And then there was Paris..

So aside from all that tea business there is this matter of how I spent my time on my latest trip to Paris.
I had a whole list of things I wanted to do while I was there and aside from my trip to Mariage Frères, I didn't get a darn thing done. I made my way to L'As du Falafel and wouldn't you know they were closed for renovations for the week. I almost cried. Really. I know, a girl should not go to Paris with falafels on her mind but if you knew how good those things are you would completely understand.

In Paris, like everywhere, it's kind of hit and miss if you decide to just walk into some place you don't know and are hoping for a good meal. Unfortunately my friend Alisa and I, forced to abandon our falafel cravings, chose a serious miss. And although I did eat the potatoes off of the salad nicoise that I ordered, it wasn't at all worth speaking about.

Then there was an impromptu meet up at a cafe at about 4 in the afternoon* which did not end until midnight after much wine was consumed.
A girl cannot get things done when she just sits back and focuses on socializing.
But it's fun that way. And after living there for over a year and a half, it's just kind of how it seems to work out for me lately.

I came home, unloaded 120 pictures from my camera and people, I'm telling you, all of them are of friends, except for this shot up there of the drink of choice of those two that kept me so occupied* on friday afternoon. Oh and of course this guy who always seems to end up on my camera whenever I'm in Paris.


David: always fun at parties..


Then there was the party on Saturday night which my friend and I spent the whole day getting ready for: shopping for groceries, then lunching to recuperate from the shopping, then shopping some more. No there were no strippers at the party but there was a heck of a lot of food, wine, champagne, general chit chat and the obligatory 2 cheek kiss with everyone who comes through the door. A girl needs to keep her tic-tacs handy when she goes to Paris I tell you.
I did not climb into bed until almost 3am.

The next day, as you can imagine, was a total write off and then suddenly here I was back home again with nothing to show for it but some tea and the tail end of a 3 day hangover.

So this week the girl needs to detox. I bought some kale last night just for that purpose and promptly left it on the tube.
You see where my head is at.
This detoxing might take awhile.

___________
*Two of my favourite people, Melissa and her husband, were in town

Off to Paris. And sharing my tea love.

I can't seem to stay away from Paris for too long, so I am off to the city of lights for the rest of the week. The forecast seems to call for clear skies so I'm expecting to do a lot of wandering around. Nothing beats Paris in the Fall, partly because it gives you an excuse to bring all your girliest scarves, even if you are only staying for a few days.

This trip I seem to not be thinking all that much about the food. I'm really just looking forward to seeing friends, hanging out in cafes and just plain being there. And there is the small matter of my bachelorette party that must be seen to.

Yeah, you heard me.
Could it get any better?



**********
Tea Anyone?

You know how much I love my Mariage Frères tea. And I keep thinking that I would love to share it with some of you guys. I feel cheesy doing this as some sort of contest but I don't know how else to do it! So, here's what I'm thinking: leave me a comment if you are interested and I will put all the names (even if there are only 2 of you!) in a hat and draw for the person who I will send the tea to. When I get back I will announce the 'winner', who can email me with their mailing info. Sound good?

Green Tea Truffles from Sadaharu Aoki

Truffes ivoires au mâcha - Green tea, white chocolate ruffles from Sadaharu Aoki


I don't know if it's dedication or insanity that stopped me mid-truffle so I could take a picture. Is it a good thing or a bad thing that my bite marks have been captured forever and posted on my blog? Perhaps there is some dentist somewhere thinking to him or herself: "Hmm, I see a slight misalignment of the lower left lateral."

In any case, I said I would tell you about the truffles so here I am. And oy. They were good.
I bought these at Sadaharu Aoki, along with a few choice macarons while I was in Paris. I have this thing for green tea flavoured what-nots. These little bundles had a nice powdery outside, and a creamy/ganachy green tea filling enveloped in a thin layer of white chocolate. I would definitely buy these again but maybe one of my kind friends in Paris will see fit to send me some if I don't get back there anytime soon.

Also, there is something kind of girly about eating truffles that just makes you feel like someone should be pouring you champagne and admiring your shoes. In the case of this final truffle, I was wearing a pair of socks, with a glass of water at hand, and no one else was in the room. Not quite glamorous but it certainly didn't make the truffle taste any less divine.
I miss them already.
Thank god for the picture.


Patisserie Sadaharu Aoki
56 boulevard de Port Royal
Paris, 75005

On Paris. And being a bit yappy..

Poilane brioche, an Ispahan Macaron from Hermé,
Lucy the cat, and a home-cooked dinner chez Lebovitz

Alright, alright. Maybe you are all completely bored with me talking about Paris. We drank wine, we ate sweet stuff.. yada yada, right?

My mom always did tell me that I talk too much. Although she often uses the same out of date example to make her point: "There was this time when you were 4 and you sat in the back of the car and talked for 3 hours straight.."

I was 4.. Surely I've changed somewhat since then, no?
Perhaps not, because it appears I'm still talking.
And I will admit that Cindy and I sat in our pjs until noon almost every day that I was in Paris drinking coffee and yes.. talking..
Then, you put two talky girls in a kitchen with Lebovitz- a marathon talker himself, and boy, that is some kind of crazy evening.

When I returned G asked me the usual questions.
G: "Did you have fun?"
Me: "Yes. Very much so. "
G: "What did you do?"
Me: "Talked. Alot."

