GourmandeMom™

London...(East London/Hackney, that is) - and food anxiety

Last time I was in London was just over a year ago: I met a VP of a client and we had coffee, ok, tea, at the Savoy; met up with her adorable now-husband Mark for a long drink-laden meal in Chelsea (where I visibly horrified him with the revelation to him that the Whole Foods there in London that he so adored was in fact, gasp, a Texas import), followed by a mad dash for a cab to get me off to St. Pancras Station for my same day train back to Paris.  

And the time before that was to see my sister's film premiere at a film festival in London, where I have memories of tube strike, missing a big law firm party, and walking miles in heels with crushed-in toenails and monstrous blisters.

And the only time before that was a quick weekend getaway with my Junior Year in France buddies, in which the cheap transportation involved a night ferry caught up in vicious storms with everyone sick on the boat, no operating toilets, and barely enough time to grab a burger at a Hard Rock Cafe once we landed on solid ground for a few hours.

All this to say, I really do not know London at all.  They do not speak French there, so it is not all that interesting to me in terms of a foreign country, because it seems not too foreign at all.  Until we get to the food issues.  What to eat.  And then it seems really foreign, and I remember this is still a foreign country.  

(Recent spatula-worthy meal at Barley Swine...has nothing to do with London necessarily)

I understand we will be meeting and greeting and learning - me about VC system in the UK, partnerships and trade issues and other business opportunities with Austin (Hackney and Austin have a super cool collaboration already going on--witness Hackney's serious and seriously funky presence at SxSW 2013 via Hackney House) - but I am of course really intrigued about the food situation that awaits.  Our group will be debriefing every day at a pub, and I get I will be getting some beer into my diet rather than Côtes du Rhônes this trip, and that's cool.  But what about protein and vegetables, the usual stuff I'm supposed to be eating these days.

Before I run to Randall's to stock up on some protein bars and almonds, I've done some quick research to get my food vocabulary ready.  One of my favorite and most informative US food blog sites is Serious Eats.  And they report that these are the top 10 food items I should be looking for in London:

Pie and Mash with Liquor Sauce

Bacon Butty

Chelsea Bun

Sticky Toffee Pudding

Toasted Cheese Sandwich aka Cheese Toastie

Scotch Egg

Kippers

Roast Bone Marrow

Potted Shrimps

Meat Fruit

Number one on the list looks seriously yummy, if not seriously non-Paleo. It is described here as follows: 

"While we're fans of the gourmet, free-range, responsibly sourced meat pies (like those from Pieminister) you can find around town, you cannot visit London and not hit up one of the ever-shrinking handful of traditional, cash-only pie-and-eel shops. You'll recognize them by their odd hours and lines of old-timers extending out the door at lunch. The thing to order, and there's not a whole lot of choice, is pie and mash with liquor sauce: a minced-beef meat pie and mashed potatoes ladled with a (nonalcoholic) thin green parsley sauce."

The picture is more lovely than it may sound: a light pastry of sorts with meat filling, albeit including mashed potatoes.  Ravioli-esque.  

But what really sounds perfectly A-ok in my book, is this adorably named Bacon Butty.  Serious Eats reports as follows:

It may not be as quintessential a breakfast as, say, a traditional fry-up or beans on toast, but don't underestimate the power of the bacon butty—this is, unapologetically, a sandwich of bacon and white bread. Depending on the type of bread used, it may go by other names—on a large roll, for example, it's a "bacon bap"—but in any case, the building blocks of this salty, satisfying sandwich are quite simple. Thick, meaty back bacon, white bread, and the condiment of your choice (English mustard, HP sauce, ketchup). It's more than just acceptable to dine on this; it's a pretty common on-the-go budget breakfast among many a London office worker. You can't go wrong—it's a bacon sandwich! Also in this category is the chip (French fry) butty and the ever-popular fish finger sandwich."

Have to agree on the can't-go-wrong-with-bacon idea.

This will be interesting.  

One of our group already reports via email that I should take the train and not the Tube into town from Heathrow.  I guess I need to finish packing....   

 

Maybe best haricots verts ever...East Austin's "Joe's Place and Connie's Beer Garden"

It is heady stuff to hang out with one of the founders of Armadillo World Headquarters (some visual images might help) and talk about France, copyright law, musicians' rights, more France, international TV and film festivals in Cannes, art law, the last live Beatles concert (he was there), the start of Texas music and its future.  It is all the more great to have this conversation out in the backyard of Joe's Place, the backyard of which apparently is the Connie's Beer Garden part of this quirky East M.L.K. spot.

As much as I love Sophie's foie gras over in Angers, France...standing up in crowded wine bars in Paris meeting Fashion Week journalists...and a perfectly crafted round of goat cheese with a delicate drizzle of fresh olive oil in Peter Mayle's fabled south-of-France place of Ménerbes, France...I really love a good meatloaf.  

Taking Mike's lead, I did without the mashed potatoes as a side (low carb you know) and got a little salad instead to accompany the green beans and the meatloaf.

When the menu said "green beans" came with the meatloaf, I had low expectations. I was more excited about the "Hibiscus Tea Punch" I had ordered.  (It's hibiscus tea with ginger ale.  And it was suggested that this was not be a bad mixture into which a shot of tequila could be poured...some other day, but great idea Connie!)

Connie brings out a bamboo tray to deliver the tea punch.  Another bamboo tray would deliver the meatloaf lunch.  As soon as I saw those green beans, I knew they were going to be good.

(True, I did not ask to forego that bread substance; good thing: I needed it to wipe the plate clean. It was a small, dainty piece of deliciousness -- like those Sister Schubert's rolls.)

First, they were not just "green beans."  They were haricots verts.  Those slim and trim elegant French green beans.  

Second, they had those nicely browned, practically caramelized slivers of red onions.

Third, there was enough freshly ground black pepper on those green beans to be very visible to the eye.

All of these attributes combined into what I would regret was a too small of a serving for these haricots verts (that portion control problem of mine).   Yes, those onions did have a sweet, buttery garlicy taste and texture.  The beans were perfect: as Connie said (when I quizzed her on the making of the beans), they are parboiled and then cooked with butter and olive oil and garlic--"the works."  But those caramelized red onions make the dish: they are just right to the point of sticky caramelization without interfering with the just-right crispness of the green beans.

 (Some of the scenery for the backyard outdoor seating; this was the scene just to my right as I was seated at the picnic table with the rainbow-colored umbrella.)

They are not open much or for long.  As of my checking the site, just now, the hours are: For Joe's Place, Tuesday-Friday 11:30 am to 2:00 pm.  For Connie's Beer Garden, Friday and Saturdays 5:00 pm to 10:00 pm.

Next time, when there is not a deadline pending in litigation land, I will kick back in the garden with some pinot grigio.  And a side order of haricots verts.

 

(The art wall of concrete block on the back of the building.)

 

Austin Food and Wine Festival--to do and not to do and yes would do again

It's a smaller-than-I-expected event, this Austin Food and Wine Festival (only in its second year).   At first glance on entering I was underwhelmed.  But it grew on me.  And grew and grew.  And now I am thrilled at its manageability and the set-up, despite the pretty awful combination of Saturday's suffocating humidity, quasi-dehydration, and mixing tequila and vodka tastings in between the wine demos.  Bad idea that last one.  I thought I could do without Day 2.  But after sleeping off Saturday's sins, I was ready to go.  Pacing is everything for a food and (lots of) wine festival.

(Jealous of the folks who got there early for hands-on grilling class.  I think I saw someone Tweet that only VIPs were able to get into these popular first-thing-in-the-morning classes.)

Day 1 (for me), Saturday, started out well when the heart-stopping telltale colors of Veuve Clicquot were spotted right on entering.  Their super cute VC-themed Airstream was air-conditioned, so I lingered a long time checking that out.... Champagne was a great way to start the day...at 11 am or so.    

Finally we get in line for the H-E-B Grand Tasting Pavilion to open up for the masses.  We had only a "cheap" ($200 for early bird special) Taste Pass.   But now I know why the cost. There is a LOT of alcohol at this event.  A lot of water too have to say.  But there is a lot of alcohol at this event.  

At 12 p.m., folks with the Taste Pass can enter.  I need food, badly, after standing in the sun sweating after 3 small tastings of the VC champagne.  At first it was hard to find the food.  I must have been delerious.   But we found it.  And dug in.  

These grilled carrots, with a tangy yogurt sauce drizzled on them, just set out there in a gorgeous array of color for the taking: I took about 3 (small ones).

Thrilled to stumble across a stand for Pâté Letelier.  Have been following them for some time.  Now just need to get their goods into my fridge.
And then who can resist big baskets overflowing with beautiful bread?  Had to stop and ogle the bread and yes take more than a few samples. But this bread really needed to be savored.  And though the name did not turn me on, a pretzel roll bread, I took a sample anyway, and it changed my world.  The bakery is Flour, and this pretzel roll bread is really pretty astounding in terms of its taste and texture. 

These eye-catching displays of a kale and beet salad, crunchy tasty croutons, some bacon in there, a little feta, all encouraged me to have 2 of these in rapid succession.

Despite all this talk about the food and the wine (many, many samples on that Day 1 in the Pavilion), we did make it to some demos.  

Demos for Marcus Samuelsson, whom The Food and Wine Magazine Editor introduced as the "Swedish Ethiopian Urban Cowboy," were always SRO.  I love that he called Scott on his cell phone -- that judge on Chopped -- for us to tell him, in unison, that he was "too mean."  (Scott did not pick up; Marcus had us leave a message.)

But luckily we did make it to the Cinema and Vino demo with the bad boy of wine, Mark Oldman.  Only after standing there to make sure we got a seat - for like 30 minutes.  He's also a co-founder of Vault.com, so it is no wonder he is fluent in the pricing of La Tâche wines.  He had many women lined up afterwards to get their picture taken with him (my group included).  One woman had him sign her arm with a Sharpie.  Right next to Tim Love's autograph.  

With all the fun and laughing, etc. and sabering of the champagne bottle going on for that event (and it really was champagne--Bollinger), I ended up drinking my friend's wine tasting samples as well.  This was the beginning of the end for me of Day One.  

She drove home.  Just in time for me to rest up for the Sel et Gras festivity at the W's Trace from 9pm to midnight.  Cannot pass up a "Paris in Austin" night.   The music: exquisite.  French pop, Serge Gainsbourg, Air - cool electronica.  The setting: gorgeous.  Windows wide open. A cool night.  Sure the rain had them bring everything inside, but it was still lovely.  I just have a thing for Trace anyway. Trace's Executive Pastry Chef Janina O'Leary's desserts - yes, again, fantastico.  The black and white French movie - with Jean-Paul Belmondo, yes? - très sympa.  The frog legs were the tastiest ones I've ever had.  But we could have used some more savory stuffs. No worries: just an excuse to have more of Janina's chocolates.

Day 2:  I am surprisingly eager to get going.  I skip the champagne this time.  I am all about education this morning.  The goal is "anything French" so I hit Anthony Giglio's "French Underdogs."   Thanks to him I have fantastic French wine finds and a newfound compulsion to get an ice bucket.  (You just had to be there.)   Let's just say the horror of putting ice cubes in your wine is indeed confirmed, but cooling the (red) wine in more appropriate ways is very à propos and indeed necessary.

These folks in the audience were intense: they knew all the grapes that went into a Bordeaux, for example.  They knew obscure villages in Beaujolais.  I left happy. Entertained.  And not too tipsy.

Each day had some intense outdoor grilling going on.  On Day 2, there were little guys like this one getting a good fire on them:

Lots more meat the second day it seemed over at the Grand Tasting Pavilion. The brisket from Stubbs? Wow. Had no idea that they had this good of a brisket.  

I must say this shaved pork slider from Jasper's may take the cake for favorite foods (but the Day 1 kale salad is right up there).

How they described this: "Shaved Pork Sliders, Ancho Barbeque Aioli, Housemade Pickles, Maytag Blue Cheese Chips."  Yep, it was as tasty as it sounds.

One more class with Anthony Giglio, this one on wines of Sicily - who knew I knew so little about Italian wines?? - and then I was about ready to call it a day.

