Yummy!

I love to read cookbooks almost as much as I love to cook. So, when I heard this cookbook reviewed on NPR, I knew I had to have it. Judith Jones is a senior editor at Knopf and has written several books on her own, but my interest in her stems from the fact that she was Julia Child's cookbook editor. Anyone who can edit Julia Child has to be able to cook...and to tell a good story. And since I'm a single person, I thought this book about cooking for one would be useful as well. It's become one of my favorite sources for recipes. My dinner yesterday was this gratin of beef, mushrooms and breadcrumbs. Yummy! and just right for one person. (I actually made two, so I can have dinner ready another night this week.) I've tried recipes for all the meat dishes except those using veal; I draw the line at eating baby anything. There are also recipes for veggies, salads, and desserts...all portioned for a single diner with recipes for using left-overs if there happen to be any.  I won't tell you the ingredients for the gratin in the photograph as I use a recipe simply for suggestions...I always substitute according to my taste and to what's in the 'fridge. All I can say is it was yummy good!

I Am a Breadmaker

When the pot of homemade seafood chowder I put together this week started clamoring for a hefty chunk of bread to go with it, I pulled out a much be-spattered cookbook to find this recipe. You see...I am a breadmaker. Other people specialize in cakes or cookies, bars or pies; I make bread. And I make it the old-fashioned way...by hand. I don't use a doughhook to knead, and I won't have a breadmaking machine. I want to stir the flour and yeast mixture with my wooden spoon. I want to knead the dough until it has that firm, elastic smooth-as-a-baby's bottom feel to it. I want the dough to become alive in my hands. Making bread is like a holy ritual to me. I have made bread in a wood-fired cookstove in the Yellowstone backcountry and served it at upscale neighborhood dinners in San Diego. This particular challah recipe has seen California, Iowa, California and Wyoming and has fed hungry kids, ravenous backcountry Rangers, trail crew gangs, friends and neighbors. Its highest praise came from a friend's mother, a Jew who had fled Germany in the face of Nazi persecution. She declared just like the Shabbat challah from her childhood. I felt so proud. I am a breadmaker.

A Quiet Holiday

Thanksgiving was a quiet holiday this year. I actually went in to work for a little bit...don't feel sorry for me, tho, as it worked out better for me to make the trip to get an employee evaluation completed. Back home, I treated myself to some turkey with gravy and mashed potatoes. And I opened this special bottle of wine. It was given to me during my month in France by Christiane and Jean-Paul, my dinner hosts one evening. Laury and I were invited for aperos and dinner...a very special treat for me. They have a lovely old house just up the hill from Laury's. It has a grand fireplace in a cantou, which is a stone inglenook that has seating along each side. Aperos of red wine with cassis were accompanied by crackers, dry sliced sausage, olives and cornichons (tiny pickles) along with rock-n-roll oldies (American, of course!), lots of laughter and some spontaneous singing along to the songs that took us down memory lane. Who knew the French loved American rock? Dinner was a country delight. Christiane put together a yummy salad of greens sprinkled with walnuts, sliced duck gizzard and homemade fois gras. Our main course was a casserole layered with duck, mashed potatoes, wafer-thin slices of squash, and 3 kinds of mushrooms drenched in a wine gravy. My mouth waters just remembering how good it was! Then the cheese course...a cantal, a soft cow cheese, a pepper-coated goat cheese, and a sharp local roquefort. Wine, wine, wine, of course...then an apple tart with a tiny glass of prune eau d'vie...a fruit-based Everclear-like alcohol, very strong! More laughter, more stories in rapid-fire French that Laury had to translate. And then as we prepared to leave, Jean-Paul gave me this bottle of wine. It flew home with me carefully wrapped, nestled deep in my suitcase. Opening it for Thanksgiving brought all those delightful French memories flooding back. I am thankful for new friends!

My Last Meal in France

Yes, sadly...it's true :( I ate my last meal in France at McDonald's! I didn't plan it that way, really I didn't. I don't eat at McDonald's in the States, much less in France. But I had checked into my hotel in Toulouse and returned my rental car (another adventure as they had closed the lot and taken down the kiosk where I picked it up a month ago; I didn't have a clue where I was supposed to take it). Car-less, I had to eat within walking distance of my hotel. The two little restaurants I saw on my street were done serving lunch, making McDonald's my only choice. Even in France, though, fast food has a novel twist. There was beer on the menu for one. And look closely at the bottom of this sign...

It says: 'for your health, practice regular physical activity'

Guess that's to make up for the beer and the gazillion calories in every Big Mac....which is what I had, by the way..the Big Mac, not the beer.

When's the last time your server brought your Big Mac to the table and wished you "Bon Appetit"? Now there's a novel twist we could adopt Stateside, I think!!

