Signs of Christmas

I guess it is no news for anyone and it is nothing special to blog about, but anyway I keep seeing signs of Christmas. Some decorations are already showing up. Not Christmas lights yet in town, but every business already has something festive on the windows. Of course, they also advertise for Christmas offers and sell Christmas items. We are early November, which is a bit early for these sort of things I guess, however as it looks grey and dreary like November usually looks, even when it is sunny, I don't mind. I have heard no Christmas music yet, thankfully. That would be too much, too soon.

Souvenir d'un dimanche après-midi

Ceci est un billet dominical, car bien entendu alors que j'écris ces lignes, nous sommes le dimanche après-midi. J'écris ça en premier lieu parce que, ben, c'est plate un dimanche après-midi. Bon, je ne m'ennuie pas en ce moment, je me tiens occupé de diverses façons (lecture, regarder des DVDs en boucle, etc.), mais pour une raison quelconque j'ai pensé aux dimanches après-midi de mon enfance. Ceux monotones sans fête familiale, sans évènement spécial à célébrer. Ce qui voulait dire: un dimanche après-midi à jouer à Clue/Cluedo ou à un autre jeu de société, mais c'était la plupart du temps Cluedo. Plusieurs parties en boucles. J'y jouais le colonel Mustard, j'ai expliqué pourquoi ici. Et je me demande si ce n'étaient pas les meilleurs dimanches après-midis que j'aie passés. Avant de jouer à D&Dr, bien entendu. Une question comme ça: quelqu'un a-t-il joué à Clue en suivant les règles avec rigueur? Parce que j'ai souvent remarqué qu'elles ne le sont pas. On ne les suivait pas exactement à l'époque, mais je crois que mes frères et moi on les connaissait mieux que les autres.

Brushing up my Italian

This evening, I am supposed to have dinner with my friend, Italian and former colleague, and her boyfriend, who is visiting her from Italy. Little detail of some importance: the man speaks very little English. So I need to brush up my Italian. I am glad. I will have a good occasion to practice and to improve. Of course, I haven't studied it in a long while, but nothing like immersion to get better. Well, immersion, it will be one to one immersion, not exactly like being in Italy with monolingual people, but still.

Premières clémentines

C'est le troisième billet que j'écris sur la gastronomie, enfin la nourriture, j'espère qu'on ne trouvera pas que je manque d'inspiration. Enfin bref, depuis le début de novembre, j'ai fait le plein de clémentines. Pas comme à Montréal quand j'achetais un cabas complet qui me durait pour... pour quelques semaines. Il n'y a rien qui batte les quantités de clémentines que l'on peut acheter à Montréal. Cela dit, j'ai acheté quelques sacs, à Marks & Spencer parce que je crois que ce sont là qu'ils vendent les meilleures. Les clémentines sont nécessaire à ma survie en novembre. Un signe que l'hiver arrive, mais aussi que Noël n'est pas aussi loin qu'on le croit, même si novembre est gris. Et novembre est moins gris avec les clémentines. Elles amènent de la couleur au mois. Et des parfums aussi, cette odeur d'agrumes. Et bon, ça me donne aussi une nécessaire dose de vitaimne C. Il faut deux clémentines par jours pour faire une portion de fruits et légumes, mais j'en mange plus.

The Veneziana of Pizza Express

Remember when, a long while ago, I had decided to start a new tradition here on Vraie Fiction, of plugging a menu or a meal from a restaurant or a pub every Friday or Saturday (or even Sunday sometimes)? Last time I did it was on August 30th. So it is a long, long lost tradition, or a long interrupted one. But I am starting it again. I might not be very original, as tonight I am plugging a pizza from a British pizza chain, Pizza Express. Not exactly the Crown in Cookham from my first post. That said, I have found my pizza, in fact my favorite pizza in the UK and the one I eat pretty much every time I go to Pizza Express. And it is not only for the taste, it is for what it does. The pizza is called the Veneziana and you can see a picture of it on the left.

So why do I love it so much? Well, there is of course the taste: olives and capers are always a big winner for me, and the Veneziana has plenty of black olives and capers. it also has red onions a plenty and sultanas, which gives a bit of distinctive sweetness to the savoury whole. I'd love it no matter what would come next, but something comes next: when I order it, I also give money to charity. Because every time you do, a discretionary 25p goes to the Venice in Peril Fund. I have never seen Venice, but I do want to see it, preferably before it drowns. If we could avoid letting drown, I would be even happier. And I know it is very modest a contribution, but I love to contribute to it all the same, 25p at a time. According to Wikipedia, the Veneziana was introduced to the menu in 1977. I have only discovered Pizza Express a few years ago, but I have been eating Veneziana ever since, pretty much every time I go there. My way of connecting to Italian culture.

