Come spend the week-end

Somehow Andy and I had gotten in the pleasant habit of inviting collecting friends to spend the weekend with us a day or two after arriving home from London and Paris. The collectors liked this because they got the first choice of the antiques that were nestled in the trunks. They also were comfortable here; they enjoyed their stay. They liked the food  because often I would buy interesting items from the trip for them to taste and try, and, I was also in the midst of my Martha Stewart faze.  I tried everything she told me to including the puff pastry wrapped turkey for 30. Sigh. Those are days I'll never get back. The two mentioned couples were here for the wrapping of the bird and the eating later in the day.

 Often these two couples came from far away in all kinds of weather to spend the week-end and it was great fun. We would relax and play cards and talk and once we watched the complete set of Martha Stewart's entertaining videos. Even the men liked her first attempt at becoming famous back when she was a bit more relatable. We had a cocktail or two as well.

We had just moved into our dream home that we had waited to get for 15 years. (It then took us 27 years to come up with the perfect name...Many Branches.)  It was 1987.  We got a call from the first of the two collecting couple that had just gotten into the game and had all my books and they were eager to visit.  We said we would be in London and Paris for three weeks but they could come for the week-end  a couple of days after we got home.  The dates were set and everyone was pleased. The woman wrote me to confirm the dates and time before we left saying exactly when they would arrive.

After three weeks of heavy buying, we had six trunks to unpack, sort, place, wash, and price. Andy went to work the next day and I staggered around cleaning, cooking, arranging and setting the dining table.  I had things under control on Friday after having just arrived home the day before.  I had done all of these jobs by not going to bed.  I stayed up, but worked in my nightgown.  I wanted to make the mother-in-law-suite perfect for these first time guests whom I had never met face to face.  Secretly I was hoping they wouldn't hack us to death in our beds.

I had one more job to do and that was to mow the nearly three-acre backyard and I chose to do it in my nightgown.  We have trees, bushes, fences, and extreme privacy so what could go wrong?

David, our son, was not married at the time and still lived at home.  But, he was working and I didn't expect anyone to see me as I zoomed around on my John Deere.  I was in my zone when out of the bushes David jumped scaring me to death while letting me know that the guests were at the door. Stop it, they are not due for 26 hours. No, they are here and I put them on the porch. It was hot that day and I was steaming.  I asked David to get them something cold to drink and I tried to get back to the house, still out of sight, and up the stairs to a shower.  I pulled myself together and stepped down the stairs like Scarlet O'Hara (minus the curtain rods) The couple was hot but gracious as I ushered them into our lives.  The house was cool and pretty and suddenly we were relaxed. Do you drink? I asked. And so we did.  By the time Andy got home from work we were very happy, so Andy joined the fun. I sent them off to their accommodations and to wonder about the house and look at the collection and the sales items while I went into the kitchen.  The meal I had scheduled for the next night had to be eaten that night, but I did not care at that point.  Everyone was so comfortable I could have fed them peanut butter and jelly and they would have been happy. We had many more week-ends together at Many Branches. However, we never reconciled the time mix up but it didn't matter much among friends.

Requests

Rarely do I get asked for recipes.  People either don't need or want them, the dish may not look tempting...I don't know.  So when asked for the doctored cracker recipe and the vegetable gratin I was a bit nervous because you know me, if it isn't baked goods I have no exact limits.  Anyway, I was going to write them up just for her, then decided it is easy to do on the blog and then I can copy what I did and put it in my kitchen journal and Bob's your uncle. So, these are steps not recipes.

