Zawsze, kiedy kupuje rzeczy w Internecie, staram sie poczytac opinie innych osob wpisane pod danym produktem. Pozwala mi to stworzyc jakis w miare realny obraz kupowanej rzeczy, ale takze i opinie o kupujacych. Pamietam negatywny wpis w ksiegarni na stronie e-Bay: 'Spodziewalam sie, ze ksiazka bedzie wieksza' :):):))))) Gdybym komentarza nie przeczytala widzialabym tylko procent negatywnych komentarzy i na tej podstawie wyrobilabym sobie opinie o sprzedawcy.
O Colette Rossant slyszalam. Nic bardzo szczegolowego, ale samo nazwisko obilo mi sie o uszy. Dlatego, kiedy kupowalam jej ksiazke na stronie Amazon, od razu wlaczylam opcje z recenzjami innych kupujacych. Niestety, ksiazka wydawala sie wszystkim... dretwa! Napisana, jako bardzo sucha relacja, nie zawierajaca prywatnych emocji i opinii, a tylko suchy opis wydarzen.
I musze ze smutkiem przyznac, ze jest to prawda! W ksiazce roi sie od sytuacji i anegdot, ktore opisane w inny sposob bylyby niesamowicie smieszne! Raz Colette zostala wmieszana w miedzynarodowa afere i zostala odwiedzona przez smutnych panow z FBI. Innym razem chciala zamowic typowe chinskie danie i skonczyla z talerzem pelnym... slimakow morskich! Okazalo sie tez, ze rodzina przypadkiem kupila dom w okolicy, gdzie rzadzila... wloska mafia i Colette musiala poradzic sobie i z tym... Poza tym pani Rossant caly czas narzeka i jojczy! Dowiadujemy sie, co tez bylo niejadalne, tuz po jej przyjezdzie do tej paskudnej Ameryki. I, ze jedyne miejsce, gdzie mozna bylo cos w miare ludzkiego dostac, to targi farmerskie, albo male, wloskie sklepiki...
A przeciez Colette wiodla bardzo ciekawe zycie. Urodzila i wychowala czworo dzieci. Napisala 7 ksiazek kucharskich. Podrozowala po Japonii, po Francji, po Afryce. Spotkala na swojej drodze wiele kulinarnych osobowosci, m.in. wielkiego Paul'a Bocuse'a i nie mniej znana Julie Child. Jej maz, James, byl w okolicy 1975 roku autorem projektu nowej stolicy Tanzanii - Dodomy.
I jeszcze tylko kilka fragmentow:
''Next to the meat was a vegetable I had never seen before. It looked like a small tree and tasted somewhat like cabbage. I thought it was good, but lacked some garlic or spices. 'What is it?' I asked. 'Broccoli', Anne explained. 'Do you like it?' I didn't really know what to say since I realized that she had prepared it. For my taste it was to bland. 'Strange', I replied, and everyone laughed.''
''...so I bought a pretzel, tore it in two and gave half to John. I bit into the slightly warm pretzel, and spat it out immediately. It was disgusting! Chewy, salty and with a taste of gasoline.''
''In front of me was a sandwich. I wasn't sure I knew what it was. White bread, no crust and very soft. The sandwich was stuffed, my mother-in-law told me, with tuna fish salad. It looked a sickening beige color. I took a bite and nearly chocked. It was sweet with bits of what I thought was celery. 'What's in it?' 'Mayonnaise.' I knew two things: that it was not real mayonnaise and that I couldn't eat it.''
''Jimmy ordered a sundae. The dish I dreamt of for so many years. A bowl of ice-cream was placed in front of me. I looked at it in disbelief. It was monstrous architectural construction. The ice-cream was hidden under a mountain of whipped cream with chocolate sauce dripping artistically, topped with toasted almonds. A bright red cherry gloriously crowned it all. It was exactly like the one I had read about years before. But I took one bite and found the ice-cream far to sweet and very creamy. The whipped cream was not like Chantilly, the cherry inedible. The dish was so rich that after two teaspoons I couldn't eat any more. I whispered to Jimmy, 'Can you finish it?' ''
Jak widzicie, wcale nie przesadzam i Colette jojczy...
:):):)
A na koniec fragment z okresu, kiedy pani Rossant byla tlumaczka Paul'a Bocuse'a, ktory promowal swoja ksiazke w Ameryce:
'' 'Colette, I need breakfast, where shall we go?' I looked around. Nothing was open except McDonald's. I tried to explain that McDonald's, which had not as yet invaded France, was a fast food chain and there wouldn't be much he would like. 'Let's go there, it's fine', and so to McDonald's we went, followed by the press. As we sat down, I explained to Paul what was on the menu. 'You can have a muffin with an egg and cheese, or ham.' 'Muffin? What is a muffin?' I explained and Paul chose the muffin with egg and ham and french fries. Paul ate the eggs with gusto, thought the coffee was too weak, but announced loudly: 'Those are the best french fries I have ever eaten. I want to meet the chef.' 'But Paul, this is a fast food restaurant, there is no chef.' 'Nonsense Colette, every kitchen has a chef!' With those words Paul got up and walked over to the counter where a young black man was standing, waiting to receive orders. To his astonishment and amidst the flashes of the photographers, Paul insisted on shaking his hand and saying over and over again: 'Bravo, jeune homme. Les meilleures frites que j'ai jamais mangées. Traduisez, Colette.' There were large headlines that evening in the papers: 'Paul Bocuse eats the world's best french fries in New York at McDonald's' ''
:):):):))))))))))))))))))))
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