Someone around here jumped the gun here on early harvested tomatoes and I came home the other day and found a bowl of les tomates Campari in a little paper sack, in the kitchen.
Results tagged pepper from David Lebovitz
Susan Loomis has lived in France for over twenty years, starting off in Paris, then moving with her family to an old house in Normandy that they refurbished, a story which she recounted in her best-selling book, On Rue Tatin. I’ve spent a lot of time with Susan at her home, cooking up a storm, then enjoying a wonderful meal afterwords, either outside on her lawn with the Gothic cathedral of Louviers towering over us, or in the winter, in her dining room, dining by the roaring fire.
Each meal begins with an apéritif, usually a nice glass of white wine or shot of pommeau, a barrel-aged mix of apple juice and Calvados, the local apple brandy. (Calvados usually makes an appearance after most dinners in Normandy as well.) But in all of France, l’heure d’apéro (apéritif hour) usually means that an assortment of snacks are brought out to accompany the drinks.
I’ve wanted to talk to you about Isot for a long time, but the little packet I opened sat on my counter for a few weeks, waiting to go into something else. But it wasn’t until I found myself with an overload of eggs, and an odd craving for an egg salad sandwich (something I haven’t had for years) that I found a way to feature this curiously delicious pepper, which has fruity and spicy nuances happening at the same time.
Isot is also known as Urfa Biber, and is a deep-purplish ground pepper. Whereas pomegranate molasses was all the rage a few years ago, Isot kind of got overlooked. And because I’m constantly asked “What’s the next food trend?” whenever I get interviewed, I’d like to propose Isot. It was given to me as part of a Turkish care package by Cenk, when he came to visit from Istanbul. And ever since I ripped open the curious little packet of pepper, which is the color of burnished eggplant skin, I’ve been intrigued by the thought of putting it in – or on – something else.
I’ve been going through my kitchen cabinets, and refrigerator…and freezer…and desk drawers, which has meant unearthing all sorts of odds and ends. Some were long-forgotten for a reason, and others brought back fond memories. Like the Pyrex glass container in my refrigerator encasing some remarkably well-preserved slices of candied citron. When I pulled the sticky citrus sections out, I realized that they don’t look quite as pretty as they did last year – which is okay, because neither do I – but they still tasted great. And the flavor of candied citron prompted me to make something I love: panforte.
A lot of us étrangers (and there are some pretty étrange étrangers here..) bemoan the lack of heat and spiciness in the ethnic fare served up, because a good number of the locals have a hard time dealing with the heavily-spiced dishes that our all-American constitutions have no trouble handling. We, The People, have cast-iron stomachs and have become a nation of full-tilt eaters, relishing and exalting things that we can take to the extreme.
One thing I miss sérieusement is la cuisine mexicain, which is so foreign that it isn’t even in my dictionnaire Française. I know, I know. I live in Paris, and can understand perfectly why Mexican cuisine isn’t well-represented here*. (Hint: For the same reason North African cuisine isn’t quite so available back in the states.)
But I met my match at Deux Fois Plus de Piment (Two Times More Pepper). We were walking by recently, looking for a place for dinner, when I noticed this joint that just looked right.
I don’t think I’ve ever made a New Year’s resolution. Even if I did, I likely didn’t have much success sticking with any of them, so I just don’t bother with them anymore. Usually resolutions involve quickly-forgotten rules about eating better, losing weight, and saving money. (Which is probably why I never make them in the first place.) So I wouldn’t place any bets that I’m going to stick with doing any of those three things this year, I’m happy to report that for those of you with more will-power than I, this Potato Leek Soup falls neatly into all three categories.
I kind of have a funny relationship to soup. If I’m going to eat soup, I eat it as a main course for lunch or dinner, not before. And since for me, soup is a meal, I like thick soups. I’m not a fan of slurping up thin broth from a vessel. If I wanted to lap up watery liquid from a receptacle, I’d slip a collar around my neck and get down on all-fours for my supper. No thank you. (Well, at least not at dinnertime.)
So where do I start with this one?