17 février 2008
Windows of China
There is a land where a window is always more than a window, which is not surprising since the Chinese home is a temple. An opening to let the light in, or to keep it outside, or to let one see it from the outside. A place from which to contemplate the world, a place to dream, a place where the world leans in to see. Eye of the house unabashedly showing poverty or opulence. Blind eye, masked eye, shut eye, wide open to every wind or protected from the sun by pieces of cardboard boxes. A frame for ornaments of all sorts, shop-window-like. Demon-repelling window, draped with auspicious red and gold. Window encased in an iron wire frame bejewelled with magical trinkets. Half-dilapidated window exhaling wisdom, decrepit jewel encased in magnificent, flame-caressed grey Ming brickwork. Drying rack for anything, screen for displaying messages. Tiny window providing light to a tiny house. High window softly masked with white paper. Rippled paper set in a humble frame or richly colored stained glass. Delicate sanded glass flowers or fine lacquered wood lattice-work. I do not know which other country in the world has such powerful window poetry. Each Chinese window tells its own stories.
Streets of Guangzhou
Guangzhou, temple of the Five Immortals
Guangzhou, "historical center"
Foshan, Huang Feihong Memorial Museum
Foshan, Po Chi Lam school
Xiaozhou
Pour Boris.
15 février 2008
Guangzhou: the art of drying things (2)
Soon, I will post here my report of the OFF3 - Omnivore Food Festival in Deauville, but before I can do that, a few things are still hanging up to dry.
Did you by any chance believe we were done with the Cantonese art of drying? Far from it. All the following pictures were taken in December 2007 and January 2008.
Creatively-hung laundry is a Chinese specialty, and some laundry lines are hung up with a peculiar sense of order and beauty, even poetry, that never fails to amaze me. Hairdressing salons, beauty and massage parlors, having washing machines but no driers, cause the streets to bloom with graceful, orderly sets of pink, white or pale blue draperies.
A family, expressed through their clothes, is floating in the breeze on a small courtyard near the Chen Academy, between the shiny ficus trees and a Qing dynasty tiled roof.
Another set of laundry is sitting for posterity in Xiaozhou, a Yuan dynasty village that will be further described in another post.
Xiaozhou. A rare, Ming-dynasty sneaker drying rack in a perfect state of preservation and still in use. Probably one of the most beautiful example of the Chinese art of drying things.
Here is one of the great secrets of Chinese daily life: a deep, profound spirituality built into every moment and into the most humble chores. There always comes a time in the life of a street mop when you must, like everybody else, hang up your head and meditate.
Without departing from the dried stuff topic, let us talk about edible things, so that this blog deserves to be called a food blog and I get invited to food events and festivals. At the market, near Jiang Nan Xi Lu: dried egg noodles and preserved duck eggs.
Cantonese balconies are perfect places to hang anything you'd want to dry at home (if you were Cantonese): clothes, fish, char siu (marinated lacquered pork belly).
Back to the market with a delectable Cantonese specialty: dried duck.
Going a little further, an assortment of Cantonese sausages: short, black (a sort of black pudding), finely ground, coarsely ground. And a dried duck impersonating Ramses II.
The province of Guangdong is famous for its sausages and, in Guangdong, two cities compete for the title of Sausage Capital: Dongguan and Foshan. This cured meats shop was photographed in Foshan. The dark sausages from the top row are truly delicious.
Pretty, colorful and shiny like tapestry silk yarn, these dried and cured bacon strips — some unflavored, some sweetened, some smoked — were seen on a Guangzhou market. Sliced finely and served on top of freshly steamed vegetables, they are quite tasty.
No, I haven't taken you to a puppet show — these dolls are stuffed pig's feet, another Foshan specialty.
Cantonese-style squabs in a shop window near the Chen Academy.
Swallows' nests at Qingpin market.
Not cigars, but steamed and dried ginseng roots.
We finish this anthology of Chinese dried things with soft, dawn-colored dried persimmons.
Guangzhou: the art of drying things (1)
Things drying in Guangzhou. At the windows, in the streets, in shop windows, at home, in bags, above our heads...
