Chamonix Revisited: Farmer’s Market

This is the type of post my mom hates.  “You show all these photographs of food I’m not going to get to eat!”

Okay, true.  So, let me apologize in advance, Mom.  If you come visit us in Hong Kong, you can have all the saucisson your heart desires.

When we were in Chamonix, the Saturday before we left was reserved for free skiing, as ski classes were over.  Sam’s ski class was also completed and she’d gotten all A’s on her ski test, so she was looking forward to free skiing with us.

That experience, in itself, qualifies as a separate post.  More on that, later.

However, the day before, our ski instructor, Patricia, who was not only a fun instructor but also a great tour guide, always pointing out the sights and telling us interesting tidbits about the area, told the women in our group that there was a farmer’s market on Saturday mornings in town.

Those of you who have even the slightest understanding of me will know that a farmer’s market will hold infinitely more interest for me than trying yet again, unsuccessfully, to hold my skis parallel while lurching and weaving and scraping down an icy slope.  There was a reason my mom named me ‘Joy’ and not ‘Grace‘ and I now know what it is.

Let’s just say my sporting relationship with water is much more congenial when it is in a liquid state, rather than a solid.

Therefore, on Saturday morning, I left my family to their skis, while I set off for the central town square with my eco-bags at the ready, prepared for a frosty, but productive morning of shopping for French farm products.

Man, it was cold!  But, when there is artisanal nosh on the line, I will risk even frostbite, removing my gloves as necessary to pick up the delectable sample slices of saucisson, jambon (that’s ham, to you), fromage (cheese) and home-made nougat (nougat) the vendors plied me with, the better to entice me to dig into my pockets and hand over the Euros.

I am proud to say, I ended up buying probably close to 15 lbs of saucisson (after sampling probably close to that amount) to bring home — and came to the realization that I will never be able to embrace vegetarianism as a way of life.

As I couldn’t bring home the farmer’s market, I took some photos to share:

Gorgeous, jewel-toned candied and dried fruits —

This stall basically candied everything they could get their hands on.

Like little jewels in baskets.

These guys told me they could speak Chinese. Not really.

But they had a very pleasing saucisson display. And were willing to contend with my frightful French.

Olives are not really my thing, but boy, are these beautiful.

I was tempted by the honey, which looked like little jars of sunshine, but can you imagine the potential mess in your baggage?

There were endless, and I do mean endless, displays of cheese -- all sensibly manned ('womanned'?) by robust ladies.

Just because it's the dead of winter doesn't mean you can't enjoy a tableful of summertime.

Homemade nougat -- what a workout it must be to manhandle those massive slabs of candy, to mix them up and roll them out.

My absolute, most favoritest stall -- a whole truckful of mouthwateringly aromatic, crispy rotisserie chicken. Absolutely irresistible.

How fun is that??? The proprietress is ladling out roasted potatoes, which look like they're being basted by the dripping juices from the browning chickens. Talk about heaven on a plate.

Okay, that’s it for now, on Chamonix — I think I still have at least two, maybe three Chamonix posts in the pipeline — will take some time, though, and will likely be peppered between entries of more recent goings-on.

Meanwhile, hope you’ve enjoyed these!

Bangkok: Good Friends, Good Food and The Cholesterol Bet

For the past several years now, a group of us have been heading down to Bangkok, more or less annually, as part of the hordes partaking in Bangkok’s medical tourism.  This last weekend was our fourth trip.

Before anyone starts perusing our trip photos for the tell-tale bandaids along the hairline, let me say up front that (so far) we haven’t indulged in any nips, tucks or injections of any type.  If we look well-rested, it’s because we were.  And probably, all the eating we do when we’re down there has a tendency to plump up those faces and fill in the wrinkles.

No, we started going to Bangkok as a way to get some fun out of a necessary evil.  Once we, one by one, started crossing over to the land of the middle-aged, along with open talk about regularity (who even thought about– much less discussed –regularity in their 20s???  That’s when you know you’re getting old — when poop is no longer a laughing matter.) we started worrying about hypertension, heart disease and high cholesterol.

