Mexico comes to my home in Warsaw

You live each day by the principles that have guided you throughout your life and mine surely include a deep appreciation for the mixing of peoples. From my early childhood years at the U.N. International school in New York, to my adulthood movement between cultures, I've come to thrive when those around me are not all of one similar background.

Living in the U.S. now, I admire all that the south-of-the-border Latin culture brings to this country.  The music, food, language, the social habits --I've profited from being exposed to them.

So of course, if I'm to share in Poland a bit of my life in America, it is obvious that I will want to cook up a dinner in Warsaw that has an eye toward Mexico.

Good, Mexican food in Europe is a rare thing. You'd be hard pressed to find a spicy chili sauce in a grocery store of Poland and don't think that's just Poland: you'd be hard pressed to find such sauces (in abundance in every American supermarket) in France. (I finally did find just one in the grand food halls of the Bon Marche, only to have it confiscated at the airport! Damn! I must improvise!)

The plan is simple: cook up a Mexican storm, play good Mexican music, and let the rhythms of the night take hold.

But first thing's first: I wake up to a beautiful spring day in Warsaw. My street is dappled with spring sunlight!






Even before breakfast, I hurry to my local green grocer (who boasts organic foods on the shelf and the freshest of produce in the vicinity) to pick up stuff that I've put off buying until the last moment: beautiful lettuces, cucumbers, tomatoes and a crate of berries.

I want to take this store with me back to Wisconsin! I love the care they give to the vegetables. And I love the fact that I only casually asked at the beginning of the week if they'd be getting fresh berries in on Friday (they come from Spain) and the lovely couple put aside the crate that I wanted, just in case I did show up in the morning (I said I'd be shopping then).



 


Immediately after breakfast, I set to work. The menu is simple -- or, it would be simple if I had my pots and pans and my trusty stove and if I could properly understand the way that my Polish oven functions. I cheated and brought jars of salsa from Whole Foods. The guacamole I can make here. I've been ripening avocados all week.






The main course;  shredded chicken in tomato-chili sauce, with corn tortillas (again, from Madison), rice and beans, and a salad, because I am a nut about salads. The dessert -- a Rick Bayless strawberry tres leches shortcake.

I start with the cake and stumble over combining ingredients -- no, Mr. Bayless, I don't have a paddle attachment to a stand-up mixer here! Indeed, I don't even have a stand-up mixer. I am determined to keep things simple in my apartment. If a Mexican cook can make a tres leches cake without the modern gadgets, so can I!

(A mixture of ingredients -- from Madison and Warsaw...)






On the other hand, I am all about presentation: in the course of the morning, I decide that I cannot hope to serve margaritas without martini glasses. I come up with all sorts of justifications: I will become a mixologist and bring with me a repertoire of interesting cocktails during future visits. I will support the glass making industry in Poland (we are famous for glass products here). I will surely not regret the investment.

Ah, but finding martini glasses in a city where the drink of choice for a long time had been something that can be chilled in a freezer and downed in one gulp -- now that's a challenge!

Instead of concentrating on the meal, I ride the trams and buses of Warsaw, chasing down one lead after the next.






And I find them. And they're beautiful and Polish. And now I am severely behind in my prep plans.

On the upside, it really is a gorgeous day and I have a chance to stick my foot in the park, loaded down with twelve martini glasses (I only need ten, I tell the vendor... another customer intervenes -- Pani kochana, but what if one breaks??). Not yet as green as Paris, but surely giving signs of new life.







(The classic Polish grandma: on a day like this, you see a lot of them.)






A quick coffee break at home (as seen through the new martini glasses)...






And now I get crazy busy and I can only say that if it wasn't for my sister, we may not have ever eaten anything but the guacamole, salsa and the tres leches cake. With margaritas out of very beautiful martini glasses.

My sister is an excellent sous chef. She does everything you ask her and she does it with decades of kitchen experience. And I've had years of practice bossing my daughter around when she helps me cook, so I've become good at giving directions!






I set the table quickly. Things look deceptively ready when a table is ready.






And then the guests arrive -- the usual wonderful crowd of friends and the evening moves to full speed ahead!

The men take over the margarita shaking, salting and pouring (thanks, Rick Bayless, for your terrific "honest to goodness margaritas for a crowd" recipe), the women have their glasses freshly topped on demand.







 



Come eat now!






And then I put my Sony down because I am just too busy moving between stove and and friends to think photo thoughts.

But, as is so often the case during these evenings, a friend will pick up my camera and take over and so these next pictures are not my own work (notably those where I am present). I'll post just four, under the theme: it was a lively and beautiful  evening!






















