for having SITE WELCOMES in his old age.


his retirement, well deserved, she left the house to his son Gerard, to come and live in a modest two-room, near the village square.


She spent the last years of his life, valid, to help his son Gerard, the father of a large family of seven children. Then in 1970, after the death of his son and my father, Albert, she lost her wits quickly enough and lost memory. She ended her life, so brave, falling back into childhood, a world cut it no longer understood.



But all those years quickly traced the life of Mary, my grandmother, I retain it, a strong character and voluntary certe, devoted but also young and playful spirit, despite the ordeals.

Female Gloryhole Catchers Orlando

The shot of sake, a dinner at Mizuna

One Saturday morning on the way to the market (with my new tote , I was happy), we stopped at Yotsuya, a Japanese shop near the Place du Champ Jacquet. The owner of this store seemed to me there is still some time as a grumpy old Japanese, stingy with smiles and kind words but selling the dishes so pretty that I had resolved to face locked arid and courtesy. But to force him to buy smaller bowls, plates, incense, Maneki Neko and simply drag force in his small shop just for fun he miraculously cheered. In fact, he can smile. And even laugh. All these developments have encouraged me to start the conversation before the last time we went there to buy one of these little cats lucky on the anniversary of my dad (it's a small gift but the a lot of fun, I was happy), I asked him if he knew where I could find matcha in Rennes (yes, you see, I looked around and I'm a little frustrated not to me, also make Madeleines matcha, matcha cheesecake, the pannacotta with matcha, whatever ...) He responded with a cryptic smile and went to slide the door of a small shelf. He took out a kind of grinder who actually proved to be a mill tea he told me with pleasure and no hidden malice that allow small mill, after fifty laps to get a finely powdered green tea from tea leaves and classical instrument it had changed and that life anyway matcha you buy in France is not a good match, at least to put the price (throughout his speech, I took for the first time aware of her facial features and enclosed away from the face of my remembrance, I discovered a pleasant countenance, smiling, malicious). This mill is a bit expensive but it lasts forever and he said he soon pays the price when we know the game. I asked him if he knows where to find the little "badger" bamboo that the Japanese use them to whip matcha what he says he just put the powder and water in a bottle and shake well . Ahem ... I did not buy his small mill (nice in addition to all these qualities) but I have not completely given up ...

But that Saturday, we have not discussed with the owner of Yotsuya, we're just gone like to have an extra step before going to market, but while we are preparing to leave, I notice on the door a postcard announcing a new Japanese restaurant moved to Rennes. So far, we were loyal to Fuji, where the ladies are so nice, so fresh fish and green tea ice cream so soft and voluptuous, but if travel broadens the mind, restaurants are also taste buds and we were delighted 'get a new one to try (in fact, a few months ago another Japanese resataurant Vasselot Street opened and we went full of enthusiasm but we quickly became disillusioned: If the setting is very nice, the location n has taught the Japanese that the cook does obviously do not know sashimi or even buy fresh fish in the light of fluorescent pitiful shreds of salmon surmounting a very poor quality rice). We decided to go to Mizuna the same night and we booked a table for twenty-one thirty, quarter of an hour after the film I remembered there every day to G. As my desire to see him was great. Finally, her reluctance was justified, it was just no, my neighbor snoring and G. was kind enough not to sigh every five minutes (proof of his habitual boredom) until I myself revolt against so many improbabilities and ignorance of erotomania and care we can provide. Between two grotesque scenes, G. whispered: "Fortunately we're going to eat afterwards!". That shows you the enthusiasm that we develop on this meal at Mizuna.
The place is charming. Before, there was a Russian restaurant in this location, we wanted to go there several times but suffered from our inclination. The space is tiny, there is barely ten tables and a terrace. The light is subdued, the tones are soft. The lights are pretty. The menu is written on a slate. The toilets are extremely clean, small Japanese-style curtain and there's photo above the sink. Behind us Teacher evokes the table drifts sarkozystes not know yet how things will materialize unfortunately.
The server is a big boy we suspect he sold jeans and shoes in a previous life (actually, I am sure to have seen him somewhere, but where?) We welcome the launch kindly: "You okay? " which is a bit confusing since we do not know (or he has really sold a pair of jeans or shoes or else we crossed to the hospital but took intelligence, it is not).
For the small opening between the kitchen room, I see the profile concentrated the stove, a young Asian woman whose face does not exactly guess her exact country of origin (provided that the exercise is often difficult, sometimes people think I am Japanese or Vietnamese or Thai you will notice it is not very coherent, but in fact not at all but is it really important?) She's all alone in the kitchen, which explains the short wait between each dish but it is all forgiven, it must be exhausting .
We choose to sample the input of Kolok described as potato croquettes stuffed with meat and vegetables. Thus we see arrive two spherical croquettes, all golden breadcrumbs with a little mayonnaise with chives. They are obviously freshly made, steaming. The server asks innocently if we cutlery instead of chopsticks elegantly arranged on small pebbles and this issue seems somewhat incongruous to me to my face but hey, let's say it was a courtesy. Another oddity of this, however good boy, while G. surprised at the temperature of the sake that we ordered (the drink is cold), the server responds with aplomb as sake is not served hot in China but not Japan, which is not entirely accurate (we suspected but a little way back we checked) but hey, it offers the warm and keep smiling. The golden nuggets
and therefore smoking. We break a wand and we find a filling of chopped vegetables and meat. The texture is nice, it is hot but the taste is not very pronounced, it sounds a little croquettes mince pie but it is not unpleasant, let's say it did not have much interest .
dishes. We choose two that we share. First of No Buta Kaku Ni , second from Kara Agee. Both are served with rice (very good) and a salad of mizuna and eggplant (very refreshing).
The first course, presented as a Japanese stew (which was probably a great success that night since we had the last portion) consists of tender pieces of pork belly accompanied by Caramelized slices of radish equally Caramelized, all surrounded by a mirin broth, this sweet wine sweet and slightly tart. It's very well done, very good (although not very hot, but I confess I am a bit obsessive with the temperature of the dishes at the restaurant. In fact, when they are served in warmed plates, I do not feel pressed to finish them before they cool, it's more enjoyable. I know I'm a bit painful to live ...).
The second dish is classic, but very successful, it's chicken fried surrounded by a very light, with black sesame seeds here and there and topped with a salad of sprouts. The tangy sauce goes well with everything. G. loved much. The teachers were chosen from behind an assortment of sushi and attitude is very appetizing.
For dessert, my jealousy is put to the test (yes, in addition to being obsessive about the hot plates, I am jealous over nothing, but I treat myself. I said that the cook came to a tower room and she is very pretty) since we chose a vanilla cheesecake that I wanted to do. The texture is divinely creamy and caramelized top is like the cream burned, it's delicious. It comes with a very tasty strawberry compote who married very well with the scent of vanilla. Other delights of the menu were all like: mango pudding, ice, matcha / jasmine, red bean cake ...
Time flies at Mizuna. We go out happy, it's very cute, very playful and taste buds are parties even if some dishes lack a bit of character (but they had opened only two days earlier while this may be a break-in period). We certainly continue to go to Fuji for their sushi, their tokoyakis, their thoughtfulness and their smile, but we will certainly also from time to time Mizuna, if only for the cheesecake!

