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'Nuf said.

Paris Bites Back

The Independent newspaper of London has a very good article, Paris Bites Back with five very famous people. And me.
'Tis a discussion on the state of French food.

Here on the site, we talk about food. A lot.

Especially when it comes to Chocolate Rum Cake.

But seriously, I was fortunate to be born in a country with lots of food. And living in Paris, I'm doubly-lucky and there's plenty around for me to eat whenever I want. And believe me, I do.

Unfortunately that's a priviledge that I take for granted.
Like many of us do.

But each year ten million people die from hunger and hunger-related disease. Ten million!

So for this year's Menu For Hope III the charity organization will be the UN World Food Programme. Last year a whopping $17,000 was raised during the auction. Once again, this year Pim has organized our third annual auction, and this year promises to be bigger than ever, with some top-name food celebrities and food bloggers worldwide offering items.

So, what can you do?

I had planned to write up my post-Thanksgiving report, but I decided to wait until the smoke cleared before I tell 'The Tale' of what really happened that night...which involved a high-speed car chase through Paris, a few hypodermic needles, and a couple of user-unfriendly hors.

In the meantime, I thought I'd write a bit about what's been baking around here, which I assure you will be just as exciting.

I've been cooking my way through Nick Malgieri's Perfect Light Desserts which I featured in a recent interview, and have had a great time making many of the recipes from, including this towering chocolate cake I made for the first Thanksgiving I had.
(Yes, we celebrate twice here.)

Since I've been on the subject of leftovers around here, I confess much of this baking was due to a surplus of applesauce I'd made from an apple-picking I did when my friends who live in the countryside complained they had too many apples and didn't know what to do with them all.

So I thought I would be a very good person, and help them out.

While most of you are probably scrambling around looking for ways to use up the leftovers from Thanksgiving, I am slightly jealous, since I have nothing here to use up. Unlike some American holidays, which have been modestly successful in France, Thanksgiving is still uniquely American and it's hard to explain the appeal of a day committed to overeating mediocre food that's often, frankly, a bit weird looking at it from this side of the Atlantic.

So we had an anti-Thanksgiving, which involved lots of French pleasures, including an enormous, fragrant black truffle, lots and lots of icy flutes of Champagne, and a giant lobe of foie gras as well. But curiously, most of the Thanksgiving dinners here happen on Saturday night, since everyone works on Thursday.

Plus, if you invite a Parisian to any sort of dinner that starts before 8pm, they think you're out of your mind.

In addition, I do derive a certain amount of pleasure out of explaining the day, and our traditional feast, to Parisians. A bit of gastronomic torture, if you will. For some reason I take a perverse delight in seeing their faces gradually change from curiosity, contorting into disbelieve as I describe mashed sweet potatoes covered with gooey, blackened marshmallows, or chopping up fresh, briny oysters and cramming them into a bird and cooking them for hours and hours.

So while everyone out there is thinking of ways to use up leftover turkey, which I don't have (and there was no leftover truffles of foie gras), I've been thinking of ways this weekend to finally, once-and-of-all, use up another leftover around here.

About three years back, I sublet my apartment to a nice, young couple, one Australian and her Italian boyfriend. After a few months of travel, I returned to my apartment to find they'd left something behind, in a shiny blue box.

Don't be a turkey!
(Or a pig...)

Be sure to give thanks—no matter what you're stuck with...

(More to come...)

I got a very cute message lately from a couple who had come to Paris and followed some of my restaurant suggestions. But it got to the point one evening here they were undecided where to go one night, and her husband said, "I don't care. Let's just go anywhere that chocolate-guy says to go!"

I was glad to be of service, but I like being known as 'that chocolate-guy' just as much.

But frankly, I don't go out as much as most folks imagine. I love going to my market, talking to the vendors, and coming home with something new that I've never tried before, like the chervil roots I bought the other day, which involved a rather detailed, lengthy conversation with the vendor.

I mostly cooking all the fine things I find here and learn about. So when I do go out, I want it to be good...no, I want it to be great...and I find the best food in Paris is classic French cuisine; confit de canard, steak frites, and coq au vin. When you find a good version, I don't think there's anything more satisfying. Especially if it's accompanied by good friends.

And, of course, a few obligatory glasses of vin rouge.

So here's a round-up of places I've eaten lately.
There's a few you might to want to bookmark for your next visit, as well as one or two you might want to avoid.

One of the fundamental differences between here (France) and there (the US) is that here, they don't have to help you.

It's not that there's no customer service, but unlike the US where they're supposed to (and expected to) be nice and helpful to customers, the onus here is on the salesperson, or the person behind the desk: They alone can decide if they want to help you. Or not.