After all these years, it’s difficult to remember how it came about, but eventually, we figured out that for the price of a physical check up at a private hospital in Hong Kong, we could get a comparable check up in Bangkok, plus throw in round trip airfare and luxury accommodations — in short, turn a physical into a long weekend holiday.

And thus, a tradition was begun.

The great thing about my friends is that we are all eaters.  (That’s also why it’s important for us to get regular check ups…) And so, after all the unpleasantness of being poked and prodded in places that we normally don’t allow intrusions, having appendages mashed flat and x-rayed, blood drawn and all the indignities which accompany the collection of stool and urine samples, we comfort and congratulate ourselves for having made it through yet another year by spending the rest of the weekend eating.

Often, we even start the eating before the physical, which has the interesting effect of playing havoc on our test results, as we found one year, after indulging in a foie gras fest, and seeing all our cholesterol levels spike.  I’m not sure why we found that surprising.

Not only are we eaters, we are competitive.  And, after the first year, to keep things interesting, we decided that we had to make it into a contest.  After a great deal of debate and discussion, it was decided that we would compete on the basis of the greatest aggregate percentage change in year-on-year cholesterol levels per couple.

The losing couple buys dinner on Saturday night.

In an effort to not lose, uhh, I mean, stay healthy, George and I have been eating oatmeal for months.

(We even ate oatmeal for lunch on the day we were getting on the flight.)

Anyway, it was a great weekend.  After suffering the indignities of the modern medical exam, we plunged our faces into a endless trough of food.  The only breaks we took from eating,  were when were getting massaged like so many Kobe beef cows.  By Sunday, when we boarded the plane back to Hong Kong, we’d probably set our cholesterol scores back to a level that will take us another whole year to recover from.

At La Table de Tee, after we stuffed our faces Friday night.

The guys, trying to recover from the excitement of seeing JCVD.

The cholesterol contest dinner at Antonio's

Stuffing our faces one final time at the all-you-can-eat Erawan Tea Room in the Grand Hyatt. SO GOOD.

On our trip there were mussels…

Mussels in spicy tomato sauce at Antonio's, Bangkok.

…and then there’s the ‘Muscles from Brussels’

Back when I was an impressionable young girl in the 1980s I developed a real passion for action films and martial arts movies.  (Okay, I still love them.) I loved the ‘Lethal Weapon’ series, the  ‘Die Hard’ series, I’d seen all of Steven Seagal’s movies — (although after I’d found out he’d been beating his wife Kelly LeBrock, I was a little less enamoured of Mr. Seagal.  And Mel Gibson — let’s not go there.  When I think of Mel Gibson’s latter day behavior, the sound effects accompanying those thoughts are those of a gigantic, sucking maelstrom of a toilet flush.   But how fun was he in the Lethal Weapon movies?  Oh, to have been Renee Russo.)

Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sylvester Stallone, Bruce Willis, Jackie Chan, Chow Yun Fat, Nicholas Cage (‘The Rock’ and ‘Face Off’) — I loved all those big-budget blockbusters that those guys starred in — the more ridiculous and spectacular the chase scenes and explosions were, the more outrageous and creative the fight choreography, the pithier and more preposterous the one-liners — the more I loved it.

But for all my enthusiasm for all these action film stars, there was a special place reserved in my heart for Jean-Claude Van Damme.  Yes, I know there’s a high cheese factor to all his movies, and to him too, for that matter, there’s always some contrived explanation for why he has a Belgian accent when he’s supposed to be American, or English, or Australian, or twins from two different countries, and he always has to find a way to do the splits in every movie, usually when he’s enroute to mashing his nemesis’ family jewels with a lethal fist, but he always seemed to be trying so hard to do a good job despite his obvious limitations.  Like, in his heart of hearts, he knows he’s not the best actor, or the smartest guy, but he’ll give it his best shot because he’s happy to be making a movie.  And there’s something kind of earnest and endearing about all that effort.

