At a glanz

I am graciously accepting congratulations: I finally bought my very first SLR camera (sweet second-hand Canon EOS 400D)! Long time dream come true! (I could never save up for it…too many nice shoe shops around… :-)

Summer afternoon in the "altstadt" Baden, Teatro Palino by the city tower.

Summer afternoon in Zürich... Window of Balthazar café

Yes, I am taking lots of pictures this week. I click at anything that moves, and that is still; from beautiful things, to ordinary, to odd… Flowers, bees, cows, a few people (when they were not looking), and…food. Food never appeared more appealing (to me) than through the lens of that camera.

Mon petit déj a la Russe :-)

It's berry time! Experimenting with mascarpone and forest berries for dinner dessert yesterday

Looking for hints and inspiration I turned to my archive of Gourmet magazines. For years it had been my virtual travel machine. All the exotic places and recipes, all the intensive colors of unknown spices and fruits, healthy happy people “talking” about their favorite flavors… Every time a new issue came it was like meeting an old friend who just returned from a long journey.

Gourmet wasn’t just about the food. The header summed it up perfectly: “The magazine of Good Living”. Gourmet has been published since January 1941, and now Condé Nast shut it down after 68 years. The electronic version still exists, but it can’t compete with a scent of glossy pages which you could take to bed or garden, and dip in and out of the “tasty” adventures... I will sure miss it.

OLD vs NEW

When I was about ten years old, I got a great pair of sport shoes for my birthday. They were blue, white and red suede, heavenly soft, and a tad too big (an unimportant couple of sizes, maybe). I ignored the last fact courageously. These shoes became a prolongation of my feet: I rode my bike in them, walked my dog, played tennis, went to school. Only at night my mother forced me to pull them off (they slept under my bed, nonetheless).

At some point my feet and the sneakers made a perfect match. Then my body (but not the mind!) started to grow weary of this relationship. I still have a neat size 38 now, but those days it was no consolation. My favorite shoes became too small for me (mind you, we are talking early nineties here, early post Soviet time and space, finding ANY pair of shoes was a challenge, not to mention the soul-mate pair). I bravely ignored reality (I still do it quite often), and the pain in my toes. But there was no way out of it: I had to let them go. I wiped off the tears, pampered my beloved sneakers over a boiling kettle one last time, and stored them for good.

Yesterday I lived an adult version of that story (minus the crying). I had to let go. You see, I had a hobby: I was tending a bar in a little theater in a little town. The job didn’t pay money-wise, but it paid in so many other ways, that money didn’t matter. Washing glasses by hand didn’t bother me much either (friends, artists, and musicians would sneak at the back to chat and gossip near the sink). We had beer and a few wines on the list, and we had people who loved the place. No one minded wax-covered tables, and windows, darkened by candlelight smoke. The Place Had Soul.

Of course, someone had to pay the rent, we made almost no profit. So, a rescue plan was designed, walls were painted, wax was scrubbed off, dishwashers installed, cocktail bottles arrayed, and a maitre d' was hired. Everything is very professional now, very business-like. Hearty laughter was duly replaced with orderly polite smiles (and occasional barks). But it’s not all bad, mind you. There is a great food, grand choice of wines, and if you come with a good company, you won’t be disappointed. It’s the lonely hearts who suffer from the improvement. Soul is not on the menu, not yet.

I am almost sure the place will grow a new old spirit, the paint will chip here and there, and new people will become old customers. Will I see it grow? I don’t think so. From a corner table, hiding behind well-measured glass of red wine once, maybe. I will miss the “other side”, being behind the bar. This magic imaginary line, that makes you invisible to some and indispensible to others. It’s been a good one and a half year and it’s time to move on.

Have a nice weekend everyone,

Love, AB