Au Revoir

When I was about eleven we spent the summer in Paris while my dad was at Maxim’s cooking school. I’m not entirely sure what sparked this plan but I imagine it was his love of the two “F”s—France and Food. Brian and I attended an international day school and I think my mom had a sprained ankle for most of the time, although I may be combining trips. We had an apartment out in the western part of the city, which my dad pointed out to me before this trip.

I remember a smattering of things—buying shoes at Galeries Lafayette where a distant cousin worked for Charles Jordan, riding the bus to school, learning pottery and supposedly French, a trip out to Monte Saint Michelle, a roach running across my bedroom floor in our apartment. I also got to experience things like Orangina and Nutella at a time when you couldn’t buy either in the States. I remember having my first 18 course lunch, it was probably only four or five, but it was all in French and at my age seemed an eternity. I remember the wife of another relative here giving me a fan of real peacock feathers that later got wet because we tried to clean it. I always felt like I should remember more from our summer here, which is the story of my whole childhood, since I generally can’t remember a thing.



These past two weeks, however, I reconnected with a lot of memories from that summer and made many new ones. I never set out to have a trip that relived past experiences, but being a creature of habit certain things were the same. I drank a lot of Orangina, which was 1 euro in my neighborhood, 2.50 across from the Louvre. I had Nutella crepes—more than once. I rediscovered Linzer Torte.

I also ate Japanese food—which would have been nearly impossible 15 years ago. I had a lot of duck, something that probably didn’t appeal to me at the time. I walked and walked and walked the streets in the cold. I warmed up with hot chocolate and ducked into snazzy shops. There were many highlights to the week—including drinks with Bob, drinks with Andy, and drinks with Andre, but mostly, I’m glad I was here to explore and remember.

One for the Memory Books

Today, my final lunch and good atmosphere was my goal! I had plans to eat at the Louvre, knowing that the food wouldn’t be stellar, but I could sit and look at the pyramids. I asked my new friend Andre (the boyfriend of Bob’s friend Andy who lives here) if that was a good idea. He didn’t think I would be able to see the pyramids and suggested instead Chartier. He said the food isn’t that good but sit and watch the people for that it is wonderful. Sign me up.



I followed the map he drew me and found it in an instant. There was a line to get in and a man would come out of the revolving door and shout “4” meaning he has a table for 4. It went on this way for a few minutes when finally I held up my finger for one. He pulled me out of the line and sat me at a table for four, but with only 3 people. I appreciated the lack of formality—basically that’s been happening the whole time I’ve been here, but there have been about 2 inches between. Why was the space? Just put me with another group!



The menu was printed on paper and the order was taken and written on the paper tablecloth. The check was also added up there right before your eyes. The food wasn’t good, Andre was right, it didn’t matter. The setting was beautiful and the place was packed. As I was working on a bit of dessert, the whole place busted out in song, some people stood up and were holding their wine glasses in hand. I made out from the other group at my table, who sang along, that there were a bunch of French rugby teams eating. The large men all wearing the same kind of shirt began to make sense…It was totally awesome. Everyone clapped at the end and then another song would start up. Another kind of story book moment.

Perfect Delights

My perfect evening in Paris would be:
- Meeting someone who is really interesting and funny for drinks and deciding to have a little cheese before he heads off to dinner with some other friends.
- Walking with him to his bike and asking for a recommendation of where to grab a bite and having him recommend a place you’ve already been to and enjoyed.
- Going to the restaurant and having a perfectly delicious bit of duck roasted in honey served with gratined potatoes and a glass of white wine.

- Not having dessert or coffee, instead walking next door to get a butter and sugar crepe to go.
- Eating the buttery and sugary crepe, still warm in my hand and walking back in the cold to my apartment.

Luckily I just had said evening. In my mind this is what it would be like if I lived here…I do love a good fantasy, I also love it when you can cap out a somewhat disappointing day with utter perfectness. Not a bad way to enter the last 24 hours of my stay here.

At Least it was Sunny

I did take some pictures I like on the tour:

The Busted Food Tour of PARIS...How is that even possible?

Bear with me on this one...


After market day, today was the day I was most looking forward to. Since dreaming up this idea to come to Paris for 2 weeks I had thought about doing a cooking lesson or a market tour of some kind. It was only the day before I left that I found something suitable and within my budget. I was happy that I was able to book a walking tour of a spice shop, a wine store, Poilane a famous Parisian bakery, and some kitchen supply stores. It sounded like the perfect insider’s peek into shopping in Paris. My excitement was further confirmed when the organizer emailed upon my arrival to let me know if I needed anything to call.

So the day arrived, it felt a bit like Christmas. I dress appropriately, knowing that I would actually have my coat off in public, so I didn’t wear my usual 4 layers. I didn’t have big plans for the morning, but I did end up around the Place des Vosge for a light lunch. After looking at a couple menus (passing up one that I shouldn’t have) I decided on a little brassiere on the square. I ordered what I thought was a good order—a sausage and some potatoes. It was under the house specialty section. The waiter shook his head and said in English that I didn’t want that, it wasn’t good. I HATE it when waiters do that, especially if they can’t tell you why. So picked a salad with lardoons (bacon) and blue cheese. It was fine, but I was thoroughly annoyed by the whole experience. It is the first time in 2 weeks that something like this happened.