The striking vista the blue and green chairs made on the lawns of Butler Park - this picture from early Saturday -  was harder to discern by this time on Sunday because there was not a single available chair.  

Growing tired and slightly annoyed by asking many times - "Is this (empty) seat taken?" - and having the person say "yes" - I decided I could use my standing time more efficiently by making my way back to the car at City Hall (free parking!).

By this time, I also had a few heavy books in hand.  Yes, I bought a Mark Oldman book (signed).  Yes, I bought the Marcus Samuelsson book "Yes, Chef: a memoir") (signed).  And why not take a few more bottles waters on the way out.  

And so ended my First Austin Food and Wine Festival, and Austin's Second.  

Will I go again.  Yes.  Will I drink more water, wear the hat and not care what I look like.  Yes.  

One can imagine this event growing ever bigger every year.  So enjoy the smaller, manageable, even sort of charming aspects of this still rather new festival - and get an early bird special next year for a pretty good bargain of a ticket price ($200) in the big scheme of things. 

 

The Confit de Canard French Dinner Party...and those show-stealing Parisian macarons...but really it was all about the cheese plate and the refreshing non-etiquette of cheese-eating

I just wanted to have another French family dining experience.  But even I could not have imagined this French Dinner Party experience would be so formidably elegant, yet so completely casual and warm.  A formidable feast it would end up being: melt-in-the-mouth confit de canard; pommes de terres sarladaises (classic side dish for confit de canard: thinly sliced potatoes cooked in the (duck) fat from the duck confit); a salmon tartare with watercress before that, preceded by champagne (the real deal: Veuve Clicquot).  But there was more.  Way more.

To get this experience state-side, I bid enthusiastically at a fundraiser to earn two seats at the dinner table of a French couple, who would prepare and host an authentic French Dinner Party for 8 persons in their home.  No way I was missing that.  My favorite, most heart-warming, interesting meals in France have been with friends at their homes.

For the pre-dinner ritual there were many lovely coupes of Veuve Clicquot.  There was a warm and effervescently bright green pea soup in tiny glass tumblers with long sprigs of chives laid across them.  There was the ultimate indulgence:  foie gras.  A heavenly moment of gourmandise.  

But yet, out of the corner of one's eye, one could not miss, standing out, crying out for attention, over on the enormous white marble kitchen island, a burst of hot pink. That hot pink blast was in fact rows of shocking bright pink and red confections -- raspberry macarons -- set out just so, with a single red rose petal set asymetrically atop each one of them. These would be our desserts.  Prepared just for us by a soon-to-be chef/proprietor of a new French patisserie in downtown Austin. (More on that later.)

These sassy macarons, Jezebels really, cried out for attention.  From every angle they were gorgeous. And they knew it.  They loved the camera.  And I loved them.  I snapped a series of macarons photos.  Could not get enough of them.  Photo of solitary macaron. Macaron with serving fork.  Trio of macarons, viewed horizontally.  Long tray of macarons, viewed at an angle. Up close.  Far away.  

They almost stole the show.  

But then we sat down to la table.  For the first course - very light and spring-like: pale pink salmon, a spray of watercress.  Perfect counterpoint for the heartiness of what was to come.  

We learn that for our main course we will have confit de canard, straight from France.   And we not only will have a gratin dauphinois (huge weakness for me: potatoes, cream, cheese, garlic, all browned in the oven for grand finale), but yet another potato dish.  (Uncharacteristically excessive for a French dinner party!)  For at the last minute, someone called an audible and insisted on the classic confit accompaniment: pommes de terres sarladaises, potatoes cooked to go especially with confit de canard, as they are cooked in the very same duck fat that has preserved the duck. And then a nice ratatouille alongside as well. 

I tried to eat slowly.  Really I did.  But the duck...so tender, with a few crispy bits here and there from its final cooking to warm up and crisp up.  (Even my vegetarian friend is agog at the deliciousness.)  Seconds were offered. Oh, if you insist....

And then the cheese.

The French cheese plate has always intimidated.  Only because I know there is ritual and there are rules to be followed.  And I do not know my cheese well enough to really get this nailed down just right.  I admit out loud this intimidation, and yet, no one else really knows what I am talking about.  Sure, our French hosts do.  But between their time living in Spain, Argentina, Brazil, such rituals are not necessarily the bread and butter of their days, so to speak, in the US.  No one really followed the rules, but for starting with the mild and working one's way to the super strong one of the night, which our host warned us about in advance.

And really it was not fair, not nice at all, to include so many cheeses.  So many choices.   Caprice des Dieux; a Brillat Savarin; and of course a bleu cheese.  At least three or four more in there.  

Now, after much anticipation, having devoured the macarons with the eyes earlier in the evening, it was, finally, time to enjoy them by eating them.

More photos: macaron on my plate before consumption.  Macaron partially destroyed upon commencement of destruction.

But wait.  There was more.

Seated in the living room for digestif time, there were yet still more delicacies set out on the table. Miniature chocolate eclairs.  Just casually, elegantly hanging out to be adoringly viewed. 

I could not help it.  They looked so cute.  I had one.  I had another.  I had some Armagnac.  I had some coffee.   We, or some of us, launch into Spanish when relatives of our hosts arrived, an adorable and very interesting couple from Ecuador.

At the end of the evening, we were given charming little gift bags and gift boxes: take-away macarons lined up all tiny and pink in the little box bearing the name of the soon-to-be new patisserie in downtown Austin (I am so in trouble), and a bag of crispy buttery flaky palmiers.

So many lessons.  

All those rituals and rules...in the end, the only real rule about enjoying French food despite the centuries of history and tradition is to just enjoy.  And be gracious.  I am again reminded that my favorite French meals are still with friends and family, around a table at home, with lovely food and lovely people.  But now I realize that this can happen not just in France -- but also in the US. 

 

 

 

 

International Food Law Stuff (AOC, DO): you say sparkling wine/Prosecco/Cava I say we say champagne, sometimes, and incorrectly

It was ironic that I would receive a David Lebovitz blog post called "Champagne, Reims, and Veuve Clicquot" just hours after realizing a faux pas I made on one of my own blog posts.   I called a beverage champagne that, in fact, was not champagne at all.  I did not know this at the time, as I knew little about the lovely sparkling beverage I had been served.  But I should have known, and I could have known, were I not so caught up in the festivities, fun, and self-reflexion and getting too much sun (and wine) too early in the day. 

The lovely sparkling wine provided for the Austin Angers Music 2013 festivities was this Bouvet Rosé Excellence produced by Bouvet-Labuday, and available in the US through Kobrand Wines and Spirits.

Of course, a sparkling wine that one may unthinkingly call "champagne" is not truly "champagne," and in fact may technically not be called that at all unless it comes from a specific region in France -- "Champagne," "one of the great historic provinces of France," as this site explains.   So what, you might say.  Well, so a lot.  There are international trade laws on this topic, and the interplay of international and national and EU laws for regional food specialities is well, pretty darn fascinating.  And complicated. 

My "champagne" error touched on an issue I was (very) lightly researching, on regional laws protecting food as an intellectual property issue.  The champagne issue is thick in the middle of this controversial topic in certain circles.  Some back story is in order.

Recall a few labels you may have seen on your favorite French wine and you might recall the term "AOC."  "AOC" is the shorthand version for a French term (though other countries have similar terms, such as Denominacion de Origen) loaded with legal and cultural consequences in terms of regulating what food or wine may be called what. It is "Appellation d'Origine Controllée."   A site for Diplomatie France explains it this way:

The AOC system was initiated in 1935 to safeguard the specificity of products originating in France’s regions, or terroirs. It is administered by the Institut National des Appellations d’Origine (INAO), the national regulating body established at the time. The INAO recommends labels of origin to the French government and drafts all related regulations. It also ensures the labels are controlled and protected, both nationally and internationally, requiring producers to strictly observe the rules they have set themselves to. Beyond indicating a product’s geographic origin, the AOC designation also focuses on specific criteria such as geological, agronomical and climatic factors, as well as indisputable know-how. For example, in order to receive the label of guarantee from its region of origin, the famous Roquefort cheese must meet a series of criteria: specific manufacturing process, the use of milk from sheep raised in the region according to traditional breeding techniques and fed a certain type of forage, in addition of course to specific characteristics (cheese’s colour, appearance, etc.). Such stringent requirements guarantee the product’s quality.

We who love food and food experiences could probably all agree this is a good thing, in terms of wanting to make sure a particular camembert is in fact from Normandie to ensure that a particular flavor associated with a camembert from Normandie can be had when purchasing a cheese with that label.  The system ("AOP" in terms of such products as camembert: see here) protects me to make sure I am getting what I want and what I am willing to pay a premium for even. 

Things get more complicated for libations that have been part of our common (American) cultural reference vocabulary for like, forever.   Such is the case for the beverage known as "champagne," as we laypersons, outside the food/beverage/restaurant industries, sometimes use the term "champagne" in a generic form (wrongly) to refer to anything bubbly.  This may be because of a loophole in the international law that addressed this issue.  For example, per this article, back in 1993:

...the International Agreement of Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS) recognized wine appellations as valuable intellectual property rights. Under provisions that took effect in 1996, many signatory countries (including the U.S.) have agreed to protect Geographical Indications (GIs).  The Joint Declaration to Protect Wine Place & Origin was signed in 2005, and now has the support of 15 international wine regions.

But as the article notes, there is indeed a loophole, despite efforts of US wine producers and advocates to get people, and wine producers, to use the right words in the US when it comes to what is really "champagne" and what is not really "champagne":

The Center for Wine Origins has been hard at work to protect these GIs....This particular problem is a little bit different—it focuses on an interesting loophole that exists in the current agreement, an exception that protects the continued use of geographic indications that were in trademarks and in actual use before TRIPS became effective. In the bilateral trade agreement, the term ‘champagne’ grandfathers’ U.S. producers using the name prior to 2005—the aftermath is evident as we continue to see U.S. producers such as Korbel’s ‘California Champagne’ on supermarket shelves.

And if you need a more authoritative, detailed source from lawyers who really know this stuff, the American Bar Association has this comprehensive summary of that patchwork of international laws, including a piece on the major philosphical differences between the US and European legal systems in dealing with such issues.

As for me and my everyday life between baseball practice, lightly monitoring homework and my carb intake and keeping up with Federal Circuit cases, I vow to do better.  And though I am having a hard time wrapping my vocabulary around inviting friends to raise their glasses for a "sparkling wine toast" or a "Prosecco toast," I may just have to buy French champagne (redundant) for a real champagne toast.   Better yet, I can do what the wine bars do.  Notice they never have a section for "champagne."  That part of the libations menu is simply "Bubbles."  A bubbles toast it shall be.  Cheers!

SXSW 2013 - Rookie/Newbie Brain Dump on the 8 Days

As I prepare for real life again on Monday after 8 days of thinking, eating, walking, drinking at this, my first SxSW, I realize I can manage only a brain dump of a summary of the overall experience.  A mashup of random meetings and interactions and myriad suggestions and tips that led to the inspiring, the bizarre, and maybe even life-changing people and panels.

Memory Lane Stream Of Consciousness Brain Dump (from notes along the way)

Baconator attempted at lunch, over and over - oh why oh why is the dual-line system for this and the panky dog and the Cap'n Crunch and cous-cous delicacy SO confusing? Tired and cranky. Give up and try again another day for that pulled pork over slaw and spicy remoulade sauce in a bacon waffle cone. Head to Hackney House our East London connection with tech community; will backdoor into Angers somehow for technology enterprises and JVs, etc. etc. Follow up to follow.  Those Hackney House folks' sccents adorable.  Cannot understand them.

Back to Interactive. New to me buzzwords: market pane - huh? Oh: "market pain." Ergo SIRI: SIRI invented to diminish multiple steps/touches to web-searching that resulted in loss of users to get to transactional state (money/purchase). So true.  I give up after couple of clicks/touches.  

3-D printing is not weird printing fad to use and then look at through 3-D glasses but radical iteration of the first Industrial Revolution: e.g. I decide I need a pair of yellow flip flips or a toy figure of my own imagination and bam the Bre Pettis Makerbot can make that. THAT is 3-D "printing."  

