Afternoon Delight with 'Sex' and Dorie

...not at the same time, mind you, although these photos may lead one to imagine that Pierre is showing off something other than his tattoos.

For someone who has too much work, I was a marvel of doing very little yesterday. There were good intentions and several hours of morning labor before the derailment of a boozy lunch at the wine bar Racines.

No matter. Time spent with cookbook authors David Lebovitz and Dorie Greenspan would sort of qualifiy as work if it weren't also so pleasurable. It's not often that I get to raise a glass with such slim-hipped foodie heavyweights and bask in the Rolland Garros-esque batting around of names. "When does Mark (Bittman) sleep?" and "Patricia (Wells) says so...," etc. In the moments when I wasn't exactly sure which Ruth (Reichl?) was being considered, I was more than happy to keep company with a towering tartare.

The food at Racines is lovely (more photos here), and almost as nice as the wine, which is nearly as compelling as the proprietor himself.

I caught myself staring too long at Pierre Jancou's plate-stacked arm and rhapsodizing about the way his tattoos were set off against a background of colorful floor tiles. Ahem...

The only consolation for such behavior is watching all the other customers - journalists from the nearby HQs, young girls, moustachioed middle agers - also trying to conceal their crush. I suppose that's what good food & wine does.

When we finally left it was 4pm, three hours before my next date. Not really enough time to go home and work, a bit too long for cafe squatting. I was pondering my options when I walked past the Rex and saw people lining up for Sex.

I'm not really the sort of girl who wants to watch in a group and then go out for Cosmos afterward. I frankly don't have the footwear to pull that off.

But I was curious and so plunged myself into the theater for some... "Jesus... is this in FRENCH?!"

It's true - I have now seen the dubbed! french! version of Sex in the City. And if the reviews are to be believed, I may have made the right choice.

A half-remembered snippet:

Smith: [looking down at his bulging groin] "J'ai un cadeau pour toi, ma chèrie."

Samantha: "J'ai quelque chose pour toi, aussi."

Believe it or not, this sort of dialogue actually feels profound when you have struggled to translate it.

After the movie, I made my way across town to say goodbye to two friends who are leaving Paris. I fear for their sanity, returning as they are to a land devoid of three hour lunches, where one is forced (!) to watch Sex in the stark original version.

Let's all wish them luck, shall we?

Bacon Sluts, Your Time is Now

I felt both indignant and justified when I saw this today on BuzzFeed, via meat husband* Mike Cosentino.

Indignant because I thought I had invented the bacon cocktail at a brunch last summer.

Justified because everyone at that brunch was looking at me like I was crazy. In fact, I was super cutting-edge. A bit tipsy...

In any case, I'm not sure which is most perverse:

1) The intense desire to claim 'bacontail' as my own,

2) The possibility that there may be a collective baconsciousness, or

3) The fact that a site promising Step by Step Photos of the Bacon Vodka Enfusion Process is so popular that it has exceeded its bandwidth and temporarily shut down.

I have no such uncertainty about the following product:


I mean, seriously - who wouldn't want a Bacon Scarf for Valentine's Day?

---------------

* a meat husband (or wife) is one who, with full authorization from the vegetarian spouse, adopts a surrogate dining partner for the purpose of eating carcass.

Back to School/the Future

I have just returned from a lengthy seminar on molecular gastronomy, put on for free by Paris AgroTech and starring the indefatigable Hervé This.

My companions and I, over two days in a stuffy salle, produced copious doodles and counted the minutes before the next coffee break. All in all, there were sixteen hours of lecture. For a field that is supposedly dead, This sure found a lot to say about it.

My notes from the seminar include terms that would be more at home in an episode of House than in anything to be found on the Food Network. Is maceration d'enzymes proteolytiques a concept with delicious applications, or an auto-immune disorder?

For further "research," I will today visit les Magnolias, my first 1-star and a purported proponent of molecular cuisine. I don't know whether to look forward to or fear eating food that may have been mixed with sodium alginate and dunked in a bath of calcium chloride.

In any case, I will report back.

Unless my throat is burned out, or I have turned into a robot.