No matter I thought, I am going to have an afternoon learning about food. Promptly at 2:30 I showed up at my guide’s apartment. When I got to her door I heard the clanking of silverware and thought, oh no she hasn’t finished lunch yet. I rang the bell and she answered the door with a quizzical look on her face. I reminded her who I was and she remembered me. She had forgotten that I was coming and she was eating lunch still with two other women and her assistant. The other women spent the morning having cooking lessons with the guide and were now eating what they had prepared. It was an awkward situation to walk into to say the least.

After finding a chair for me, I was immediately asked a barrage of questions I was not prepared for, but should have seen coming. Why are you in France? Do you cook? Why do you like food? Basically what are your credentials for this sort of class, which only added to my uneasiness, but I was determined to make a go of it, so I tried to give suitable answers. However, in these situations, just loving food and wanting to learn more, never seems to be quite enough. Luckily, there had been a lot of wine drinking before my arrival and the women distracted themselves from me by talking about how horrible it is to eat alone (see “The Cow Place” post which is my ode how great it is to eat alone.) Our guide said dismissively that she tried it once 15 years ago and hadn’t done it since it was so horrible.

Finally, after about an hour of this, we were ready to start the tour. Our first stop was a magnificent spice shop. It reminded me of Penzy’s. The family has been in the spice business for 6 generations and began as Saffron importers. They have a little shop that is open only when the owner is there. If he’s not there you are out of luck. He was great—proudly opening beautiful glass canisters of spice blends for us to smell and telling us about each one. This was a good stop and wiped out any misgivings I had from the awkward beginning.

After buying some of the spice blends we walked west to Les Halles, which was established in the 13th century as a trade center. Beginning in the 16th century produce and other food products were the focus of the market. After the French Revolution markets began to crop up across the city and by 1860 Paris had 51 markets, 21 were covered. Over time Les Halles grew, but in 1969 it was deemed inadequate, the above ground structure was demolished, and the market moved to Rungis, south of Paris, which is only open to professionals. There is now an underground shopping mall and many of the food shops that remained had to make the switch from wholesale to retail. I did not learn ANY of this from our guide. It is from my old friend Patricia Wells. Our guide told us nothing, and thus began the most uninformative tour of my life.

Once at Les Halles we went to one food shop, which I could never figure out why we were there, except I did get some salted and then two kitchen supply stores, which as my friend Andre said later, they are the same as in America. He’s mainly right, except that I found a really cool egg poacher, and I’m big into poached eggs at the moment. It was a piece of metal in an oval shape, but it was deep enough to hold a cracked egg. It had feet and a long wire handle so it would stand in your pot of boiling water. It looked brilliant to me since my eggs always end up all over the place in the boiling water.

I was getting ready to check out when our guide came over and saw what was in my hand and disapprovingly said, “No, no, you don’t want to get those. I have one and never use it. Just put distilled vinegar in your water. Some things are purely gadgets and that’s one of them.” She practically put them back on the shelf for me and said it was time to go. Now there are a couple things wrong with this—First why did she take us to gadget shop if she’s so opposed to gadgets? Second, she said nothing about the woman who bought the ASPARAGUS tongs (an item I deem totally useless, but didn’t say outloud) and thirdly, the poachers were 3 euro each and I wanted them. I was pissed, but of course I didn’t do anything about it, so that’s my fault.

I also forgot to mention that in every store we went to she introduced us to the owners or workers and EVERY SINGLE TIME she said I was from Tennessee. Now she did this when I first walked into the apartment way back at 2:30, and I corrected her and she said it was all the same and I told her no it wasn’t. She kept forgetting, I let it slide, I finally called her out when she introduced us to the wine shop owner (where we didn’t have a sip of wine) and after that she said I was from Kentucky AND Tennessee.

I could go on. Needless to say the whole afternoon was a bust. I really should have known better, but I thought this would be a way find out more about the places you read about in all the foodie books on Paris. This was one of those times that I wish I was more assertive, but I’m not, that must be the Kentucky/Tennessee in me. It’s really all the same…

The Cow Place

I just got back from a 2 hour dinner with myself. I love eating alone and that’s not just something I tell myself, I really love it. Even at Ramey’s you can get a good break in the day by taking the paper and eating and reading in between talking to Karen. In Paris it’s been a bit different because I haven’t read that much, at most I look through the paper. I look around, think about what I’m eating, about what I should do next, and about how interesting it is to watch people.

So tonight was my big splurge dinner for the trip--and by splurge, I mean I splurged myself into a food frenzy with a glass of champagne, 4 courses, and coffee. I decided early on that I wanted to go to L’Ilot Vache (Cow) on the I’lle Saint-Louis, one of Paris’ islands. It is about a 5-10 minute walk from my apartment during which I get to cross the Pont Marie bridge. As I cross I always look west to the Pont Louis Philippe bridge which has huge a “N” on it for who else, but Napoleon.

My parents, Shawn, and I ate at Vache on our last trip here. We stayed on the island during that trip and it is still my favorite spot in the city. The restaurant is on the corner of rue Saint-Louis en I’lle the central street running across the 6-block long island. It opens at 7:00 for dinner and has about 15 tables in a very, very small space. The walls are exposed stone, the old kind, and there are a number of paintings of cows and cow figurines. The other distinctive feature is the flower arrangements. On the bar and at 5 or 6 of the tables are huge fresh flowers in vases. Most of these are about 3 feet tall, some taller.

