This this gorgeous little cake, appropriately named, Vive l'amour (below), is no exception. While it is mostly the ribbon and slightly faded nature of the design that gives the cake an air of 'je ne sais quoi'. It stirs up some distant memory in me, which allow's my mind to wander and indulge in yet another nostalgic trip back in time...
I suppose with a name like Antoinette, its not really surprising that I would find myself drawn to all things Gallic. I love the language (my one and only O'level), I love the food (I spent many years training in French Classical Cuisine including Patisserie) and I love the memories, which I associate with the France of my youth, particularly Paris, 'the capital of romance'.
It all started quite early on, when I was only around three or four years old. Where most children of my age would be made to recite the odd nursery rhyme when people came visiting, my party piece was altogether very different and somewhat unusual for such a small child; I would break into the can can!.
Yes, whenever the opportunity arose I would launch into a vigorous high kicking routine without even waiting to be asked. A friend of the family's, who recently turned 80, still reminds me about it whenever we meet.
At this time I had not yet visited Paris, home of the Moulin Rouge and the place most often associated with the dance. I can only assume that my frequent and ever more exuberant displays were inspired by the musical 'Can Can' starring Shirley Maclaine and Frank Sinatra, which was released in 1960, the year before I was born.
Every other year we would visit Mum's family in Spain, but we didn't always fly. Sometimes we travelled by boat and train, which Dad thought was much more of an adventure for us children. It also meant that we could spend a few hours in Paris before catching the sleeper train on to Spain. But for Mum, any journey that involved seven young children was far removed from any adventure that she wanted to experience.
She couldn't understand why we had to spend almost two days travelling, when a plane got us directly to Valencia in a couple of hours; it was a logistical nightmare, she had a point! .We would be away for the entire Summer. Packing would begin a couple of months before. We had this massive red trunk, which she would fill to the brim; clothes for everyone, presents for the family. It would be sent ahead, a week or two before we were due to leave, thankfully it never got lost.
Of course, it was a massive adventure, with the stop off in Paris being one of the hi-lights.
We would have lunch somewhere, which was always preceded by the usual round of questions, " Dad, what's a Croque Monsieur?", "So, what's a Croque Madame then?", "what do frogs legs taste like?".
We'd settle for a plain omelette in a baguette with crisps on the side; something we all knew well.
There was never enough time for us to see anything much, so Dad promised to take us back for a little longer when we were old enough.
Our journey onwards to Spain would resume with much excitement. The minute we entered our train compartment we would pester our parents to show us how the 'couchettes' converted from seats to beds. Before long, if only just to get some peace, the compartment would convert to a bedroom for nine. Six of us would top and tail; "don't take your shoes off, your feet will swell" Mum would say, while the rest, got a bed to themselves. Those of us that were still awake would experience the thrill of travelling through the Pyrenees, the rest slept through, exhausted from the epic journey so far, blissfully unaware.
Many years later, in the Summer of 76, Dad kept his promise and took four of us back to Paris.
We stayed in a shabby little guest house on the Rue des Petits Hotels. Dad had stayed there with his parents some years earlier, so I guess he was just re-living his own memories. He took us everywhere, we did all the touristy things and visited all the places one should visit when in Paris.We went shopping in Galeries Lafayette, we visited the Bois de Boulogne, we saw the 'bouquinistes' (booksellers) in Monmatre and ate out at lots of fabulous restaurants; never even balking at the fact that our steak might actually be horse, we were just glad of the treat. One night Dad took us to Pigalle, which was very much like Soho. He told us to hang on tight to each other as there were 'white slave traders' around. Having seen the film 'Taken' with Liam Neesen a couple of times since then, I'm sure he wasn't far wrong. Anyway, we did what we were told and clung on to each other for dear life. I for one was scared witless and kept checking behind, just to be sure. So much so that we walked right past the Moulin Rouge, spiritual home of the world famous Cancan and inspiration for a million childhood dances and I missed it completely- happy days!
Of course it is Valentines Day tomorrow, so I would like to wish you all a Happy Valentines Day. But the real reason that I wanted to write this, is because today would have marked Dad's 84th birthday. This post is dedicated to his memory, for all the love and special memories he left us with- Vive l'amour!
13th February 1931-2nd August 2013
Yes, whenever the opportunity arose I would launch into a vigorous high kicking routine without even waiting to be asked. A friend of the family's, who recently turned 80, still reminds me about it whenever we meet.
At this time I had not yet visited Paris, home of the Moulin Rouge and the place most often associated with the dance. I can only assume that my frequent and ever more exuberant displays were inspired by the musical 'Can Can' starring Shirley Maclaine and Frank Sinatra, which was released in 1960, the year before I was born.
Every other year we would visit Mum's family in Spain, but we didn't always fly. Sometimes we travelled by boat and train, which Dad thought was much more of an adventure for us children. It also meant that we could spend a few hours in Paris before catching the sleeper train on to Spain. But for Mum, any journey that involved seven young children was far removed from any adventure that she wanted to experience.
She couldn't understand why we had to spend almost two days travelling, when a plane got us directly to Valencia in a couple of hours; it was a logistical nightmare, she had a point! .We would be away for the entire Summer. Packing would begin a couple of months before. We had this massive red trunk, which she would fill to the brim; clothes for everyone, presents for the family. It would be sent ahead, a week or two before we were due to leave, thankfully it never got lost.
Of course, it was a massive adventure, with the stop off in Paris being one of the hi-lights.
We would have lunch somewhere, which was always preceded by the usual round of questions, " Dad, what's a Croque Monsieur?", "So, what's a Croque Madame then?", "what do frogs legs taste like?".
We'd settle for a plain omelette in a baguette with crisps on the side; something we all knew well.
There was never enough time for us to see anything much, so Dad promised to take us back for a little longer when we were old enough.
Our journey onwards to Spain would resume with much excitement. The minute we entered our train compartment we would pester our parents to show us how the 'couchettes' converted from seats to beds. Before long, if only just to get some peace, the compartment would convert to a bedroom for nine. Six of us would top and tail; "don't take your shoes off, your feet will swell" Mum would say, while the rest, got a bed to themselves. Those of us that were still awake would experience the thrill of travelling through the Pyrenees, the rest slept through, exhausted from the epic journey so far, blissfully unaware.
Many years later, in the Summer of 76, Dad kept his promise and took four of us back to Paris.
We stayed in a shabby little guest house on the Rue des Petits Hotels. Dad had stayed there with his parents some years earlier, so I guess he was just re-living his own memories. He took us everywhere, we did all the touristy things and visited all the places one should visit when in Paris.We went shopping in Galeries Lafayette, we visited the Bois de Boulogne, we saw the 'bouquinistes' (booksellers) in Monmatre and ate out at lots of fabulous restaurants; never even balking at the fact that our steak might actually be horse, we were just glad of the treat. One night Dad took us to Pigalle, which was very much like Soho. He told us to hang on tight to each other as there were 'white slave traders' around. Having seen the film 'Taken' with Liam Neesen a couple of times since then, I'm sure he wasn't far wrong. Anyway, we did what we were told and clung on to each other for dear life. I for one was scared witless and kept checking behind, just to be sure. So much so that we walked right past the Moulin Rouge, spiritual home of the world famous Cancan and inspiration for a million childhood dances and I missed it completely- happy days!
Of course it is Valentines Day tomorrow, so I would like to wish you all a Happy Valentines Day. But the real reason that I wanted to write this, is because today would have marked Dad's 84th birthday. This post is dedicated to his memory, for all the love and special memories he left us with- Vive l'amour!
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