He nodded, I think with understanding and probably some relief that I got some of the talking out of my system.

So yes, I'm back. I got some nice things in Paris including some Ispahan jam and some matcha truffles which I will tell you about soon.
Because well, you know, I like to talk.

Two girls, a bottle of wine and a box of macarons..

You know what happened..
I'm still recovering.

Cindy and Michele do Paris...just like the old days..

On Monday I am on my way to Paris again for another week of fun. Cindy's in town so what better reason to go, huh? Well, that and the promise that I can go watch David "make tapenade".

But back to Cindy.

Remember when her and I were both living in Paris and then she left and I was sad?
Yeah me too.
Well she's back, just for July, and thus the reason for my trip.
We're going to take Paris by storm in our own low key sort of way.
And the first place we are planning to dine is a vietnamese restaurant called Le Bamboo.
I know, right?
But it's true.
Gimme some of that green papaya salad any day.
Other than that, a wine fueled picnic by the river and probably a lot of walking around.

You gotta love the Eurostar. I mean, sure it was sad when we moved away from Paris, but I feel like it's just a hop, skip and a jump away. Conceivably, I could take the train there in the morning, go out for lunch and be home in time for bed.
I probably would never do that, but knowing I could do it is kinda nice.

Anyway, I'll be back in 5 days. And when I return, if all goes well, Melissa will be coming through town and crashing at my place for a night.
I haven't seen her in forever either so giddy up.
It's going to be a good week.

See you when I get back!

And now I'm back..

Matcha green tea chocolate with black and white sesame seeds

After 5 days in Paris I need to recover a little bit. The wine, the food, the speaking French. It's hard work people.

I wasn't sure what to expect about going back. I had lived there for a year and a half and I wasn't sure if going back was going to make me a bit sad.
I mean, I wasn't going there as a tourist, I was going back to a place that I called home for 18 months, a place where I still have friends. Good friends.
And well, it's Paris for heaven's sake.

But when I got there, it kind of felt as though I'd never left. I sat in the back of the taxi on my way to my friend's house and everything looked the same, familiar. It still felt like my Paris.

I did all the things I intended--the Salon des Saveurs , a falafel at L'As du Falafel, a stop at Mariage Frères for some new tea. We had a homecooked mexican feast one night with one too many margaritas, and a schlep out in the rain in our heels another night for a fabulous dinner at Spring.

But the most perfect of all was spending one rainy day in my pj's on my friend's couch with endless cups of coffee, chatting about nothing in particular, in an apartment full of windows and a fabulous view of Paris from all directions.

My suitcase was a bit heavier when I left of course. I added three new teas to my overflowing collection, a bottle each of pistachio oil, pine nut oil and pumpkin seed oil, a jar of sundried cherry tomato paste from Italy, a bar of Sadaharu Aoki matcha green tea chocolate and some fresh Bouteillan olives from Provence.

It was a good trip.
I have to admit, I did feel a bit sad to leave, but Paris and I, we still have our thing.
And I'll be back there in July so I can't really complain, right?


Stuff and more stuff that I love..



*********************
Mille et Une Huiles
-these oils taste so true to their flavours they knock my socks off.

Spring
28, rue de la Tour d'Auvergne
75009 PARIS
T 01 45 96 05 72
m° Notre-Dame de Lorette

Cocoa muffins, an upcoming trip, and a vegan lunch

Cocoa muffins.

Where does the time go? It's been almost a week since I gloated about my recipe making accomplishments. I guess a girl can only gloat for so long before it starts to get a little excessive. And anyway, that braised chicken picture was starting to bore me. But I will say that I made my version of that recipe again last week, but I stewed some meatballs in the sauce, and man, that was some good stuff.

In the meantime I did make some really disappointing cocoa muffins last weekend. They had such potential--just look how they are bursting through at the tops. The taste, however, was about as boring as.. hmm... I'm trying to think of something really boring.. Let's just say it was as boring as boring is when you are really, really bored. A complete waste of 2/3rds of a cup of Valrhona cocoa powder. Adding insult to injury I had even used my madeleine pan for some of the batter which made the cutest little chocolatey madeleines. They did look cute in my garbage, but it was still quite heartbreaking.

In other exciting news, exactly one week from today this girl is going to be on a train to Paris.
I haven't decided which suitcase I'm going to bring yet because in Paris it's such a pain in the ass pushing your suitcase through the metro turnstiles. I know, you can get the attendant to open the gates at the side but sometimes it takes far too long to get their attention.
Ahh Paris.
How I missed you.
It's no coincidence that my trip coincides with the Salon des Saveurs, that mecca for gourmet food lovers that occurs twice a year in Paris. I never missed one while I lived there and I certainly don't intend to miss it now. My friend Alisa and I are experts at weaving our way around the French madames with their grocery trolleys and their "if it doesn't get out of the way, just run it over" attitudes. When the finest of French food products are at stake, all sense of order gets thrown out the window.

And people, you know I'm going to Mariage Frères. I stocked up before I moved, so it's not as if I'm running low, but I need my aromatherapy and there are always flavours that I have yet to try. I might even give that jaunty little tea boy that works in the shop in the 3rd a big old hug, just because I missed him and his cute little white outfit.

