Monthly Archives: November 2010
Monet’s Giverny –
Think of some of the world’s record-breaking works of art at point of sale, and paintings from Claude Monet’s Water Lilies series will no doubt feature on the list. Ever since I first saw a Monet in the flesh in the eighties, during a touring exhibition that actually made it the extra xxxx miles to far-flung New Zealand (a rarity at the time), I have always dreamed of visiting Monet’s home at Giverny, to see the artist’s famed gardens for myself. In October just past, that dream came true. I had to pinch myself repeatedly, it was such a thrill to finally be in such an art-lover’s mecca.
Monsieur and I arrived in the small village of Giverny on a dull autumn day, amidst a steady Norman drizzle. I’d always thought that May would be the optimum time to see Monet’s gardens, as they’d be in the prime of spring blossom and bloom, but apparently the little village is overrun with international fans of Impressionism in springtime, so by coming later in the year, we’d wisely sidestepped the push and shove of tourist hordes. Would the effort be worth it? Would we see any flowers? Or would we curse our autumn plans and wish we’d come in spring or summer, with the world, his wife and their dog?
The weather was certainly disappointing on the morning of our visit but, ever the optimists, we still hoped there might be some sort of floral leftovers from the finer seasons just past.
Here’s a sample of what Monsieur and I found in Monet’s garden at Giverny. Our hopes were rewarded with late-bloomers in every direction.
I love pink flowers and these were among my favourites in Monet’s garden.
These fellows were drooping with the rainfall but still managed to remind me of a blazing sunset on a hot summer’s evening (even if I were wrapped up in coat and scarf at the time!)
The path from Monet’s house down to the end of the garden was wild with a carpet of nasturtiums – as a small girl, I used to pick nasturtiums from the school hedge suck ‘honey’ from the point beneath the bloom. Ever since, they’ve remained a favourite flower. At Giverny, their colours only seemed brightened by the grey day.
We wandered down aisles of flourishing flora and through an underground tunnel to reach Monet’s water lily ponds. So this was where the great painter created some of the greatest impressionist artworks known to man.
The artist said of his water lilies: “It took me time to understand my water lilies. I had planted them for the pleasure of it; I grew them without ever thinking of painting them”. Little did he know that through his paintings these would arguably become the most famous water lilies in the world.
It may have been gloomy when we saw them, but the ponds were still beautiful and, believe it or not, there was the occasional freshly-opened flower sitting on the lily pads.
The poor chap in red jacket waited patiently with his tripod as I photographed the ponds, but unfortunately for him, I wasn’t the only one annoying his view.
Imperceptible here are the water-lubbing insects who walk across the water on spindly wee legs. The pond life is happy and rampant.
As we left the ponds, returning to the main gardens, the sun decided to pop its head out from behind the clouds. This flower looked like a sunburst in its own right.
Sunshine on a rainy day…
The perfect lawn for picnicking.
This old wheel barrow must have worked hard in its past life, carrying plants and trees and soil and vegetables from the potager (vege garden). Now it sits in peaceful retirement.
There’s one word for flowers like this: happy. Monet said “I am following Nature without being able to grasp her… I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.” With floral optimism such as this in one’s garden, it’s little wonder, although the great man started his life as an artist drawing caricatures, not a petal in sight.
This is one of the prettiest exit signs I’ve ever seen.
We were lucky with our Giverny expedition; it may have been raining when we arrived, but the sun appeared for just long enough to give us a taste of what it must be like to visit on a Halcyon day. Claude Monet once said “I am only good at two things, and those are: gardening and painting”.
This is not entirely true. He was also very good at what we were about to do next: eating.
Like this:
Where Epic finds that Starbucks is about more than just coffee.
In recent years, I’ve found one of the most efficient conversation starters to be “what do you think of Starbucks?” The opinions fly about as fast as Roadrunner on his sixth triple espresso, and there’s often the feeling that it’s a bit uncool to admit to liking Starbucks, just like when it wasn’t cool to like Abba. Don’t get me wrong; there’s always a handful of brand-faithful caffeine addicts ready to share their love of vanilla frappuccinos, Christmas gingerbread or eggnog lattes, caramel macchiatos or the reliability of the simple flat white. On the other hand, there are plenty of folk who make no secret of their disdain for the world’s most famous coffee house.
