Check out the full review here.
Photo: Simona Ghizzoni/Contrasto/Redux
From here, Clark takes off on a food-themed trajectory, expounding on cheeses, apples, pastry, and lard. Recalling her first encounter with the pork butcher, she writes: "His excellent bacon, in chunky slabs ready to be cubed for soup, sold for 50 cents a pound." Clark learns a rule along the way and explains, "The Paris housewife soon collects a spindle of deposit slips. If you fail to take your own jar, you pay a 5-cent ransom on the jam glass provided for your cream." I wonder if Julia learned that the hard way. She must have spent a relative fortune on eggs--which Clark says cost "5 to 7 cents apiece, depending on their size and how recently they had left the nest"--for her countless soufflés. Clark is captivated by cream puffs and delighted by crisp rolls, which she happily proclaims are "all heel!" And finally butter, a thing of utmost importance to Julia. According to Clark, it came cubed and wrapped for 96 cents a half pound. The author goes on to say that a cheaper, more popular butter "squatted in watermelon-sized yellow mounds on marble slabs." These giant, creamy heaps, I then learned, were broken down in a most interesting way: "The proprietor filled customers' orders by deftly slicing off a portion with a taut wire held stretched between both thumbs and forefingers."Makes me hungry just thinking about it. Have you ever cooked in Paris? Have you seen Julie and Julia yet? Share your thoughts, and recipes, here.
Fast Facts:
National Geographic pioneered the use of Kodachrome film in the late 1930s and was among the first to recognize its advantages. The film produced a dye image without the grain found in other color processes, and the photographs could be enlarged without loss of detail. The film was also faster. Instead of requiring a tripod, color shots taken with a compact 35mm camera could be spontaneously composed. By the time American tourism was taking off in the 1950s, National Geographic photographers were adept at using Kodachrome. The images helped National Geographic stand out from other magazines still publishing in black-and-white.
Eventually Kodachrome became the most widely used color film in the United States.
[W]hat's the catch? Well, from what I've read of firsthand accounts, here's how things loosely go: you basically have to get to [New York] City two or three times on your own for some initial tests and an overnight stay. After that, you come back to NYC, catch a private Gulfstream jet out to a facility near the French-Swiss border then hang out an in a lab staring at the bucolic countryside with electrodes attached to you for a few days. Two weeks after you get back, you get a check in the mail.Clinilabs notes that participants cannot "leave the study center premises in France or tour France before returning home." So, that stinks. But getting paid enough money to venture back to France for a real vacation--all in the name of scientific research, mind you--sounds like a pretty good deal to me.
With an unenviable position of being stuck between wine superstars
Bordeaux and Côtes du Rhône, France's Languedoc is a region whose wine
just can't manage to shine. Through the years, frustrated vintners have
ripped up their vines and headed for friendlier terroir and
reputation. They're fed up and going broke in these tough economic
times. But that may soon change, thanks to a brilliant (and may I say,
entirely un-French) marketing scheme that plays to Languedoc's
spiraling stance in the wine world. We'd like to introduce you to "Le
Vin de Merde," or "Crap Wine."
Restauranteur Jean-Marc Speziale and winemaker Walter Valgalier concocted their devilish little PR tactic in the caves of Gignac, near Montpellier. Speziale told Just-Drinks.com that the canny name acts as a backhanded compliment to Languedoc's underappreciated wine.
"This draws attention to the fact that we make very good wines," Speziale said.
Photo: Boston.com
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