Elon Musk...spectacular biceps -- flash: recall is TESLA guy and PayPal guy. SpaceX kind of mind-blowing: get it takes cool calm brilliance - arrogance? - to say we should go to Mars and I will do it if NASA will not.  Vision of reusable rockets here (after all we don't throw away a plane after one use, do we).  Elon shows us first - besides cameraman.  Via Johnny Cash Ring of Fire soundtrack successful test of reusable rocket.  Grasshopper.  Yes, I was there.  Saw it. One of the first.  Thank you EE for recommending I hit this.  Lessons here of failure, faith - yes money too, but failure and risk and failure again.   See also Twenty Feet from Stardom.  Failed - frustrated - paths to greatness for amazing black women those background singers (open with the Lou Reed song Take Walk on Wild Side); stories of why there, why stay, why and how cannot move up and out and the curiosities and cruelty of fate stomping down voices so magnificent: chills up and down and up again the spine.

Entrepreneur Lounge: Off site Fogo de Chao: tech companies/associations from Nantes.  Invites for them to meet the startup scene, Eve Richter, chamber of commerce heads, city leaders, way too many freely available Caipirinhas (below) boy that bacon-wrapped chicken and the sausage was great.  

Break time another lounge the Lounge Thing for SxSW not as glamorous as thought but great for charging phones.

Austin City Limits "Lounge" (okay alcove) at Convention Center. Decide to sit in there on couch and because tired and want to sit in green and red and purple light.  And charge phone. No care who else there.  Is band Orange County, CA just drove in ready to go on Beacon Lounge.  Beacon Lounge the fav.  (Well, no, Yahoo! lounge surprisingly cool at Brazos Hall.  Checked it out for architecture and ended up staying.)  When else are red bean bag chairs, outlet for phone, great salsa and chips all there for the taking?   Earlier in day had hearty oatmeal cookie with raisins for sort of protein at that lounge.  

Catch some of the Four Seasons live KUTX program one morning. Note: this is all the SxSW music I need.  No need for platinum badge.  Yep, this is the way to go. Hear Robin Hitchcock. Feel sort of in-the-know now.

Food Crawl Saturday with foodies:  Drag self to Long Center.  In drizzly rain. Get wristband. With 100s others.  Cannot deal with Tweeting and walking in rain to follow maps on secret site.  W cocktail instead.  Listen to music.  Meet up with Food Crawlers at Kenichi.  Food gal there met my Paris food startup acquaintance Cedric day before. Learn of BakeSpace, TechMunch: decide to attend food blogger seminar next day at Whole Foods in global HQ offices. In quasi-hangover state tell Serena next to me at the seminar that it would be cruel joke for me to win basket of Argentinean wine being given away that day because I am so tired of drinking and so do not need it.  I won it.  

New foodie friends, including lawyer who does Foodie Is The New Forty.  Note foodies are very thin.  Why do I feel so fat. Will deal with later.  Try cold brewed coffee.  Chameleon Coffee.  Tried at TechMunch demo day at Whole Foods with Horchata. Realize may never live in France because unsure can live without Horchata.  Food panel with Addie Broyles and others so surprisingly substantive and thoughtful: the whys and what-fors of food porn, molecular gastronomy, over-eating/doing (ironically, was my question to the panel....).  A re-Tweet by Addie.

Chef Remi for the Angers bands' big invasion of combining the music and food cultures to bring it all here for the Austin Angers scene gets hooked up for pork blood and other pork items (or reasonable substitutes under the circumstances and they are superb substitutes).  High 5 Trace at W and Slow Food Austin.  Sebastien comes to rescue.  All under control.  

I decided one day in late late late a.m. in cavernous Austin Convention Center that with protein depletion and inadequate hydration movie popcorn and red wine in a chair sounds good.  Why. Why do this to self.  Because I feel like a kid playing hookie and it feels bad (i.e., good) to do so.  But now yes those buttery kernels are stuck on my mid-section and require weeks of ab work and paleo.

Walmart run to help Chef Remi for coolers to get the food over to Bungalow for the showcase and the brunch preceding.  Gladly.  Drop off at Justines and hang out and wait.  Photo ops.  Justine's delicately lovely in a.m. before masses invade.  I check out kitchen.  Chat with Pierre en francais. Direct electrician as Pierre had left.  Stir some things on the stove.  Chef Remi arrives.  Approves coolers.  I leave.  I get TexMex at Joe's on way back to downtown.  Get parking.  Movie No. 2:  Finding the Funk.  Great seat. Call from home.  Leave.  All works out.  Go back to downtown.  Park again.  Take Nantes, France delegation to party out in country.  Sun setting over in the hilliness of Nutty Brown Road.  Lovely.  

Next day brunch via Chef Remi spectacular success duck tartare really something duck pate chicken liver pate all so lovely.  Austin-Angers music showcase stunning in colors and sounds and diversity amidst this superb food spread.  Stick around for rest of afternoon.  Charge phone.  While racing to outlet to charge phone, again, meet Episcopalian minister. Talk Jesuits and Pope and community and music.  Promise to go to his panel. (I did not make it.)  

Meet gluten-free Chef People's Pharmacy learn about French Paleo cookbook.  Meet Austin Music Foundation peoples and jazz trumpet awesome guy Jeff Lofton and his cool wife Dean.  Great glasses she had. We talk about and talk to people about jazz venues in France.  Get free CD.

Titi Robin Trio rocks it with the virtuoso guitar of Titi and that percussion. No wonder they are the band from this trip chosen to be on Fox morning show to spotlight in prime spot.  Get French Paleo cookbook signed.  Listen to Erin Ivey,  mpish voice and guitar.  Pause needed away from this Bungalow place.  Ice cream at new fav Ice Cream Social. Madagascar Vanilla and Salted Caramel the chosen flavors.  Topped with Cardamon Toasted Coconut.  Must nap. 

Friday wake up early to get band (Titi Robin Trio) for TV spot.  Get them south of Ben White.  7 adults in the MDX and the instruments.  Funny.  Stop at gas station en route.  Drive to Fox Station on 11th.  Do coffee run for band.  Translate some timing issues.  Agent Amelie handles better.  Nerves on edge from too much coffee too little sleep too many Brazilian cocktails.  Spot done.  Cut.  Done.  Get car. Drive to Justine's for the Friday brunch with the official peoples and later the bands. 

All food now.  No worries. Lovely day.  All the important people are there already.  

(Le Chabada co-director Francois here with moi in bloated state and Consul General of France, in from Houston Frédéric Bontems).

Again the nice Cultural Attache, Sylvie, from day before event also.  Austin Mayor.  Sunny skies.  Breeze.  Tables - pain au chocolat - coffee. Olivier whipping up espressos inside as adeptly as he handles those French 75s at crush time. I ask him if French 75s can be done.  He says oui.  I say see you soon.  Victoria joins me with wine.  (That white wine - the "vin nature" - so good.)  French friends shocked (again) with me but do not care so much by now as so relieved made it to here and so happy they are having this wonderful moment.

More wine.  More duck pate and duck tartare.  More music and bands. Victoria buys French 75s for us.

(Part of the Austin-Angers PsychFest decor for the stage at Justine's...I felt about like this gal here.  Just not as thin.)

Lunch at Justine's with Victoria.  For like two hours.  Thierry is our waiter.  New guy.  Never seen him before here.  I drink water.   She leaves for next engagement. Chat with Francois, Germain. Wonder if more friends can come or I will head downtown again for movie.  Amy arrives.  Admire amazing decor the Justine's team did.  Francois tells us they did all this.  

More music and sitting on bench with Amy and Francois in the sun ... through German hard rock group.  Paris acoustic group.   Discuss ideas of "the real Texas" with Francois and Amy.  Bands over now.  Official Justine's dinner time rolling around. Day Drinking at Justine's and lunch: marvelous.  I ask Pierre if he will continue.  Non.  

Sun setting.  More friends arrive.  Francois invites us to stay for dinner with the Angers contingent.  Amy stays.  I stay.  More wine, Chef Remi gives me gifts and intel on his new restaurant.  Chef pulls off the "sabrage" maneuver on the champagne - the champagne used for the Austin-Angers toast earlier in the day.  So classy those French.  Champagne (small, moderate amounts) for us all.  

Melanie, here with the group to donate her time to make a documentary about the Austin-Angers connection, now tells me she needs to interview me before I leave to go home.  Melanie: you realize I have been here since 10H30 a.m. and starting on the organic white wine at 11 a.m.?    No worries.  It works.  I am done. Will pick up the coolers next day.

While in line for Twenty Feet from Stardom earlier in week met Fitz, lawyer from Colorado.  Learn about free CLE on Saturday.  Look at CLE program see lawyer from Paris there.  Will go.  Wake up Saturday.  Go downtown. Get parking.  Get coffee.  Go to CLE.  Copyright reform underway.  Interesting.  Massive issues of Pandora, Spotify (good thing heard those talks earlier in the week); costs of content.  Costs of negotiating.  Battlegrounds for how the digital economy for music will be managed. What is fair for artists/consumer/the company that provides the service.  

Walk to Milk and Honey.  Walk back to Convention Center.  Paris lawyer talks about alternative financing for music groups and tax issues in US and France.  Talk to Paris lawyer at break.  Exchange cards. Meet Montreal company and cool publisher guy: Montreal indie music scene huge: 200+ indie record labels.  Get free CD.  Meet Venezuelan Latin dubstep gal.  Get free CD.  (Really love this CD.)  

Last gasp: movie at Stateside Theatre all the way back up on Congress. While in line, more music, bands, peace march down Congress.  Couple next to me in line, in 60s, in their "retirement home" condo downtown, do movie part every year. Had seen 12 movies so far this year.  Prince performing across the street that night from their condo.  

Glad stayed in line for Good Ol' Freda.  Nice to be in cool dark place.   It was then nice to be done with the movie.  It was nice to walk outside, into the fray of the Saturday night of Vampire Weekend of SxSW getting ramped up.  

And it was very nice to take off le badge, walk to the car, and drive home.  And sleep.

 

 

Josephine House

Those of us of a certain age remember Jeffrey's, and its sidekick Clarksville Cafe right next door (which was always my favorite one, with those stunning Malou Flato tile murals).  They were, for a time, the only good and/or interesting places to eat in Austin.  Except for the great parties my University of Texas grad school Latin American Studies crowd had at Melissa's house.  Fast forward two decades. Explosion.  Hard to keep up with what has opened - and what has closed. 

A business meeting was scheduled for today.  At Josephine House, just barely open for business (as of 4 weeks ago).  It is right around the corner from the hallowed ground of Jeffrey's/Clarksville Cafe.  (Clarksville long gone from this location; Jeffrey's is getting a much needed complete revamp and is closed for now).

Sure, I thought épicerie on my first visit was pretty awesome, thematically and architecturally, and even a little envy-inspiring.  But this, this Josephine House.  I just want to pick it all up, with its huge oversized white-washed rustic wood boards, its original windows and black venetian blinds, its outdoor fireplace, banquette seating, the chairs, the white marble bar and countertops, and take it all home with me as my own little party pavilion in the back yard.  Or on the banks of the Blanco River.  Or somewhere in the Vaucluse.  

I walked in and just repeated over and over.  To the cook in the back in the kitchen, to the hostess:  "It's just so darn cute.  I can't get over it.  It is just too cute."

Outside has seating, casually scattered interesting wicker chairs.  Off to the side: a deck, a vintage (looks like) wood picnic table with iron legs, a nice and warm (cold day when the wind kicked up) outdoor fireplace used for cooking the steak for the sliced sirloin sandwiches, cozy little alcoves of upholstered banquettes for outdoor, slightly covered dining.  Lights strung up across.

Inside:  Light filled.  White everywhere on those broad, rustic, white-washed wood boards on the horizontal.  A marble bar to the left in the big front window of the house.  Small.  Cozy. Gleaming with adult libations and espresso machine.