Doctored crackers:
Because these are so delicious you must buy two bags of those bland oyster crackers and melt 2 sticks of butter.  To the butter, you add all the things you like such as: red pepper flakes, be generous, dried seasonings (oregano, Italian seasoning, dried parsley and cilantro,) a shake of Worcestershire sauce, garlic salt to taste, but be careful with the salt, some Cajun seasoning is good in it too. And, Trader's Joe's chile lime seasoning blend is a great addition.  If you have not bought that, you should grab your coat and go to Joe's.  Stir gently after pouring this delicious concoction on the bland oyster crackers making sure every cracker has a bath of flavor.  Be generous with the dried parsley because that makes the crackers pretty.  This takes a BIG bowl in order to mix it all properly. I don't know your oven, but mine is successful at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes.  Check them every once in a while and you can even take them out, turn them over to brown the other side.  I don't usually do that.  They want to be dried out, that's the key. Store them in a big cookie tin.  Eat them like popcorn or in soups, stews, on salads...it's endless.  They last a long time and if you are looking for gifts, put these in a cellophane bag, tie it with a ribbon and your receiver will be forever grateful. My batches never taste the same way twice but that is fun and tasty. If you find you have over seasoned. Just buy another bag and toast the plain crackers in the oven with melted butter and then add them hot from the oven to the entire batch. Stir them around and they will pick up the seasoning from the bottom of the tin in which you keep your stash. They need a punch of flavor, so I don't think you can over dress them.

Note:  You can do this exact thing to saltines and any other cracker you wish to jazz up.


Gratins:

I do a lot of the prep work and keep the results in bags in the fridge to use in soups, salads, gratins, any kind of casseroles. So my food processor really works out in this situation,  I even poach chicken tenders and put them in the processor and make pebble-like pieces that are great in chicken and noodles and in all of the above dishes and in chicken salad sandwiches. Speaking of processors, do you have the kind with that lid that you have to baby and twist and turn and cuss to get it on correctly?  Life is too short.  I bought a new one with flaps that you just press down and off we go with a smile on my face.

I have bags that I reuse over and over and put the processed food in for future use.  Bags: broccoli, cauliflower, green onions, sweet onions, chicken, spinach leaves, carrots, celery. You get the idea. They stand like soldiers in the fridge ready for duty. I can just reach in and gather what I want for gratins such as the one pictured.  

Butter a large baking dish.  Peel potatoes and slice them to your liking.  Place a layer of them in the baking dish with salt and pepper and a dash of dried Ranch dressing mix. Lay a layer of broccoli with a dash of Ranch dressing mix with a spreading of your favorite melting cheese on top. Next, add a layer of celery and cauliflower. Have a jar of your favorite Alfredo sauce (or make your own) turned upside down for easy flow and spread half of it over the layers you have so far. Repeat the layers and top with remaining Alfredo sauce and then pour a bit of half and half or whole cream over it all.  Finish with the cheese. Put foil over the baking dish and bake at 350 for an hour and take off the foil and bake until brown and bubbly.  You can layer this dish with ANY vegetable you like and you can add some of the pebble chicken for extra goodness.  I have even done this dish with pepperoni instead of chicken. It is a very forgiving dish. Use salt and pepper as you would with any bland vegetable that resides in this dish. Trader Joe's chili lime seasoning does well in this dish and gives it a fresh kick.

Sadly, Trader Joe died a couple of days ago.  What a man!

Note : I am reading a really good book, THE NIGHTINGALE by Kristin Hannah.

Bleuette in Paris

I had just arrived in Paris, alone this time and was shopping at my friend's shop.  Her name is Marie Claude. She had some lovely things for me and I was totally thrilled.  Towards the end, as we planned dinner out together with her Douglas, she pulled out the ugliest doll I had seen.  I was not a doll dealer or collector so I was not too interested.  You should try this on eBay in America she said.  I had started doing eBay a month before and was thrilled every time I sold something there.  I took pictures in settings and really spent hours getting things just right and on to eBay.  So, I looked at the doll called Bleuette and said I am sure, since I am not a doll dealer, that I could not sell that doll if my life depended on it.  Why?  Because I sold only what I liked.  But Marie Claude said to take it home, put it on eBay, and if it does not sell bring it back on the next trip to Paris which at that time was every other month. I tucked her carefully into my trunk, not because she thrilled me but because she was going to make a round trip back in a couple of months and I didn't want her damaged. So to America she came and she took it by storm, but I did not know that at the time.  I put her on eBay and the auction was to end on a Sunday night.  Andy and I huddled around the computer and up she came for auction to the highest bidder.  She came on with a bang and there was a fight that ensued and her price rose up and up and my next field of sales, books, and interest bloomed in front of our eyes.  After the fight and the win, I sent Marie Claude a check.  I also faxed Marie Claude to please find and save every Bleuette and her clothes that she could find for me. Bleuette's clothes were very important (Bleuette's clothes were couture and one dress I had for her sold for $2500.)