And you're job is to convince them to help you, any way you can. So the decision is yours.

How are you going to get them to help you?

This is baffling to many American visitors, who stare at me with wide-eyed disbelief, that there are really people out beyond their borders that don't care if they make money or not, which is what 'helping the customer' is presumably all about. That the almighty dollar is worth a lot less than they think (and going down every time I look.)

I explain that this is not a capitalist country or culture, which perhaps explains why the economy here is a tad lackluster right now. But for many of us Americans, we have a really hard time understanding that other cultures are different than ours.

So here's what you need to get with the program:

What f I told you that there was a caviar you can buy for around 3 bucks per pound?

You might say, "David, you're crazy!"

Well call me fou...(which wouldn't be the first time) but lentilles du Puy, the French green lentils from the Auvergne, are not called 'the caviar of lentils' for nothing.

I'm sure many of your out there might lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, thinking, "Gee, I wonder if David's right and there really is a different between ordinary green French lentils and lentilles du Puy?"

First I read this...

"These broads are millionaires...reveling in their status as celebrities and stalked by griefparrazies. I have never seen people enjoying their husbands death so much."

-Ann Coulter talking about the women who lost their husbands on 9/11.
Her books are national best-sellers.

Then I heard this...

"He's moving all around and shaking and it's purely an act...This is really shameless of Michael J. Fox."

-Rush Limbaugh accusing Michael J. Fox of making up the severe effects of Parkinson's Disease.
10 million people listen to his program daily.

Now I see this...

OJ Simpson has a new book, 'If I Did It'.

He allegedly received a $3.5 million dollar advance, and a two-part 'interview' with his editor will be broadcast on Fox.

And people still keep asking me why I moved...

A lot of people will be celebrating tonight the release of Beaujolais Nouveau...

...and coincidentally, a lot of people will be waking up with headaches tomorrow.

Myself included.

Complimentary dégustations through Saturday at:

Aux Caves d'Aligre
3, place d'Aligre
12th
Tél: 01 43 43 34 26

Related Posts and Places in the Vicinity

Blé Sucré: The Best Madeleines in Paris

Two Delicious Dining Guides to Paris

le Verre Volé

Bazin

Le Rubis Wine Bar

Racines

O-Château

Sunday Dining in Paris

French Menu Translation

Since man, and woman, cannot live by chocolate alone (although wouldn't it be nice if we could?), our group spent the rest of our time slaving away putting together sumptuous meals, and learning about wine the hard way: by tasting it.

One of my favorite snacks of the class On Rue Tatin turned out to be these golden-brown, eggy gougères enriched with gruyère cheese and a dusting of freshly-toasted, fragrant cumin powder.

While it was a bit chilly to sit out in the garden overlooking the cathedral, enjoying our apéritifs and goûtes, we had plenty things to cook up indoors...

What do you get when you take eight dedicated bakers, put them in a country kitchen (one that's professionally equipped), and put them to work for three days of cooking and baking with chocolate?

You get a whole lotta chocolate!

If you didn't come along on my three-day cooking class with Susan Loomis at her home On Rue Tatin, here's a run-down of our week...

Since I posted about putting your name on my mailing list, I was miffed that so many of you weren't receiving it (and it really is worth receiving) after all the hard work that goes into it. So I've scrapped the previous mailing list provider and switched to a super-duper, ultra-responsive, hi-tech, rock 'n roll version that has amazing capabilities to do whatever I want, whenever I want it, with the touch of a button.

(Now if I could only find a partner with those qualities as well.)

If you didn't get the previous fun-filled, slightly scandalous newsletter I sent out, you can re-enter your email address in the Subcriber Form to the right. If you're not sure if you're on the list, simply enter your email address and if you're already in the database, you'll get a message of confirmation. Please note that I send out between 4-6 newsletters annually, so you won't be innundated by emails from me.

And your email address is not shared or used for any other purpose.

(Unless you're that person that possesses the qualities I've listed above—then we can talk.)

So why not sign up now?
That way you'll be sure to be the first to learn about my upcoming Paris chocolate tours, special culinary events, my upcoming book release party, and a whole lot more.

When I started my career as a global warrior, way-back-when, arriving everywhere lugging an overstuffed backpack with a ridiculously-cheap bottle of red wine and a stinky, smashed wedge of brie inside, the only thing one needed to make sure one had were traveler's checks, which were easy-to-buy and widely accepted no matter where one went. You'd simply waltz up to any change booth (well, maybe not waltz, since you'd get a funny look doing that on a sidewalk in Paris), cash 'em (after paying a commission), then walk away with a wallet-full of the local currency. But times have changed and the advent of ATM machines, where you can access money directly from your bank account back home, have changed everything. And credit cards, which most of us migrated to, which offered the best exchange rate, are now socking people with large fees, so they do have their drawbacks too.

