One & Thirty, Pt I: Biscuits Très Chocolat & La Manufacture

As mentioned in my post for Troy's birthday, the custom here is for the birthday person to brings treats to share on their special day. (Narcissistic aside, but I have always liked the actual numbers of my birthday: 7/17/78. Something about all those sevens...) Anyway, since I am currently in early retirement, I did not have colleagues to fête, but did have plenty of classmates who could enjoy some birthday treats.

Residing in the land of chocolate, I decided to try my hand at making Biscuits Très Chocolat from my Chocolate and Zucchini cookbook (source of the Troy's delectable birthday cake last year).



The results were some very yummy, very chocolate-y, but also very...flat and sable-y (sandy) cookies.



Despite their odd texture the taste was pretty good, so I gamely decided to bring them along the next day. Sadly ALL of my fabulous compatriots from French school had already departed for their various summer holidays, so I ended up sitting in on the Intermediate conversation class for half the time. ('Intermediate' said with a snooty French accent—I am in the Advanced class! Ha HA!) Though my little chocolate biscuits were generally well-received, there happened to be a pastry chef in the class (of course) and she offered some very critical, though admittedly very right, opinions on the cookies.

Unperturbed (or so I thought!) after class I went off merrily to attend a lunchtime concert—a beautiful piano recital as part of the Midi/Minimes series here in Brussels—of Mendelssohn's Romances Sans Paroles and other songs. Interestingly in the concert notes the pianist (who was wonderful) was listed as being of 'sri lankaise-monégasque' descent. I had to look up Monégasque and discovered that it is a person who comes from Monaco. Good to know for your next trivia match...

But, I digress. The cookies kept nagging at me. A few days earlier, I had picked up some strawberries and rhubarb at the green market, intending to make a pie, but I just could not focus on pie-making with the cookie problem turning over in my brain. So, using the C&Z.com version of the recipe (as opposed to the old-fashioned-printed-cookbook version) I decided to make another batch. Notice the difference in ingredients?



Ok, I'll tell you: three eggs, and baking powder instead of baking soda. As you can see, the resulting difference was pretty dramatic. Satisfied with having conquered the challenge, I promptly put the whole batch in the freezer to await my parents' arrival next week. I only ate two...or three...



With all this cookie makery happening in the afternoon, I barely left myself enough time to don my party dress for our lovely dinner date that evening. Knowing my love of adaptive reuse, Troy searched out a unique restaurant in which to celebrate my 31st. He discovered La Manufacture, a former Delvaux-leather-factory-turned-chic-dinner- spot.



The food, ambiance, and service were all great. It is actually common to find good food and ambiance in Brussels, but good service is quite rare. So, big score for Troy's instincts!



I indulged in the Clin D'Oeil Menu, including a chèvre trio, pork "royale", and this little beauty. I'm referring to the dessert of course. (Ha! I slay me...)



Never being content to celebrate my birthday for merely one day, this whole loveliness served as merely the first course in a whole weekend of birthday-ing. Hence the 'Part I' title of this post...

American Cemeteries in BE & NL

The lands that now form Belgium occupy a strategic position on the European Continent and as such have been invaded and fought over since Roman times. Belgium was completely overrun during the two World Wars, and the impact that this had on its peoples' collective psyche, not to mention the physical landscape, remains even today.


Taken inside the chapel at the Ardennes American Cemetery. That small, charcoal-colored spot, criss-crossed with arrows, lying between France, Germany, and England, is Belgium.

There are 14 permanent American cemeteries in Europe, and during our most recent trip to The Netherlands we decided to pay a visit to the cemetery at Margraten (NL). On the way home, we literally stumbled across the cemetery at Henri-Chapelle (BE), located near the border. Having found these experiences so powerful, the following weekend we decided to visit the Ardennes American Cemetery (the other WWII cemetery in Belgium) as an alternative way of commemorating the 4th of July. At the Ardennes cemetery, we had the good fortune to meet the superintendent and get our own private tour of the grounds. We even helped him lower and fold the flag as Taps played and the cemetery prepared to close for the evening. It was special and beautiful and incredibly sad all at once. But, that is sort of the punchline...here is the story.