Some people hate Starbucks because it’s everywhere. Others love it because it’s everywhere. It would seem the jury’s still out, especially because of the effect of Starbucks on the small, old-fashioned coffee shop which has been fast-disappearing, unable to keep up with the larger coffee chains. Think: You’ve Got Mail, only with independent cafes, instead of bookstores, being put out to pasture by the new big boy on the block. Given all the different opinions, the argument seems nowhere near being resolved. Then, in one online dispute between some of my fellow bloggers from different cities around the world, each with their own Starbucks (plural) nearby, I learned something new about the coffee giant: in the States Starbucks is respected for the benefits it offers its employees and the fact that it has a notable non-discriminatory recruitment record. That piqued my interest. Gay, straight, young, old, black, white, with or without qualifications. If you’re willing to work, you’re almost assured of a job at Starbucks.
A while ago, I picked up a book in a charity store. It was called ‘How Starbucks Saved My Life’. It sat in my To Read pile until recently, when I found I could not put it down. The author, Michael Gill, tells the tale of his successful career, for which he sacrificed Christmas with his kids and quality family time as he jetted around the States and beyond in the name of advertising. Not so clever in hindsight, he finds. He never considered that the agency for whom he worked would axe him. No, he really believed he’d be there until he retired, but the agency didn’t see it that way. Suddenly, and without further ado, Gill was fired. His face no longer fit the image of the agency.
One failing consultancy, an affair, a love-child, a divorce and a tumour later, Gill finds himself down-and-out, applying for a job at Starbucks. Instead of feeling embarrassment at taking a blue collar job with very basic hourly wage, Gill surprises himself by realising how much he enjoys his new, simpler life. He makes new friends, looks back at past experience with fresh eyes, learns to take pride in all aspects of his new-found work, including toilet cleaning, and starts to reassemble the different parts of his broken life. It’s inspiring.
Some cynics would say that the Ad-Man in Gill saw an opportunity here; by writing about his experience of such a global brand, he’d get his book noticed, and he did. I don’t have a problem with that. Others might complain about Gill’s name-dropping, which did annoy me at times, but we should remember that until he lost his job in advertising, Gill really was a major player in that world, so a certain amount of his past-life involved schmoozing high-profile people. What impressed me, however, was how the once-grand man with everything learned to take pleasure in simple things and be grateful for them. Once upon a time Gill would have taken his ad-agency remuneration package, including health care benefits for all his family, for granted. He is now almost pathetically grateful for the health care he receives through Starbucks. In the past Gill would have been scared to cross paths with some of his co-workers, from starkly different backgrounds to his. Now they share music and anecdotes and learn from each other’s life experiences.
Gill works hard and steadily, getting himself into a new groove and routine. He overcomes fears, confronts his failings and learns enough about coffee to run tastings for colleagues and guests. I’d say that’s pretty admirable for a man who only recently thought he was on the scrap heap for good.
Apparently Tom Hanks thought Gill’s tale was worth further attention, because he bought the film rights. The film version of How Starbucks Saved My Life is listed on IMDB as being a 2012 release, so we’re going to hear a lot more about the global coffee king before too long.
Before you all jump on your soapboxes to tell me that I’m evil for supporting what one acquaintance calls The Devil’s Coffee House, just remember that my day job is in Human Resources. In recent years I’ve had to tell too many good people that they needed to find a new way to cover their rent/ mortgage/ school fees/ loan repayments and credit card debts because their job had ceased to exist. I’ve seen grown men and women sway with catatonia and cry, and it’s been soul-destroying for all concerned.
We weren’t alone; the credit crunch has forced many companies to shrink their staff numbers or close down completely, and many firms use the credit crunch as an excuse to remove non-contractual benefits and cut salaries. Often the business reasons for this have been valid. At other times, you’ll find they’re a tight-fisted pretext for making those at the top richer and Joe Bloggs poorer. Of those still in work, most of us are worse off than we were four years ago. So when you’re jobless, sixty something, down on your uppers and are accustomed to having coffee served to you as opposed to serving it to other people, but have never made cappuccino foam in your life, what do you do? Take a leaf out of Gill’s book and head for Starbuck’s. Then ask for an application form. In this tough climate, Starbuck’s is rare in not pulling the plug on staff benefits and however you look at it, the list of benefits for U.S. Starbucks workers is impressive. They cleverly call it a ‘Special Blend’. Here’s a brief summary of benefit components that a Starbucks partner might expect, taken from the U.S. website:
- Competitive pay
- Insurance: medical, prescription drug, dental, vision, life, disability
- Bonuses
- Paid time off
- Retirement savings plan
- Stock options and discounted stock purchase plan
- Adoption assistance
- Domestic partner benefits
- Emergency financial aid
- Referral and support resources for child and eldercare
- A free pound of coffee each week
Further information is here:
http://assets.starbucks.com/assets/benefits-guide-12-29-09.pdf
When it comes to finding out what benefits a UK Starbucks partner can expect, there is a curious lack of information on the UK website, but I did manage to find out that Starbucks intends to introduce an NVQ training scheme for their staff from next year, with an MBA-style programme for senior managers currently in development. These courses and more will be available to partners through the Starbucks University, helping them to gain education whilst working, whatever their level.