Marie Claude got busy and when I arrived back in Paris without Bleuette, she had a load of them for me...twelve to be exact.  I bought them all and told her I wanted to be her best and only buyer for that doll and her clothes.  Le Bourget, the antiques show that was out of town was the next day.  I visited the money exchange to change from dollars to francs and was loaded for bear. I shopped the show and found wonderful items but no Bleuettes.  Now at the time I was certainly not an expert in the field and since Bleuette continued to surprise me, never really became one, but I never let one slip by me and suddenly I was the go-to Bleuette lady in America.  Le Bourget was especially fun that day because I was so relaxed.  In one day I had bought enough until the next trip.  I glided around the show after two hours of running and then I heard PSSST PSSST--not knowing it there stood my new best provider, Joss. We spoke neither language but she said she had Bleuettes in the car and I was afraid she would rob me if I got out there and she was afraid to let me in the car, out of the pouring rain for a reason I cannot fathom.  Instead, she popped the trunk and I nearly fainted.  The trunk was full of Bleuettes beautifully dressed in Couture. That would mean a total of 37 Bleuettes to take home to America.  The rain poured down, I was soaked and so was Joss and her side-kick. But, we could not get into the car for me to count out thousands of francs to line her pocket.  I bought the entire lot but I was short a couple of hundred dollars.  I asked if she could meet me in Paris tomorrow and I would take the dolls and meet her for lunch to give her the rest of the money--her side-kick told her not to let me take the dolls without full payment and the rain pelted on.  I was nearly ready to tell her to 'stickim' when she came to her senses and agreed to meet me for lunch and payment. By then our mascara was running down our faces or at least mine was and our clothes were actually ruined...or at least mine was.  I cared not!  It was a very good trip because I had also found a driver and he drove me on every trip that I made to London and Paris.  He, in fact, drove all my tours and friends every trip we made.  So I was set for five years worth of trips to Paris alone. He was so interested in every bit of each and every trip and he knew his way around France like no other.  One thing more not to worry about. All 37 Bleuettes arrived in America and sold within two weeks. So not waiting for every other month, back I went for more. Paris' doll world, I was told was in a frenzy finding everything that could be thought of as Bleuette so I had a lot of frogs to kiss before things calmed down. The French hated me taking their Bleuette dolls out of France but they could not ignore the money that their dolls made for them.

Note:  I hasten to say there are many beautiful Bleuettes and it was just the first one that threw me.  I enjoy the five full years of their popularity as well as the people associated with the field of Bleuette and her fashions. I thank the French for their hospitality and help.

Le Bourget

When Andy and I enter the show (brocante) Le Bourget Parc Expositions (not in Paris) in the dark at 7:00 a.m. my mind is like an engine pulling too many cars. Should I hit this dealer first or take it in order or try to figure out the row set up or go helter-skelter and let fate lead me to my choices of the morning.  I say morning because, by noon, it's over.  The French like to make their money fast and spend the rest of the day eating, smoking, drinking and having a good old time off in some obscure spot.  And should they be dining in their booth, don't ask them anything! Also, watch your feet.  The floor is covered with merchandise and I would hate to think that anyone was so silly as to expect the floor to be clear while gawkers everywhere were paying little attention to their feet.

