GourmandeMom™

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.

 

Paleo Sliders, Chickens... and de-stressing with showtunes and a little soft shoe

(colorful array of (yummy) paleo sliders (I had two of them) garnished with feta cheese crumbles)

A few months ago I attended a workshop that Renee Trudeau did especially aimed at women entrepreneurs and those figuring it all out.  A big take-away was be kind to yourself/listen to your wise self--it knows you best/take care of yourself-figure out yourself before taking care of others.  It may sound hokey, but it's really a pretty accurate business model in human terms: how can you launch your business/yourself if you have no identity and don't know where you need/want to be?  A recent newsletter from Renee's outfit caught my eye:  "Are you making enough time for your friends?"   She had not.  And I knew I had not either.  It can actually take a toll on your health and well-being and outlook on life, all of which combines to being unproductive because you become, ultimately, highly unsatisfied with what you are trying to do in terms of being productive. 

Because of this week's quick travel to the East Coast, short-notice labor-intensive deadlines, and way too little sleep, by the time Friday night rolled around, as did a good friend's surprise birthday party, I questioned how I could manage to speak coherently in my exhausted state, much less be any type of pleasant company at said party.  I almost did not go.  But I remembered Renee's newsletter, and I went.  And, sure, I was not too articulate, and not too engaging, but I did laugh a lot, reconnect with friends, and get a little more peppy when our showtune pianist extraordinaire (Dustin) started in on "All That Jazz" and a little soft shoe routine and impromptu chorus line got going.

At first we questioned the wisdom of inviting the husbands to the party.  And we almost thought we had really erred in letting them come along when pianist extraordinaire broke out the super raunchy showtunes.  (And, yes, there are some.)  The women roared and howled with delight.  The men scattered.  But they (the men) came in handy after all.

1.  They did a beer run (to get out of being around for the rest of the raunchy showtune interlude).

2.  One of them fixed the chicken that was one of the more fabulous birthday gifts that the birthday girl received.  This darling little wind-up toy...you put it on the floor to turn around in circles and out pops a little egg-looking thing.  As this feat of engineering--getting it to work that is--occurred later in the evening (recall beer run was needed in care the open bar idea was not for everyone), this was absolutely hilarious to us at that particular moment. 

(metal wind-up toy chicken, with baby chick, just waiting to be the center of attention a few minutes later when it does its business of laying an egg while clucking around in curcile on the floor)

 (And here is the miracle moment, after much anticipation and frustrated attempts...the egg is laid. 

Unclear what this ovalesque white thing actually was, or whether this fantastic and perfect birthday gift for the birthday girl (she has a chicken coop....loves her chickens) came with the egg things.  

Toy chicken - for your next chicken-themed birthday party - available at Terra Toys I was told.)

 

3. Highlight:  Amy's husband offered to walk me through how to smoke a salmon, which was what they contributed to the party--a huge, gorgeous piece of well-seasoned lightly smoky smoked salmon. The outing will start with Central Market shopping and then I will be walked through what sounds like a tedious series of steps of rubs, rinsing, something - and then we will actually, eventually, smoke the fish.  I am told this will not be as tedious as it sounds...I am so game though.  If I can make a smoked salmon as fantastic as his was and impress my family, I may alleviate the moments of culinary shame that I have never ever yet cooked a turkey for a holiday meal.  A bomb diggity smoked salmon in my arsenal will totally make up for this.

Rest of menu: paleo sliders, some other stuff - my white-bean dip drizzled with olive oil infused with sage and lemon zest.  The paleo thing is big these days with the buff neighborhood mom crowd.  I'm lagging miserably now with triathlon training a long-ago distant and 5-7 pounds ago thing.  But these burgers...seriously, who needs a bun?  

(my almost pure paleo plate (went for the multi-grain Stacy's pita chips for the white bean dip)...and anything looks gorgeous on this lovely Spoke china plate that the hostess was not concerned about the rowdy crowd using)

The lesson:  Feeling low energy/crummy/tired/sad/fat/fretful?  Go to your friends' birthday parties.  Way cheaper -- and way more fun -- than therapy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Austin Forum Night Tomorrow - Technology and Food - and Inchoate Food Startup Musings

Just as I was starting to ponder the food startup community, and how France "stuff" is going to work out, in some still amorphous way notwithstanding the lack of a business model of any kind (going for that "lean startup" deal anyway), I stumble across startup "Event Farm" as part of my following "Startup Texas" and "Startup America."  

