OUR FIRST FRENCH CHRISTMAS DINNER PARTY

We've been resident in France for about eight months now and I think that our French neighbors are finally convinced that we're here to stay. They're happy that a property that had been vacant for many years is now permanently occupied. And I feel as though we've been accepted into our cloistered little neighborhood that's situated between the church and the town hall on a narrow, cobbled pedestrian walkway smack dab in the middle of Quarante. Here's why. The other day as I was walking down our little alley, one of our neighbors wished me 'Bonjour' as our neighbors always do when we pass. Then, noticing the envelop that I was carrying, she asked if I was going to the post office. I was. Would I mail a letter for her, stamped and ready to go? Of course I would. Very neighborly. And not something that you would ask of a passing stranger. I was honored.

If I had been one of the many Brits in the village, I would have been honoured.

I should be studying the French language more assiduously. We've purchased Rosetta Stone and it seems as though it's a good program. But I've relied on my four years of high school French combined with one of college and a couple of more recent night school courses. Coupled with eight months of immersion, I do OK. Day to day tasks - buying our daily baguette, for instance - are accomplished easily enough. For less mundane tasks, though, I've learned to look up vocabulary first. I use Google Translate at my desk and on my tablet. If I know the correct term for the device that operates the power windows on my Citroen, I can ask the junkyard dealer for the right replacement part. (Leve-vitre, by the way. Literally: up window.) It's a good plan that's worked well. I just have to remember to use the feature that pronounces the words that I need through my speakers. Very important, as you will learn.

We've invited our friends Simon and Julia for a holiday dinner, not right on Christmas Day or New Year's Eve but during the weekend between. Cathey wants to prepare something special. The pork here is fabulous; it actually tastes like pork. So she decided she'd like to serve a marinated, roasted pork loin as the main dish. The menu will include her signature faux pate and other nibbles at the start, chestnut soup, appropriate veggies, bread pudding, cracklings, a fruity syllabub (sort of a parfait, sort of), and don't forget the homemade Christmas cookies. But the pork loin roast will be the centerpiece.

I confess that I didn't use Google. I checked out the packaged pork loins in the super. Longe de porc. Simple enough. We visited one of our two village butchers. (Can you imagine? Two old-style butcher shops in a village of 1,500 souls.) We'd used Alain on the Grand Rue at the top of the village for our Thanksgiving turkey, so we decided to give Philippe down below a shot at the loin. We dropped by a couple of weeks ahead of time.

We want a longe de porc, we said. Sufficient to serve four. The entire longe, not trimmed. (Cathey wanted to use the rind for the cracklings.)

No problem, Philippe said.

Then he started massaging his throat and indicating that we would get the whole thing. We smiled and nodded. Yes, we wanted the whole thing. But we weren't certain about the throat business. In fact, we were sufficiently nervous that after we returned home, I went up on the internet and printed out a graphic showing the various cuts of pork. I went back to the shop and showed Philippe the printout.

Those of you who are proficient in French may have figured out the problem by now. Longe is pronounced with a soft gee, like lounge. I pronounced it with a hard gee, like long. With a hard gee, the butcher assumed that I was asking for tongue: langue. I should have known. We live in the Languedoc (Language [Tongue] of the Oc), hard gee.

Well, we straightened everything out. When we arrived at his shop the day before our dinner, Philippe brought out a full loin for our inspection. We negotiated how much of it we wanted. He cut the chunk off and deboned it at out request. Cathey kept the bones. She always keeps the bones. Back at our house, we skinned off the rind, scored it in preparation for making the cracklings, and put it aside. Cathey bagged the roast with the marinade and made room in the fridge.

Next day, voila! It neither looks nor tastes like tongue. And I don't think that you get cracklins' from tongue, either.

COPS OR DEMONSTRATORS - GUNS OR BUTTER: FALSE DICHOTOMIES

We have become tribal and, in the process, become binary. Ones or Zeros. Yes or No. Pro or Con. We define each other through simple answers to complex questions. Such thinking, dividing ourselves in this way, is not in our own best interests.

That's not to say that there are no absolutes. I am not one of those who believes that being human means to think in shades of gray, that everything is relative, that there is no right or wrong, no good and no evil. I have my red lines. Red lines are healthy. They require us to think critically and make rational, informed judgements. But today I'm talking about the false dichotomies, questions that look as though they can be answered simply but that are in truth designed to force us to abandon critical thinking in favor of tribal fervor.

GUNS OR BUTTER

The Vietnam War shaped much of my geopolitical thinking. It seemed to me that it was foolhardy to think that, as the new kids on the block, Americans could do better in southeast Asia than the French, who had been in the business of colonialism for quite awhile. I have never had reason to doubt that simple analysis. Afghanistan, anyone? And today there are more hotels listed in Hanoi on the popular travel website TripAdvisor than are listed in Chicago.

At the time, when the War on Poverty was competing for funding with the Vietnam War, Guns or Butter? became a popular question to ask. It was not a new question. Eisenhower perhaps laid it out most starkly: "Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed."