Alright, enough with the rambling. I should talk about something useful, like that nice little lunch I had recently at a place called Vitaorganic in Soho. It's vegan and organic and they seem to have this thing for raw and "gently cooked" foods to preserve the living enzymes.

For 4£ you can select 3 items from the many prepared dishes on display (behind glass of course).
I settled on a mixed plate with carrot and parsnip salad, a lentil salad and some lightly steamed broccoli. This maybe doesn't sound like the kind of lunch that gets your mouth watering, but it's right up my alley. And I'm neither vegan nor even vegetarian for that matter. But it's healthy and fresh and no matter what you pick you are doing your body good.

They also make fresh juices and smoothies to cure whatever ails you, such as the BlueBooster, which will apparently soothe and strengthen your throat.
You can either sit in and enjoy the general healthiness in the air or take your meal away. Oh, and you can get more or less than 3 items if you want, the price will vary accordingly. Makes sense, right?

Vitaorganic
74 Wardour St.
corner of Wardour and Meard Streets
Soho, London
W1F 0TE
Leicester Square Tube



Ok, I'm done rambling now..

Oswego Tea: the friend maker

I wondered when this day would come. For some reason when you start a blog, you don't really think about when you'll "finish" it. Then suddenly you find yourself updating less and less and dust begins to gather on your once shiny, new toy.

In April of 2005 while living in Heidelberg, Germany, Oswego Tea was born. I started snapping some really horrible pictures of some very questionable foods, (white radish soup? huh?) and telling odd little stories about myself. What was I thinking?
My parents, gotta love them, were my biggest and only fans.

And then one day, one fine and glorious day, someone left me a comment. And then more followed. I was hooked. Much to my surprise, some of these comments turned to emails and some fantastic friendships were formed, spanning several continents.

A few months later, G and I packed it up yet again and moved to Paris. The Paris contingent of bloggers welcomed me with open arms and I found myself with an instant group of fabulous friends.
I felt like a very lucky girl.

Now G and I are moving to London, and I hate to say it, I've decided to leave Oswego Tea behind.

But I admit that it is with some trepidation and a bottle of wine that I do so! As our move approaches a part of me doesn't want to let go. I mean, Oswego Tea is a friend maker! What ever will I do without it? Will I wallow in solitude? Friendless, with a supersized bag of shrimp cocktail flavoured crisps on my lap?

Maybe, but if I do, I know Melissa will be on a train from Edinburgh to come snap me out of it, Tara will be on the phone cheering me up with talk of recipes and sparkly things, and Cindy, in her usual display of comraderie will say "Aaww, let's eat chips together and get matching mumus!"
David would send me his homemade caramel corn (hint hint) and Alisa (the most famous non-blogger in Paris) would let me talk about Mariage Frères tea all day just to comfort me.

So I think all will be ok.

I have met so many people because of this blog--I can't even tell you how fabulous they all are.
And I have been equally inspired by so many bloggers out there whom I have never even had the chance to meet.
Who knows, I may pop my head in here every now and then but for now, life and an impending and slightly stressful move to London demand my full attention.

A heartfelt thank-you to all of you who have followed my blog and supported me with such enthusiasm through comments, emails and otherwise. It has been an absolute blast!

Home sweet..

We are back in Canada, where for the next 2 weeks I can say pecan like peecan, instead of puhcahn like my american friends in Paris tell me is the correct way to say it.
Peecan! peecan!
And I can say 'eh' if I want to without feeling self-conscious.
And I can say T-dot, and everyone here knows what I'm referring to.
And I can get a coffee in a paper cup and drink it as I walk down the street.
Oh the simple things.
I will write more soon... eh..

When it rains..

There are some days, weeks, even months, in your life when you wonder if anything exciting will ever happen to you. You start to feel like a total bore. But you settle into it--telling your friends about the latest movie you've seen with an enthusiasm that is meant to convey that the whole event was far more thrilling than it actually was.

And then one day you turn around and suddenly the shit has hit the fan and your life seems to have turned itself upside down and all you can think is: thank god I'm not wearing a skirt or you'd all be seeing my skivvies right now.
And so it goes.

Suddenly you are a girl with a litany of things to talk and/or complain about. Just don't get me started on people who don't understand the concept of stand right/walk left on escalators.

Let me summarize as briefly as possible the recent "excitement" in my life.

My camera broke.
I may be gluten intolerant.
And G and I are moving to London at the end of December.

This is where I need to take several deep breaths into a brown paper bag and beg you to send wine fast.

Ok, so the broken camera isn't life shattering. But it sure gets in the way of blogging. And the gluten intolerance thing, well a happy digestive system makes for a happy me. So I'll deal with it.
But oh my god, no more Paris? No more Mariage Frères tea at my disposal?

Are you sending the wine? Because I'm not joking. I could really use some.

When I say brrr I mean it..

I have come to realize lately when talking to my mom that my 3 years of living outside of Canada have really spoiled me. We are hitting 18c these days in Paris and I'm ready to get out the winter coat and wear my fuzziest sweaters. My mom tells me that in Toronto, it's only 5c, and people are still holding on to those last days of warmth, heading out of doors in nothing but a t-shirt-- a spring jacket at most.
Huh?
I blink my eyes once, then twice in disbelief.
"You're exaggerating, right mom?" I ask her.
"No. You would look silly here if you were wearing a winter coat right now."
This from a woman who has been known to wear turtlenecks in the summer and when confronted about it will wrap her arms around herself, lower her eyelids in a display of extreme happiness and say "Umm..I just love the warmth.."
So you see why I'm confused.