Blogosphetiquette and the Salad

Rule #42 for the aspiring novice: If an established food writer is having difficulty with her camera, lay your head down upon the counter and offer yourself as a tripod.

Results will vary, but may include something like the promise of a recipe for homemade Cheez-Its.

This pictured salad is what I brought, in lieu of Velveeta, for last night's pot-luck.

It was very simple: tarragon leaves, seeded grapes, vinegared shallots, and citrus cured scallops - all mixed at the last moment with a smooch of olive oil.

The portions were small because there was plenty else to swallow from the fine food fiddlers in attendance.

I may have nodded along at times, pretending to know the well-known, but humility has never tasted so good.

A Potluck Requiring Both

I am up at 7:30 and have crossed the frozen floor three times before settling with coffee to work. Sleep was scarce as I spent the hours last night in a lost zone between dreams and anxiety.

There is a dinner party tonight.

Under normal circumstances, I am not a nervous cook [those who know me snort aloud and begin composing their corrections]. But tonight is a bit exceptional.

I am the only person attending this potluck, save for accompanying eaters, who has not or is not currently writing a cookbook.

"Why on earth," you ask, "are they letting her in?"

It's to make them look good, I assume. They must be counting on Kansas to bring the nacho cheese dip, the crock full of weenies, the Triscuits. I will provide the contrast by which their own plates/verrines will dazzle.

In writing this I have almost talked myself into bringing "a modern update on the cocktail weenie" or a deconstructed dip in which seperate piles of Velveeta and Ro*Tel are served in a millefeuille of Tostitos.

The Vegetarian Problem

During my first year in Paris, seemingly everyone who came to visit was a f@*k#ng vegetarian.


I support this choice, honestly I do. But it makes (in Paris) for truly lousy eating.

Or at least it used to...

In the olden days of 2004-2006, choosing a restrautant with a (non-fish-eating) vegetarian in mind meant that somebody was not gonna be happy. And most often, that body was me.

My insanely bulleted and hyper-linked list of Restauarants To Try was usually set aside because the places specialized in game, offered no choices, or were otherwise unlikely to have anything my friends could eat.

Recently, however, a new list has taken shape. I call it Places Where I Can Take My Vegetarian Friends Without Wanting to Kill Them.

Or, more formally, Fine Eatin' with Fleshless Options.

This new list features six restaurants where I would gladly eat, with or without a vegetarian in the mix. Beyond these, there is a world of casual street eats and ethnic joints that also get the job done. But for those who are looking to have a special (and not cheap) night out, with a focus on French rather than Cambodian, these are my top picks:

1. Arpège
2. Maceo
3. Mon Vieil Ami
4. Les Allobroges
5. Transversal
6. Maison Blanche
   

The map, and full descriptions of each, are published here on Gridskipper.

Go forth, friends, and eat without passive aggression.

Paris Coffee Tastes Like Ass

Tourists are often too distracted by the ambiance to notice that brew between their fingers tastes funny -- but connoisseurs abhor the sludge that's on offer in the everyday Paris café.

It sucks for many reasons, including the frequent use of robusta (not arabica) beans, chalky water, sterilized milk, dirty machines with low pressure and temperature, and untrained baristas who almost never tamp their shots.

And while French drinkers don't seem to know what they're missing, many 'Mericans - even those from Kansas - certainly do. For those of you in search of a jolt without the dirty mouth, I made a list for Gridskipper of the top places in Paris where you can find a decent cup of coffee.

>and here it is...

Spring Crush

Daniel Rose, the American chef, is being wooed. Every day his phone at Spring rings off the hook. "Are you free?" beg the callers, a little too desperate at times for his taste. The answer, short of ten days' notice, is no.

Hard-to-get is not just a pose for a man with sixteen seats. The diners know their luck in scoring a date. They have read the reviews and know all the rules: one seating and no substitutions. They arrive bursting with anticipation, walking billboards for the season.

The foodie faithful enter the 26 m2 chapel through a door that Rose designed. They are greeted by the acolyte, a lovely waitress who whispers the menu. She constitutes, aside from the occasional stagière, the entire staff of Spring. Rose himself shops and mops and does everything else in between.