Le Caribou Café à Poitiers?

Je ne dirais pas que c'est une plogue, parce que je n'ai jamais mis les pieds ni à Poitiers, bien que j'aie un ami qui vienne de là, ni donc et par conséquent dans aucun des établissements de Poitiers, mais j'ai appris totalement par hasard qu'il y a un restaurant-bar qui s'appelle le Caribou Café. Logo à droite, c'est une vraie horreur, je me demande pourquoi je le télécharge ici d'ailleurs. Je suis très, très, très sceptique, voire même profondément méfiant, disons-le franchement, pour l'engouement souvent quétaine des Français envers la gastronomie québécoise. Lire ce billet sur un autre restaurant pseudo-québécois en sol gaulois qui a tout de pseudo et rien de québécois. Le menu de Caribou Café a l'air tout ce que ça a de plus quétaine. Lire: ils mettent des produits de l'érable partout, ciboire! Seul truc rassurant: il y a des produits McAuslan dans les bières, dont la Griffon (La Griffon rousse est ma petite bière préférée). Au moins, si je me ramasse à Poitiers, je sais ou aller boire. Mais j'irai manger ailleurs. Et je vais parler anglais toute la soirée ou j'écumerais le Caribou Café.

Skyfall and life imitating art

Last year, about the same time, I went to see Skyfall in cinema. I loved the movie. Those who watched it remember that there was a scene in it, when M played by Judi Dench, is taken to a public parliamentary hearing about the events of the movie. Well, it appears that life imitates art, as the head of SIS aka MI6 (who is called in real life C and not M, and yes I know why and it is very sad that I do) among other important figures of UK intelligence and counterintelligence is summoned to a parliamentary hearing, in order "to provide greater transparency about their work", says the BBC article. It is not as dramatic, in fact it looks like and sound just as tedious as a parliamentary committee hearing does, nevertheless I find it fascinating. Because it gives insights to a secret world, because it is always interesting to see the reality that inspired fiction.

La boucane (signe hivernal)

Anecdote sans importance, ou presque, de début novembre: ce soir en marchant, j'ai vu que la boucane me sortait de la bouche. Ce n'est que de la condensation, me direz-vous, mais je ne me rappelle pas qu'il y en avait hier, ni même les semaines d'avant. C'est un signe de l'hiver qui s'en vient, la fumée qui sort de la bouche. Novembre, de toutes façons, c'est déjà un peu l'hiver.

Odin the shadowy cat

Last time I blogged about Odin was a little more than a month ago. This has been way too long. I have been blogging about cats inbetween and recently, but it is about time I give my readership a bit of news about my feline friend. And it is Wednesday, the day of his namesake. Not that there is all that much to say about Odin. He enjoys the bush as much as usual. He keeps being fed by the people here and he did gain a few pounds. Which is a very good thing: he was very skinny when I first met him. He is more fussy with food than when I met him: he does not eat as hungrily all the time and sometimes blatantly ignores the part of the dish he does not care about (usually wet food). But he prefers to be around here where he has exclusivity of love and cuddles (and food) than with his owners.Who actually don't mind. I had a drink with them (in the local Irish pub) and they are very friendly. They also had a talk with the evil witch that is the downstairs neighbour, the cat-hating witch and they calmed her worries, telling her a fib about Odin being home most of the time. The witch herself has been more discreet. She is still harboring malevolent ideas and wants to get rid of "that bloody cat", but she tired up every single resident here with her crusade (witch hunt?) and the temperature having dramatically dropped, she spends most of her time indoors, weekdays and weekends. I intend to have a talk to her, if she ever thinks about bullying Odin again, or those who love him.