Mizuna : 3 rue d'Argentré 0299791866
Fuji: 4 rue Derval 0299381200
Yotsuya: 16 rue du Champ Jacquet 0299790450

Posted by Patoumi

Simulation Games Where You Can Get Pregnant

The Boudoir, Rennes, lunch on Wednesday, April 11, 2007 From

After a detour by mail, to send a small attention to a friend Patoumi fan of little shoes and buy some beautiful stamps , we headed to the shoe shops of the Rue de l'Horloge, for me this time. Despairing of ever finding shoes in my foot for the summer ahead, I was not expecting much from this trip, hoping there too I wear my shoes very afraid that they are not replaced before the next leap year. A stopover in Gallery was because of my fears, so I came out with, not one but two pairs of shoes. To celebrate this event as little unexpected, the spirit of friends with Patoumi we were there together at that moment, I do not know-and yet to enjoy the soft sunshine that lit our walk Patoumi suggested that we could enjoy lunch in this pretty spring light.
After a short detour by Nebuchadnezzar (where small glasses of wine accompanied by platters of charcuterie or cheese well know for supporting our winter afternoon, when our hands are charged with pockets full of books) that this proposed only day closed door, we decided to cross the Vilaine to the streets of south, led by a lunch on the terrace. We have a small address over there for lunch on sunny days, The Boudoir . He offered that afternoon just what a beautiful bright terrace.
For my part, I had lunch with a crumble zucchini, goat cheese and mint . The dominant is the goat and zucchini, melted and slightly crumbled deliciously among small cubes of fresh zucchini, mixed with small pieces of golden crumble, mint there is discrete. To accompany a small mixed salad sprouts topped with a sprig of chives and a good green tomato dried. Patoumi, for its part, has entertained a gratin of eggplant, tuna, tomato and mozzarella : what are the flavors of southern prevail, olive oil, tomato confit, melted mozzarella, tuna goes well, mixed with tomato, zucchini balanced and eggplant, even Patoumi not big fan of cooked tuna.
Bellies not excessively heated by the rays of sun tempered by a gentle breeze, we have gone back home, a step as light as the good eating ... and my new shoes.

Gallery, 9 rue de l'Horloge, 35000 Rennes 02 99 79 30 67
The Nebuchadnezzar, 12 Dr. Hoche, 35000 Rennes 02 99 27 July 1958
Le Boudoir, 11 r Jules Simon 35000 Rennes 02 99 79 06 19 (this is also a tea room)

Posted by G.

Perception Kayak Caspia Ebay

touron macaroons, house and home Pariès Adam, Saint Jean de Luz, taste of Thursday, February 22, 2007

