GourmandeMom™

Worst (yet best) Trip Ever to France (my cold, the cold, my work, loss of all matching gloves)--and that's a good thing

As I read in between drafts of motions a few articles about trends in French gastronomy, including this piece in Slate about the lack of French female chefs in France, I recall it is a seasons of thanks. I am reminded to thank my parents for fostering this "French thing" I have going on:  from that costly Junior Year in France, which got me life-long bragging rights to say I took a class at the age of 20 (infancy) in French at one of the French grandes écoles--Sciences Po in Paris; to educational French class trips to France while still in high school (educational especially in getting to be friends with Côtes du Rhône at an early age); to their staying with my son whilst I have gone off in recent years looking for ways to "figure out" France for business (it will take a lifetime) and my place within that culture as experienced here back home.

I am grateful to be able to say that this was not an "awesome" trip in terms of sublime moments walking up and down the Seine, and that is just fine.  That is what makes it a great trip. It was an exhausting research and business intelligence-gathering trip.  Amidst that "worst trip ever" (because of so much work and not enough time walk around and be wistful and eat at Frenchie To Go or le 6 Paul Bert, etc. etc.), it was a maybe best trip to date, and there are many stories to come:

Enlightening Insights (hopefully blog posts) To Come From The Trip

1)  The Loire Valley

The Loire Valley in the fall is something to behold.  Rolling green hills covered with spots of bright gold, red and orange.  Producers described for me the tiny microclimates so unique that just one hillside can produce its own particular type of grape for a particular type of wine, and it can do so because of the time of day the fogs rolls in, creates moisture on the mushrooms growing close to the ground, then that all goes away for the sun to shine on the grapes just the right amount of time per day at certain times of the year.

 

Yes, imagine dinner parties outside here with wine pairings, with wine made from the grapes you can sit there at dusk and gaze upon.  

And then a walk down some trails to the river... 

2)  The natural wine movement in France and some of the people behind it

I met Kenji Hodgson and his wife Mai, not pictured here, at a wine-tasting in Paris that was celebrating natural wines of the Anjou region.  They up and left Canada to lease some land in Anjou to make wine the natural way, through their company, Vins Hodgson.  Kenji was patient with my schedule to fit in a visit to their cave here in Le Breil 49380.  (Need GPS to get there.)  Kenji and Mai share the cave with Damien Bureau, pictured here on my left, who is the man behind a very fun and tasty sparkling wine (un vin pétillant) and maybe the most darling wine label ever. 

 

You could not have two more different experiences in the Loire Valley: an afternoon at Soucherie....

 

And a day learning from passionate pioneers in a relatively new wine movement--the natural winemakers, just down the winding road a few miles, guys sharing some space in a old barn to make some interesting and truly lovely wines.  

 It's all part of today's wine culture in the Loire Valley.  And it's all way good.

 3)  Gentrification in Paris

Paris is changing, opening up to more English spoken everywhere and trendy small hipster joints all over.  (The business culture will take more time...) And some have wondered whether hipsters are ruining Paris.  Case in point: a Paris friend's longtime neighborhood "mom-and-pop" boulangerie in the bubbling-over-with-change-and-renos 10th arrondissement was recently closed in favor of a more sleek and thoroughly updated boulangerie, combining épicerie type wares with candies and pastries (i.e. as in a patisserie). 

Jury is out on whether all this is good.  For example, where did mom and pop go who had the boulangerie before this one?  Did they cash out at a great price such that la retraite will be a sweet deal indeed?  Don't know. Will check out Liberté next time, as it is near ever-delightful Le Verre Volé.  Until next time.  

 

Friday night at home: Popcorn on the cob (Greenling #localbox) and Herbel

After a plateful of steamed cauliflower for dinner last night while watching Anne Burrel on Food Network do her thing in an otherwise very quiet house (the son is away in the country), I noticed I had not much left of the fine French natural red wine, Herbel, from my currently favorite wine region, the Loire Valley (and just 20 km from Angers, Austin's sister city).   Might as well finish that off.  Herbel, the site says, is both an organic and natural wine. This is an amorphous and confusing area as to what exactly is a "natural wine," even for those fluent in the subject matter.  In very general terms, a natural wine is one with no preservatives or chemistry in wine-making: just the essence of the vine and the grape.  This wine from Les Vignes Herbel in the Loire Valley is so exquisite as natural wines go that it deserves an informative post dedicated to it alone.  