More inside:  Off to the right, the "main" dining room.  It is petite.  What is really charming is the left side of the room:  all across one side of one wall, and a half a wall:  all white marble countertops just spread out with an array of lovelies.  A leek tart, a white platter bursting with the colors of slices grapefruit and oranges. Pickled vegetables.  Crockery piled up.  Abundant bouquets of flowers in antique silver trophy vases. Dessert goodies!  Breads!  What is happening to Austin - and can it get any cuter with these restaurant architectural design overhauls.

Still more architectural cuteness.  The quasi-open kitchen.  Quasi in the sense that above the marble counters are grey-washed rustic barn doors, on that awesomely industrial steel barn door hardware, that slide wide open to allow a look into the petite kitchen.

And yes, to whomever designed this, duly noted that spectacular scent in the WCs -- the women's one at least.  Updated vintage in the WC as well.  Yes, all duly noted. Duly noted looks like Sarah Richardson was here.

Bathed in and delighted by such architectural charm, I caved and said yes to a pre-lunch glass of wine.  A Muscadet from the Loire Valley.

Oh, right.  The food.  Lovely roasted chicken "ragu" cooked on the bone then taken off for me (not me personally, but for the dish as served) over some tasty polenta. The portion was not overly large.  Good thing, as the appetizer chosen, because that leek tart set out on the expansive marble countertop for ogling had gotten to me, was quite abundant for a starter course. (In hindsight, I think one is supposed to share those plates.)

Josephine House is open only for lunch right now.  And cocktails in the afternoon. How lovely does that sound.   Only light snacks, i.e., almonds, olives, available to go with your adult beverage. Yes, that sounds pretty swell.   Also open for private parties.  Adorable, yes, that too, but even better if I could just pack it all up for a private party in my own backyard.  

 

Melvin's Deli Comfort's Croque Monsieur (a great hot mess)

In the mad dash to check out all the "French" food venues I could for the AFBA on line City Guide 2013, I had to quickly check out a tip I received for Melvin's.  I heard their Croque Monsieur had been written up as something spectacular.  As Melvin's is a happy bright red trailer located at 53rd and Duval, I figured leaving at 11h30 from my house would allow me get me there, score this croque monsieur, and get to French class for noon.  Time is of the essence now to visit these spots before my write-up is due. And Melvin's is only open from 11 to 2, Monday through Friday.

Let us consider for a moment the croque monsieur.  It is, at bottom, a ham and cheese sandwich.  It is omnipresent in France, a staple among basic cafe fare items. If one is hungry for quick but filling sustenance after walking along the Seine, up to the Quai Branly and down to l'Institut du Monde Arabe, back up the Right Bank to the Louvre, Place de la Concorde, sighing wistfully for hours, a croque monsieur hits the spot.  And it's hard to get it wrong.  Or so you would think.  

Having spent many hours working up an appetite in walking up and down the Seine over the last three decades, I have had a fair number of very mediocre croques monsieurs.  There are many things that can go wrong on it:  not broiling it enough to make it nice and hot; not having enough Bechamel sauce and cheese on top to make it bubbly and golden brown and crusty crispy; lackluster innards, i.e., bland cheese (rather than a great gruyere) and/or benign ham, like just a thin slice of ham, obviously pulled up out of a plastic package.  

The red trailer that is Melvin's is easy to spot on the corner, in a parking lot (parking is easy).  There are two picnic tables set up in the parking lot.  It is cold. I will not be sitting at a picnic table.

I order the Croque Monsieur.  The perky order-taker tells me: "Ok, now the croque monsieur takes a little longer, so just warning you."  Drats..."How much longer?  I need to get to French class?" 10 minutes she says.

I'm too far in.  I say ok.  And now I'm intrigued that they will be taking their time with this Croque Monsieur.  I wait:  I pace in the cold; I sit in the car; I get back out and pace in the cold.  "One more minute, Liz!," she tells me.  Adorable.   Others have lined up and already gotten their orders.  I realize I will have to hurriedly eat this in the car while driving to French class.

"Liz!"

She hands me a white box.  I open the white box in the car.  There it is.  The Croque Monsieur.  Along with the homemade potato chips.

I pick it up and balance the heavy, ooozing cheesy buttery thing.  It is heavy.  It is hot. It is a hot mess.

A bite, balancing it all precariously as I try to start the car as well (impossible).  Need two hands for this thing.  It is delicious. Like gasp, and say things like, well, I won't repeat what I said and dig in more as it is dripping with cheese, sauce, butter, ham, drippings of all of this mixed together...

David Lebovitz wrote up some tips about food writing a while back.  He said to refrain from just calling a food item "delicious" or "good."  That is no help for the reader. So I will say exactly what made this so delicious.  

Delicious is the hot tart cheese, hitting the tang of a unique non-commercial mustard, combined with the bubbly bechamel, and, the superstar: the sweet salty ham.  It is ham as one would cook up in the frying pan, with it just starting to crisp up on the edges and curl up some.  It it piled into and becomes one with the oozing cheese.  All is in proportion.  There is not a single mistake with this croque monsieur.  Maybe the bread could hold up a little better.  But it is a high quality meat, good strong cheese, and the tanginess of the mustard hitting the bechamel that make this an inspired croque monsieur.  

I drive and eat, the steering wheel getting smeared with all the drippings as I bite and steer, holding the sandwich up so I can get keep my head straight while driving and get the mouth up under the sandwich.  

By the time I get to French class, my hands are soaked with buttery salty goodness. I walk into class, proclaim I have just eaten the most magical croque monsieur ever, from a happy red trailer just blocks away, and go to wash my hands off.  I try to explain to my French teacher that first magical moment of biting into the hot mess, which was really just moments earlier.  And then I forget, again: she does not like cheese. 

No need for the potato chips.  They could be a little thicker for me in the homemade chip category.  But don't waste the calories.  The calories are well spent on the Croque Monsieur.   Do not wait and eat it at home.  Eat it immediately.  

Now if only Melvin's could get its hands on some Cotes du Rhone to serve alongside that hot mess.

 

Considering Valentine's Day

I have been thinking much these past few days on Valentine's Day: specifically, the fact that the romantic dinner is so the thing to do on Valentine's Day with a Significant Other a/k/a boyfriend or girlfriend, and the angst that this ritual can pose to the outsiders, those in a rut of singlehood, and to even the most seemingly successful, together, and hip of single women.  The day is just a big in-your-face reminder that, yes, you're on your own - go get your own flowers and artisanal chocolate - and you're, yes, in a state of being that is contrary to the societal inclinations toward considering "normal" as the couple and not the Table for One person.  

(Spread at Mollie's Annual Pink Tea)

For many years, this holiday, or whatever it is, conjured up for me about the same level of warm fuzzies as do memories of P.E. class at my small Catholic grade school and my being inevitably among the last dregs of the class to be picked for whatever awesome team sport was on tap for that day.  (To this day just hearing "dodge ball" makes me flinch.)  

But this year is different.  I wonder what on earth I would actually want from a beloved Significant Other, if I had one, on such a day.  I realize I don't know.  If I don't know, I wonder how on earth a guy in this equation is supposed to know.  (As it seems to me, again from observation only, that it is typically the female in the equation that has the expectations about this day along the same lines as daydreams about the gorgeous trimmings of The Wedding Day and the Dress but not so much the realities of Marriage.)

I guess the ideal is that the SO would know you so well he could come up with something interesting.  [You know, in my case it would be easy. I could be surprised with, for example, an order of a case of a certain wine that I loved somewhere, sometime, and Tweeted about.  (Except I would perhaps note the fact it is wrong for an ordinary busy single mom to have so much red wine in her house at one time.)  Or I could be surprised with a certain outrageously decadent salted caramel chocolate bar over $10 at Antonelli's (wrapped up and presented very nicely of course), which I cannot bring myself to buy for myself but would not turn down if someone else showed up with it. (But for the fact it is Lent and that outrageously decadent chocolate at this price is a bad choice for a time of year when decadence avoidance is more the norm....See?  It's complicated.  Even for me thinking of my own appropriate token of thoughtfulness.)]  

But does one really want this forced thinking on what an appropriate sign of affection would be on this particular day just because everyone else, so it seems, is on that bandwagon?   Seems like one would gladly trade a bust on this one overcommercialized day for a healthy, fun relationship the 364 other days of the year.

One big problem I have these days, as 50 looms closer than I like to think (and I still haven't figured out what I want to be when I grow up), is that because my food-centric life has recently been so, well, fulfilling in terms of going to great places and being with great people, that a non-spontaneous going out again for Valentine's Day almost sounds like a chore.  Indeed, it has been a fantastic food week already leading up to 14 February:

1)    Friends from Angers, France arrived to prep for the SxSW indie rock bands they are bringing for SxSW.  Had lunch with them at Second and their P.R. agent. I of course wanted to use this as an excuse of having wine with lunch.  (Only one other person joined me.)  And on Wednesday we visited with (1) Iliana de le Vega at El Naranjo - she truly is a lovely person in addition to being a spectacular cook - and (2) Valerie Broussard at the W Hotel, as a "forager" or scout of the best of the best produce for the restaurant, Trace, and so in touch with local produce, local farms, and game for future collaborations with our sister city Angers.  

2)    Had dinner with new or putative potential friends at Winflo Osteria who just wrote me here, on the blog, and thought it would be neat to get together with me for dinner.   Yes, that definitely counts as pretty dang awesome (though if Hugo (Desnoyer) wanted to track me down this way, sure, that may be a few degrees cooler in the cool things column).  

3)    Party-giver extraordinare neighbor had her annual Pink Tea on Saturday, and continues the streak with a small dinner party on Saturday.

(Mollie's Pink Tea spread...I'm not a sweets person really, but these cupcakes...not sure what she put in them.  Delish.)

3)    Gratitude is front and center this week:  I am grateful that after much away time the past few weeks, it just feels so right to be (mostly) at home and cooking (sort of) real meals for the son, whose smile on his face when I walk in the door from a long trip, despite his best efforts to hide it, he cannot suppress because it is so involuntarily genuine and spontaneous.  

In light of the blessings of friends and family, I wonder why we (i.e., some womenfolk) persist in thinking this one day is the barometer of our lives in general -- in terms of "success" or "failure," even though most of the single moms (mostly lawyers) I know do not have the energy left, if they were honest with themselves (which I am on this front), to even entertain the option of a relationship beyond a few dates. 

In short, I am looking forward to thoroughly enjoying Thursday evening at home, making something perhaps with my overload of turnips from my Greenling Local Box, drinking a lot of water given the wine and great food overload these past few days, making sure the son has finished his note cards for chemistry class, and - if I'm really lucky - I'll catch an NCIS marathon.

And I will have no one else to blame for what is this year, for me, the perfect Valentine's Day. 

 

Airplane and Airport Food : le Tapas Box and the so-not-a-Croque Monsieur

Thanks to a kind, on-the-ball ticketing agent at Reagan National Airport, I scored a seat on an earlier flight back to Texas.  This was good news and bad news.  Good news because if I caught the next leg of the trip, Houston to Austin, based on risky stand-by status, I'd get in two hours earlier ending three days of hotel living and working.   The bad news was that this really messed up what and how I would eat that day.  With memories of perhaps one of the most expected yummiest meals ever - at Zaytinya (Greek, Lebanese, Turkish small plates) - I had a feeling this would be a very different food day.  So why not make the best, or worst, of it.

If I did make stand-by, there would be no time to eat.  I had been subsisting on protein bars mostly while in D.C., better get something on the plane. Mary-Kate and Ashley needed to be tended to while this 10-days-old Parisian cold lingered on top of no real sleep while in D.C. (M-K & A is my code name for flawed adrenal system I've been working on improving: think back on their dark, goth, pale, about-to-fall-over-if-a-mild-breeze-came-by selves - yep, that's what the old non-operative adrenal system felt like before I found wise miracle worker Eleanor McCulley at Austin 3-D Health).

And so it was that I made a reluctant foray into those purchased "snacks" on United Airlines. I went for the Tapas Box.  Seemed fairly healthy.  Roasted red peppers, almonds, hummus, pita chips.  With the UT Food Lab's Food, the City, and Innovation Conference from just a few days earlier fresh on my mind, I immediately silently gasped in horror at the amount of packaging that went into this item:  a box, yes.  But plastic wrapped around the box.  Open the box: an array of items, all individually packaged. 