As for Michael Gill? He’s written a second book, called How to Save Your Own Life: 15 Lessons on Finding Hope in Unexpected Places, but according to a quote on his website, he is intent on keeping things simple.
“I have heard from literally thousands of people who have told me that they have benefited from my surprising story,” Mike says, “I think because my life is irrefutable proof that simply acquiring things does not bring happiness. In fact, the contrary has proved true for me: losing a lot of stuff frees me to be truly me. There is a cost to working 12 hour days like I used to do, or striving to keep up a big house and a big life. There is a freedom to going through life without a lot of heavy status stuff—and just giving yourself the chance to do what you were meant to do, and be who you were truly meant to be.”
http://www.mikegatesgill.com/Gill/Home.html
Sounds like someone’s been talking to the ghost of Epicurus…
In case you’re wondering, yes, Michael Gill still works part-time at his local Starbucks. And my favourite Starbucks beverage? Ice-cold mocha frappuccino, even when it’s snowing.
Do you have a comment to make about The Devil’s Coffee Shop? Let’s debate. Let me know YOUR experience of Starbucks, good, indifferent or bad – all opinion is welcome here.
McDonald’s, France: Venez comme vous etes!
At the end of the summer, Monsieur and I were in Cap Ferret when we spotted a poster for the new McDonald’s France ad campaign, called Venez comme vous êtes, or ‘Come as you are’. It showed a shrouded figure in a death mask, like those seen in SCREAM, sitting down to eat a Happy Meal (or whatever, but you get the irony).
At the time, I remember thinking ‘that wasn’t very clever for a fast-food chain. It implies that the dead eat McDonald’s, so therefore perhaps McDonald’s put them in the grave.’
I was overreacting, though. The campaign has more to it than Death or the Scream murderer eating a Big Mac. It’s about acceptance.
Elsewhere, we saw Darth Vader enjoying his McDonald’s meal, using The Force to raise his tray off the table.
Perhaps McDonald’s is trying to encourage social pariahs to eat in their restaurants? King Kong came next but only his giant hairy hand fit into the counter area:
Those whose dress sense is more shabby than snazzy are also on McDonald’s invitation list. Here’s Cinderella after midnight, riding her glass carriage pumpkin at the drive-through.
Even the Gauls are welcomed, with Asterix and co, although poor little Dogmatix is left outside. 
That’s just a selection of my favourites. The campaign isn’t new; apparently it was launched in 2008. It continues to make a buzz, which is what the burger chain intended. Some folk have even taken the slogan quite literally, turning up at the counter wearing nothing but bikini bottoms and Ronald McDonald wigs.
There are more examples, which I will post about another time. For now, we see that McDonald’s wants everyone to feel welcome – slayers, evil dictators from outer space, cartoon characters , and social pariahs in general. With company like that, I just know I’ll fit right in.
Like this:
Tasca da Se, Lisbon
Exploring Lisbon in the rain didn’t dampen our spirits, but unless we wanted to get well and truly squelchy, Monsieur and I were going to have to stop and dry off. So far that day, we’d smacked our lips after wonderfully oozy custard pastries with breakfast, had ventured onto one of the city’s bright yellow funiculars, explored the Castello, taking special care NOT to slip off the ramparts in the pouring rain and had splish-sploshed our way around the hill-top ‘burb of Alfama. Now we were both dripping and hungry, so why not kill two birds with one stone and find somewhere to dry ourselves whilst eating? On such a rainy day that would always be a winning combination for a couple of inveterate foodies like us.
We walked down the hill from the uppermost reaches of Alfama, heading for the church of Antâo da Se, which we wanted to visit later because it sits on the site of the birthplace of St Anthony of Padua. Years ago I’d seen St Anthony’s mandible relic in Padua Cathedral – shrivelled, completely wizened, yet revered as it sits in its glass case with pilgrims filing past to pay homage. St Anthony was renowned as an orator, so it probably isn’t as innocuous as it sounds for the Catholic church to keep his jaw bone as a relic. What I hadn’t realised at the time is that although St Anthony died in Padua, he had been born in Lisbon, so in this part of the world, he’s quite appropriately known as St Anthony of Lisbon.