My meal was the prixe fix menu—a starter, a main plat, a cheese course, and dessert. For my starter I had the terrine de chef. I took that to mean whatever meat parts the chef had lying around, he spiced them up and made a delicious pate. It sounds gross, but that’s what pate is and it doesn’t make it taste any worse! That came out with a beautiful salad that had 2 different dressings on it. The picture of this is below, while it’s a horrible picture (there was only candlelight) you can make out the dressings thanks to my old friend Photoshop.



After the terrine, was confit, my fave. This piece of duck came out with garlicky potatoes and mushrooms and a baked tomato. The potatoes had wonderful flavor and had been pan friend. Next was a small cheese course—3 slivers of cheese, brie and two others. They were all flavorful young cheeses.

Then the dessert. I wasn’t interested in the desserts that came with the menu so I decided to get a piece of chocolate cake. This beautiful little cake came with about a gallon of my favorite sauce in the world—creme anglaise—a light custard sauce. Had I been given a straw I would have done a number on it even though my belly was already so full. The middle of this cake was liquid and the outside was actual cake. I was full but I ate almost all of it, a large smile on my face the whole, entire time.



This dining experience was deeply satisfying, partly for the food and partly for the atmosphere and memory of Shawn and I’s trip with my parents. It was also about enjoying this kind of meal by myself, savoring every bite, not having to worry about listening to the person or persons around me. I wouldn’t want to spend every meal eating alone, but occasionally it is nice because it makes you appreciate yourself and also those you share your meals with on a regular basis.

Lapin

Since I had that rabbit pate wrapped in puff pastry, I’ve wanted more. Monday night I went back to a brassiere thinking that I had seen it on the menu but they didn’t, so I had a cheese omelet and fries. It was totally delicious, those thin crisp fries and about 12 eggs covered in cheese. I also treated myself to a kir royal—champagne and cassis. Yumyum.



Then yesterday I was walking along the Viaduc Des Arts on avenue Daumesnil near the Bastille. This is a group of galleries and studios where artists and crafts people display their wares in the old railway viaduct. It was a little disappointing and seemed more like boutique houseware shops. There were some beautiful furniture stores though.

The best part of the walk was the Viaduc Café. I strolled by and saw that the plat du jour was Fricassee de LAPIN. Rabbit. I didn’t care what else they had…I ordered the plat du jour which consisted of an incredible cream of squash soup, the fricassee, and tiramisu. All for 16 euro. Considering my coffee that morning was 4 euro, it felt like a steal.



After the soup my rabbit arrived. A Fricassee, according to Patricia Wells, is “any mixture of ingredients—fish or meat—stewed or sautéed." The rabbit had been stewed with carrots and olives in a tomato base sauce. It was rich and Mediterranean and served with a plateful of grilled snowpeas, zucchini, carrots, and onions. The rabbit tasted a lot like chicken, but it was much more tender. I loved it and want more…Anyone have any ideas where to get rabbit in Whitesburg?

Hot Chocolate Recipe

Here it is translated by my fabulous father

For the sake of research I went back to Cacao Et Chocolat for the hot chocolate recipe. I thought I should try it again...

Here it is, in French and English for 5-6 cups:

200 g de chocolat Coroni (56%)
200 grams bar chocolate at 56% cocoa
3 cuillers a soupe de poudre cacao
3 tablespoons of European style cocoa powder
6 morceaux de sucre
6 sugar large cubes
1 litre de lait demi-ecreme
4 cups milk, not 2%
20 cl de creme fraiche liquide
1 cup heavy cream

- Faire fondre le chocolat a feu doux avec un peu de lait
melt the chocolate in a small amount of the milk (¼ cup)
- Ajouter le reste du lait et la poudre de cacao. Monter la temperatura
add the cocoa powder, stir it in and then add the remaining milk
- Incorporer le sucre
Stir in the sugar
- Remuer au fouet regulierement
Remove from stove
- Incorporer la creme fraiche

Add the cream
- Faire chauffer jusqu'a la temperature souhaitee

Warm till piping hot and serve.

Comfort Food

Yesterday for lunch I went out for some comfort food. It is a recent addition to my list of comfort food—ramen and gyoza dumplings and a coke…



Before lunch though, I was headed towards the Louvre to go to the Decorative Arts Museum. Also, I am fairly obsessed with the pyramids. I think they are the most amazing structures, especially looking onto the outside from them (see below). Entering the Louvre from the pyramid is free, so I’ve done that about 4 times already. The Decorative Arts Museum was not only closed on Mondays but furthermore it is closed for renovations. The store was open though, so I poked around there wishing I could bring back all the beautiful dishes and pitchers and espresso cups. I’m sure Shawn and my dad wish that too since their birthdays are coming up!



I thought since I was in the neighborhood and it happened to be lunchtime—what luck—I would go back to Sappro the Japanese noodle house I went to last week. Actually, I planned this for a few days. On my most sick feeling day last week, after exploring the Musse D’Orsay, in the train station built for the World Expo in 1900, I needed some sustenance.

I checked my handy dandy list of restaurants I made before leaving to see what was nearby and what I felt like since I wasn’t feeling that well. I saw Sappro, I didn’t recognize the street, but I had seen some kind of noodle place while wondering around the Rue St. Honore earlier. So I set out to find it and with an incredible stroke of luck ended up in another branch of Sappro. I got the listing from Paris Notes a newsletter that my grandma subscribes to and has been sending to me. It was described as a cheap, delicious noodle house.

