Pommes et Miel, for those of you who don't speak French, means Apples and Honey. And for those of you that aren't members of the tribe, the reference is to the Jewish tradition of eating apples and honey today, on Rosh Hashanah -- the Jewish New Year. As little as I follow Jewish traditions, I generally forget about the holiday and then realize only after the fact that I was coincidentally eating honey and/or apples just at the right time. In the DNA, perhaps? Or just seasonal abundance?
Either way, once again, I find myself hot on the trail of apples and honey just at the New Year. This time, it's thanks to the weekend of patrimoine, happening across Europe. In France, what this means is that select places of historic interest that are normally closed to the public are open for one special weekend. Last year we went to a historic mansion (Hotel Lauzun) on Ile St. Louis. Among other sites, we also toured the Hotel de Ville. And while some of that building is open on a regular basis, we also got to see its beautiful library, which is not generally wide open for browsing.
This year, Anthony is out of town on a business trip (coincidentally, in China, so that the one completely non-Jewish member of my family is doing the most Jewish thing of all: spending a Jewish holiday eating Chinese food). So I take the girls alone to a couple events, and on Sunday, we find ourselves at the College des Bernardins, which is a restored 13th century scholarly building in the heart of the Latin Quarter, now used for conferences and exhibitions.
Because of the journée de patrimoine, however, today they have a special visit and lecture by an apiculturist -- beekeeper, that is. It's intended for children and families and is, frankly, both fascinating and quite delicious! There are tastings of about half a dozen kinds of honey. In a shocking turn of events, Pippa declares them all too sweet, and asks for a cheese stick. Gigi's favorite is the chestnut honey, which is dark and intense. My favorite is the honey made by the bees from the College des Bernardins' own ruche (bee-hive). Since the nectar is collected from whatever flowers can be found in the city, I guess you'd call it officially Paris-flavored. In any event, the beekeeper and I discuss it rapturously, because it has a fruity, acidic tang to it that cuts the pure sweetness. Too bad the bees can't make enough for them to sell it, because I'd buy it in vats.
Among the many interesting factoids we learn go into just one of these small jars of honey:
-about 7,000 bee hours
-enough distance flown that if you added it together, it would circle the Earth's equator
-accidental pollination of several million flowers (Bees pollinate about 80% of the world's flora, including fruits and vegetables!)
While we can't buy our local Paris-flavored honey, we do buy a jar of creamy white "spring honey" at the market, and we also run across a Southwestern France specialty market where they're giving away apples. This afternoon as I am preparing an after-school snack for the girls and one of Gigi's friends, I realize I've got all the makings for a Rosh Hashanah treat. I break out two kinds of honey and three kinds of apples to mix-and-match. The interesting coincidence, too, is that Gigi's friend is half-Moroccan, and her mother and I had just been talking about how amazing Morocco was in World War II to not have lost or deported even one single Jew (the King's famous quote when asked by occupied France to denounce the country's Jews: "We don't have any Jews; we have only Moroccans.") It may be the best example of Jews and Muslims living together harmoniously, both historically and still in the present.
Funny enough, when her mother picks her up, she excitedly tells her not just about the New Year, and the apple and honey, but also that we served her bread -- with butter! She raves about what a great idea this is. Still funny to me, even after all this time, that in France bread and butter don't go together like, well, bread and butter.
So, we are very happy to share this treat with our Moroccan friend and to wish all, as they write it in French, Chana Tovah (a Happy New Year)!
Either way, once again, I find myself hot on the trail of apples and honey just at the New Year. This time, it's thanks to the weekend of patrimoine, happening across Europe. In France, what this means is that select places of historic interest that are normally closed to the public are open for one special weekend. Last year we went to a historic mansion (Hotel Lauzun) on Ile St. Louis. Among other sites, we also toured the Hotel de Ville. And while some of that building is open on a regular basis, we also got to see its beautiful library, which is not generally wide open for browsing.
This year, Anthony is out of town on a business trip (coincidentally, in China, so that the one completely non-Jewish member of my family is doing the most Jewish thing of all: spending a Jewish holiday eating Chinese food). So I take the girls alone to a couple events, and on Sunday, we find ourselves at the College des Bernardins, which is a restored 13th century scholarly building in the heart of the Latin Quarter, now used for conferences and exhibitions.
Because of the journée de patrimoine, however, today they have a special visit and lecture by an apiculturist -- beekeeper, that is. It's intended for children and families and is, frankly, both fascinating and quite delicious! There are tastings of about half a dozen kinds of honey. In a shocking turn of events, Pippa declares them all too sweet, and asks for a cheese stick. Gigi's favorite is the chestnut honey, which is dark and intense. My favorite is the honey made by the bees from the College des Bernardins' own ruche (bee-hive). Since the nectar is collected from whatever flowers can be found in the city, I guess you'd call it officially Paris-flavored. In any event, the beekeeper and I discuss it rapturously, because it has a fruity, acidic tang to it that cuts the pure sweetness. Too bad the bees can't make enough for them to sell it, because I'd buy it in vats.
Among the many interesting factoids we learn go into just one of these small jars of honey:
-about 7,000 bee hours
-enough distance flown that if you added it together, it would circle the Earth's equator
-accidental pollination of several million flowers (Bees pollinate about 80% of the world's flora, including fruits and vegetables!)
While we can't buy our local Paris-flavored honey, we do buy a jar of creamy white "spring honey" at the market, and we also run across a Southwestern France specialty market where they're giving away apples. This afternoon as I am preparing an after-school snack for the girls and one of Gigi's friends, I realize I've got all the makings for a Rosh Hashanah treat. I break out two kinds of honey and three kinds of apples to mix-and-match. The interesting coincidence, too, is that Gigi's friend is half-Moroccan, and her mother and I had just been talking about how amazing Morocco was in World War II to not have lost or deported even one single Jew (the King's famous quote when asked by occupied France to denounce the country's Jews: "We don't have any Jews; we have only Moroccans.") It may be the best example of Jews and Muslims living together harmoniously, both historically and still in the present.
Funny enough, when her mother picks her up, she excitedly tells her not just about the New Year, and the apple and honey, but also that we served her bread -- with butter! She raves about what a great idea this is. Still funny to me, even after all this time, that in France bread and butter don't go together like, well, bread and butter.
So, we are very happy to share this treat with our Moroccan friend and to wish all, as they write it in French, Chana Tovah (a Happy New Year)!
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