A good egg makes a good aioli.

Aioli made with the best eggs ever..

The night we got back from our trip to Rome we were so tired and our fridge was as empty as it had ever been so we just ordered Indian take out. You know how the Brits like their curries.
But the next night, after a trip to the grocery store to restock, I cooked up a veritable feast. A roasted chicken, some roasted vegetables, some toasted bread crumb salsa from the Zuni cookbook and just for good measure a side of Alice Waters' aioli.

Now let me tell you.
That was some kind of meal.
Maybe it was just the relief of being home, and of having all that wedding madness over with. Maybe.
Or maybe it was just that it tasted so so good.

It was my first time making aioli and I have to admit I did curse a little bit when it did not turn into aioli on my first try. So I grabbed another egg yolk and slowly added my failed batch and lo and behold it started to emulsify. I now know that the key is to add the oil much slower than you may be tempted to. I'm sure that Confuscious once said: "She who rushes the aioli will be disappointed."
Or something like that.

And I swear this aioli was made better by the eggs that I have been completely devoted to for many months now-- they're eggs from rare breed hens which graze outdoors and lay only about 2 or 3 eggs a week. They're produced by Clarence Court and are available at Waitrose. And if you've got nothing better to do on a saturday night you can even watch the hens in action.

I love these eggs-- the yolks are so perky and vibrant--orange almost, and I just think it's so darn cute that they only lay a few eggs a week. Perhaps they're trying to tell us that a good egg can't be rushed.
And I can't say I disagree.



Alice Waters' Aioli recipe
A straightforward recipe, and if it doesn't work the first time there is a fix. Thank god for that.

Clarence Court
the best eggs ever.

Canadian Thanksgiving. The British way.

Glennans Sweet Potato and Plantain Crisps

This past weekend was Thanksgiving for Canadians and, though G and I were far from our families, we got ourselves a little turkey and celebrated the best way we knew how: jam the turkey in the fridge and head to the local pub for a drink.

It was so nice out we sat outside and nursed our drinks until it was time to head home and get that bird in the oven. Due to some poor planning on my part, half way home I realized I had a full bladder so we had no choice but to pop into another pub and order another drink so that I could use the loo. The turkey was just going to have to wait.

But we finally made it home (with a spring in our step) and while the bird was roasting I made some homemade stuffing, and G got reacquainted with his xbox.

It was just that kind of a perfectly lazy fall weekend. The days are getting shorter (and I was a bit tipsy) so I didn't get a picture of that turkey or the stuffing or anything else for that matter. Except of course for these sweet potato and plaintain chips that I was pretty thrilled with. I think some people aren't all that into the taste of plantain but I am. These things were thick and crunchy, not overly salty or greasy. Just perfect according to me. And they're a great thing to snack on while the turkey is in the oven and taking way longer than you expected it to.

So, now I've got a boatload of extra turkey and a couple of litres of turkey stock taking up all the space in my freezer. But for these two little displaced Canadians it was totally worth it.

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Glennan's website
p.s I got those crisps at Waitrose

Ispahan jam makes it all taste so good

Greek yogurt topped with Ispahan Jam and smothered in fruit

Cindy's recent ode to her Christine Ferber jam reminded me that I had promised to tell you about the Ispahan jam I bought on my last trip to Paris in July. If you had read about the first time I tried the famous Ispahan dessert, you would know that I was more than a bit disappointed. Despite that, something about the combination of rose, raspberry and lychee fruit stuck with me. So not long after that I decided to try Pierre Hermé's version.
And oh. It was good.
Since then I get a little excited when faced with any dish containing rosewater. (Moro's rosewater and cardamom ice cream is the stuff of my dreams).

A close friend of mine and I agree on most things when it comes to food, but my love for rosewater is the one thing where our palates seem to differ. In fact, just the mere mention of it and she breaks out into some rather amusing facial contortions. I'm starting to think it's like cilantro, you either love it or you hate it. And have you ever noticed that those who don't like cilantro seem really passionate about hating it? Is there no one who is just kind of on the fence about it?

So anyway, in July when I was in Paris I decided to buy a jar of Christine Ferber's (made for Hermé) ispahan jam to take back home with me. People, I could kick myself for never having tried it before. The jam has a rich, vibrant colour, and its 3 main flavours meld perfectly, none of them overpowering the other. You rosewater haters are probably scrunching up your noses right now, but you are just going to have to pipe down for a minute.

It has a somewhat runny (as far as jam goes) consistency which makes it perfect for adding to yogurt which is how I've been indulging in it lately. And now that it's berry season I can't resist smothering the whole thing with strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and yes, even bananas.

