TasteFood

Summer Berry Trifle

One of the best aspects of living in new countries is discovering and adopting the local cuisine. Apropos of
my last post on English pudding, I offer you my version of a trifle, which, to me, is a quintessential English dessert. I was first served trifle by a new friend who invited us to a dinner party when we lived in London. It was beautifully presented in a large glass bowl showing off a stunning swirl of berries and cream. I also remember the appropriate ooh's and aah's that accompanied the presentation, punctuated by complete silence as everyone spooned into their luscious dessert.

Distantly related to a fool (a concoction of cream and fruit), the trifle has a history that extends as far back as the late 16th century. Variations exist, but suffice to say it is a sumptuous parfait of fruit and cream, rippled with layers of custard or curd, and laced with spirits or syrup. Best of all, trifle is a crowd pleaser, forgiving in its portions and ingredients, a do-ahead dessert that elegantly displays the season's ripe fruit.

A combination of seasonal berries may be used.  This trifle uses fresh raspberries, blackberries and strawberries.  Begin preparing the trifle one day ahead.
 
For the lemon sponge cake:
1 cup flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
5 large eggs, separated
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon grated lemon zest
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
 
For the lemon curd:
4 large eggs
3/4 cup sugar
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
1 tablespoon grated lemon zest 
 
For the syrup:
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons water
 
For the fruit and topping:
1/2 lb. fresh raspberries
1/2 lb. fresh blackberries
1/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons Cointreau or Framboise (optional)
 
1/2 lb. strawberries, hulled and halved
 
2 cups whipping cream
2 tablespoons sugar

Whole strawberries, raspberries or blackberries as garnish
 
 
Prepare the lemon sponge cake:
Preheat oven to 350 F.
Line a buttered jelly-roll pan with parchment paper; butter the parchment paper and dust the pan with flour, knocking out the excess.  In a small bowl sift together the flour, salt and baking powder; set aside.  In bowl of an electric mixer, beat together the egg yolks, sugar and lemon zest until the mixture is very thick and pale.  Beat in the lemon juice and vanilla extract.  Continue to beat the mixture for 3 to 5 minutes, until it forms a ribbon when the beater is lifted.

Add the flour mixture and mix until combined.  In a clean bowl beat the egg whites with a pinch of salt until they form stiff peaks.  Whisk one third of the egg whites into the batter to lighten it.

Fold in the remaining whites gently but thoroughly.  Spread the batter evenly in the prepared pan.  Bake in the middle of the oven for 10 - 15 minutes, or until the cake is golden and a tester comes out clean.  Let the cake cool in the pan for 5 minutes.  Invert onto a rack and discard parchment paper.  Let stand uncovered, overnight to dry out.  Cut the cake with a serrated knife into 2 cm. cubes.
 
Prepare the lemon curd:
This lemon curd uses the egg whites in addition to the yolks, resulting in a milder, less intense curd that does not overpower the trifle.
Whisk eggs, sugar and lemon juice in a heavy medium saucepan to blend.  Add butter and stir over medium heat until curd thickens to custard consistency, about 8 minutes.  Transfer to a bowl and stir in lemon zest.  Press plastic wrap onto surface of curd and chill until cold, at least 4 hours.  (Can be prepared 3 days in advance.  Refrigerate until use.)
 
Prepare the syrup:
The syrup is a child-friendly variation of the spirits normally added to trifle. Substitute 1/3 cup Cointreau or Framboise for a more potent dessert.
Combine sugar, lemon juice and water in a small saucepan.  Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring until sugar dissolves.  Reduce heat and simmer 1 minute.  Cool to room temperature.
 
Prepare the fruit:
Combine raspberries, blackberries, sugar and optional liqueur in bowl.  
Mash with fork. 

Let stand 30 minutes to macerate. 
 
To assemble trifle, line bottom of a large glass bowl or 8-10 individual glass goblets (depending on size) with sponge cake pieces.  Brush with syrup or spirits. 


Spread 1/3 raspberry mixture over sponge cake; fill in gaps and line sides with strawberries.  Top with 1/3 lemon curd.  Repeat layering twice using 1/3 cake, syrup, 1/3 raspberry mixture and strawberries, and 1/3 curd.  Cover and chill for at least 2 hours and up to 6. 
Before serving, whip cream to soft peaks.  Beat in 2 tablespoons sugar, taking care not to overbeat.  Spread cream evenly over trifle.  Arrange whole berries on top as garnish. 
 