The "clients," as he likes to call them, fall silent with the first course - a velouté sans crème (carotte). They ponder the secret (duck fat) behind his famous creamless soup, which is prettied by a foie gras throw pillow.

When presented with a whole dorade, stuffed with rosemary and red onion, every diner wears the young face of love. Round three, during which Rose wanders, looking worried and asking about salt, is spring lamb en croute à l'Italien .

One wonders, watching Rose with his clients, if perhaps he is wooing them, too. But as he builds the dessert, little towers of cake and cream, the object of his desire becomes clear. Is he touching a lover's face or arranging a garnish? This young chef has got it bad for his food.

Spring
28 rue de la Tour d'Auvergne, 75009
Tuesday - Friday nights only
Tel: 01 45 96 05 72

Party Place

I always love a good party, but the Place des Fêtes seems an unlikely setting for celebration.

One hundred & twenty-five years ago it hosted a bloody battle between the communards and the Versaillese. More recently, Place des Fêtes was the bleak backdrop for a stabbing in Paris je t’aime.

On Sunday mornings, however, red is joined by a host of other colors in Place des Fêtes. Hundreds of vendors and shoppers transform this architecturally-blighted corner of the 19th into a party worthy of its name.

When to go: The market also runs Tuesday and Friday mornings from 7:00-14:30, but go Sunday (7:00-15:00) for the real action. Arrive early for shorter lines and fresher pastry. Stay late for the best seafood deals in town.

What to buy: In October, buy mushrooms. A spore-only stand sells cépes on the cheap, along with girolles, lactaires and trompettes de mort. Apples and pears shine now, along with strange and seasonal stars like kaki (persimmon) and coing (quince). The cheese shop across from the Fun Guy is our choice. Check here for the best autumn cheeses. Finally, no trip to Place des Fêtes would be complete without a stop at the fish stand. In the last hour of business, all the food is divvied onto wax paper squares and accompanied by a song: “Red tuna, calamari - four euros! It’s crazy!!” And it is crazy, selling seafood for four under five.

Maintain a healthy blood sugar by snacking on accras de morue from the Caribbean stand or the spicy cheese Lebanese flatbreads. Shop around for the best prices on pain au chocolat, but don't blame Le Meg if you eat all five for two euros.

What’s around: Start your morning with coffee or brunch at La Pelouse, a revamped café at 86 rue Botzaris. After the market, stop in at Le Vin de Ma Vigne, a wine shop at 25 rue Fêtes. A guy doing his best Louis Armstrong voice on the grand piano will entertain while the owner prescribes an accompaniment for your sauce de girolles.

Before heading home to cook, take a nap or a pony ride in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont. It's just a stroll away down the rue de Crimée and the leaves there are currently on fire.

For a list of other outdoor markets in Paris, click here.

Vege-mighty

I eat meat. I love to eat meat. I still love to eat meat, even after reading Fast Food Nation and working as an anthropologist in the world’s largest slaughterhouse.

I don’t cook it much at home, but almost invariably order meat when eating out. Paris bistros are a playground for those who like their dinner wrapped in bacon, drizzled with demi-glace, and slow-cooked in lard for seven hours.

In the past two years, however, nearly all of our visitors have been vegetarian. Many have been lax and willing to content themselves with fish. But strict vegetarians are difficult, a sort of bonus round in the “where should we eat?” challenge.

There are plenty of options for street or casual eating. But a sit-down dinner is a different story. Vegetarians, regardless of dietary restrictions, want a “Paris Bistro Experience.” They don’t want to be consigned to special restaurants with names like Aquarius. They don't want another cheese plate.

I was hoping that Les Allobroges would provide the perfect solution. A traditional bistro in the 20th arondissement, Les Allobroges offers a 29-euro vegetable tasting menu in addition to meaty fare.

We visited Saturday night with two friends who chose the tasting menu. The veggie parade kicked off with a rémoulade de choux fleur et endives tiédes (a chunky slaw of shredded cauliflower with warm endives). The interplay between flavors was interesting, and the endive in particular was rich enough to have been braised in veal stock (is that the secret?). Next came a risotto aux cépes and légumes sucré-salé - carrots and parsnips in a sweet and sour glaze. Both were delicious on their own but there was little harmony between them.