So here's my tips for getting money when visiting in Paris.

Since I'm on an Italian fling here, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to interview Nick Malgieri, whose fabulous recipe for Chewy Oatmeal Raisin Cookies I recently featured on the site. Nick is one of the most knowledgeable bakers in the world, frequently hobnobbing with such luminaries as Pierre Hermé and Dorie Greenspan, swapping recipes and baking techniques. I can't tell you how much I've learned from Nick's books myself, which range from the ultimate treatise on cookies, to one of the most beautiful books on chocolate in my vast collection.

"What did I get?" you're perhaps asking yourself.

Hint: It's not something that's gonna make you itch.
It's my newsletter, which is sent out infrequently to subscribers. The latest one contained lots of info about my upcoming giant Paris book party, an astonishingly long list of strikes happening in France this month, news of exciting chocolate tours, and references to folks wearing short shorts sans slip.

"How do I get this exciting and sometimes tawdry newsletter?" you're probably asking yourself.

It's simple.
Just enter your email address in the green box to the right and you'll be the first to get my seasonal updates as well as news and tips. You won't be innundated by email (unless you're Matt) and your address is never, ever shared.

Recently I bought a sack of delightfully-crispy Boskop apples, my favorite of all French apple varieties.

After a quick rinse, I eagerly took a bite, my teeth breaking through the tight skin, anticipating the cool, crisp-tart flesh of a just-harvested apple.

But instead I spit it out: the flesh had gone soft and my precious apple was completely inedible.

Now any normal person would have tossed the rest of that apple in the garbage and grabbed another one. But not me. Since I am my mother's son, I can't throw anything away, no matter how trivial. But being quick-witted, I thought I would combine my frugal nature with my amazing generosity and the need to present a recipe here on the site, which is something I haven't been able to do in a while due to my travels and travails.

I've been working on an interview with master baker Nick Malgieri, who just came out with a new book, Perfect Light Desserts: Fabulous Cakes, Cookies, Pies, and More Made with Real Butter, Sugar, Flour, and Eggs, All Under 300 Calories Per Generous Serving (whew!). Look for that interview here, which became so lengthy and interesting that I'm still working on it, and will appear in the next week or so here on the site. I'll talk to Nick about teaching, being the pastry chef at Window's On The World, why he steals recipes from me, and what it's like to write cookbooks.

Because the recipes in his latest book have less-calories than regular desserts, several recipes use applesauce as a base. So like the abnormal person I've become living alone in my Parisian garret, a reclusive phantom of le gâteau Opera, I made The World's Tiniest Batch of Applesauce, but managed to turn it into two baking sheets of Nick's exceptionally chewy, dense, and delicious oatmeal cookies.

Here's my adaptation of the recipe from Nick's book. Although he calls for raisins, I didn't have any, so instead of actually leaving my apartment, I dug deep into my valuable expat stash for the benefit of my readers (yeah, right...) and substituted tart, bright-red dried cranberries instead. But you could use any diced dried fruit that you want.
I didn't have any oatmeal on hand either. So I used tofu.

Ok, just kidding (that was for all the 'substitution' people...and you know who you are!)
I used a mixture called cinq céréales, a blend of rolled oats, wheat, rye and other rolled grains that I stock up on at Naturalia, which is Paris' health-food store chain and a great place to explore, and see how 'healthy' Parisians eats. (If you're expecting to see Birkenstocks and draw-string pants, though, you going to be disappointed.) And although I've become un pea Parisian, I guess you can take the boy out of America, you can't take America out of the boy, and I supersized them, making my cookies bigger using about 2 tablespoons of the batter per cookie. I got 16 cookies, which were gone in a flash, since I bribed...uh, I mean...brought them to vendors at my local market who had no idea what an oatmeal cookie was. Needless to say, I got a few more stranger looks than usual yesterday, handing out cookies from a sack, but no one seemed to mind. The French are pushovers for anything delicious, which has made my life a whole lot easier around here, let me tell you.

Unfortunately, though, I ate quite a bit of the dough before it could be baked. How could I resist? It was like the most delicious, yummiest 'bowl of' oatmeal I've ever tasted, all bound together with a touch of French butter and golden brown sugar. And although my tinkering with the size probably screwed up the calorie guidelines, they were delicious and I figure I'll just have one less glass of wine this month to make up for it.
Really.