I ordered Menu A—ramen + gyoza dumplings and a coke. I couldn’t remember the last time food felt so restorative. The warm broth and light noodles made me feel like a million dollars. The dumplings were the best I’ve ever had—crisp from the griddle, with a flavorful pork filling.



So I wanted to go back and go back I did. I sat at the counter again, which looks onto the open kitchen of 3 Japanese men working rapidly without talking. It was awesome to watch—one was on the woks and the griddle type apparatus used for the dumplings, one manned the noodles and another huge pot of boiling vegetables, and the third was plating. The noodles came out from the back in bunches, like the ramen we by for 20 cents a bag, but fresh. There was a huge pot of continuously boiling water with about 6 or 7 strainers that were lowered in and out of the water. The noodle man watched and used timers as different batches of noodles went in.

Both times I was there it was packed and the cooks were turning out huge beautiful bowls and plates of noodles. I ordered the same thing as last time and again felt instantly great, even though I wasn’t really feeling bad before. It was pure comfort-food delight.

Chocolate Goodness

This picture needs little introduction or explanation—

Crepes with about half a jar of Nutella—chocolate, hazelnut spread on them.



I will tell you that I had been on an interesting tour near the Tuileries and Champs Elysees that focused on a few of the important spots during the occupation and liberation of World War II. It was loaded with information and the guide was fabulous, having done interviews with her friends and neighbors who lived through the time. She was very excited about it all! It was a 2 and a half hour tour with very little walking to warm up and the normal piercing, cold wind.

I arrived back at the St. Paul metro debating between hot chocolate and the crepes. I knew the creperie would be open, so, the creperie it was—between my café au lait and the crepes I was warm in an instant. Hurray for winter eating!

It's off to Market

Last night as the sun was setting I walked back over to the Pompidou since I hadn’t seen the Eiffel Tower lit up and my ticket was good until the museum’s 9 o’clock closing time. As I walked on the Rue Rambuteau it seemed like everyone in Paris was out shopping. There were lines at the boulangeries, fromageries, vegetable stands, and butchers. It was hard not to stop and pick up some food myself. Most Parisians, from what I’ve read, do their shopping on Sunday mornings and apparently Saturday evenings. From Sunday afternoon until Tuesday morning most all food shops are closed.

For many reasons I have been looking forward to market morning all week. First, like most people, I love markets—I love reading about them, looking at pictures from them, and going to them. I love the displays that you see, the people negotiating, the food being cooked, all of it! I think that I also like markets because it makes me feel that I am going to something local. My whole trip may be a string of tourist traps/attractions, but when I head to the market I get to see a small slice of everyday life. Even at home I love to go to the local Harris Teeter, King Soopers, or D’Agistino. There is always something different than what I get at Food City.

Most, if not all, of my marketing has been done in Mexican cities where the markets are in large covered areas and pretty well open all the time. They sell everything from spices, to fried grasshoppers, to live goats, to voodoo trinkets, to hand hewn machetes, to the latest style of knock off Nikes.

Parisian markets and the art of marketing are very different, as one would imagine. No trinkets, no religious objects, very few animals except for ones that are already on ice (although, there were some kids playing fetch with their Lab…). Also being the French, there are a certain number of rules, most importantly you don’t touch anything, a hard one for me since I like to touch everything. You point to what you want the shop/stall owner gets it for you.



The Marche Enfants Rouge, which is about two blocks away from my apartment was a great Parisian market. As I walked in there was a flower stand and a butcher stall with 3 beautiful looking rabbits—I could see the livers and all…that was the picture I wish I had gotten, but somehow I forgot to go back and take it. I resisted buying a rabbit, being one person it would have taken me a while to eat it, among other practicalities…but man it sure looked good. There was a wine dealer (Bob and I had been there earlier in the week) who sells locally produced unregulated wines, a large vegetable stall, an Italian stall, a roast chicken stall, and a handful of others.

I walked away with some delicious white beans cooked in herbs and oil served warm, a bit of Serrano ham, a baguette, and some beautiful strawberries. It was a success to be sure, I had all that freshness and deliciousness for dinner, along with the standard pot of mustard!

Linzer Torte

When I was growing up my uncles on the Sohn side had a few friendly cooking competitions, which one would expect from five brothers who all like to cook. It wasn’t anything like the Iron Chef, although they generally settled on one recipe for a while and had friendly debates as to who made the best. It was a win-win situation for the kids as there was a lot of tasting involved. Being that the uncles were scattered around the country items would get shipped as Christmas presents or when we all got together they would pile into the kitchen. There were of course different phases—for a while it was chocolate mousse (we were always told it was a risky item to order when eating out—none ever lived up to the Sohns’), after that it was Linzer Torte.

Linzer Torte is a hearty, wintry dessert, made with raspberry jam and a hazelnut crust. This is the item that was shipped back and forth at Christmas time. Even as a kid I loved these small tortes—my dad usually made his in a tart pan that was smaller than his pie pan. The sad part about these competitions (at least on our end) is that once your dad got bored of the recipe or decided his really was the best, you never had it again unless you made it for yourself. So today when I went into the Jewish bakery, Florence Finkelsztajn, to by some challah for dinner, I was excited to see the Linzer Torte. I bought a piece of it, a piece of cheesecake and the challah.



This torte is thicker than the one my dad made, the crust a more crumbly like a nut cookie, but it tastes a lot like I remember—sweet and nutty. Because of the thicker crust it has a strong nutty flavor of hazelnuts. It is nice to reconnect to a food memory. I'll have to get my dad's recipe when I get back home.

