It's the first Monday evening in a long while that isn't scalding hot. New Jersey has managed to survive a major
heat wave that had me worried the central A/C would break and fretting about
how I'd survive without it. Survive I have. Thoughts are twirling through my mind this evening. Change is brewing overhead like the clouds before a storm. I got to thinking about what I'd do if I had gumption. I'd jump ship,
meaning quit my job and dart off across the country and the world. I'd live in different cities, make oodles of new friends and absorb my
surroundings. Most of all, I'd fashion all those memories,
conversations and experiences into stories. Stories always mill about in my
mind for hours at a time. Sometimes the characters in my mind are so real I
could swear they're living people. On many occasions, I'm very sad they aren't real.
My thoughts about moving on, taking risks and starting over occurred earlier this afternoon while I was in search of a good café. The one I have in mind was closed. I wanted a place to write and think. My desperation for a quite café brought me to a memory of Paris. One afternoon a friend and I sat at a small café near the Seine. We sipped mineral water while contemplating what to order. The space between tables was narrow and a woman sat directly next to us. She overheard us speaking English and began to tell us of her travels. Her husband had passed away and she decided to hike throughout France as a way of getting over him. The narrow tables of France provide such intimacy. With tables closely set together and so narrow, one can't help but lean in a little closer to the person across from them or even better, start a conversation with someone interesting nearby. I miss those French cafes very much.
That afternoon I decided on the endive salad with Roquefort and what was presented was an enchanting salad I'll never forget. There in that little café comprised of tiny narrow tables huddled close together, tiny wicker chairs accompanied the tables. The salad presented in that humble café was nothing short of an art form. The endive was arranged to look like a flower, Roquefort was crumbled amongst its peddles and a vinaigrette faintly prepared with mustard dampened the greens. It was pure heaven and completely unforgettable. The light vinaigrette coupled with the almost sweetness of the endive contrasted very boldly with the Roquefort. It was both bold and understated at the same time. When I returned to the US the first thing I did was recreate that delightful salad. Here's the dressing:
Mustard Vinaigrette:
My thoughts about moving on, taking risks and starting over occurred earlier this afternoon while I was in search of a good café. The one I have in mind was closed. I wanted a place to write and think. My desperation for a quite café brought me to a memory of Paris. One afternoon a friend and I sat at a small café near the Seine. We sipped mineral water while contemplating what to order. The space between tables was narrow and a woman sat directly next to us. She overheard us speaking English and began to tell us of her travels. Her husband had passed away and she decided to hike throughout France as a way of getting over him. The narrow tables of France provide such intimacy. With tables closely set together and so narrow, one can't help but lean in a little closer to the person across from them or even better, start a conversation with someone interesting nearby. I miss those French cafes very much.
That afternoon I decided on the endive salad with Roquefort and what was presented was an enchanting salad I'll never forget. There in that little café comprised of tiny narrow tables huddled close together, tiny wicker chairs accompanied the tables. The salad presented in that humble café was nothing short of an art form. The endive was arranged to look like a flower, Roquefort was crumbled amongst its peddles and a vinaigrette faintly prepared with mustard dampened the greens. It was pure heaven and completely unforgettable. The light vinaigrette coupled with the almost sweetness of the endive contrasted very boldly with the Roquefort. It was both bold and understated at the same time. When I returned to the US the first thing I did was recreate that delightful salad. Here's the dressing:
Mustard Vinaigrette:
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1/3 cup champagne vinegar, or other mild-flavored vinegar such as rice-wine vinegar
1 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper, plus more to taste
Directions
- In a small bowl, whisk mustard and vinegar together. Slowly add oil in a steady stream, whisking constantly until all the oil is added and dressing is creamy and emulsified. Add the salt and pepper; season with additional salt and pepper if desired.
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