July 2007 archives

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked the age-old question: “How did you start cooking?”

My usual wise-guy answer?
“Well, I turned on the stove and put a pan on it.”

In reality, I probably should acknowledge a debt of gratitude to Anna Maria Albergetti who got me on this whole obsessive measuring-thing, hawking those carefully delineated bottles for mixing up Good Seasons salad dressing. But I also think some of it began at our local mall, at The Magic Pan, one of those crêperies that popped up everywhere in the 70′s. In the dining room, women in puffy-sleeved dresses stood over a open-flamed, circular crepe-cooker, presiding over a bevy of hot skillets that turned slowly over the flames, frying crêpes as fast as they could.

Wanting to be just like the girls at the mall, minus the puffy-sleeved dresses (which would come later in life), I bought one of those worthless numbers; a Taylor and Ng crêpe pan with a rounded bottom where you dipped the underside of the hot pan in a big bowl of batter, praying it didn’t stick before you could lift it up and flip it over to continue.

And apologies to my family for all those crêpe-filling experiments, especially the chicken in cream sauce, which, in my impatience, I madly kept adding spoonfuls of flour to until it thickened—which I presumed should take all of about 20 seconds.

The result?

Continue Reading Buckwheat Crepe Recipe…

You might recall I recently posted the question: Is American Food Better Than French?*

There were some very thoughtful comments on both sides of the piece de monnie, but in the post I laid a bit of blame on the French zeal for creating trendy food at the expense of sourcing local, fresh, and seasonal ingredients and I picked on les verrines as a current example. Like crème brûlée and warm individual chocolate cakes, which are both fine desserts, les verrines have become a cliché and you even can find them, for your convenience, in the frozen food section at your local supermarket here in France.

But after a recent lunch at Minipalais, Louisa, my dining companion asked (as I was wolfing one down) something to the effect of, “So who doesn’t like verrines now?”

Indeed these were better than most, although not necessarily verrines, but individual courses served in glasses.
Got that?

Continue Reading Verrines: Eating My Words?…

How does one explain, in a few short paragraphs, something that’s such a critical part of Italian life, like gelato? If you’ve spent any time in Italy, especially in the summer, it’s hard to look anywhere and not see an Italian balancing a cono di gelato, often while balancing the omnipresent cell phone at the same time.

But everyone, from suave businessmen in Armani suits to grandmothers chatting on a stroll with friends—they all eat gelato. And like the tiny shots of espresso taken from morning ’til night, it’s a part of Italian life and consumed everywhere, all-day long. Granita di espresso on a roll for breakfast anyone?

‘Gelato‘ means ‘frozen‘ in Italian, so it embraces the various kinds of ice cream made in Italy, and that’s the best definition one can offer.

More than most countries, food in Italy is fiercely regional: in the north, near Torino (Piedmonte), the food is very earthy with white truffles and hazelnuts appearing in various dishes. At the other end of the boot is Sicily, where the climate is far warmer so the flavors lean towards citrus and seafood. And in between are lots of villages and regions, including the Emilia-Romagna, Umbria, Campania, Tuscany, and Puglia, among others.

The gelato made in the north of Italy, where it’s cooler up near the mountains, the gelato is richer, often made with egg yolks, chocolate, and most famously, with gianduja, the silky-smooth hazelnut and milk chocolate paste. In the south, ice creams tend to be lighter, and flavored with lemons and oranges. In Sicily, granite are prevalent; slushy shaved ices that are almost served like a drink, with a spoon and a straw to slurp them up, as well as fruit-flavored sorbetti.

But getting back to gelato…as mentioned, gelato means Italian ice cream. But what makes it different?

Continue Reading What Is Gelato?…

One of the biggest cultural differences between the French and Americans is the acceptance of public nudity.

I don’t think I need to tell you which side I’m on: I’m a big proponent of it.

As long is I get to keep my clothes on in public.
But for others? Allez-y, mes amis!

In spite of their alleged laissez-faire, free-wheelin’ attitudes, San Franciscans are not quite the wild-and-crazy bunch you might think. Like…yes, you have the right to be nude, but I have the right not to see it. So as long as your right doesn’t infringe on my right, then you have the right to do it. Of course if you want the right to do it, we can have a public referendum on it or introduce an initiative so the supervisors can debate and vote on it. The it becomes a question of: do we have the right to be nude and is that right greater than your right but do they have the right to tell me what to do either? And shouldn’t my right to express myself be greater than your right not to have to look at me? Then it goes on to, well…what about all those naked dogs running around town? Do they have the right to be…etc…etc…

Oy.

Anyhow, on my trip back last month, I went to a yoga class.
In the communal changing area, I innocently slipped off my trousers and slid on my shorts. It wasn’t a big deal and took me perhaps all of three quick seconds. I was wearing my euro-skivvies, which are about as modest as a Speedo, and you can’t really see anything (because of the light, not for other reasons…) unless you’re really, really trying to get a look. It was a simple, economical ‘off-on’ motion and if it excited anyone, I’d be very surprised. (Although I’m sure there are pictures floating around on the internet somewhere. Let me know if you find any.)

“Excuse me!” this woman huffs nearby. “You know, there’s a changing area behind that curtain!”

I look around, and yes, there is an lonely, tiny curtained-off section in the corner. But yikes, I lived in San Francisco for almost twenty years and I’ve seen far, far greater displays of flesh on the streets (and on the streetcars) that I had shown in those few not-very-revealing moments. It wasn’t like I was trying to put on a public show or anything and at my age, I can’t believe anyone’s actually looking either. I’m thrilled if they are—believe me.