When I was little, when my grandmother and I had finished walking and shopping in downtown Bayonne, we passed through the Rue du Port Neuf and the Rue Victor Hugo to lead invariably on the Freedom Square, where, along the Nive, was the bus stop that took us back home. While the sun was sinking, I watched again with a bit of trouble, beyond the confluence of the Nive in the Adour, the stone arches of the Pont Saint Esprit. I did not appreciate this perspective, so majestic it is, because in addition to those for the melancholy of the day, the Pont Saint-Esprit was for me the path that led to the station, the place where I was cursed leave, in a wrenching, this happy time of my vacation.
From the time I only remember a few tearooms Rue du Port Neuf, and this is actually until 2002 that the house Pariès it is installed. However, I already knew the boxes so characteristic of mouchous , designed by Ramiro Arrue , if I look good, I can still see the image of one of these boxes, set on the big red Formica table in the kitchen of my grandmother, as open and available to my greed. I believe that mouchous were a gift rather than classical were overnight guests, but on that, nothing is quite certain.
So it's not quite by accident that we stopped at home Pariès in St. Jean de Luz, on that day, although my memory of the moment, do not back me all these good reasons to stop there. This day of February, the weather was frankly summer, and we did not want to lock ourselves in a restaurant for lunch. Unfortunately, the seafront with its Casino de la Pergola designed by Mallet Stevens in 1927-28 but slightly modified since apparently it does not leave much room for small gargottes where you can enjoy a salad or grilled fish, go on the rear side of the harbor, and we could not forego the temptation to gaze at the clear blue sea.
A little frustrated so we are determined to do without breakfast, and to compensate for this frustration, we bring some sweets to enjoy on the sand.
We must recognize that coming to Saint Jean de Luz, in addition to the pleasure of the walk, we had another idea behind the head. We did not in fact failed to read the file Regal magazine devoted an issue to craft buttons in France, this reading we suggest that the next time we would stay in Biarritz, where we knew our love not would bring us sooner or later, we could make a short stop at home Adam sells buttons in such pretty boxes.
Finally, in the afternoon on the beach of Saint Jean de Luz with Patoumi under a scorching sun, was the occasion, among other pleasures, to compare the talents of these two houses.
To begin, Basque cake. The first one I tasted is the home Pariès. A crust that is both firm and soft, crisp and well sanded without starting to smithereens, contains a creamy, firm without being dry, the smooth almond taste, not too quiet nor too pronounced. The cream is great, all is harmonious between crunchy and creamy, not too sweet. I ask nothing else to a Basque cake.
few minutes later, I tasted one of Adam's house. And then disappointment: I wanted to eat another home Pariès. The crust is good, no complaints. By cons cream is thick, somewhat pasty or gelatinous, and most importantly, there is the scam in the air. The picture speaks for itself, I say no more. Finally, it is perhaps a stroke of bad luck.
This time, the house Pariès so handily won the victory with his basque delicious cake.
second step, the nougat. I bought from Pariès of coconut nougat and nougat in Adam's lemon. From that side, the trend reversed dramatically: the coconut nougat is much, much too sweet, not least, I desperately seek the coconut but I do, on the nose with palate that sugar, and taste marzipan sweet.
However, the home of Adam stands up, the lemon taste is present, rather than hand side peel pulp, but the flavor then agrees fairly well with the almond flavor that is the basis of nougat . To my taste is all a bit too sweet though.
I note that with regard to the format, that of the house Pariès is twice as big, but the price report. However, I regret having to finish a great touron not good ...
Side nougat, so the prize goes without question to Adam's house, although this is not the best I've eaten, but this is perhaps the scent chosen.
Finally the buttons. Here there will be no winner: first the two are delicious, and secondly they are so different that they do not seem really comparable. The
mouchous (kiss in Basque) is a kind of white badge of rather similar to those made today, with two shells with almond, welded by marzipan nature. The biscuit is generally flexible, not crisp, yet not soft at all. It's mellow, it's based, the core of marzipan has this soft side and a little dusty good almond paste, not too sweet. I really like. However, it must be a fan of marzipan, I am, because otherwise I do not see how it would appeal. Small clarification: it's pretty consistent, you eat one, and that's good.
Macaroons Adam did not have much to do with the buttons of contemporary pastry. They consist of a single shell to the kernel, cooked on plate, then cracked and slightly curved top and flat bottom. When one crunches, it is exquisite: the shell is crisp, the heart perfectly soft and melting. The flavor of almond paste is not too present, so Patoumi who does not like marzipan loved it. Not too sweet, not the slightest bitterness, we could eat the box without even without realizing it. And with the coffee ... Yum.
I therefore conclude that the two houses worth a detour, and now I would know what to choose. But I forgot: there are still other specialties to taste ...

Posted by G.

Bilingual Catholic Spanish Wedding

Le May, Toulouse, dinner on Monday, February 19, 2007

Since the Church of St. Sernin down a sort of long slide that plunges into the depths of Toulouse, which can naturally follow the slope straight along Rue du Taur, then crossing straight on the Capitol Square, and then plunging into the Rue Saint Rome. If we are careful, follow the steps calmly sliding the line and can conduct, without it having to turn any obstacle or meet up ... external device. Who would be nimble and can not exercise a little distraction, it takes just an hour and some four kilometers to fail finally here, stopped by a bath, say ... exhaust.
Although quite ignorant of the geography of Toulouse, our steps we have fortunately stopped before the destination is not conducive to giving us the pleasures sought or taste of the festivities. This does not prevent us going strong forward along this slippery path in search of a restaurant on the evening of our arrival in the city after visiting the admirable Georges Labit museum.
I can not really say that the task of finding a good restaurant that night we was easy. The city seems reluctant to reveal its secrets on the delicate topic of gastronomy. No signs or no card is reached we enter into the eye, and it's not for lack of, once extracted from the axis of which I spoke a moment ago, shot some length in the streets at night .
If I remember three places where we have failed to eat, I will quote an Indian who had a fairly original card, featuring the never-seen me out of my stay in Kathmandu-dishes Nepal. But since we know that someone found a dead cockroach in the attitude of an Indian restaurant where we had more or less our habits (the India), we have some reluctance to eat Indian food elsewhere than 'at home, and Patoumi, whose memory does not fail, did not fail to remember, despite the damp cold of the night, this is important. The deterrent effect was immediate. Going through the city yet we were surprised to see us all Indian restaurants nearby had the same card, even more surprisingly, exactly the same description of the dishes and countries from which they originated. A single owner held it the monopoly of those restaurants where the menu was a factory-wholesale prices it so interesting that cooks lined up on these cards instead of creating them by themselves, I do not know . Anyway, this has, of that side, avoided unnecessary regret.
can not be said of the Korean restaurant (the Yo ) that we have crossed the church square of Dalbade. His menu has entice us with its bibimbab his bulgogi and sauteed, but mostly we despair because we have found the door closed the two nights of our stay.
Another disappointment, a Thai restaurant (the Baan Siam) , whose amiable smile of the waitress who did not dare tell us that our cause was hopeless, that its tantalizing restaurant was indeed full, n ' has failed to erase our regret at not having tasted their cuisine.
Eventually and not without hesitation, we ended up calling in May, tired of going in circles, and find ourselves tirelessly to get this up and slide with monotonous linearity began to tire our eyes, and especially our feet .
Although our two adventurers will love to be entered tired, hungry, or depressed, they came out smiling. Why?
The framework is quite warm, rather simple heterogeneous objects, posters and paintings adorn the walls. Waiters and waitresses are friendly, cheerful and efficient while remaining discreet. The toilets are clean, do not be huge but it lacks nothing (like soap and disposable hand towels). And above all: it's still frankly cheap.
dishes seemed very (too) classic on the map, and we were surprised because we had chosen our meals without much conviction. For my part, my choice was the Dos colin Provencal. Cooking Fish is perfect, just the right firmness and melting. His Provencal dressing is observed, thyme, bay leaves, olive oil to balance combining with chopped tomatoes. The surprise lies particularly in the accompaniment, billed as a carrot-broccoli puree and a little stewed endive. In truth, one as the other accompaniments of these left little to reveal their raw materials, and each is dominated by a bunch of different spices very smooth-I have unfortunately been unable to identify with precision. It seems that the cook who wears a name apparently it Middle Eastern or North African (?), has brought to her kitchen instead of the traditional French touch of home by making the plate truly original. The skewer of lamb with spices ... (Name of the cook) has chosen Patoumi, reveals marked and subtle flavors, also came, as it seemed, by there, and comes with the same support that my dish.
For dessert, the banana-chocolate tart , very classic, but someone has spilled food was left with pleasure in following the course. Unfortunately I swallowed his land with the contents of my glass of wine, So I can not say.
We left satiated and serene, ready for the ascent of the slide to reach our hotel behind the beautiful church of St. Sernin.

