7 h 38 au caf\u00e9 du village
\nL\u2019automne b\u00e9nit ram\u00e8ne enfin le temps des confitures aux agrumes. Citrons, pamplemousses, mandarines, cl\u00e9mentines et oranges de toutes sortes. Ce sont mes pr\u00e9f\u00e9r\u00e9es. Et depuis le d\u00e9but de la pand\u00e9mie, j\u2019ai eu grandement le temps de m\u2019exercer \u00e0 plusieurs recettes diff\u00e9rentes. Je suis gourmande et j\u2019aime \u00e9tendre sur ma toast matinale une bonne cargaison de chairs de fruits, y compris la peau de l\u2019orange coup\u00e9e en fines lamelles ajout\u00e9e au bouillon de cuisson. <\/p>\n
J\u2019aime tellement me promener dans les grandes surfaces d\u2019alimentation ou dans les march\u00e9s ethniques o\u00f9 il m\u2019arrive souvent de d\u00e9couvrir de nouvelles vari\u00e9t\u00e9s d\u2019aliments. Ce genre de randonn\u00e9e remonte au temps o\u00f9 je d\u00e9butais comme cuisini\u00e8re de petit resto de d\u00e9jeuners. Ma curiosit\u00e9 \u00e9tait insatiable. Surtout concernant les \u00e9talages de fruits frais et les laitues bien vertes pour d\u00e9corer nos assiettes \u00e0 d\u00e9jeuner. <\/p>\n
Je m\u2019en souviens tellement. Mon jeune fils est devenu tr\u00e8s rapidement un expert en d\u00e9coupes de fruits frais. Son dada \u00e9tait la fameuse fl\u00e8che de pomme qu\u2019il r\u00e9ussissait les yeux ferm\u00e9s! Et il a enseign\u00e9 son expertise \u00e0 des centaines de jeunes artistes fruitiers. Cette d\u00e9coration bien particuli\u00e8re est m\u00eame devenue avec le temps l\u2019embl\u00e8me des assiettes de d\u00e9jeuners, tous comp\u00e9titeurs confondus.<\/p>\n
Peut-\u00eatre d\u2019ailleurs sommes-nous aujourd\u2019hui les seuls \u00e0 savoir que toute cette r\u00e9volution des d\u00e9jeuners, d\u2019ordinaire \u00e0 extraordinaire, a pris naissance dans nos premiers restaurants. Oui, oui! J\u2019ose me vanter. J\u2019ai \u00e9t\u00e9 l\u2019initiatrice de ce renouveau du d\u00e9jeuner. Jadis, il y a trente-cinq ans, les familles ne sortaient pas de la maison pour aller d\u00e9jeuner au resto. Une tr\u00e8s grande occasion se f\u00eatait dans un h\u00f4tel reconnu o\u00f9 existait un brunch du dimanche comprenant quelques plats d\u2019\u0153ufs, des charcuteries, des salades et g\u00e9n\u00e9ralement une belle vari\u00e9t\u00e9 de desserts.<\/p>\n
Puis, il y avait les casse-cro\u00fbtes de quartier ouverts assez t\u00f4t pour servir \u0153ufs, bacon, saucisses, jambon et cr\u00eapes en poudre du commerce aux travailleurs. Avant nous, personne n\u2019avait vu de jolies assiettes de fruits frais accompagnant un d\u00e9jeuner d\u2019\u0153ufs ou de grandes cr\u00eapes maison. \u00c0 nos d\u00e9buts, personne ne garnissait une grande cr\u00eape comme nous avec des fraises d\u00e9licieuses, des bananes et des fruits frais m\u00e9lang\u00e9s baignant dans une d\u00e9licieuse cr\u00e8me p\u00e2tissi\u00e8re maison. Je me souviens, comme si c\u2019\u00e9tait hier, de l\u2019\u00e9blouissement qui apparaissait sur chaque visage. Le sourire fendu jusqu\u2019aux oreilles de chaque nouveau client; leurs t\u00eates s\u2019\u00e9tirant pour essayer de voir la magie op\u00e9rante dans la cuisine. <\/p>\n
Nous travaillions \u00e0 cette \u00e9poque en pleine euphorie cr\u00e9atrice avec, chaque jour, des dizaines de nouvelles paires d\u2019yeux compl\u00e8tement \u00e9blouis. Et lorsque surgissaient quelques minutes de repos avant ou apr\u00e8s le rush du midi, il me fallait noter tout ce que nous inventions spontan\u00e9ment et \u00e0 tous les instants.<\/p>\n
Nous ignorions \u00e0 cette \u00e9poque la t\u00e2che titanesque que signifiait la cr\u00e9ation d\u2019un nouveau concept de restauration. Cr\u00e9er repr\u00e9sentait pour nous la meilleure fa\u00e7on d\u2019\u00e9blouir nos clients. Et \u00e7a l\u2019est encore aujourd\u2019hui, 35 ann\u00e9es plus tard. De partout, nos clients ont appris \u00e0 faire la f\u00eate autour de nos assiettes de d\u00e9jeuners. Et bien s\u00fbr, notre fa\u00e7on de ravir une client\u00e8le s\u2019est aussi install\u00e9e \u00e0 l\u2019ext\u00e9rieur de nos propres \u00e9tablissements. Est-ce la ran\u00e7on de la gloire d\u2019\u00eatre copi\u00e9e? Je m\u2019en passerais grandement. Mais encore, serions-nous capables de servir tous les adeptes de ce glorieux concept de restauration? Je suis heureuse de savoir que tous les Canadiens peuvent se r\u00e9galer, gr\u00e2ce \u00e0 nous. Savoir que j\u2019ai particip\u00e9 \u00e0 cette incroyable r\u00e9volution me comble de bonheur. <\/p>\n