Confit de Conard

With the threat of snow and rain I thought today would be a good day for the Georges Pompidou Centre (however it has yet to snow or rain, the sun is out along with the Parisians who are out in throngs). I can remember going to the museum as a child, looking at the playful fountain and also as an adult with Shawn the last time I was in Paris. Shawn and I went for lunch at the rooftop restaurant, Georges, where you get breathtaking views of the city through the tubes and pipes and huge windows and very French service. According to one guide I read they seat you according to your shoes...Besides the incredible view, it has the coolest bathrooms I’ve ever seen. The restaurant is a part of the Costes group which has several throughout the city, including the one at the Louvre.



The Pompidou is a modern art museum and for my money the best in Paris. It is housed in a fascinating building and has the most incredible permanent collection of my favorite artists. When I say modern I’m talking about 1905-1960 when modernism was born out of Kandinsky, Miro, Braque, Picasso, and Matisse and finished with the likes of Pollock and Eve Hesse. To get to the fifth floor where this part of their collection is displayed, you take the escalator, a tube on the outside of the building, to the fourth floor (1960-present). There is a set of stairs and as you get to the top Miro’s BLUES are hanging together. These are three of the most simple, elegant, and beautiful paintings. They are huge canvases and practically demand that you sit down and spend some time with them. The whole fifth floor is a maze of paintings, sculptures, drawings, and incredible views. Around every turn I was amazed.

After deciding not to eat at Georges again and there was much debating in my mind, I walked the 10 minutes back to my neighborhood to try Au Petit Fer A Cheval, a spot recommended by Patricia Wells and where I met Bob and his friend Andy for drinks my first night here. It is a cozy place with about 10 tables in the back and a very cool bar in the front and by cool I don’t mean hip-cool I mean really old-cool. The benches along the walls in the back are from the old metro and according to Wells, the bar dates back to 1903.

The waiter sat me at a table in between two others, I had about 6 inches to squeeze myself back to my seat. As I was getting situated, the table beside me, occupied by two surly looking Frenchmen in their 30s, was served plates of beef tartar. I’m not averse to raw things but raw hamburger meat (the serving was about the size of a thick quarter pounder) with french fries was enough to almost make me hurl. Instead, I focused on the concise menu deciding to skip over all things raw and go for a well cooked meat dish. I saw exactly what I was looking for—confit de canard, delicious fatty, meat tasting duck, also the house specialty.



I love anything that has duck in it and this plate was no exception. I was served a sizeable piece of dark meat that included the leg. The skin was crunchy and the meat tender as could be. I was happily surprised to see the green beans, vegetables are few and far between here unless there’s a salad involved. There was also a small serving of home fries, although I don’t think that’s what they were called in French. It was a truly delicious meal—a bit of salt and pepper on the beans, a dollop of mustard for the potatoes and duck and I was in heaven.

After feeling quite a boost from my last two café/brasserie experiences every place I walk by now looks great! Tonight I will eat in though. I’ve already bought my roasted chicken, a small portion of potatoes that line the bottom of the chicken roaster, and some leftover salad—it is sure to be delicious.

Brasserie Eating

I pulled up my roman shade this morning, as I do every morning and looked at the street first to see if it was wet from rain or not and then the sky. The street was dry and I detected a hint of blue, which as far as I can tell passes for a sunny day here. I got myself out the door as quickly as I could, pausing only to take the above picture of the outside of my building—I was going shopping. (The window on the first floor, at the far right of the picture, the white one, is mine.)

By the time I came up from the metro the sun was out in full force for the first time all week. I was in St. Germain in the 6e on the Left Bank (I’m staying in the 3/4e on the Right Bank). Hemingway, Richard Wagner, and Jean Ingres all lived at one time in this neighborhood on Rue Jacob, which I strolled along looking for a French pottery shop and an artisanal oil maker. This is still a publishing area, all the best English bookstores are here as well as a number of other specialty book shops.

I stopped briefly in the St. Germain Des Pres church which was to my right as I came up the metro stairs. It was a beautiful church and the sun was casting stained glass window colored shadows on much of the walls. It was breathtaking.

I walked a couple blocks to Rue Jacob to Huilerie J. Leblanc, the artisanal oil maker’s shop. This shop was the size of a very small walk in closet. Patricia Wells, the authority on matters relating to Parisian food, says that, “some of the finest oils in France come from the artisanal mills of the Leblanc family.” In addition to the grapeseed, walnut, hazelnut, olive, rapeseed, pistachio oils there were some spices and spreads. I picked a package of three oils—walnut, hazelnut, and olive. I didn’t ask about tasting them, trusting the advice of my pal Patricia.

Due to my inherent clumsiness, I ended up back at my apartment with only the hazelnut and olive oils, hopefully both of those will make it back home. I dropped the hazelnut. It was a sad moment, especially as I smelt the rich, deep essence of the oil as it gushed across the sidewalk. I’m lucky it is the only one that broke.

I don’t know how these oils are made or how prevalent the making of such oil is, but there is another shop from a different family near my apartment. I will most likely replace the hazelnut oil with one of their oils. For those of you in Whitesburg, get ready for a tasting…

I was actually pretty bummed out after I broke the walnut oil. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but I thought that lunch might cheer me up. I was determined to eat at a brasserie, which I must admit I had been avoiding because of the heaviness of the food. After a pep talk from Bob about what to order and an empty stomach it was time to give it another try. I picked a brasserie at random and was seated against a wall of eight tables for two in between a decidedly French man in his late sixties and an American couple.