Serves 12.

Tea and Pudding

(Note - For my dear U.K. friends and family, please bear with me on the following post.)

I miss the English language.

In 1999 we moved to London from Geneva due to a corporate relocation. After 9 years in Switzerland, this was a new development in our family saga. Among the mixed emotions, one standout was a relief to live again in an English speaking culture. We could move right in and mix with the locals! We could live anywhere, not dependent on an international community or school to settle in. If we didn't want to pay a hugely-exorbitant property price in London, we could pay a moderately-exorbitant property price in the countryside. We could move to a charming provincial English village in the hills or downs, find a crumbling stone property or a creaky half-timbered cottage and fit right in. After all, we were fluent in the local language - we only missed a sturdy pair of wellies.

I should have known better. I had plenty of British expat friends back in Geneva. Perhaps I hadn't paid attention, or perhaps in the expat world, you have your own expat culture and dialect; everyone ends up speaking affected versions of the international language of English, adapted and tweaked to mingle with the myriad mother tongues and language abilities encountered in an enormous international community.

Whatever the case, upon arrival in London and following a brief rental experience in Surrey, we moved to that aforementioned tiny provincial village where we purchased a rambling, L-shaped, feng-shui-challenged barn renovation near the south coast with distant views of the Isle of Wight. Suddenly, I found myself in the thick of all things English and thoroughly in the dark.

While I can write volumes about our bumbling and surprisingly foreign experience settling into U.K. life, I will remain on the topic of language. After all, that was one of the perks of this move for us, and the excuse we used to propel ourselves to a remote corner of Southeast England in our well-intentioned quest to live like a local.

So please reflect upon these images.

Here is a picture of Tea:

And here is a picture of Tea:

Explanation: If your child is invited home by a classmate for tea one day, rest assured your precious 4 year old will not be served a scalding cup of Earl Grey. Most likely, he will be supplied with an early supper served to children; beans and toast is a favorite.

Here is a picture of Pudding:

And here is a picture of Pudding:

Explanation: If you are invited to a neighbour's home for dinner and asked to bring a pudding, don't despair if you are unsure as to whether you can recreate your mother's butterscotch pudding recipe from your childhood. Pudding is a synonym for dessert, so feel free to live on the wild side and whip up a cake or trifle.

Now you have an idea of the linguistic hurdles I faced. However, with time, and in my eternal pursuit of going native and not blatantly sticking out like the Yankee that I am, I slowly caught on to the English language. My vocabulary shifted. I embraced words such as whilst and hence. I quickly learnt to refer to the car boot and clothing articles such as knickers, jumpers, and trainers. More importantly, I learnt to never ever compliment someone on their pants (blush) - for they are trousers. My written word adjusted to include u's and t's (neighbour, favourite, learnt, burnt.) The letter "z" became "zed" and was often substituted with an "s" as in finalise and realise. Ever ever so civilised.

Years later, when we would move on from England to Denmark, and I was straddling the Danish and international communities, British-English remained the English language. I miss it now and still use it in my writing. Unfortunately, my very-American computer program is none too pleased, and my text is littered with red lines.

Peas Glorious Peas

For all my pining for Europe, I must say I am thoroughly enjoying our new location in the San Francisco Bay
area. One highlight is the San Rafael Farmers Market, held every Thursday and Sunday in the shadows of the Marin Civic Center, an impressive building designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. I was there this past week shopping for a cooking party I hosted over the weekend and was delighted to have an excuse to buy armfuls of fresh produce and flowers showcased by local farmers and food purveyors. My favorite at this time of year are the fresh peas, sweet and crisp, which I prefer to pop straight out of their shells directly into my mouth - no need to bother with cooking. They are the best fast food. I also came upon some beautiful edible flowers, in this case, flowering kale - tasty and peppery to the bite and a beautiful spot of color to add as garnish to a dish. I share with you one of the recipes featured at the party that made good use of the sweet peas. You may notice some edible flowers as well.

