Being in the good graces of Alain Passard doesn't disappoint, especially when it involves an enormous vegetable farm and a rustic chateau. While most sane people would partake in the proffers during the warmer months, this photographer decided to capture the farm sous frost. I knew I would be in for some sort of personal drama when I agreed to spend the night alone deep in the woods in a spider infested chateau, i.e. being eaten alive by wild boars or having a neighborboy coming by for eggs (I had watched "Funny Games" the night before). My fear of death by hog or cleaver was quickly replaced by death by hypothermia as I shivered in front of the fireplace with a wine slushy and a bowl of soup wearing every article of clothing I brought. After reading through the gardener's lunar planting journal, a few root vegetable encyclopedias and a gossip magazine, I resigned by body to my cold bed. In hopes that fleas die in extreme temperatures, I brought along the farm cat and en extra pair of socks for my hands and settled into what was a frigid sort of sleep. And not once did I think of wild boars or the sorts.
The next morning the only thing that got me out of bed was the thought of hot coffee. Although I was tempted by the thought of a hot shower, it would have involved getting undressed so I resigned myself to a hot hand washing. And anyways, the grey pre-sunrise light wouldn't last for long. Aside from some cabbages and leek tops, actually finding vegetables to photograph was an underground scavenger hunt. And yes, there were vegetables, finding them involved a small amount of pillaging and careful replanting (they'll grow back, right?) but there they were; long radishes, fat and squat beets and yellow carrots. In addition, and slightly unbelievable, were small parcels of lettuces covered in white fabric and a couple active green houses, lest one forget, this farm supplies Passard's three-starred restaurant and a private supermarket. My favorite green house was an experimental greenhouse where on heated tables, underneath many blankets and sheets of plastic were red endives, a little pet project of the gardener. It was in this greenhouse where there was enough heat (I actually had to take off my coat) to dry red peppers without risking frost. As I was hovering over vegetable beds in full ski gear the gardeners were up to serious endeavors such as re-digging a wall and burning frozen honey off of the bee boxes, which left the sweetest smell. Lunch was fitting to the whole experience, noodles in cream and mustard and a leek soup from the day before, a simplicity reminiscent of Hemmingway's onion sandwiches. And finally, as the sun went down I started to scrape the mud off my boots and pack up the car. And never was the drive back to Paris so bearable as it was in the heated Ford.
Alright, so I'm starting this new blog, www.frompariswithlove.net It's geared towards anglophones visiting Paris, but maybe you'll want to check it out from time to time as well? Of course I'll be talking about food and restaurants but I'll also be covering exhibitions, offering Gastronomic Culinary Tours, Fashion tours, and even offering blog space. Blog space you ask? Why yes. If you're interested in blogging about a particular neighborhood in Paris I can't pay you, but I would love your Paris savvy input.
-Carrie
P.S. BIG merci à Cecile et Olivier
P.P.S Of course I'll still be blogging here, who says a girl can't have it all.
The photo is crap, I know, but apparently photographer's clearance or a press pass should be garnered with the reservation. I know it's bad manners to show up with a heavy duty camera during a little girly dinner. But my little guy was out of batteries, so what was I to do? The reservations were made over a month in advance and I was looking forward to some photo action and some good food. Anyways, lack of photos aside, there is something happening here. Although I can't yet put my finger on it. I do have to admit that I am partial to the entreprenerial type, certainly those hailing from the midwest, especially those from Chicago crazy enough to bypass the ingenious restaurants of Chicago for a training à la Française. Spring , by Daniel Rose is an ambitious venture of 8 tables, serving 16 people simultaneously from a fixed (i.e. no choices, fine by me) menu. The food is fanciful and poetic yet verging on an all out clusterfuck. The amount of ingredients was often disheartening; Entree 1: pintade with many (too many) little bits, tourteau, brocolli romanesco, some litte flowers, radish, broth, Entree 2: foie gras with beets and a pumpkin ravioli with rocket salad, Plat: lieu jaune with pig's feet (could have been much crispier) potatoes in heavily scented vanilla finished with green apple, Dessert: chocolate orgasm, very popular with the ladies. If i missed any of the ingredients, my apologies, the service was incredibly discreet. The plates were Michelinesque as far as styling and portions, and that's no joke. Rose had this year's bib award, oddly enough, tucked away with an assortment of cook books (Ducasse et al.) in the bathroom. I love to read cookbooks on the toilet, but preferably at home. I expect that Daniel Rose will be in your home soon enough, via cookbook or TV (but please, pas comme à la Cyril Lignac!).He also does private dinners and cooking classes. All in all, I think I missed the rationale behind his cooking, of course it's seasonal, but it still needs to be good!. Was this a one-time episode of lack of restraint or an off night, time will surely tell. My other critique aside from free verse poetry on the plate was the serving of take home breakfast. While I love breakfast as much as any homesick American in Paris, I go out to dinner to eat dinner.
