While I dreamed of leaving as quickly as the gray and gloomy town square where my parents lived, it is precisely a high school built while I was finishing my fourth college in which I learn later with some dismay, was named a disaster neuropsychiatrist. There was no longer any question of me in one of the neighboring schools in the town which adjoined the town of my parents, a city just as ugly but had the undeniable advantage of having two cinemas and a library creep. Obviously I did not really like this school who felt desperately new. He had no history, at least not one that is engraved with a cutter on small wooden desks varnish. There was plastic everywhere and especially so few students it was impossible to go unnoticed.
Yet it is in this place very redneck and boring that I met J, which would dramatically change my life.
J. had a good thirty years older than I, J. came from Paris, J. wore perfectly tailored suits, a long beige coat, beautiful scarves and hats, J. was my French teacher (and this year, the program tray, there was Andre Malraux, which was not really a good sign).
One day I wrote a letter to J., a naive and school letter, handwriting and laid paper support. I do not remember very much of its content (later G. remind me often that I should copy my letters but I think it's pretentious to be wrong, probably because there is not it), but I know I timidly asked him what were his books, movies, favorite music. The answer
EARTHSCIENCESSECTOR few days later, in early summer, inside a thick manila envelope, delighted vigorously under my father who had opened the family mailbox. It is from this letter, a dozen pages covered with writing in a hurry, in black ink, I am finally managed to leave, otherwise, the city and life where I bogged down by force of circumstance.
Indeed, J. spoke of Francois Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard, Gilles Deleuze and Marguerite Duras, Luis Bunuel, Jacques Rivette and Robert Bresson. Of course, I rushed to the library and it started like that.
In the years that followed, J. was very present. Whether to discuss during the English classes that allow me to dry, either on the phone when I was a little desperate during the first days of Hypokhâgne when I regretted not having done medicine ( is a funny memory the phone conversations of the preparation. I was at boarding school and there was a telephone at the end of a long corridor. Nobody had even telephoned one laptop and sitting on the floor, curled in a corner of the corridor often deserted because everyone was busy working), during the years of medicine too, as the refuge reassuring to be heard and understood . I talked
J. G. when we left the cinema after a thrilling session of Two wave . In this documentary, we follow the route of Godard and Truffaut, they meet in their shattering break through film clips (it was the infinite happiness of seeing the scene sequenced crackers in Stolen Kisses, Antoine Doinel where the trouble to settle before a meal Japanese car that wins Jim and Catherine powerless under the gaze of Julius and Bernadette Lafont in Les Mistons that would give me almost want to ride a bicycle ...), also through the path of Jean-Pierre Léaud, quartered between the two filmmakers who have given birth, through archival footage showing the artistic and political engagement that agitated (small thrill in recognizing Resnais head of a sixty-eighters event) through finally, the contemporary look of Isild le Besco, leafing through the newspapers and then wanders through Paris in a mantle certainly informs but gives the impression that is also another time. No revelations in this film that I still terribly excited because it compiles the images that have built my interest in cinema and also because it shows so invigorating the creative process of his way protagonistes.La Truffaut says as the film saved a mediocre life is extremely touching, as the fervor he puts into his very young cinephile who sees the day. On reading the letter that sealed his break with Godard after the release of The American Night is both very funny and very chilling. Obviously, all this has not arranged my regret at not making movies (just imagine that for many years, I followed closely the subjects of competition Femis in persuading me that I too consider it to zero . Now, the question no longer arises, I passed the age limit for admission).
(except for those who wonder, the meeting of two wave was followed by a meal pancakes, with a second pancake salidou, to addiction recognized)
Besides, if you would enjoy meeting a girl that has an apartment without a mirror that can get out to terraces of coffee in my pajamas, which likes include street names to Paris, which enjoys impersonate another who likes the name Anna, which puts on his sofa cushions purple velvet gray to contrast that with gentle mockery cruelty gallery owners, who buys fish even if she does not like it and that makes a nod to a Tic-Tac blue stuck in a groove in the floor, read Alice Kahn a great novel I devoured this afternoon. In a small interview, the author, Paul Klein, said she gathers chance to make a fuss . What a program!
could almost forget the delicious pie yet inspired by a recipe Catherine Kluger. It tastes like mischievous holiday on the English coast year with a young au pair in Japan.
pie salmon-pea-mint with wasabi
For a tart thick 20cm diameter
The pastry Catherine Kluger
-200g of flour (here of T65)
-90g cold butter into small dice (here salted)
-1 egg-20CL
very cold water
The liner
-20cl milk
-6.5 cL cream
-3 eggs-100g peas (here frozen) cooked and cooled immediately to keep them bright green
-200g salmon cooked and crumbled
-3 branches chopped mint
-of wasabi, pepper and Parmesan
For the dough, sand butter and flour with fingertips.
Make a well, pour the egg and water mixed beforehand.
Mix together quickly to form a dough ball.
Wrap in plastic wrap and let stand at least one hour in refrigerator.
After this time, go out, spread it on a floured surface and darken the mold carefully. Give a few strokes of a fork and let stand again 30 minutes in the fridge. Make
then bake the dough blank 30 minutes at 180 ° and then brush with a little beaten egg before réenfourner three minutes to fully waterproof.
For filling, whisk the eggs vigorously, milk and cream. Add this product from the wasabi, black pepper, a bit of grated Parmesan and chopped mint. On
baked pie shell, spread a layer of small peas and salmon and peas again. Pour the batter.
Bake about 30 minutes at 180 degrees (until the device is set and slightly golden).
PS: thanks to Martine Camillieri, I had an emotional moment after a mail exchange (previously it was a little party for me) and then she said Maybe we could do that? Thanks MC!
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