While I've Been Away...

Warning: the following post may or may not come across as being particularly bust-a-gut hilarious.

If you are new to this blog, I ask that you please read either this, this, or this post. They're comedic gold and provide a better representation of my zany humor than the post that will follow.

And if you want to read some more funny stuff, go here, here, here, here, here and here. Seriously. Go everywhere. You won't regret it.

Still there? Good.

My dear blogging friends: I realize that I have been quite absent from the blogging world for the past couple of months, mostly in the sense that I have not kept up with reading the majority of your own blogs that I know you have worked so hard at. For that, I can only offer my sincerest apologies. That wasn't very kind of me and believe me when I say that the guilt of not reading them has been weighing down on me.

As for my own lack of contributing to the internet, I'll admit that I have not been in the most creative mood as of late. I don't know what's wrong with me. I know for sure that I'm not depressed. However, it is starkly apparent to me that whatever creative fuel that was in my warped mind has stalled indefinitely. I haven't even felt like making cartoons. And I love drawing cartoons. As you long-time readers may agree, that, for me, is quite abnormal.

I'm not at a complete loss of creativity, though. My attention diverted to writing my first novel with fervor, and I've even begun to jot down aspects for the second and third novels. It's a conflicting stage for me. While there is no doubt that writing brings me joy, the more I progress with my work to finalize the rough draft, the more I am struck by the overwhelming sensation that what I'm doing is utter crap and a waste of time. (Did you catch the point that I am still on the rough draft?) I've begun to wonder if this feeling of self-dejection is normal (it is, to an extent), and I am trying to make it disappear so I can just get on with it.

And now that I think about it, I actually had some rather good blogging material. Here is a synopsis of what has been happening "behind the scenes" with my life.

1) I was nearly run-over by a car. The guy who nearly killed me didn't even bother to ask if I was all right nor did he apologize. He merely drove away to leave me standing in stunned disbelief in the middle of the crosswalk/zebra crossing. From that moment came the sobering realization that life is indeed quite fleeting and it set me into a passive-aggressive frenzy of wanting to finish writing my novels.

I hope that, someday, I can personally thank that guy for his rudeness to me. Whoever you were, thanks, you heartless, uncaring bastard. That frightening jolt with reality was exactly what I needed.

2) I helped my dear friend May over at Sand from a Distant Shore move out from Miami and drove her upstate. It was after said trip that I eventually discovered that a serving of Cadbury's Original Drinking Chocolate allegedly has 602 calories.

I then sent an e-mail to Cadbury UK and got a response a week later from Kraft Foods Consumer Relations stating that they will forward the information to the appropriate staff. Let's say that it was...slightly disappointing that I didn't get an e-mail from Britain.

3) I did, however, receive three postcards from a lovely Scottish friend of mine who also had the foresight to send me some buttery shortbread fingers...

Glasgow and Westies FTW

 ...and some *GASP* BRITISH CADBURY DAIRY MILK!

Hallelujah! It's the REAL stuff!

Also, my bedroom now has a wee stealth Nessie lurking about a shelf. I suspect that it likes its new home in Miami.

4) I went to visit my friend May a second time and officially became a hoarder of British food.

Seriously, folks, I need help.

5) On a completely unrelated note, I am considering doing my Master's program in the U.K.

Like, for realsies. I'll even spell "program" as "programme" and refer to quotation marks as inverted commas if needed.

I certainly haven't given up on my long-term dream of moving to France, but in regards to my education, I've been toying with this idea for a few weeks now and the biggest question I keep asking myself is "why not?" At least the university coursework will be in my native language...

U.K. pals, do any of you know of good universities you can recommend to me for a Master's program, preferably in literature? I figured that, at the very least, I should stick to what I know and enrich that knowledge.

Barb the French Bean

P.S.

Two Beans Or Not Two Beans turned two years old this month and I forgot to celebrate it. Oops.

Short Random Ideas Post

The title is pretty self-explanatory. Please enjoy my insanity while I get some stuff out of my system.

This is a sign that I'd like to see displayed across American fast food restaurants.

A Winnie the Pooh Mr. T.