Of special note was the interesting packaging for the hummus.  Which on arrival I noted, with some concern for its ingredients, was called a "hummus dip."   It is contained in that green waxy cardboard multi-sided package above, tucked to the right of the Roasted Red Pepper "Bruschetta" (which was not awful, if I ignored the slight resemblance it had to Pace picante sauce, which continues to grace America's grocery store aisles, to my complete bewilderment)).  The hummus packaging was such that you could just squeeze it out onto your carb of choice: three types of crackers in there.  I went for the pita chips for that, which meant the Pace picante sauce-flavored "bruschetta" (as we know, bruschetta refers to the ensemble of topping on crisped/grilled baguette slices), had to go on just a regular cracker.  Weird.  Sure, I ordered some wine - that mini bottle of what for me is barely even one glass of wine.  The AV system was lame on this not-yet-upgraded plane: I figured I needed something to pass the time. 

Once we arrived at IAH, it was first rush from Terminal E to Terminal B to see about that Stand By status.  Realizing I had plenty of time though, en route I stopped in at Le Grand Comptoir, a nice-enough looking wine bar, with locations at just Newark and Houston it looks like for now.  And with a French name, I could not resist. Sure, I knew, at some deep unconscious level that another glass of wine was a bad idea.  With the cough increasing, the Sudafed cycling down, and the Hall's eucalyptus cough drops creating vague numbness in the back of my throat...I was more deleriously tired than full from the environmentally unsound Tapas Box.  I went for the wine at the wine bar. And, why not, let's check out the Croque Monsieur.  

Service was nice enough. Pleasant.  And the crowd up at the bar was a nice group of folks. A little more upscale than the types I was seeing at Chili's, which as we know has that plastic mug thing for beverages that throws me into an apoplectic fit for inexplicable reasons.  Okay they are explicable: The plastic.  The thought of having any anything - water, iced tea - out of a plastic mug with a handle.  The handle and the plastic.  Therein lies the horror.

In the meantime, the European, in a good way, -looking guy next to me was ordering the Penner Ash - at a price I had noted and marvelled at on the menu - before I went for anything I could find below or at $10.00.  

And then le croque monsieur arrives.  Uh, excuse me.  The menu made it sound like you knew what a croque monsieur was.  As I Tweeted that moment in abject disappointment, ceci n'est pas un croque monsieur.  What is wrong this picture: 

 Right.  It is a ham sandwich with a little but of cheese, and a mustard-dipping sauce. I was too numb with travel fatigue to make some clever conversation about this not being a croque monsieur - which I am sure would have impressed everyone around me. I just left and checked out my standby status in Terminal B.  The flight was already oversold. No go.

Back I had to go, back to Terminal C, after being at Terminal E upon landing, and then Terminal B. I passed by Le Grand Comptoir again on the way back.  My cough and I just kept going, but next time -- it is the venue of choice there at IAH.  Just think "Americanized" sort-of French food.  And it sure beats a plastic-wrapped Tapas Box.

 

Goat on the fire...and other surprises: LongHouse Food Revival

I got back from France on Tuesday, with what I have taken to calling "my Parisian cold," crammed in the work, and made it to the Food, the City, and Innovation Conference at UT (specifically, The Food Lab at UT) this past Friday/Saturday.  In fact, that trip to France was compelled for many reasons, but primarily for getting up-to-date intel on what the France start-up scene looks like in the food systems sector.  Not just so I can be a part of that dialogue as well and connect us with the innovations over there, but also to figure out which one of the many ill-fitting, half-made hats I am trying on these days -- putative food entrepreneur, food system critic/problem-solver to entrepreneurs -- suits me best.

Between the head cold, the work, the brain-smashingingly awesome new jargon I learned (e.g., "hyper-local" and "restorative ecosystems" and "food system resiliency" and "bio-economy") that infuses the debate about local, sustainable, urban agriculture, by the time Friday night's dinner rolled around I was doing good just to get myself there.  I had no idea what it was that I had purchased a ticket for months earlier.  But someone had come all the way from Delaware just to see her friend, Molly O'Neill, run this show.  I started to take it all a bit seriously. 

All I knew was the space was gorgeous.  We were there early, Melissa and I, to be almost first in line at the bar (tequila tasting, etc. and an actually pretty darn good Texas wine) and take in what this place, this thing was going to be.  

As in many, many things, I was starting to learn that I am a little late to the party on this food systems stuff.  Yet I come at it from such a different perspective - funding/legal challenges these folks face as they (we) seek to change the world (lawyers, we're such total buzzkillers) - but even though I am late, I am delighted to be seeing my city in a whole different light.  Much like I saw Paris for the first time in a very different way this time: the young, hipster, smart entrepreneur/challenge the system side.  (Young being an operative word.)  

I had just learned about Hope Farmers Market that day, and it so happens that this particular market, when it happens, is at this Pine Street Station where the LongHouse Food Revival Dinner was happening.  It is a complex of old barn buildings or lean-tos, with rafters, soaring ceilings, and metal siding and roofing, just east of I-35, which can be rented out for private events.  Exquisitely rustic.  I take pictures.  I look for snacks to accompany the really not bad at all, and really pretty good, Texas red wine.  Melissa finds Iliana de la Vega. They do their gorgeous Spanish thing.  I do not even try to keep up.

Soon we are herded from the now very energetic crowd of folks around the bar, under the lights, into a separate room, one that is not the dining room.  This concerns me, as I am very hungry.  And the dining room looked so adorable all set up improvised like in a farm to table dinner-at-the-field/farm dinner.

But as the music starts -- guitars, some percussion, some singing -- I am easily distracted from the crankiness of no food. (The tamales out for aperitif dining were great, but I stopped after a couple of halves....practicing moderation.)

I am handed a gorgeous program.  I am very critical of printed products.  This one is really well done: lovely font, lovel graphics, right size.  I sit on a back row with new friend, whom I figure out I must have partied with here in 1990 in the early post-grad school transition year to law school, and long-time friend Melissa from that same era (who also knew said new/re-met friend).

Now the magic begins.  LongHouse Food Revival is a multi-media performance art statements of sorts about food.  Our food stories.  Our communities and our food, our personas and our food.  Including recipe demonstrations -- Iliana de la Vega - poems, with powerful visual background of a daughter's recounting her memories or mother's soup juxtaposed against the loss of her mother to dementia; more music, interviews - with Gustavo Arellano of the Ask a Mexican column - with Melissa Guerra, a Nortena, whose husband, Kiko, we learn is the one out there cooking the cabrito. Ah, so there's a goat on the fire.  That's what that's all about out there.

We hear this other Melissa's back story, her 300+ year old cattle ranch around the border, the many hours of getting here, the many hours her awesome husband (her words) has been tending the cabrito - just for us to eat.   

It is cumulatively charming, inspiring.  Even with the flawed sound system. 

Molly has some serious verbal skills.  I was a little jealous, yea, but between my cold and the red wine, I just sat back and delighted in her prose in setting up the various stages of this event, in explaining what she does - to those of us who were clueless.

LongHouse Food Revival is this:

Based on the 19th century American Chautauqua movement, LongHouse Food Revivals are a series of annual gatherings of thought leaders across the United States. The Revivals are designed to stretch the boundaries of how food stories are told, raise the bar on the nation’s food news agenda and, most of all, foster the community between generations, regions, cultures and media platforms that support innovative work of the highest quality. Produced by CookNScribble, the online educational resource and virtual editorial office for food writers, bloggers and producers, LongHouse Food Revivals are intimate gatherings that are large in vision. No two Revivals are alike. All are serious fun 

After that, I lingered.  I loaded up on beads, set up in the bottom bin of a rustic wood display stand.  Molly applauds me for getting that I needed to get some beads. The NOLA thing in me I guess.  I see beads.  I grab.  Told Molly, genuinely, this was so well done.  I love it.  Needed it.  Have found my people.  

At the end of all that, and then the meeting of new friends--the Shrimp Boat Projects guys, a landscape architect professor specializing in urban agricultural designs and rhetoric (I felt very out-intellectualized)--there were small cups of Mexican hot chocolate.  Some ice cream.  I went for the chocolat chaud.

Said newfound old acquaintance of mine, who does a lot of cool things in Austin, echoed my own random thoughts at about that same time when she said:  This is the coolest thing I have ever done in Austin.   

  (Cabrito being distributed in the buffet line; which line of food also had the best tortillas I have ever had (good thick rustic corn tortillas))

Best Laid Plans Gone Awry (Frenchie Night a Bust) / The Unexpected Steps Up To The Plate

I have been stalking Frenchie, one of the most sought-after reservations in Paris, for some time.  And then, after months of attempting, a friend in Paris gets me a reservation weeks before my trip.  I am agog.  I look forward to this - for all those weeks - to Thursday night, January 24, at 19h.   Yea, I made it there.  Barely.  But because of something like a stomach flu that morning, I was not in prime form. Indeed, I could not eat the main course at all, and barely held it to gether to take a stab at the beautiful entree.   Yes, after all that anticipation and longing and yearning.  The best laid plans...just sometimes are not the best thing at all.

Instead, I prefer to look at the Frenchie bust amidst some amazingly unexpected and wonderful food events here.

First: the invitation of faculty at the University of Angers to sit in on the high-end intense wine-tasting class - and, even better, lunch with the gastronomy faculty, including Olivier Etcheverria and Jean-Rene Morice, and the well-known sommelier/wine professor/professional, Jean-Michel Monnier, also on the faculty, Although the chemistry of wine, aromas - and the physiology of taste through the nose and mouth were heady stuff, especially in French - I may have grasped, for the first time, just how one can actually start to discern the many layers of nuance in a wine.  Once you learn to taste and experience, all of that starts to come to light. Lunch with this group, discussing gastronomy, agriculture, tourism/economic development - and how it works with Austin's food scene - totally unexpected. Totally fortuitous.  Much good work and dialogue to come in the realm of Austin-Angers connections. 

Second, the surprise of such an unassuming facade, for such a tiny footprint of a storefront that is Chez Remi in Angers, could be such an utter delight inside: in terms of setting, the welcome, and the food.  Chef Remi will be in Austin for SxSW.  I hope he plans to make some of the creamy bright orange squash soup with chorizo that I had there as an entree (starter).  Pretty sure I am going to like anything he makes.   

Third, later that night, before the expectedly very classy meal at Une Ile, there was a quick stop for a pre-meal drink (sometimes my favorite part of a meal actually) with some Angers music professionals/agents at a wine bar: all organic wine. Great place to prepare the palate for the fine wines at Une Ile.  This is Le Cercle Rouge.  It is just the kind of ambiance I like: stone walls, rough and tumble mismatched furniture for seating, sort of loud music/surroundings for an old person such as myself, but not too hipster that I feel totally awkward.  I was with cool (and much younger) people so that helped.

Fourth, the generosity of the complete strangers I have been connected with to get insights into how France is handling its food system issues with technology and/or plain ole innovation.   As part of that effort, I am introduced via email to web developer/entrepreneur/food addict extraordinaire Cedric Giorgi, founder of Cookening.com.   (Cedric will be in Austin this March for SxSW.) Cookening connects people wanting to have the in-home dining experience - like a dinner party in someone else's home, when you get to meet other people, from other countries ideally, just as interested in eating and meeting new people as you are.  

Cedric not only says sure, let's talk when you're in Paris, but organizes a lunch for me, for Friday January 25.  After blowing me away with the menu for his dinner party the night before - crazy - he introduces me to folks from La Ruche qui dit oui, including Marc-David Choukron, joining us for my "Paris Food Startups 101" class of sorts.  (Marc-David was in Austin last year for SxSW.)  I meet them at a really nifty wine bar in Paris, Chez Pierre, in an area I've been having to be in quite a bit these days.  Delightful place.  Cute staff, informal, good food, fast, inexpensive. Cool furnishings: wood, stone, 1960s-ish simple furniture.  I learn there is a genuinely gorgeous cave down below, for private parties, with a huge long impressive table. Maybe for my birthday some year.... And it was very gratifying that Cedric felt sorry for me and my failed foodie dream at Frenchie.  He was amazed I could even get a reservation - impossible - he says, is the rule there for reservations.  Yea, I know.  Sigh.  