9 h 40
\nCh\u00e8re dame Louise D., \u00e0 la fin de votre commentaire, j\u2019apprends que vous demeurez \u00e0 Saint-Sauveur, \u00e0 quelque huit minutes du caf\u00e9 de mon village o\u00f9 j\u2019\u00e9cris. Profitez du Mexique, du soleil et de la plage. Y retournerai-je moi aussi, un de ces jours, \u00e0 Riviera Maya, o\u00f9 je suis all\u00e9e quelques fois du temps du travail acharn\u00e9? C\u2019est assez \u00e9trange de constater \u00e0 quel point je me contente de ma jolie petite vie d\u2019aujourd\u2019hui. \u00c9crire me comble de bonheur, je suppose. \u00c9crire et r\u00e9fl\u00e9chir au temps qu\u2019il me reste; \u00e0 ce dernier quart de si\u00e8cle qui tout doucement me pousse vers la sortie. J\u2019y pense souvent. Surtout lorsque je conduis, mais n\u2019ayez crainte. Je vous confie ici un lourd secret : au volant, j\u2019ai une peur quasi impossible \u00e0 dompter. Et le pire c\u2019est que je n\u2019en ai encore jamais parl\u00e9 \u00e0 quiconque. Pourquoi vous, ch\u00e8res lectrices et chers lecteurs? Parce que vous \u00eates pour moi les oreilles les plus bienveillantes au monde. Et que peut-\u00eatre l\u2019une ou l\u2019un d\u2019entre vous saura m\u2019aider \u00e0 dissoudre cette affreuse peur.<\/p>\n
Ma m\u00e8re est morte dans une collision frontale avec un gros camion qui transportait des moutons \u00e0 l\u2019abattoir. L\u2019accident est arriv\u00e9 exactement \u00e0 l\u2019endroit o\u00f9 l\u2019affiche verte annon\u00e7ait CAPLAN, le nom de son village natal. Apr\u00e8s la mort de papa l\u2019ann\u00e9e d\u2019avant, maman avait d\u00e9cid\u00e9 d\u2019amener mes enfants en Gasp\u00e9sie. Aucun des trois n\u2019a subi de blessures apparentes, mais maman est morte sur le coup. Lorsque j\u2019ai d\u00fb identifier son visage d\u00e9construit \u00e0 la morgue, la peur qu\u2019il m\u2019arrive la m\u00eame chose s\u2019est tout de suite immisc\u00e9e en moi. Et depuis, j\u2019y pense en conduisant. Pas toujours, mais presque. J\u2019ai quand m\u00eame fait le tour de la Gasp\u00e9sie, l\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9 dernier. J\u2019y ai pens\u00e9, mais vous \u00e9tiez avec moi dans la bagnole et j\u2019\u00e9tais trop occup\u00e9e \u00e0 vous parler pour avoir peur de quoi que ce soit.<\/p>\n
En y pensant bien, la peur diminue un peu. \u00c0 vrai dire, maintenant que j\u2019\u00e9cris, vous \u00eates toujours avec moi lorsque je vous raconte ce que je vois et ce que je ressens. Pour tout dire, vous \u00eates mes anges gardiens. <\/p>\n
11 h 12
\nJ\u2019ai souvent l\u2019impression qu\u2019une intelligence sup\u00e9rieure \u00e0 la mienne s\u2019empare de moi en \u00e9crivant. En faisant ce que j\u2019aime vraiment, j\u2019arrive \u00e0 me faire confiance et \u00e0 prendre le risque de suivre le message int\u00e9rieur qui m\u2019est dict\u00e9. L\u2019\u00e9nergie cr\u00e9atrice de l\u2019univers est \u00e0 notre port\u00e9e. Imaginez cet immense entrep\u00f4t o\u00f9 l\u2019on peut cueillir autant de perles que l\u2019on d\u00e9sire. Bien souvent, je r\u00eave en couleur et en plein jour. \u00c9crire me comble et plus je noircis de lignes, plus j\u2019apprends \u00e0 compter sur mon intuition. On dirait bien souvent que j\u2019entends les mots d\u00e9filer dans ma t\u00eate. Comme si je n\u2019\u00e9tais plus seule au clavier, comme si j\u2019\u00e9tais cette partie de moi qui d\u00e9sire \u00e0 tout prix s\u2019exprimer. En \u00e9crivant, j\u2019apprends \u00e0 canaliser mes impulsions cr\u00e9atrices. Et oui, il m\u2019arrive souvent de prendre des risques, d\u2019explorer des domaines cach\u00e9s de ma personnalit\u00e9, ou d\u2019avouer des faits jamais dits comme aujourd\u2019hui, la mort de maman.<\/p>\n