The waiter pulled the table out for me, I sat my bags down and squeezed into my seat, making sure not to bump elbows of the folks on either side. I liked the closeness of the tables, it is entertaining when you’re eating alone. I was practically sitting with the American couple which seemed to make them uncomfortable and the French man who was equally close didn't even know I was there. More on him later.

At 3 of the eight tables people had huge platters of oysters, mussels and other shellfish. It all looked delicious, but I needed something a little less daring, so I ordered roasted chicken, french fries and a coke. It was as simple as it sounds, yet utterly delicious. One of the things that Bob and I talked about last night was the simplicity of traditional French cooking. It really is rural, country food. From the daubs or stews to the roasted chicken. It is a food of necessity, which equals deliciousness.

My plate arrived quickly, the chicken was falling off the bone and was served with the juicy skin on and a bit of the drippings. I barely needed a knife to eat it. There was Dijon on the table with the salt and pepper, so I spooned a bit of that onto my plate and dipped each bite of chicken in it. The fries were fried to perfection and the coke was, well the same as every other coke, but still good. It was a deeply satisfying meal.

Back to the Frenchman, who ordered a HUGE dish of mussels in a cream sauce, French fries and of course bread. As he was about 6 inches away from me I glanced over from time to time and began to notice that the man had a method to tackling that dish. First he would get the mussel out of its shell then he used the shell as a tong to pick up his fries, maybe one or two fry sans ketchup with each bite, and then the shell went into the spare dish. He continued to do this with each mussel. As he got nearer the bottom and the cream sauce started to appear, he broke his bread into pieces and place them strategically to absorb the sauce. It was pure genius. After finishing my espresso I got up to leave, he politely moved his table aside so I could get out and then I assume he carried on.

Two Unknown Cheeses

These are the two other cheeses I bought today—we’ll call them cheese one and two since I forgot to write down their names.



Cheese one (above) is a goat cheese that wasn’t soft but also not firm, it was more firm than soft. The skin was thick and rough and delicious. It was a bit hard to cut into with my kitchen knife. Once the skin was pierced it felt like the knife was going through butter. The taste was rich and had a bit of bitterness to it. On the whole it was mild.



Cheese two (above) is a total mystery. I picked it because it looked so strange. At first glance I thought it was one of those cheeses covered in ash, however as soon as I smelled it I realized it was cracked pepper. This cheese was very hard to cut through—it broke into those little pieces when I did it. I had one small incredibly spicy bite of this one. It was one of the most unique flavors I’ve encountered. The cheese part was pretty dark tan and had a strong flavor coupled with the peppery outside. It was incredible—the pepper flavor builds and is more of an after tasted than anything, but it was the strongest after taste I can remember.

Shopping and Falafel

Today was a fabulous day, although as my friend Bob who lives here says—every day is a good one. Armed with a good night’s sleep and medication procured by Bob’s doctor friend I felt like myself again. On top of all that the sun was shining. I had a quick breakfast of cheese and bread and headed to the Eiffel Tower and the Rue Cler market street.

I hit the market first. The Rue Cler is supposed to be one of the best markets in Paris, it is in a neighborhood inhabited by many Americans and is used to curious people. Even though this was not a major market day all the shops opened up onto the pedestrian street with beautifuly displaying their wares. There were at least 3 fromageries, 4 boulangeries, and a couple butcher shops roasting whole chickens.

Tonight was to be my first dinner in the apartment—I’ve taken most of my lunches here, but today I was planning on eating lunch out. I wanted to have a green salad with vinaigrette, Roquefort cheese crumbles and perhaps another cheese or two to go along with my baguette. Of course I had plenty of options. My first stop was a patisserie for pain chocolate which was the perfect afternoon snack. Next I bought my cheese. This is where I am at a major loss, I picked the Roquefort out just fine, the other two were total guesses, all I knew was that I couldn’t get them at home and by home I mean that in the greater sense of the word…

Next to the Eiffel Tower. Going up the Eiffel Tower was the coolest--two different lifts, up to about 800 feet. I felt like a little kid again as I approached the Tower from Military School side, which is the side with the huge symmetrical park. It is an incredible, overwhelming structure. The views were fairly clear, although I kept looking for La Defense and I could never quite find it. After adequetly freezing my butt off, I went home via the Trocedero, rushing to the warmth of the metro.



I arrived back in my neighborhood and had every intention of going to a little charcuterie that Bob recommended, when I saw the falafel places recommended by another friend. I picked on of them at random and decided this would be lunch. The place was insanely busy and the hip wait staff was bustling about to say the least. This was a family owned place—the mom was behind the cash register and most of the wait staff appeared to be children of hers. It was totally cool and the most satisfying meal yet. I ordered falafel normal and french fries--the falafel was so crisp and there was a great horseradish/cabbage sauce, along with cucumbers, red cabbage, and white cabbage. I will be going back. Tonight I walked by to take a picture of the outside and I almost went back in…



After lunch I continued shopping for dinner. One could spend the entire day shopping for meals if one was so inclined. I came very close...I needed mustard for the vinaigrette, lettuce, tomatoes, and bread. I headed to my neighborhood market street, Rue Bretagne. I went to one of the vegetable stores for the lettuce and tomatoes. The tomatoes were examined by the shopkeeper who examined each little cherry tomato to make sure they were good, some were discarded and replaced by others. The head of butterball-type lettuce was also carefully picked out and it didn’t come pre-washed in a bag, which is my lettuce of choice at home. After that to a mini super-marche for a deliciously spicy dijon mustard that cost .50 euro. After a short rest I went out to see Notre Dame lit up and on my way home stopped at a boulangerie for a warm demi-baguette.