So you might have guessed Le Bourget is inelegant as most French shows are.  In America we try to set up the most attractive show as possible, but here the merchandise needs a good wash, they may say there is no damage, butttt...buyer beware. Having written these negatives we have found some of the most glorious treasures in that building (or hut or airplane hanger.) I actually forget about the place because there are so many things to see, to buy, to bring home.  I loved it! Don't worry if the dealers seem to be packing up all the time.  I don't know why they do that but one thing they do do is bring out new merchandise through out the day.  Why they don't put it all out, I don't know.  Unless they don't have room for everything which is a good possibility or if they don't like your looks which is more likely.  You may think you have seen it all but go back and look again and there will be treasures that they have just unpacked. Go figure. You can speed by a booth and see nothing of interest and on the way back you buy 14 pieces of child-sized furniture. Look  again and there is the exact thing you want only dirtier than one could expect.  I have brought things home and before they go in the house I set them on the bricks and use the hair dryer or if sturdy the leaf blower on them.  They bake in the sun with baking soda sprinkled inside to make them smell better. After baking they get a final blow out.

I've written eight books about toy china, glass, furniture, and Bleuette and that is what we searched for.  It was the time of our lives and we enjoyed every minute of the experience right down to seeing the French spread their white linen table cloths on a shakey table, with a flourish, when lunch was in the works.  Writing about lunch I can taste the ham and grilled vegetables waiting for the dealers and customers...the ham so pink and succulent it made one forget to shop. We would order the lunch and drink a glass of wine (and I mean glass) while anticipating the meal. All this took place in a dirty setting, but one learns to dress for it, I always wore black in France and I fit right in; well not really fit in.  If you are not French you actually don't fit in period. Once you start buying big, things get friendlier and Andy and I had some great times with some of the dealers for many years, but one still feels American in a place where the French allow you to visit but expect you to go home.

Oyster crackers

This is what I am talking about: doctored oyster crackers.  You know how dull and bland oyster crackers are...and how cheap they are.  Both are an asset here because the doctoring of them can be to your specification.  I melt 2 sticks of butter while adding to the butter: red pepper flakes, dried seasoning to your liking, no salt because you will use some garlic salt if you have it, cajun seasoning, dried parsley and cilantro. Stir and put in the oven at 350 for about 15-20 minutes.  Watch them because I don't know your oven.  They should look like this picture and they last for however long you have them.  You get where I am going?  Whatever you like to taste in a good spicy cracker put it in the butter, stir and pour over 2 bags of crackers. 


 

I also made this vegetable gratin today.

Au jus prep beef concentrate

I have to tell you about products that I did not find at Trader Joe's.  Carfagnas is our Italian market where many wonderful items present themselves in a small amount of space.  Three or four butchers take your number and cut your meat to order.  I try to bring home something I have not tried before and Minor's au jus prep beef and also chicken base give dishes a great appeal. It is so good.  I have added it to almost everything, well, not ice-cream.  It is a thick paste-like substance with no jiggle and it is perfect. I keep it in the fridge.  You won't believe what it does for soups and stews and casseroles.

We've had no winter to speak of and that suits me just fine.  We are planning dates of special occasions and that includes Easter.  We will celebrate 61 years of marriage, Easter, Carly and Brooks marriage, Andrew and Brittany's coming nuptials, the green grass, the sun, and the gathering of family. You can bet Minors au jus prep beef and chicken will appear in some form or other.  

I look forward to Monday nights at 10:00 on public television when Escape to the Chateau is on.  I LOVE that show and discovered you can watch episodes on Youtube.  From there I discovered a different show called the same or nearly so that features other families that have bought these run-down chateaus in southern France for nearly nothing and are in the process of fixing them up to offer weddings, tea rooms, tastings, cooking lessons...ways to make money for restorations and living expenses in a place where there are 28 or even 45 bedrooms. On my favorite is a red-haired designer and her multi-talented husband who seems to be able to do anything.  It is amazing to see all that he is capable of doing and she is really special.  Don't miss this show. Oh, they also visit flea markets and find the most wonderful items to fill their rooms at very low give-away prices.  I remember those flea markets well in France and England. Sigh. I must say Escape is about over for this season (I think one more to go) but catch up on Youtube.

