dimanche, mars 2

Carrot cake à ma façon #foodporn

Carrot cake 

3 carottes rapées (environ 200 gr) 
2 oeufs 
200 gr de sucre 
250 gr de Farine 
1 pot de yaourt type "velouté" de Danone (125 gr)
50 gr de beurre
1 sachet de levure 
canelle selon votre goût
noisettes concassées  "une bonne poignée" (j'achète mes noisettes entières et je les casse au marteau, dans un torchon)

Glaçage : 
1/2 tablette de chocolat "dessert" (52% cacao) 
75 gr de beurre doux (si vous voulez faire un chouilla moins gras utiliser 50gr)
15 cl crème frâiche 


Mixer les carottes râpées, les œufs, l'yaourt et le sucre au blender pendant 5 minutes.
Versez la pâte dans un bol, y ajouter la farine (tamisée), ensuite la levure, remuez à la cuillère, doucement, ne pas mixer (ou si votre batteur a une position "pas agressive allez-y, je fais à la main).
Ajouter la cannelle et les noisettes.
Verser dans un moule beurré, fariné, en silicone - j'utilise souvent les moules en alu: pas de vaisselle, facilement transportable.

Amener au four (chaleur tournante) préchauffé à 180°. Faire cuire pendant 40 minutes. Tester avec un couteau, s'il sort propre c'est bon. Sinon continuer le cuisson le temps nécessaire (je conseille par paliers de 5 min).

Faire fondre 1/2 plaquette de chocolat au microondes - couper en morceaux et mettre dans un bol, ajuster le microondes sue la position décongélation. Faire tourner 1-2 minutes, plus deux.
Ajouter le beurre et fondre les deux ensemble, toujours en décongélation.
Ajouter la crème fraîche, bien remuer.

Étaler le glaçage sur le gâteau tiède voire froid.
Amener au frigo pendant au moins 1h.

Bonne dégustation!

jeudi, février 6

Lucky chance #chronicles #2

Commutting time.
Crowded wagons.
A weirdo gets in.
He talks alone.
About life in general, the government, the crisis, his rent which is quite expensive, people or kind of people that he doesn't like.
He doesn't like white people.
He doesn't like black people.
He doesn't like french.
He doesn't like americans.
He doesn't like germans.
He doesn't like arabic people.
He is arabic.
He likes red haired people.

There was a red haired person there just a few meters from him.
A guy in his twenties.

The man went on talking.

He likes red haired people. 
They're special. Really special.
They bring you joy. They bring you happiness. They're smart. They're clever. They're beautiful. They have beautiful souls. They are angels. 

Eventhough the man says that he doesn't believe in angels.
By this time we are all smiling around them.

He approaches the young man.
He says he had to get closer because red haired brings you luck.
He was lacking of luck: his woman had left him. She had said he was weird.
No doubt.
He had lost his job. Boss said he missed too many days.
'You know man! I can't go there everyday! I have other stuff to do!'
So do we!!

M Weirdo started then to sort of declaring his flamme for red headed people. How he was already feeling better just for being seated by the young man.
He was sure he was going to have luck from now on.

We were all showing broad smiles on our faces. 
And certainly saying deep inside of us "Thank god I'm not a red head".

This went on for 3-4 stops of suburban commutting train. This is a great lot of time around Paris.

M Weirdo had to get off. 
oh dear
He wondered if his lucky charm would get off with him.
The young redhaired man said he'd go further away.
Damn it.

Weirdo said goodbye. They shook hands, he got red-luck in his arms.
He got off. He went to the left.

A few seconds passed by. 

Then young red jumped from his seat just when the alarm of closing doors started. He got off at the same station as Weirdo. Turned right.

Ok. He wanted to get his quietness back.

We all in the wagon smiled more.

Then we heard a scream: hey! My lucky star!! You're coming with me!!!

The urbain train started, noise faded away...

mardi, février 4

Foot battle sabotage #1 #chronicles

At night. Sometime during the year. 

As usual I was in the métro going from one point to another. Crossing Paris through it's belly.

I had my headphones tucked in my ears. Maybe listening to GusGus or Pink Martini or Arthur H.
I was sitting there daydreaming on music.

A guy sat by me.
His right foot, the closest to my left foot, got close to mine. Then he got closer.

I put my legs away.

He got even more closer.

He twisted his body a little bit but didn't get too close so not to annoy me a lot. I thought.

At least it's what I think. Still today.

Tiwisting his body as if he was showing something to me.
I then noticed the paper or sort of paper jacket/note he was holding on his lap.

Being curious by nature I wanted to know what was written.
I tried to read without showing it. 
Easy, just let my hair (I have a lot) fall over my eyes.

He wanted me to read. He was expecting.
Something like "battle of converse" was written  there. In capital letters, red.

It said "A girl wearing Converse takes her foot away from the guy wearing Converse. He gets closer. She goes away. They go on on this battle until.... a café... together...."

The text continued. I didn't read. 

I looked at my feet. I checked I was wearing one of my Converse.
I noticed that he was also wearing a pair of Converse.

He wanted to play. I see. I saw then.

I discretely looked at him. 
Not at all a top model type.
Jeans, white t-shirt, a light jacket in his hands, a back pack (like students do).

No interest in responding to his gag.
Well no interest even if he was Mister Universe, Magic Mike or Steve MacGarret.
Aaah. Maybe if it was one of the last two of the trio.

He was counting on his neighbor curiosity to start the 'battle'.

It didn't work.

I didn't react to his paper. He was twisting himself to allow me read it better.
I didn't react. I continued in my thoughts. 
I waited for his reaction.
Switching expectations.

He got up and off on the next station. And hopped in another wagon of the métro.
He wasn't interested in no reaction.

Rha! Gotchya.

He wanted to play.
I wanted to listen to my music and go home.

He looked for another Converse opponent for that night.

I'll never know what happens when the battle takes place.

I don't want to know.
I don't care in fact.