Ma destination est toujours la m\u00eame, mais elle comporte mille et un d\u00e9tours qui me permettent d\u2019accueillir les surprises de la vie. Les barri\u00e8res de mon imaginaire sont quasi invisibles tellement elles sont \u00e9loign\u00e9es l\u2019une de l\u2019autre. Mais attention, l\u2019imaginaire parle, raconte, dialogue et discute comme les corneilles en plastique cord\u00e9es \u00e0 la queue leu leu sur le dessus de mes armoires de cuisine. L\u2019imaginaire est un merveilleux ajout au r\u00e9el et s\u2019av\u00e8re quelquefois le plus savoureux de toute l\u2019histoire. Moi-m\u00eame, il m\u2019arrive de lancer \u00e0 mes tendres amies noiraudes des r\u00e9pliques assez saugrenues. <\/p>\n
\u2014 Dites-moi, ch\u00e8res corneilles, qu\u2019allons-nous manger pour souper?
\n\u2014 Les restants d\u2019hier ou un gentil filet de morue?<\/p>\n
Cora
\n\ud83d\udc20<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
7 h 38 au caf\u00e9 du village L\u2019automne b\u00e9nit ram\u00e8ne enfin le […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":13174,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13172","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"7:38 a.m. at the coffee shop\r\nBlessed is the fall because it means citrus jam season is finally upon us again! Lemons, grapefruits, mandarins, clementines and oranges of all kinds. All my favourites! And since the beginning of the pandemic, I\u2019ve had more than enough time to practice a wide variety of recipes. I\u2019m a bit of a glutton sometimes and I love to spread a thick layer of fruit on my morning toast. Even thinly sliced orange peel gets added to cooking juices.\r\n\r\nI simply love roaming around the aisles of grocery stores and ethnic food stores where I often discover new varieties of food. That food trek takes me back to the time when I was starting out as a cook in a small breakfast diner. My curiosity was insatiable, especially when it came to selecting fresh fruit and leafy greens to decorate our breakfast plates.\r\n\r\nI remember it so well. My youngest son quickly became an expert fruiter \u2013 peeling, cutting and shaping fresh fruit. His thing was preparing an apple in the shape of an arrow; he could do it with his eyes closed! He later taught his expertise to hundreds of younger fruiters. This striking garnish is now the emblem of all breakfast plates at every competitor restaurant everywhere.\r\n\r\nPerhaps we\u2019re the only ones today who remember that this breakfast revolution, from ordinary to extraordinary, was born in our first restaurants. Yes, I am bragging a little! I was the instigator of a breakfast renaissance. Families would not leave the house to have breakfast out 35 years ago. Special occasions would be celebrated at hotels that offered a Sunday brunch featuring egg dishes, charcuteries, salads and usually a wide array of desserts. \r\n\r\nThen there were the neighbourhood snack bars that opened early enough to serve eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, toast and commercial dehydrated pancakes to early bird workers. No one had seen nicely assorted fruit plates served with an egg dish or large homemade cr\u00eapes before we opened to serve them. When we started, no one else was filling large cr\u00eapes with delicious strawberries, bananas or mixed fresh fruit in delicious homemade custard. I remember it so well, like it was yesterday, the expressions of amazement on our customers\u2019 eyes. A smile as big as their appetite lighting up each new face. They would stretch their necks to catch a glimpse of what kind of magic we were cooking up in the kitchen.\r\n\r\nWe were living in a moment of creative euphoria back in those days. Each day, tens of new pairs of eyes would be completely transfixed by their breakfast plate. And when we had a few minutes of peace before or after the lunch hour rush, I noted down everything we had just created that day so we wouldn\u2019t forget it and could recreate the dish again. \r\n\r\nWe had no clue at that time what gargantuan task awaited us and what it meant to create a new restaurant concept. Creating new dishes was how we dazzled our clients. And we\u2019re still doing it today, 35 years later. Of course, our way of delighting customers is now available outside our establishments too. Is being copied the price of fame? I could really do without it. But would we be able to serve this amazing restaurant concept to all our fans?