Isabel Wolff

A lady who was my bus mate in Italy in October has kept in touch, as have many other bus tour members, but this one is a reader.  She has moved me in the direction of some very good authors.  Isabel Wolff is one of them.  I just finished three of her books: Shadows over Paradise which was very good, The Very Picture of You and it was good, then there was my first read which was A Vintage Affair and I like it very much.  Her other books on Amazon and there are many, but they don't seem to be much more than beach reads although I must admit I have not tried any of those.  I do recommend these three that I have listed, however.

Spring is just around the corner and I am trying to get in all my favorite stews and chowders before the season becomes too hot for them.  The showers and weddings are a bumper crop this season with at least four just in the spring alone. Then there is our grandson graduating from the University of Florida at the end of the summer, so we are flying down to Florida for several days of pleasure.

Andy has started tramping the yard.  He is ready to plant.  It is also good exercise.  He takes our one remaining dog and off they go for a good tramp.  Andy carries a rake in case the coyotes are coming for a visit.  Bella would be a snack that they would enjoy. I want another Yorkie. I miss a posse of dogs.

Good reading.

Dehillerin

If you read this blog you probably like to cook, collect antiques, deal in antiques, travel, or enjoying shopping. I am going to tell you about a cook's paradise in Paris.  You have probably heard of it, Dehillerin,  a gourmet cook's fantasy with devices that must be carried home for the American kitchen (although you can probably find every single thing in America) but where's the thrill in that? Also, the prices are better in Paris. Having first read about the whole batterie de cuisine in an American author's books on entertaining, I knew I must visit and revisit this shrine for cooks.  Dehillerin has been serving top-notch chefs for over one hundred fifty years and they never have had a sale.  Don't look for courteous treatment or advice either. Surprise.  This odd-shaped building is located at 18 Rue Coquilliere and the very address makes Andy shiver and his muscles ache because I only buy heavy stuff there for him to carry home--or so he says.

As you approach the store, really a warehouse with no elegance what so ever, you will see the large Gothic Saint Eustache church where Madam de Pompadour and Moliere were baptized and where Louis XIV celebrated his first communion.  Across from this landmark is a large park and playground.  That's where you will find Andy taking a nap preparing his body for the load that is to be forthcoming.

Sometimes while I shop Andy walks the brick pathway lined with restaurants of every kind to choose where we will dine that day. All have indoor and outdoor accommodations to suit the taste and season. Colorful umbrellas and potted plants dress up the street.  We have read the menus and meandered along this path many times while we decided where to have lunch or dinner.  Big iced trays of remarkable seafood catch our eyes and then we read about dim sum and duck a la Cantonese.  But, by this time we are really looking forward to something big and cold--never enough ice in either London or Paris.  We usually decide on the Chicago Meat Packers restaurant.  English is spoken and pitchers of iced beverages are passed.  We can let down our guard after days of posturing and pretending to understand French while we tackle huge plates of ribs or slabs of correctly cooked steak (as ordered) all washed down with frosty beer.  Something to look forward to, but first I shop!

I'm faced with every cooking device known to man as I stand in the doorway gazing at the bins of knives, choppers, clippers, and zesters.  A large whisk hangs from the ceiling the size meant only for display or the hands of a giant. There are mandolines that can julienne your little fingers off and tart pans that would have pleased the Queen of Hearts.  The cacophony of languages stuns the ear and everyone is speaking importantly of food.  I escape to the basement which is filled with La Cruisant.  I must have a piece of that although it is too heavy for a mule.  Oh, there are more tart pans shaped like flowers.  I have to have one of those.  I'm hyperventilating a state usually reserved for antiquing. Finally, I have the attention of one of the salespeople and he informs me I have too many items to fit in my bag (on wheels). Well, he had to make it work, the prices are half the price they are in America.  Shhh, don't tell the French.

