April 2008 Archives

Every time I go to Austin, it seems like I'm running into town, doing a class, then racing on to the next city. So this last time, I slipped in under the cover of darkness, and arrived a day early. Sure I wanted more time to gorge on Texas bbq and Mexican food.

But what I really wanted to do was spend some time at Tèo, lapping up gelato.

The Lee family has become, I'm sure much to their chagrin, part of my extended family. Or more likely, I've become part of theirs. I've known Matt Lee's mom for years and when she told me her son owned an authentic gelato parlor, I dialed my lawyer and had him draw up the adoption papers.

Let's hope they sign.

Matt, aka Matteo...aka, Tèo...learned his craft in Florence at Vivoli, and his gelato is the real deal. You won't find him in the back dumping mixes into a machine.

...and it's kinda fun...

On my recent trip to Texas, due to a missed connection back to Paris, I found myself with a few hours to kill (17 hours, if you want to know exactly...). Hence I thought I'd use that valuable time to write and respond to the queries I've gotten about my photography gear and the photos on my site....

I was very fortunate to work with two exceptional, experienced food photographers on my first books: Michael Lamotte and Christopher Hirsheimer. And in both cases, they insisted I do the food styling. Michael's style is more studio, where things get plated and a crisp, clear photo gets taken, and Christopher's style is more casual; I'd scrape a bowl clean of chocolate and she'd be right there as I set it down, snapping away. My ice cream book was shot in California, and since I live too far away, it was styled by George Dolese, who had a lot of experience scooping and coaxing ice cream into place.

So I learned a great deal from them about how to shoot things, what angles look best, and most importantly, when to leave things alone.

When I take photos for the site, I try to do one or two images to accompany the text, but in some cases, I'll do more.

I've been reading through a nifty, new guidebook to the bakeries, chocolate shops, and tea salons, called The Pâtisseries of Paris. This handy little book is full of great addresses and tips, and is just small enough to slip in your shoulder bag when hitting the streets of Paris, should you come to Paris on a mission for sweets.

I was surprised at how in-depth this guide takes you. Naturally, the usual suspects, like Ladurée and Stohrer, are in there. And chocolatiers like Jean-Charles Rochoux and Patrick Roger are always a stop whenever I'm on the Left Bank, so I was happy to see the nods toward them.

There's few places that aren't worth the trip. Such as Au Panetier bakery, where the dry cookies don't make up for the glorious art nouveau tilework.

Let's get right to the point: this is my killer app recipe, the one I go to more than anything else. I could tell a million stories about this, but I'll just skip all that stuff for now and scoot right to the goods.

I love these peanuts! Not only are they absolutely scrumptious and the easiest candy you can make, but if you keep a sack of raw almonds or peanuts on hand, you can make them in about 10 minutes. Tied into a little sack, they're a great hostess gift in lieu of a bottle of wine (and cheaper!), and I serve them often as a cocktail snack, or after dinner, in a bowl for everyone to dig into.

I also like to mix these candied peanuts in just-churned ice cream, which I'm going to do with this particular batch, along with a swirl of homemade dulce de leche. A handful chopped and sprinkled over a spinach salad or batch of cole slaw would be pretty terrific, for those looking for savory apps. And at the risk of infuriating any purists, topping a bowl of Asian noodles.

1. A few weeks ago I went back to Exceptions Gourmands with a friend from New York.

The two women working there were quite nice and helpful, and my friend ended up picking out a few things to buy. The amount was something like 7.53€. So my friend opened her wallet and handed over a 10€ bill.

"Oooohhh," the saleswoman said, eyeing the lone bill laying on the counter. "Do you happen to have exact change?" she asked.

This guest entry is from my friend Gideon Ben-Ami, who graciously stepped in and wrote this post about vegetarian dining options in Paris..Enjoy...dl

A you can imagine, being a vegetarian in Paris can be a challenge. During my 5 years in Paris I've witnessed many die hard veggies succumbing to the sins of the flesh. The usual excuse is that it's just too hard (or the temptations too great) in the self-proclaimed food capital of the world. "I never ate meat till I tried the duck," one friend told me while another announced, "Technically I'm still a vegetarian, though sometimes I do eat steak."

If you're dining at a neighbourhood bistro, you'll probably get by okay if you eat fish. But if you're vegan, then you might need to smuggle in a nut cutlet or two under your raincoat as you'll soon get tired of munching on side salads. Unlike many other European capitals, restaurants here don't necessarily have a vegetarian option on the menu.

Paris does, however, have its fair share of vegetarian restaurants.
Are they any good?

Skip the chocolate, I'll take prunes.

I figured out why I don't really like traveling. Or more specifically, why I don't like staying in hotels.

It's not the stack of singles that you have to peel off every time someone smiles at you. Nor is it the way they swarm your car when you pull up to the front, yank out all your luggage and pull you out the door before you've even had time to collect your things. And it isn't the lousy, weak coffee that you have to drink four cups of just to get a suggestions of caffeine in your system. (Do the people working there drink that coffee, too?)

No, what drives me nuts is having to wear clothes.

C'est normale...