Powdered Vanilla

Powdered vanilla is # 13 on my list of favorite things about Paris and Provence. The little jar came from the Sunday market in Isle-su-l'Sorgue. I bought the tube of powdered vanilla at La Grande Epicerie in Le Bon Marche in Paris (which, by the way, is # 14 on my list!). I've never seen powdered vanilla here in the States; maybe I'm not looking in the right places? If you've seen it, let me know. Its fragrance is rich and the flavor is a little different than vanilla extract. Since I don't have a very educated palate, I don't have the right words to explain this difference, but it has a deeper, sweeter smell to me. I like to sprinkle a tiny bit in the warm milk that I froth for my morning coffee. I get just a hint of rich vanilla when I sip...yum!

What is La Grande Epicerie, you ask? Only the coolest grocery store I've ever seen! It is so worth a trip if you're visiting Paris even if you don't intend to buy groceries. Oh come on...buy a bottle of wine or a luscious chunk of chocolate! I've never seen anything like the cheese counter, the deli meat counter, the bread department. Word to the wise....don't forget to weigh your produce BEFORE you get to the check out person. That's the way you do it in France and the check out girl will not be happy if you don't comply!

Okay...I googled 'powdered vanilla' and you can buy it several places on line. That's not nearly as much fun as it is to pick it up while you wander the Sunday market in Isle or find it while you check out the well-dressed Parisians at La Grande Epicerie! I'll ration mine out until I can get back to France!

Favorite Things # 2 & # 3

Here are numbers 2 & 3 of my favorite things about Paris and Provence. Coming in at #2 is goat cheese. I adore goat cheese! and absolutely never ate it until my first trip to Provence. It has become an obsession. Alas, it's hard to find great goat cheese in Iowa. Are you surprised? What I can find is pretty bland. My favorite way to eat it in Provence is warm and runny over a great salad of mixed greens...yum! I have a Rick Steve's travel video about France. In one of the segments, a friend is showing him a fromagerie in Paris. "Goat cheese, goat cheese, goat cheese, everywhere goat cheese," she sings. "A Parisienne cannot live without goat cheese." She picks up a chunk, holds it to her nose and inhales deeply. "Ah," she sighs, "it smells like the feet of an angel." Hm-m-m!

This little watercolor by Paris Breakfasts illustrates #3 on my list...croissants. You haven't eaten a croissant until you've eaten one in France. They are fabulous! Try as I might, I cannot find anything anywhere close here in the States. After reading a recipe on how you make them, I'm not going to make my own either. Definitely a reason to return to France to eat one. I had croissants every day at my bed and breakfast in Goult. Michel ran across the street to the boulangerie every morning to bring me a fresh one. I'll never forget the very first morning I was there. As he stood watching, I took one from the serving plate and proceeded to butter it. Zut alor! you should have seen the look of horror on his face! "Non, non, Madame!" he implored. I immediately realized I'd committed some sort of American faux pax. One taste of that delicious, flaky roll provided me with the answer...they are plenty buttery enough! A bite of croissant, a sip of coffee...instant melting buttery flavor in my mouth. Ah!

Comfort Food

I spent Sunday afternoon engaged in my favorite wintry day activities: listening to jazz, drinking wine and cooking. The jazz was by Sidney Bechet, a saxophone player who was born in New Orleans and spent a good portion of his life in Europe, especially France. It was all my favorite French jazz with some American tunes thrown in. I had to include the soundtrack from "A Good Year" even though it's not jazz. I felt like I needed to give Provence equal time. The wine I sipped was a very nice red...Cotes du Rhone...with whispers of black pepper and cherries. I made two recipes that couldn't have come from more diverse sources. My side dish was a wonderful gratin of potatoes, goat cheese, and leeks that my friend, Randi, blogged about at Thanksgiving. From deep in the heart of Texas, she managed to find a very Provencal recipe that showcases goat cheese...go figure. My main dish was Vol au Vent and I found that recipe on the blog of my cyber-friend, Jientje, who lives in Belgium. This dish is classic Belguim cuisine based on a French recipe. It's chicken, mushrooms, and pork meatballs all mixed up in a lovely creamy gravy. Jientje serves it with rice or puff pastry; I served it with big hunks of baguette to sop up the luscious gravy. While my 8th grade home economics teacher might not have approved..."Miss Mack, everything is white!"....I loved it all. And anyway, the wine wasn't white!

I've discovered new comfort food!