Fifth, I unexpectedly run into an event that allows certain myths to live on: the French beret.  On a bitter cold day, a very gregarious and generous man is bellowing out in the street, outside a restaurant, where he is standing with a hot cauldron of the classic winter libation in Paris, vin chaud.   He is just giving it away. He is wearing a beret.

And though not exactly part of the delight-of-the-unexpected theme, I just really thought adorable these French bull dog - tiles? - at a high-end tile shop near me on the rue du Bac.

 

Dear Austin: If a French chef from around the Loire Valley were visiting Austin...

Would you be interested in, for example:

• Going on a market visit/tour with him as he shops at local Austin markets for the dinners he will prep during SxSW?
• Learning about how French cooking and the French restaurant scene is evolving and comparing that journey to Austin's journey to becoming more of a foodie paradise?
• Attending casual, informative wine-tastings with him to learn about some of the fantastic regional wines that Austin's sister city Angers (i.e., the region around there) has to offer and that we would typically never see or taste in an Austin restaurant -- or any Texas restaurant or wine bar for that matter?
• Enjoy some small tastings and chat with him about why or how or whether the US (and Austin) (or their idealized mythical impressions) hold some sway in the French psyche and imagination (and vice versa)?

This could all happen - just brainstorming here.  Send me your thoughts about how this sounds - or what else you might be interested in - and we'll see about making it happen during SxSW and let you know about time, place, etc.

Le Hot Dog (but before, Les Papilles)

It had been a great food day already.  I did not need much else.  I considered a simple goat cheese tartine, on Poilane bread, at Le Pick Clops, a favorite from long, long time ago trips to Paris.   I settled in at the bar at Le Pick Clops for an aperitif and some of the popcorn they were serving therewith.  With the Michael Jackson tunes going (Pretty Young Thing, Beat It...), and the place bubbling over with activity when outside was bitter cold, it seemed right to stay all night.  But the unwelcome conversation from someone next to me, about trash pick-up services in Nantes, Paris, Lille and Toulouse, finally got the best of me.

In what I thought could be a flash of inspiration (after two small glasses of red wine), I decided to brave the hot dog stand there on the rue Vieille du Temple.  There was a line after all.  How bad could it be?  ....

I see they have a Tex-Mex version.  Chile con carne.  I order it, saying I'd like to check that out as there is a fair amount of Tex-Mex in my part of Tex.  I started to be a little afraid though, so asked the proprietor what the most popular hot dog is. He said people mostly go for the "onion confit."  Well, I'll take that instead then.  And when he showed me the "chile con carne" I was glad I made that call. The "chile" was just black beans and corn.  I ask him how popular the place is, who the clientele is. He was a little evasive.  I get the hot dog.

Now, I am not a big fan of hot dogs. But the last one I had was awesome. Grilled outside on an open fire on a beach, with a toasty bun likewise grilled outside over the open fire.  I walk back toward the Hotel de Ville with the dog.  At least it is warm.  One bite.  Oh.  Not quite the crispy grilled beach-side dog of recent memory. One more bite to confirm maybe I'm missing something.  No.  Not missing anything.  It can be disposed of.  Too soft; too bland; too - just not right at all. At least lunch was spectacular.

Lunch was at Les Papilles.  It had been on my list for a couple of years.  It is close to home base.  It is a Saturday.  I figure a nearby & casual wine shop/spice shop, whose menu says you can tailor your meal to as large or small as you like, would be a great option for a wintry snowy day.   

The lunch did not get off to a great start.  I walk in; hardly anyone is there.  Great!   But it is a little more formal than I envisioned.  I ask whether I can sit just anywhere - hilarious - and the proprietor asks me :  Vous connaissez le restaurant?  I pause for a very long period of time pondering this question.  I think to myself: Well, I'm here aren't I?   So yes, I know the restaurant.  Not sure what he means, so he repeats in English.  Ugh.  Dude.  I KNOW what you're saying : I don't get what you're getting at. What he was getting at was this:  reservations only, one set meal for the day, no choices.  Ah, sure, I'm cool with that.  He guides me to a table for 2 right in front of the front door with the 20 degree wind whistling through.   I question (nicely) whether there is something else maybe not right next to the door where it is Siberia?  No- only thing left that is not reserved.  Well, I will be delighted to take it then, I say.  And when he turned down a couple that came in right after me, because there were no more places and they had not reserved, I smugly settled in, wrapping all my scarves around me.

As I settle in, he tells me I can pick whatever bottle of wine I want in the place to accompany my lunch.  One entire wall of the restaurant is nothing but rows and rows of wine bottles.  Well, I only need like 2.5 glasses I mention to him. He offers up why don't I start with a glass of white, then red (they will choose) and handle it that way. Perfect! 

The first course was a cauliflower soup, with swirls of lovely olive oil through it, poured over creme fraiche, lardons, thick buttery garlicy croutons.  Posted on that yesterday.   I noticed, later, that every table got a tureen of soup.  But as I was just one person with no one with whom to share, I alas on this set menu got the same amount.  In short, I should not have had those extra ladles of soup.  Oh, but it was so, so very good.  I could have stopped there and been very happy.

Next, some very slow cooked pork - terrine - almost but not really - simmering in some tiny white beans, snow peas, roasted carrots. Served in a copper vessel. Again, I think this was for 2-3 people.  But I was one.

I know there is a cheese course coming, and a dessert - a banana panna cotta (!) - so I just cannot do this lovely dish justice.  I do take my time with it though because of the group of people next to me.  Obviously very wealthy - (American) parents and their adult son - with exquisite taste in wine, and frequent visitors to this place. They were planning their trips around the world for the rest of the year.  But I would soon get to hear all about, without really even trying, the son's upcoming marriage, the parents' concern about how to handle his fortune and inheritance - the pros and cons of a pre-nup, etc. Fascinating.  All discussed in an extremely nice way, with the son against the idea, as it did not seem like a nice way to welcome someone into the family.  Even more hilarious : They were definitely from Texas, and maybe even Austin.  

When the proprietator checks on me and my status with the lovely porc, I know he is dismayed at my not finishing it.  I know this is such bad form in France.  But I just cannot.  I look up at him.  I tell him, imploring him:  "I can't, I just can't - I know the cheese and the dessert are still to come."  Oh, but the cheese....it is very small, he says, smiling.

Sigh.  I go in for just a few more bites.  They were good ones.  Glad I did.

Finally, his helper clears that all away.  And then, yes, the really lovely bleu cheese.

I was into Hour 2 of the meal by now.  

I had been reading a French newspaper from 2 days ago to make sure the American aristocrats next to me did not censor their conversation because it really was so intriguing.  Not the subject matter necessarily.  I was just really impressed at how well all of them handled the touchy subject.  No drama.  Just logical arguments, a conflict in their points of view. 

The food finale finally came.  The banana panna cotta.  And then I had to order coffee.  Just seems incomplete to have that kind of lunch and no shot of espresso after.  And the bill came.  It was not bad at all for this experience.  I will definitely go again - with a larger group of persons besides one (1) - and I will reserve.  

And I will not be trying a hot dog again in Paris. 

 

 

 

Food Cycle : Hunting and Butchers (Artisanal...Paris & Hugo Desnoyer: Book Review)

There is nothing quite like a hunting expedition to get one back to nature and thinking about the food production cycle.   Here in the so-called (but fondly labeled) granola-like People's Republic of Texas community that is Austin, which I love, there is not much talk of hunting in my neck of these woods.  There has been as part of recent gun control debates, yes, and it is here in this climate that it just never came up for me to mention that my son shot his first deer over Thanksgiving - a nice 8-point buck.  I get the sense that talking about such things around here might be a little inappropriate politically, so I said nothing about it until recently.  (As he also was the only one in our group to catch a fish on the family fishing expedition in Galveston over the summer, which fish we thoroughly enjoyed for dinner soon thereafter, I am thinking I want him on my team when it comes to some outdoor survival situation.)

Truth to tell though, I grew up around all this. Grew up hearing about deer leases and quail and dove hunts. Grew up seeing the freezer full of plastic bags with tiny little birds (quail). Hunting - and guns - were all part of this.  When I lived in France in that idyllic Junior Year in France time, my host family in the pre-Paris phase, in Tours, took me out with them to their country home.  Out around all the hunting dogs.  And around all the guys setting out on foot with their hunting rifles.  Or whatever they were.  All I remember are the adorable dogs, dozens of them, and being relegated to a small bicycle to keep up that had my knees up into my chest.  

In terms of sustainability and organic local food, getting out and hunting or fishing is as basic and primal as you get. The deer?   All being processed into prime cuts such as backstrap, as well as jalapeno cheddar sausage, and also mounted (European style). No waste.  

We do not think too often of where our food comes from.  Out in the countryside, catching and hunting your own food, you get a bigger picture of the food cycle and how we end up with the food we enjoy so well in our favorite restaurants. Though the world is sharply divided into what items are appropriate for human consumption--meat/no meat; dairy/no dairy--it would probably surprise many to know that, at least from my limited experience with this hunting world, there is considerable respect and even love for the land and its bounty.

Which brings us to another love for the bounty of the land, of a different sort.  This brings us to artisanal butchering in Paris and Hugo Desnoyer.  Hugo's butcher shop in the 14th arrondissement of Paris is right next to the well-respected Jeu de Quilles restaurant.  Friends dining at Jeu de Quilles recently, who apparently told Hugo (who had stopped by the restaurant to visit with his colleagues, the owner/staff of Jeu de Quilles) of a certain American foodie friend who was a little starstruck when she met him back in February 2012, scored a copy of Hugo's book. (He is after all, said to be by some the best butcher in Paris, if not in all of France.)

Hugo even signed the book.  The inscription reads (per my rough translation):  "To Lisette (what my friends and certain French persons call me in France), hoping that this little work gives you a better image of our wonderul metier (profession)!  [something I can't read/translate well]  Merci la vie!  Hugo D--  

I did not know what to expect.  I recently read it.  I get it now.

 For any great artist--be it a chef, a painter, a baker, a candlestick maker--there has got to be an almost incomprehensible to others passion for the subject matter.  And so it is for Hugo. I get that he is passionate about the subject matter of the butcher's work: the animal, the animal's happiness in its life, its comfort at the time of slaughter, the poetry of just the right cut of the meat to bring out the best of the animal, and the optimal cooking of it to respect the purity of a perfectly raised, slaughtered, and aged piece of meat.

Hugo's view of meat, the animal, the right treatment and the right cut does not purport to engage in the sometimes rabid debate about meat and no meat.  He quotes a former President of the National Cancer Institute of France as contrapoint to others decrying the consumption of meat for health reasons:  "In eating meat, think to verifying the meat's origins, choose French meat fed naturally.  Do not overcook it."   He eschews the debate and does not purport to take sides.  He wrote the book instead just to communicate "la passion de ma vie : celle pour la viande - cet univers gore, puissant, sexy et puissamment vivant.  Bousculant tant, c'est mon metier de boucher.  Et vous verrez : la viande, ce n'est pas l'ennemie."  Hugo, p. 12 (very rough translation: ...the passion of my life - for meat - this universe of gore, this powerul, sexy, and powerfully alive universe.  So disruptive/upsetting this my metier of butcher.  And you will see : meat, it is not the enemy.")

In the book we learn that Hugo was rather non-conformist.  Not all that great at school.  Kept getting into trouble.  He left at the age of 15.  He went out into the world from his small town of 739 inhabitants, to Paris, to learn his craft from the ground up.  He was disgusted at the slipshod nonchalance and deficient work ethic at Paris butcher shops at which he was apprenticed.  

Now he can practice his art, his metier, his way.  He writes that he spends two hours a day with his guys (les gars) preparing his shop window to make it look its very best. He takes considerable pleasure in wrapping up the meat, for the most pleasing presentation for his customer.  He enjoys thinking about his work being extended into its next life, in the kitchens of his customers, once the carefully-wrapped package of meat leaves his shop.