Chewy Oatmeal Raisin Cookies
About 36 cookies

Adapted from Nick Malgieri's book, Perfect Light Desserts: Fabulous Cakes, Cookies, Pies, and More Made with Real Butter, Sugar, Flour, and Eggs (HarperCollins).

1 cup flour (spoon flour into dry-measure cup and level off)
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup (packed) light brown sugar
1 large egg
1/4 cup unsweetened applesauce
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/3 cups rolled oats (not instant)
1/2 cup dark raisins (or dried cranberries)

2 baking sheets lined with parchment paper, foil, or silicone mats

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees and set the rack on the lower and upper thirds of the oven.

2. In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

3. In a large mixing bowl, beat the butter and granulated sugar until smooth. Mix in the brown sugar, then the egg, applesauce, and vanilla.

4. Stir in the dry ingredients, then the oats and raisins.

5. Drop the batter by rounded teaspoons 2-inches apart on the baking sheets and use a fork to gently flatten the dough.

6. Bake the cookies for 10 to 12 minutes, or until they "look dull on the surface but are moist and soft", according to Nick. Rotate baking sheets during baking for even heating.

(I made mine bigger, so whatever size you make them, just bake them until they look as directed by Nick.)

Storage: Once cool, store the cookies in an airtight container at room temperature.

The hardest part about sampling so much good food, and enjoying things like, say, fancy Italian cars and easy-access to American booty, is that once you get a taste of the good life, it's almost impossible to go back.

I challenge anyone who's flecked a bit of fleur de sel across their food can go back to ordinary table salt. I took one taste of the cloud-like, billowy chocolate-enrobed marshmallows from Pierre Marcolini and now I can't seem to get enough.

My first experience with real, true balsamic vinegar goes back to the time I worked with Paul Bertolli at Chez Panisse. Every so often he'd ask me for the key to the liquor cabinet (which, for some reason, I was entrusted with) and he'd pull out his little dark bottle of brown, viscous syrup.

A breathless hush would fall over the kitchen, and he would tenderly drip a few precious drops onto the dinner plates with great reverence. Although that liquor cabinet got pilfered on perhaps one too many occasions, mostly involving after-work fresh fruit daiquiris for the staff (I was definitely not the person to entrust with the key), I never did touch that little bottle.
It scared me.

So when planning my visit to the Emilia-Romania region, I decided I would be so close to Modena, it would be a shame not to visit and see what all the fuss was about. I sent a message to the Consorzio Produttori Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena who was happy to provide me with a glimpse of the process of making traditional balsamic vinegar.

I could not have been luckier to spend the morning with Giovanna Cati-Barbieri and her husband Giorgio, who may be the tallest man in Italy. Giovanna took me up to their cellar where rows of barrels are lined up, where her vinegars are aged and stored. In fact, tucked away in the attics of many residents of this city are similar wooden barrels, some hundreds of years old, where families privately make their own batches of vinegar, as they've been doing for generations.

Traditional balsamic vinegar is not to be confused with industrial balsamic vinegar, the acidic brown water that costs 2 bucks at the supermarket. It's like comparing Ye Olde Log Cabin to pure, deep-dark maple syrup: there's simply is no comparison. Giovanna, like others in town, follows traditional methods to make her balsamic vinegars, a process that's strictly regulated and has both DOC (Denominazione di Origin Controllata) and DOP (Denominazione d'Origine Protetta) designations which ensure the 80 member consortium of local producers follow specific quality-assured guidelines.

You need to have a lot of patience to make true balsamico and many of Giovanna's barrels are stamped with her daughter's name in hopes she'll carry on the tradition. Although you can find balsamic that's younger, only balsamic vinegars that are aged 12 or 25 years get certification. And as those of us getting into our advanced years, there's certainly a good argument for the gifts that age has bestowed upon us. But more importantly, aside from the certifications and designations, these balsamic vinegars are without a doubt one of the best-tasting things you're ever liable to put in your mouth.

The process of making balsamic begins in October of each year with just-picked Lambrusco and Trebbiano grapes. If the grapes sit for any period of time, they'll begin to ferment, so they're cooked right away, but to a temperature no higher than 194 degrees (90 C), which is enough to release their juices but not to cook away any of the flavor. This year, 2006, was exceptionally good for the grapes, since the heatwave concentrated the natural sugars in the grapes.