Spring Pea and Pecorino Purée with Sautéed Garlic Shrimp
Serves 8 as an appetizer

2 cups shelled English peas
3 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons grated Pecorino Romano cheese

½ teaspoon dried chili flakes
1 large garlic clove, minced
16 large shrimp, peeled, deveined
2 tablespoons dry white wine

Pecorino Romano shavings
Freshly ground black pepper
Olive oil
Fresh chives

Prepare spring pea purée:
In a medium saucepan, bring 4 cups of water to a boil. Add 1 teaspoon salt and the peas. Reduce heat and simmer until peas are tender. Remove from heat, drain peas, reserving 1 cup cooking liquid.
Combine peas and 1/4 cup cooking liquid in food processor and purée until smooth. Add more water to desired consistency.
Season purée to taste with salt and pepper. Stir in one tablespoon olive oil and grated
cheese. Keep warm.

Prepare shrimp:
In a sauté pan, heat 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add garlic and chili flakes. Cook, stirring, until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add shrimp in one layer and cook, turning once, until pink on the outside and opaque in the center, about 2 minutes per side. Add wine and cook 30 seconds to allow alcohol to evaporate. Remove from heat.

Divide warm pea purée among 8 demi-tasse cups or martini glasses. Arrange 2 shrimp over purée. Top with Pecorino shaving, freshly ground black pepper and drizzle olive oil over. Garnish with chives (and edible flowers as available!)

Before and After - avec enfants

Now in all fairness, there are probably a number of you who have read my post Before and After and thought: she was single and had no children, so she could afford to walk and eat all over Paris, both literally and figuratively. I understand, and I share these anecdotes with a great deal of nostalgia. However, this approach to cities is one that I follow even when traveling with our children to this day. Just ask them how they feel about walking in cities with their mother, and you may get an assortment of responses ranging from groans and feigned leg injures to deadpan comments such as, "Oh? Is there really a Metro in Paris, because we certainly wouldn't know." (I do exaggerate somewhat - during evening hours I am the first to jump in taxis or venture in the Metro. After all, as mentioned earlier, my most favorite past-time is eating in restaurants, and I will do whatever is necessary to arrive at said restaurant in a timely manner.)

My point is that I like to see everything. And my view is that when walking you see and learn so much more about a city. You can window shop, read menus posted outside of restaurants, admire building façades, and people-watch endlessly. Feeling tired? Just stop spontaneously for an espresso or jus pressé, and everyone can find something to nibble on from the menu carte. OK, so maybe there won't be shopping for those Robert Clergerie shoes, but I know our family-unit limits and have learned to respect them if there is any hope of enjoying the city. So, instead, we amuse ourselves looking at curios in the souvenir shops in Les Halles or at street performers at Le Centre Pompidou. After all, we are in Paris! And let's just be honest with ourselves: it is not - and never has been - humanly possible to digest the Louvre in one day. So why not just zip in and give Mona Lisa a good eye over with the kids in tow; after all there are a number of treasures and titillating Egyptian sarcophagi you pass in the maze you must walk to view her. With luck you might even get lost along the way and suddenly find yourselves glimpsing the Venus de Milo. The possibilities are endless! As for distances covered, it all becomes relative; a walk may not be across town, but if we can get from one end of le jardin des Tuileries to Ile Saint-Louis during the afternoon (with ice cream, feed the duck, look-at-barges-on-the-Seine stops along the way) then we are way ahead of the game. To me, living and traveling in Europe is about simple pleasures, and successfully navigating Paris with children is truly a very simple pleasure - and a huge victory.

Strawberry Fields

It is strawberry season in our part of the world. The supermarkets and open air markets are displaying piles of luscious red strawberries, sweet and ripe, ready for eating. Before we moved here, our home was in Denmark, which would be considered (very) northern Europe. Summer is brief, and sunshine is not guaranteed. At this time, strawberries would be available, but were imported from France or Spain, as the Danish spring would still be in its earlier stages. Danish strawberry season is fleeting - primarily for the month of June - and for that one month we would gorge ourselves on strawberries. We could pick our own at the nearby organic farm, or stop at roadside rest areas where people would sell their harvests from pick-up trucks and car trunks. While driving on country backroads, at the end of long driveways we would find lone tables offering cardboard boxes of strawberries from which we could choose and then pay our money into an unmanned cash box - all transactions done on the honor system, of course.