The word startup is about to get, if it's not already, as overused and stripped of meaningful meaning just like "postmodern" was back in the 1980s, back in my literary theory days in graduate school at UT.  Nevertheless, Event Farm seems just about right, no, perfect, for a startup about global community, food, environment - and community gatherings around fresh local food. Alas, it is just an event organizer deal/thing/application/site.  Waste of a good name. 

Anyway, as a nice change from all the exploratory wining and dining - and exercising - this past week, Tuesday August 7 is a food/technology/community event at this month's Austin Forum: "From Sous Vide to Social Search, How Technology is Changing How We Cook and Eat." 

Looking forward to hearing more about how I should be following Austin food writer/blogger Addie Broyles and her writing at TheFeministKitchen.com.   There is another speaker - re cooking for engineers - but the main event from my perspective is Addie.  I wonder if she will address food polarization issues:  such as my undue and profound enjoyment of escargots dripping in garlic and butter (Justine's) versus our many Kraft macaroni and cheese nights at home, combined with intermittent waves of maternal guilt about not enough real cooking for my son out of Giada's cookbook.   Or maybe I will learn that this is just an ordinary, mundane aspect of postmodern Feminist modern life - my own FeministKitchen culture. 

GourmandeMom Olympics Day 2: Foreign & Domestic, Glass Shop, Aviary

(Gruyere popovers, Foreign & Domestic)

I've always found the issue of dinner resevations at Paris restaurants very annoying.  That is, the fact that for a good place you just have to have them.  And for really good places, this may mean weeks or months in advance.  (Oh, speaking of which -- Frenchie, the wine bar part of it, in Paris is expanding!)  Sure, I get that these are small places.  I get that planning ahead for a lovely meal is part of the French respect for the dining out experience.  I also get that small places cannot just rely on random folks coming in, and I get that my annoyance has a lot to do with the fact I hate constraining the do-anything-I-want-for-dinner paradigm of being able to pick and choose a place on a whim. 

But I may be over that.  All that annoyance with the reservation thing in Paris ended Tuesday night -- when I tried Foreign & Domestic ("F&D") for the first time.  F&D does not take reservations.   F&D opens at 5:30.  

The plan was to meet there at 6.  I got there early.  In Austin these days, it is a ridiculous 103 degrees about that time of day.  Just walking from my car, where I had parked a block away, I had gotten seriously cranky about the heat and was sweating already. 

I walk in.  Not crowded yet.  Whew.  A very sweet and kind petite hostess, tells me: "Oh, we cannot seat incomplete parties."  Oh, sure that's ok, I say, I'll just stand here at the bar. 

She:  "Oh, I'm sorry, it's such a small place.  There's really no room.  There is a wait area outside with seating." 

Me:  "Seriously?...But it's really, really hot out there...?"  I thought she was kidding.  And then I thought I might cry or scream. Post-pneumonia, I really cannot handle the heat.   

She:  "Oh I know, but there are chairs out there in the waiting area.  And water.  I'm so sorry.  And here's a drink menu, we have drink service out there."   I leave and go outside.  I find the seating area.  There is water, yes.  There is a fan, yes.

(the cooling pen/waiting area)

I lie down on a wood bench against the building and take self-portraits of myself in case I die out here. 

One other person is out there, waiting, in one of the cute green chairs.  He is talking on the phone.  I consider Tweeting this misery.  

A really nice young man does come outside to take a drink order.  The other person orders something.  I say, no thanks.  [I just want to sit here and pout.]

Friend running late.  I relay the fact I'm about to go hormonal on someone as I am sitting out here in the Sahara.  It is suggested by friend that perhaps I misunderstood, that surely people are not expected to sit outside in 103 degree heat.  Perhaps I could sit at the bar.  Right, sure, that's got to be the case.  I just misunderstood.  We consider calling the whole thing off if I did not misunderstand. 

I go back in, time no. 2.  

She: "Oh, great!  Is the rest of your party here? Come on over here,"  as she grabs menus.  (She seriously could not have been any nicer.)

Me: "Uh, no, not quite yet (I look around, longingly, at the open seats at the bar).  But I was wondering...could I just sit at the bar?  I'll even drink for 2?  I just have a really hard time with the heat post-pneumonia."  [She looks around, wondering if something can be done to help out.]

