Bonsoir, tout le monde...The Watchful Wino has returned to furnish the world with some relatively new and well ruminated-over musings. It's been a couple of weeks, so first of all, let me offer my apologies to the addicted readership that reads my blog. I got stuck on travel for a while and only recently returned to the swamps of Northern Virginia. But what welcoming swamps they are...

As usual, I digress. So, what would everyone like to hear about this evening? I've only got a couple of amazing travel stories, excluding my taxpayer funded year in Mesopotamia, to regal everyone with, so I thought that I would turn to a more practical topic tonight. What might that be, you ask?

Intimidation. My advice to budding foodies: ignore it. Give it the proverbial finger. Don't let it get you down.

So There I Was. In Chicago, that is, just a couple of days back this time, staring at a rack of elk that my dad had dropped quite a dime on. I was to prepare it according to the recipe in Jacques Pepin's recently released chef-d'oeuvre, which involved creating, from scratch, both the marinade and the sauce, and I could not overcook the elk. And not overdoing the elk was quite a task. It's really easy to overdo venison, as the meat is extremely lean (the same goes for other lean meats, like bison and kangaroo - really - I've also done kangaroo).

I was looking at a serious amount of cooking if I was to avoid abject failure; about 8-10 hours, by my calculation. And here comes that intimidation word. Just a year back I wouldn't have bothered. But this time, I tackled it head on. Why not? There was quite a bit of slicing and dicing of vegetables to create the marinade, the pain and anguish of pouring half a bottle of great vino (used a cotes-de-ventoux) into it, the addition of some red-wine vinegar, an assortment of spices, and finally the act of heating it all up. Done. In went the Elk (RR - was that courtesy of you :-)? I planned to marinate it for about 8 hours.

Time to kick it and quaff some high-quality grape-derived liquid, right? Wrong. I had to make the sauce from scratch. I actually had to buy some beef bones to make this. Brown them. Slice and dice a host of veggies once again. In it all went to heat up, along with some liquid. But still not time to kick it; there was still at least one side to consider.

If you ever serve venison, I suggest serving a celeriac and potato puree along with it. It is an excellent accompaniment, and it did not disappoint in this case. So I set about doing just that, which actually was relatively simple.

The result was pure heaven. The venison was perfect, flavored by the marinade and cooked to a crawling-off-your-plate temperature. A stellar Vacqueryas helped washed it down, and that celeriac-potato puree was just heavenly alongside. You can view a shot of the end result above.

So if you ever need advice on a venison recipe, post a comment here and I'll be sure to get back to you. Stay tuned for more travel related culinary fun in a week or two. Until then.

Loose!

So, I feel that my readers have been deprived. The watchful wino is therefore back, with more material. As promised, today's post will cover the sojourn I made with a Marine buddy to the Tour de France, 2009.

It was Lance Armstrong's comeback year, and I was not about to miss it. The idea got started when I realized, what is stopping you from going? Nothing. Just get the plane ticket, drive to Mont Ventoux for the pen-ultimate stage of the race, where all would be decided, drink some good wine, and go from there :-)

So that's what we did. My friend had a travel agent acquaintance in California. She graciously got us a wicked price on Air France, and I just needed to send her a check, which I promptly did.

We showed up in Paris, my home away from home. Spent a day there, got a train to Marseille, rented a car (a Renault Picasso diesel), and we were on our way through the southern French countryside to a place called Vers (Pont-Du-Gard). We showed up there after getting a bit lost and taking in the amazing scenery.

Upon arrival, there was a group of brits, aussies, and new zealanders quaffing the local wine, and they invited us to partake. It just so happened that we had procured about 4 bottles ourselves at the local Carrefour, the french version of Walmart, and we pulled those out, along with the corks, and had at it.

I pontificated on international affairs for a while, convinced all concerned that the US was not as nefarious as they had been led to believe, and we parted ways for an early morning trek out to the Pont-Du-Gard (the famous, ancient roman aqueduct in the area - see above for a shot).

After exploring there, it was time to set out for Mont Ventoux (le Geant de Provence - above) for an overnight in the car, in preparation for the race the next day.

We showed up for the race. Without cooking facilities, we were left to munch on French saussicon sec and a few bottles of local vino. Both, along with my ability to speak French, contributed to the pandemonium of the evening (that and a about 1 million other people who showed up to watch the race).

The next morning, with not too much of the Irish flu abounding, we undertook the treck up the 18km mountain. Made it about 15k before the Gendarmerie coraled everyone to the side of the road; the race was approaching. And they wizzed by. We saw the eventual winner, Alberto Contador, Lance himself, and the Schleck brothers ride by the Chalet Reynard, where we were posted, and then it was over. An amazing experience.

After which we promptly got lost on the way down. No worries. I used my language skills to hitch a ride with the Gendarmes back to our car. So sirens blaring and light flashing, I ended up with a police escort, door-to-door service :-)

Spent the rest of the vacation on the beach at Juan-les-Pins, and headed reluctantly back to Charles de Gaulle airport. Again, an experience I highly recommend, if you ever get the chance.

More to follow. And in case you were wondering, the signature Loose! I typically close with is a reference to the English longbow men of old...

Loose!

Ok. I"m back, after a brief respite.

I've got a lot going on now, so it is tough to post. But I do have a commitment to my readership, so here goes.

I've got a lot of material forthcoming, so it was difficult decision to decide what I'd write about today.

Let's take it back to 1998. France, to be exact. So There I was... :-)

A hostel in Juan-Les-Pins, to be exact. I was freezing my rear end off on a bunk with no blanket, waiting for the next day's events to go down. And what were those, you ask? How about the Monaco Grand Prix, for starters...Really. No joke. The world's premier Formula 1 event. And I was going...

After a short train ride, me and my compadres detrained in Monaco, spent a little time walking around, and found this hill from where we could observe the race for a small pittance. So we dug in on that hillside. Created earthen benches for ourselves to sit and observe the action with the Italian rednecks in attendance (they're into Ferrari, after all...cool people :-)

So Mika Hakkinen of Finland won the race, which we saw go down from our great vantage point over the finish line. He was of the McClaren team, which was dominant at the time.

And how do my usual subjects of food and wine fit in here? Well I recall having some sausage and or/cheese, washed down by a couple of bottles of local vino, as well as some Pastis, perhaps... :-) Good stuff!!!

So we left after the race was over, and promptly almost got run over by Prince Albert (pretty sure it was him, due to the Rolls, police escort, hot blonde riding shotgun, and the fact that they were not stopping for anyone or anything...)

Like this post? Stay tuned for my next one, when I will regal you with tales of my trip to the Tour de France, Leg 20, Mont Ventoux, 2009, when Lance Armstrong rode past me at a pretty good clip during Comeback 2.0 :-)

Until next time...

Loose!