For this one month (if we were lucky, and it wasn't a rainy season) we would stuff ourselves with strawberries. We would eat them plain, with cream, in tarts and pavlovas, in fruit soups and salads. When we gave up because we couldn't eat them as fast as they arrived, we would freeze them for later in the year, as a tease and a whisper of our summer. And finally, when we began to think that we couldn't possibly eat another strawberry, the season would be finished. Another fruit would replace it as the star of the show, strawberries would shift to the background and fade to a memory of summertime. Until the next year.

This is a dessert I've prepared for dinner parties. It is more Italian in inspiration, and always a success, especially when prepared for my Danish family and friends who were weary of their more traditional Danish recipes:

Strawberry and Mascarpone Cream Parfaits with Balsamic Syrup and Mint

1/3 cup balsamic vinegar
4 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

1 cup chilled mascarpone cheese
2 cups whipping cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 lbs. strawberries, hulled and halved

8 whole strawberries
Fresh mint leaves

Combine vinegar, 1 tablespoon sugar and lemon juice in small saucepan. Bring to a boil, stirring until sugar dissolves. Boil until syrup is reduced by half, about 4 minutes. Transfer to a small bowl and cool completely. (Syrup can be made one day in advance. Cover and refrigerate.)

In a mixing bowl combine mascarpone cheese, whipping cream, 2 tablespoons sugar and vanilla. Beat until soft peaks form. Cover and refrigerate up to 4 hours.

30 minutes before serving, combine strawberries and balsamic syrup in a bowl. Add 1 tablespoon sugar. Toss gently to combine. Let sit at room temperature for 30 minutes.

Divide half the strawberries among 8 glass goblets. Spoon half the cream mixture over the strawberries. Top cream mixture with remaining strawberries. Top with cream mixture. Drizzle with any remaining syrup.

Garnish with whole strawberries and mint leaves.

Before and After

When I first moved to Paris to study cooking, let's just say I was somewhat rigid in terms of feeding myself. Here I was, twenty-something, educated, professional, and, at least in my opinion, worldly. Now this is my own small story, but I will dare say that I conformed to a rather structured, and perhaps American way of viewing diet and exercise: compulsive, rigorous, disciplined, and did I mention rigid? This translated to a philosophy that excluded butter, red meat, caffeine, little alcohol and included fresh fruit, veggies, fish and so on. It also included a regimen of daily exercise, even if it meant rising at 5 a.m. to squeeze a workout into an active, fully-booked life. A day without exercise was unthinkable; deviation from my super healthy diet bordered on cataclysmic.

So wouldn't it make perfect sense that I would apply to cooking school in Paris? Not only cooking school, but the revered, classical, traditional French cooking school, Le Cordon Bleu. Goodness knows what I was thinking. Perhaps it was a subconscious acknowledgement of the starkness of my present routine and the need to just live a little; the gap of an ocean and the excuse of a new culture to step away from life as I knew it. Or perhaps it was the lack of meat protein in my diet that impacted my reasoning skills. Whatever the case, off I went to cook and eat in the land of butter, cream, pastry, runny cheese and terrines, at a school that for over 100 years held the distinguished and elite position of teaching classical French cuisine et pâtisserie.

And guess what? Nothing untoward happened. In fact, lots of delicious, sensual, pleasurable, yummy, gooey, and rich experiences befell me. The foods I wistfully admired from the sidelines of my healthy regimen back in the U.S. became the daily staples of my new Parisian life. I had an encyclopedia of cheeses at my disposal, bakeries on every street corner displayed gorgeous oven-baked breads and flaky croissants, cafés dotted every neighborhood serving comforting French bistro fare. Open air markets peppered the city, and depending on the day I could alter my route to school to pass by stands displaying a rainbow of fresh seasonal produce, glistening fresh meats and a sea of fish. Cheeses, patés, and more breads were prominently displayed along with a kaleidescope of cut flowers readily available for the finishing touch to the table.