Le Bistrot d'Henri

Writing about my experience at Le Procope got me thinking about the wonderful places I've eaten in Paris. You know...the food is one of the main reasons to visit France! My budget doesn't allow me to eat at any of the 'starred' establishments (maybe someday?), but I've had many great meals at the less pricey places around town. Marie and I have eaten at Christine's in the 6th arrondissement and its neighbor, Rotisserie en Face; we've eaten at Marie's favorite, L'Epi dupin twice. We've enjoyed a meal entirely of souffles at Le Souffle on the Right Bank, and we tried great Moroccan food at a tiny place we couldn't find on our second trip. We've had our morning croissant and cafe creme every day at Paul's. My very favorite place, however, was Le Bistrot d'Henri (pictured here courtesy of Google).

I've eaten at Le Bistrot twice, and it was wonderful both times. Walking distance from our hotel on Blvd. St. Germain, it's tucked into a tiny side street, rue Princess. It's warm and cosy; the atmosphere is friendly and lively. I love it! and the food is delicious. My travel journal reminds me that it was also 'very charming, very Parisian.' I had pork chops on a bed of noodles with a sauce flavored with a tint of Dijon mustard, haricots verts with a curry-tinged dressing and the ubiquitous molten chocolate cake for dessert. On my second visit, I tried the lamb dish that the bistrot is famous for...lamb shank cooked for hours until it makes a thick gravy with prunes, onions, and carrots flavored with a touch of cinnamon. It's served in its own small Dutch oven (or is that a French oven?). A salad of endive, chopped pear and roquefort cheese chunks and again, the chocolate cake rounded out the meal. Sipping a glass of wonderfully thick red wine, I could, indeed, murmur "J'ai mange tres bien!"

Alone...in Paris

“ Bonjour, Madame! Vous etes seul?”

The man’s words alarm me. He’s saying, “Hello, are you alone?”
How does he know? As I stand on the steps of the terrace, the comments of my friends begin to haunt me…

“You’re going to Paris alone? You’re so brave!”
“Aren’t you afraid to be in a foreign country by yourself?”
“You don’t speak French? I’d be nervous about that if I were you.”
Yes, I am nervous! In my anxiety I completely overlook the menu the man is holding, as well as the neatly folded white towel draped over the arm of his crisp white shirt. My mind continues to race as he looks at me expectantly. I wonder if he’s going to mug me. Is he one of the pickpockets I’ve been warned about? Then, quietly and calmly, reason prevails. Relax, Evelyn…he’s the maitre’d. He needs to know if you’re by yourself so he can seat you. I exhale slowly, almost unaware that I’d been holding my breath.

“Oui, Monsieur,” I tell him. “Je suis seul.” Yes sir, I’m alone.

He leads me to a tiny table overlooking the famous I.M. Pei glass pyramid in the courtyard of the Louvre. It’s a warm September afternoon, perfect for dining on the terrace of the trendy Café Marly. Pulling the table toward me, he murmurs, “Voila, Madame.”

I squeeze by the couple seated to the right and slide into the leather banquette.

“Merci, Monsieur.”

I breathe a sigh of relief and try to focus on the menu he’s handed me. All my reading has prepared me for this moment. My Rick Steves’ guidebook has cautioned me about tripe and andouillette, and my Pimsleur language tapes have provided me with enough rudimentary French to request a glass of red or white wine. I order an omelet with herbes de provence, a yummy tomato and chevre gateaux (a cake of soft, creamy goat cheese layered with tomato coulis, topped with a sliced tomato and drizzled with olive oil), and glass of rosé. I sit in the sun, watching swarms of people enter and depart through that spectacular glass structure in the square.

"Oh my God,” I think to myself. “I’m in Paris, one of the most exhilarating cities in the world, sitting in the Richelieu wing of a palace, home of French kings, quarters for Napoleon, and a monument to some of the world’s most famous art."

Yes, I was in Paris….alone

More Venasque

The rest of our visit in Venasque was much less daring. We stopped at Viard-Oberlin poterie where Marie always buys delightful ceramic pieces to add to her set of dishes. Anne and her husband, Etienne, were excited to visit with us. Etienne, a metal sculptor, had just sold 35 very large sculptures to some collectors in New York City. They had been crated and shipped the month before, and he and Anne were leaving in a few days to fly to New York and then Chicago to introduce the works at gallery openings. They were quite excited about the prospect of staying in one of the collector's NYC penthouse.

As we left, Anne gifted me with this small, round dish from her collection. It sits by my kitchen sink holding squares of Provencal soap. Every time I wash my hands I think of Anne, her bubbly personality, and her generosity.

We lunched at Les Remparts that day and sat by the windows to enjoy the spectacular view of the valley below. No blog entry about Provence is complete without the menu: seafood salad with mussels, prawns, anchovies and smoked salmon accompanied by a nice rose and completed with a bread pudding-like dessert--custard and apples. Bon appetit!