Meanwhile, the carnivores were sharing a (vegetarian) starter of légumes d’automne au reblochon - blue potatoes, Jerusalem artichokes & beets under a blanket of stinky cheese. This was followed on the 33-euro menu by a gorgeous cannette longuement rôtie au banyuls, chutney de fruits sec - a young duck slow-roasted in sweet fortified wine with dried fruits so that its skin was carmelized and slightly crackling. A fricassée de homard et lotte, caramel de homard (braised lobster & monkfish in a sweet lobster reduction sauce) was ordered as a single plat for 15 euros.

While the meat-eaters finished triumphantly with desserts selected from the regular menu, the tasting menu offered no choice for vegetarians. A pear poached in white wine was a bit nul in its watery sauce. The final compote de coing needed some other element to balance its singular quince quality.

Overall, we were well-pleased with the food chez Allobroges. Their menu represented a Greatest Hits collection of October produce, and a light touch in preparation allowed these seasonal stars to shine.

On the down side, the service was cool and the lights were too bright. The décor reminded me of a Midwestern hotel lobby circa 1987.

When faced with the challenge of vegetarians, however, Les Allobroges remains a good place to sample French food without Passard prices.

Les Allobroges
71, Rue des Grands Champs
Paris 75020; M° Maraîchers
Tel: 01 43 73 40 00

Signs of the Times

Two years ago I stood dumb before my fishmonger, wondering why in the world I wasn’t getting any scallops.

Had I used the wrong word (Coquilles Saint-Jacques)? Had I not ushered the proper greeting? No, I understood after the third repetition: they were not in season.

Not in season? In America I could buy scallops whenever I wanted. But now, on the eve of my first dinner party in France, the pesky bi-valves were nowhere to be found. With Serge and Agnès arriving in less than an hour, I pointed hopefully to some white flesh-looking fish and returned home to struggle with its bones.

Despite the fact that I was raised in the “breadbasket to the world,” I had no sense of seasonality before moving to France. The same items were present year-round from my stadium-sized grocery store. They were cheaper in certain months, but always available.

In France, during that first month, I felt constrained. There were fewer options in smaller stores that seemed never to be open when I needed them. The recipes that had formerly dazzled were, without the right ingredients, of little use to me now.

I had to re-learn how to eat.

Eating in France means following the seasons. My next lesson was the autumn appearance of wild mushrooms. Months later, the arrival of clementines marked time for a city without snow. Oysters burst onto to scene with crowds gathering for free tastings at the local poissonnerie. Within months friends were whispering about springtime lamb and asparagus. And summer, before I knew it, had come 'round again - bringing deep red tomatoes and stacks of fresh herbs.

Last night I cooked again for Serge and Agnès. This time, however, I went about it in a much different way. Gone were the convoluted recipes and fusion acrobatics. In their place, an offering of what’s best in September:

Salad of endive, radicchio, beets, pears, goat cheese, and hazelnut
Roast chicken and potatoes with green beans
Seasonal plums (mirabellle, Reine Claude, quetsche) with a runny Brie de Meaux

When you buy food that’s in season, you don’t have to do much besides put it on a plate. The Brie de Meaux, which had been aged for eight weeks in my butcher’s cave and set out only when it was ready to be eaten that day, was runny and redolent of green summer grass. The plums were at the peak of ripeness – perfect in the moment and rotten the next morning on my counter.

So to paraphrase the Rolling Stones:

You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes to follow the times
You just might find...you get what you need (and more).

Volé Olé!

I went to le Verre Volé last Thursday night following an apéro on the rooftop of Printemps. This was my second visit to "the Stolen Glass", and I continue to love it.

The very young and adorable Nicolas will tell you anything you wish to know about the wines lining the shelves of this shop/bar. If you're indecisive, he'll bring 3-4 of whatever color you're favoring and give you full descriptions of each.

He won't mention prices, so it's a good idea to ask. Our first bottle was 5 euros but we were suprised by a second bottle for 28. I know that some of you readers wouldn't bat an eye at that, but quand meme.