For exercise I walked to school every day - literally across town - from the 18th to the 15th arrondissement.
I risked life and limb crossing streets and boulevards, skirting the occasional mob of striking postal workers, protesting students and subsequent swarms of police, allowing 20 minutes at the minimum to navigate across the sweeping Place de la Concorde as I would officially cross from the right to the left bank over the Seine. Each day I would change my walking route, either purposely or more often erroneously, discovering new streets, neighborhoods, shops and cafés. I had a short list of favorite cafés where I would stop for my morning tartine (avec beurre) and café au lait (avec caféine.) Outside of the school I learned which bakeries had the best sandwiches - simple, satisfying packages with thickly sliced Comté cheese or paper-thin tongues of jambon sechée, a little butter and mustard, and perhaps a cornichon for garnish on a crusty, airy baguette the length of a forearm. So satisfying and so uncomplicated. An afternoon pick-me-up between classes or along my walk home would include an espresso and perhaps a tarte au citron - a dollop of perfectly balanced sweet, tart and very lemony curd nestled in a palm-sized shell of pâte sucrée. If I could bear to make dinner after a day of cooking in class, I would improvise a light dish with some of the purchases from the market or head out to a bistro or restaurant on my un-ending list of new places to try. Simply put, my life in Paris revolved around eating, cooking, walking and eating more. I was very happy.

Border Crossings

As mentioned, Switzerland is a landlocked country bordering a handful of countries. From Geneva, you can be in France within 10 minutes, Italy in an hour, and from Basel and Zurich you are close to Germany, Leichtenstein, Austria. To an American this is just nifty. I mean, honestly, the most common border to an American is a state border, and crossing from California to Nevada or Massachusetts to New Hampshire is not nearly as thrilling as driving across a Swiss border to another country! When you cross a Swiss frontière, suddenly you enter another culture with another language, another way of making very good espressos, another set of road signs that you don't understand. Crossing a U.S. state border, you mostly find speed traps.

The first house I lived in was in a small village between Geneva and Lausanne. In this small hamlet, there was a marie, or town hall, a boulangerie(no self-respecting village would be without one) and a douane, or border guard. We lived one mile from the French border and could easily drive to and fro between Switzerland and France to our hearts' content. On Sundays we would shop the open air market in Divonne-les-Bains, purchasing fresh seasonal fruit and vegetables, roasted chicken, artisan cheese, paté and foie gras. We would then head to the local tearoom and recharge ourselves with a luscious croissant d'amandes and cappuccino before crossing back over the border to our home in Crassier.

When I first arrived, I loved casually inserting into a conversation with friends or family back in the U.S. that I had just shopped for groceries that morning in France, or that I would dine that evening in a French countryside auberge. My friend Kingsley arrived from the U.S. to visit me, and one of our first outings was to walk to France. Now, mind you, this was not the most scenic walk to do in the area, but, by golly, what a good story to talk about after. We nonchalantly waved bon jour to the Swiss border guards as we strolled past their guardhouse and casually glanced at the decidedly empty French border guardhouse (the guards were most likely fortifying themselves over a 2 hour lunch break) and then voilà! We were officially in another country! We trudged on to our destination, a simple café in a French village where we ordered Salade aux Crottins de Chavignol, a glass of wine and the French version of very good espresso. We then walked back over the border and still are, clearly, talking about it.

Cheese Fondue

Cheese Fondue

You may wonder why on earth I would start with a cheese fondue recipe, especially since I had just arrived in Geneva after 6 months of cooking and eating my way through Paris. Well, I start with this, because this question best mirrored my own sentiment upon arriving in Switzerland and getting busy with one of my favorite extracurricular activities: Eating in restaurants.

On the heels of Parisian dining I found that Swiss dining was somewhat, well, limited. At least this is what I found in the spring of 1991. Yes, there were many fine establishments serving haute cuisine, but for those preferring less of an impact on wallet, digestion, and trouser-size, this was not an option for frequent dining. For more casual outings, the common option was the local auberges. These were cafés and inns located in every town and village; a convenient stop for those who tired of eating at home. Quickly, one discovered, however, that variety and choice were not necessarily the operative terms when the menus were devised.

Tarte Tatin

In keeping with the rustic French theme, I include my favorite Tarte Tatin recipe, which makes a perfect dessert to accompany the beef bourguignon, potato gratin and mixed green salad in my previous post. Tarte Tatin is pure heaven for lovers of caramelized fruit. It is essentially an upside down tart with the fruit on the bottom, well caramelized, and pastry on top. Named for the Tatin sisters who had a restaurant in the French village of Lamotte-Beuvron at the turn of the 20th century, it is believed to have originally been a mistake, when the pastry was omitted in error from the bottom of the tart. In a perfect example of "going with the flow" in the kitchen, the crust was added as an afterthought, and so we have the Tarte Tatin. Thank goodness for this mistake!