I am not finished.  I leave the shop and make a sharp left going down a narrow street which dumps me into another street of dreams.  All cook and tableware, dried shiitake mushrooms, spices, vinegar, oils--I am gone way too long.  By now my bag and I are swaying side to side both worn and exhausted off to find Andy asleep in the park.  He wakes with start eyeing the bulging bag with chagrin. I am glad he slept, he's going to need it.

Full of lunch from the Chicago Meat Packers we decide to take a bus back to the hotel.  The French busses sometimes have a little stage to stand on the outside of the back of the bus.  There we were letting the wind whip us to a frazzle and the exhaust plug our nasal passages--never mind, we were in Paris and it was glorious.

Madam Yves Le Grand

One of the finest women I have ever met in France was Madam Le Grand. She worked, although she certainly did not have to work, for Colombelle three days a week in her shop in the Louvre des Antiquaires. I shopped there every trip I made to France.  It is so unlike most of the antique shops in Paris, very refined, very clean, and very aloof. 

Madam Le Grand was the exception.  she was as beautiful as she was hospitable.  Colette Le Grand wanted something to do after her husband died besides going to the Louvre over and over and over, seeing new things each trip.  Before she started working, however, she came to America for a total immersion course in conversational English.  The teacher fell in love with Colette and asked her to marry him. But, France was her home so she reluctantly refused.  Back in France she accepted the job of three days a week with Colombelle at the Louvre mall of antiques. I first bought from Colette after I had given her employer, Colombelle, my book called French and German, Dolls, Dishes and Accessories.  When Colette was in the shop three days a week the minute an American crossed the threshold, out came one of my books, (she bought them all some how) and a crusade was launched on my behalf.

I was alone on a trip to Paris during Desert Storm and decided to get a hotel near the place where Madam Le Grand worked, Hotel Regina...a movie As Good As it Gets was shown in that movie I believe.  It was a safe place although I must admit I traveled alone a lot carrying cash and I never once was afraid in either England or France. It was a winter trip.  I loved to go there in just that kind of weather.  Just brisk if one kept moving and I certainly did that.

Colombelle, the owner, found great things and many of them appeared in several of my books.  She had a good eye.  On this particular trip, she had a blue enameled French (toy) stove with St. Nicholas impressed on the top left burner surface. It weighed I'd say fifty pounds, Andy said thirty but then he was lifting it was he?  Not then. It was very expensive and really not my thing, but I knew people who would fall all over it and it would also look great in one of the next books. I kept going to and from the shop and on the last night, with only an hour before closing I decided to take one last look.  The trunks were packed and locked so I knew I would have to take it as a carry-on.  Luckily Madam Le Grand was in the shop and the owner was in the country when I hurried through the door .  I told Colette that if we could get the stove into the bag on wheels and if it coasted correctly up and down the hall, then I would take it.  We did, it did, and it became mine.  On the way back to the hotel I shined a few shins, but then the French are not litigious.

The next day I cursed myself more than once as I eased into my plane seat right in the midst of a rugby team from New Zealand.  The boy next to me was LARGE, sweet, and interested in everything about me.  He soon asked what on earth I had in the bag that he had heaved into the over-head compartment.  I told him to pray that it did not fall on anyone's drunken head during the flight. Since there is evidently no age limit for drinking in the air over international water the rugby team consumed more canned beer than I have ever seen.  They took a perverse delight in yelling, "Look Doris", we were all friends by then, as they smashed empty cans against their foreheads for my entertainment. My seat companion could not drink due to a queasy stomach, another pretty picture to contemplate during the 8-hour flight. I made friends with the entire drunken lot and this friendship came in handy when we reached American soil. They gleefully helped with the heavy trunks and boxes full of antiques. The heavier they were the happier the team was because we were all safe in the wonderful United States of America. 