She:  "Well, no, I'm so sorry.  People usually end up eating there so no, I'm so sorry."

Me:  [Crestfallen.]  "Uh, ok.  You know, I think I'm just going to wait in the car."

She: "Ok, I'm so sorry."

I walk back to the car.  I get in and crank up the AC. I wonder if this is worth it.  This had better be worth it.  Seriously?  No standing, it's big enough of a place.  I'm just one person, it's not packed or anything...I think on all this.  And I think about the no reservations thing.  And I think about the Paris rule of having to have a reservation.  I get it now.

Friend arrives.  I walk in, third time, sweating, again, from the walk to car to F&D front door.  Having committed to sticking this out, and because the end is in sight, I rally:

Me:  "Hey!  Me again, third time's a charm I guess. I think we're ready to go."

She:  "Oh, great, and I am so sorry.  I feel so terrible when I have to tell people they have to wait outside."

Me:  "Oh, do not even worry about it.  So not a problem.  Thank you so much."

By then - 6:20 p.m. - F&D was packed. People were being sent outside to wait.

Good thing I rallied.  This was not just a good time.  It was a great time.  And by the time we sat down, and got a nice bottle of cool rosé that the superlatively knowledgeable and good-natured waiter recommended over a white, I could not hear a thing because the din of happy diners was a bit much.  I did not care.  I was just happy to be there.  And it was great rather than just good because of a few key reasons, the usual reasons that make an experience great rather than ok: 

1. Decor - the decor here is young, casually sophisticated.  Subtle mid-century modern via thrify shop sort of style.  Well done. 

2.  The wait staff is fantastic. It's obvious that everyone who works there loves the place, loves the food, believes in the food and feels that the whole idea of this new Gastropub place is something special.  I learn that it was a good thing we got there on a Tuesday night.  Other nights are insane I am told.  I hear about the lines and lines of people that the staff can see descending on the place before they are even open.  And then there is a charming discussion about wine, which included a digression into African geography, and a detailed description of a rarely-seen cut of beef that being used that night for the "bistro fillet."  (I did not hear many details.  The din...) 

3.   The young culinary star couple/Gastropub theme.   F&D is run by a husband and wife team, Ned and Jodi Elliott, with solid culinary credentials - including stints with none other than Alain Ducasse and Thomas Keller.   I think of Verjus in Paris and the (seemingly) very young and courageous, gifted team there, Braden Perkins and Laura Adrian.  I think of Lenoir, which I hope to get to later this week, owned and operated by husband and wife Todd Duplechan and Jessica Maher.

F&D is known for a menu starring an array of meat parts I ordinarily would never think about eating - like beef tongue.  But the menu seems to be lighter for the summer. The order:

Gruyere Popovers

Salad of Kale & Boquerones

Roasted Sockeye Salmon - Summer Succotash, Basil, Corn Curry (beautifully cooked salmon, crispy crunchy skin) (was pacing myself: but next time, like very, very sooner than later, I'm getting the "Fried Chicken Biscuit: Fried Egg, Black Pepper-Cheddar Biscuit, Romaine Slaw, Lemon Jam" that someone next to us had ordered and I just could not stop staring at it)

Smoked “Bistro Fillet” of Beef Stew of Peas and Beans, Peach, Hock Broth

German Chocolate Cake - Dried Cherries, Milk Chocolate Ice Cream (served up a la mode style in a small bowl)

Coffee   (Would not have thought to order coffee, but I was not quite ready to leave, and I was smitten with the vessel used for a coffee cup I saw at the table next to us.  A to-go cup from a Greek restaurant or Greek 7-11?  Hilarious.  It really is a paper cup.  And the coffee, explained in detail by our waiter (but I could not hear a thing because ...the din...and I'm getting to be of a certain age...) was really good.  Dark and bold and rich enough for picky me but not bitter.)

Nice waiter:  "How about some cream sherry to go with that? [It was Alexandro Cream Sherry Jerez de la Frontera NV.]

We:  "Sure!"

And finally we were done.  And they could call in someone else from out in the Sahara.

F&D is in a funky part of Austin, just past the array of circus-y strip of colorful stores where West North Loop just about becomes 53rd. So this evening also included a short field trip for me to see the lovely glass work available at a store nearby that specializes in attractive ways to smoke - you know, tobacco and such.  This was new and news to me.  Really.