Nothing to do with the chiseled jaw and rippling biceps.  Really.  Okay, minimally, it had something to do with his chiseled jaw and twelve-pack.

It’s been a long time since Mr. Van Damme has had a hit movie, and I really haven’t thought much about him over the years.  So imagine my surprise when, this weekend in Bangkok, while we were heading to the bar in the Kempinski Hotel to have drinks, George, who knows of my former soft spot for Jean-Claude, told me to go walk back out to the lobby and have a look — I’d walked right by him, but Jean-Claude Van Damme was sitting in the lobby with a baseball cap.  He said, ‘It’s definitely him — I went back out for a second look.’

Before you could say ‘Kickboxer’, I was heading back to the lobby, trailed by Jackie and Lisa.  Inconspicuously (NOT) we pretended to be looking at the awesome decor of the lobby, while standing around sneaking peeks.

Joy:  ‘Yep, it’s definitely him.  For sure.’

Jackie:  ‘No, it’s not him.  He’s so OLD.  He looks so OLD.  It’s not him.’

Joy:  ‘Uh, yeah, it’s definitely him.  Of course he’s old.  We’re all old.’

I take another peek.

‘Besides, hello, the baseball cap with the initials JCVD embroidered across the front?  I think that’s a dead giveaway.’

Lisa bursts into laughter.

We walk back to the bar to our awaiting lychee martinis, already a little buzzed with our tiny brush with B-movie has-been celebrity-dom.

We sit back down with our really strong drinks and after a few sips and a bit of nostalgia about all the great action films of the ’80s (factoid: did you know that Dolph Lundgren of Rocky IV fame received a FULBRIGHT SCHOLARSHIP to attend MIT?)  when Lisa, maybe a little star-struck, but clearly buzzed, turned suddenly to me and said, ‘You need to blog about this!’

Further inspired, she added, ‘You should go and ask him to take a photo with you and then you have to blog about it!’

I have never gone up to a celebrity before and asked for an autograph or photo — but two sips of cinnamon lychee martini had gone straight to my brain and switched off whatever part of my mind is responsible for reminding me that I’m not a star-struck, ditzy 23-year-old action-star groupie, and neither are my friends.

Before you could say ‘Bloodsport’, I had forced Betty, Lisa and Jackie to get off the sofa and follow me back to the lobby — although, I can’t say there really was any arm-twisting involved AT ALL — with John Lam trailing behind, ready to play paparazzi.

Sadly, there was little originality to my approach.  But with my friends watching, I marched gamely up to him and said, ‘Excuse me, are you Jean-Claude Van Damme?’

Memorable, right?

JCVD:  ‘Why, yes, I am.’

Joy:  ‘My friends and I were wondering if you might be willing to take a photograph with us?’

JCVD: ‘Sure.  I’d be happy to.’

After the flurry of introductions, which he probably paid no attention to, he arranged for us to flank either side of him, two on each side, sheltered under his, yes, rippling biceps.  They’re not visible in the photos, but they are seriously there.  John snapped the photo and then,

JCVD: ‘Now, you girls switch.’

Huh?

JCVD:  ‘The girls on the outside, next to me, now.’

We rearrange ourselves, smile, and the camera goes off again.

JCVD: ‘Now, each of you can have an individual shot with me.’

At this point, my friends start demurring, but Betty offers me up — ‘Joy would be happy to.’

I step forward, thinking, uh, happy with just the group shot, but ookay.  ‘Sure, I’d love one.’  And, why not?

Photos over, we say our ‘thank-yous’ and head back off to the bar, as he sits back down to his little table in the middle of the lobby.

Jackie:  ‘Wow, he has really big muscles!‘

Then: ‘I think we made his day, recognizing him.’

I’d say it’s very possible we did.

And, here are the photos:

'Gather around, girls.'