\r\n\r\nIt cheers me to think that Canadians everywhere can treat themselves to a delicious breakfast thanks to us. My heart fills with happiness knowing that I had a hand in this incredible morning gastronomy revolution.\r\n\r\n9:40 a.m.\r\nDear Louise D., I learn from your comment that you live in Saint-Sauveur, minutes away from the coffee shop where I write. Enjoy Mexico, its sun and beaches. Will I ever go back to Riviera Maya myself one of these days, where I\u2019d escape to during those years of strenuous work? It\u2019s strange how I\u2019m just content with my simple life today. Writing fills me with happiness, I guess. Writing and reflecting upon the time I have left; thinking about this last quarter of a century that is softly pushing me towards the exit door. I often think about it, especially when I drive. I have to tell you a very dark secret, a fear that is nearly impossible to tame. And, I must confess, I have never talked about this with anyone. Why am I sharing this with you, my dear readers? I\u2019m telling you because you have been the most caring listeners in the world to me. And maybe a few of you will know how to disperse this awful fear.\r\n\r\nMy mother died in a head-on collision with a big truck that was transporting lambs to the slaughter house. The accident happened right at the green road side announcing \u201cCAPLAN,\u201d the village where my poor mother was born. My mom had decided, the summer after my father passed, to take my kids to Gasp\u00e9sie. None of the three children suffered any physical harm, but my mother died on impact. In that moment, when I had to identify her broken face at the morgue, the fear that I would know the same fate immediately entered my bones. And I can\u2019t help but think about it when I drive; not every time I get behind the wheel, but often enough. I drove across Gasp\u00e9sie last summer. I did think about it, but you were right there with me, in my car, and I was far too busy talking to you and thinking about new tales to regale you with to fear anything.\r\n\r\nCome to think of it, the fear does seem to have faded a little. Now that I write regularly, you are always here with me, as I share what I see and feel. Truth is, I\u2019ve come to think of you as my guardian angels.\r\n\r\n11:12 a.m.\r\nI often get the feeling that a superior form of intelligence takes over me when I write. By doing what I love, I am learning to trust and take a chance on that inner voice and the message it dictates to me. The universe\u2019s creative energy is within our reach. Imagine a huge warehouse where we can harvest as many pearls as we want. I daydream about it often. Writing fulfills me and the more I darken the blank page on the screen with words, the more I learn to trust my intuition. I often seem to hear the words running through my head, as if I were no longer alone at the keyboard; as if I were possessed by someone who absolutely needs to express themselves. I am learning to channel my creative energies as I write. And I often take risks, explore hidden areas of my personality or confess unspoken facts like I did today thinking back to the death of my mother and the dread it instilled in me.\r\n\r\nMy destination is always the same, but it is composed of a thousand and one detours bringing me life\u2019s surprises that I embrace. The barriers of my imagination, so far apart from one another, are almost invisible. But be aware, imagination speaks, tells tales, converses and discusses, just like the plastic crows perched in a row on top of my kitchen cabinets. Imagination is a wonderful addition to real life and sometimes proves to be the tastiest part of the story. I sometimes find myself telling rather eccentric tales to my dear plastic-feathered friends.\r\n\r\n\u2014 \u201cSo, dear crows! Tell me, what will we have for dinner?\u201d \r\n\u2014 \u201cYesterday\u2019s leftovers or a nice cod filet?\u201d\r\n\r\nCora\r\n\ud83d\udc20"},"yoast_head":"\n