May 2007 Archives

Don't tell me she's now a Lisbian too?

Nice to see Rosie's found another line of work so quickly, reading the news in Portugal.

I just hope The Donald stays right where he is.

And that annoying blonde too.

There's something about a warm fruit crisp with a scoop of Vanilla Ice Cream melting alongside that most people are unable to resist. And who doesn't love pulling that heavy baking dish, fragrant with the aroma of sweet seasonal fruit, out of the oven, with the rich fruit juices bubbling, with the heavenly smell of the buttery, nutty topping?

Really, what's not to like?

Well...the dart-in-the-butt is that if you let it sit for any length of time, what you're left with is a baking dish of fruit topped with solidified mush. And that, my friends, is what's not to like.

So I came up with a plan—To put the crisp back in crisp topping.

Ever since I came up with this recipe, it's become the only one I use and is a summertime staple around chez David. Even though there's perhaps nothing easier to prepare in a moment's notice, I like to keep a batch in the freezer for an impromptu fresh-fruit crisp, so you can easily double the recipe and freeze Part deux for the next time.

All too often, I'm put in the position of being an ambassador between several cultures, spending a fair amount of time explaining and defending the practices of each one to the other. For me it's become part of life, since there's a certain amount of stereotypes that people make about foreigners that are, or aren't, true

I had no idea, for example, that Americans were well-known for uttering the words "Oh my God!" at each and every opportunity possible. I never really thought about it until French friends started saying it to me, half-jokingly in English. (And a waiter in Lisbon said it to me as well...it was the only phrase he could recite in perfect English.) I don't think I ever uttered those words all that much before I moved here. But now, unfortunately, because of all my French friends saying it to me (in English), I've picked it up and now I find myself saying it all the time too.

On the flip side, people have an image that French people aren't particularly clean and are, in fact, smelly. Having lived on both sides of the Atlantic, I wouldn't say that the French are any more- or less-washed than their overseas counterparts.

Sure, I've gotten stuck on the métro with some dude's hairy, rank armpit dangling centimeters from my face. And I have noticed people avoiding seats next to certain riders as well. (And when I dive in quickly to get one of the vacant seats, self-satisfied, I realize my victory is short-lived as my nose quickly discerns why all the nearby seats are empty.)

Closer to home, just few weeks ago I'm waiting for the elevator to arrive outside my apartment door. Since I live on the top floor, seven flights up, the elevator is a necessity. When the elevator arrives and door opens, two young men come springing out.

More Scoopers!...

Shauna puckers up for me.
(...or is it my Super Lemon Ice Cream?)

A tasty ménage-a-deaux of chocolate & roasted banana, from fudgy Fidget.

Oh-la-la!
Cindy's on a French Vanilla sugar high (#31...to be exact).

Sassy Radish licks the bowl clean when she spins her own scooper-duper frozen yogurt.

Lisa's almost up to 31 flavors!

Tammy gives birth to the mother of all popsicles.

Deb's a-smitten with her own pinkcherry frozen yogurt.

An open letter to moi about a scary night in Paris. And it's absinthe-tinged aftermath.
(In two chilling parts!)

Making a date in the desert with homemade ice cream.

Jessica churns up the perfect batch of Toasted Almond and Candied Cherry Ice Cream.

Nabeela gets the beautiful blues.

Jerry finds the perfect combination—White Chocolate Ice Cream melting over warm blueberry cobbler.

Adam has a meltdown.

It's an all-out husband versus wife ice cream food fight!

Meeta metes out Dark Chocolate and Raspberry Ice Cream.

The ever-popular Roasted Banana Ice Cream rears its head again at a Mad Tea Party.

Alanna rounds 'em up at BlogHer.

I love whole grains and I love chocolate.

So when I saw this curious Muzzi chocolate bar in a terrific Italian traiteur and grocer, Au Village Italien, I had to add it to my shopping basket. Inside the bar was little bits of puffed farro, or spelt as one would say in English.

(It's épautre in French, dinkel in German and for the brainiacs out there, it's triticum dicoccum in Latin.)

I was curious to taste how the dark Italian chocolate would meet up with the earthy, crispy little bits of whole grains and I was not disappointed. Boy...I took one bite of this and stopped in my tracks.

What a great bar of chocolate!

Speaking of not being disappointed, did you ever correspond with someone online, then meet up with them to find out they're nothing like you think?

Okay, you don't need to admit to that.
But I will.

A ficelle is a small baguette, whose name actually means 'string'. But in French bakery lingo it means a thin little crusty baguette. A ficelle makes a perfect petit snack, especially one like this that's crusted with lots of poppy and sesame seeds.