But for now, it's all about the popcorn.

Having been so extreme low carb for dinner this Friday night, I thought why not check out the popcorn on the cob that was in my Greenling local box this week?  

Greenling includes a list describing what is in the big green box as well as recipes for the week's items.  Thursday night I thought something from the box was squash, and cut it up to sautée it with onions and garlic, but then realized, as soon as I put it in the Le Creuset, that something was not quite right. Indeed.  It was cucumber. Cucumber was listed on the list. Squash was not.  One of those weeks.  Popcorn on the cob though on a Friday night in my kitchen, with a fine French natural wine with one of the most poetically beautiful wine labels ever--from dear friends in Angers--will make everything right with the world. And indeed, it just about did.

The Instructions (paraphrased from the Greenling instructions)

Take the husks off the cobs of popcorn.  Take off as much silk as possible.  

Place the cobs in a paper bag.  Fold the top of the bag over several times (a very necessary step; see below).

Place bag in microwave on its side.  Cook on high, until you hear two seconds between pops (like traditional microwave popcorn, the instructions say).  Stay close by: it will burn quickly once popped.   

I set the microwave for 2 minutes.  After a long delay it seemed, around 1 minute, 15 seconds the popping finally started.  

The popping was fast and furious for about 45 seconds, then slowed down a bit. The bag was expanding and expanding, almost coming undone at the top.  This is why you need to fold the top of the bag down several times.  Otherwise, the force of the steam will start forcing the bag open, too soon, during the cooking.

By the time the microwave wound down at 2 minutes it was probably just about at the right time.

The instructions say wait 2 minutes before opening the bag.  Too hot to handle they say. I forgot to wait, but I am still alive and unscathed by steam.

And there it was: a brown paper bag of popcorn, complete with cobs, mostly bare of kernels, but still many partially popped kernels attached here and there.  

I struggled (briefly) as to whether to add just a tiny bit of melted butter.  If you're going to have popcorn just popped off the cob, with a lovely French red wine at home on a Friday night, a little bit of butter is a propos. And it so was.

I was all ready to plant some popping corn in the backyard.  Like most projects I think are a great idea, it's more complicated and requires more tedious attention and care than I am capable of--but apparently such popcorn is indeed quite ok to grow in the backyard.

So amaze your friends, your kids, or just yourself.  Such cobs are available on line for purchase. I like these folks in Nebraska (just from a look at the site) at Big Red Pop Corn, but the cobs don't have the husks on them.  Securing a lovely bottle of Herbel to go along with the popcorn ... not so easy.  (You'll have to perhaps take a wine and food tour with me sometime over to the Loire Valley.)

Austin's New French Resto Arro ... Off the mark ... or just a cranky me?

I've been thinking long and hard about why I had such a visceral dislike for my experience at Arro Friday night--despite the fact (or because of the fact) that I was so looking forward to a French food fix in my hometown after 4 weeks in France.

Walk home one evening in Paris, post dégustation of wine, cheese with Paris by Mouth at La Dernière Goutte

Some elements are easy to identify.  

Element 1.  Really loud club music. Unclear if Arro is trying to be a club or bar that serves food, or if it is aiming to be a restaurant.  I've been noticing the music now everywhere I go.  They turned it down for us, as I started pouring for myself the bottle of wine I had just purchased as the bar (anticipating a long wait for our group of 3), as I needed something fast to distract me from how awful the first impression was with the music.  That wine was my new recent favorite, however, which I was thrilled to see as an option: Clos Siguier, a natural wine from Cahors (France), which has been my recent go-to at Vino Vino. 

Same walk home as above.  My motto for my life these days it seems..."All you need is wine."

Offerings were stupendous: the duck confit was almost my choice.  I (and my two dining companions) opted instead for the very reasonable $25 "menu" or "formule"--French style, picking a starter, main dish, and a dessert.  

What happened next was Element Two of a not-great night, and the focus of gastronomic debate with friends and introspection in the days following.