Your answer marked you. Guns? Warmonger. Butter? Peacenik.

But with respect to Ike, the dichotomy is a false one. Putting aside the question of the fairness of the current tax code when it comes to funding our government and putting aside the waste/fraud/abuse in both the Pentagon and the Department of Health and Human Services when it comes to spending our tax dollars, we are a rich enough country to afford sufficient quantities of guns and butter to both defend ourselves vigorously and feed ourselves comfortably. Regardless of the current binary situation in Washington, we needn't cut the budget of the Pentagon in order to properly fund HHS. It is not a zero sum game, though game we have apparently allowed it to become in our march toward tribalism.

Our elected officials simply need to make sane judgements regarding our tax code and our spending priorities, in our decisions concerning war and peace, untainted by the influences of campaign funding and temptations of wealth and power. Simple, right?

COPS OR DEMONSTRATORS

Questions regarding our system of criminal justice are among the most emotional of the moment. Male black Americans are in statistically dangerous territory when it comes to being stopped by the police, charged with a crime, found guilty of a crime, and/or incarcerated. Such constant and contentious contact with law enforcement inevitably leads to frustration and violence on both sides. There are two factors at work here, neither of them pretty.

First, racism exists. It exists at all levels of our society. Don't argue. It does. This is one of those red lines that I talked about. Racism exists. Denying that racism exists is either racist itself or just stupid. Police and the court system are not immune.

Second, police cause crime, particularly in impoverished and segregated black communities. That's not to suggest that all police, or most or even a plurality, are criminals. Not at all. But 50 years ago, Malcolm X predicted the scenario that's being played out today. He pointed out that even then, when an incident occurred in Harlem, however minor, swarms of police responded, multiples of the number that would respond to similar incidents in other parts of the city. But more aggressive policing did not and does not lead to a community feeling a sense of safety. On the contrary, communities feel threatened. In the face of an increasingly militarized police, the threatened communities either exhibit the self-destructive rage of the powerless or feel the need to take steps, however futile, to protect themselves. Hence the demonstrations and the misdirected violence, both inner directed and directed toward law enforcement.

As the demonstrations and the level of violence and the ever more shrill reporting in the media of that violence mounts, we get the false dichotomy question: Do you support the cops or the demonstrators?

Cops? Racist. Demonstrators? Anarchist.

Now that's just stupid. We are a nation of laws, laws that protect individuals from the bad acts of other individuals. We need strong, active, skilled policing. Who else you gonna call? Ghostbusters?

But because we are a nation of laws, we are also protected from bad actors who act in the name of the government. And that includes cops. In the words of John Marshall, the first Chief Justice of the US Supreme Court: "The government of the United States has been emphatically termed a government of laws, and not of men. It will certainly cease to deserve this high appellation if the laws furnish no remedy for the violation of a vested legal right."

It is possible, logical, and downright American to support our police forces while condemning excessive behavior by individual police officers.

So where does this leave us? I submit that we are left with the necessity of viewing any number of issues that have been presented to us with less binary, more critical thinking. Israel or Palestine? Carbon-based or renewable? Flat tax or progressive rates? There are many such issues that have been used by cynical manipulators to divide us. It's time to look at each with fresh eyes. Stay tuned for a discussion of the flat tax versus a progressive rate tax code.

JOE COCKER - A MEMORABLE NIGHT

In May of 1969, I went to the Filmore East to see Jeff Beck.

NRBQ opened the show. I was never much of a fan but, live and in color, they put us in the mood.

Then The Grease Band played their first couple of numbers. These guys were more like it, playing a version of blues-tinged rock and roll that I could really get into. And as you know, the guys went on to pretty fair careers after The Grease Band folded. You could look it up. After a couple of instrumentals, they brought out their lead singer. First night of his first American tour. Joe Cocker.

We had never seen anything like it. We had never heard anything like it. Initially, both the spastic-seeming gyrations and the sheer force of that wailing voice coming from that slender body behind a thatch of wild scalp and facial hair took the focus away from the music. But not for long. You couldn't ignore Joe's music for long.

I can't say that I remember the set list. I remember Delta Lady and Dear Landlord and She Came In Through the Bathroom Window. I think. He probably did a couple of the numbers that Chris Stainton wrote, maybe Sandpaper Cadillac. The point is, though, that by the time he finished With a Little Help from My Friends, the folks downstairs were dancing in the aisles and those of us upstairs were shaking the rafters. 3,000 people in Lower Manhattan had become total Cocker fans.

After we'd settled down, Jeff Beck came onstage. The man can play guitar. He whipped through a couple of numbers, then brought out Rod Stewart for vocals. Remember, these were the days before the glitzy Stewart, when Stewart was simply Beck's vocalist. They had just finished laying down Beck-Ola. It wouldn't be too long before Stewart would leave Beck to gig with Faces and, within a couple of years, record Reason to Believe and Maggie May as a solo act. Stewart was on his way to the big time but he wasn't there yet.