I come from a family with a lot of military veterans. My PaPa, (my Cajun/French great-grandfather on my mother's side) fought in the trenches in France in WWI; both of my grandfathers served in the Navy in the Pacific theater during WWII; and my great-uncle J.D. (my Mimi's brother) served in the 66th Black Panther Infantry Division and was one of the lucky ones who survived the D-Day landing at Normandy.

I suppose it is because of this family connection, and also owing to my keen interest in history, that I decided to join the Amitié Belgo-Americaine, an organization that promotes friendship and understanding between the US and Belgium. It also commemorates the sacrifice and aid America gave to Belgium during the wars—service that is still remembered and honored among Belgians despite the 65 years that have passed since D-Day. Among other things, on Memorial Day this organization places wreaths at each of the American cemeteries in Belgium (there are 3—a small WWI cemetery and two large WWII cemeteries).

When we were up in The Netherlands for my concerts, Troy found out that 10 km east of Maastricht lies the village of Margraten, site of the only American Cemetery in The Netherlands. Neither of us had ever visited a military cemetery, so we did not know exactly what to expect. I think we both anticipated that it would be powerful, but I was surprised at the depth of emotion I felt when I saw the burial ground for the first time. The rows and rows of perfectly matched crosses (and Stars of David) provoked what a friend rightly-termed a 'visceral' response in me. The sight of it all, and especially visualizing each marker as a man standing in the field, was stunning—tragic, horrible, and beautiful all at once.



We visited Margraten on a Sunday afternoon. It was a rare warm, sunny summer day and the setting was beautiful—very peaceful, with lovely, well-tended grounds. The photo above is of the chapel/monument. It lies at the end of a mall, the sides of which are formed by walls that list the names of 1700+ soldiers who fought and died in the area, but whose remains were never found. Due to my background and interest in design (and probably also as a means of coping with the heavy issues a military cemetery represents) I was very drawn to how the cemeteries were designed and how it felt to progress through the sites.



Beyond the chapel is the burial ground. The sea of crosses mark the final resting spot of over 8000 servicemen whose families chose to have them interred there, in a sense resting where they fell.



It might be difficult to make out the words, but the inscription on this cross says "Here rests in honored glory a Comrade in Arms known but to God." This phrase marks the graves of those who were found, but never identified. There is only one such marker at Margraten, though there are several at the other cemeteries.



Each cemetery had its own architect and landscape architect. At Margraten and Henri-Chapelle the designers laid out the crosses in rows that appear as straight lines when viewed from one perspective, but as curves when viewed from another angle. The photo above captures of a bit of the effect. It must have taken an enormous amount of time and precision to produce a design of this technical complexity but visual simplicity.



As opposed to the curving lines at the other cemeteries, at the Ardennes cemetery the site is laid out as a Greek-cross, with triangles forming sub-sets within the larger design.



These three cemeteries (and perhaps others) were jointly inaugurated in 1960 as part of a coordinated memorial effort. It was fascinating to see how the design conventions of the time played out differently at each site according to each designer's own interpretation. The photo above is the entrance/monument at Henri-Chapelle, while the photo below is the chapel/monument at Ardennes.



It is difficult, without sounding trite or cliché, to put into words what the feeling was like visiting each of these cemeteries. A whole host of conflicting ideas and emotions went swirling through my brain: sadness, war, loss, waste, sacrifice, patriotism, ideals, beauty, tragedy, peace. Despite the horror, there was something beautiful too. We looked at the names on the markers—Estrada, McCormick, Pojowsky—and saw America in a nutshell: immigrants from everywhere, but all Americans. All I can say is that I recommend that everyone make a visit to an American cemetery somewhere to contemplate some of these things and attempt to reconcile a bit of their meaning for himself.


