Aspen Food and Wine Classic: Overserved

 

So, June 20-22, 2014 is the Aspen Food and Wine Classic. I have a really funny story to tell you. Let’s start with a little background… My family is a “foodie family.” We always have been. It is who we are. My grandmother was an amazing cook and her recipes are cherished. My aunt, Judy Sipe, was the Chief Culinary Officer for the Food Channel. My mother taught cooking classes out of our house. A seat at my mother’s dinner table was coveted. So, growing up, we did not do “regular” food. Everything was an ordeal. A gourmet ordeal. Sometimes it was a little embarrassing. For example, growing up in Springfield, Missouri, I was the only kid whose mother had cornichons in the refrigerator. I was so happy in high school to meet my friend, future chef Giada DeLaurentiis, whose family was as obsessed with food and cooking as mine was. Everyone teased Giada when she brought blood oranges in her school lunch. I was like, “Isn’t that normal?” All my family ever talked about was food and decorating.

 

Right after I graduated from high school, my mother opened a gourmet cooking shop in Malibu, California. It was called EveryDay Gourmet. As usual, with everything my mother does, it was remarkable. We had all of the top-of-the-line cooking tools, dishes, cookbooks, gourmet food items, cookware, espresso makers, bread makers, copper pots, napkins, tablecloths, flatware, etc.. I stole something from the store every day so within two years my kitchen was a mini Williams-Sonoma.

 

My idea of a fun afternoon was reading cookbooks. It was in my blood. In 1994, I was lucky enough to “work for free” at my mother’s second cousin’s resort, Big Cedar Lodge. I had the run of the Café called Truman’s Cottage. It was a little gourmet deli for the hotel guests. Since nepotism was occurring, I was allowed to use the main restaurant’s supplies for anything that I wanted in my little café. I loved working at the Truman’s Cottage Café but I really wanted to go to cooking school. I applied to The Culinary Institute of America. The main chef at Big Cedar Lodge wrote an outstanding reference for me and I was accepted! A big deal, a very big deal. Unfortunately, the same week I was accepted, I found out I was pregnant with Gracie. No cooking school for me. Thanks Grace. Just kidding.

 

So, as you can see, food is not just food to us. My most cherished photograph is one with me, Gracie, my mother and Julia Child! When I met her, I almost had a bloody heart attack. Flash forward years later to the Aspen Food and Wine Classic. We were living in Aspen at the time and the Food and Wine Classic is one of the highlights of the year in Aspen. Here’s what the locals do… They sign-up to “volunteer” at the Food and Wine Classic. No one ever has any intention of actually “volunteering.” Aspen locals just want to get in for free (it’s super expensive) and have full behind the scenes access. My mother, my ex-husband, my father and I were lucky enough to score 4 exclusive volunteer passes. My mother and I were so excited to see all of the famous chefs, attend all of the cooking demonstrations, taste all of the culinary delights and just be in our world of food. My father was excited to have free wine. My poor ex-husband had no idea what was in store for him that day.

 

So, the funny story is about my mother. A little background. My mother does not drink, has never done drugs, has never stayed out past 11:30 PM, has never smoked a cigarette, does not swear, goes to church and is a perfect lady. Basically she’s a total bore. But not this day! My mother’s vice is food… Particularly “sweets.” My mother once told our family that she did not like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. However, she continued to say , “But, if I Had to eat a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, I would.” We were like, “Really, Mom? When would you Have To eat a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup? In what situation would you be forced to eat a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup?”