One of my all-time, tip-top favorite breads in Paris is the ficelle apéritif baked at Moisan bakery. Although primarily known for their large rustic pains biologiques, breads made with organic flour, these slender little loaves boast a prime ratio of crust-to-crumb, with a golden, crackly crust enclosing an earthy, slightly-tangy mie within.

But what makes this little devil so appealing to me is the heavy-hand the baker lavishes it with sea salt.

Each little bit I rip off has a generous amount of seeds. Not just a measly few, but just the right amount of coarse sea salt—enough to taste each grain but not enough to be overwhelming or salty.

(Which is a good thing, since salt can lead to thirst and thirst leads to water and...well...we all remember where that leads in Paris.)

Find a treasure...after uncovering where all the flea markets in Paris are.

Float down the Seine at a bargain price.

Shocked by melted cheese on sushi?
Eat in restaurants Japonais recommandes and certified authentique.

Make new friends at the biggest dinner party in Paris.

A nice, brand-new pocket guide to the Markets of Paris.

Learn French by listening to the news in 'easy French' while reading the script.

Don't wanna sleep on my Aerobed?
Paris hotels for 35€...or less!

Curious juxtaposition.
(Oops!...Warning: PG-13)

Love Paris bistros?
Good tips and reviews here.

Hate the smoke in Paris bistros?
Here's a list of places non fumeur. And here too.
(My favorite? La Cerisaie; great food, sans fumeurs.)

Wanna get outta town on the cheap?
Finally. A decent search engine to the discount airlines in Europe.

Take the quiz: How French are you?

I'm heading to Lisbon soon.
Anyone got any must-do tips or casual restaurant suggestions?

If so, please leave 'em in the comments....

Saúde!

Lara's Olive Oil and Lemon Ice Cream with Rosemary Cornmeal Shortbreads is as pretty as a picture.

Heidi churns up a batch of frozen yogurt that rivals Pinkberry's.
(Hey...what's a 'pinkberry'?)

The Food Geek ain't such a geek when it comes to churning up batch after batch.

Michael Ruhlman finds my Malted Milk Ice Cream makes him feel like a kid again.
(Then I wonder how his kids must feel?)

Instant happiness and notoriety (on page 73 of the book, to be exact) for the Amateur Gourmet.

Amy's in cool pursuit of scoop-endous perfection.

Molly makes herself a minty summer refresher.
Which matches her new wedding shoes to boot!

Eat and Be Happy ascends to 'heaven in a bowl' with her nutty version of Nutella Ice Cream.

Nabeela makes berry-good Strawberry Sour Cream Ice Cream.

Expat Tanya in Zurich braves overseas mail and makes Butterscotch-Pecan Ice Cream...and more!

And Elise goes off on her own (fly my little bird...fly!...) to concoct a vibrant Lime Mango Sorbet.

The best Madeleines in the world are right here in Paris.

Well...duh. You don't need to visit my blog to know that, do you? I've never been one of those people who waxed poetically about Madeleines, invoking Proust's name whenever I can.
(As if I've even read Proust.)

So although I don't have nostalgic ties to Madeleines, I do like the idea of something a bit buttery, with a gilded crust, relatively portable, and not too-sweet for my afternoon gouter, or le snack, as it's often referred to around town.

But most of the time I'm disappointed. The Madeleine I buy is either too dry, too floury, or worse, has the acrid taste of baking powder. But then the skies parted one day when I was at a new bakery in Paris, blé sucré, in the vastly pleasant, but out-of-the-way Square Trousseau. This new boulangerie and pastry shop is owned by Fabrice Le Bourdat, who worked with Gilles Marchal, the pastry chef at the esteemed Bristol.

Madeleines are the proverbial 'little something' that goes well with tea. But to be honest, there's nothing that makes me cringe more than when I read in the headnote of a recipe in a cookbook, "This goes well with tea in the afternoon."

I mean, what little sweet thing doesn't?
And if that's the most exciting thing you can say about your recipe, then what the hell's it doing in your cookbook?

Sorry to see all the long faces out there.
And I'm not talking about all the Celine Dion billboards around town promoting her upcoming concert.

Which I am sorry to have to see.
(The billboards, I mean...not the concert.)

Anyhow, to cheer you up about me not coming to your town, or to prepare you if I am, here's a post from my archives that gave me a good chuckle when I re-read it last weekend. I was at a friend's house who made killer carnitas and guacamole, along with a copious blenderload of mind-bending margaritas. She'd printed this out and taped it to her fridge when I posted it a while back when I had pondered some of the curious and profound cultural peculiarities around here, which occasionally prompts the necessitude for hi-test margaritas, when all the red wine just isn't quite enough...

What They Say vs What They Mean

When they say,"Non", they mean, "Convince me."