My starter was the French Onion Soup, a classic, and one for which I have fond, strong feelings in terms of how I like it given my experimentation with various recipes over the years.  As my friends' Herb Salad starter arrived, which they loved, I received a white soup bowl with a plate on top of it.  On top of the plate was a portion of a baguette -- about the size of that small 6-inch Subway sandwich -- covered with melted cheese.  I looked up, dazed and confused, at the server.  Uh, so, what's the deal here with the cheese bread on the side?  

Answer:  It's so the bread does not get all mushy in the soup.  Or you can break it into pieces and put it in the soup yourself.

Ok, well, I thought that was sort of the point of French Onion Soup -- the challenge of toasting the bread just right so when it is broiled with the Comté or Gruyère on top you have that pleasing combination of textures: the crisp crust of the bread, the rich stock of the soup, the bite of the hot cheese.   I ate it, sullenly, under protest, but noting the soup itself was nice.  Not as strong and bold as I like mine, but with a sweetness, showcasing the obviously well-caramelized onions.

Element 3.  The bread situation.

As one would expect from a place that is owned by the same folks who own the place that I think has the best baguette in town - Easy Tiger (which I told Meg Zimbeck of Paris by Mouth... hope she stops by and checks it out while she is visiting family in Georgetown/Round Rock this summer) - the bread could steal the show. Charging people $2 per person to have a bread plate (served beautifully, true) on the side though ... me no like.  I get that something this artisanal and gorgeous cannot just be the side, not for those diners who may not care enough to notice how superlative it is.  Surely somehow a bread serving can be built into the pricing, along with that mysteriously delicious, not-ordinary fluffy salted butter that accompanies it.

Despite the onion soup bust (for me), the bread sur-charge situation, and the nightclub music beat, dessert was exquisite.  

Melissa and I ordered the Rosewater Profiteroles. (See the Arro menu here.) True, these were not classic profiteroles: with vanilla ice cream or a creamy filling inside and hot dark chocolate sauce (Benoit in Paris comes to mind), but I was forewarned on the menu not to expect that.   Indeed, I ordered them because they were so intriguing ("Rosewater Profiteroles .. pistachio ice cream, raspberries, black pepper").   Maureen ordered the Dark Chocolate Pot de Creme -- another one of my favorite stand-bys, but this one was at another level, with "apricot brandy milk liqueur and cherries."  

I am not "a dessert person."  The Arro desserts could turn me into one. Bite after bite I marveled at the profiteroles: the combination of the spice of the pepper against the sweet lightness of the ice cream and the inherent ethereal nature of rosewater. 

Over the next morning's workout, Melissa and I debated the deconstructed French onion soup and my whining, still, over this big let-down (for me).  Classics are tweaked and revised and reinvented the world over.  This is how innovation pushes the evelope in culinary terms.  What was my big deal?  

I honestly don't know.  That loud music, the high ceilings that make the music bounce around all over, the really young dining crowd (not us). It just hit me in the face all wrong.  Not sure why.  Justine's is deafeningly loud, but I love that place.  There the music is vintage jazz. Maybe it works because the music fits the space, the food, the diverse crowd.    

Maybe Arro is still just finding its way, its people -- and the right soundtrack for the space and those people.  Just not sure I'm going to be one of those people, unless it's a quiet Saturday and I'm at the bar, listening to jazz, having a glass of that Clos Siguier and a slice or two of that exquisite bread. And maybe a bite or two of that chocolate pot de crème.

 

Talking to Strangers : Dining Solo in Paris (Aux Deux Amis (11ème); Frenchie to Go (2ème))

Back from four weeks in France, on day 2.5 back in Austin, I am still haggard-looking and can barely fit into my last resort, back-up fat jeans.  Thinking back on how crazy it seems now to have worked from France for 4 weeks, some of my best memories are random conversations with people when I was dining solo, and the best conversations were with les francais, not Americans. 

I checked out Aux Deux Amis over in the 11th, where all the neat new places seem to be these days.  Aux Deux Amis has been on my mind, particularly because of my exploration of the natural wine scene in France.   I walked in early enough to get a seat and settled in at the bar. This piece by Amy Thomas at the HiP Paris Blog depicts said bar. 