Le May, 4 Rue May, 31000 Toulouse 05 61 23 98 76
The Yo, 3 rue Henri Gorsse 31000 Toulouse 05 62 17 28 September
Baan Siam, 12 rue Maletache 31000 Toulouse May 1962 26 53 03

And India, 41 rue Saint-Georges 35000 Rennes to avoid each other in the dumps ... Posted by G.

Cost Of Alcohol Poisioning

L'atelier des Gourmets, Rennes, dinner on Tuesday, March 6, 2007

one who descends from the market Lices to rush into the street Nantes cheerful at the idea of discovering appetizing restaurants may be a bit put off at first, when his eyes crossed that will showcase the association Follereau which opens the prospect of Street. I wrote that in spite of myself of the window, and there is no longer correct. For it is truly a look that one meets when one looks at the front, an icy look, a look perfectly scandalous to say everything, that reminds you that in 2007 it is necessary that people are fighting against this disease completely what leprosy curable, then we should do for decades to hear about it, as the case of smallpox for example. If this appears to mention bad taste in a post dedicated to gastronomy, I would say that the real bad taste will be that will chicken or lamb vindaloo Roganjosh papillae on naive tourists who visited India a somewhat Ideal too, will have a look avoid crossing sembable those that I recall. This small moral lesson, it's not me who makes it, by virtue of chance in the world, the street itself, who pays attention to his surroundings. If I transcribe here is that it struck me whenever I passed by this stretch of road, and this may be more than the first time it was given me, it was not for this simple image, but the stark reality and tragedy of a few men crossed into the alleys of Varanasi.
A few yards away, in the same building, a stark contrast shakes you by crossing the front of the Guehennec . We never ate-although it is possible that the taste will be glad, for there are the peepers who are in distress: the flood of fake wood trim in shades of clear, pristine tablecloths desperately whose boss seems to oversee whiteness, watching your clumsy fingers ready to drop or spill crumbs stuck-uptight atmosphere, we consider the worst meaning of the subtitle tradition. Maybe one day on occasion, run out of ideas for a ticket, in a fit of recklessness, and G. Patoumi themselves and challenge the icy look and scarf sad lady, to taste the dishes sir.
Income on the other side, we meet successively Café Breton ( where we did not hesitate to use the raw pork to a pregnant woman , arguing that "it's the way it is eaten, Madame, "and where you are invited to go hardly serves to release the final table in exchange for free coffee counter-but since the owners have changed, and I know nothing new), the Canteen Delight (we had pretty good eating, long ago, but if we remember a previous post, it was she who was responsible for the abominable syndrome the-course dessert full, so it should return in moderation, to judge again a clear mind), the Refuge (Savoyard restaurant that seems never-season, who knows why); El Popoca (Tex-Mex restaurant with the memorable pina colada was somewhat marred by burritos too bourratos , and seems to have had recent problems with hygiene standards, according to some rumors). And then we arrive at the Atelier des Gourmets , our destination.
We had already tried to dine there in the past, but had been turned away for lack of free tables. Consequence of this disappointment of an evening, forgetting several months. Then a word from a colleague, I suggest that the excellent cook the Arsouille his high regard for his colleague the Workshop , Put the bug in his ear. So we booked, this is essential.
We ate three times, and the third was too much. The first two times, overcome with emotion of a romantic dinner, I found the first room where we were installed rather pleasant, like a little bistro campaign. The second time I had found almost cute: we were on the edge of the window, sitting at a table in a quiet corner overlooking the street through striped curtains. The third time we are shown the second room, and there simply is ugly: Suspensions conical home Confo reveal their yellowed bulb, flood light reveals the slightest comedo, and the grotesque number pooch sommelier-server can not find any shade to escape our eyes afflicted. I pass on the wallpaper, dishes, cook book on the table with revenues leave Patoumi appalled ("false Ginette Mathiot where we make meatballs stuffed bread).
As we know, we take an entrance, two dishes, one dessert, two glasses of wine and a San Pellegrino , but our pooch we still wonder how he will do his calculation on the menus! I want to retort that I do not care, it is his business, but I do not have that rude and I told him to do as it wishes. This remark had already been leveled at the last time, but at the end of the meal only, and ecstasy in which I had sunk greatly facilitated my indulgence. This time, not neighborhoods. Taking
plate.
For starters, we choose a vinaigrette shells and pork cheeks, white onions espuma. Remembering the pork cheeks of Holy Love, we can only be attempted, although the small note Ferran Adriesque title makes me a little wary.
It brings us a glass jar so Parfait. First disappointment thus: the jar itself is a substitute. Difficult to describe the dish: clams and pork cheeks are very small cubes, shows no difference in texture (which would have been interesting, mellowness somewhat elastic pork cheeks versus the soft firmness of the shell ), the whole bathed in a vinaigrette that gives the whole a very strong taste of ... brawn. Well, on the question of espuma ... From my high school English, I have not forgotten that espuma means foam or, if one wants to make a note of lightness, scum. I am a little disappointed that the leader here, who does not, moreover Cooking molecular sacrifice to this unbearable fashion styling is all we can do with a siphon espuma. When the effect in the mouth is a cream of onion without interest, its lightness is also very quickly faded under the onslaught of our bands, to mingle with the dressing in a liquid informs. I do not care much for this entry.
A word about wine: I chose to accompany this entry with a glass of Saint Nicolas de Bourgueil 2005 The Rouillières of Frederick Mabileau . So yes, it's fruity, it is drunk, but so is the St. Nicolas de Bourgueil that I feel I have ever had it anywhere else. In my opinion, a wine with no personality.
To avoid appearing to spit in the soup, I still want to say two words about our entry the last time. We did not notice the detail, and my memory betrays me, but it was kind of shredded crab with avocado cream, with a light lemon vinaigrette. The accompanying a spoon topped with a walnut egg of a fish whose name escapes us and a little arugula. Without the title and precision of memory, this may seem trivial, but in truth it was perfect. So what? The cook he lost his head, hand, or simply his cap? See more.
The dish: Patoumi chose Palette smoked pork, vanilla cauliflower, broth emulsified . Decidedly, he bought a trap and he did not call. Patoumi found and determined: the broth is bland then announced "very tasty", the palette is fibrous and dry, the whole totally lacking in freshness, too heavy and too dense, and finally the cauliflower was a little bitter. In summary: not pleasant in the mouth. The best on the plate, Patoumi note, these are the rats, perfectly cooked and very sweet, but hey, no need to go to a restaurant to eat rats.
I have decided to hand the cop fillet baked pear with saffron sauce sangria. I will not mince words: it was cold or lukewarm. The cop probably would have been delicious as well rare, but can we speak of a successful cooking when it comes to coolness? Sangria sauce boils down to a wine sauce, however, rather light and subtle, but it is cold and begins to coagulate the plate. I'm boo.
To accompany this disaster, a wine country of the Vicomte Aumelas, Area High Blanville , Rive Gauche. This one, however, pleases me very much. Both fruity and well structured, with rich aromas, in particular of liquorice, a delight. But it gets lonely all alone, especially as it sets its sights on the can and say that although hot, she would have made a worthwhile companion.
Our last dish was a confit rabbit in a fine reduced juice, as clean as the entry that preceded, accompanied with mashed parsnips and sauteed artichokes (the server, as this time, was quite proud to tell us what those vegetables, as if we were fools enough air just to have never even heard of). The intensity of the regrets of our taste buds against the miserable failure of this time are matched by the ecstasy that ours was the last time. Finally
this funeral, we presented our condolences to Gavottin caramel. So they were gavottes out of the box, each with between one layer of vanilla mousse flavored industrial limit.
We were so disgusted that we did not coffee, and I got to eat, sorry, my dear Patoumi with a small Swiss Malo topped with sugar crystals, because to complete the whole ... I was not even full. And because we did not finish our plates ... Would we have each taken three course dessert, as indelicate server told us that it is more convenient to do so, it would not change much: we would have done that day, that increase disappointments.
So what? What is the cause of this wreck? Absence, illness or change of leader usual? New map not rehearsed? Unlucky day? I do not hold, and probably never will hold the explanation, mais il est certain qu'une telle expérience dissuade pour longtemps de se risquer à nouveau en de tels lieux.