We nibbled four dishes between an equal number of people and shared 2 bottles of wine. The total was around 22 euros per person.

Our two starters included a salad of mi-cuit mi-fumé salmon with beets and plenty of fresh dill & parsley, along with a plate of plump sardines surrounding a generous pile of roasted pepper and fennel in lemon & fresh basil.

Our two mains included a plate of charcuterie & fromage (2 sausages, cured ham, rillettes, slab o'butter, brie, tomme, and one other cheese), and a sausage from the Ardèche whose name I'm forgetting but was similar to a very herby meatloaf with mashed potatoes and some greens.

Le Verre Volé has a very sweet atmosphere in close quarters. What's more, it's just steps away from the Canal St. Martin, which is perfect for a stroll after dinner.

Alternately, you can buy a (chilled) bottle from their shop and just take it to drink along the banks of the canal, which is precisely what we did the following night.

My next project will be take away a bottle of red to accompany canal-side pizza, as described here by Etienne Marcel. Pizza, good wine and a balloon? A perfect night waiting to happen.

Hot for picnic

I got it baaaad....SO bahadddd, I'm hot for pic-nic!

Air guitar....now.

One is not born, dear reader, knowing how to picnic. Nay, this is a craft to be mastered bite by glorious bite over the course of a happy lifetime.

When I was a child, having a picnic meant a bucket full of KFC, a bag of BBQ chips, and a giant cooler full of pop (or soda for you non-Kansans). And it always involved driving somewhere.

Today, a picnic entails the following steps:

1) Empty out the kitchen: cheese, fruit, sausages, more fruit, hellloooo wine. The only time I "cook" anymore for a picnic is when I make pan bagnat.

2) Find a pretty place to sit. In Paris, this isn't hard. The classic choice is Seine-side, as pictured above and discussed here. Picnic along the Seine and you can look at this as the sun goes down. Other picnic spots abound, even/especially where I live in the 19th. Regular spots for us include the (city's largest) Parc des Buttes-Chaumont and the Parc de Belleville.

My favorite by far is along the Quai de Loire of the Bassin de la Villette. In good weather the picnickers are joined by dozens of others playing ping-pong, boules, and Bob Marley. What's more: the nearby Bar Ourcq sells cheap beer in take-away cups and has a stash of lawn chairs that they loan out for free.

3) Save the drama (for yo momma). Picnics have no martyrs. There are no hours in the kitchen, wasted paychecks, or nasty cleanup. No negotiation about attendees and how they'll get along. Don't get me wrong: I love a good dinner party and have a 10-person table that engulfs the entire apartment. But I realize during picnic season that life can be so much easier.

"I think of all the education that I missed, but then my homework was never quite like this!"
--David Lee Roth, Hot for Teacher

Class dismissed!

French food 101

A few nights ago I took Jennifer to dinner as payment for her tour of the Louvre. This friend, who trained me eight years ago to be a waitress at the Lucky Platter, is now a fancy art historian visiting for research purposes.

I asked her to surprise me, showing objects that she herself wanted to look at. Jennifer was a little down on men that day, so we saw a lot of things that looked like this.

We left as the sun was setting and headed for the Bistrot Paul Bert in the 11th. With a solid 30 euro menu (entrée, plat, dessert), the PB makes regular appearances on mainstream lists of "best" or "budget" Paris eateries (see here). It also pops up frequently in the blogosphere (see here).

I translate the menu items below to give you an idea of what a traditional bistro menu might offer:

Entrées

1. Gaspacho andalou à la coriandre fraîche - Cold tomato-based soup (from Andalucia in Spain) with cilantro and chunks of cucumber, sweet peppers, and onion.
2. Petits filets de sprat marinés, salade de rattes à l'aneth - Small, marinated filets of herring with a salad of small dilled potatoes.
3. Carpaccio de merou à la citronelle - Fresh raw grouper with lemongrass.
4. Salade de haricots verts avec pignons de pins et au parmesan - Salad of green beans with pine nuts and parmesan.
5. Hure de cochon maison et sa vinaigrette moutarde violette - Homemade head of pig (headcheese) with violet mustard vinaigrette.
6. Feuilleté de ris de veau à la crème de morille - Thymus gland of veal (sweetbreads) in puff pastry with a morel mushroom cream sauce.
7. Assiette de melon et jambon serrano - Plate of melon and serrano ham.

