The apple of Mai's eye...

I'm not sure how the conversation started, but it started with M.  M & K were staying with us for the first week and a bit in July and over some fine dinners and some "crazy" wines we got to talking about apple tarts.  Specifically, M started talking about apple tarts.  The object of her wildest apple tart fantasies consisted of apples, cooked to perfection whereby the texture remains fresh-tasting, tender with a subtle chew, atop a shortcrust pastry.  And very specifically NO GLAZE.  The discussion soon turned to whether this magic combo existed.  Was it just a figment of her extremely particular food expectations?  There was one obvious way to settle this: Paris-wide apple tart search.

The object was to find something that met what M had envisioned under 4 euros. The following days were met with intense research.  M tapped into the Japanese-paris foodies network.  K stayed cool, resting on a tip-off from a local friend, while P and I scoured a growing repertoire of impressive bakeries that we'd tried.  4 patisseries hardly qualifies as "paris-wide", but it did come to a showdown between patisseries from the left bank vs the right.  

You can see that the entry on the bottom right didn't exactly match the criteria of the others.  It hailed from the famous bakery Poilâne, and rather than slices of apples on a flat flaky crust/shell, it contained chunks of apple in a yeasty, bread-like pocket.  M & K knew they might break some rules with that entry, but they couldn't resist. Besides we're a lenient panel, and would you have turned away a sweet little thing like that?  Ranking 1st was the tart pictured top right (a layer of applesauce, which at first seemed bizarre, gave it a tangy apple-y edge), and descended in order going clockwise.  There was room for debate between the 2nd & 3rd.  The funny thing was that none of them met the specific elements that M had set her heart on, but none of us were about to blow the whistle on this party of caramelized apples and buttery, flaky bases.

Note that July was not exactly the season for apple tarts.  Some of the fine bakeries that we considered carried a "seasonal" tart instead, which was almost always apricot at the time.  

This treat came from the same place as the winning apple tart, on the corner of a quiet street behind Sacre Coeur.  It was called a "tulipe aux framboise", and consisted of a waffle-cone shell, coated with chocolate on the inside and filled with a raspberry cream and topped with fresh raspberries.  Tulipe cookies are traditionally a light thin cookie that is baked flat, but then put into a brioche mold while it's still warm and pliable.  They're often served with whipped cream and fruit, kind of like the version we had. 

DIY - Kimchi

I would have never imagined myself making kimchi, or making it in France.  A, a Korean friend from Toulouse recently moved to Paris (who is now renting a room next door to our apartment), shared his mother's coveted kimchi recipe with me.  We actually didn't go by any recipes, and all I have left are these images to guide me through my next attempt (if there ever will be one).  Here goes:

A trick: split the chinese cabbage in 2 (then again) from the stem end, just half way through the stalks, stop where the leafy parts begin and separate the quarters keeping the leaves in tact.

Sprinkle rock salt in between each layer, making sure to get right into the stalky end and soak the whole thing in salted water for about 2 hours.
Prep the other ingredients: grated garlic, ginger, chives and daikon sliced into matchsticks.

The base of the paste is made from rice flour cooked until thickened in some water.  Sugar, chili powder, the garlic, ginger chives and daikon are mixed together with fish sauce (or fermented fish).  After the cabbage has soaked for several hours, drain the water and pack the paste in between each of the leaves, coating all surfaces.  Store in a cool dark place and let it ferment and go to a happy place.

After several days in the fridge, you get this lovely fermented cabbagey mess.  His response to the end product: "pas mal" with a bit of a shrug.  I asked if it was like his mother's, and he gave a definitive "non", head shake and all.  For what it's worth, I would buy the stuff in the future...or mooch from a Korean ex-roommate whose mom would stock our fridge with Kimchi rations to last a couple of weeks.   

Yes, I still like food...

Our closet-sized kitchens in Paris have been driving me insane.  The experience best resembles trying to cook in a 3-person elevator (these are common in France).  Instead of fun and experimental meals, I've been restricted to meals that are elevator-cooking friendly, that means minimal prep, minimal chopping and minimal cooking (only 2 burners).  But don't you worry, we're still eating well.  Observe:

  

"Ispahan" from Pierre Hermé - raspberry meringue, lychee and rose-scented cream with fresh raspberries.  *die. No, seriously.

They grow them a little cuter in France.

