March 2009 Archives

If you're into staying in odd hotels, the most unusual one in Paris is part of Hôtel Dieu, called Hospitel. Occupying the top floor of Paris' enormous public hospital, the hotel is adjacent to Notre Dame and features one of the most beautiful hotel lobbies in the world: a sumptuous, verdant courtyard framed by a sprawl of archways.

The location of the Hôtel Dieu was apparently chosen due to its proximity to Notre Dame. (Hôtel in French can mean a large mansion-like building, not necessarily as hotel as we know it.) It was thought that people leaving a house of worship might be more charitable on the way out. Eventually rooms were rented out on the top floor for people visiting patients in the hotel, and thereafter, the hospital opened them up to the public. For those of you that are concerned about noise, I doubt you'll find anywhere that's quieter than a hospital.

The rooms are serviceable (think of an Ikea-decorated college dorm room), but hospital-clean without a lot of extraneous decoration.

Not to simplify some of the world's great and highly-nuanced cuisines, but much of their flavors can be accomplished at home by just stocking your pantry with a few of the essential ingredients. The first time I made a tagine, I'd never mixed spices together like cumin, turmeric, cinnamon, and saffron in one dish. But what came out of my oven about an hour later reminded me exactly of the ubiquitous tagines served in Morocco that I'd had. After all, a tagine is basically just a simple braise; it's the handful of fragrant spices that give it the flavor of the Kasbah.

There's a lot to be said for authenticity. And for those who want to be absolutely authentic, next time you're going to make a pie, begin by harvesting and grinding the wheat yourself.

Me? I'm happy to open a bag of flour*.

I don't know much about Indian food, and was never much of a fan. For the most part, so much of it was too soupy and saucy for me. I just don't like food swimming in lots of liquid.

Stop the Insanity!

Michael Ruhlman pointed out the absurdity of sugar becoming the new "ok food", as reported by the New York Times. The interesting thing about getting older is that you see how foods go out of fashion, then invariably come back.

In my life, I've been through warnings about sugar, margarine vs butter, salt, white flour, fat, trans fats, tropical fats, chocolate, eggs, corn syrup, and carbohydrates.

I can't agree with Michael more: if you want to be sure you're eating correctly, cut out as many processed foods as you can. You don't need to wait for the latest medical study to tell you what to eat. (Which will invariably be negated by a contradictory study a few years later anyways.) I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but swilling soda isn't good for you, sugar or no sugar.

No, not everyone is going to be able to cook a freshly-laid farm egg over an open fire in their kitchen. I know I can't. But it's pretty easy to eat decently no matter where you live. To eat well, one needn't need to live near a greenmarket. The quality of American supermarkets have improved vastly over the past decade and I'm always astounded to see how the selection of things available, from fresh produce to good olive oils and dairy products, has improved dramatically.

Fortunately, rainbow sprinkles haven't been demonized. But I'm still trying to find some that are locally-produced.

Neufchâtel got a makeover when it crossed the Atlantic, to the states, where it's used to refer to low-fat cream cheese, which bears no resemblance to true Neufchâtel, a cheese that certainly doesn't fall anywhere near that category.

The cheese is from Normandy, a region that few would argue produces the best cheeses in the world. Camembert, Livarot, and the especially creamy Brillat-Savarin are some of the more famous Norman cheeses, but I'm also happy that Neufchâtel is included in that privileged group.

Neufchâtel is available in industrial or fermier ("farm-produced") versions. All versions are made with cow's milk, although sometimes it's made with raw milk, others are made from milk that's been pasteurized.

(I recent met Bryce Corbett, who wrote A Town Like Paris, a book about his life in Paris, where he found the girl of his dreams. Since he's a terrific writer, I asked him to do a guest post, which included our visit behind-the-scenes at one of Paris' most exciting attractions. -David)

There are many fringe benefits to being married to a Paris showgirl.

Great tables at exclusive restaurants, never being called upon to fetch that hard-to-reach bowl from the top shelf (have you seen how tall these girls are?) and always stepping out with someone who knows how to accessorize with feathers (truly an underrated virtue in a woman).

But it's safe to say that the greatest fringe benefit to having a showgirl wife is also one that you'd probably least expect: She makes the most amazing cupcakes.

Now at first blush, you'd be forgiven for thinking that a woman who high-kicks on the Champs Elysées each night in feathers, sequins and not much else would have a natural aversion to baked goods. You would imagine that eating like a glutton and baking like a demon would be two practices well and truly off-limits to your average showgirl.

The most commonly-asked question for a certain cookbook author, aside from "Can I replace the corn syrup?" by a longshot, is: "Can that be frozen?"

So the fellow in question wrote an ice cream book, knowing that I—I mean, he would get a break from being asked that question.

(I've been working on updating some of the Recipes in my archives, which I carried over from my old site. For this one, I thought it'd be best to go right to the source, and I asked Giovanna Zivny, who originally provided the recipe, to update it and include her photos. We both worked for many years together at Chez Panisse, her in the office and I, alongside her mom, Lindsey Shere, who was the pastry chef and co-owner of the restaurant. -David)

I was always interested in eating candy. A childhood infatuation with California's See's Candies was probably responsible--their spiffy black and white shops were a calm oasis in 1970s Berkeley. Stepping into the store was like going through a time warp. Outside the streets were full of hippies in bellbottoms; the scent of patchouli, meant to mask certain other scents, wafted through the air. Inside See's a woman in her white dress and black bow tie presided over the neatly displayed plates of chocolates. She still wore her hair in a beehive.

A number of folks consult the site for information about Paris, but it's always best to get some second opinions. So I asked a few friends and in-the-know colleagues about their favorite places around the city, and I'm happy to share them with you.