After dinner we headed up the street for a night cap. We ended up at a little café called Cesar. There I ran into an old friend who had just ordered a hot-dog. I almost slid off my patent leather heel, because a real hot-dog in Paris is a find. Tempted as I was to order one (still a slight regret) i went for a glass of red and a little restraint.
Spring 28, rue de la Tour d'Auvergne 75009 Paris Open Tuesday-Friday Menu at 39€
I just finished "Heat," by Bill Buford and all I can think about is ragu and that maybe I missed my calling as a butcher. Heat is about the search for culinary epiphany in Italy, the bastardization of Italian food in America, raunchy chef tales, and last but not least Mario Batalli, the heavy ankled New York chef. It reads much like a gossip magazine and stongly reinforces the notion that most chefs are pig-headed alcoholics. Thank god, the good-doer Jamie Oliver/Cyril Lignac type has got no edge. The way in which this read was different than an Anthony Bourdain book was in that it makes you knife happy and wet in the mouth. Since reading this I keep telling myself that I need to cook more with pig, actually it got me thinking about cooking a suckling pig. Every day I pass the butcher shop (where there is usually one hanging out (literally) I ask myself, is my oven big enough? I'll have to get back to you on this, but in the meantime, over at Chubby Hubby , you can get all the mouth-watering details.
Another point of fascination in "Heat," was the mention of ortolans. For those of you not in the know this may disgust you as it disgusted me. Ortolans are little birds that are apparently common to the Midi region of France. The hunting of this bird has basically been outlawed, but somehow they turn up on the plates of French politicians, namely former President François Mitterand. I won't go into the rude details but, the bird is prepared in a manner quite similar to that of foie gras. But what is more scandalous than the gorging of this tiny bird is the manner in which it is consumed; entirely, including bones, from end to end. The custom is to suck from the derrière and then slowly proceed to the beak. Given that this is an incredibly distasteful practice, one often dons a napkin over their head to hide their embarrassment. If you don't believe me check out this instructional video featuring the Mayor of Bordeaux.
Ok, I forgot my camera. Let's just say all you need to do is imagine one hell of a cheese plate.
It was a fluke that we ended up at Chez Casimir. I had reserved duly in advance (I'm getting better at this), but when our numbers sprang from 12 to 18 on the day of (and being a Friday night), well, Chez Michel just didn't have the space. After fretting over the "sister, brother, restaurant" I thought why not. The young fellow on the phone was patient as I decided, and that eased my pain. But what really sealed the deal was when Thierry Breton left a message on my phone asking me to call him back (on his cell) to discuss the menu. What a heart! I have to say that my own heart still goes out to Chez Michel but Chez Casimir was just about as good as the former. Sure, being 14 people (in the end) we had a very restrained menu, but the souris of lamb was as if my imaginary French grandmother had made it herself and the cheese plate was so impressive that I had to remind myself that too much of a good thing sometimes isn't so good. The dining room was less inviting than Chez Michel, but it's not exactly as if Chez Michel was known for its ambiance. So this is my conclusion, if you can't get a table at Chez Michel, it's not necessarily a bad thing.
This month at VISAVIS they are exhibiting food photography (of sorts). Yours truly was chosen. Honestly I don't know why, as the other submissions are quite photojournalistic/reportage-like, you know the old cliché; blurry chefs on the move, the Olive Garden wanna be pasta shot, a kid with ice cream on their chin, an italian grandmother. Get the picture? On top of that, none of my photos are of recent work. I didn't have much of a choice in the whole matter. I don't even think my images go together. Oh well, 5 years ago the woman who runs this site convinced me to do color photography. I should be more thankful now shouldn't I? Take a look and vote, for me of course.