It was the week of December 20th. I had arrived on the 20th. Until January 15, the day I left Guangzhou, I was unable to update this blog. The connection was too slow, images would not upload. The weather, that week, was mild, overcast and slightly damp. Nothing, however, that would keep the millenary Chinese art of drying things to flourish all over town.
Liwan Lu area, near the Chen Academy.
Qingpin market.
A chilli pepper at home, Fangcun Dadao.
Also at home: drying orange peels.
Dried orange peels at Qingpin market.
Picking the twigs out of tieguanyin tea at the Guangzhou tea market.
Long jing green tea just out of the deep-freezer (for freshness).
Coiled snakes, Qingpin market.
Seahorses, anyone? Good for manhood indispositions.
Cordyceps (already commented on this blog).
To be continued...
02 janvier 2008
This blog is taking some time off
I have been in Guangzhou (Canton) since mid-December and have been trying to update this blog. Unfortunately, the Internet seems to be powered by butane gas and uploading pictures takes for ever. Therefore we will resume business when I return to Paris, around mid-January. Until then, take care, happy holiday, etc. — and now I have to go and buy some crocodile at the market. See you soon.
13 novembre 2007
The Athens meat market
I found them again in an old folder, stashed on an old CD. They were taken more than ten years ago, around 1995-1996, with a FG Nikon camera and some Kodachrome slide film. They were scanned on a butane-powered device which, after some huffing and puffing, finally laid its Jpeg after three full minutes. As I rediscovered them, I let out a sigh: so that is how I used to scan photos; and no one ever thought of slapping me? Oh, all that you had to go through before APNs! The pictures have poor resolution, and I have trouble remembering how I ended up with that white balance. Sincerely, I have no idea of what happened to those pictures. Unbalanced, burnt, dark, reddish, they touch me as they are, and I dream of what I could do, now, with the same subject and my present cameras. Except for the fact that it is no longer possible.
These veils, a modern version of the antique velum cast over circus games, are meant to protect the market from the sun. What they hang above is the agora kreaton, the Butchers' Market, in Athens, precisely on Athinas Street, between Omonia Square and the old Agora. This is one of the very last examples of a central covered food market located in a large town. When I took the pictures, rumors of tearing the whole thing down were heard. Fortunately, that did not happen. It would have been a crime, indeed, to destroy this beautiful Neoclassical architectural compound. I have not been to the place since then, but I checked its present state through pictures on the Net: in conformity with EEC rules, all the stalls are now enclosed in glass. Photos will never look the same again. At least, this is a better fate than total disappearance.
This is how the market looked like at the time. The meat was piled up, hanged out in the open, butchers moving between carcasses and tripe like Indians through a rain forest. They ruled over their meat world, knowing all its rules. They had a unique, flamboyant look. They were handsome, rakish, cool and sexy, arousing both desire and fear. They were utterly male. How many rebetiko songs, from the 1920s on, celebrated the hasapakia, members of a mysterious order with ties to the underworld, whores and haschish smokers!
I would like to go back as soon as I can manage it. I would like to know if the butchers, like their meats, have been put in glass cases, safe from the outside world or, rather, saving the outside world from them; if my hasapakia have been refrigerated and adapted to European norms.
The photos are red, most of them much too red. But this is partly caused by the subject. In spite of the open skylight, or of the light bulbs and neons in some places, the bright red of meat saturates the light and is reverberated onto every surface. Whatever you do, it will be red.
On the photo above, you may see how carcasses were stacked up to produce that Soutine-like feeling. Or to evoke Dutch painting. In no way could you ever display meat this way anymore. And nobody ever died from that.
There is no way, either, a butcher could now be seen carving a beef brisket while smoking a cigarette.
This is fine lamb, country lamb — arni dopio —, see? The very lamb you rub with lemon juice, salt, pepper and garlic, and slowly roast in a medium oven until melting inside and crispy outside. (I cannot help it if you are hungry.)
Portraits.
In Greece, this gesture means "Come closer." This butcher had something to tell me.