The market experience in Toulouse was pretty amazing, and 2 months into our stay there, I knew our way around town and the markets like the back of my hand.  Markets kind of operate on a self-serve system in Toulouse, there are small baskets that you take and fill with your choice of produce, and it makes the line move quick.  It also gave me the freedom to poke around and handle produce that I haven't seen before.  In Paris, I'm often served by someone - you tell them what you want and in the quantities and they put your order together for you.  Upside: it's nice to be served.  Downside: you can't take your time because the madames behind you are impatiently fidgeting and "accidently" bumping into you with their roll-away grocery bag things.  One time, I accidentally ordered 2 yellow "boats" (navettes) instead of 2 yellow turnips (navets).  Embarrassing.

random things...

It's been a while so I thought I'd rummage through my photos to find some stuff that I'd been saving for posts.  I've given up on photo-documenting things, our camera sucks and I am SO not diligent about taking photos, so you'll have to bear with the lack of images that go with my ramblings.   French lessons are going great and we're feeling less socially/linguistically retarded here in France.  Since I last posted we had a visit from P's cousin Bjorn, and we've been hanging out with friends from school.  You can only imagine the hilarity that comes with a group of internationals communicating in their second/third language.   Random pictures as promised:

 

Typical lunch - a spread of the cheeses, saucisson/jambon or cornichons and pickles that we have kicking around, and we always have these things kicking around.  I generally dislike sandwiches and Paul lives for them, so this is a happy medium - we get all the components of a sandwich (bread, meat, cheese) without being bound by the form.  Crackers (good crackers) are hard to come by here.  The cracker aisle in the grocery store consists of different forms of dried toast, so if that's what you're into, you'd be in dried toast heaven here in France.  

I was missing burgers a while back so we decided to make them.  Hamburger buns don't exist in grocery stores so we had to improvise a little.  The closest thing that I could think of was a brioche.  I'm going to make a generalization here: overall food quality is high in France.  I think people here are specific about what they want and demand a lot out of the food they buy and eat, which really means that a grocer or a store needs to meet those demands.  You can see it in the way customers ask for very specific qualities for the food that they're buying and you can hear it all the time, "I want a crottin that's not too dry", "a baguette that's well cooked", "I want smaller leeks" etc.  After having said that, the burgers turned out pretty lacklustre because of the beef.  Beef is just not as good (meaning tasty and fatty) here as it is back home.  I don't buy/eat beef all that often here and when we do it's usually for stew, and I made beouf à la ficelle one time, in which you boil beef until medium-rare with vegetables.  I know what you're thinking, "boiled beef?", but you just gotta think about cooking beef differently here.

Here's another picture from our window - bored of them yet?  The sunsets and the sun rises have been really beautiful the last few weeks and I tried to do my best with our crappy camera. 

CHOCOLATE.

Our school offers a series of activities based on a given theme each month.  Well wouldn't you know that february just so happens to be "gastronomy".  We spent an afternoon at a chocolatier (Maison Pillon) learning all about chocolate (the process of growing, harvesting, processing, extracting the oil etc...).  But really.  We were there to see melted chocolate running endlessly out of machines and riding there, all aloof and delicious on conveyer belts.

This super nice guy gave us the tour and here is him snapping pieces of honey ganache onto the conveyer belt.  The little tablets of honey ganache ride patiently at the start of the belt, each waiting for their pass under the chocolate curtain.

 

Et Voilà.  Shiny and all chocolate covered.

Each chocolate has it's own mark or design.  The honey ones get a  diagonal line made by a little pick dipped onto the top while it's still wet.

The chocolate continues on the yellow conveyor belt through a cooling case, where it comes out on the other end PERFECT.   They get picked off the belt and packed onto a tray or boxes.  It was early February and the Maison Pillon was already starting their production for easter.  We got our fill of chocolates during the tour, but still picked out a few for tea treats at home.  Probably some of the best chocolate I've had.  Winners were: ganache of bergamot and passionfruit.   The texture of chocolate and the ganache was smooth and cool on the tongue.  The flavours were perfectly balanced, the chocolate didn't get upstaged by the flavoured ganache...like they were more than happy to be on the same team, think: Fresh Prince & Jazzy Jeff, Marx & Engels, W. Strunk Jr & E. B White, Penny & Brain, Monsieur & Madame Curie, Carl & Harriet Winslow, Austro & Hungaria... 

Vin chaud anyone?

Daytime visit to the Christmas market.  Je voudrais hot in my wine and gizzard confit in my potato.

Hot spiced wine.  Try weaving through the throngs of people with a full glass of hot red wine - we actually chickened out and pulled off to the side until it was a little less full.  Yes.  That's gizzard confit on my baked potato.  Confit means to slow cook in duck or goose fat to preserve things.  Aside from preserving it, it also makes things tender and about 25Xs tastier, but animal fats will do that to things.

