Facebook

As many of you know who were following me on Facebook, I switched my page to a Fan page, not because I wanted to gonflé my p'tit ego, but because of limits imposed by the anonymous people who refuse to show their faces or respond to service issues over at Facebook. On that page, I post links to sites and information that I find funny, bizarre, or are a bit more skewed than stuff I present on the blog. Fans....I mean, folks are also welcome to post links and sites of interest there as well.

Consequently, there's always interesting dialogues going on over there, which I jump into from time-to-time, so you're welcome to come along.

For the switch, I was unable to transfer my "Friends" from my old Facebook page over to the new page, but the good news is that I don't need to approve anyone; you can just head over there and join up yourself!

I've also set up Fan pages for my two recent books where I, and readers, post links to recipes, photos, and articles that relate to The Sweet Life in Paris and ice cream-making for The Perfect Scoop.

• Fans of The Sweet Life in Paris

• Fans of The Perfect Scoop
  

Twitter

Like a lot of you, I'm having fun on Twitter. It's a way to send out thoughts and see what's up with others.

If you want to live in France, you need to get used to people speaking their mind.

Years ago when I was young and supple, I'd eat whatever I could get my hands on. And working in a restaurant, well, let's just say that's not the best food to eat on a long-term basis.

But I know all-too well about that because I was one of them. I'd cram foie gras, duck cracklings, and butter-roasted anything in my gullet whenever I wanted. And byy the time my shift was done, I'd head home, twist open a jar or salsa, rip open a bag of tortilla chips, and watch a few re-runs of unchallenging fare, like three episodes of Fantasy Island back-to-back, at 2am on the sofa, glued to the television, wondering at how many times they could work Barbie Benton into an episode while your brain turned to mush.

For a while, I worked in an Asian restaurant. People have this image of Asian cuisine as "healthy", which some of it is. But without pointing fingers, a lot of it is deep-fried or cooked in gobs of chicken or pork fat. And peanut sauce? Don't even get me started on what's in that evil destroyer of waistlines. But when a cook hands you a platter of deep-fried shrimp toasts, who am I to refuse?

So when I left the restaurant business, I had a petit paunch. It wasn't terrible, but was enough so that when I was heading to Mexico on vacation, I had to get rid of it tout de suite.

A while back, I was invited to do a hands-on candy-making class in Salt Lake City. As usual, I arrived way-too-early, because I'm like that (to make sure I'm ready), and when the doors opened, in walked in all the participants.

Shortly after I demonstrated a few things we were going to make, everyone got to work and I started mingling with the participants. I walked around making sure everyone was okay and most of the women seemed to have a pretty good handle on things. In fact, they had a great handle on things, and were wielding their candy thermometers and dipping forks like pros. When I expressed my amazement at what a great job everyone was doing, one woman spoke up; "We're Mormons, David, of course we're good at making candy...we're don't have any other vices!"

It was pretty hilarious—that is, until things started going wrong.

It's easy to make your own cheese at home. All you need is a bottle of milk, a scoop of yogurt, a touch of vinegar, and a few minutes over the heat.

Don't believe me?

I don't know if my grandmother loved to cook, but she was certainly good at it. Which was a good thing, because she sure loved to eat. When people tell me, "I don't have time to cook. I have a job and two kids at home" I think of my grandmother, that had four kids, opened and ran a huge five-story furniture store which she worked in every day with her husband (who she told me was rather, um, "difficult", amongst other things), and somehow managed to get dinner on the table every night. And this was before bagged salads, frozen broccoli, and electricity.

Okay, she did have electricity. But even if she didn't, I still think she was pretty amazing—even though she had a mouth that would shock a longshoreman, and after she let some choice words slip, would always tell me, "Oh s&%t, don't tell your mother I talk like this."

If we Americans are good at anything, it's shopping. It's in our genes and we were simply born to shop. And we're also good at getting deals. I don't think many people pay full-price for anything anymore, and unless something is discounted, we won't buy it.

When I moved to France, folks were amazed at my ability to search out le deal. I felt silly going into the local papeterie and buying 8 sheets of paper for €4, when I could get a whole ream at Office Depot for about the same price. Except no one told the French Office Depot team that Office Depot is supposed to be a discount store, and after I took Romain to one in New York, where everything was essentially free, he was shocked, and said, "Office Depot in Paris is the last place you go if you need something."

Nevertheless, I keep hearing about 'recession-friendly' prices and 'budget-friendly' budgets, and whatever. I'm a bit skeptical of the whole thing since someone in the states was telling me that they bought their new, jumbo flat-screen television online to save the tax, because they were trying to save some money. Um, and why are they buying a new jumbo flat-screen television then?

I guess I shouldn't talk, though, because I'm a shopper, too.

I recently stayed with some friends who have a house in the Lot, a lesser-visited area of France which is really beautiful. Because it lacks beaches, that's seems to be the only thing keeping it from being an ideal summer vacation spot for hoards of tourists. Consequently, I was able to score some gorgeous old bistro wine glasses at a local flea market, which would've been ten times the price in Paris or Provence. (Actually, in Provence, they would've been twenty times the price.)