'Now, switch.'

My personal photo with Jean-Claude.

All kidding aside, even if he had parked himself in the lobby of the Kempinski hoping to be recognized, he was very gracious to us, accommodating our intrusion with more patience than he needed to show.

And yes, he does look older.  (He’s 50.)  A glance at any of the biographical information available on him shows struggles with cocaine and other drugs, failed marriages, spectacularly unsuccessful movie projects.  Life has not always been that easy for him.

It’s nice to know that he got rave critical reviews on his project ‘JCVD’ (no, he didn’t just have his initials embroidered on his cap — it’s actually the name of a movie), a ‘mockumentary’ in which he plays himself.  According to Time magazine, Jean-Claude ‘deserves not a black belt, but an Oscar’ for his performance in JCVD.  I haven’t seen it yet, probably because it’s in French, but I wish him all the best.  Especially, since he’s not just a crush from my youth, but also, now, a fellow Hong-Konger.

When we tripped back into the bar, we tried to recount our encounter with JCVD to the spouses; but they had seen everything.  Unbeknownst to us, the husbands had snuck up behind us and stood peeking around the corner to observe the goings-on.  (If you enlarge my photo with JCVD — keep clicking on it —  you’ll see them back in the shadowy recesses of the hallway, reluctant to come closer, spying on their wives.  So funny.)

Lisa was the funniest.  A while later, she turns to me and out of nowhere says, ‘You should have told Jean-Claude, we live in Hong Kong too!  Do you regret not telling him?’

‘Why should I have done that?’

Lisa:  ‘You could have said, ‘Hey, look us up when you’re back in Hong Kong!  We should go out sometime and hang together!’

I’m sure there’s nothing he’d like better than to ‘hang’ with four married, middle-aged women.

If he hasn’t hit rock bottom yet, that should just about do it for him.

But, I have to say… while I can’t speak for my friends, and certainly not for JCVD, the encounter with a fond memory from my youth, however brief and meaningless, was a fun and memorable little experience.  Our trip to Bangkok, was, as always, wonderful (more on that at a later time); but this was a bit of extra effervescence in the champagne glass.  So fun.

Birthday blog post

Happy 11th birthday, Samantha!

Today was Samantha’s 11th birthday!  In celebration, we decided, the heck with homework, we’d go to the Country Club Grill Room for dinner.  We even made everyone dress up.

The brothers are such jokers.

Daddy's princess

Mother and daughter

All of us, looking reasonably normal.

Family portrait, take #3

Time Travel…back to December

Going through my photos, I realized that I never posted about Samantha’s Christmas assembly — this is different from the Christmas concert, which was notable this year for being my last Primary concert.

Anyway, for the Christmas assembly, which happens the second-to-last day of school, a teacher picked out some kids and had them do a hip-hop dance routine to entertain the rest of the kids.  The results were very fun.

Here’s one of Sam during the performance:

So cute!

After the performance, I went upstairs to Sam’s classroom to say ‘hi’.  I came upon the dance troupe assembled up on one of the play areas, waiting for their teacher, to surprise her with another performance.

Peace!

Hip-hopping'

My favorite pic from the series.

Chamonix

Our ski passes. Aren't they stylish?

Joey and I went out with our cameras one day after skiing to take photos of town.  Here’s a selection of shots.

La Mer du Glas or The Sea of Glass, visible in ice blue in the Vallee Blanche. Awe-inspiringly visible from Club Med.

Trying to give you a better sense of scale of the glacier. It's a LOT of ice!

It was difficult to capture the sheer scale and grandiosity of the glacier — crazy people actually ski down it!

Not me, I prefer to admire it from a distance.

Joey in front of Club Med -- a block and a half away from town and ski-in/ski-out. And quite lovely, to boot.

We walked around town as well, taking other photos:

Behind Samantha's ski school is a lovely old building. I'm not sure where this doorway leads to, but it was tiny. It's quite possible Snow White's friends lived here.