I got my order in, ordering in such a way that allowed me to try a white and a red wine out of the natural wine selections.  "Vin nature" seems to be all the rage just now.  I was delighted the manager dude picked out which red and which white. The thing with natural wines is that they are outside the AOC/AOP regime. That means that the producers are forbidden from placing anything remotely resembling a reference to a region. Makes it difficult to know what to order: can't say with these wines "I'd like a Brouilly" ... or a Chinon, or a Bordeaux. More on this in an upcoming article. 

I struck up a conversation with the young American guy who took the seat open next to me at the bar.  

I asked him what brought him to Paris (en anglais), a benign conversation-starter. 

He: Oh, I've been coming to Paris for like 14 years now.

[Me, to self: ok, well I've been coming here for like 32 years now so, whatever.]

He inquired where I was from, as he could not discern any regional US accent.  I said Texas. That telltale accent goes away apparently when speaking French for a time.

Me:    This place has been on my list for some time.  I noticed it's also on the top 100 list of bars in Paris.

He:  Oh, no. It's top 10.  I've been coming here ever since it opened.  Some friends brought me here when it first opened.

Realizing he thought himself too cool about all things cool about Paris, I returned to my meal and studying the names of the Seine's quais and bridges.  As part of his sharing his coolness with me though, he recommended I check out Le Baratin, which he was right on, based on Le Fooding's drooling over how great it is, per this review.

One day a lunch reservation falls through. I figure this is a sign to check out Frenchie to Go.  The raving about Frenchie goes on and on.  And true, I love the wine bar. But it's almost Frenchie fatigue. I head out to the tiny rue du Nil off of rue Aboukir. Just to see what the fuss is all about for this addition to the Frenchie empire.

I had to eat crow.  Frenchie to Go is fresh, superbly prepared food, in a simple and laidback venue.   I ordered fish and chips.  And a glass of red natural wine.  The drill is you just go and sit down after ordering.  There is a table off to the side with a large pitcher of water and glasses for you to help yourself.  You do not get a number or anything.  Somehow the someone who brings the food out knows how to find you. 

I installed myself at one of the small community tables/counters in the doorways.  I like the picture this writer includes on his write-up.   As I sit down, the two French guys on the other side of this counter are in the middle of exclaiming to a third friend, who had just walked up, how great the food is: especially the Reuben.(Wendy Lyn at The Paris Kitchen has a spectacular picture of it here.)  

My fish and chips arrives. I stared at it a while. I could not believe how fantastic it looked.  They point out my fish and chips to their friend as yet another example of how stupendous the food is. 

As happiness descends as I break into the crispy fish and steam flies out, and I start dipping the hot steaming crispy white fish into the rustic tartar sauce-esque sauce and the smashed peas, I can't help but interject myself into their conversation.  

"Excuse me, if you don't mind my bothering you to ask ... you're French, and you love this food, what is it about the food that you like so much?"  

This conversation-starter was more successful than the one at Aux Deux Amis.  We ended up talking for at least an hour.  About French politics, the French health care system and home care benefits, attitude differences between the French and Americans, great public spaces in Paris, their travels in the US, my travels in France, my favorite places in Paris, their favorite places in Paris - and new recommendations for me of hip new hotels, public spaces, etc.   I ordered desserts for us to share so I could taste a little bit of all of them: the chocolate doughnut, the rhubarb beignet, and the brownie.  (We liked the whole hazelnuts in the brownie; I liked the intense chocolate in it, but we left it alone otherwise: too dry.  Preferred the rhubarb beignet, but I was not blown away by any of the ones we tried.)

I mentioned how exhausting Paris is contrasted against the heartbreaking gorgeousness of it. 

They agreed:  Paris is exhausting.  You have to get away from it every now and then - to breathe more deeply - and then come back to appreciate it.  And once you can't see the beauty anymore in Paris, it's time to leave.  

For them, growing up and living their adult lives in Paris, the attachment is seeing their personal histories as played out in various corners of Paris.  Could not agree more. 

It was not so hard to leave Paris this time, trip no. 19 (that return to Paris after Nantes and Angers counts as a separate trip).  I just consider this a little time away to breathe.

 Signage at Candelaria the last Sunday in Paris, over killer Sunday brunch "cocktail"  that included absinthe AND mezcal