Recently in Whining category

During my first week of French class, many years ago, one of the very first words we learned was râleur, or complainer. Back then, I wasn’t sure why our teacher was making sure we understood that particular word, but I’ve come to realize why it’s so important now. I’m not one to râle, or complain (although there are likely scores of people I’ve worked with over the years who would say otherwise), but this last week has been really hard.

At the beginning of the week, I walked into my place under full construction – everything covered with plaster dust, tarps strewn everywhere, random wiring in tangles all over the place, big gaping holes that one could easily fall through, with a lone toilet lurking in the corner. In short, the place is just able to accommodate only the most basic of human needs. (Food was represented by an empty package of cookies, and sex..well…Iet’s just say in its present condition, the place doesn’t exactly lend itself to romantic interludes.) But let’s not rule out any for the future, okay?

Continue Reading I’m not complaining……

Excuse the pun, but it’s been very illuminating hunting down a light for my kitchen. I’m not sure if it’s because of the high price of electricity in France, or what, but sometimes it feels like I’m living in a country of Jewish mothers whose goal it to keep lights off as much as possible. Yet with the high price of electricity, and the debate over the proliferation of nuclear power plants in France – (we’re #2!), it’s no wonder people are happy to be kept in the dark.

Every time I go to my eye doctor for an exam, I’m always surprised when I enter the waiting room. And once my eyes adjust, I see that the dim room has no reading lights, and the people are perched in chairs, squinting their eyes to read their magazines. So although one of our former US presidents is rumored to have said that the French don’t have a word for entrepreneur, I beg to differ and think it’s a pretty good way to ensure future patients. Although I will confess that it’s a little uncomfortable explaining to the eye doctor why I am carrying a flashlight to my appointment.

Continue Reading Ma lampe de cuisine…

Well, I did it. After nearly ten years of living in Paris, I am finally going to have a place that I can call my own. After dipping my feet in, and checking apartments from time-to-time, I decided that it was time I went ahead and did it. So I bought my own apartment.

Hunting for an apartment in Paris is quite an adventure; there’s no multiple listings like there are in other countries (and it’s estimated that over half the apartments in Paris get sold directly by the owners), so you need to spend an inordinate amount of time searching online, in the newspapers, and in real estate agency windows. And since each agency will only show you what is offered by their particular agency – and some real estate agents have a less-than-stellar reputation here – it’s a process that takes a combination of luck, timing—and of course, plenty of time.

Continue Reading New Digs…

This isn’t the most photogenic of posts, but one of the dirty secrets of writing cookbooks is the dishes. And this season, as the cavalcade of cooking tips comes tumbling forth in anticipation of all the holidays – and the cooking and baking that go along with them – this is the best tip I’ve ever been given.

Most of you probably know how many dishes to takes just to bake a simple cake: a stack bowls, a mixer and the whip, a gaggle of spatulas, and for my fellow Americans, a bunch of measuring cups and spoons. Now imagine if you made that same cake three times in a row, making a few other sets of dishes dirty. Then did it again.

In spite of that fact that I have a real dishwasher, I spend a few hours each and every day washing dishes. It’s funny because when friends call and ask me if I’m free for dinner, sometimes I have to decline because I have to work, and they don’t seem to understand that part of my “work” is washing and/or putting away dishes and pots and pans. It’s a cycle that’s part of my life and when I left the restaurant business, being able to hand off a bustub full of dirty dishes to someone else was something I missed a lot. (If you ask anyone who is the most important person in a restaurant kitchen, even more than the chef, it’s the dishwasher.)

Continue Reading My Favorite Kitchen Tip, Ever…

One of my great joys in life in in-room coffee. Hotels do a lot of head-scratching things, like inventing ‘turn-down service.’ Aside from a free piece of chocolate, does anyone like or want someone rummaging through their room while they’re out at dinner? Or the “hotel channel”, which shows and glorifies the splendors of your hotel, which is kind of silly since you’re already there. Plus it always takes me a few days to figure out how to bypass that channel and get to the tv stations. (Although it takes me quite a bit longer to get that syrupy music from the hotel channel out of my head.) But I’m a happy hotel camper when I find a coffee-maker in my hotel room, wherever I find myself in the morning.

Continue Reading In-Room Coffee…

Since I arrived in Paris a while back, a number of food tendances have slipped into our vocabulary. From appetizers served in Chinese-style spoons, to the alarming addition of adding sugar to savory hors d’oeuvres, I’ve learned to become diplomatic when faced with a plate lined with white porcelain spoons with a dollop of minted pea puree topped with a touch of crème fraîche and three salmon eggs in the middle, or a beef cubes dipped in caramel and garnished with a raw quail egg and a strawberry-flavored marshmallow. But I’m still having a little trouble with slate plates. And I’m not the only one.

Continue Reading Slate Plates…

I’m going to get this out of the way right off the bat: I worked with Mike Tusk at Chez Panisse – he was a cook upstairs in the café and I was downstairs in the pastry department, and although I knew he was a good cook, I was blown away the first time I ate at his restaurant, Quince.

I went there shortly after it opened, when it was in a residential neighborhood in San Francisco. The kitchen was nice and rather large if I recall, and he explained to me that he was figuring out how to do everything that he wanted to do in that space. I had dinner later that week in the dining room, which is run by his wife, Lindsay, and was really delighted at the wonderful meal I had, especially the pasta dishes.

Continue Reading Cotogna Restaurant…

The TGV Lyria train makes the trip to Switzerland is just about three hours. If you buy your tickets in advance, first-class seats aren’t that much more expensive than regular fares (sometimes the difference is little as €5) and as a friend said to me, “Since I don’t use drugs, I spend the extra money on first-class train tickets.”

Lest you think first-class is elitist, I often go second-class. The good thing about first is that the seats have electric outlets, which is great for getting work done. As in, all the 119 pictures you saw on the Swiss posts I processed on the train ride home. Plus there isn’t the usual “seating scrum” that happens in second class trains in France where it’s not surprising to board the train and find someone in your reserved seat. Then the process is you go sit in another seat. And when that person comes, they go find another seat. I always want to say, “Why doesn’t everyone sit where they are supposed to sit?” But Romain tells me, “C’est comme ça. You don’t understand.” And you know what? He’s right.

Aside from having a seat with an electric outlet, and even better—no one in it—when I looked at my ticket it said “Meal Included.”

Continue Reading Quelle difference…