A lovely spot to sit -- when it's warmer.

I thought this was a pretty way to cover a building.

Chamonix is nestled in a valley -- everywhere you turn, you are surrounded by majestic mountains.

I'm not sure if he's meant to be Father Christmas or King of the Gypsies -- but quite a sight. At least he's dressed for the weather.

The loyal sidekick. Wonder what he really thinks of the hat.

The tourist trap.

In action, on a different day.

Enough of scenery — the good stuff was in the shops!

Not sure how they taste, but what a pretty sight.

Vive la MEAT!

Sausage, anyone?

There's no such thing as too much cheese.

Andrew was very taken by the sight of all the macarons.

More cheese, please!

Okay Gayle — I’ve gotten the touristy shots out of the way — I promise, next post will be photos with people you know!

Super Juice

En route to Chamonix, we transited through Heathrow to connect to Geneva.  While at Heathrow, we stopped off to grab a bite at Pret a Manger, where, I must say, the sandwiches are much better than those available in Hong Kong.  Or perhaps, we were just so grateful to be out of those instruments of torture that Cathay Pacific employ as economy class seating that anything would have tasted heavenly.

Anyway, as it was breakfast time, we got breakfast type sandwiches and some of the kids got juice.  According to the label, it was Super Natural Juice.

The name says it all

Joey and I were wondering exactly how the juice was supernatural.  Was it haunted?  Could it read minds?  Would it make Samantha’s head spin around 180 degrees?  (Actually, sometimes, it does that — even without juice.)

Had it squeezed itself?

We finished the juice without any unusual experiences and thought to sue Pret for false advertising.  We were hoping for a memorable meal.

Pretty in Pink???

Before I get down to the serious business of posting about our trip to Chamonix, an aside:

I was walking around Central the other day and came across this.  After taking a close look, I had to document it and share.  It’s not every day you encounter such, well, pinkness.

Words escape me.

It’s not every day you see a pink Alphard.  And when I say ‘pink’ I don’t just mean the paint job.  Note the pink knife-pleated all-surrounding curtains and the pink leather upholstery.

And that’s not all:

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Oh Pinkness, how do I love thee, let me count the ways!  Pink upholstery, pink curtains, pink steering wheel, pink paneling, pink dashboard, fuzzy pink dashboard carpet.  And probably pink floor covers, although I didn’t look that closely.

And then, there’re the Hello Kitties peppering the dash.  They may not be technically pink, but they ARE pink in spirit.  I have to admit, they fit right into that hot (pink) mess.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Photos from a long-awaited Family Day

We finally managed to get everybody (well, not everybody, as Tommy is away in Sydney) together, after a weeks-long hiatus during the dark days of the ‘Beat-Joey-Until-He-Produces-All-His-Prep-school-Application-Essays’ Era.

Luckily, after our Chinese New Year trip to Chamonix and my detour through the Chamonix weekend farmer’s market, we had something special to offer our guests.  (Photos of that coming up soon…)

French saucisson — yummy sausages, of which we lugged home probably close to 15 lbs worth.

Anyway, it was great to see all the little kiddies — Justin continues to expand, being noticeably bigger than the last time we saw him,  Evan continues to be hypnotized by our television, and Mason continues to sport his signature grin, which has me completely and utterly besotted.  Margaret kept her coat on, but happily ate Brie and crackers for dinner.

We also managed to fit in a birthday cake for Sam’s upcoming 11th.

There's nothing yummier than cheese and crackers. Except for cheese and crackers and CURED MEATS!

A close-up of the sausages -- one of them had whole hazelnuts in it!

A serene moment with Justin before he got tired.

The raincoat as fashion statement.

Despite several attempts, I’m afraid I wasn’t able to get good photos of Mason and Evan — will get some next time.

Anyway, will leave you with the requisite birthday celebration family shot, courtesy of Uncle John’s photo-taking prowess.

The teenage years are right around the corner... yikes!