The next planned stop, Tigress/The Tigress Pub, was right there (no sign, so hang in there trying to find it), but we changed course and called a friend and headed down south for Aviary -- also on my list for GM Olympics.

And this all reminds me.  The next Paris trip is 2 months away. 

Must make reservations. 

 

 

Elgin Day Food Finds

There is really no disconnect or irony at all.  There is my abiding and profound attachment to Paris, but small Texas towns are far up there on the attachment scale too.  And for similar reasons: the architecture, the thrill of checking out new food places--good and bad--and meeting the local folks.  The last baseball game of the summer season was this past Saturday in Elgin, some 35 minutes away.  With an hour to kill between drop-off time at 9 a.m. at Elgin Memorial Park and game time at 10 a.m., I knew exactly where I'd be spending the time. 

 As soon as I dropped off the son, off I went, down the street where I had seen the sign pointing to "Historical District."  

Lots of small Texas towns have a smattering of these gorgeous old brick buildings preserved/restored for their "historic" district.  But here, in Elgin, there are very highly redone and architecturally stunning in effect long rows of such buildings - each of gorgeous colors and shapes and sizes of brick, wood, metal.    Elgin has been doing some good work in the preservation realm I now learn -- from here. 

The Elgin Commercial Historic District includes 14 city blocks of commercial and
industrial buildings. Most of these buildings are constructed of locally
produced brick and were erected from 1872 to 1947. During the past 14 years
private property owners, business owners, and the public sector have invested
approximately $9 million in the downtown area

Building after building, each one is very different from the one right next to it, all of which are side-by-side, connected: made of brick of all colors: pale yellow, bright red, brown.  Some roof lines are straight across, others arched, some with incredibly ornate designs, with contrasting brick detail in relief.

I was parking and walking for sure, and the first stop would be figuring out how on earth it is that the place known as the home of famous Elgin Hot Sausage, has just a few feet outside the historical district proper a place called "El Maguey."  

I hear "maguey" and I think interior Mexico.  Oaxaca.  Tequila.  But here it is advertised as "tex mex," with music playing, here in Elgin, Texas.  Must see if they do a breakfast taco with Elgin Hot Sausage.  But with breakfast of whole grain organic wheat flakes not too long ago, I just marvel and walk on. 

 

A sign that looks like a Knights of Columbus hall emblem down a side street distracts.   Not the KC Hall.  It's a place called "Newt's Bistro." 

Decide must check out.  It says "bistro" after all.   Have iPad.  Will just have coffee.  And maybe a piece of Elgin Hot Sausage and, perhaps, I hope, some idyllic amazing food find of a biscuit.  I'll let Guy Fieri know about it even, perhaps...

The exposed brick wall inside looked like a good sign.

The long narrow steel table up front looked promising - contemporary chairs. 

Well, Newt's has a ways to go.  With good bone structure of nice architectural facade, exposed brick, nice choice of mod furnishings up at the front of the restaurant - like I could hang out with the lap top and a latte all day - you just can't be having that acoustical tile ceiling.  Architectural crime.  The coffee needs a big upgrade.  But they're on the right track with the tall, narrow at the bottom to wider at the top coffee "mug" - huge design plus over the nasty coffee mug usually seen at such places - and by such places I mean everywhere. 

And I'm talking to you, Kerbey Lane Cafe and Magnolia Cafe.  This mug should be outlawed.  Coffee hangs on the edge of it.  The temperature drops from the time it leaves the mug to getting into the consumer's mouth because of that large lip on top of the mug that the coffee has to move over.  Then the coffee backwash from drinking it lingers and stains as it builds up on that lip of the mug.  It's just gross.  I never drink coffee out of these things.   Newt's gets A+ on the mug design upgrade.

Newt's gets a D- for not having a single item with Elgin Hot Sausage.   

I regretted not trying City Cafe. 

It looked like it had it going on.

I walked on. 

I eventually head back for the baseball game.  It is the last game of the season. 

To avoid heat stroke as the game went into hours 3 and 4, I headed back to town, for AC.  And to City Cafe. 

