June 2009 Archives

For those of you wondering what the difference between 'sorbet' and 'sherbet' is, a sorbet has no dairy or eggs in it, and sherbet is usually made with milk or egg whites. Of course, there's those rogues out there adding a bit of cream or whatever, but that's the story on that and any variations aren't authorized by me. And as you know, the ice cream (and sherbet) buck stops here.

(I can just hear all the fingers Googling madly out there, looking for examples to prove me wrong...Talk about setting myself up!)

This Chocolate Sherbet has, you guessed it...a bit of milk added.

Over the years, a number of people have asked if it was possible to bring a KitchenAid mixer from the United States to Europe, and use it here. I certainly couldn't live without my 5-quart mixer, and since they're less-expensive in America than they are abroad (because of the electrical modifications and shipping), many folks, naturally, want to know if they can bring their mixer with them.

Several readers kindly chimed in with comments and suggestions (thanks, Sunny!), noting that theirs worked fine with a voltage transformer.

La Cocotte Booksigning and Get-Together

This Saturday, June 27th, from 4pm to 5:30pm, I'll be signing books and meeting folks at La Cocotte bookshop in Paris, located at 5, rue Paul Bert. (Métro: Faidherbe-Chaligny)

There's going to be wine, women (and men), and if you get there early enough, Dulce de Leche Brownies for all.

When I heard there was going to be an inaugural voyage for the recently refubished Club Med 2 sailboat, I was so excited to go, that I actually invited myself to come along. Since the trip was a press preview, with a sprinkling of the rich and perhaps famous to rub elbows with, and since I lived so close, I saw no reason why I shouldn't be able to easily race down to catch some sunshine, and participate in the buzz—cruising past St. Tropez, Cannes, Nice, and Portofino.

So after spending a few days on land in Provence, I was ready to set sail and meet my travel mates. Having not gone on many press trips, I wasn't sure what to expect and happily, our rag-tag group was from all over the map: Japan, the United States, Switzerland, Canada, Australia, Italy, and, of course, France. We boarded boat and set sail eastward.

I'd been on one boat before, a medium-sized cruise liner, and was less-than-impressed with that one. It was freezing cold from the boat being severely overly air-conditioned, so I was wearing sweaters indoors, while sunny Mexico was right outside. Not only was it cold physically, it was also uninspiring and I felt like I was on a floating hotel, it was so big and impersonal.

But this was a small vessel, a 5-masted sailboat, with less than two hundred rooms and sure enough, it was just the right size and pace for cruising the Côte d'Azur.

This always happens. You go away, then come back, and something hits you like a ton of bricks. This morning, after being away for a little more than a week, Romain looked at me, and said, "Daveed...je veux te dire quelque chose..." And before he could finish la phrase, I knew exactly what he was going to say, and I finished the sentence for him.

He was stunned that I knew what he was about to say, before he even told me. But I could tell by the look on his face exactly what was wrong: the boulangerie that makes My Crack Baguette is closing for good—Fermeture Définitive.

I've been trying to organize a manifestation (demonstration) to keep the doors, and ovens, open. But I'm not having much success. Which is kind of odd in a country of people that seem all-too happy to go en grêve, but I forgot that the all-important summer vacation season is beginning, which takes precedence over everything else.

So far I've enlisted me, Romain, and his neighbor, the one who buys three at a time.

Just announced—an all-new tour this fall! For one delicious week we'll be feasting and tasting the best of France.

From extraordinary chocolate shops, to magnificent fromageries and bustling bouchons, this one-week adventure will be unforgettable! The itinerary is different than my Paris Chocolate Tours, so those of you who've traveled with me before, if you're interested in coming along, we'd love to have you.

For this trip, we'll be focusing on some of the other tasty aspects of Paris, including...

...visiting the best candy and pastry kitchens, and watch them dipping chocolates, piping macarons, and swirling sugar into edible confections.

When people come to Paris, they often ask me where they can find good bouillabaisse. And when I tell them, "You can't", they're always very surprised.

"Well, isn't it French?" they'll reply.

Yes, it is. But to get many of the regional specialties in France, you need to go to the region. Hence my frequent visits to Nice, to get socca at the fiery source.

And although you can make it at home, making it in a home oven is like baking off a batch of S'Mores in there: it's close, but not exactly the real thing. You really do need a wood-fire to get that blistered crust. Still, after much experimentation, I got it close in my home oven and I now make it all the time to serve with an apéritif before dinner.

Socca is basically street food, intended to be eaten off napkins to blot up all the excess olive oil, with plastic cups of frosty-cool rosé.

There's a lot to be said for the street foods of Provence. I'm happy to snack away on scourtines, wedges of pissaladière, and socca...except when I make a beeline from the airport to my favorite socca shop in Nice only to find FERMETURE EXCEPTIONELLE in a note on the door.