Back at home I washed the lettuce, crumbled the cheese, and made the dressing. Luckily there was already olive oil and vinegar here in the apartment. It came together quite nicely and was fabulously fresh. The perfect end result of a shopping day! The Roquefort was sharp and spicy and the dressing added to the tanginess. The bread was perfect for sopping up the leftover dressing.



The best part about shopping like this, second to getting such fresh ingredients, is that it gets me out exploring--I walk down streets I might not normally. Traveling alone, this comes in handy. I am glad that I went over to the Rue Cler. I am even more happy that when I was out buying vegetables and bread I found all the other shops I would need within a 3 minute walk of my apartment. Paris is very compartmentalized and I can see why. There is so much to do and explore in one neighborhood that you could just stay put. I will probably do more of that when it comes to dinner shopping. There is no need to search out the best baguette, at least not for me, they all taste delicious and wonderful.

Hot Chocolate

Last night or this morning depending on where you are my jet lag set in joining an infection that started on the airplane. The night was long and there was little sleep. I finally drifted off about an hour before I was to wake up. My plan was to go on a walking tour of the southern Marais the neighborhood I am staying in. I was committed to getting out of bed, so at 10:30 I met our guide Brad and about 30 other people at the St. Paul metro, a five-minute walk from my apartment.

The Marais is the most preserved area of Paris—there are tax write offs for restoring and cleaning the 17th and 18th century mansions. It is now compared to Soho, very hip, but not hip like Soho. Surprisingly, the hipness here is not as in your face, it is much more relaxed, less flashy. That could be because until about 20 years ago this was a working class neighborhood and had been since the revolutionaries took over the aristocrats' mansions to make apartments.

Also the Jews have been here since the 1200s. Tonight while buying some cheese for tomorrow’s breakfast, I stumbled into the heart of the Jewish section that I had somehow missed on previous walks. I walked past a diner looking place, and we’re talking Ramey’s diner looking for those of you that know it, and it was filled with old men, smoking, talking, and playing a dice kind of game. It was the real deal.

On top of not feeling well it was really, really cold, I’m talking a piercing wind, mixed with just enough sun to make you think the cold was over, then some snow and rain. There was a little American girl on the tour who stepped in some water, her mother asked her why she did that on purpose and she said that her feel were cold already. By the end of the 2 hours I was chilled to the bone, it ended up taking a couple hours buried under my blanket to warm up.



I knew what I needed, I had had a cupful the last time I was in Paris and even in the summer heat it was perfect—HOT CHOCOLATE. I knew exactly where to go—Cacao de Chocolate—and it was only a few blocks from my apartment. Now being in Paris you can imagine that this was no ordinary hot chocolate, even though it looks like I got it at the BP, what with the styrofoam cup. When Shawn and I were at this chocolate shop last we lingered around looking at the pieces—most of us know how he loves his chocolate. It has a Mayan/Aztec theme, beautiful pyramids of chocolate artfully arranged, each label listing the percentage of cocoa. They sell a few treats as well as the chocolate—some éclairs, other pastries, and hot chocolate.

The Mayan theme works for me—this hot chocolate made with crème fraiche and whole milk—and is fit for the gods. The last time I had it I got the recipe. Today I was less concerned with the recipe and more with the automatic warmth the drink provided. The thickness and richness comes from the pure cocoa and crème fraiche. The drink was not very sweet—it tasted like pure liquid cocoa, deliciousness. It cost only a few euro and was worth every penny. While the weather doesn’t look to improve any this week, I feel okay with that now that I’ve found the perfect remedy.

Sweet Treats

Now the sweet. After walking around the Marais and the Louvre for most of the day I decided I needed a treat. I bought some freshly ground coffee at Verlet and went back to a boulangerie that tempted me earlier in the day. So I bought my bread for breakfast tomorrow and a beautiful, shiny slice of apricot tart. The jelly glaze was perfectly drizzled over the fruit—not too sweet, just perfect. The crust was a bit heavy, more like a cookie than a flaky pastry crust. I’m not sure if that is how it is supposed to be or not, but it suited me just fine. The apricots have a light flavor about them so the heavier crust provided a good balance. After savoring the tart and coffee I know I am in France, where simplicity reigns, except for when it doesn’t!

The other sweet I found at Verlet, which was listed in walking tour and is very near the Louvre. Due to my earlier experience of not finding places I was just happy to see it there. As I walked up, crossing a very small street, I saw the most beautiful and colorful display of candied fruit in the window—figs, clementines, strawberries, oranges, lemons, melon, and it looked like there was some celery! After watching some beautiful coffee drinks arrive at the full tables, I chose a coffee to take home and picked the strawberries, an orange slice, and the clementine at the recommendation of the shop owner (I knew he was the owner because in his front window there were pictures of him with what looked like the coffee farmers).



The strawberry and orange slices were what you would expect: sugary and flavorful and gooey. The strawberry still with its hull and the sugar glaze giving it a muted tone. The berry flavor came through the sugar right at the end of a bite. It tasted just like strawberry jam, but all in one piece.