L'atelier des Gourmets, 12 rue Nantaise, 02 99 67 53 84

Posté par G.

Gift Card Bridal Shower Wording

one easy pun, or how to save themselves the misery of papillae

Le chemin que nous empruntons pour sillonner les étals du marché des Lices varie d'un samedi à l'autre. Mais, au gré des saisons et des envies, certaines étapes demeurent ; et pour celles que nous avons besoin d'oublier un temps, nos pas finissent toujours, presque malgré nous, par les retrouver quelques semaines ou quelques mois plus tard. Au nombre des adresses qui connaissent our good figure, that of Roland Lécrivain account. Among other qualities, he is said to be the pioneer in the reuse of dairy farming Froment du Léon, a cow whose milk gives a particularly tasty butter famous. As was the incorrigible habit of doing everything for doing nothing like everyone else, it's not butter her we feast, but its raw cream, a small miracle if a smooth feather goose enough to turn it into a whipped a lightness, a sparkling and a flux absolutely none. There was a time that comes, no doubt about it-where we were particularly fond of his yoghurts, accompanied by maple syrup or butterscotch sauce example. Their main attraction, besides their silky firmness is the thin layer of cream pale gold that covers each of them, sooner tasted it regrets that it has gone so fast under the onslaught of our gluttony. Although the cows do not lay eggs, Mr. Lécrivain sells, and it is often those little fingers that delighted Patoumi transformed into scrumptious cakes.

On the side of this first hall, which houses the time Saturday morning Mr. Lécrivain, run stalls the organic market. If we do sometimes stop at random to buy lettuce, butternut squash or we stop at the stand of mostly organic vegetables from the island of Batz, run by Bénédicte Menon. Besides delicious cabbage, green or flower, there are nice red vegetables - red onions and potatoes island, the flesh firm and sweet and in season we do not start again from the market without a pound of each. When
follows the natural slope of the square of the Strings, we find ourselves inevitably down the second hall (Mr. Lécrivain located in the first) specifically devoted to meat products. Immediately below its last door, almost opposite to that of the auction house stands a lady whose name I know not, but sells throughout the year herbs. We mainly just to visit him in the sunny days, as she sells tomatoes of all colors, so soft-yet-quite firm that we seized the moment in the entire legitimacy of the membership of the Tomato fruit category (what monstrosities pale, acidic and floury taste that you sometimes can be a time doubting). This lady also offers the same season a highly aromatic basil adorns over and willingly our dishes and sandwiches.
So here we are at the bottom of the Strings and the market ends, maybe I like to mention another time other stalls that we hang out, but for now we are at a crossroads with a lot counted for me there was a time, as were facing at that time and by a strange coincidence, the flat and firm Patoumi my psychoanalyst. This in ancient times, before it became totally or we can not live without each other, and we decided to settle in this place where I write today, refuge felted view more grandiose . At the bottom of this apartment earlier that we do come across now only the facade is still a bakery ( Artisan bread) where we sometimes jump to bring a ball campaillette whose dense crumb, fresh and white-this pleases me especially being unfaithful to our usual Bakery Hoche. If you're not an early riser, it is useless to pretend that eat bread on Saturdays at the end of the market, it is long since exhausted when approach the hour of noon. The other interesting dimension of this intersection is that it opens that Nantes Street, besides the fact of joining the tour Jehan Duchesne is also a haven for restaurateurs, not all very common it must be said. More items in the next post ...