 

Anyway, so here we are at the Aspen Food and Wine Classic. Everything is going perfectly until my lovely mother is offered a little tasting cup of a new sweet mango drink. Unbeknownst to her, it was an alcoholic drink. It was so sweet and delicious that she did not notice the alcohol. So what does she do? She has about 40 of them. In about an hour. None of us noticed because we were off selfishly stuffing our faces with food and alcohol samples. I remember someone coming up to me, pointing, and saying, “Is that your mother?” I look over and there is my fancy, well raised, well-respected mother slumped over in a chair in the hot Aspen summer sun like a Raggedy Ann doll drunk as a skunk at the Aspen Food and Wine Classic! I was mortified. I’m pretty sure I pretended like she wasn’t my mother. I ran to get my father and ex-husband to help. We decided that we needed to get her out of there without anybody noticing. No such luck. Apparently, my mother is a loud drunk. I don’t know what she said but her volunteer pass was removed from her neck by security. In addition to that, my lovely mother was getting kicked out of the Aspen Food and Wine Classic!

 

Envision this… A grown woman with her coiffed hair and capri pants being dragged out of the Aspen Food and Wine Classic. She could not walk. My ex-husband and my father were on each side of her dragging her out with her ballet flats dragging in the dirt behind her. I swear to God! My mother! Miss Manners, Miss Emily Post, Miss I Care What People Think about Me, Miss Fancy Pants. I have never laughed so hard in my entire life. I was laughing but I was also like, “Wait, should we take mom to the hospital?” My father refused. I think he would rather have had her die of alcohol poisoning in private than humiliating her and taking her to a hospital where her stomach would’ve been pumped. She sobered up after a couple of days and honestly, I think she immediately moved out of Aspen.

 

Isn’t that funny? So, Aspen Food and Wine Classic 2014. If you haven’t ever been, I totally encourage you to check it out. Charming town, amazing food, incredible wines, celebrity chefs and free-flowing booze.

Aspen Food and Wine Classic

June 20-22, 2014

Aspen, Colorado

 

 http://www.foodandwine.com/classic

 

Pardon My French, But This B*tch Wants to Move To Provence

When I was about 19 years old, I went on my first trip abroad to France. In my mind, I was a year late because I had wanted to go to college in Paris after I graduated high school. My father wouldn’t let me because he was scared of “terrorism.” I swear to God that was his reason. After hating him for about a year, he finally let me go to Europe. A family friend lived in St. Tropez so it was decided that I would spend time with him. That family friend was Chuck Barris from The Gong Show. Remember him! I arrived a wide-eyed teenager and returned a different girl. There is life outside of Malibu? I had no idea. I was head over heels in awe and love with the south of France.

 
I loved everything about it. The architecture, the trees, the lavender fields, the Provence style fabrics, the farmers markets, the old men playing pétanque, the funky little French cars, the cuisine and especially the lifestyle. I am definitely more of a country mouse than city mouse. I am happiest barefoot, in jeans and a T-shirt with salty hair in the sunshine. But fancy. That’s why Provence is the perfect place for me.

 

 

After I returned from my initial trip to St. Tropez, I read every book I could get my hands on regarding Provence. I began a love affair with Peter Mayles’ books on Provence starting with A Year in Provence. I was smitten. Next up was Toujours Provence, Encore Provence and Hotel Pastis.

 

I was lucky enough to be invited to St. Tropez again a few years later. This was a whole different ballgame. I went back to St. Tropez for some huge soirée with the world’s most notable playboy, Count Erik Wachtmeister. He was like a brother to me. The parties, the yachts, the houses, the beaches, the discos, the socialites, the debauchery! It was crazy. Luckily, I had Erik there to protect me and to keep me in line. Sort of. I remember making out with some French guy named Thierry on a yacht. I knew him exactly 45 minutes.

 
One of my fondest memories of Erik is catching up with him at the infamous Café Senequier  at about 7:30 in the morning in St. Tropez. He was by himself enjoying a plate of steak tartare and a beer. I said, “Erik, I’m so impressed that you are up so early after that party last night.” He looked at me like I was joking. Up early? No. He was still “out.” This side of St. Tropez is not for me. I am not into the “see and be seen” dance on tables all night crowd. I would rather buy tomatoes at a farmers market and be asleep by nine.
 