Perhaps the gaiety goes to our heads (I mean, how can you not laugh when your hostess volunteers to give a demonstration on how to cut a guy's eyebrows -- assuring the victim that she's had lots of experience doing just this task back at the farmette!), but before the evening comes to an end, we are hatching plans for this group of great friends to come visit me en masse in the U.S.!  You never know! (Are you ready, Ed?)

well now

I did not think that anyone could keep me from my writings at the end of a day.  I always deliver. Day ends, post comes out for you.

But today, my friends stumped me.  Our evening was so celebratory, so beautiful and well, so past the witching hour that I cannot sit down to write a post now. Until tomorrow then.

With love!

return

The hotel desk clerk asked yesterday, as I was checking in -- are you just arriving, or on your return home?
I hesitated for so long that he wasn't sure I'd understood. He repeated the question in English. Suspendu entre les deux, je suppose (suspended between the two I guess...). Then I thought how well this phrase describes my life. Only "the two" isn't necessarily home and Warsaw or Paris. It's home on the one hand and then -- travel.

On days like this one I alternate between thinking I'm nuts and thinking -- this day is so beautiful!

In fact, it is beautiful (though too,  I'm at least a little bit nuts to be here so briefly)! They said rain, but in Paris, so often the rain is just an idea, a possibility lightly realized. Today I easily could have left my umbrella behind. 

Breakfast first. Unhealthy, as always here. And I was too late for the pain au chocolat, which I suppose it's just as well. Do I really need even more bread product?






And then I have a full day of Paris. My flight leaves after 7 and even under the most cautious scenario, I do not have to cut into my time here until early evening.

I visit no museums. I attend no exhibition. There are many that tempt me ever so lightly, but I'll be back soon enough for that. Today is just for walking.

(If you wanted to enter this man's eyeglass shop, you'd have to step over his dog.)






I do not shop for myself in Paris. I do not need anything (I can see the scowl now on my Italian friend's face). But I do occasionally pop into favorite shops. To look. (Here I consider if the collar is of birds or of penguins...)






And sometimes my arm can be twisted. Rarely, but it happens.






My walk, which is not unusual and has been repeated many times in one version or another, takes me (what a surprise) through the Luxembourg Gardens.






Oh, the flowers!






I know you've seen some of these views...






But, of course, you've seen every view there is to be seen at the farmette. The point is to be refreshed and delighted by the changes, by the emerging evidence of a new season.






And there is so much evidence of spring, that I forgive myself for all these pauses with the camera. I mean, spring! The chestnuts have put forth their leaves. Real spring!






All green, a soothing green that makes you smile again and again.






So what else is blooming at the Gardens? For example, these...









Okay, out on the streets again. Passing too many neighborhood bakeries. 


 



They're making me very hungry, which is perfectly in order because it is close to two and if I am to eat anything at all today besides bread product, it has to be now, before the lunch period is shut off for the day here.

Very deliberately, I am in the neighborhood of Cafe la Varenne. 

Those who have traveled to Paris with me have all been dragged to Cafe la Varenne for lunch. And on each trip alone to this great big beautiful city, I try to make it there as well. It is my Parisian neighborhood love, even as I no longer stay in its neighborhood.

Oh, maybe it's not perfect. It grabs a lot of the government bureaucrats who work up the street and so the prices are higher than you'd find in a more obscure neighborhood place. But the food (especially the specials of the day) is well prepared and wonderful, and the waiters are superb, and it is always, always crowded, and it is the place where I can sit back and smile at my incredible luck in life at being able to come back for a lunch here again and again.

This time I am sitting next to a mother/son duo (the mom's older than me, so this isn't a youthful pair). He has a lot to tell her and he may be the only Frenchman I've come across who doesn't speak in a restaurant voice when in a restaurant. It allows for terrific listening!






They look angry, or sad, don't they?




 

Perhaps that's the subtext. But in the end, as she gets up, she gives him the most affectionate rub on his shoulders. 

And there is this couple -- well, I hope they're in love, because they look so good together!







 
Really, like peas in a pod!





 
Yes, you study the people here, but you also enjoy the food: an appetizer of white asparagus (with thin slices of ham and slivers of cheese)... 





... a vapeur of plaice (a flatfish that is so common in France) over spinach... mmmm!

And did I mention the waiters? 

As I leave, I tell my waiter, who is part of the fabric of this cafe-restaurant, that I am celebrating my return here. I've reached a very impressive number of visits, considering how far away I live. But more importantly, I expect that my next meal there will again be with my granddaughter.
What's her name? Because believe me, I will remember it! 
Snowdrop.
Snowdrop! I'll see you both soon.