Barb the French Bean

Cooking Corner: Ratatouille

Much thanks to the lovely Pish Posh for inspiring this post!

What do you think about when you read the word "ratatouille?" Does it conjure in your mind a Pixar animation mouse in Paris that prepares French dishes so delectable that it melts even the most permanent sneer of jaded food critics? 

Because if it does, that is totally understandable. Despite all my years of studying French language and culture, I myself had a vague knowledge of the Provençale dish until that film came out in 2007. 

(Oh, and while I'm on the subject of the film, I will take a moment to add that I was quite indignant when I discovered that the DVD I purchased for a film that is based in France didn't even have French-language audio or subtitle options when The Incredibles did.)

(Call it silly or even irrational, but that has been burning inside of me for years.)

For me, "ratatouille" evokes fond memories of when I spent a few happy weeks under the sunshine and vast azure skies of the South of France with my dear friend Mimi. During one trip, I had the opportunity to shop in the local grocer in the village of Solliès-Pont to buy his fresh produce. His corner of the world had character. Splashes of color were spread among the baskets and stalls. The fragrance of wild strawberries seeped into my nose, awakening my senses and creating a flood in my mouth. Bulbs of garlic hung from the ceiling as dried bouquets of flowers and lavender decorated the ochre walls.

I was fairly miffed that my camera's battery conveniently died during my outing.

Once we made it back to the Provençal retreat, it was then that our friend Lucienne instructed me on how to make what is possibly the best vegetable dish I have eaten to date, one that gladly made me ask for seconds when one bowl would have sufficed. My carefree joy short-lived, I was lucky enough to have had Lucienne pass down her wisdom to me so I could replicate the same recipe when I returned to the States.

Ratatouille à la Lucienne
Can be paired with white rice or enjoyed on its own. Amply serves 4 people...or one ravenous American.

Ingredients

1 eggplant/aubergine

2 zucchini/courgettes

1 red bell pepper

1 yellow bell pepper

2 pounds of tomatoes, preferably plum or vine-ripened

1 onion, preferably white

2 tbsp of olive oil

Fresh sprigs of parsley and basil 

Salt and pepper to taste

Cooking Equipment
Cutting board
Knife
Large sauce pan with lid
Wooden spoon
5 bowls

Steps
1) Prep all ingredients by washing the vegetables.

2) Take the vegetables and vent out your frustrations with the knife and cutting board, separating each ingredient in its own bowl

• Cut the eggplant/aubergine into half-inch cubes and separate it into a bowl
• Do the same to the zucchini/courgettes
• Slice the bell peppers, discarding the middle section and cleaning the stray seeds
• Have a cry and chop the onion
• Remove the stem end of the tomatoes. Halve and then quarter each section. Do not throw away the seeds.

At this point, you should be ready to cook.

3) Tip the olive oil into the sauce pan and warm the heating element at the medium heat range. Once the oil starts to show signs of bubbling, dump the eggplant/aubergine cubes to brown them. Stir occasionally with the wooden spoon.

4) Once the cubes have been browned, remove the contents from the pan and then add the zucchini/courgette cubes. Cook for five minutes.

5) Stir in the bell peppers to the zucchini/courgette, cooking for 3-5 minutes. (The bell peppers will start to release water.)

6) Re-add the eggplant/aubergine.

7) At this point, you may add the salt and pepper to taste.

8) Layer the vegetable mixture with the chopped onion and then dump the tomato quarters on top. DON'T MIX YET.

9) Lower the temperature to low-medium range.You are now ready to cover the saucepan with the lid to cook for another 30 to 45 minutes.

10) Once the ratatouille has a consistency of chunky soup, stir the concoction and gently throw in the sprigs of parsley and basil. Cook for another 3 minutes.

11) Eat.

Please be conscious that, as it is with anything in life, everyone has their own cooking styles. If I were to try to make a recipe that my mother made, there will always be a lingering twinge of regret that what I've made isn't an exact replica.

I won't fool myself: my ratatouille is never going to taste like the one Lucienne made with her experienced panache.

But it's pretty damn close!