He cultivates close relationships with farmers.  He learns which ones care for the animals and ensure their happy, stress-free lives.  He visits the farms to keep an eye on the operations to make sure they live up to the standards he requires to care for the animals.

He even has a philsophy and instructions for the moment of slaughter.  Hard to imagine this moment.  If I saw it, I am sure I would never eat meat again.   But we eat meat all the time, those of us who do, and we live in the denial of that reality.   For Hugo, this moment is critical to exercising his craft in the way that has made him so renowned and sought after for the final product.  The animal must not be stressed at the moment of slaughter. (p. 44)  It must be completely comfortable.  To help with the de-stressing, Hugo asks the small number of hand-picked slaughterhouses with which he works to play classical music at this critical moment.  Any stress in the animal -- the meat quality suffers.   He avoids the quick money in selling the meat immediately.  For him, there must be a wait to secure the optimal quality.  Money sacrificed for quality: the essence of a locavore movement and slow food.  

All of the extra steps he demands to respect the animal and the meat add up to limited volume: the additional time he takes before he can sell the meat, the limited quantites of meat to begin with given the rigors of how the animals must be cared for : all this severely constrains the volume of business.  Truly the essence of what we know as artisanal, and are beginning to take note of in the US -- even for butchers.

Some of the same principles that inform Hugo's craft are found in this trend in US artisanal butchers. Such as a vegan who sought a way to ethically get meat back into her diet (besides bacon, which was her gastronomic slippery slope into eating meat) and ended up being a "game changer" for "well-raised meat" in the meat production world.

My son keeps asking me when the meat from his first deer will arrive.  Soon, I say, reluctantly, as I wonder how on earth I will cook all this.  I will never tell my son that this outdoor experience of food production--the hunting and the eating--is more than a little French and rather foodie-esque.   I am subtly working on the foodie side of him.   But the next time I am in Paris, enjoying Hugo's melt-in-your mouth charcuterie at Jeu de Quilles, I'll have that picture of the son with his 8-point buck handy.  Will help give me a little street cred.  And maybe get me a nice recipe for that venison tenderloin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Neighborhood Parties

(Dessert bar, chez moi, Ridgelea Parents' Party 2012)

The 21-Day Cleanse (including no alcohol, no caffeine) ended not with a bang but a whimper.  I stumbled to the finish line a little weak and dizzy, through my own fault of just not eating enough that day.  So instead of being OCD and waiting for midnight to break the fast/Cleanse, it was off to Justine's at 10:45 pm to celebrate these 21 days and all the interesting realizations about my food issues and seriously wacky mindsets in our society when it comes to our food culture.  

At Justine's, cheered by the sight of friend's daughter (flower girl at my way long ago wedding (who also brought us on-the-house salmon appetizer...uh, thanks!)), I order my usual escargots order and, of course, per usual, suggest we split a bottle of the house red, Cotes du Rhone.   But I am not what I used to be.  What was a walk-in-the-park, easy-to-drink half bottle for me usually, pre-Cleanse, absolutely knocked me out into wiped out exhaustion the next day.  Just as well.  It was good prep for the next few days of ... Neighborhood Parties!

Sure, the neighborhood parents' party was fun at my house.  Warm fuzzies live on in my heart and head at the sight of my friends, neighbors, new neighbors/friends singing around my piano and all the French doors open to the just-cold-enough December night.  Good stuff.  But all this was just prelude to The Mollie Party.

The Mollie Party started out nicely enough.   The white and silver of the living room reflecting the lights and sounds of a happy hum of happy people.  But the food - ah, yes, the food.  And the grown-up libations.  Not just one signature cocktail.  Two.  A "Partridge in a Pear Tree Martini" followed by "Candy Cane Shooters." 

I am 47.  Not sure how I still feel compelled at this advancing age to guzzle a shot when the hostess comes by and says: "OKAY - on the count of 3 : 1, 2....3!  Yep. Down it went. 

I knew my nemesis would be there at the party.  Mollie warned me.  I was prepared mentally.  I have a hate-love relationship with this nemesis:  The Dip Of Decadence: onion dip with parmesan cheese and cream cheese and....?  Only three dollops were had by me.  Spectacular willpower on my part.

Off to the kitchen.   I am waiting for the next round of the voluptuous Mac & Cheese Bar to be replenished.  

I spy a bowl of cashews, each nut glistening with olive oil and sprinkled with fresh rosemary.

The mac & cheese bar is replenished.  I had none.  It was just a lovely thing of beauty that I enjoyed gazing upon.

What is a holiday party without desserts.  Mollie went French:  Macarons, for sure, in custom flavors such as egg nog and candy cane, but also these adorable cream puffs, dipped in dark chocolate and rolled in crushed candy canes.

As I moved outside to the bar to wait patiently in line for my Patridge-in-a-Pear-Tree Martini, the bartender gal was busy making up Mollie's surprise second signature cocktail of the night.  Labor intensive those candy cane shooters - each shot glass rim dipped in something, simple syrup? - then, again with the candy canes, crushed candy cane on the rims of every single one of those glasses on the silver tray.

There might have been some Kool and the Gang playing at high volume as I left, reluctantly, to tend to parenting duties (it was a school night....finals).

And this is the great thing about Neighborhood Parties.  No need to fret about the Peppermint Schnapps and Godiva White Chocolate Liqueur Candy Cane Shooters, which followed the Pear Martini.  It's just a short walk home from the glowing happy house of food, wine, cocktails, music and light and shiny Christmas cheer.  And Kool and the Gang.

Back home, 2 minutes later after all that, I was folding laundry. And assisting with the finals studying by asking two, maybe four or five times, how the studying was going. I even finished up my own work.

Apparently I left just in time - or a tad too early.  The police were summoned. And the police showed up.  Jealous neighbor perhaps.  Too much holiday fun by others can be hard to handle by those not so filled with Yuletide glee (i.e., signature cocktails).  Mollie, being the quintessential hostes, I am sure offered them a Candy Cane Shooter.  Or at least some mac & cheese sprinkled with bacon - to go. 

 

 

New favorite fast food dinner thing: kale

When I don't know what to cook, I just heat up some olive oil in the Le Creuset, prep some garlic, and throw it in there - on low heat to allow me time to think before it burns.  [Tip: You may be in a relationship with a non-food person if the smell of garlic/olive oil/onions leads to "what stinks in here?" versus "wow something smells good!"]  Even if I don't know what I'm doing yet, the ritual of prepping garlic is comforting: peel skin, cut off hard ends, slice into slivers, slice cross-wise again - and off it goes into the olive oil.  I figure inspiration will come eventually. 

When inspiration comes though it helps to have a nicely stocked fridge. I was out of haricots verts.  And no meaty portobellos.  What to do.  Ah - yes.  Plenty of kale still from the first round of kale chips.  Why not throw some of that nice bright green organic kale in there?  And so I did.

The onions had gone is as well by then.  

Sea salt, freshly ground pepper added. 

Just as the kale starts to wilt, I toss it around with the garlic and olive oil and onions. Taste for a little more salt and pepper.

Meanwhile, I had a thin wedge of wild salmon searing nearby on another burner.  

A matter of taste how well done you want the kale.  I like to keep it a pretty color of green, but just softened up and nicely heated through with tasty garlic olive oil.

Before you know it, it's all done, and in about the time it took to peel and chop the garlic cloves (I like about 3 cloves of garlic). 

1.    Load up a white plate with the beautiful steaming hot garlicky kale.  

2.    Place salmon on top.  

Seriously, no more than 12 minutes start to finish on this.   Even taking into account some short defrosting time on the salmon, this is no more time-intensive than fixing Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.

So enamoured of kale now - the texture (those cute ruffly leaves), the healthy sound of it, the color once it starts to cook down - I'm thinking about serving it up for the Reveillon, my Christmas Eve "feast."    Though I don't think I can get much better than the garlic and olive oil for simple and healthy, I'm looking around for more recipes.  There are plenty.  Kale is new in the rotation for me, to get out of the cruciferous vegetable rut, but nothing new at all to most of the rest of the civilized food world.

Here are some of the recipes on my list to change up the kale recipe rut I suspect I already am in:

Kale Pesto - from A Cozy Kitchen blog (love the pistachios in the recipe) 

Sauteed Kale - from Anne Burrell (like the chili flakes and touch of chicken stock there at end)

Crispy Kale Chips - Melissa d'Arabian (nothing here but kale, olive oil, salt)

Krispy Tuscan Kale - Anne Burrell (lower temperature than Melissa's recipe, longer time, adds chili flakes)

Kale Chips - from the adorable can't-get-enough-of-each-other food couple Pat and Gina Neely (brown sugar sprinkled over the finished chips...cannot endorse this as appropriate per newfound (fleeting) self-righteousness during The Cleanse but must explore eventually in the interest of science...maybe the kids would like it?)

And there are more out there.  BBQ kale chips, Crispy Kale Chips with Lemon...kale is really everywhere it seems now that it's on my food radar. I would not  be surprised if some food startup entrepreneur was already experimenting with how to mass produce kale chips as a snack food.  Or maybe that's something to add to my to-do list.

My Circuit of the Texas: Soirée Beaujolais / Après-Party chez House of Pies / Stephan Pyles: and Best Service Award Goes to ... House Of Pies!

I missed all the international vibe in Austin this past week and weekend.  Instead of the Circuit of the Americas, I was doing a Circuit of the Texas: exotic Austin/Houston/Dallas/Austin.  Instead of fancy cars whizzing by me in displays of driving prowess, I was stuck on I-35 going 5 mph or sometime as high as 20 mph, then 75 mph for 30 seconds, then back down to 5 mph, bumper to bumper, all the way from Waco to Temple on Saturday afternoon.

But the week and weekend were très international nonetheless amidst meetings. French food and wine, and tapas inspired by Eastern Mediterranean, Spanish, and Indian cuisines and - however you want to characterize the 24-hour cuisine of House of Pies on Westheimer 'round midnight.  

Out of all that food, and all that wine in all those places, I have to hand it to House of Pies.  We had the best service from perhaps the most helpful, perky waitress ever: the perfect combination of helpfulness and efficiency and cheeriness.   And that's not just because I was so happy to have a "vegetarian" omelette with tater tots at 12:30 a.m.  The run-down and scorecard:

1. The 29th Annual Soirée Beaujolais - French American Chamber of Commerce, Houston.

Of course Beaujolais Nouveau is not a fine wine at all, but the festive nature of the publicity stunt, uh, event and all the brouhaha is infectious.  I finally got my chance to attend this event in Houston, but I still would not have actually gotten there but for Maureen.  

I had looked up the prior years' photos to figure out what to wear and was disappointed that there was nothing visually interesting about the event at all: just a tired, staid obsolete hotel ballroom and some wine and food tables.  Big deal.

I would later eat crow, along with everything else I ate.  This was some party. They had to shut the music down and turn the lights up and extra bright to make us stop dancing.  

On first walking in, there are tables all over the place stacked high with not just Beaujolais Nouveau but plenty of other wines. And there are stations of foods lining the room - a fondue with beef tenderloin, airline chicken in a rich reduction on a purée of pommes de terre, paté on many trays garnished in a really lovely way with cornichon, a duck confit with that white bean purée with a touch of truffle oil, desserts - macarons of course.  

(These below were reinforcements, waiting to fill in the macaron tree as its constitutent parts were slowly devoured.  Maureen knew someone at the LeNotre booth displaying these goodies.  She talked.  I had a chocolate macaron.) 

Some of the food lines for the really prime items were far too long, so there had to be something else enjoyable.  And that would be the music.   

First, the accordionist upon entering the venue. Cliché. Loved it.

Second, the solo singer doing Edith Piaf.  Maureen was long gone by now meeting and greeting dozens of friends, not understanding why I needed to stop and eat in between all the talking with many old friends from my Houston days and new friends.

Third, when the crowd was all happy happy on confit and wine, after the can-can dancers, we picked up the pace and moved into the dance portion of the evening.  Cheryl Lynn, Got to be Real, and Jacques DuTronc - some French pop music from the 60s - really got the party started.  