Tarte Tatin
Serves 10-12

Sour Cream Pastry
1 1/2 cups flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
12 tablespoons chilled unsalted butter, cut in pieces
6 tablespoons sour cream

Apple Filling
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup plus 2 tblsp. sugar
5 lbs. Granny Smith apples, peeled, quartered and cored
1 egg, beaten to blend, for glaze

Blend flour, sugar and salt in a large bowl of a mixer fitted with a whisk attachment.
Add butter and beat at medium-low speed until butter is size of peas, about 3 minutes.
Add sour cream and beat until moist clumps form, about 1 minute. Gather dough into ball, flatten and wrap in plastic. Refrigerate at least 2 hours. (Can be made one day ahead. Keep refrigerated.) Let soften slightly at room temperature before rolling out.

Spread butter over bottom of large oven-proof skillet with sloping sides. Reserve 2 tablespoons of sugar. Sprinkle remaining sugar over butter. Place skillet over medium-low heat and cook until butter melts, sugar begins to dissolve and mixture starts to bubble, about 3 minutes.
Remove from heat. Arrange apples on their sides around edge of skillet, placing tightly together. Place reamining apples in a circle in center of skillet, core side facing up. Sprinkle with the remaining sugar.
Set skillet over medium-high heat. Boil until a thick amber coloured syrup forms, repositioning skillet to ensure even cooking, about 30 minutes. Remove skillet from heat.
Note: Do not allow syrup to darken on stove; it will continue to darken while baking.

Meanwhile, as apple mixture is cooking on stove, preheat oven to 425 F.
Roll out pastry on floured surface or parchment paper to a round shape to fit size of skillet. Place over apple mixture once removed from stove. Cut 4 slits in top of pastry. Press down around apples at edge of skillet; brush pastry with some of the egg glaze.

Bake tart until pastry is deep golden brown, about 30-40 minutes. Remove from oven and cool one minute. Cut around edge of skillet to loosen pastry. Place large platter over skillet. Using oven mitts, hold skillet and platter together tightly together and invert tart onto platter. Cool 30 minutes.

Cut in wedges and serve with dollop of whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.

Notes:
Pastry dough may be frozen up to one month in freezer before rolling. Allow to defrost in refrigerator overnight.
Once tart has been inverted onto a platter, and if a more caramelized effect is desired, place the platter (ovenproof) under oven grill to allow further browning.
Apples may be substituted with another fruit such as pear or fresh apricot.
Tarte Tatin is traditionally served slightly warm or at room temperature.

Bon Appétit

For the past 18 years I have lived in 5 countries. In 1990 I moved to Paris to study cooking with the intention of lingering on after my cooking program finished and finding a job. Originally I planned to work as an interior designer. After all, that was my profession in Boston before I moved, and while I loved cooking, I approached it more as a hobby and a ticket to Europe. I figured that once I got myself to Paris, learned the ropes of La Cuisine Française, magically learned French (I studied Spanish in school), endeared myself to the all-embracing French population and became a local, well, then, I might just get a design job with Euro-Disney, which was in the process of being constructed on the outskirts of Paris. I would nimbly straddle the French-American culture, drinking café au lait and eating baguettes (I was on a tight budget, after all) while involving myself in the construction and decor of the Magic Kingdom and home of Mickey Mouse. Sounded like a plan.

As all best laid plans go, before I even boarded the jumbo to take me to Paris, I met a Dane in Boston who was in town on business from Geneva, Switzerland. What does this have to do with anything, you may ask. Well, everything. We hit it off, we liked each other. I thought he was cute, and apparently he felt the same about me. So, when I did fly over to Paris to cook, that was not the only thing that began cooking. Geneva and Paris are a 3 hour TGV train ride apart, and for the next 6 months we spent nearly every weekend together either in Paris or Geneva. So, upon my graduation from La Cuisine Base de Française in Paris, I decided that Euro-Disney would have to be built without me, packed my bags and took another TGV ride to Geneva - this time with the plan to stay.