On this trip I had a little bit more time so I got to venture outside of St. Tropez to the neighboring towns. My favorite was Ramatuelle. We stopped off at a few restaurants that I will never forget. Growing up in Malibu in my teenage years was all about wheatgrass juice, burritos with special sauce, sushi and mangoes. That was my diet. Provence opened my eyes to bouillabaisse, tomatoe Provençal, the sweetest ripest fruit, olives, vegetable tarts and fish cooked in parchment paper with herbs  de provence and lemons. Being the little culture sponge that I was, as soon as I got home I started buying up every cookbook on Provençal cuisine that I could find.

 Check out this book I found…

 

“Provence, 1970 is about a singular historic moment. In the winter of that year, more or less coincidentally, the iconic culinary figures James Beard, M.F.K. Fisher, Julia Child, Richard Olney, Simone Beck, and Judith Jones found themselves together in the South of France. They cooked and ate, talked and argued, about the future of food in America, the meaning of taste, and the limits of snobbery. Without quite realizing it, they were shaping today’s tastes and culture, the way we eat now. The conversations among this group were chronicled by M.F.K. Fisher in journals and letters—some of which were later discovered by Luke Barr, her great-nephew. In Provence, 1970, he captures this seminal season, set against a stunning backdrop in cinematic scope—complete with gossip, drama, and contemporary relevance.”-Amazon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I decided with my mother to open an antique store specializing in French antiques, we knew that we needed to get to the south of France to start shopping. Done. Off to France we go with my daughter in tow. Poor Gracie, she has had to endure countless and I mean countless flea markets, estate sales, antique stores, antique shows and brocantes in France. I have very distinct memories of Gracie sitting in someone’s shop in an old bergère chair with her head buried in a science book doing homework while her mother is bartering away for some 19^th century jardinière. At a young age this is not how you want to spend your time. It’s probably why she hates me.  Just kidding. At least she learned what ormolu is for God’s sake.

 

 

 

We shopped and shopped in little towns all over the south of France. My favorite was L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue. Oh my God, we were in heaven. We bought dishes, statues, chairs, paintings, big beautiful green Anduze garden pots, tables, books, linens, chandeliers etc. etc. etc. If I could not live in the south of France, I’ll be damned if I wasn’t going to bring it home with me. We did just that. I will try to do a blog on our antique shop soon. It was so pretty! I so loved everything that we bought that I did not want to sell it. If anyone asked the price of something that I really loved, I would tell them that it was $5 million dollars. That usually deterred them.

 

 

My husband likes to tease me and tell me that if it weren’t for him, I would be in a mental institute. I decided that would be fine as long as I can go to the asylum in Provence where Vincent van Gogh went. Looks lovely.

 

 

 

 

 

 

So years later, here I am living in Paris and all I can think of is living in Provence. Yes yes yes, Paris is lovely but it’s not quite “me.” I would like to live in a house with the doors open, big farm style kitchen, lots of fireplaces, a garden, in a village with a café that I go to every day for a glass of rosé. Big pots filled with lavender, topiaries, pea gravel, French wicker outdoor lounge chairs, superlong outdoor table draped with a Provençal tablecloth, Provençal cuisine and a little dog and cat running around. This is more my style.

 

My friend Tom said that I would be super bored in Provence. He said, “How much food, drinking and sunshine can you take.” My thoughts? A lot. I can take a lot.
 

Have you ever seen that movie called A Good Year? You will want to move to Provence in a red-hot second. If you don’t want to move there after seeing the movie, you’re a weirdo. I have been invited by my Romy Schneider look-alike friend, Susie, to her house in Aix-en-Provence this summer. I am so excited to spend time with her and secretly look for a house. How am I going to explain this to my husband? “Thank you for my apartment in Paris but I hate it and want to move to the south of France where you have exactly zero work.

There are a lot of great books on Provence. These are three of the classics. I also put together all of my favorite books on Provence in my Have Some Decorum bookstore. "À tout à l'heure À tout à l'heure!