When you fly in to Charles de Gaulle airport, there's a mad rush to get off the plane. Then you're herded to a holding pen-like area, where you wait to go through passport control. It's complete chaos: everyone surging forward, en masse, trying to get around everyone else, regardless of who got there first. That is, except for the Americans, who wait patiently for their turn, but quickly learn that if they don't assert themselves, they're going to spend their entire vacation in that stifling, airless space.

If you leave 4.5-inches of space in front or behind you in France, you may as well not even be there as people take that to mean you're not waiting. I know that because they act very surprised when I tap them on the shoulder and point out that yes, I are indeed standing in that line with my luggage, just like they are, to check in to my flight. I'm not just hanging out at the airport with a suitcase because I had nothing better to do.

So you have to constantly be on your toes and you can't let your guard down for a second. If you do, you'll never get anywhere. It's pretty exhausting.

I wish I could take credit for this.

Well, kinda.

After thinking about the world's most unhealthiest combination of foods, chocolate and Fritos, en route to my class in Austin, I was thinking, "I'm wonder what white chocolate-coated Fritos would taste like?" And thought I'd add them to my class repertoire, as a garnish to one of the desserts.

Exept when I showed up, I learned someone had beat me to the punch, when Christy, one of the terrific assistants at Central Market, handed me a bag of candy. Inside were chocolate-covered Fritos with chipotle.

I wish I could say I came up with it first, but I can't.

I did manage to eat most of them, but maybe I'm better off not taking credit. I had kinda a chocolate-Frito induced hangover the next morning.

And I know it couldn't have been the margaritas...

Tempt Chocolate
512-636-9630

The great thing about being back in America, is that we're on all the same page about a lot of things. I feel comfortable going into stores and asking for help and thankfully, there's literally hundreds of shampoos to choose from, because really, they're all that different.

Really.

Sure we disagree about politics, religion, and Lou Dobbs (Can someone just say to him, "Okay. We got your point.") But one thing that we all agree on is how important, how vital, how absolutely critical it is to know the weather forecast.

On every morning news show, the weatherperson is there, breathlessly reporting each droplet that might fall from the sky, that there's a chance of a storm coming this weekend, or possibly to expect the possibility of wet weather.

And if that's not enough, there's constant play-by-play recounts throughout the day, at five minute intervals, via news-breaking worthy weather alerts with heart-pumping names like Weather Watch or Action Weather, and the most fearsome of them all—First Warning Weather.

I guess it's nice in the newsroom, to know you've gotten there first with the weather report. But does it really matter?

I don't know. I don't have time to think about it.

They say there's a chance that it might rain, and I gotta go get ready for it. Somehow.

"Do you want Texas barbeque, or Mexican food?"

Honestly, have you ever heard such sweeter words?

When my friend picked me up by the airport in Austin, those were the first words out of his mouth. How did he know?

Since I'd never ventured out much into the outskirts of the cities in Texas (it's hard when you don't have a car, or time), here was my chance, and after much careful consideration—okay, maybe about four seconds of discussion, we floored it outta Austin.

They say that two of the worst things that you can eat are Fritos and white chocolate.

I've been here less than 24 hours and I've already slipped on one.

Guess I'll just have to stick with laying off the white chocolate.

Christian Constant has a mini-empire of restaurants in the 7th arrondissement, taking over an entire side of a city block. On one corner is the Café Constant, bookended by his upscale bistro, Le Fables de la Fontaine. Violon d'Ingres was his high-end joint in the middle until he decided to go 'downmarket' and turn it into a more everyday dining experience. With linen table runners replacing the starched tablecloths and waiters shucking their Hugo Boss togs (which the menu duly noted), the food is some of the best in town and now it's more accessible to many more diners.

I had a terrific roasted Guinea fowl braised in a casserole, and learned an obscure new French word; "luttée", which I thought meant 'fight' (lutte), although here it meant a luting paste.

While Paris is a meat eater's paradis, there are pockets of places that are vegetarian-friendly, or are completely vegetarian. As a sideline to my guest post Vegetarian Restaurants in Paris, here's my tips for dining out and getting by:

And how do I know it's spring?

Could it be the trees that are blooming, or the sun desperately trying to poke through the gray, cloudy skies?

Might it be the luscious, ripe strawberries with verdant green stems at my market?

Or could it be that it's no longer just the hearty non-smokers occupying the outdoor tables in the cafés, but everyone, hoping to catch a sliver of sunshine?

Nope.

How do I know it's spring?

It's because the speedy folks at La Poste—just yesterday—returned an incorrectly addressed Christmas card that I'd sent way back in December, to someone who lives about a mile away, in the same city.

I can't wait to see what summer brings.

Maybe some of the others?

One of the things I promised myself when I moved to France, was not to buy cheese in the supermarket. It's not that you can't get good cheese there. You can. But if people continue buying cheese at the supermarket, eventually les fromageries will lose business and disappear, which would be a terribly sad thing for France.

And even sadder for me, since I'd probably move.

But there is one damsel I've become acquainted with, and she's unattached, not affiliated with any fromager: Madame Loïk.