Roland Lécrivain, Market for Strings, and the Upper Village Farm
Combourtillé February 1999 97 35 210 50 31
Vegetables on the island of Batz, Bénédicte Menon Market Lices
The artisan bread 35000 Nantes 22 rue Rennes 02 99 31 43 67

Posted by G.

How Many Times A Day Can I Take Meloxicam

La Cave du Sommelier, a little of our wine

The minute I write this, a beautiful bird is in the process of launching its existence simmered chicken roti-wrapped casserole in our red, herself asleep in our oven. It is the miraculous fate of our virtual walk yesterday evening, during which our path crossed that of Lili63 and very appetizing picture. Our chicken for us, it also knows the oven for three hours, prefer to be accompanied by carrots and onions, my stomach still a little weak of his misfortunes before yesterday preferring lemon and thyme flavors a bit more neutral. I go back to the moment of Vasselot Street where I picked only because Patoumi known to demonstrate the serious need, products necessary to provide a hedge against any melancholy, and to delight our taste buds at our banquet this evening.
At Au Boeuf Charolais beef , quietly waiting, full of quiet satisfaction in finding the thin line in front of me when he was ten, when I know the nightmare that I would have expected, so to speak , an hour later. While only a dozen people, including myself, are waiting their turn, I find myself outside the butcher shop, which itself overflows onto the road by a small glass case where rotisserie chickens, pork loins well tied and portions of caramelized bacon under my eyes in a heady scent. If for some there is no need to make its meat self, our butcher had planned to keep her company a gratin of zucchini and roasted potatoes with shiny golden dress let me guess they owe it to a long bath of gravy. As I contemplate this spectacle with almost an appetite as we have just breakfast, a gentleman airs grandfather asked me before "hot chicken". His "thank you, that's it" in response to "you want something else?" the butcher who has seized a gesture nimble poultry crispy baffles me and I find myself in now identified with it ("thank you, that's it "is the formula that I use for general decline in consumer incentives for businesses), imagining her age, either in forty years, my grandpa G., eager to enjoy Patoumi peaceful days with little effort to do, now therefore come, as now, try not to prepare a chicken but a loan that we all enjoy on our sunny balcony, commenting on the comings and goings of passers-by whistling a small bottle of wine ardeche year ... 2047?
After passing quickly through the grocery A good farmer to get the carrots and onions, my good fellow poultry (the butcher will be able to find me "the smallest of the lower court" or a chicken is meaty one kilo two, two lovers), and cherry tomatoes C OEUR pigeon to wrap Mortadella Bologna for drinks tonight, I head to our favorite wine shop, the Cave du Sommelier.
Patoumi and I love smiling and friendly retailers, this is how our wine shop, besides being good advice, which is why we are faithful. While this may seem obvious, it is not for everyone, and certainly not for all traders. Not so far from where I look at the pretty bottles moment, there is also a tobacconist whose owners are among the most despicable I have ever met. It was a Sunday winter morning, and I wanted to buy a magazine whose title escapes me now (Patoumi and his extraordinary memory undoubtedly would remember, but I do not want to interompre in his work). Knowing that this newsagent is open, we go there. That Sunday, it's cold, so I put my coat with hood. Big mistake. Do not I know that the coat with hood is the sign that we recognize the young , and the young is a thief, a criminal, a drug addict, you name it, the more so when it is accompanied by an immigrant ? In short, hardly looked at the magazine I review the summary anyway before buying, I hear a voice hoarse and roaring and I see a fat cow to mop peroxidized, ravaged by age and bitterness, burst upon me with a "This is not a library here! You buy, or you go!". We have chosen to leave, not without shouting and rage as a response to this harpy. I finally had a meeting, did not increase the nest egg that some cod EUR; I have another one today, it noted that the press tobacco The Joffrerie , 14 rue du Marechal Joffre at the corner of the street Vasselot, is to proscribe his associates, under penalty of support Supporters of political guidance that I will not mention, for decency.
But all this is very far now, and I am trying to query our Sommelier . Patoumi and I are wine lovers rather light and fruity South-East or the Loire, and here we find our happiness. We are, through our Cave and a few restaurants in which we have our habits, as I'Arsouille rather familiers de personnages comme Hervé Souhaut (Rhône), Olivier Lemasson (Touraine), Catherine et Pierre Breton (Loire), René Jean Dard et François Ribo (Drôme/Rhône), Axel Prüfer (Hérault) etc. etc.
Mais aujourd'hui, il se trouve que je viens acheter un p'tit rouge pour la venue de ma mère, et qu'elle n'aime que les vins du Sud Ouest. Qu'importe ! Il saura me trouver un Buzet, qui j'espère fera son petit effet. Je n'en doute pas, mais quoi qu'il arrive, nous aurons toujours cette consolation d'ajouter une jolie bouteille à notre collection, puisqu'en plus d'être bons et natural-and thus leaving my migrainomètre levels rather lower than the average wine-, also know our growers delight the eye with the pretty labels that decorate these bottles.

La Cave du Sommelier, 22 rue Vasselot, 35000 Rennes,
02 99 78 85 09
Au Boeuf Charolais, 22 rue Vasselot, 35000 Rennes,
February 1999 79 16 30
A Good Farmer Vasselot 11 street, 35000 Rennes
02 99 79 16 47

Posted by G.