View over the countryside from the Margraten cemetery.

American Cemeteries Photo Album - Click Here

An Die Freude in Maastricht

One of the exciting things about singing with the Brussels Choral Society is getting the chance to sing in great venues in Belgium and other parts of Europe. One such opportunity was our June engagement with the Limburgs Symfonie Orkest (Limburg Symphony Orchestra) in Heerlen and Maastricht, The Netherlands. We staged two performances of Beethoven's 9th Symphony, also known as An Die Freude (Ode to Joy), and also his Choral Fantasy. The 9th is Beethoven's last symphony, a masterpiece he composed despite having gone completely deaf by that point in his life!!!

Originally, the plan was that I would go along on the bus with the choir—two hours up to NL, two hours of singing, two hours back to BE, four days in a row (between the dress rehearsals and the performances). BUT luckily Troy is a good husband and he decided that that was too much and instead we should just stay in Maastricht and make a mini-holiday out of it. Troy found us a lovely little B&B located in a converted farmhouse just outside Maastricht. It served as our base so that, in between rehearsals and performances, we could tour around the Limburg Province area.



My Friday night performance took place in Heerlen. Despite being founded by the Romans, there's not too much to be said for Heerlen except for this amazing building. Constructed in 1935 (I know! It's hard to believe something this fresh and modern dates so early), the former Schunck Department Store is now a National Monument known by it's nickname: Glaspaleis (glass palace). So, so cool and so ahead of its time.



Our Saturday night performance was in Maastricht at the Theater aan het Vrijthof. The building dates from 1809 and is the former home of the general who kept Maastricht as part of The Netherlands during one of the wars of the 19th Century.



The BCS and LSO onstage in the Theater aan het Vrijthof.



I am on the front row, second from the right. You might have to use your imagination.



Taking our bows during the standing ovations!



This lovely little building dates from the 1630s and is now a restaurant. A cool shopping area has been developed on the back side of this square.



This is the outside of the coolest bookstore I have ever been into! Yes, a bookstore...or rather it's a 13th-Century-Gothic-church-turned bookstore. It is now called Selexyz Domincanen, and the back-story is super interesting -- to read more Click Here. Adaptive re-use at its best!



Inside the bookstore -- so awesome!



Maastricht is a super cute little town. We were so busy enjoying ourselves that we forgot to photograph very much of the town itself, but here's an example of one of the pretty little cafés that are everywhere.



Troy waving hello from the shadow of the Pater Vink Toren.



This is in the courtyard of the Sint-Servaasbasiliek (Basilica of St. Servatius). Construction on the present building began in the year ~1000, making it the oldest remaining church in The Netherlands.



We spent the final day of our "mini-break" in the tiny town of Valkenburg. Among other things, we explored the ruins of a 12th century castle.



Beneath the castle (and far more interesting despite the tour being in Dutch and thus us understanding only about 3 words) is a huge complex of caves known as the "Velvet Caves". We gather that this is due to the vaguely velvet-esque appearance of all the paintings that cover the cave walls.



The caves were originally used as quarries, but, owing to Valkenburg's location near the German border, they were also used as barracks for soldiers during WWII. The guide extinguished the lamp at one point in the tour and it was PITCH BLACK, not to mention a chilly, damp 12˚C. Despite their impregnability, and thus safety, we really felt for the soldiers who had to live there for months.



Troy and I have recently developed a fondness for Mövenpick sorbet (so yummy), and seem unable to resist indulging on a sunny day. Having enjoyed a lovely long weekend, we treated ourselves to two scoops before making the journey back home.



Limburg Province, Netherlands Photo Album - Click Here

111 Biscotti

Let me es-plain...no, there is too much. Let me sum up: we visited Provence for two lovely weeks, returned home only to discover a plumbing/plaster disaster, were displaced for nearly two weeks, both got sick with sinusy stuff, and though we were able to move back into our apartment on the 13th, are STILL dealing with various problems created by Count Rugen and Crew i.e. the evil plumbers. (Don't tell me you're not getting the Princess Bride references...)