Have I been away from Canada for so long that the idea of a t-shirt and 5 degree weather seem like two concepts that should not be used in the same sentence? I mean, my hot water bottle is already my best friend, and I even wore a scarf while watching tv the other night. It was fuzzy and glamourous and new, sure, but it was still chilly in my apartment. So the wearing of the scarf was not only a private moment of fabulousness, it was also completely warranted.

In 2 weeks G and I are heading to Canada to attend 2 weddings. My mom has assured me that I will not need my winter coat during our stay.
Mom, I love you, and yes that Canadian blood still runs through my veins, but what strange madness is this?
My winter coat is coming with me. And a few scarves. A hat. And a pair of gloves.
I'll leave the boots in Paris, but only because you think I'll look silly.

A hoover man and a weekend getaway.

After a week and a half of a nasty head cold, I am finally back to my old self. Sort of.

While I was lost in my own misery, the city seems to have come alive again. Everyone is back from their vacations and suddenly there are line ups at the laundromat, the dry cleaners, and everywhere else in between. There is nothing worse than lugging all your clothes to the laundromat and having to drag them all back, still dirty.

Even the street cleaners are back in full gear. The other morning I spotted a fellow on a scooter, darting madly around the sidewalks, narrowly (but expertly) missing the pedestrians. It wasn't until he went by me a second time that I saw what he was up to.
He pulled up beside a pile of dog poop, and with a swift motion he whipped out the hose that was attached to the back of his scooter, and sucked up those droppings faster than I could say "Am I on candid camera?"

He did it with such moxy, such flair, I almost didn't believe it was real. I couldn't help but respect him, despite the oddball nature of his work--riding around town hoovering up poop.
And then, I was struck with the following thought:
Man, I'd hate to be the guy who has to clean out the little compartment at the back of the scooter..

But I ramble.
In exciting news, G and I are off to Lisbon, Portugal tomorrow for the weekend.
This will mark my first visit to Portugal. A week ago I didn't know a lick of Portuguese. But now of course, I know how to ask for 'the menu', 'a carafe of wine', 'a beer', and 'the bill'.
Not forgetting all the crucial niceties such as 'excuse me', 'no problem' and 'good morning, nice day for a bike ride, wouldn't you say?'
Not sure I'll get a chance to use that one, but you never know.

I'm already dreaming of the famous Pasteis, or as I have always called them "custard tarts".. Toronto has a good sized Portuguese community and it was never hard to find these around town. I have always loved them and it has been a long time since I've indulged. Now I'm heading to the mecca of custard tarts and I'll be damned if I miss out on the opportunity.

I'll probably be the one on the plane back to Paris with a whole suitcase full of them.
See you when I get back.

Garden of my dreams

I'm not the only one talking about him these days, but the stuff that comes out of Joel Thiébault's garden is worth mentioning over and over again.

A couple of weekends ago a friend and I decided to check out the President Wilson market in the 16th. We got up early that Saturday morning, met at the Alma-Marceau metro, and woke ourselves up over noisettes* at a table on the sidewalk, just down the block from where the market began.
The sky threatened rain, as it has done every day for the last couple of weeks. What can you do but constantly carry an umbrella and get on with your life?

The market was quiet-- it's August and many of the vendors spots stood empty. We wandered through rather nonchalantly until suddenly it was like the clouds parted and the sun shone down on this one booth, like a spotlight. From a short distance away I stood with my arm extended and my finger pointing.
"Look!"
Our feet propelled us forward in a hurry and our conversation turned into a jumbled flurry of "oh my god", "check this out", "what the heck is that" and a great many oohs and ahhs.
You may think I'm exaggerating, but my heart was a thumpin'.

Let me try to paint a visual picture for you.
Tomatoes, in all shades of red, orange, yellow and green.
Big bundles of yellow carrots, the dirt still clinging to them.
Golden beets resting plump and firm beside crisp bundles of swiss chard with stems of red or orange, or yellow.
Herbs piled so high, and smelling so fragrant--many of them I did not even recognize.
Not to mention the peppers, the eggplant, the leafy greens..

All of this, grown in a garden, just outside of Paris.
It doesn't get much better than that.

With our bags full of vegetables, suddenly the rest of the market held little interest. We both went back to our respective apartments, happy as clams, our minds racing with what we would do with our new treasures. I trudged happily through the metro with a big bundle of lemon verbena poking out of my bag, leaving a trail of lemony scent behind me.
I got home, laid my bounty on my counter and gazed at it with wonder and awe.
That week I ate like a queen.
My heart still thumps just thinking about it.
And yes, I will be going back.
Often.




President Wilson market
on President Wilson avenue between Alma-Marceau metro and Iéna metro
Wednesday and Saturday mornings.
Check Clotilde's post for further info on Joel Thiébault.

*noisette --an espresso with a shot of milk in it.

Not this again..

Bouddha Bleu tea, and my new Mariage Frères tea cup

It's been a while since I waxed poetic about Mariage Frères Teas. Which is probably not a bad thing, since you'd probably roll your eyes at me if I did. And to those of you who are sick of it already, I suggest you divert your eyes now.

