Lofoten Stockfish, M' Antoinette and Microfibres

Yesterday I devoted a few hours to documentaries on television, and greatly enjoyed it.

FIRST there was an itinerant culinary series that, having explored the cassoulet, the Breton mussel from its spiralling ropes, etc., in the past, had landed in the icy, northerly islands of Norway. When we strayed onto the channel, dark phalanxes of fish writhed in the wind as they were hung in bunches above snowladen earth looking over the seaboard. Everything looked lovely — brightly painted weatherboard homes, ink-dark ocean, floes and snowfall and rock at the water's edge — and so bright that it couldn't imaginably be filmed in winter months. As for the fish, I don't think that they were alive despite appearances, because the stockfish might be unflavourful if it is strung up with its innards remaining in situ.

AFTERWARDS a German-dubbed French film explored the premise that one could, through a three-course repast, answer the question, 'What did Marie Antoinette like to eat?'. In an unnaturally serene and rustically shadowy kitchen, a proper French chef de cuisine prepared oysters on the half shell bedded on spinach and pine nuts and gratinated with a hint of cheese, followed by the main course of pink-cooked duck that had been fried in a pan and then given into the oven and then rested so that the meat was as tender as possible.

(There was an orange sauce and segments of the fruit to provide the counterpoint of sweetness to the savoury duck that was apparently much prized before the triumph of home cooking in the 19th century, or something of the sort; but I think an argument was also that the duck itself has its sweet aspects in its flavour and, of course, that the orange itself is sour, too.)

In company with the duck there were served little metal dishes with napkins or kitchen towel of some sort, in which pale golden balloons of pomme soufflé were nested. Achieving this form of potato, 3 mm rounds which are deep fried twice and launched with care on swelling, bubbling oil so that the air pocket in them can form and then tucked beneath the surface, is (it seems) a tour de force of talent or of luck.

For dessert, the chef served glasses of mousse au chocolat, poached pears in their whole shape, crème de Chantilly (or so I think; the German dubbing announced as one heard the French soundtrack which seemed to include these words, that it was 'Schlagsahne' i.e. a common or garden variety whipping cream), pouring cocoa; the entire dessert was subtly spiced with cardamom.

APART from that I considered yesterday a good time to clean the apartment. Since in winter the orangey coal ash settles everywhere, and there have been hordes of dust bunnies lately, I went on the town with the microfibre cloth, dishwasher, brooms, vacuum, a towel, etc.

OUR Christmas tree is ready, too. Altogether Christmas has been more fulfilling this year than in past years, or so I think because I haven't been in university as much and therefore have had more time for non-secular thoughts and activities. Besides it feels nice to be able to buy what we like, though of course it's nicer to think that this is peripheral. So we had bowls of Spekulatius and gingerbread and so on to entertain us while we did our usual things, and even Omama's Advent calendar has been filled and emptied this time around. In Ge.'s and J.'s room, which has a tile stove that is highly agreeable at this time of year, we listened to Christmas CDs; on the piano and cembalo I've tried out versions of Nutcracker Suite extracts, Tchaikovsky's Seasons, Christmas carols, Händel's Messiah, and Bach's Christmas Oratorio; and Mama has been playing songs on the French horn.