Now, this is what I'm talking about for historic charm for a food find in a small town well-restored historic district.  Exposed brick.   Painted brick wall in the other, adjoining dining room. (The other dining room is not charming - there is an icky gingham, floral feel in there.) Stay in the main dining room, pictured here.

All I needed and wanted was ice cold iceberg lettuce - and so I got the Chef Salad.  Not amazing, but I did not need it to be.  And the people could not have been nicer.

But what would I absolutely get next time?   Their MANY Elgin Hot Sausage items: omelettes, grilled sausage and onion and peppers sandwich. (Take notes, Newt's).

I also would get the 7-inch high lemon merinque pie I saw getting carved up.  I seriously do not think I have ever seen such a mountain of merinque.  The cake items look not too bad either.

City Cafe has a gorgeous wood beadboard ceiling.

That's what Newt's needs (in addition to better coffee and Elgin Hot Sausage items). And if Newt's does not have such wood beneath the acoustical tiles, they need to buy some of that historic charm.

And I, though back in Austin and back in the AC and thoroughly sunburned from the baseball game outing, will be getting some Elgin Hot Sausage - be it at Central Market or on the next day trip to Elgin.

 

 

 

Banner Paris Saturday Part II of II: Tio Pepe has competition (and loses, sorry Tio!) ... the Panpan Cucul

Pamela Popo night

I adopted a new rule for my life back on Trip No. 12 to Paris, which has been refined on the last three trips, and which has yet to let me down when I am lucky enough to see it in play:  Always let the French person pick the wine.   [It really goes "let the Frenchman pick the wine," but that sounds really contrary to my postmodern/feminist/women's college educational background.] 

Therefore, that this Saturday night dinner in Paris (i) would be at a venue (Pamela Popo) whose photo gallery on the web site set my aesthetic senses racing for a just right  - unpretentious - hip vibe; (ii) would include Romain and Anne - with Romain being a great cook - and French(man), obviously; (iii) also would include their friends, one French/one American, and that this couple who lives in the Marais (confirming hip status pretty immediately) is on a first-name basis with everyone at Pamela Popo, would be joining us....well, I was just pleased to have another opportunity to watch and enjoy the spectacle of French men, and an American who had lived longer in Paris than the US by then, go through the lively debate about what wine to select.

The wine ... I do not recall too much about this.  I did enjoy watching the ritual and hearing the dialogue of which wine and who was having what.   I do recall my quasi de veau was as good as Adam had raved.  I do recall a dessert - which must have been what la carte on line shows as "Tartelette tiede au chocolat...caramel a la fleur du sel."  Perhaps one of the best desserts I have ever had.  

All was happiness and light as we eased into Hour 3 of Dinner at Pamela Popo:  The delight of meeting old friends, making new friends, sitting in a highly ambient ambience, on a lovely Saturday night in Paris, the night before our last full day in Paris, and enjoying post-prandial lively conversation.

And then it happened.

Someone appeared with a tray of 6 martini glasses.   When the tray was lowered for serving one beverage to each of us, Shelly surely was as wide-eyed with wonder as I was.  What?  What is this?  A cocktail? 

Adam is grinning mischievously. Romain and Anne look amused by our surprise.  I am just happy that, huh, wow, cocktails for after-dinner drinks ...in Paris?   My old and new French friends repeat over and over what the name of this lovely libation is.  I just cannot get what the word is.  Pom pom cul cul cul?  Now, the word "cul" - that I know. 

Romain helped me out by translating it loosely as "spanky spanky."  

Adam explains: it is half mojito, half cosmopolitan.  And it has a liberal sprinkling of fresh mint.  It was really lovely.   A blush pink.   Not an icky pink.  Very fresh.  We toast.  It is very good.  Very good.  Way too good.    Adam says: no more than two of these.

By this time Shelly is texting furiously to our group. You have GOT to get over here. Now.   I believe that in my happiness, no, joy of the moment, I declared that I was never leaving Paris.  Ever. 

And then another tray arrived.   Adam is really enjoying this.  But probably not nearly as much as Shelly and I are really enjoying this.

We decide we must descend downstairs to the bar/lounge area to await our friends. 

 And then our friends arrive.

And another round of the spanky spanky arrives. 

The brunch menu clarifies not just the spelling (Panpan Cucul) but also notes ingredients:

• kettle one
• jus de citron vert
• sucre de canne
• jus de cranberry
• menthe pilée

Mystery solved. 