The orange slice was from a relatively small piece of fruit. The sugar was grainy on this piece, the peel thick and bitter. I imagined that this is what orange marmalade tastes like. The orange flavor was totally transformed by the sugaring process. I don’t think you would know it was an orange if you were blindfolded.

When I cut the clementine open it oozed what looked like honey. The sugar was more dissolved on this piece than the others and it was an incredibly unique flavor—wonderfully bitter with the sugar offsetting this bitterness just enough. The skin is very thin and has a wonderful solid texture, again balancing the gooey-ness of the inside. This is a hard one to describe, all I can say is it was delicious.

These sweets seem to be delicious because of their combination of opposites—sweet with bitter, solid with gooey, heavy and light. Most of the time sweets are just sweet and perhaps this is why I generally go for something savory.

Savory Treats

Let’s start with the savory, my favorite, although Paris may finally turn me to the sweet. This morning I set out to find Flo Prestige—twice. Both times I didn’t find the “trustworthy” source for carry out food according to Patricia Wells. It is probably because my food guide is about 6 years old and I still have sleep in my eyes, so I may try again later. What I did find was a branch of Fauchon, Paris’ most famous gourmet food shop. I imagine it to be comparable to Dean and Deluca, although I know when I go to the main branch it will be different. I may have to set aside a whole day for that. This was my first food purchase and so I was a little nervous. I also hate not speaking the language, again, making me a bit hesitant. I picked up a couple things there: an assortment of savory puff pastry appetizers and a ricotta kind of cheese wrapped in proscuitto.



The puff pastry appetizers are to take to dinner at Bob's friends' apartment, which tonight but was postponed to tomorrow. There was one of the 10 I couldn’t resist—a bit of sesame seed coated puff pasty wrapped around rabbit pate. The sesame seeds gave the piece a nice feel in your fingers—both bumpy and smooth, a nice contradiction. The rabbit was meaty and earthy—a delicious and new kind of flavor. The pate seemed to have a fair amount of herbs and green pepper that gave it an after taste with a kick. I may end up buying flowers to take with me…I’m not sure the rest of the treats will make it to tomorrow evening.



The proscuitto was wrapped around a ricotta type cheese—solid and soft with a fairly bland flavor. The pieces were sitting in a peppered olive oil, again giving it a strong after taste. The pepper was coarsely ground. Of course this was good, how can you go wrong with proscuitto really, but the rabbit was a lot more unique and interesting. I think it will take some time to become comfortably familiar with the unfamiliar.

A Word of Introduction

Today was my first day walking around Paris. The weather was about 40 degrees and overcast, now it is raining. I like that it feels like winter, food tastes better in the winter—the ingredients have more weight to them and you feel happy to warm up with a hearty meal. The day wasn’t very focused , but then again it is a vacation. It will take a little time, to figure out how I want my days to go. I set out in search of a handful of places—food shops and restaurants, some places I found others I didn’t, it is Paris, so of course it worked out fine, I have more than a few food items I want to post about. On to the food...

Food Memories

On the flight to Paris I started reading Anthony Bourdain’s A COOK'S TOUR. I didn’t get very far, the flight was fully crowded and I want to be sure to saver the writing. There were a couple pages in the introduction about French cuisine which grew out of necessity—historically cooks in France, along with many other countries, have had to use every part of a pig, a cow, a chicken, you name it. Bourdain sums it up by saying, “Respecting the ingredient may no longer be an economic necessity on much of the emerging world; it is now a pleasure, to be experienced and enjoyed at one’s chosen time and place…it can, with the haunting power of sense memory, remind us of times and places long past.”

Bourdain is setting out on his tour to create a new series of sense memories. I suppose in a way I am hoping to do the same, although without the testosterone and knowledge/ignorance of a professional. So far I’ve only had airplane food, an orange and some saltines that I found in the apartment I’m staying in, so no new memories for me yet, but it is a goal of mine.

The other thing that I liked in Bourdain’s introduction is he talks about a game that chef’s often play: What would your last meal be if they were getting ready to strap you down to the electric chair? As he says, it is not the tasting menu from Jean Georges, it is a meatloaf sandwich, fried catfish, or garden ripe strawberries. Another goal while here is not to spend all my money on one glorious meal. I want to shop, taste, and explore these kinds of food.

I am lucky to have been surrounded by a wealth of moments among friends and family to create these food memories that I hold dear. So, for now I’m still holding on to that first tomato sandwich of the summer with Duke’s mayo, marshmallows toasted over the grill after an early summer potluck, and fish tacos made out of fish sticks. In the next couple weeks I hope to add to this list, although it will not be the same without my friends and family to share and critique!!

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SUSHI class

every summer my family gathers in oregon. this past summer the caterer who is korean, rolled sushi for us. it was delicious and fun. on MARCH 5 in PIKEVILLE KY i am going to be teaching a sushi class for beginners, since i am obviously a beginner myself. email me if you'd like more information.

SUSHI

i love sushi.
i eat it whenever i can, on saturday night we had sushi at 1 in the morning in knoxville, tn. it was the perfect end to a great evening.
this picture is from a place in lexington, ky where we go a lot.

Posting

i will begin posting when i leave for paris on the 12th of feb. in the meantime there will be some practice posts. to leave a comment click on comments and be sure to post anonymously so you don't have to sign up for a blog, just sign your name to your post!