By the way, if you want to check out an awesome site for more veggie-friendly recipes and a humorous take on getting fit (both in the American and British sense of the word), I recommend visiting THE Pish Posh. Not only does she cook well but she also has a bust-a-gut sense of humor.

Go visit her. DO IT.

Barb the French Bean

Something That Makes Me Happy...And Something That Doesn't

The thing that makes me happy:

They come every year around April and in different colors. I seek them among the branches as I would  a delectable treasure. They are good at hiding under the leaves, but I find them. Sunshine yellow. Lime green. Sunset orange. And a vivid scarlet.

The best ones to eat are the red ones. I love it when the plump, accordion ridges are ready to burst after they have ripened on the bushes that line the fence.

I silently revel that they are almost the same shade as my nail polish.

As I wash them, my mother tells me childhood recollections of these fruits. In her hometown, there were a series of trees that towered several meters above her. After a rainfall, the emerald blades of grass would be dotted by splashes of warm colors as she and her siblings would scurry to collect them for their home.

I bite into each sumptuous cherry. The best ones, the ones to have reached their peak, have a flavor that is a subdued mixture between Ranier cherries and mangoes. I think back to my Mother's youth and wonder if her child self felt elation from eating something that was undeniably pure.

Having missed out on this little pleasure, that of eating Surinam cherries and sharing the moment with my family for almost three years, I had substituted my tropical cherries with a different variety when I lived in a temperate zone. While the flowers were more aesthetically pleasing, the taste simply wasn't the same. I often take the little things for granted.

As for the thing that doesn't make me happy:

No comment.

Barb the French Bean

This Is Something That Cracked Me Up

As I was browsing the internet over the Starbucks website, I came across an interestingly-named product.

Now, most unsuspecting individuals will look at this benign image and think "ooh, bagel, I'm gonna slather you with some cream cheese and you're gonna like it! Mm, yeah."

But not me.

You wanna know why?

Because the damned bagel is called a CHONGA bagel.

And that cracks me up.

See, being a native of South Florida, when I was in middle school, I was a witness to a phenomenon in which 90% of the girls my age would emulate a fashion style that is known as "Chonga." This trend is a mixture between ghetto-fabulous and gaudy flea market bling.

For a more thorough explanation, please take a moment to watch the video that I've embedded in this post.




(In case you were wondering if I was ever a Chonga, then I have clearly not done a good job at conveying my nerdy personality through my blog posts.)

Looking at the photo of the Chonga bagel, I naturally had to do this:

Mmm. Chongalicious Chonga Bagel is Chongalicious.

Barb the (still sick and delirious) French Bean

Oh, Crêpe! (Take Two)

Long-time readers of Two Beans or Not Two Beans have probably perceived that I am a die-hard lover of France and French culture. A francophile, if you will. And being the die-hard francophile that I am, I simply couldn't forget that today is a special day in France.

Can you guess what it is?



It's La Chandeleur, the day I panic and make crêpes at the last minute.

Not wanting to forget the kitchen disasters wonderful things I learned, I decided to make savory crêpes as opposed to sweet, apricot-jam ones from last year. It made more sense to make taco-esque crêpes for dinner, anyway.

I am glad to report that my crêpe-makin' skillz have greatly improved from last year.

In fact, the worst crêpe that I created was the last one because I simply didn't have enough batter left to make a proper one.

Safe to say, this year, I managed to make crêpes without any hitches in the kitchen.

Nope.

None whatsoever.

Um... *twiddles thumbs*

Like an idiot, I placed the hot frying pan on top of my plastic red cutting board, which made it ooze like blood.

I can add yet another unforgettable moment to my culinary feats.

Barb the French Bean

Today, I Feel Like A Woman

Today, I, Barb the French Bean, asserted my feminine kitchen skills and made French baguettes for the very first time in my life.

Yes, today, I made my bread-baking ancestors proud by using nothing but bread flour, water, salt and pungent active yeast that stunk up my kitchen.

(Mm. Can't you just feel the artisanal traditions of yore emanating from their misshapen golden brown crusts?)

Next time, I will add "a pinch of patience" to that list of ingredients.