When they say,"We do not take returns", they mean,"Convince me."

When they say,"It's not broken", they mean,"Convince me."

When they say, "You need a prescription for that", they mean,"Convince me."

When they say,"The restaurant is completely full", they mean,"Please come up with a better story."

When they say,"The restaurant is completely full", they mean,"We already have enough Americans in here."

Ok, here they are!

I've finalized the dates for my US book tour in June, including lots of demonstrations and cooking classes where I'll be baking up everything from Parisian chocolate desserts like Chocolate Chip Choquettes and refeshingly-icy Mocha Sorbet to my favorite summertime ice cream recipes including ice cream sandwiches with Peppermint Patty Ice Cream (with homemade peppermint patties) and Profiteroles with Roasted Banana Ice Cream and Hot Fudge Sauce.

To sign up for classes, you can follow the links listed below. For classes at Central Market in Texas, which tend to fill up quickly, it's best to call the school to reserve your space. I'm looking forward to meeting as many of you as possible, and I hope to see you all at one of the events!

Looking at the photos I'd taken over the past week during my Paris Chocolate Exploration Tour, I noticed something odd...there weren't too many pictures of chocolate.
(Where did it all go?...)

I don't know why, since we seemed to have sampled every chocolate that we possibly could have here in Paris. And although I thought I'd never say this—I think I've had enough chocolate for a while.

So aside from all the chocolate, here's what else we ate and drank...

Since the weather was decidedly decent, we opted for outdoor dining as much as possible. Of course that involved plenty of rosé for cooling down. Leading the pack myself, I found that most Americans get over their aversion to rosé when they realize most of the stuff here in France is quite different than the syrupy-sweet blush-colored wines found elsewhere.

After a visit to my local market, where everyone swooned over Régis the salt guy (and the potato guy too) we stopped in the Place des Vosges and had lunch, and a few bottles of rosé, at the well-situated Ma Bourgogne restaurant, drinking and dining under the dramatic arches of this historic square.

Here's my response to Sam's query about giving her a peek into my unedited fridge. Since I've got plans to dine out all week for lunch and dinner, which means my refrigerator's never been cleaner or emptier—I'm up to the challenge!

Starting from the top (in no particular order):

Presure: Liquid rennet from when I made my own cottage cheese. Which was pretty cool to make.
Cantal: Photo of the fromager, coming soon dude.
Jean-Yves Bordier Salted Butter: You must come to France if, for no other reason, than to taste his extraordinary butter.
Lemon Curd with li hing mui: Hawaiian lemon curd with salted dried plum powder, a gift from his island, to mine.
Maple syrup: To make my Spicy Glazed Nut Mix.

Middle Shelf

Whole milk yogurt with bifidus.
Demi-écrémé milk.
Andros orange juice: That, yes...I bought for 15% off.
Tapenade
Comté: Aged 18 months.
An almost-empty jar of Dulce de Leche.
Orzo from Slitti: Roasted ground barley&mdashan Italian coffee substitute that seemed like a good idea at the time but gradually made its way to the back of the fridge and now seems to live there permanently.

Lower Shelf

Harissa: Moroccan hot sauce.
Concombres Assaisonees: Pickled cucumbers that I got to go with the soba noodles, British beer and dashi that Keiko brought me last year.

Bottom Shelf

Half a bulb of raw fennel: I don't like fennel unless it's raw, sliced super-thin, and tossed in a salad.
Caramel-Buerre-Salé: From Henri Leroux from Quiberon. The one Brittany that's welcome to hit me with a jar of this one more time.
Poha Jam: Part of the prize package I got for winning a blog award.
Bitter Orange Marmalade: I got carried away and made about 12 jars this winter.
Homemade pickled red onions (from The Zuni Cookbook) and pickled chiles.
Tahini

Door
(In no particular order)

Lillet Blanc: Just in case Daniel Craig stops by.
Edmond Fallot Dijon mustard: J'adore.
Pocket Coffee: Normally I don't refrigerate chocolate(s) but last year I lost my stash to the heatwave and no way am I going to let that happen again.
Anchovies from Pim's last trip to Spain.
Iced tea
Crème de Cassis: Delicious tossed with some strawberries, or for an emergency kir.
Squid-Brand (!) fish sauce: The only tentacles allowed in my fridge.
Three tiny bottles of Boyajian orange, mint, and lemon oils that I brought from the US.
Homemade nocino: Green walnut liquor that I made from a friend's walnuts.
One-third of a bottle of leftover Saumur, red wine from the Loire.
Sriracha Chili Sauce
SAF levure: Powdered yeast that's leftover from some dumb-ass no-knead bread experiments. I keep meaning to make pizza here but never get around to it.
Better Than Bouillon®...busted!