Included are links, when available, for complete addresses and additional contact information. Hours change and places close in Paris without notice so it's best to call first before visiting. For restaurants and wine bars where food is served, reservations are strongly advised.

If there any Paris favorites that you'd like to share, please feel free to do so in the comments. I'd love to hear about them.

Favorite Outdoor Market

"Paris markets are one of my favorite subjects. I can go to the same market every day of the year and still always find something new. I regularly visit the boulevard Raspail market, a "regular" market Tuesday and Friday, organic (and expensive!) on Sunday. The fish merchants there are incredible on all days, and I adore the poultry people at the Tuesday and Friday market. I love testing one fish market or cheese stand against the other, grading them on each purchase. For 20 years I lived near the rue Poncelet market and still have a soft spot there, especially for Alléosse cheese and coffee beans from Brûlerie des Ternes."

"When I have time, I also love the President Wilson market on Wednesday and Saturday, where of course one finds the famed produce from Joël Thiebault but also wonderful fish, fresh crêpes, and Lebanese specialties. The market is near my dentist's office so I always schedule a Wednesday morning appointment."

Patricia Wells, of Patricia Wells.com
(Author: Bistro Cooking and The Paris Cookbook)

Favorite Steak Tartare

"As an American in France, getting into the French staple of steak tartare means getting past it's resemblance to an uncooked hamburger patty. At Les Fines Gueules (2, rue la Vrillière, 1st) near place des Victoires they have cap-and-gowned the French standard by hand chopping Limousin beef (the best in France) and tossing the raw meat with white truffle oil, parmesan and sun dried tomatoes. Certainly not a traditional preparation, but an unbelievably delicious part of this American's weekly diet."

Braden, of Hidden Kitchen

Some people, when they travel, they look for hotels with amenities like spas or room service. Others look for hotels near restaurants or local attractions. Me? I look for ones near supermarkets. And on my recent trip through the states, my traveling companion was shocked that I'd managed to pack 3 empty suitcase into one larger one, the limit of our collective baggage allowance.

Not to mention our two carry-ons—"someone" was ready for some serious shopping...

I've been dying to make a batch of Scotcheroos for a long time and although I've become pretty adept at finding substitutions for American ingredients here in Paris, butterscotch chips had me scratching me head.

I hate to generalize, but aside from body-checking anyone in their path, there are other ways that Parisians are different than Americans.

If you don't believe me, ask some of the friends I traveled with recently, who have the bumps and bruises to prove it after a plane arrived from Paris and the dining room where we vacationed turned into a game of human pinball.

(But don't ask Deb about how one fine day, her corner of peaceful tranquility on the beach ended up with her being suddenly surrounded by a mass of noisy new arrivals, who didn't seem to mind arranging their chairs all around her...when the rest of the three mile-long beach was completely deserted.)

When I lived in America, it was rare to find leeks. Some of you out there in the states are probably thinking; "Leeks? Aren't those the fancy onion-like things at the supermarket that are expensive?"

Well, yes.

The "Toffee Buzz" Clif bar that I picked up in the states (as a travel emergency ration) versus Salted Butter Caramels from Jacques Genin that my houseguest left for me.

I don't think I need to tell you which one won.

But if Jacques is willing to add a salted butter caramel energy bar to his list, I'm going to stock up on those instead, before my next trip.

Or even before.

On my vacation, I loved posting updates about what I was doing, but I'm sure you can understand that I wasn't all that keen on sitting in my room slouched over my laptop. Yes, I love and missed you all.

However every relationship has its limits. And there was something more important standing between you and I:

But on the 9+ hour plane ride home, I didn't have much to do...especially since the in-flight entertainment was non-functional...so I gathered up my photos and wrote a lengthy wrap-up of the trip. And as soon as I got home, I published the story and pictures, only to check back a few minutes later and find that half the post was missing.

And no, not the part with the thong. You're not getting off that easily. I'll get to that later...

Like the inhabitants of a tropical island on LOST, my post was equally without bearings, floating out there on the internet somewhere, adrift and listless, where no one could find it. So I cobbled it back together the best I could, republished it and poof!&mdashed;vanished again. Like the folks who follow that program, I'm sure I could start some sort of conspiracy theory about why it's happening, but I think I should just move on and hope the third time's a charm.

And if I keep comparing my blog to LOST, my part better not be played by the doctor-guy, because if it was, do you think I'd be rewriting my post? I'd be staring at myself in the mirror instead.

The note arrived in January, just as winter was wearing me down, an invitation to Club Med in the Bahamas. In the history of Gmail, I don't think anyone's ever hit the 'Reply' button so fast.

Right photo by Matt Armendariz

I know I'm supposed to be enjoying all the fresh fish, tropical fruits and icy cocktails on offer, but this has become my daily fix...

What flavor ice cream is it? Who cares. It's all about the toppings, my friends. Some poor fellow has the temerity to get between me and the bowl of rainbow sprinkles...and let's just say that's one more person who's learned to not get between me and a bowl of sprinkles, rainbow or otherwise.

The other things in the bowl are crushed Oreos and Skor bars. People are staring at me (perhaps because I'm eating them before, during and after lunch), and I never really ate all that many Oreos when I lived in the states. But you know what? Those chocolate black cream-filled disks are addictive. Especially when softened-slightly by the Bahamian humidity.

Oh, and in response to all your requests for a swimsuit shot, you're going to have to wait.

Matt and I had a couple of photo sessions, but decided I just didn't have the backside to pull it off. So we're having an open casting call with the male members of the Club Med staff in my room later this afternoon to find a suitable replacement. And we'll get back to you shortly.

Thanks for your understanding.

Spending a day and a half flying somewhere is easily mitigated by any activity involving drinks a few feet from the crystal-blue Caribbean with friends.

And what better way to while away a lazy afternoon with a little food blogger bocce?