It's getting dangerously close to early evening. And still, I continue my walk. It's so lovely to window-shop on these streets... Here's a store where the kids' clothes are so delicately pretty!




 

And no, I can't imagine Snowdrop would really need shoes like these below (matching her mom's?), but still, there's something so sweet about their very unnecessary position in life.





 
This chocolate shop always has some of the loveliest Easter displays...




 

Toward the Seine river now. This is the time where there is a slight trickle of rain. You can see the umbrellas going up.




 

And perhaps because I've had too much of good food and I've had such a beautiful if crazily short spring day here, I can't help but think of that song from the movie. If you know the film, you'll recognize the song, if you don't -- well, no matter. I'll print out a few lyrics.

Leapt without looking
And tumbled into the Seine
The water was freezing
She spent a month sneezing
But said she would do it again...

And here's to the fools who dream
Crazy as they may seem...


And so Paris comes to a close for me. Perhaps it's fitting that I should leave you with a photo of the set of blocks where I'll be staying when I am next here...






For now, I pick up my bag at the hotel and walk back, the usual way, past the Luxembourg Gardens. Ed always tells me when we hike that it doesn't matter if we have to retrace our steps because the view is always different heading back. Indeed: these are the same flowering trees that I photographed yesterday, upon my arrival. Different now.




 

I have several post post scriptums. 

First, there is the matter of my photos: I wish I had used my camera more, but the time here was so brief that I had to limit myself. Taking pictures requires pauses, thought, redirection. I couldn't give it that. Too, I love photographing people and this is especially difficult when you're loaded down (I did some shopping for Snowdrop). I have been asked so many times how is it that I feel comfortable photographing strangers. We are a funny lot. Where would we be if we put away cameras when a person stepped out onto the street?

I was never more reminded of this as when I passed the photo display by the Luxembourg Gardens on my way to catch the RER train to the airport. Brilliant photos of the park  from a few decades back! Of people, enjoying this most beautiful Parisian green space (though the photos were in black and white). If you're in Paris these months, I recommend you walk by and take a look.




 

Secondly -- I'm on the flight back to Warsaw and I mean to write my post but instead I sit next to a Frenchman, who is really a Pole who immigrated to France some decades back and in the course of our very long conversation (which starts out in French until we both realize we're Polish!) I think about how this stranger understands certain aspects of my life that few others can really grasp: what's it like to leave Poland, then, to live elsewhere and come back, though with one, but realistically two feet still elsewhere.



My sister is there, waiting for me at the airport. I don't know the airport without my sister! We take the bus to my apartment and have a drink together and reflect on all this.

interlude

It's odd to be in Poland for only one week and on top of this -- to cut out for two days right in the middle of the stay. Yes, I admit it -- it's a bit odd. But I don't shy away from the odd. Too, it's very true that my travel and my connections are greatly influenced by the availability of inexpensive flights. This Paris interlude smack in the middle of my Warsaw week and this was the only way I could spend a wee bit of time in France on the cheap.

It's a relaxed kind of a getaway. In the morning, I have a leisurely breakfast in my apartment...






I listen to the sound of my neighbor who still appears to be angry at his son, and then to the much more pleasant sound of children's voices outside. I peek out and watch them walk two by two -- young kids doing an outing. So common here, that not a day goes by when I don't run into many such groups.






I close up my apartment and take my bus from here...






... to the airport. Good bye Warsaw (see you tomorrow!)...






Hi, Paris!





I step out of the RER train station and immediately I am in the Luxembourg Gardens. This always is my welcome to Paris.

It's slightly warmer here. For me -- it's wonderful! Warsaw is a tiny bit ahead of Madison in terms of spring, and Paris is a hefty bit ahead of Warsaw. It's thrilling to  see the flowers, the green grass, the kids with their sailboats, adults with friends and lovers...











Tulips, primroses -- they're all up and blooming. How good is that!






(Actually, quite a number of things are blooming...)






I'm in my hotel room ever so briefly. Time for a selfie or you'd never know that I was really on this trip!






Out for a walk now. Not only me and my high spirits. Him and his dog, too.






I pass a cafe where you can munch on the neighboring bakery's pastries. It just so happens that the ones that look the best (in my view) also have the best name...






I eat dinner at restaurant l'AG. I tried it last time, loved it, was able to reserve a table for tonight. I wont show you pics of food. My time in Paris is so short that spending it on describing food on Ocean seems to be even odder than taking the time to fly out here for an overnight. But I'll include this one photo of the two people who work the tables at the tiny (but oh so great) little restaurant. I think they're in love. Don't you?