You might think I was a bit heavy handed with the fruit but it just tastes so darn good. Thank goodness Paris is only a short train ride away because I'm getting awfully close to the bottom of that jar.


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You can get this jam at the Pierre Hermé shops in Paris.

Baharat. A new word in my vocabulary.

On my last trip to Moro, my lunch date and I swooned over an appetizer of spinach encased in the softest dough, wrapped much like a samosa. The spinach was flavoured with a mixture of spices that had us completely entranced. I don't even remember what the dish was called* but at the time the two of us drifted off for a moment as we tried to decipher what this heavenly flavour was. I was certain there was nutmeg and she was equally certain she could detect cumin. We finally asked our server to settle the matter once and for all. She headed off to ask the kitchen and came back with a piece of paper in hand and the word Baharat on it. She confirmed that it was a mix of not only nutmeg and cumin but several other spices. My lunch date and I pondered this new word in our vocabulary with more than a bit of awed appreciation.

Since it is just a mix of spices you might already have in your cupboard you could easily make it at home. I would love to tell you that I did that, but alas, I cheated. When I was at the Whole Foods the other day I saw it there on the shelf and couldn't resist taking the easy way out. The mix that I bought is made right here in the UK by Steenbergs and according to its ingredient list this baharat contains paprika, pepper, cumin, coriander seed, cassia, cloves, cardamom, and nutmeg. It is apparently widely used in areas surrounding the Persian Gulf to flavour mutton. Slight variations in its ingredient list are not uncommon, as you will see if you happen to do a google search on it.

It has a warm and musky scent; mellow but not lacking oomph. It was a great addition this past weekend to some greek yogurt which I served with spiced meatballs and flatbread. (oh I could sing the praises of greek yogurt for hours.)

I have an overflowing spice cupboard as it is but I always will gladly make room for more, especially one that is a wee bit exotic. A girl should never underestimate the power of a thrilling spice cupboard.

I'll keep you posted on my experiments with it, in the meantime I'm more than happy to get my thrill by taking a whiff from the jar every now and then.


________________

Update: check out Saveur's description and recipe for a Syrian version of Baharat as well as a Turkish version

*I have since been reminded by my 'lunch date with a fabulous memory' that the appetizer was called a fetayer, which seems to be spelled a multitude of ways including "fatayer". Here's some more google for you, there seems to be alot of variations.

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

Did I ever tell you about that yogurt?

When I talk about things that I love about London I wonder if I wouldn't be more unique if everything I loved was some kind of best kept secret. But the fact of the matter is, I like the Fortnum & Mason food hall.

There I said it.

I just can't seem to pass it by without stopping in. I'm not so interested in the jams and teas on the ground floor, it's the good stuff in the lower level that always lures me in.

As luck would have it recently, just when my feet started to complain from all the walking and my stomach started to alert me to the dinner hour, I was in the neighbourhood.

I picked up a couple of ripe yellow tomatoes, some hand-picked local arugula, some French goat's cheese (a crottin de something or other, I forget now), some organic Salchichon* from Spain and for dessert, a blood orange and a pot of honey yogurt.
To some, this dinner is maybe kind of meh. To me though: oy.
Happy happy.
And let me tell you about that yogurt.
Perfectly creamy and smooth, with the purest honey flavour--not overly sweet. Just right.
AND, River Cottage, treats its cows well.
I put my hands on my hips, cock my head to the side and ask you this:
"It makes the yogurt taste that much better, doesn't it?"
I think SO!
AND in case you recognize the River Cottage name, yes this is Hugh-Fearnley Whittingstall's yogurt, so to speak.

Nice work Hugh.
Nice work.


Fine yogurt. I could have licked the jar clean.
But if I had, I probably wouldn't admit it.


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*Salchichon: like chorizo but with pepper instead of paprika

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River Cottage Website

Fortnum & Mason Food Hall
181 Piccadilly, London
tube: Piccadilly Circus or Green Park

If you do want to know a secret: don't overlook the wine bar in the food hall at Fortnum & Mason just because you're not in the mood for wine. (Does that even happen?) You can rest your feet a bit over a pot of fresh mint tea (made from leaves) and a couple of champagne truffles.

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 or lose it as they say.

But a few weeks later, I still haven't tried it. Of course, as you can see by the label, they suggest using it in bouillons, on fish or on vegetables. Seems easy enough. But still, for some strange reason, I resist. And I know that when I finally do try it, I'll probably love it and I'll kick myself for being such a wimp.