But I was simply changing and it seemed fine, in a PG-13 kind of way. After all, we’re all adults and there was nothing you can’t see in a Beyoncé video on MTV (and if I have to hear her once more going on about how she’s so ‘conflicted’ having this sexy imagine with her religious beliefs…I mean, it’s not like she’s being forced to wear those ugly outfits with her girl-things spilling out, is she?)

But let’s contrast my San Francisco experience to that at my yoga class back in Paris.

Our communal changing room is about the size of a Hummer and we’re packed in there tight, commes les anchois. I mean, when you pull up your trousers, your elbows are bound to bump someone where you don’t intend to bump ‘em. But what’s even more shocking, if you’re so inclined to be shocked, is that the women take everything off. All off. Everything. And yes, I mean, yes, everything.

Continue Reading I Saw Breasts…

Click here to find my delicious, classic Vanilla Ice Cream Recipe adapted from The Perfect Scoop.

Heather reveals the the secrets of Vélib’, Paris’ new bikes which roll out this weekend.

Paris Mayor Seeks Welcoming Parisians.

If I only had a grill…

This weekend I’m going to discover the Hidden Kitchen of Paris.

A potty-mouth comes clean.

2 Terrific Travel Tips: How to avoid a pickpocket in Italy (and elsewhere) and what to do if your wallet gets stolen.

The…um…most…er, ah…unusual thing I was gifted in the states.

If I can’t answer these questions either, does that mean I can’t come back?
(Dick Cheney may want to brush up too.)

Findik Ice Cream.

A delectable inside look inside an internship at Pierre Hermé.

Take breathtaking and beautiful food photos without breaking the bank.

See what I mean?…

(“Cobalt blue flying-fish roe mounded on top of a marrow bone and peas and grated carrots suspended in a square of agar-agar” or “Hot Dog Chic au King Crab” anyone?)

And people think we make this stuff up!

I taste Texas’ Blue Bell ice cream (…but, once again, what’s up with always using the worst photos of me?)

(Plus a whirlwind trip through the ice cream shops of Austin.)

And…Shauna gets hitched this weekend…congratulations, girlfriend!
(With Molly in the batter’s box.)

Now that everyone out there’s been churning up ice cream, I’ve been getting a certain amount of questions about homemade ice cream, which I’m going to answer here over the next several weeks.

I’m going to start with the number one question folks have been asking: Why does homemade ice cream gets harder than commercial ice cream in their freezer? And what can be done to prevent it?

While I do address this in The Perfect Scoop (pages 5 and 16), I thought I’d list some strategies here as well. I don’t necessarily follow these all the time, but thought I’d put them out for readers to ponder and use as they see fit.

Alcohol

Alcohol doesn’t freeze, which you know if you’re anything like me and keep a bottle of Zubróvka vodka chilled and ready in your freezer. You can add up to 3 tablespoons of 40 proof liquor to 1 quart (1 liter) of your frozen dessert mixture prior to churning. I use vodka if I don’t want the taste of the liquor to intrude on the flavor, but will switch to another liquor such as Grand Marnier or Armagnac to enhance the original flavor if it’s compatible.

If my mixture is fruit-based, I prefer to add kirsch, a liquor which enhances the taste of stone fruits, like peaches, plums, nectarines, as well as berries. Generally-speaking, I’ll add enough so the taste isn’t very present, often less than a tablespoon.

For sorbets and sherbets, a glug of Champagne, white wine or rosé is nice with fruit flavors. 1/2 cup (125 ml) can be added per quart (liter) of mixture prior to churning. Or if the recipe calls for cooking the fruit with water, substitute some dry or sweet white wine for a portion of the water; the amount will depend on how much of the wine you want to taste. (Most of the alcohol will cook out but enough will remain to keep your sorbet softer.)

Sugar

Like alcohol, sugar doesn’t freeze which is why you shouldn’t futz around with recipes and just reduce the sugar willy-nilly. Almost all frozen dessert recipes use white granulated sugar, however you can replace some or all of the sugar with another liquid sweetener, namely honey or light corn syrup.

Continue Reading Tips For Making Homemade Ice Cream Softer…

There’s a new face in the Marais: Gérard Mulot. Sure there’s lot of shoe shops, sunglass boutiques, and questionable “art” galleries in the Marais. But there’s a dearth of bakeries and pastry shops.

So imagine my surprise and delight when one not-particularly-good bakery near me closed (the surprise part), then re-opened the other day as…Gérard Mulot! (the delight)

For those of you who don’t know who I’m talking about, Gérard Mulot is most famous for his Left Bank shop on the rue de Seine, where he turns out magnificent fruit tarts, from simple to architectural, buttery pastries which include a rich-rich-rich chocolate coconut fondant that’s barely finish-able (if that’s a word), and an impressive selection of hearth-baked breads for the appreciative crowds that are always oogling the pastries in the shop.

(A few months ago I was fortunate to visit his workshop and watch his chocolatier make all sorts of things, as well as the rest of the staff, who demonstrated how they make their rather colorful macarons.)

His new shop is just one block from the places des Vosges, so if you’re exploring the Marais or the Bastille, you’re not far from pastry paradise.

And even better…now I am too!

Gérard Mulot
6, rue du Pas de la Mule (3rd), at rue des Tournelles (Map)
Tél: 01 42 78 52 17
Closed Monday

76 rue de Seine (6th)
Tél: 01 45 26 85 77
Closed Wednesday

93 rue de la Glacière (13th)
Tél: 01 45 81 39 09
Closed Monday