Perfectly placed for this particular pair of dripping wanderers, a tasca (tavern) stood just paces from the church. It looked unprepossessing from the outside – with grubby blue-and-white tiles to the sides, a tired awning and dusty green grills at the entrance, but peeking timidly into its entrance we felt warmth. Our noses were then drawn further in by the aromas various wafting across the front counter.
We, the drenched ones, were in luck. There was a table for us, but it would be a bit of a squeeze – the room was small, with only a handful of tables, and space was at a premium. It didn’t matter. We shook off our brollies and picked up the menus – and my little Portuguese-English menu translator, which was invaluable because Portuguese is a tough, tough language for a foreigner to grapple with.
Bread and cheese turned up automatically (that’s the way in Portugal, but if you eat it, they will charge you for it, so if you’re not in the mood, return it straight away ) and we sat back, working for our dinner, quite literally, as we translated the menu, line by line. Eventually, we were confident enough to order.
Monsieur and I shared Gambas al Ajillo (garlic prawns) and Melâo con Presunto (melon with ham) to start. The prawns arrived spitting and sizzling in hell-hot oil, but the garlic had miraculously not browned or turned bitter; instead, it was soft and flavoursome. We could tell from the first mouthful that we’d still reek of the stuff in ten hours’ time, not that it mattered, not even if a few Lisboetas were to be asphyxiated by our outgoing breath later on. Having seared our palates with the heat of the prawns, the cool melon helped soothe hot mouths enough that we could still taste the food before us. This was lucky, because the ham was not to be missed! With the appearance of fine slithers of Burgundy leather, it was surprisingly easy to eat, not at all chewy as one might expect. It was a rich, dry and dark variety, with the taste of something aged and sophisticated, prompting me to wonder if it was one of the famed Portuguese hams, Alentejo, which is made from black Iberian acorn-fed pigs, although the modest price only indicated that perhaps the kitchen had given us their special stock in error? How was it possible that ham this flavoursome could be so inexpensive?
For his main course, Monsieur tried the Bife do Lombo, a sirloin steak, with fries. On the menu, there were several different types of steak to choose from, depending on the cut, so it had taken us a while to work out the differences. We really would have been lost without my little menu translator. The fries were truly amazing – they’d been sliced into coins and deep fried with a teasing texture; even though they were less than half a centimetre thick, the exterior still managed to have a light crunch to it while the interior remained fluffy and soft.
In the weeks leading up to this trip, I’d been dying to try a couple of salt cod dishes. I’d already had some salt cod croquettes at Bom Jardim, and they tasted fine but had a habit of sticking to the roof of my mouth. In other words, they were dry. Now was my chance to try salt cod in a different form. I ordered Bacalhao al Minho, which is salt cod fried with onions.
It appeared in a shallow terracotta casserole, with the cod hiding in the bottom like a galleon’s precious cargo. (If you could taste it, you’d know I’m not exaggerating here!) It was aptly topped with the golden coins of fried potato, creating a sort of Portuguese fish pie. The onions, fried soft and caramelised, were strewn on top of the dish, with a sprinkling of parsley garnish to add the merest dash of diversion to eye and palate. I dove straight into the plate with relish, quietly congratulating myself for choosing such a comforting meal on such a miserable day. The salt cod was strong and salty, with a texture a bit like canned tuna. Apart from the odd stray fish bone, this simple meal warmed me from the inside out.
A bottle of house red (Santo Isidro, Vinho de Mesa, Pegões-Velhos) was perfectly drinkable table wine and astoundingly good value at €4.90. A large bottle of the local mineral water, Carvalhelhos, helped dilute the damage so that when we visited church later, Monsieur and I wouldn’t frighten the priests or volunteers by gushing wine fumes into their faces.
The incredibly reasonable bill arrived and we paid it in disbelief, leaving a decent tip to offset the feeling that we’d just taken advantage of the tavern’s proprietor. Tasca da Se had been a port in a storm – warm and welcoming, with delicious fare, and we’re not the only fans of this unprepossessing little eatery; other foodies who’ve discovered this tasca rave about the Porco Alentejana (pork with clams) or the Sopa Alentejana (soup with a lot of garlic, giant croutons, coriander/cilantro and a poached egg). Dear Monsieur, if you read this, please can we go back to Lisbon? It’s time to return to Tasca da Se and have another go at their menu.
Tasca da Se, Rua Augusto Rosa 62, Lisbon, Tel 218 875 551