It is also a Serge Gainsbourg song. 

And then there was, yes, the 4th round of Panpan Cucul(s).

I thought I could charm my way into getting the playlist for the lounge that night from the bartender who was continuing to ply us with those spanky cocktails - but no.  It's the owner's own list.  Not for sharing.  But I was welcome to Shazam away.   And so I did.  And learned that "Shazam" can be used, and is used, as a verb in French.  Some of my tags that night:  I Follow Rivers (Lykke Li(;  Knight Moves (Chilly Gonzales); Rock me Again & Again (Lyn Collins); All this Love that I'm Givin' (Gwen McCrae); Paid in Full (Rakim); Jungle Boogie ... the Kool & the Gang and the Michael Jackson later really pushed us over the edge.   There was much singing.  Maybe some chair dancing. 

And then someone realized 4 rounds was enough. 

Our Austin group that joined us departed for the 5-minute walk home across the Seine to rue de Bievre.

I was headed that way too.  Until ...until I saw Shelly making after-party plans with our French friends.   I heard something about a club and dancing. 

And so it was that we would walk and walk, explore another venue in the Marais, decide champagne back at the guys' apartment sounded really great (especially as I had hyperventilated earlier upon learning that Jean Dujardin, whom I had loved way before The Artist, for his OSS 117 characyer, lived across the street from our new French friends.) 

And so it would be that at 4:30 am or so, we would finally call it a night. 

But not after we did grave injustice to Minnie Riperton's classic ballad: Loving You.  You know you love it too....La la la la la.   La la la la la....

 

I also made my 10 a.m. meeting the next morning, uh, later that morning for coffee with a lawyer friend at Trocadero.

But leave Paris I did.  On a jet plane.  On Monday. 

And just in time for me to be checked into an Austin hospital not 48 hours after getting back for ...  of all things: pneumonia.    

I'm just getting back up to speed enough to, yes, at least harbor the thought of getting back to Paris.  

And back to Pamela Popo. 

 

 

(One of) the Worst Things I Ever Made....Grilled Romaine Lettuce.

They should put a warning on some of the Food Network programs: "Do not attempt this at home." My favorite chef du jour - Anne Burrell - is good at encouraging folks who aim big and sometimes arrive low, like myself. But other chefs, other programs...not so much.

One day a couple of years ago I saw Giada on her show making a really great looking salad: I could almost taste it from my own kitchen. It was a chopped salad, but what really got me inspired - so inspired that I actually attempted it a couple of days later - was her grilling taut, crispy hearts of romaine (my favorite lettuce these days for salad, when shredded, unless in France, where frisee and butter lettuces are the winners). And after the romaine hearts had nice grill marks on them, smoking hot on the grill, she took them off and drizzled them with balsamic vinegar and shredded them, by slicing thinly. Mmmm. That sounded, and looked, really good. (But, then, everything photographs just obscenely well in that pristine kitchen of hers.)

I tried it at home.

It was disgusting. The lettuce just sat there all limp and floppy on the plate.

Recently, I made another really awful meal. This one also involved a green vegetable: zucchini. I was trying to use up the huge amount of zucchini that my mom had purchased for me at Central Market, at my request, for my genuine intent to make my all-time favorite holiday baked gift: Martha Stewart's recipe for zucchini walnut bread (I make mini ones), for which I had even already bought the walnut oil to go with the pounds and pounds of walnuts I had all ready for this event as well. The walnut oil is key to that recipe. No way to skip it.

Never made them.  It was not to be, not this crazy work-stress-filled pre-Noel holiday season. And then my usual go-to dish for using up zucchini -- sauteed onions, garlic, and zucchini, topped with some (reduced fat) feta cheese - was, for some reason the other night, very disgusting.

Just hours after the bad zucchini meal, I catch Giada making a salad with grilled zucchini. Huh, I say to myself: Now that's what I should do with the rest of that zucchini. I keep watching and then it happened. Giada grilled some romaine. It was that same recipe from a couple of years ago that inspired me to make the worst thing I ever made.

Here's the recipe, which is, in fact, quite lovely: California-style Chopped Salad with Shrimp.  I propose re-naming it "Chopped Grilled Vegetable Salad with Lemon Pepper Marinated Shrimp"  - a tad less generic.  Give it a try, but don't say I didn't warn you...