Plats (Note says "Our red meats are served rare, medium-rare, or "badly-cooked")

1. Dos de cabaillaud rôti au beurre salé et sa pôelée d'epinards frais - Roasted fresh cod with salted butter and sautéed fresh spinach.
2. Lotte rôtie à la tomate fraîche et sa ratatouille - Roasted monkfish with fresh tomato and ratatouille (stew of eggplant, zucchini, onions, tomatoes, peppers, garlic and olive oil)
3. Tartare de boeuf et sa frites maison - Raw beef with homemade fries.
4. Epaule de cochon de lait rôtie, ail echallotes et grenailles - Shoulder of milk-raised pig with bite-sized potatoes dressed in garlic and shallots.
5. Rognon de veau juste rôtie au four et ses petits legumes - Veal kidneys, barely roasted in the oven with tiny vegetables.
6. Onglet de boeuf au poivre et ses frites maison - Peppered beef (similar cut to a flank steak) and homemade fries.
7. Côte de boeuf légèrement crèmée et son risotto aux cèpes - Rib steak with a light cream sauce and wild mushroom (porcini, in Italy) risotto.

Desserts

1. Tarte fine aux abricots - Thin apricot tart.
2. Fontainebleau aux framboises - Creamy white fresh dessert cheese from the Ile-de-France with raspberries.
3. Ile flottante à l'ancienne, vanille de Tahiti et pralines roses - "Floating Island" of poached meringue floating in créme anglaise (light Tahitian vanilla cream sauce) with pink pralines.
4. Clafoutis aux cerises - Custard tart with cherries.
5. Profiteroles maison - Puff pastry balls filled with homemade vanilla ice cream and homemade chocolate sauce.
6. Kissel de fruits rouges et sa glace maison au fromage blanc - Thickened purée of red fruits with homemade ice cream of fresh cheese (similar to frozen yogurt).

As you can see, there are items for adventurous as well as skeptical eaters. Steak is always a safe bet for the gland-wary.

And vegetarians, contrary to popular rumor, won't starve in Paris. Especially if they eat fish. But even strict vegetarians can usually find a starter or two, plus cheese and dessert. Vegans: good luck to you.

Menus like this usually include all but wine and coffee. A bottle of Tavel Rosé, very cold and very good, was 20 euros.

Those visiting Paris might experience sticker shock in reading that a 30 euro menu (80 total for 2 people with wine) is the foundation of a "budget" restaurant in Paris. But so it goes. One eats out less frequently in Paris, favoring picnics and cheap ethnic food in between splurges. Tourists who eat au restaurant every night are living much larger (in terms of both wallet and waistline) than the average local.

Having said that, moments of indulgence in Paris restaurants (after much homework to weed out the duds) provide plenty of justification to stay. Or, for visitors, to return.

Bon Appétit!

Plum sucking in the city of lights

Things are different here in France. And by 'things,' I mean fruit.

I have just finished my morning snack (doesn't everyone eat 10 times a day?) and feel compelled to tell you about it. Despite clear warnings from blogophobes that they really don't care what a narcissist eats for breakfast.

Yellow plums are currently in season, yet I am sorely out of practice after spending three weeks in the US. Fruiting in France does not come as naturally as you might imagine. The stuff here is juicy. With the first desk-side bite I managed to dribble at least half a pint of yellow liquid into my lap. Yes, there. And yes, white skirt. But you know what? It didn't matter. So good.

I approached the second plum with more trepidation. After making a tiny incision with my teeth, I managed to suck most of the juice from the plum, leaving a withered bag of skin and pulp. Budding naturalists and readers of Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek will recognize this as the giant water bug's approach to draining a frog.

I then went out and bought a sack of peaches and cherries for further experimentation.

This is the first time I have posted about fruit on this blog, but I warn you, dear reader, it will not be the last.

Nor will it be the last time that I blatently try to attract readers who are keyword searching for porn.

Welcome to the blog!