Good Consignment Store Names

daily Le Saint Amour, Biarritz, dinner Wednesday, February 21, 2007

dint of never eat at home when you're on vacation, we end up feeling an indescribable disgust at the idea of eating food prepared by someone other than oneself. It is not so much a lack of talent on the part of cooks-but find a good restaurant can sometimes take a trip of impossible challenge-but rather a ras-le-bol which takes you to lunch and wallpaper your taste buds tonight "restaurant" . I do not know, this may be due to the nature of the products used, or of any additives, spices, and even, it must be said, pouches of sauce that can be guessed sometimes taste a little behind this chemical.
But there may be something else after a while there are plenty of widgets surélaborés mouth, worked, we want a basic taste, simple, Meals on taste of grub, taste house, in short . Within the meaning of what prepares the evening when it was lazy and we feel like something warm, comforting, easy to prepare.
Generally, Patoumi and I prefer the kitchen household , simmered in the pan seasoned, or the right product simply accommodated. This is, after all, not so easy to find in restaurants. So sometimes, after a few days of vacation, G. Patoumi and are fed and tired, and they are very hard to fantasize ... a sausage and mash .
So we got a day of distress papillae of the year 2006, Holy Love. Because, believe it or not, that day, the gods were with us, and our dream beyond sausage puree was realized. But if.
It will readily than from a wish fulfilled as well as unlikely, we kept some tenderness for Saint Amour . The first time, after Lyon delectable sausage (yes, it's a restaurant Lyon) and its thick, creamy puree, we feasted on profiteroles.
This time, therefore, one year later we're back in the same small bistro nickel walls decorated with posters of Parisian exhibitions of painting. We are in the first room there is a second sunken on the back that seems destined to GameCafé less intimate than that which is proposed. Risk appetite requires, we choose the same table as last year, alongside a poster of David Hamilton say ... questionable. The room is sparse and customers for the least diverse, we are snug in this little quiet and familiar. In the middle of the room, a bar counter behind which dark wooden shelves supporting wine bottles and stemware, zinc, Dominique and Jean-Pierre Sattin busy quietly but effectively to the service. The slate must
leads us to select only the inputs: this time, we'll sausage, black pudding or sausage.

We shared everything, the four input pairs and served the dessert when Ms. Sattin filed dishes on the table, a look greedy on our part was enough to make him understand that we share these dishes, and his quiet eye lit up silently with an air of complicity to our greed. Patoumi and me, although for eaters, are not big eaters at the restaurant: in general, we share an entrée and dessert and choose a dish each. The last time we succumbed to the temptation of dessert-course full, we have discussed in a heavy, painful torpor for almost forty-eight hours after which we said never again. Since the healthy resolution, kindness and courtesy of some fine restaurants we have reserved some of peeps who said killers almost aloud how these peasants had hurt the stock market. Hence our pleasure to note that Ms. Sattin know what a romantic dinner, and what it means to eat according his hunger.

For starters, egg casserole with ham and mushrooms. The egg cooker is a perilous exercise: too thought it was slimy, overcooked it is dry. The young chef's cooking is skillful Lionel Elisalde: close to the texture of boiled egg, the yolk is runny, what delights Patoumi, lover of such pleasures. For my part, I would have seen a white a little more cooked, which would have taken the set to just over firmly that the mushrooms, by nature, can not really bring (they are here nonetheless delicious), but that comes when even the ham that is all. We feast on crispy toast fingers, and let the rocket escort pot The Perfect , my sweet Patoumi.

The casserole pork cheeks with potatoes is perfect. Sauteed with garlic, not fat at all, garlic is well blended, I would say that a dash of vinegar to wine in a drizzle of rain during cooking, small rats in their skin have the strength it takes . That is excellent, nothing to repeat.

I washed my meal with two glasses of Saint-Amour. We will say that it is a little wine 's drinking well . It has to be a good companion for the meal, no more, no less.

The casserole of prawns and artichoke hearts is perfect, even skipped, simple flavors, prawns cooked very well, even a touch of garlic and herbs to address. The agreement between the shrimp and artichoke is new for me, and I pledge that our little hands will be quick to reproduce once they return home. Excellent.

Finally, the third was to squid casserole with peppers. Firm and spicy, just spicy, no unnecessary fireworks is also impeccable.

Shame on me, I have no recollection of the toilet, except that they are clean. Predictably.

Finally, apotheosis. The panna cotta with orange. You tell me, nothing complicated. No, nothing very complicated in general in the kitchen of St. Love at first sight. But it is not enough to make the cheeks of pork or prawns in a pan to do what we ate, just as it does not add gelatin to cream to make a good panna cotta. Here we guess that the chief has his little tricks that give him the simplicity of each dish a perfect flavor, and especially an excellent grasp of cooking, a talent that is lacking in many leaders of so-called gourmet restaurants.

So what is the secret of the panna cotta? The base is a simple custard with the right consistency, served in a jar, covered, is the secret-a-candied orange peel on which basically a chocolate sauce. That agreement cream-orange-chocolate is amazing: the agreement chocolate-candied peel which is a perfect balance between sweet and bitter balance without one dominating the other (defect that often makes me suspicious of these two together), the firmness of the cream and small pieces of offset the soft flowing orange confit and grout. Patoumi and I have therefore plunged with delight our spoons in the bottom of the jar to collect the three layers of this dessert simple and subtle.

I put a 15 at this meal, a very good note. After the meal, and G. Patoumi have simply walked down the street and turn left to Port old, went to contemplate the raging sea whip the jagged rocks in light of the moon.

Le Saint Amour, 26 rue Gambetta, 64200 Biarritz, 05 59 24 19 64

Posted by G.