The truth is, I haven't been drinking all that much tea lately, despite the fact that my tea cupboard (named so because it holds only tea and tea paraphenalia) is literally overflowing.
But summer killed the tea freak in me. It put my tea-freaky self in cement shoes and dropped me in the river to sleep with the fishes.

But August has been quite a surprise. In the blink of an eye we went from 2 weeks of sweat-drenched t-shirts to whipping out the socks and the long sleeves. It's been a bit of a slap in the face.
It took some time before I started to feel the itch, but suddenly that tea cupboard was open again, and there I was back to my old habit of sniffing and mulling over which flavour to select.

Wedding Imperial, and its heavenly scent of chocolate and caramel, won me over on that first day. A cozy, rainy afternoon was made all that much better for it.
And then soon after, on an early morning, with a bit of a bedhead and very cold feet, Bouddha Bleu, a green tea with blue cornflowers, found its way into my tea cup.

The love affair has started all over again..

-----------
And because you know I had to buy the book that describes all their teas, I can tell you what MF has to say about these two lovelies.

Wedding Imperial
One sniff of this stuff and you will be hooked.

"A paean to love. This glamorous blend is steeped in the passion that weds the malty power of golden Assam tea leaves to the sweetness of notes of chocolate and caramel. Perfect clarity. Evidence of a peerless marriage. "

Bouddha Bleu

"For centuries, Buddhists in the Land of Free Men have perpetuated the custom of making special offerings of flowers, fruit and tea to monks. From this green tea, sprinkled with blue cornflowers, there rises a blend of fragrances recalling the ripe fruit on a tray laden with offerings. A tea steeped in spirituality."

**excerpts are from The French Art of Tea, available at Mariage Frères stores, in many languages, for approximately €12.

Let's be best friends..

And then one day I tried to make a movie..
What?
It's my first one..
Be nice.

Paris in August

My Frankenstein tomato: Expertly stitched by Mother Nature herself.

Sunday mornings are my favourite day of the week, and I like to move slowly. I usually get up early but there's something I like about puttering around the house without an agenda on Sundays while G sleeps in. If it's raining, so much the better. For whatever reason, this Sunday, I left G dozing in bed and headed to the Raspail market in the 6th. It's organic on Sundays and because it was after 9am, I was expecting it to be bustling. But then I remembered: it's August, and nothing is bustling in Paris right now. The city is, comparatively at least, a ghost town.

My concierge informed me that every apartment in my building but 2 is currently empty. It seems everyone in France has a summer house and they high tail it out of here as soon as they can.

Needless to say, it has been very, very quiet.

It is a great time to be in the city-- to watch it sleep, so to speak, and to experience it in this rare sense of calm. There are tourists, but not many. Many of the shops are closed and you may have to find a new bakery to keep you stocked with baguettes until yours reopens at the end of the month. Sometimes you find yourself cursing at the inconvenience, but then you quickly realize that this temporary silence is well worth it.

I took a long walk after I'd filled my bags with strange tomatoes at the market. I stopped at a health food store to replenish my bulghur supply, headed for the best baguette in Paris only to find that the bakery was closed, and then headed to Alléosse to gaze at their world of cheeses and marvel still at how at this time of year I can walk in there and find the store empty of customers. I said hello and took my sweet, sweet time.


Cheese from Alléosse
front: Cabris Gors (goat cheese)
middle: Manchego
back: Cheddar fermier

I finally had to call it quits when I could feel a blister forming on the bottom of my foot and my watch told me that I had been walking for over 2 hours. I came home, kicked off my shoes and promptly took a nap. It was not even 11:30am, and I still had the whole quiet day to kill.
Without a doubt, Paris in August is so much better than Paris in July..


Raspail Market
Boulevard Raspail between rue du Cherche-Midi and rue de Rennes
Metro: Rennes
Tuesday and Friday, 7 am to 2.30 pm
Sunday mornings--organic.

Re: your email

Dear Trailblazer,

I got your email this morning. It was so touching--you really showered me with compliments. I'm not saying this to be mean but are you sure you weren't drunk? I know how you like to get your groove on on Friday nights, and I'm thinking that might have affected the tone of your email. Which brings me to this : don't you dare jump on that one-piece shortset bandwagon. Where does Jessica Simpson get off wearing one in her new video when it's clear that she totally stole that whole disco thing from Madonna. If I ever catch you wearing some of those short shorts then I might have to stage an intervention. I had a blue velour one-piece when I was 7 and I think it should just remain in my memories.

But anyway, you said you liked my blog and that is music to my ears. You said you wished that I posted more often and that made me feel kind of bad so I decided to take a picture of my breakfast and post something just for you.

You said you don't remember me being a foodie when we used to hang out together in high school. Hello? We were both a pair of foodies, you and me.

Remember how much we loved dry toast and tomatoes? And they couldn't be just any tomatoes, they had to be the hardest, most unripe ones at the grocery store, picked way too early for their own good, not a single ounce of juice to be squeezed from them? Your brother used to say "Those aren't even tomatoes." and we used to think how uninformed he was because well, back then, anything an older brother said was bollocks anyway, right?