Anyway, after a Saturday spent packing, moving, unpacking, and cleaning (well, and a lovely party that evening at my friend Marta's house, so it was not all bad) we decided to have a rather chill Sunday. We visited the Flagey market to get The Waffle and pick up the last few ingredients I needed for my Sunday afternoon baking project: Biscotti.

Troy's birthday is June 15th, and fell on a Monday this year--a day on which he had French class as well as work. Here in Brussels (and perhaps elsewhere in Europe too) the tradition is for the birthday person to bring in treats to share at the office. Troy decided to take it one step further by bringing them to his French school as well. To cover that many people, we decided that I would whip up a double-batch of what has become my signature cookie: Citrus Almond Biscotti.

I am not a huge baker, but started baking biscotti a few years ago when I returned to Colorado after the summer I lived in Italy. They are not technically difficult to make, but are rather time-consuming, largely due to all the slicing, baking, turning, and re-baking required. (A biscotti trivia: the name is actually derived from the baking method. It loosely translates as "twice cooked".)

I started out with this:



And spent the afternoon and evening transforming it into this:



Troy had fun sharing the cookies with his colleagues and classmates, many of whom were surprisingly unfamiliar with biscotti. According to Troy, they were a big hit!

For his actual birthday, Troy requested a home-cooked meal since we had spent the better part of the last month eating out. He had asked for Mexican food, but said he didn't much care as long as I was making it. Somewhere in the midst of list-making and menu-planning, I decided to add a little bit of trickery to the evening (you've got to keep things interesting somehow). So, I called him at work and asked if he would mind a menu change, spouting off a set of complicated Italian dishes to back up my ruse. In the two hours I had between when he came home from work and returned again from French class, I managed to make the real meal, a Spanish-Mexican fusion of guacamole and chips, spicy white beans, chicken fajitas with all the fixins' and sangria.



Troy was totally tricked and the meal was delicious, a winning combination in my book. Given the craziness of the preceding few weeks, I did not have time to bake a cake like last year. So, instead we settled for scoops of vanilla bean ice cream topped with the drunken sangria fruit and crumbled biscotti. I even found a little candle to make it festive. All and all, it turned out to be a bon anniversaire.

An Unwelcome Surprise

You know that old adage, "Never let the evil plumber into your house unsupervised whilst in Provence"? Oh wait, that's not an adage. But it is sage advice indeed, as this is what you might come home to:

Unfortunately, we did not have a choice as there were some pretty serious leaks in our ceiling that needed to be repaired while we were out of town. We did what we could to prepare, including speaking to the workers directly about the need to respect our home and possessions, but to no avail.

We arrived home from a spectacular holiday in Provence to discover this disaster. Calls were made, voices were raised, tears were shed, teeth were gnashed, police were visited, plumbers were fired. In a word, we were dumbfounded. And, as nasty as these pictures are, they do not even compare with the real thing.

Needless-to-say, our house is uninhabitable for the present, so we are living in temporary quarters down the road (on Rue Jourdan, between Place Louise and Place Stephanie for those of you who are familiar with Brussels). It is a bit nicer to have a place of our own than to be stuck in a hotel, so we are trying to make the best of our current predicament by looking for the bright side of things.

This is the view out our front windows. It's not every day that you see random store openings that include DJs, dancing girls, and random happy picketers.

This is the back view. It's like Dickens come to life or perhaps like stepping into the world of the chimney sweeps in Mary Poppins. And that's certainly a new experience for most, right?

Our stove goes to 11. (Ok, so we might be reaching when vague Spinal Tap jokes are our bright side, but work with me here.)

The kitchen is a bit limited, but I did manage to make a really wonderful, Provençal-inspired Salade Niçoise one night for dinner.

 

So, in the words of the Kaiser Kid, "Things are looking up".