I'm in the middle of leading a week-long Paris chocolate tour with Mort Rosenblum.

So far, we've been enjoying...

...the buttery-smooth caramels of Jacques Genin, studded with exotic Iranian pistachio nuts...

...fluffy, bittersweet chocolate-covered marshmallows from Pierre Marcolini...

...a delicious grande aïoli at Susan Loomis' country home...

...almond-rich, tender financiers from Eric Kayser...

...briny oysters and cool rosé at La Coupole...

...and Patrick Roger's luscious chocolates filled with salted butter caramel.

But you know what's gotten some folks the most excited?

The roast chicken-flavored potato chips I found at the autoroute rest stop boutique.

Go figure.

In honor of Sunday's French presidential election...

(Warning: PG-13)

I am definitely French.

Today I went to the bank to deposit 134€ to make a payment.

I had 135€.

The bank teller told me, "We don't have any change."

And the funny thing was—this didn't surprise me.

Like, at all.

Here's my address book for the most popular, and my favorite places for ice cream in Paris.

In addition to these glaciers, some of the pâtisseries make their own exceptionally-good ice cream which they'll scoop up from freezers parked on the sidewalks outside during the summer. Some of the best include Kayser, La Maison du Chocolat, and A La Mère de Famille.

Many of the places keep curious hours, some of which I've noted. Most don't open until mid-morning, and one, Deliziefollie, simply closed for the winter while Berthillon closes mid-July for the summer. I've listed phone numbers so you can call in advance.

Berthillon

Little needs to be said about Berthillion that hasn't already been said. This most-famous of all Parisian glaciers makes what many consider the best ice cream in the world. Go see for yourself! I was a fan of their glace chocolat until I saw the light and switched to the chocolat amer sorbet, which has the deep intensity of chocolate but without the distraction of cream. Their Caramel Ice Cream is excellent, but I think the Caramel-Buerre-Salé doesn't measure up to it. The fruit sorbets are excellent and the one made with tiny wild strawberries, fraises des bois, is worth the supplement.

Berthillon is served at many cafés in Paris, and other locations near the original also scoop it up, which is helpful when they're closed. Beware of other storefronts nearby which some people confusing think serve glace Berthillon as well. (They'll always display a Berthillon logo if they do.)

Berthillon
31, rue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile (4th)
Tél: 01 43 54 31 61
Métro: Pont Marie or Sully-Morland
(Closed Mondays and Tuesdays, the second half of July and all of August.)

Amorino

Popular with tourists and locals, Amorino does quite the business, making delicate 'flowers' of gelato on cones. I'm not a huge fan (one of my Italian readers called it "...an insult to Italians everywhere."), but that doesn't stop folks from lining up day and night. Interesting flavors include Bacio, the Italian-style 'kiss' of hazelnuts and chocolate and Amarena, candied sour cherries embedded in vanilla custard. Those of you who are lactose-intolerant can find digestive comfort in Amoriso which they say is made with rice and rice milk. Twelve boutiques in Paris.

Amorino
31, rue Vieille du Temple (4th)
Tél: 01 42 78 07 75
Métro: St. Paul or Hôtel de Ville

Pozzetto

More often than not, you'll find me at Pozzetto, waiting from my scoop of sticky gelato in a cone being handed through the window to me.

In my continuing adventures to bring you some of the more interesting chocolates from around the globe, and get through as much of my chocolate before the meltdown of summer heat attacks my chocolate stash, you might remember a few months back I wrote about a conversation I had when I shocked some unworldly women (who...me?) that asked me which country makes the best chocolate.

For a few years now, I've been swapping messages with Art Pollard of Amano chocolate who has spent ten years searching for cacao and learning how to make artisan chocolate tablets at the company he started in Utah. But it wasn't until just a few months ago I was able to taste his handcrafted chocolate, which he sent me here in Paris.

Amano isn't currently making a whole slew of chocolates, but is concentrating on two different bars: A tablet of Ocumare chocolate, and another made from chocolate from Madagascar. I'm a big fan of Ocumare chocolate in general, which is considered one of the finest cacao beans in the world. Grown in Venezuela, some manufacturers claim it's a criollo bean, and I've been told various stories that dispute that, and many chocolate experts agree that pure criollo chocolate doesn't really exist anymore.

I'll let the geneticists work that out, and concentrate on the taste of the chocolate. Luckily I had help during this tasting from Pam Williams, who runs Ecole Chocolat, an online school for budding chocolatiers. (That's her hand with the girly-girl ring, not mine.) An expert on chocolate, Pam and I snapped the chocolate into manly-sized pieces and we tasted away.