And don't you remember how we used to go out for dinner together every thursday night after hanging out with the skaters (sk8ters) in the Zellers parking lot? And we didn't just go to McDonald's or Burger King like all the other rednecks. Dude, we went to Swiss Chalet for a quarter chicken dinner with fries and sometimes, when we were feeling frou-frou, we had a baked potato instead.

Remember how I used to eat my alpha-ghetti one letter at a time? Remember how we hated those no-name cookies and gave them a really politically incorrect nickname just to express our dislike for anything that was not Nabisco? If that is not a foodie in the making then I don't know what is.

Anyway, the point is, your email sure was a breath of fresh air. Drunk or not. So I hope you like my berries up there, because I took that picture just for you so that you might wake up this Saturday morning and think to yourself, gee that Michèle sure is nice. Because I sure do think you're swell.

Ta ta and happy eating,
Michèle aka Chicken Legs.

P.S. And don't forget that awesome fruit salad you used to make with a wide variety of canned fruits.

July, you made it hard to like you.

It's been hot.
That's no newsflash, I know.
I spend most of my energy these days trying to think of ways not to expend energy. If I don't move, and the breeze of the fan is directed solely at me, then it's bliss. But once I blink, or scratch my arm, suddenly I break out in a sweat and my bliss turns to extreme grumpiness.
I sweat, people. But I don't like it.

So I'm sure I don't need to tell you that I'm not cooking much. You put anything in your mouth that is even remotely above lukewarm and that's it, you're done. You've turned into a grumpy, sweaty, eating machine and you have to jump in a cold shower just to recover from the meal.

So where does that leave me?
No cooking=no photos=no blogging.
Boo.

The big debate is trying to decide if you really should drink that refreshingly cool glass of white wine. Because deep down you know the alcohol, in the end, will probably warm you up. But just the idea of wine seems to take the pain away, doesn't it? You can forget for a moment that you are in the middle of a heat wave, in a country with no air conditioning, and that the Evian spray bottle you bought just to refresh your face every now and then is now being used on arms, legs, and torsos.

But today, oh joy, TODAY, it is comparatively cool and the chance of perspiration for today? I'd say we're down to at least 20%.
I know I may be pushing it, but I'm going for a hot cup of coffee today and brace yourself, I may even make some soup for dinner.

See you later July. And don't come back.
At least for another year or so.

If I had a ladder..

Today is Bastille Day in Paris, and I, like thousands of others, made my way to the Champs Elysées this morning to see the parade.
When I first took my camera out, instead of seeing something lovely through the viewfinder, I saw this on my screen instead:
"NO CARD PRESENT."

Merde! I had left my memory card at home.
I carefully tucked my camera back into my bag and hopped that no one noticed my stupidity.
I made a face to say "Bof, eets not worth takeeng a peecture of zis anyway.."


C'est dommage, I know. But not really. Since I took my sweet time arriving all I could see of the actual parade route was a sea of heads. Some were nice, some not so much. Either way, it's not what I was there for.

That called for a couple more Merdes.

I pushed my way (politely) through crowds to see if I could get a better view, but there was no luck to be had.

Instead, I could only look longingly up at the balconies that line that grand road and wonder at the people rich enough to have an apartment up there, and how they flaunted it by actually watching the parade from there while the rest of us little people stood on our tiptoes for an hour. By next year at this time, I pledged to myself, I would make a friend of one of those people, and ensure that I am invited to spend the morning watching the parade in full view from their lovely balcony. If any of you are reading this, Hi! I'm fun and nice! I'll make salad!

But I did manage to see the tops of various styles of hats as they marched along. And I was particularly excited to see the military trucks and tanks which sped surprisingly fast down the Champs Elysées (was there something better going on somewhere? what'd I miss? what'd I MISS?) and the fighter jets that flew above our heads in perfect formations.

It was very French.
I liked it.
I wanted to throw down my passports and trade them in for a French one right then and there.

Once I was safely out of the area, I stopped by a fromagerie and got myself some French cheese and a baguette, because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Next year though, next year...

Zuni's Orange-Currant Scones

Zuni Orange-Currant Scones. Not shy on the butter.

When I returned from my recent trip to Canada I expected that I would bring some things back with me. But in the end, the treasures that ended up in my suitcase weren't entirely what I had anticipated. I thought I would have a suitcase full of Triscuits and Smartfood, two things that I covet and miss on a regular basis.
But these suddenly were bumped in priority and were replaced with a strong desire for a big tub of all natural smooth peanut butter, and Bandaid brand bandaids.

Because, first of all, it's not easy to find all-natural peanut butter here, and when you do it's rather pricey. And secondly, will someone please tell me why French bandaids don't stick? Is my North American skin of such a different constitution that the chemical properties of the French bandaid glue don't adhere to me?

Then came the cookbooks. Our bags were already heavy so I knew I had to be selective. Without question, Zuni made the cut. I dug that poor old book out of a dusty box and now it sits, happily, in the full sunshine of my little French kitchen.

So last weekend, as I was pondering Zisou and the speed at which his head travels, I decided I would start the day with Zuni's Orange-Currant Scones.
The fact that the recipe instructions had a very low word count intrigued me right from the start.

To make a short story even shorter, I give you this raving review:
1. easy to make.
2. oh so very good.