Actually, he wanted both of us to be on the picture and had one of his colleagues handle the camera. As was usually the case in the days before the autofocus, the photo came out blurred.
After taking a few shots, a stop at one of the tavernas located inside the market is recommended. There you may eat everything you have seen on the stalls, only cooked. Well done, Greek-style. You may order a bowl of patsa (tripe soup) in the small hours of the morning, or, at Easter, a mayeritsa (lamb innard soup). This picture was taken under the neons of the taverna To Monastiri. I think the taverna still exists. Oh, hell, I am not sure. I had better go check.
24 octobre 2007
Agadir by night (and part 2 of the restaurant guide)
37 °C today; tomorrow I am leaving for a chilly Paris. More info on Agadir restaurants: after dining at a few places, I can confirm that good, fresh fish is to be found at the harbor.
Now I have been told about precarious hygiene conditions and the fact that those restaurants may be cleaned out sometime — they do not fit into the current projects of turning the local coast into a new Riviera or Costa del Sol. Pray that this does not happen. It is not unreasonable to think that the littoral around Taghazout and Mirleft may be soon covered in concrete. Some say that the fish restaurants may be transplanted somewhere else. But they remain the only place where I had fresh fish and really good food. I do not have any special complain about the hygiene, though I admit that the tiny kitchens are very simply equipped and that the fish market does not particularly smell nice. Does any ever?
Last night, at the beautiful new tapas bar at the new marina where we had just sat down, we were told the restaurant was out of fish. Completely out of fish. Not even a fin or a scale, not one squid tentacle to spare. Now the harbor is two hundred yards to the back, the sea is even closer by. Quite a feat. However, the tapas are okay and the Casablanca beer nice and chilled.
The beautiful tapas bar at the new marina: great décor, good tapas, no fish tonight.
The night before, I had ventured at the terrace of a reputable seaside restaurant I will not name here. I was served an abominable greenish fish soup with a hint of kerosene, marble-hard croûtons, mayonnaise mixed with tomato purée masquerading as rouille, and a twenty-minute wait. Then a mixed fish fry was set before me, definitely less good than the one I had had at the harbor. I did not have the heart to photograph my plates, so I shot something else.
The restaurant next door is proud of its specialty: Alsatian-style snails. Elsewhere, as I wrote before, it's cream and mushrooms and sometimes flambé. Honestly, I have not been everywhere, but I think I can already assert that the concept of cuisine du marché has not reached Agadir yet. It should not be difficult to set up, though, with the wonderful products readily available in the region. Just take a stroll through the great souk Alhad to see for yourself.
Late October: olive and pomegranate season.
Back to the beach. At night, it is not deserted. It becomes a quiet, mysterious place. Gadiris go there for after-dinner strolls and sit near the water to listen to the surf and enjoy the cool breeze.
14 juillet 2007
The cattle of the Sun
You will now come to the Thrinacian island, and here you will see many herds of cattle and flocks of sheep belonging to the sun-god.
He has seven herds of cattle and seven flocks of sheep, with fifty head in each flock. They do not breed, nor do they become fewer in number, and they are tended by the goddesses Phaethusa and Lampetie, who are children of the sun-god Hyperion by Neaera. Their mother when she had borne them and had done suckling them sent them to the Thrinacian island, which was a long way off, to live there and look after their father's flocks and herds.
If you leave these flocks unharmed, and think of nothing but getting home, you may yet after much hardship reach Ithaca; but if you harm them, then I forewarn you of the destruction both of your ship and of your comrades; and even though you may yourself escape, you will return late, in bad plight, after losing all your men.
We reached the noble island of the sun-god, where were the godly cattle and sheep belonging to the sun Hyperion. While still at sea in my ship I could hear the cattle lowing as they came home to the yards, and the sheep bleating.
Now the cattle, so fair and godly, were feeding not far from the ship; the men, therefore, drove in the best of them, and they all stood round them saying their prayers.
(These photographs were not exactly taken on the Thrinacean island; but in the Auvergne Highlands, on the wide grazing lands of the Plomb du Cantal, and on the plateau d'Aubrac. Quotations from Homer are taken from the Odyssey, book XII.)