Books:

I am reading Vintage Affair.  It is very good and a suggestion from a friend who knows I was an antiques dealer, collector etc.
You can read part of it on Amazon books to see if you like it.

June 22, 2011 party at Many Branches

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

July 4th...Party time, again.

I love it when all the Lechlers come together for a celebration of any kind. Everything is 'just all right' with them. They are happy to be with everyone and there is no friction or discord.(To make sure, however, I am steeping strawberries in Vodka to begin our long day and evening.)Maybe this will ease the way when we play Sequence and cards. Competition has been known to raise its bobble head every once in a while. That does not keep us from bringing out the boxes and boxes of games. We are always on the look out for board games of every sort. While people swim and play tennis and get sweaty or wet or both, we get hot and bothered over Sequence, a game we learned to play on the Alaskan cruise. Euchre (funny spelling, seems to me) is high on the list for many of us as well. I like all card games for sure, like Canasta and Bridge (although I do not like cut throat Bridge.) Every time a relative finds an exciting game, it is included in the fun. There is something for everyone, but high on the list is the food. We start the 4th this year around 11:00 because there is a long drive for those who must work the next day, so at 11:00 we have our first meal. At around 6:00 we have the closing meal. We used to get to the fire works some way, but the crowds are so big and the traffic is so awful, we miss it now days. We can hear it booming around us and the six dogs (some are visitors) go wild, but that is the extent of the fire works for us.

This year I am in charge of the meat, the wine, snacks and starters. I can't resist adding a few other dishes, but it is a relief to not have to do it all. Beth is bringing the corn on the cob, like four dozen or so ears. Corn on the cob and July make me think of the days at the Spook House--our summer place on the river. Andy worked at Battelle Memorial Institute and there was a man who grew great fields of corn. He'd allow Andy to fill our station wagon with corn and I mean fill it. My mom would have great pots of boiling water going out doors at the Spook House, waiting for our arrival. We had shuckers, destringers, boilers, cut off the cob-ers, baggers and coolers. It took all day. For the evening meal we would have sliced tomatoes, corn on the cob, and watermelon. We also had tons of tasty corn in the freezer for the winter to come. I miss those days and most of all, I miss my mother. Showing you a picture of the Spook House pleases me.

One tale makes me think of another: Joe and Glenda and their three girls would come to the Spook House at cherry picking time. We would grab big buckets and off we would go to the cherry orchard where we turned greedy, trying not to leave a single cherry for any other cherry poachers. Great low tables would be covered with newspaper back at the house and the pitting would begin... no child was spared. They knew their duty and for that day it would be pitting cherries.

I'd love to read about some of your favorite things to eat on this special day for our nation. Email me and I will post your recipes: dorislechler@aol.com

Picturing the Spook House opened up more memories. My former students reminded me that we camped out at the Spook House one week end. (One student ate so much he threw up going from one room to the next. Suddenly everyone was asleep, but me. I gagged all the way through clean up.) The next day it rained a little so we all walked down to the bar known affectionately as the Colonial Inn. We danced, played pool, and ate hand cut French fries. In this day and age we would have been in trouble, but luckily we had a preacher with us and he enjoyed the entire caper as well.

Antiquing in Paris intro

I have to write that Andy and I both liked Paris.  The next paragraph will lead you to believe otherwise.  We would have not gone back after the first trip had Paris not held many adventures which were evident even though we did not find it welcoming for several visits. Even after many many trips when I was traveling alone there were scary moments with everyday people at flea markets...like the cheesemonger who screamed and ranted at me because I picked up a wedge of wrapped cheese to look at the bottom to see the price.  I should have asked, first, to pick up the cheese...he, on the other hand, should have had the price where it could have been seen. It was very embarrassing and just one of the no-nos you might encounter. Don't pick up a flower in a flower market or stall or shop.  THEY pick out what you should have.  It is usually very nice when arranged by them, but you don't always get what you wanted in the first place. You are, however, allowed to point.