With a scant 1/2 cup of sugar, they have the perfect hint of sweetness. The inside is moist (hello, half a pound of butter) and the top has a perfect crumbly texture.
You could change the Orange-Currant combo to anything really. And because they are low on the sweet factor, you could easily make them savoury, by leaving out the sugar and using say, Lemon Zest and Rosemary for example. Or put some cheese on the top before you bake them.
Oy.

And here's where I'm beginning to think that perhaps the last 11 months I've been in France is starting to influence me.
The recipe says you should get 12 scones out of the batter. I tried it with the first half of the batter, and the scones were oversized. No, oversized is what Michele after 6 months in Paris would call them. At 11 months in Paris, I may even go so far as to use the word grotesquely oversized. So I Frenchified them, and made them much, much smaller. Smaller=cuter=more scones.

Without further ado, I present to you:

Orange-Currant Scones from the Zuni Café Cookbook

3 cups all purpose flour (13.5 oz)
Scant 1/2 cup sugar
4 tsp baking powder
1/8 tsp salt
1/2 pound cold butter (approx 226g or 2 sticks for North Americans)
1/2 cup dried currants
1 tb orange zest
1 large egg
1/2 cup whole milk (I used 1% and still loved them)

Oven: 350F.
Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Two if you have room in your oven for two.
Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl and mix well.
Cut in butter until it is the size of small peas then add the currants and orange zest.

Whisk the egg and milk together. Add to the dry ingredients and mix and fold until the dough masses and the flour is absorbed.

Divide the dough in two and shape each into a ball. Pat each one into a 6 to 7 inch circle on a lightly floured surface. Roll to approximately 1 inch thick and cut into whatever size you want. The cookbook suggests 6 per circle, (cut like you would a round pizza). This method will produce very large scones. I cut mine into little squares and I probably got 3 times as many scones as the recipe indicates.

Bake until firm to the touch and slightly golden, about 25 to 30 minutes.

Fava, Green Bean and New Potato Salad

Fresh Fava Beans


All salads are not created equally.
It's simple logic, really.
Some you like.
And some you don't.

I've been eating a lot of salads lately with 3 particular ingredients that seem to keep making repeat appearances.

1. Fresh fava beans
I derive no end of pleasure from perfecting my pod extraction techniques. I am not shy to say that if there were championships in this, I might just bring home a trophy.
2. Green beans
This is due to the fact that I wasn't paying attention at the market when I asked for enough for two people and I was given what seemed like a truckload of beans. Who knew two people could eat a whole kilo of green beans?
3. New potatoes
Because they're new potatoes. Duh.

It all started on a strange sort of day. I had a brainstorm and decided to put all three together.
I know. I'm just that crazy.

As I served up the salad, I felt somewhat satisfied with myself. Only 0.98 kilos of green beans to go.. umm...

But I wasn't terribly daunted, because, well, that bottle of wine was already half empty.. The mass quantities of green beans that sat in my kitchen seemed more like the promise of good times than something to fret over.
What, you've never heard of a green bean party?

I'm happy to say, that sometimes, occassionally, yes--even once in a while, I throw something together and I like it. And no, it wasn't the wine talking..




Fava Bean, Green Bean and New Potato Salad
Make a vinaigrette with lemon juice and a light olive oil, a splash of white wine vinegar, and some sea salt to taste. Add a dash of Dijon mustard if you want a bit of zing.
Boil some new potatoes until tender, but not mushy. Drain and let cool. Cut in half if they are too big.
Blanch some green beans until tender. Drop into cold water to preserve the colour.
Remove the favas from their outer pods and the skin that covers each bean. (see below)
Toss all the vegetables together with the dressing and some chopped fresh dill.
Add some more sea salt to taste if necessary.
----------
I've recently been re-reading my Zuni Café cookbook in which Judy Rodgers suggests the following:
Use salted water when cooking potatoes to season them as they cook.
Remove the skins that surround fresh fava beans by hand, without blanching them. She suggests that blanching them, although it makes the skins come off easier, changes their texture.
It's up to you. Next time, I will try it Judy's way.

-----------
Related
The Zuni Café Cookbook

Ceasar Salad: The Keller way

Ceasar Salad, Keller style.


The French Laundry and I don't have much of a history together. I have never been to the restaurant and I bought the cookbook mainly because the cover looked pretty.
But my secret shame is that I have only made 2 of its recipes in all the time that it has graced my bookshelf. And those 2 both involved cheese and were about the easiest recipes that could be found within its pages.

But last week a friend of mine was coming over for dinner and suddenly I was feeling ambitious.

And so we come to "How to Impress 101":
Make a recipe in which layers are stacked.
It seems very difficult and somewhat frou-frou.
And you get extra points if it comes from the French Laundry.

I told my dinner guest of my plans. I didn't admit it at the time, but I was biting my knuckles a bit. This was Keller after all.

And yet, I reasoned it as much as I could.
"Most of the steps can be done in advance."
"I won't have much to do when my guest arrives."
"It's probably not as hard as it seems."

But little did I realize that it would take several hours of my time in advance, which I had left to that same day.

By the time my guest was due to arrive, all I wanted to do was crawl in bed, take a nap and order in a bucket of KFC. Except of course, this is France, and I would by shunned by my neighbours if I drowned out the smell of their madeleines with the smell of KFC.

Keller, you tuckered me out. But you sure make some great salad.