It's a fairly common occurrence in this part of the country, where life is far more laid-back than in Paris, and an afternoon lunch can turn into a game of boules, then a few more glasses of pastis or rosé, and by the time you know it, it's time for la sieste.

And then—voilà, it's time for dinner. And you wonder...where did the day go?

But when it's warm, I agree that a long, lazy lunch is much more interesting than working. And that's how we ended up at Les Bacchanales in Vence.

Three of the hottest, most sought-after tables in Paris are lorded over by les américains. A few are part of the "underground" dining scene, which seems to be a global phenomenon, another is a one-man show (for now), and the forth is a cozy little resto located in a back alley where a French chef, who trained mostly in America, is combining the best of both cultures.

Hidden Kitchen

When two young cooks moved to Paris from Seattle, they began hosting dinner parties in their apartment, which was stark and nowhere near as sumptuous as their current digs. I can't tell you where it is, but once you reserve, you'll be in the know soon enough.

Hidden Kitchen is now in a more luxe location and the open kitchen overlooks the dining table where a multi-course dinner is served, and ten courses isn't unusual. The chefs head to the market beforehand to scope out what's fresh, so you won't know what's on the all-inclusive menu until you arrive.

But the courses are small, impeccably fresh, and inventive. So you won't leave feeling overstuffed. And multiple wines are poured to compliment the food. They're booked months in advance, naturally, but you can also follow them on Twitter, where they post last-minute cancellations, if you want to be in-the-know.

Chien Lunatique

One of my most frequently asked questions is: "Hey David, do you know those two guys from Chez Panisse who...." and I cut them off right about there and finish the sentence for them, since I know what's coming.

Mailboxes across France are smelling a little better recently.

Because last month, La Poste released a limited-edition of, yes, chocolate stamps—or des timbres au chocolat.

When I saw them over at La Cuisine de Babeth, I raced over to my local branch of La Poste and asked to buy a sheet. When the woman behind the counter handed the sheet over, the smell of chocolate wafted towards me as well. And lifting it up to my face, sure enough, the stamps smelled like pure, dark chocolate.

(Of course, in America, they'd have to put warnings all over the place because someone would try to eat them.)

So, of course, I asked for three more sheets, because I just couldn't resist. I don't know what I'm going to do with all these stamps, but I don't think you can never have enough chocolate, no matter what size or shape it comes in. Or affranchissement*.

*Postage

In a world of kitchen gadgets gone amok, there are some that look cool, and some that might make you look like a fool. When you live in a small kitchen, things get pretty brutal, and when natural selection kicks in, only the essential equipment survives the cut.

Yes, my mixer and espresso machine get a disproportionate amount of space, but only because I use them a disproportionate amount of time. But down below, every year or so, I go through my gadget drawer and take out anything I haven't used in a long time.

My chocolate thermometer stays, along with all my measuring cups, the pair of cherry pitters (I invested in two, which ensures help), that super-handy little offset spatula, a pile of plastic scrapers, the essential Microplane zester, mini-spatulas I bought at Ross in Fort Lauderdale (which one might think are silly, but I use them all the time), the all-important wine opener, ice cream scoops in every conceivable capacity, and my Michael Graves vegetable brush from Target that I have to keep hidden away in a drawer because "someone" keeps trying to use it to scrub pots and pans and I don't know when the next time I'm going get my derrière back into a Target again in case I need to replace it.

Do you know what media training is? If you don't, it's when they teach people to behave on television and radio. They work with politicians, business executives, and, of course, in this day and age, they work with a lot people (and I mean, a lot...) that are involved in corporate and celebrity crisis control. But there's a special group of media trainers that teach you how to cook on television, which is trickier than just sitting there getting grilled by Stephen Colbert, I'm sure of that.

Cooking on tv is much harder, because instead of just sitting there having a casual chat, you need to be fielding all sorts of goofy questions at the same time as measuring out and explaining fourteen different ingredients to the weatherman, wondering where that damn spatula is and how you're going to fold egg whites without one, cursing yourself because you forgot to turn off your cell which is vibrating like mad in your back pocket, trying to get the name of the book you're supposed to be promoting into the conversation when the seriously-skinny host only wants to talk about her diet, and watching out of the corner of your eye because the camera crew is impatiently waiting for you to finish so they can pounce on your brownies.

About ten years ago I had media training, a one-on-one weekend where it was just me and the media trainer—who basically yelled at me for 48 hours, non-stop.

In fact, I think he blew out my left eardrum.

I don't like to make promises I can't keep. So when I posted on my classes at the L'école du Grand Chocolat Valhrona, everyone began clamoring for the secret technique for the caramelized white chocolate that was shown.

Technically, even though I didn't promise anything, I can't say I blame you—if I saw a picture of it, I'd want to know how to make it, too.