So Odin is not bothered by her, but I am a bit worried because it is now darker outside earlier and much longer. he is after all a black cat, so easy to miss. But that makes him also easy to hide from preying eyes (I mean witch's eyes). And I keep in mind that he is used to live outside. There is the cold temperature too, but he does not seem to mind either. Not when he is in the shrubs anyway. Even the rain does not bother him there. And the twigs he gets on seem to be a sort of fashion statement, or a social one about his wild nature. Odin in many ways reminds me of the song Moon Shadow by Cat Stevens. He is nocturnal, he is shadowy, he leaps and he hops, he follows you and is barely perceptible. And even though his fur is like a shadow, when he shows up I always think of the lyrics about the faithful light who found me. A song sung by an artist aptly named Cat Stevens. Now every time I listen to the song, I think of him. I know I uploaded Moon Shadow on Vraie Fiction before, but that was a while ago, and tonight I wanted to upload it again as an homage to Odin. I know it sounds really silly. An homage to a cat who has no knowledge whatsoever of homage, and sees me at best as one of his servants. Nevertheless, here it is:

Un pouding chômeur

Lors de mon dernier séjour à Montréal, je me suis tapé un repas nostalgique (un entre autres): j'ai mangé à la Binerie Mont-Royal, comme dans le temps de mes études à l'U de M, quand je me tapais un dîner complet à la Binerie à chaque vendredi. Dîner complet veut dire: soupe, repas principal, dessert. Souvent le repas principal c'était du ragoût de boulettes, ou alors des vols-au-vent au saumon ou une sorte de poisson. Lors de ma toute dernière visite, j'ai décidé de me faire plaisir et j'ai pris un spécial du jour, un ragoût de patte et boulettes un peu trop décadent. J'en ai mangé la moitié et j'ai ramené le reste à la maison (on m'a même rajouté de la sauce). Et je me suis gardé de la faim pour le dessert: le pouding chômeur que vous voyez à gauche.

Ah, le pouding chômeur de la Binerie! Je le mangeais souvent dans une bagatelle (pouding, confiture crème), mais c'est quand même le pouding chômeur qui est je crois LE dessert de la Binerie Mont-Royal. En fait, c'est une version québécoise du toffee pudding anglais. Comme bien des mets québécois, bien entendu. Mais le manger avec un thé cheap un midi d'automne, c'est dur à battre comme plaisir culinaire. Bon, on ne m'appelle plus jeune homme quand j'y vais, mais c'est quand même une expérience.

Smoke and Bonfire

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November", yadda, yadda, yadda, you know the rest. We are Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawkes Night, the quintessential British November celebration. A celebration I don't really celebrate, for all the years I have been here. Like last year, I did not go and see the fireworks. I saw some fireworks, they were bursting here and there as soon as the sun fell down, loud and shiny and smelling of smoke. I saw them at the train stations, I saw them walking home. I heard them even more. But what strikes me every time is the smell of smoke. It is also what I prefer of Bonfire Night: the smell of smoke in the cold November night. I don't know why.

Question existentielle (208)

C'est la Guy Fawkes, il y a, a eu, des feux d'artifice toute la soirée, je me pose donc cette question existentielle:

-Quel est votre sorte de feux d'artifice préféré?

The cat and the turtle dove

My father sent me this picture a few months ago, when I started feeding Odin and blogging about him. (And by the way, I know I haven't blogged about Odin since very early October, I promise to make amend soon). This was taken in my parents' back garden, this is the apple tree that for some reason is considered "my" tree (each brother has his tree in the garden) and you see this tabby cat working very hard to hunt a turtle dove, oblivious to the danger. Dad never told me if the tabby cat got it or not in the end. My father loves birds, different ones, he loves to feed them, he loves to have them in the family garden. So he does not like cats. Not one little bit. I know this picture might upset some people, as it shows a side of the felines that are less pleasant to some: their hunting instinct. I should say their killer instinct. 

That said, I love the picture. I find it quite artsy, with the cat blending very well with the background. I find his perseverance commendable. However cruel it may seem, I find the image actually suspenseful. And I don't find it so cruel, to be honest. I don't mind that cats are hunters and follow their instinct. I cannot blame the cat for wanting to hunt a bird. I would rather have him hunt mice, but it is because I don't like mice. And I find it always fascinating, how such a beautiful creature can be so ruthless. Like my brother PJ once said on Facebook, about one of the cats that had turned his own garden into a hunting ground: "Cats are killers, but they are so darn cute." It explains them in a nutshell, I think. I don't know if I blogged this line before, but it deserves to be a great unknown line. And I guess that's why I wanted to upload this picture and blog about it. The moral of the story of the cat and the turtle dove, which the end is unknown to me, is that cats are killers, but they are really cute nevertheless.