Indeed.  I have found my people and my place.  A place where people dance while balancing a glass of red wine in one hand.  Who knew you could have such a great party in a harvest gold-toned hotel ballroom. 

2.  House of Pies, Houston.

Stroke of genuis on where to eat après la soirée: House of Pies on Westheimer.  I was beyond thrilled and delighted.  Had never been there.  Brown paneling.  Everywhere. Tones of orange and moldy red.   Old brown wood appliqué choo-choo trains on the walls as sculptural art.  So awesome. 

This venue choice was particularly amusing in that Maureen had a sparkly pair of Jimmy Choo strappy heels on.  I have a feeling those are not the first designer shoes to be at House of Pies post midnight.

The food - well -  it was fine.  It hit the spot.  Eggs and "tater tots" it turns out are a perfect coda to dancing with red wine in hand after a night of heavy lifting with confit and paté and macarons.

And despite the exemplary and stellar service of our server, A+++, we could not stay awake for dessert. 

3.  Stephan Pyles Samar (Dallas)

And then it was time to get to Dallas - to reunite with my Leadership Texas class of 2007 and celebrate 30 years of the Leadership Texas program, whose founders include many pioneering, outspoken Texas women, such as the late great Ann Richards.  Sure, there was a great keynote speaker at the conference - Patricia Sellars, Editor at Large, Fortune Magazine, with some different spins on women/entrepreneurship/bringing your whole self to work - but a group of us kicked off the heady stuff by meeting for dinner at Samar by Stephan Pyles.  Once you get over the pretentiousness of the name - which sounds like an overdone perfume commercial - you can focus on the food.   It was a good choice by our Dallas contact: small plates/tapas, and some large plates, feeding our frenzied intent to taste as many dishes as we possibly could.

As between the engineer from TI, the PR agency owner, the software company manager, the entrepreneur/self-made company owner, we were an opinionated bunch and ordered promptly, efficiently, and abundantly: 

• Spanish “Omelet” with Caramelized Onions, Potatoes, Romesco and Pequillo Pepper (C-; I had to comment that though the one at Malaga in Austin is far better, these are still not quite the real thing; my friend Melissa does that real thing version)
• Sautéed Rock Shrimp with Garlic, Brandy, Parsley, Dried Chilies, and Grilled Baguette (ordered only after confirming they were not frozen and were fresh caught; one of our group comes from a family that owns shrimp boats: B-) 
• Olive Oil Poached Corvina with Celery Root, Serrano Ham, Truffles, Olives, and Salsa Verde (D (but I only had a bite))
• Crispy Brussel Sprouts with Pomegranate molasses, Lemon and Red Beet Greek Yogurt (A+++++)
• Spanakopita Stuffed with Sweet Potato, Goat Cheese, Apple Chips and Maple Labne (A+++)
• Haloumi stuffed Squash Blossoms with Pomegranate Olive Salad and Tahini (A+++)   
• Roasted Baby Beets with Akawi Cheese, Candied Walnuts (A+)
• Chickpea Flour Tempura Vegetables with Yogurt, Tamarind and Mint Chutney (these were A+ until we got the other dishes; I give it B+)
• Spinach and Paneer Samosa with Mango Date Chutney (A- ... we were slowing down by then).

At home, the final day of Formula 1, I was back in Austin, at a park in the middle of nowhere in Cedar Park, settled in a chair, watching my son at baseball practice.  

We ended the day with burgers at Hopdoddy and a Walgreens run for new toothbrushes.

It is so very good to be home.  

 

 

Lessons in Swiss Chard / Onion Creek Kitchens at Juniper Hills Farm

(view from my Casita Roja, one of the cabins on site at Juniper HIlls Farm, over the fire pit and bocce court; the Casita Roja is the only one on a second floor and ergo these types of views)

As much as I love food -- food per se, and food as a family and friends event, and food as source of nostalgia and general warm fuzzies -- I am not all that super creative or gregarious when it comes to cooking at home.  It is just the son and I, and there are only so many hours in the day with work and momhood.  I have purchased so much kale, with the best of intentions but that I have never used, it only pushes me deeper into my child-rearing-related food guilt.

(view from my Casita Roja looking down on another nearby casita; yes there are "cabins" to rent on the property; really, really recommend this)

So along with the shocking food facts and revelations about me that I do not like olives or oysters, it may come as no surprise that I'm a little late to the party when it comes to greens.  And swiss chard in particular.  

At the Fall Menu cooking "class" this weekend at Onion Creek Kitchens at the oh-so-very charming rustically scenic Juniper Hills Farm out near Dripping Springs, the list of dishes looked daunting:  

But we should have known, from the last visit there, that Sibby the cook/owner runs a tight ship in terms of timing, resources, dish-washing, and keeping (some) increasingly tipsy guest cooks from falling behind on the job.  

Forgot to set that iPhone timer for toasting those almonds in the convection oven?  Not to worry - someone magically appeared just in time to take them out and leave them on one of many stainless steel prep areas for you.  Going a little slow on the making the sliver in the 2 dozen large dried figs to insert the gorgonzola/goat cheese mixture topped with pecan then wrapped in strips of prosciutto?  Sibby appears and diplomatically offers up some tips to show you a more, ahem, efficient way of getting that important appetizer dish done in time.

It's not really a "cooking class," but you will learn some great new recipes and great prepping and cooking tips from consummate hostess and cook Sibby.  This night we were divided into two "teams," with each team executing the same menu.  Then individuals on each team decide on what they want to make.

We are not ones to stand idly by while others pondered what to make.  Mollie grabbed fast and grabbed well.  Recipes I mean.  She scored the Rosemary Almond Crackers recipe (does not nearly describe how delicious these delicate "crackers" are, infused with rosemary-rubbed sugar and shortbread-esque texture for the finished product). She also scored the swiss chard recipe that I had been eyeing:  "Swiss Chard with Creme Fraiche."  What's not to love about eating a good-for-you vegetable with creme fraiche.  Easy to make. Gorgeous to look at. It screams Christmas.

Start with 1.5 pounds of swiss chard that someone has already washed for you. 

Start tearing the leafy part off of the stems and ribs.  I loved this part.  I was a little more meticulous than Mollie...ahem...did it matter in the end?  Of course not.  A rib with a little leaf (or a lot) does not matter at all.

Off they go to boiling water.  The chopped ribs and stems first (4 minutes).

Then the leaves (2 minutes).  Drain.   Cool.  Squeeze out water. 

Heat oil in pan.  Add the well-drained swiss chard, which won't look like much at all by now after squeezing as much liquid as possible out of them.  Add globs of creme fraiche.  Add salt.  Add pepper.

Done.

Set it to rest and/or keep warm until the rest of the meal is done and it is time to serve yourself up a plate.  

In the meantime, enjoy lovely red wine - thank goodness Mollie brought some La Crema Pinot Noir along - and enjoy meeting lots of great new people (can't wait to try the wine bar in Bulverde we learned about!) while others continue to slave away in the kitchen.

Eat.  Drink more.  Vow to wake up early and swim the next morning at the lovely pool on the property near the "cabins" (assuming you are staying overnight).  

Or just look at the pool while walking around the cabins the next morning while drinking coffee made in your Casita.  Which is what I did.

I am back in Austin now after this soul-satisfying getaway.  And I am thankful, again, for friends who get me out and about and out of work mode.  I brought my laptop there to work, but I never even glanced at it.  (Tip: Don't bring the laptop.)  

I get back to Austin only to learn a dear, dear friend will have a portion of her lung removed on Thursday.  Even if not cancer, the lung has to go.  She will be in the hospital for a week.

More deep breathing and more living - without the laptop - are definitely the life lessons from this weekend.  

Le Marche des Lices - Rennes - and why I need yet another picture of a pile of radishes??

(Le Marche des Lices, Rennes, France)

From my extremely comfortable bed in the surprisingly well-appointed-for-the-price Hotel Mercure in Rennes, I heard the bells of a nearby church ring.  It would have been easy to stay there for another couple of hours in that delightful state of cozy semi-consciousness.  But the lure of a market proved too much.  Despite jet lag still weighing me down, everything I had read kept nagging at me that I just had to get up and get the tired self over to the Marche des Lices.   The market is said to host some 300 products from all over Brittany.  Rennes is the capital of Bretagne, or Brittany en anglais, and this, the Marche des Lices, is the second largest market in all of France.   How could I lounge in bed when the second largest market in all of France was but a 12-minute walk away....

I couldn't, and I didn't. I got up and got over there.

 

It did not disappoint.

The first assault on the senses was all saliva-inducing savory stuff: sausage and chicken dripping with butter and fat.  Waffles, or gauffres, steaming hot just off the waffle iron.  

The next assault is a visual one.  A mass of people.  Organized.  Focused.  Intent on the food, comparing the food.  This mass of people was organized in that there were vague yet well-defined lines moving slowly, deliberately.  And most had shopping baskets--real baskets, the woven kind, not the kind made of metal with 4 wheels and a coffee cup holder and a hook for the purse--winding up and down and up and down the many aisles of produce piled high and stretching, at some point, literally as far as the eye could see.

I have pictures of vegetable and fruit stands and fish markets and oyster stands from all over France dating back to my high school trips.

And there have been others like me, though not so much here at the Marche des Lices which is very not tourist-y at all despite its gorgeousness, but in other market strolls, who are snapping pictures just as insanely as I am.  And of nothing but giant piles of radishes, romaine, cabbages and garlic.

Why do we do this?  

I have an inkling why I do it.  We eat with our eyes so the pleasure of seeing the earth's voluptuous bounty piled riotously high has to be part of the visceral joy of eating ... Whole Foods Market gets this.  Their produce displays evoke this - even under artifical light - where we can indulge in a little fantasy life of market shopping in a charming old-school back-to-the-earth way. 

"Flowers, as everyone knows, are among the freshest, most perishable objects on earth. Which is why fresh flowers are placed right up front--to "prime" us to think of freshness the moment we enter the store. Consider the opposite--what if we entered the store and were greeted with stacks of canned tuna and plastic flowers? Having been primed at the outset, we continue to carry that association, albeit subconsciously, with us as we shop.

The prices for the flowers, as for all the fresh fruits and vegetables, are scrawled in chalk on fragments of black slate--a tradition of outdoor European marketplaces. It's as if the farmer pulled up in front of Whole Foods just this morning, unloaded his produce, then hopped back in his flatbed truck to drive back upstate to his country farm. The dashed-off scrawl also suggests the price changes daily, just as it might at a roadside farm stand or local market. But in fact, most of the produce was flown in days ago, its price set at the Whole Foods corporate headquarters in Texas. Not only do the prices stay fixed, but what might look like chalk on the board is actually indelible; the signs have been mass-produced in a factory." 

Of course I realize, somewhere at some level, that there is a well-studied marketing scheme all behind this, playing to my senses, as the author of this article quote above notes.   The author wrote this while taking in one particularly bucolic faux market setting: the Whole Foods store in Columbus Circle in NYC.  I get it.  I'm being played.  But I go along, enjoying the fantasy, because I want to.  We just can't all be in France at the Marche des Lices all the time after all.

But here at the Marche des Lices, there there is another big difference from the pretend market experience (aside from this being the real thing).  In Rennes, the Market is set up nicely to be a spectator sport as well.  Cafes are strategically placed up on the higher elevation of this Place.   I thought hard about sitting and watching. Drinking a double espresso at 10h with that Market stretched out before me was tempting.  But how much better to just be in it.  Not just watching it.

And so it was that I said no to the cafe and yes to getting really into the Market.

Ducking into the larget metal and glass structure - an halle - full of still more foodstuffs: the local honey, breads, confits, salts and herbs and spices, charcuterie...I dived into the laughter and the chatter of these happy smiling vendors, who let me sample and compare, for example, the difference between honey made from spring flowers versus summer flowers, and let me eavesdrop for a long stretch an extremely long-winded conversation about goat milk yogurt.

I only recently unpacked my suitcase.  

I think a certain government agency that will remain unnamed (but who left a little love note in my luggage about their gentle search of my bag) may have lost an item or two I had in the suitcase while handling it....but at least I still have my goodies from the Marche des Lices in Rennes: salt, spices ... and honey made from springtime flowers.