But I had to come clean. I had to get this off my chest and tell you that sometimes I buy things and then I'm not as brave or experimental as I like to think I am. I hope you still respect me. I'm really not such a bad person. And if you are starting to doubt my character, remember that I do have a pretty impressive cupboard full of stuff. So there.


Sel de Guérande official website
Sel de Guérande at Amazon

I heart cheese and swanky olive oil

Coeur Cendré

You think I'm going to talk about cheese don't you. Well I would if I hadn't been so cocky as to walk out of the fromagerie knowing the name of the above cheese and nothing else. I thought the internet would help me out but it seems to be on the fritz. Someone forgot to index that wealth of information on Coeur Cendré cheese. Or perhaps I was just lazy and didn't look hard enough. But it looks pretty and it tasted nice. It was drier and crumblier than I expected but it had a nice flavour. If that doesn't send you running to your nearest cheese shop, well then, I perfectly understand.
Oh, and please note the free piece of hay that came with it.
Free stuff. That's right.
Thus ends the story of my new cheese. Sort of.

And so I move on to the olive oil.
This part of the story is motivated by my rather sad relationship with salads over the past few months. I shamefully admit that not one has graced my table in an embarrassingly long time. (Never fear mom, I'm still eating my veggies!)
Now let me just say that I, for the most part, do not spend lavishly when it comes to olive oil and balsamic vinegar. So I'm not telling you to spend lots of money, I'm just saying, well.. that I did.

Check out my brand new 20euro bottle of olive oil. A.O.C, cold pressed, made in Nyons, France. Accompanying this purchase was an equally expensive 12 year aged balsamic vinegar from Italy. I felt a bit naughty for having done so. But good naughty. I was going to spend a romantic evening with a salad and damn it, it was going to be great if I had anything to say about it.
Cue the Barry White.



I washed the greens, drizzled some of that swanky olive oil and balsamic vinegar on it, and added a sprinkle of fleur de sel (which sounds pretentious, but that's what its called so why fight it).
And then the cheese made its debut after a brief stint in a hot oven. I must say, that I gobbled that salad up faster than you can say a really long word.



Salad, it's just you and me baby. I'm back. And I'm never going to let you go again.

P. S. That's a dollop of fig jam at the side because nothin' says lovin' like fig jam and goat cheese.
P.P.S. The money I spent on that olive oil and vinegar was totally worth it.



Tags
Olive Oil France
Balsamic Vinegar
Coeur Cendré
Salad Ideas

Salted butter caramels with a twist...

Caramels aux Algues au Beurre Salé

The heat is on in my apartment, my winter coat is making its debut in Paris, and hot bubble baths are becoming a nightly indulgence just so I can warm my feet up. But I'm not complaining. I love my winter coat and I do some of my best reading in a hot bubble bath. And aside from that, I can't help but smile at the thought that I've just witnessed a changing of the seasons in Paris. From the hot days of summer to the cool, overcast days of fall, it's really starting to sink in that I live here. And yes, I like it. I like it alot. And here is but one more reason why.

Just yesterday I spotted a bag of salted butter caramels. Yes, it's true, my first bag ever. Molly would be pleased with my find, I'm sure, as she has declared these one of her favourite indulgences.

But what I discovered when I returned home was that I hadn't just purchased a bag of salted butter caramels. In fact, I was now the proud and slightly confused owner of Salted Butter Caramels with Algae. (Caramels aux Algues au Beurre Salé)

Algae?

Yes, algae. The ingredient list read as follows:
Sugar. Glucose syrup. Milk powder. Salted butter. Salt. Seaweed. Nori.



I'm sure you are asking, as I did, who would ever think to put seaweed and nori in a caramel?
Well it seems the French would, especially those who live by the sea.

These caramels are made by La Maison D'Armorine which is based out of Quiberon, a small town in the province of Brittany (known as Bretagne in French), right on the western coast of France. Quiberon is known for its fishing and in particular its sardines, and was declared a "Ville Gourmande" in 1999.

Sel de Guérande is the salt that is found in the salted butter used in the caramels. It is a name I have seen frequently since moving to Paris. I now know that this popular brand of salt, is completely natural, unrefined, unwashed seasalt containing no additives. It is low in sodium and high in mineral content. The 2000 hectares of Guérande saltworks in Brittany are said to be a supreme example of some of the most ecologically sound land development.

I declare these salt and algae spiked caramels delicious. They were wonderfully chewy, sweet but not overly so, and the seaweed added a subtle earthy contrast to the sweetness. I think I will now be on a mission to scout the city for different makers of salted caramels to see how they compare.

Just don't ask me how many I have left. I'd probably blush.