Morosité municipale

Un court billet pour saigner une certaine amertume, j'ai l'humeur morose. Denis Coderre est élu comme maire à Montréal. Le démagogue qui a repris l'équipe de Gérald Tremblay, le pantin déchu qui servait de maire il n'y a pas si longtemps. La même équipe qui a laissé la corruption fleurir à Montréal. Et le mollah Jean Tremblay est réélu à Saguenay. On sait tout le mal que je pense de l'homme. Je me console: seulement une fraction de Montréal a voté pour Coderre et Tremblay a eu une majorité réduite. Ils feront tous deux face à une opposition plus forte qu'auparavant. C'est au moins ça de pris.

A chocolate owl

This is a chocolate owl (well, duh!), the one mentioned in the title (re-duh!).It is from Chocolats Privilège in Montreal, it was among their Halloween specials. My dad bought it as a gift for me, I did not have time to eat it there so brought it here, surprisingly it survived the trip unbroken. I wanted to blog it about it during the countdown to Halloween, but in the end I did not have time for that either. And I thought it would work just as well now. We are still in autumn, after all, and this picture I took in the apartment in Montreal, with the owl on the mat with autumnal motives, fit the time perfectly. I am not certain if I ever ate something from Chocolats Privilège, but knowing my parents knowledge of the good places in Montreal and elsewhere in Quebec for everything sweet related, I trust it it is going to be delicious. So it is my dessert tonight.

La panne?

Bon, ça devait arriver, je le craignais d'ailleurs: depuis le début de novembre, mon inspiration pour bloguer se tarit. Moi qui essaie de bloguer régulièrement, en raison de deux billets par jour environ, un en français, un en anglais, bien là je suis à court d'idées et les billets que j'ai écrits sont courts (ce qui n'est pas nécessairement un mal) et pas très intéressants. Ma mère m'a récemment dit de faire de Vraie Fiction un blogue plus littéraire, je suis mal parti... Qualité vaut mieux que quantité, mais quand les idées ne viennent pas... Suis-je le seul, ou novembre fait ça à tous?

Rambling about an olive green sweater

I am not particularly a fashion slave, I mean some of the clothes I wear are at least fifteen years old, but on my last trip to Quebec, when I was at Heathrow in the duty free section, I found this sweater in the Harrods shop. An outdoor sweater from Ralph Lauren. Olive green (or at least this is how I remember it, it looks more grey on the website, but it says olive on the Ralph Lauren one), military looking (except when wore by a gay looking model like on the RL website), patches on the shoulders and elbows. I really loved it when I saw it. I think I know why: it is a perfect sweater for a cold autumn or winter day. And it is kind of old-fashioned without looking too old. The saleswoman saw how eager I was and tried her best: it's the last one, it is pure cashmere, etc. But I didn't buy it. Not at this price. I actually tried not to laugh when she gave the price to me. Which makes me wonder: who can afford this stuff?

Première photo de novembre

Je viens de me faire pleuvoir dessus après être brièvement sorti à l'épicerie. Novembre, il frappe souvent en pleine gueule comme ça. Mais enfin bref... Je cherchais désespérément une photo pour commémorer le début du mois et le représenter depuis ce matin. Or, ma cousine Amy, sans même que je lui aie demandé, m'a envoyé celle-ci. Elle est photographe, elle est aussi un peu télépathe je crois. Prise il y a quelques semaines m'a-t-elle dit, elle est quand même appropriée pour ce début de novembre. En noir et blanc en plus, comme souvent le mois semble l'être. Novembre, c'est l'automne qui devient de plus en plus gris. Je dis ça, pourtant lorsque le soleil sort, la lumière est vraiment superbe.

Post-Halloween blues

Well, we are All Saint's Day. The day that failed to beat Halloween and the beginning of November. But that means that we are pass the Halloween season and that I have officially the Halloween blues. On this blog, I didn't write half as many Halloween-related posts as I was inspired to, even thoughI had started as early as August. And that means I might not be as inspired this month. Anyway, I thought I would share the pain.

La Toussaint

Aujourd'hui, c'est la Toussaint. En Europe (je veux dire sur le continent, pas sur l'île que j'habite et qui n'est pas l'Europe), dans les pays de tradition catholique, c'est un jour férié. Un vendredi, ce ne serait pas si mal. Surtout que le lendemain de l'Halloween, j'aurais pu veiller très tard hier. Mais pour moi, c'est d'abord et avant tout le début de novembre et pour faire une histoire courte c'est ça qui est ça.