Well, Stewart barely made it through his first number. Laryngitis. Aw, shoot. But wait a minute. Out comes Cocker. And he does the whole set with Beck. Damn and double damn.

The rest is history. Woodstock. Mad Dogs. Leon Russell. The Letter. Wonderful stuff.

And now it's time for the great gig in the sky with Joe trading vocals with Janice, Jimi on guitar, Jack on bass, Bonzo on drums...

RIP

LA MAL COIFFEE - A REVIEW

As I've discussed previously, C.A.P. 34 (Artists Collective of Capestang) presents concerts in the public spaces of Capestang, often with aperos (light, homemade munchies and local wine) available at a reasonable price. The first of the winter season featured La Mal Coiffee (Bad Hair), a group of five ladies singing acapella with simple percussion instruments.

The evening began as these evenings all seem to do, with aperos and local performers - a young female singer playing accordion; a female trio with guitar, clarinet, and washtub bass; and a female singer/guitarist. Good amateur fun. The aperos began with a plate of tasty bits - a wedge of quiche, a slice of cheese, a smear of humus on a thin slice of bread, and such - followed by a bowl of soup and/or dessert including a fine cheese cake with a raspberry puree.

La Mal Coiffee were a joy. These five ladies obviously enjoy singing and enjoy singing with each other. They took turns announcing the numbers - that were in Occitan mostly, I think - and taking the lead vocals. They performed a single set that lasted at least an hour and a half, finishing covered in sweat and completely drained.

Admission was free, amazing when you consider the quality of the performance. Watch the video and consider what you would pay for 90 minutes of that level of entertainment. We are so lucky to live where we live!

LAS SIMPLES COSAS - LA RETIRADA & L'EXIL - A REVIEW

 Cathey and I have been impressed with the quality of musical programming that comes to our region in the south of France. I'm not talking about the cities of Beziers, Narbonne, Carcassonne, and Montpellier, from 15 minutes to an hour away and drawing some of the world's best acts in jazz, blues, ethnic, and world music. I'm talking about our little town of Quarante and the small villages within a radius of a handful of kilometers proximate to our portion of the Canal du Midi that have populations of under 5,000 souls. In some cases, concerts are presented by a cultural consortium sponsored jointly by the villages. One independent presenter is a group called C.A.C 34 (Artists Collective of Capestang). We've been to two of their shows and been blown away. The first featured La Mal Coiffée, a dynamite group of ladies who sang up a storm. For some reason, I missed reviewing that show. Next post.

Last night, we were privileged to witness a special, multimedia performance based on La Retirada & L'Exil, a book written by Francesc Vidal, one of the hundreds of thousands of Spanish refugees who came to this part of France fleeing the ravages of the Spanish Civil War in the run up to WW II. Before the performance began, the elderly Vidal took the stage to introduce himself and his story. He talked of the importance of keeping the story alive for the generations that followed. The performance was interspersed with readings from his book by Eric Fraj, who adapted the story for the stage and who added his powerful voice to the early songs. Las Simple Cosas played numbers describing the times as well as tunes that were popular at the time. And behind the musicians as the show progressed, regional artist Bernard Cauhape painted two large panels depicting the story. The concert took place in the Capestang Hall of the People, a simple auditorium with a nice stage and decent sound and lighting that seats about 200 people.

Las Simple Cosas is a trio comprised of Guillaume Lopez (flute and vocals), Morgan Astruc (flamenco guitar), and Pascal Celma (upright bass). They were joined by frequent collaborator Simon Portefaix (percussion). An uncredited - and I believe local - violinist joined the quartet onstage for the final couple of numbers. These young men are accomplished musicians. Their flamenco was spot on. When they moved out of the traditional and into more modern, brief, jazzy riffs, their improvisational skills were impressive. Many in the audience appeared to be of Spanish heritage and they were clearly thrilled and boisterously appreciative.

The evening began, as these evenings often do, with aperos, the local term for aperitifs...appetizers. If you make reservations rather than just showing up for the concert, the folks at C.A.C. 34 prepare a plate of homemade munchies for 4 Euros ($5.00 at current rates) in this case consisting of a wedge of quiche, a chunk of cheese on a thin slice of bread, a smear of tapenade made from local olives on bread, and a bright red shredded beet salad. Cathey had a bowl of butternut squash soup ($2.50) and I had a wedge of a very thick and dark chocolate cake ($1.25). With 4 glasses of local wine at $1.25 apiece, the food - that substituted for our dinner - came to $18.75. The folks at the door seemed quite satisfied with our donation of 10 Euros ($12.50) for the concert, so the total for the night out, dinner and a show for two, came to $31.25. In the States, at our favorite venue for listening to 'serious' music, that would have been the price for one ticket.

I couldn't find a video of the show or the trio in performance. I did find THIS, a video about the basic trio as artists in residence in an institution up towards Toulouse, I think.