The first time Andy and I visited Paris was a disaster.  We could not wait to get back to London.  The City of Light was gray and mean and so was everybody we met.  It was a typical encounter between those who are Parisian and anything or anyone who is not.  But at that time we were young and full of ourselves thinking we could conquer and charm the population...or at least be able to enter the stalls in the largest flea market in the world. Several decades later we better understood the protectionism that prompts Parisians to hide their best shops in little cul de sacs, their best manners in their homes, their reasonably priced hotels on unfindable streets and their best antique shows along with their opening times a surprise.  They want to keep what they have in France.  But, the lure of the dollar, a penchant to spend, and the persistence of  blood hounds kept us searching until our schedule became full, our trunks became heavy and our booty became show worthy in America.

The year for us had begun in Paris at the world's largest flea market located at Porte de Clingnancourt.  The Irresistible smell of creperies never failed to greet us, no matter the time of year as we emerged from the Metro or stepped off the number 56 bus heading for the Marche aux Puces. The smell of the crepes made us long for American coffee and French antiques. (French coffee was not good then but is wonderful now.) 

With Montmartre a mile or so at our backs and the Marche down the street, we were happily sandwiched between the two for about eight hours of shopping.

By 9:00 the area is a hubbub of activity on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.  There are those who say the important business is on Friday but we did not find this to be so.  I think the dealers shopped among themselves on Fridays.  Once you are off the bus, out of the taxi or up from the Metro take a minute to stand and enjoy the overall view.  Cafes and patisseries on one side of the street and flapping, colorful tents full of new merchandise to the west.  Move off going north on the east side of the street, under the overpass of the Boulevard Peripherique. After several blocks glance across the street to see the rue des Rosiers, the main street from which all markets weave and crinkle like the gathers on the band of a broomstick skirt.  Ignore the new bags, scarves, and rotgut candy.  Hurry instead across the street and duck into the first alley on the right. It is like bursting through the curtain of a one act play.  In front are the antique props for the weekly production set in the Marche Vernaison which is only one of the eleven crowded markets on four important streets housing nearly two thousand stalls.

As we shopped we got the cold shoulder and some of the dealers would not let us in their booths.  They would take a broomstick and bar their entrances.  This was the first trip to France and I was certain it would be the last.  However, some of the booths were open to us and we shopped like sons-a-guns.  As we moved along things got friendlier and friendlier--they had figured out in a hurry that we were there to spend and the word spread.  We never had a bit of trouble or a dab of rudeness ever again (there).

Well into our many trips Andy and I were in Marche Vernaison finishing up late one evening.  My husband took one allee to re-cover and I took another to make sure we missed nothing.   Meeting at the end of the alleys he mentioned seeing an Old Paris toy dinner set in this one booth.  He described it, but I thought not.  He said it didn't matter because it had just sold.  Turning to leave, I bumped into a shaky card table outside one of the stalls.  I looked down to see what might have happened and there sat a toy pots de creme set blooming like a rose in a junkyard.  I have never seen anything like it in my life.  Pink and white Old Paris porcelain cups with lids, each with a bent bud finial and each rested in its own ring on a matching, footed tray.  I looked up and a young dealer came forward.  I asked the price and she said I'd have to wait until her mother returned with the rest of the set.  By that time, Andy was searching for oxygen.  I had lost all color.  How much more could one collector take?  With a burrlike tenacity, I hung on to the set.  Meantime, rounding the corner a person of considerable size and a no-nonsense expression rounded the corner carrying the rest of the matching dishes. (The same set Andy said had just sold.) Taking in my condition at a glance and betting on my impaired judgment, she pronounced the price.  It was staggering, but my bad angel said I should have it...my good angel murmured agreement.  Andy paid the bill and led me away babbling and nodding and thanking her for taking my money.

Street market in Paris