Once the grape must has been cooked, the juice is cooled, filtered, then stored in barrels, which are never filled more than 3/4's full. Giovanna uses many different types of wood, mostly castagno but also ginepro (juniper) and ciliegia (cherry), to make special reserve vinegars, since the wood imparts a fine flavor to the balsamico.

As the vinegar ages and evaporates over the years, the vinegar gets transferred from the large 'mother' barrel to smaller ones, gradually and systematically, over a period of several years. If you're lucky, some day you'll get a chance to taste vinegar that's over 100 years old. It's a rare treat.

As Giovanna explained, "Balsamico is a life philosophy" since the techniques get handed down by word-of-mouth, and it takes more than just reading a recipe to know how to make the vinegars; when they must be decanted, how to monitor the evaporation, and evaluationing the vinegar at various times throughout the aging process. Giovanna also explained that the barrels are used like a dowry, handed down to daughters from generation-to-generation. She's hoping her daughter will want to carry on the tradition as well. I hope so too.

Afterwards, Giovanna led me through a tasting of her vinegars, starting with a 12-year old bottle designated by a white cap, which was grape-y, tart, and pungent-sweet. It would be perfect to drizzle over carpaccio or shards of aged Parmesan cheese. Her 25-year old with a gold cap, was far fruitier, stickier, and with less acidity and more beguiling complexity.

Then she brought out the big guns: a tray of very special bottles, including her 25-year old reserve balsamic aged in cherry wood, which I immediately envisioned dripping over a vanilla-flavored panna cotta, then I tasted another 25-year old balsamic vinegar aged in juniper wood barrels, which she said should only be served over something "very important", like venison or red meat.

After several delectable spoonfuls, I was starting to swoon, wondering why I had lived so long without making aceto balsamico an essential item in my pantry? Well, I'm sure it had something to do with the cost; a small bottle will set one back at least $25. But since you're just using just a few drops at a time (don't you dare mix it into salad dressing), maybe ½ teaspoon, it's merely a few cents per serving. So I tucked several bottles, packed very well, in my suitcase which thankfully made it back to my Parisian pad in one piece.

In spite of the price, a stingy few drops are all you need to make a very big impact. And never mind the photo...I asked them to keep pouring, feigning trouble with my camera, so they'd keep the precious liquid flowing. But I do recommend for newbies to try a bottle that's at least 12-years old, as there's a substantial difference between a thin, rather uninteresting 10-year old balsamic vinegar and a luscious, velvety 12- or 25-year old. The consortium of balsamic producers use a special bottle, designed by race car designer Giugiaro, to designate the provenance of their vinegars. Incidentally, it's the same creative team that designs cars for a well-known, very famous Italian factory nearby, too.

The sad news is that now I've developed a taste of the good life, especially for true aceto balsamico, and have been tipping it over everything around here. But balsamico is also good with fresh figs, soft young goat cheese, shards of pecorino or Parmesan cheese, dark chocolate, gnocchi, and tortellini filled with sweet butternut squash.

Acetaia di Giorgio
Via Cabassi, 67
Tel: 059/333015

Visits can be arrange by telephone or through their web site and Giovanna speaks English. Reasonably-priced, secure international shipping is available as well.

Modena

To learn more about balsamic vinegar in Modena, visit the web site for the Consorzio Produttori di Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena.

Modena is a easy train ride from Florence, and the trip takes about 20 minutes making it a perfect day excursion. To visit the balsamic producers, call in advance and you'll need to rent a car or take a taxi. The New York Times recently wrote an excellent article about the region as well.

Another, larger producer of traditional balsamic vinegar is Acetaia Bompana. Visits can be arranged in English or French as well.

Be sure to visit the Mercato Coperto Albinelli. This wrought iron-covered daily market is a must-see and is one of the best in the world. Open until 2pm.

Hotel
Hotel Centrale
Via Rismondo, 55
Tel: 059/218808

Modest lodging, smack-dab in the center of town, on a quiet street.

Restaurants

Ristorante Vinicio
Via Emilia
Tel: 059/280313

Gran Caffè
Piazza XX Settembre, 34
Simple, contemporary foods. Great lunch spot for pasta and salads, with wine bar for early evening drinks. Next to market.

Trattoria da Omer
Via Torre, 33
Tel: 059/218050
Pastas and simple trattoria fare.

Ristorante da Danilo
Via Coltellini, 31
Tel: 059/225498
Regional cuisine, including bollito misto, boiled meat dinners, dished up almost tableside. The ravioli di zucca, plump squash ravioli, are excellent.

Hosteria Giusti
Vicolo Squallore, 46
Tel: 059/222533
Tiny salumeria with a few tables hidden in the back.