2001 Sundiro Scooter Manual

al piccolo ristorante, Bayonne, dinner on Friday, February 23, 2007

the afternoon, as we move to Spain Street, shortly after making purchases at the bookstore the Paragraph , Patoumi falls off in front of a sign restaurant. I look up: Al piccolo ristorante . We look at the map.
Two hours later, our charming hotel room Beaulieu procrastination: where to eat tonight? This is the last night, and despair, we have two restaurants in the running. The Nem and crispy pork , Thai and Khmer dishes, and A Piccolo Ristorante of the earlier and his jar of eggplant caviar pesto breadsticks and Parma ham, with its conchiglie cream of red pepper and goat cheese, penne rigate his eggplant and mushrooms, its red fruit basil tiramisu and finally crumble banana-caramel-lime. I inwardly reluctant to take the car in the pouring rain to get to the center of Bayonne, so we have a restaurant within 200 meters, but it is terrible, basically, after interminable discussions on the merits of the close fried rice and noodles dramatic distance, we have one and the other a mad desire to ... pasta. We do not even know if the restaurant is opened tonight, find a place to meet America's feat, I think of the aqua planning that threatens the fragile wheels of my 106 in the coming storm, and evidenced blades monstrous raging rocks at our feet, but no, there is nothing to fight against our desire for pasta, I see conchighlie dripping creamy sauce dripping in the eyes of Patoumi. Projection on my part or overflow of desire Patoumi? Regardless, we are determined. We start.
you can imagine the anxiety and G. Patoumi along the way, the prospect of a possible flop closed door, shower, wet jeans, not to mention hunger and drive to return to the wet and miserable Nem.
But no. Here we are in a small space with wood paneling and dark red plaster yellow sun, sitting on small wooden chairs in front of us with a web-basquo Bayadere and a slate loaded with small sweet-sounding Italian words.
For my part, I fell for the glass mentioned above. The base is alternating layers of eggplant caviar and a sort of pesto and sundried tomato I presume, cream. Between these layers are walking with small pieces of dried tomatoes, mozzarella and basil. The effect is very successful, well-raised, smooth but not greasy, rather on the freshness and acidity. For the tempering, the two small sticks overlooking the assembly are wrapped like little candles in Parma ham, which gives a subtle combination of crisp and salty on the flexibility and creaminess of the glass. Very well done.
I pass over the glass of Lacrima Christi I try to forget that throughout the meal by my San Pellegrino: party on an aroma a bit-how shall I say? - Like moldy pee or mouse (No, I do not go with the back of the spoon!) His stay in my glass has proven to be just flat, dull and uninteresting. No interest on that side, or at most a hint of displeasure.
Patoumi in turn had the good idea to choose a carrot soup with ginger and gingerbread. At first glance, superb. What, soup, beautiful? Perfectly, because I am served a little obsessed with the dishes at this moment in a small square white porcelain bowl with tiny coves japanese-cute. On the small plate is coordinated or this little gem of a dish, cubes of gingerbread as croutons. The soup is delicious: creamy, well-observed discrete-ginger is dominated by carrots and gingerbread. The pitfall of cloying and sweet combination that threatens the carrot-ginger bread is masterfully avoided. We're thrilled with our two entries. Small
toilet break. We think what they like evocation of a toilet break in the middle of a meal, but the equation toilets rotten rotten = restaurant is a long-standing equation verified and verifiable let me say a few words . (Although, admittedly, there are exceptions to this equation, I will detail the different variants of the theorem toilets of the restaurant in future messages, either through experience). Especially since here we can say that the equation toilets is to say the least. Not that there's anything to say about their cleanliness: they are nickel better: they are new. Blue and yellow, if you want to know what makes for a nice and cool in the heat of red and yellow spines and trim of the room (what a trip!). But before reaching them, we must not pass unless the kitchen and the shed. Making, an effect which is not very happy, we see the raw materials (sheets of lasagne Panzani for example) and that you wash your hands in the kitchen, beside the velvety pan of carrots. Rest assured, this is all very clean, and as the food is excellent, we gladly forgive that products are not the most luxurious (a la carte prices are in keeping). If I had not seen, perhaps I would not (all) know?
I hesitated before choosing the osso bucco, since, as everyone knows from his mastery of the work of Laura Zavan , Patoumi is an expert in osso bucco . I finally chose here because it is alla Genovese, ie al tonno, tuna being here an alternative to anchovies which has excited my curiosity. Success, at least. While molten, the vegetables are well identified. Tuna does not feel, but at the same time it does not give the character the anchovies give the dish. The meat is well cooked but a little more time would not have disgraced for its tenderness under my tooth. Good pasta, I have not seen in the reserve, but it tastes much that are neither Barilla, De Cecco nor . Which frankly is not a major embarrassment, as the dominant on veal and vegetables. Patoumi make sure that they are linguine, and I assured him that I prefer his osso bucco with it, although I really enjoy with it. A guy in the room we suggest a "It's better than my mother." It speaks for itself.
Finally, although Patoumi has been some reluctance because she had seen preparing this dessert with raw materials, say, grocery wholesaler (puffed rice and whipped cream, anyway), we chose the cappuccino milk chocolate . Yes, Patoumi seen, because we constantly see what happens in the kitchen, since only half a curtain separates the bathroom from the kitchen. This dessert was actually the name of cappucino. In truth, it's a jelly coffee (I guess gelatin over coffee) topped with a chocolate mousse pudding (made with whipped cream, no eggs), with the famous layer between each grain of puffed rice and a topping cream. It's very good, it reminds of glasses that were prepared Patoumi inspired by a recipe Lawrence Schott -but her recipe is chocolate mousse, fruit jelly, fruit replaced by by coffee resonate well on chocolate milk and the small croc-croc puffed rice is the best effect. Of course I would have preferred a home-made whipped cream but I concede that raw beaten in a refrigerator of the restaurant, it's not convenient.
short, we feasted at a price after all, very correct, they may offer, we now know, the fact that the raw quality of the preparation to doing a good catch up. I put 13 out of 20, what I consider a good note.

Al Piccolo Ristorante, 63 Rue d'Espagne, 64100 Bayonne
May 1959 59 54 87
Library Sub-Clause, 20 Rue d'Espagne, 64100 Bayonne
May 1959 59 January 1991


Posted by G.