Alright, I didn't get the actual recipe but I think I have a pretty darn good idea. Actually you will have to wait for the official recipe but here is my rendition. But first, here is my plug for his restaurant. Cauis, by Jean Marc Notelet happens to be in the 17 arrondisement, but don't let that hold you back. He came around at the same time as the band of bistronomique Frenchies but he took his deal a little further. You could say that the style of his cooking is French but after that who knows what it is. As he said it himself, he does "spice," but not Mexican, nor pimentos, nor 5 alarm Indian. And he is hard-core into "spice," in fact, his cheese cart has even found a second life as a spice rack. Expect exotic peppercorn infused fruits and great products. He does very little shopping from Rungis and it shows.
So my version of Jean Marc's carrots isn't too bad. It is similar to a carrot recipe I've done before. Start with lovely carrots, the stems still attached. Leave a little green on the end for good measure. Start boiling a pot of water with chunks of ginger, how much is up to you. Let boil 10 minutes and then add the carrots for 5 minutes. After boiling time is done, place carrots in ice cold water to prevent from overcooking.
Next, pull out your prettiest casserole pan and throw in some butter (again, how much is up to you) a few soup spoons of honey and the remaining ginger pieces. Sauté this mixture until the sauce becomes thick. Spoon the sauce repeatedly over the carrots, they should be lacquered in it. Maybe add a little vanilla?
Stuffed mushrooms often rate as banal American steakhouse grub. In a small ubiquitous mushroom lies a lone shrimp part and runny butter. Revamping a stuffed mushroom is easy, there aren't many ingredients and cooking time is quick. The first step is to choose good, large mushrooms. For the moment I am using jumbo champignon de Paris, shiitakes would also be good, and cèpes or porcinis would be heavenly. Seafood is still a good choice for stuffing, but I think bacon, although dumbing down the final effect, would be nice too.
Stuffed Mushrooms:
10-12 medium to large mushrooms 1 package of cream cheese (1 pacquet de St. Moret) 1 cup of chopped shrimp or mussels or crab (125 grams fruits de mer; moules, crevettes, crabes, langoustines) 1/2 garlic clove, minced (demi gousse d'ail émincé) fresh minced parsley or basil (persil ou basilique hachés) salt and pepper grated parmesan (parmesan rapé)
The first step is to clean off the mushrooms and remove the stems. Next turn them upside down to cook for 10 minutes on an oven rack.
In the meantime make your stuffing. Mix together the ingredients, except for the parmesan. Let stuffing cool in refrigerator. After removing mushrooms from oven reserve on a plate and let cool in the refrigerator. At this point I wait to put the stuffing in the mushrooms just before serving. When ready to serve, drain juice that has collected from the mushrooms, stuff with mixture and cover with grated parmesan. Return the mushrooms to the oven and cook for another 10 minutes on high heat (250 C or 400 F), broiling is the best option if possible. Serve on or with little toasts, rye or Pain Poilaine is great.
Ok, here is where I tell you that I have been consumed by other life forces as of late. And here is where I would elaborately recount our Paris wedding, the buckets of champagne, a RDV with a certain publishing house or Olivier's big shot job. But that is not what I signed up for, and honestly I have been talking about all of this for the past month (well maybe a little longer than a month). So, dear reader, I assure you that I am back to food.
I decided to celebrate my return to Joy of Cooking with a toast. Seeing as the liquor cabinet has been on over drive this summer, all I had was a bottle of Cointreau. Actually, an empty bottle at that, but I have made this before and I promise it is divine. Anyways, here is to all of who have made this past summer happen. You know who you are. So to you, I raise this pineapple. Thank-you.
As for some kind of recipe, look for that in my next blog. Pinapple cointreau is more of an idea. It is best cut up, soaked and left to sit for 12 hours before serving. I have a nasty penchant for drunken fruit. Got any ideas for my next experiment? Charles' recent blog on Singapore got me thinking about durians, and seriously scared. There is a reason that Singapore outlawed public transit users from traveling with durians. Please, no durians.
To every season, turn turn turn…. To those of you holed up in Paris in the month of August, I share this photo with you. And in hope that there will finally be something damn spectacular that comes of all this rain, maybe cepes in the market next week at 5€ a kilo?
**And yes, these are old photos from Alain Passard's potager.