Bonne nuit, bonne nuit... Think spring thoughts. Dream about pussy willows and primroses.

letting go of confidence

One good night of sleep, and another characterized by sleep-lite. Maybe the third will be sleep-heavy? You can never tell when you mess with time zones.

I am lying in bed, mentally calculating how many hours of sleep I should have clocked in when I hear a distinct bell ringing.

But what bell? I have my iPhone. I have skype. I have google voice. I have my Polish phone.

I decide it's none of those - it's the intercom to the downstairs entrance.

Who could it be? My sister has keys and besides, she's busy cooking up a storm at home. Who would be trying to see me at 8 in the morning? A mistake maybe. I ignore it. The bell stops but then starts again.

I get up and try to open the bedroom window. The shade is half drawn, but I manage enough of a crack to see a retreating form: a young man with a back pack. (My sister later tells me that it's likely the son of my downstairs neighbor. They've been fighting and oftentimes the older man throws the son out and refuses to let him back in.)

Alright. It's quiet again. That is until the opening window dislodges the whole shade and causes it to come crashing down on me.

It takes a long time for me to figure out how to climb up, way up and find a way to attach it to the clamps.

And so I begin the morning humbly running late. Enough time to glance at my morning bouquet...







But not enough time to eat breakfast.

It hardly matters. I am meeting my friend for a morning coffee. She is my oldest, enduring friend. And as I rush to meet her, I think -- where it not for my friends and my sister, I would not come to Warsaw as often as I do. I love the place, but it would feel empty without them. They, and not my history here, are what makes this home.

I had asked my friend to pick our coffee place and she writes without hesitation -- let's meet at Brunet Cafe. It's an Iranian place and it's been targeted by the nationalist racists here. Vandalism, threats -- that kind of thing.

I wanted to walk, but I am late, and so right by my old University gates...







... I catch the bus and meet her there.

It's a lovely little spot and they even offer a breakfast of oatmeal. (A patrol car drives by every few minutes. The proprietor checks in with the police. They move on. ) And of course, I have a wonderful set of hours with my friend.









We catch up on everything, but we also veer toward politics. How can we not -- last time I saw her in January, we had not yet inaugurated a new president. But she tells me the political drama in Poland is even more intense.
I cannot agree. How can it be more intense? She is an avid reader of the press. She knows what's going on overseas.

But when I listen to her, I realize that it can get worse. So long as democratic institutions are still functioning to provide checks and balances, one hopes that eventually the better instincts, reason, knowledge -- all those fine elements of a society will prevail. But there are no guarantees. In too many countries, the attack on such institutions is very very strong.

We have lived through so much turmoil in Poland! Can those who mock a free press and an independent judiciary have such short memories?!

By noon, we both have to move on. We walk together toward the metro, concentrating on the pretty neighborhood, the signs of spring.

It's the first day of spring -- my friend tells me. My sister had earlier said the same thing.
No it's not! I had looked it up to be sure. Spring officially arrived here at 11 a.m. yesterday. At the same moment as for the rest of the northern hemisphere.
But she reminds me -- it's all in how you describe it. In Poland, we've always regarded the 21st as the beginning of the new season.

She's right, of course. You can describe things however you want. Custom drives such vocabulary. And anyway, it surely is beginning to look and feel like spring here. Even as the Polish grandma (as opposed to me!) still bundles the child in layer upon layer of warm clothing!






(This vendor is selling what I regard as the quintessential Polish flower box plant: the pansy. I am amused to note that these are actually from outside Poland: Sicily. Does it make sense to treat Europe as one? Does it make sense not to treat Europe as one?)






(I stop at a bakery to pick up what surely can be regarded as a Polish cake: poppy seed - this one combined with a Polish style cheesecake.)






(Riding the subway, I come across this young Pole. I hope he doesn't mean what his t-shirt says. I want to tell him -- you that's too big a request. Too high a price...)






(Pussy willows. On sale everywhere. Absolutely everywhere.)






My goal for the afternoon is to be at my sister's place. She is hosting a dinner party for her old school crowd (and I do know some of her old school crowd) and I'm to join them for the evening.

She is a great hostess, attending to detail, putting her heart into the meal, to the presentation of it as well.






It is a terrific evening, with wonderful food and a great mixture of Polish and English (my sister studied the English language at the university here and her friends, who date back to those years, jump (like her) between the two languages with ease).






And here's a treat: the two music school students who rented my apartment before I bought it came to the dinner party as well. They're progressing terrifically in their musical careers despite their relocation complications.






Later, I ride the metro back to my place and I think -- it's as if I haven't left, right? Except that I have. And so this now is my interlude. My break. My departure from the routines of a farmette life.