And speaking of amazing deals, when I spotted a few walnuts trees loaded with green walnuts behind their house—and the huge pool...and the immaculate vegetable garden...and the fabulously-equipped kitchen, they told me to take some, as they won't be there in the fall, when they're ready to harvest.

They'll be gone? Party in the Lot, everyone!!

Near the end of June, specifically the 23 and 24th, is when the walnuts are traditionally harvested in Italy, although in the center of France, the walnuts are usually just right around the middle to the end of July. They're perfect to use for liqueur-making when the walnut, and a slightly-crackly shell, is starting to form in the center.

This morning when I woke up, it sounded like rain outside. Which was odd, because of the harsh sun streaking through the creases in my beloved light-blocking curtains, it seemed strange that there would be precipitation. And sure enough, when I stumbled over and yanked opened the curtain, the sky was crystalline bleu with just a few wisps of clouds lingering around the Eiffel Tower. There was not a drop of rain was in sight.

There was, however, a steady stream of French National Guardsmen, dressed in their finest, strutting down the boulevard, en route to the parade on the Champs-Élysées. The sleek, polished horses they were riding were making that pitter-patter sound on the pavement. For today is Bastille Day.

No one here calls it that, it's only us anglophones.

French supermarkets are funny places. In my book, I touched upon that touchy subject, as well as a few others. But let's not get into that here; let's just say that they're not the best places to buy fresh produce. Which may explain the mystery of the liberal use of canned corn around here.

When I came back from a recent trip, on a late weekend afternoon, I had no choice but to go to my local supermarket to feed myself. I didn't want to buy much, preferring to wait until I could go to my market the next day, but it was necessary to go and get a few provisions. In the produce aisle, I bypassed the sad bunches of wilted cilantro, I didn't stop to pick up any yellowed, spring onions shipped from another hemisphere where it's definitely not spring, nor was I particularly interested in Chinese apples.

But eventually I found what I wanted and headed to the checkout.

On a recent visit with my friend Tricia Robinson, who lives in the small village of St Jeannet, overlooking Nice and the Côte d'Azur, after a huge lunch, we weren't that hungry for dinner, so we decided to just sip some rosé and wait for inspiration to strike. I was admiring her mortar and pestle, there was some violet-colored spring garlic, a bottle of local olive oil was nearby, and voilà...suddenly, there was our dinner.

Frugal me toasted some stale rounds of baguette au levain, which I brushed injudiciously with olive oil that was pressed just a few kilometers away, sold in her village, and scraped them with just-cut garlic cloves while still warm from the oven. (Try it...it's the best! Or crumble and toss the garlic toasts into your next salad.) But having them simply slathered aïoli, we were content.

The great thing about aïoli is that you always have all the ingredients on hand; olive oil, garlic, egg yolks, and salt, and it pretty much goes with everything. The downside is you should only eat it with others who are eating it as well, since you'll likely develop a distinct garlicky aroma that will also follow you around for a few days afterward.

If I had to name five items that are obligatory in my baking repertoire, after The Big Four (sugar, butter, flour, and eggs), a bottle of kirsch is essential for me, right up there with vanilla, vying for numéro 5. A few drops of kirsch highlights and augments the flavor of peaches, nectarines, plums, and every kind of berry imaginable. And since it's summer and all those fruits are ever-present in my kitchen, my slender bottle of kirsch hasn't been returned to its perch on the liquor shelf since the first strawberries arrived a month ago.

A good bottle of kirsch runs about $40 (750ml) in the United States, although smaller bottles are less expensive. Why is it so darned pricey? Because it takes about 20-30 pounds of fruit to make a bottle of kirsch (also called kirschwasser). So even though I think I got a D- in high school math, it doesn't take an honor student to calculate that 20 or 30 pounds of cherries, at let's say...I dunno, $2/pound, makes that bottle suddenly seems like not such a bad deal after all.

If you're thinking that you've been 'set up' by the previous post for Chocolate Sherbet, je suis coupable. (I am guilty.) You likely know Adam Ried as the man who obsessively tests equipment and recipes on America's Test Kitchen. He was also an editor at Cook's Illustrated for ten years. So when I saw his new book devoted to milkshakes, because I always have a freezer full of ice creams, sherbets, and sorbets, I was delighted to have a fool-proof collection of well-tested recipes—and my blender has been begging for mercy ever since.

So get out those blenders, and welcome Adam Ried!... dl

Shake de l'Opéra

"Opera."

Quick..... what leapt to your mind when you read that word? For the culture vultures among us, maybe it was Monteverdi. Or Mozart. Or Wagner.

For me, it would be chocolate (which, admittedly, often comes to mind no matter what words I'm reading), followed immediately by coffee, and then almond.

This winning flavor trifecta defines gâteau de l'Opéra, an ever-present stalwart of pâtisseries from one end of Paris to the other. Most gâteaux de l'Opéra hew pretty close to this alluring formula: thin layers of almond cake, soaked in coffee syrup, alternated with layers of coffee buttercream and chocolate ganache, all hidden under a cloak of glistening chocolate glaze.