The Salad
I won't give you the exact recipe because it would take 3 pages just to write it out for you. You'll just have to buy the book or find a friend who will let you borrow it from them. But you can use the idea.

The Dressing
Keller's dressing is fantastic. The recipe makes way more than you will ever be able to eat in the 3 days that it will last in the fridge. Unless you have a really big Ceasar Salad party to use up the leftover dressing. The key to the flavour of this dressing is the addition of balsamic vinegar.

The Parmesan Custards
The parmesan custards are actually not that hard to make once you figure out that the recommended 250F to bake the custards is probably a typo and that's why after an hour the damn things still haven't set yet. I recommend 350F--then 30 minutes is exactly right. The custards are just a combination of milk, cream and parmesan.

The Parmesan Crisps
Make some parmesan crisps the same size as your ramekins by spreading some grated parmesan in a circle on a silpat sheet or parchment paper and baking at 350F for about 8 minutes until they turn a little golden. They will crisp once cooled. These can be done in advance and kept in an airtight container for a few days.

Putting it all together
First put some of the dressing on the plate.
Then a panfried crouton (a slice of baguette and some olive oil) goes on top of that.
Then the custard.
Then the parmesan crisp.
Then the salad which is lightly coated with some of the dressing.
And then a few shavings of parmesan to top it off.



The French Laundry Cookbook

Master of my artichoke

There are moments when you cook when your mind is focused on nothing but the task in front of you. An hour or two goes by and you finally lift your head up with the urge to say:
"Where am I? Hello? Is anybody here?"
Your brain just gets sucked into some vaccuum of concentration that starts from the moment you start prepping the food to the point where you finally sit back from the table and say:
"Damn. That was good."

You see, I'd never cooked an artichoke before. My recent decision to lose my artichoke virginity was partly inspired by Sam's attempt to dispel the myth of preparing artichokes for those of us who, namely me, have lived a life of artichoke avoidance.

So I took the first step and bought one. Then I found a simple recipe which would give me a cooked artichoke to pull the leaves from and dip. And you know I'm a fan of the dipping.
So I made the recipe without any major incidents. Then I sat down at the table and began to suck the tender yummy bit from one of the leaves.
"What about the rest of the leaf?" I said aloud to G, who was really not interested in the play by play of my artichoke. "They're still kind of tough."
"Just eat the tender bit." he said from the study without looking up from his computer.
"That's alot of work for just a nubbin's worth of goodness." I declared, while madly pulling, dipping and eating the leaves.


Artichoke leaves, with the good stuff sucked out.

Halfway through my feeding frenzy I felt inspired to take a picture. I ran to the kitchen, snapped a couple of my half eaten artichoke and ran back to the table, sat down and started eating again.
G paid me no mind.
I got up from the table and true to my dorky self, I said: "That was fun. I'm going to do that again really soon."
My glee was met with silence.
So I grabbed my phone and dialed my friend Alisa's number. Because I was pretty sure she would want to hear about my fun with the artichoke.
But she wasn't home.
And then like I'd just been pinched, there came that moment, as I tipped the leaves into the garbage I thought: "What the hell just happened?"
I conquered the artichoke. That's what.

Artichokes with Basil Mayonnaise from Epicurious.

Recipe Notes
Try substituting the mayonnaise for greek yogurt as I did. It's lighter and lower in fat if that is of any concern to you. You may not need as much lemon juice though since the yogurt is tangy.
The combination of basil and garlic went superbly with the artichoke.
I think one large artichoke per person is not unreasonable since the yummy bit on each leaf is tiny.
I will definitely make this again.
Even though I thought it was a lot of work at first, now that I've done it I realize it wasn't all that hard, and it was definitely worth it.

Not so extreme makeover

So I sat at my desk twirling my hair, staring at my little old blog and all I could think was: I'm bored.
And then I blew a bubble with my gum and popped it really loud to emphasize my boredom.
So bear with me while Oswego Tea tries on some new pants over the next few days.
Change is good.
Pop.

Sel de Guérande and my cupboard full of secrets

Sel de Guérande aux Algues

About a month ago, maybe more actually, I bought this salt at some exhibition on the east side of Paris. I was enthused when I saw it for two reasons:

Firstly, because its Sel de Guérande. Right from the salt marshes of Brittany.
Secondly, it was the salt that was used in those strange but yummy caramels I had bought way back when I first moved to Paris and experienced my first taste of salted butter caramels. I hadn't realized at the time that I had bought the algae version until I tasted them, but I was pleasantly surprised at how good they were.

So, I bought this salt (250g for less than 2 euros) and felt pretty satisfied that the collection of foods in my kitchen cupboard was starting to look pretty impressive. I don't even care that I'm the only one really impressed by it. I realize that everyone here probably has the same stuff in their cupboards as I do.

But time has been passing, and the salt has been sitting there, serving no other purpose but looking pretty. So one day a few weeks ago I finally opened it and stuck my nose in the bag. They aren't kidding about the algae thing. I was suddenly transported to a dirty beach, of which I remember many from my life in and around Toronto. If you are looking for a shopping cart to call your own you are sure to find one there. But when a smell transports you somewhere in memory, you hope for something a bit more pleasant.




Needless to say, I twist-tied that bag shut at mach speed and set it right back on the shelf-- label out so it could continue to impress me. But then the guilt began to set in again. Once the smell test has been done, a girl has to move on. Use