You have my permission to laugh at how wonky they look, but don't you dare ask me to make a sammich with them. I make sammiches for NO ONE but myself.

(They went well with fried eggs and melted cheddar cheese.)

Speculoos + Bastogne Cookies = My Diet is Ruined

Today, I finally caved in to the inevitable. I bought myself my very first jar of Speculoos pâte à tartiner.

Speculoos spread based on Speculoos cookies, a yummy cinnamon-y treat that goes well with espresso coffees and teas. The paste, though, is on a whole other plane from its delicious crunchy cousin.

My friends, Speculoos pâte à tartiner is the equivalent of nicotine for your tastebuds. I had just one teaspoon of the stuff and that was enough to have me salivating for days. My very thoughts were consumed by the call of the Speculoos desire until I cracked and bought some for myself.

I also took the chance and purchased some Bastogne cookies. These are the French equivalent of the Belgian/Dutch treat. It only seemed natural to put Speculoos spread on Bastogne cookies. Mixing a crunchy, crumbly texture with a divine lighter-than-air cinnamon cream...it's enough to drive my Shakira-hotness diet against a wall.

These two make a very, very dangerous combination...

I dipped the spoon into the seemingly docile jar. I scooped out a minor dollop that seemed nearly negligible. With a swift, dexterous movement, the cookie and cream became one. I sink my front teeth into biscuit.



This is my Speculoos face, the physical manifestation of ecstasy and nirvana on my being. My foie gras face happens to be the same.

One cookie just wasn't enough. I needed to have just one more...

It is just so good. I see no need for a spoon. What is that good for, anyway? I can just use my index finger to scoop it out...

With each bite, I am further rendered into a hazy state of culinary addiction and I succumb to releasing all sense of reason and feeling...

And then I am gone.

Speculoos. This alone is enough of a reason as to why I should remain in France for the rest of my days.

For another Speculoos-addict with an amazingly hysterical blog, go check out Invader Stu at Invading Holland. He confesses of his addiction here and recounts how he almost had an intervention from caring friends here.

(By the way, his blog just recently turned five years old, so go congratulate him! )

Barb the French Bean

Should I become a Mail-Order Bride?

Seeing as how there are only a few legal ways to remain in France, I should try experimenting. As a foreigner, I could get a visa if I were to study abroad or if I worked over there. I could obtain residency after five years.

I could also get married. A marriage would remove the tedious, messy paperwork process of visa and university applications and would grant me automatic residency. That is why I would like to try to be a mail-order bride. Hey, if it works for girls in other countries, why shouldn't it work for me?

Think of the potential! It's a Win-Win situation for me: I'd get to live in France and I'd get a French husband.

The market between Frenchmen with an American counterpart still needs to be tapped into, so I may have a chance...

But how would I advertise myself? I realize that, given my physical tendencies to be overweight, I have a lot of competition from elegant and graceful Frenchgirls who pay the keenest attention to every detail in their appearance. When I first got to Dijon, I was stunned by how lovely all of the Dijonnaises seemed to be. Next to them, I felt like a bloated slob. And I looked like Spongebob Squarepants. And what Frenchman wouldn't want to marry a foreigner who has a braying laugh?

No. I need to say something that entices them. I need to talk about something that they find absolutely irresistible. I need to talk about...food.

They love their food.

"Vous êtes pour moi? Are you for me?

Because I am for you!

*winks*

Intelligent, cultured, sophisticated brown-haired, dark-eyed American seeks her Prince Charmant. Is partial to the odd sampling of escargots and Muscat de Rivesaltes (though not simultaneously). Has a fond passion of taking long walks in the Dijonnais hills and gathering daffodils in the Rhône-Alpes. Is not such a terrible cook and rarely burns things. Loves to try new recipes that make you feel at home. Can whip up the most awesome madeleines you will ever eat. Also knows Cuban and Colombian cuisine! Miam-miam!

She's almost like a Française, but not quite.

Weight and height will be given upon request."

Oh, yeah. What Frenchman wouldn't snatch up a prize like me in a heartbeat?

Barb the French Bean