"l'esgoulade".  Country style bread, with cancoillotte and shavings of some strong, aged, hard stuff.  They get it bubbly and brown under the grill and then crack the crusty top so that the splash of armagnac has somewhere to go.

It's hot...and delicious.  Winner.

supermarket desserts

Check out what I found in the dessert aisle of the supermarket.  2 servings for 2 euros.  2 little squares of cold velvety chocolate fondant.

Surprisingly (or not so surprisingly) good.  

Each fondant came with its own little pot of creme anglaise (obviously), no self-respecting supermarket would sell chocolate fondant on it's own - I would never shop at such a base establishment.

Oysters are a Christmas food here.  They're everywhere and in all forms in baskets at the markets.  These are No. 3 oysters from Brittany, 6.50/dozen.

Cold, briny and melony.  I made 2 different mignonettes to try - but I think they were best with lemon...and white wine of course.  I muscled through opening 8 of them, and then had to get P to finish opening the rest.  The oyster knife is sharp, the oyster shells are sharp and we were using excessive force.  After the ordeal, we decided that we needed to have the emergency numbers handy...in case of oyster-related injuries.

If you're sick of food, here's a picture from a walk we took the other day.  It's just moss and plants growing on the side of a brick building.

Because I like it...

I'm posting some random pictures about food...because I like it.  Giving our wallets (and the ailing Canadian dollar) a rest, we've been eating in a lot.  No matter, I love it.  I've been thinking about food a little too much these days, but it's really not my fault.  There is so much of it everywhere, and so many intriguing things call my name when I walk by them at the market.  Even though I can't take everything home with me that same day, I can at least say a little prayer for it and bring them home next time.  I tried pan-roasting duck for the first time.  Scary at first, all that fat and just my little toaster oven to finish.  But it all went off without a hitch and everything turned out parfait.  I made a sauce from some red wine, star anise and figs (well aren't I fancy?).  As promised, some random pictures of food:

I picked up a salted pig knuckle for 60 cents - threw it in a pot of cold water with celery tops, a carrot, an onion and the green tops of the leeks.  3 magical hours later - stock.

A kilo of mussels cost us 4 euros, and a good half hour of scrubbing and de-bearding.

The steamy un-veiling.  Moules Mariniere: shallots, butter, parsley and white wine

We had run out of olive oil that day...oh, but hang on what about that little jar of duck fat in the fridge.  These are "charlotte" potatoes - parboiled, tossed in duck fat and then roasted in the oven.  Not too shabby for a frites substitute.  Besides, who actually deepfries at home anyways?

Mystery market

About a week and a half ago, when we first got to Toulouse to look for an apartment there were some mysterious stirrings at the Place du Capitole.  The Capitole is located in the very centre of Toulouse and boasts a large open space for exhibition, markets and impressing girls on your scooters and motor bikes, popping wheelies.  Large restaurants line the perimeter of the Place and the small curvey streets that make up the centre of Toulouse all radiate from…or lead to the Capitole.

The mystery consisted of some temporary fencing and what looked like small, neat wooden cabins stacked together in a solid square, a cabin condo on one floor.  There would be new development each day, the cabins would be moved from one end to another and there was always work going on in the fenced area, but with little clue as to what was actually being done.  Then a small sheet of ice was put down in one corner, the cabins spaced apart forming small rows…then some lights, and then they were open!  Well, duh.  Of course.  CHRISTMAS MARKET!!!  Most open-air markets that we’ve experienced so far are set up and torn down on a daily basis, so what may be a bustling market scene on Sunday morning, will be completely cleared out and restored back into the parking lot of a church or a little square by 2 in the afternoon.  The Christmas market is on every day until 8 in the evening from now until Christmas Eve.  What do you think I like best about the market?  Oh, could it be the aligot and truffade?  How about the mugs of hot spiced wine…no, maybe a slice of some spice cake sold by weight?  We walked by rows of specialty cabins selling hot chocolate, fried ham/bacon sandwiches with fried onions, and giant slices of country levain bread under some creamy substance and grated cheese broiled open-faced, advertised as a “slice of tradition”.  Don’t even get me started on the baked potatoes topped with your choice of gizzard confit, fried duck skin, or ham/cheese/tomato & crème fraiche.

P and I solemnly declared to try every Christmas market street food item between now and Christmas eve, and whether you like it or not – I’m going to tell you about it. We went where the line-up was longest, so first up: aligot.  Basic components: mashed potatoes whipped with cheese (in the style of cantal, laguiole or salers – you can get it at Les Amis du Fromage in Vancouver).  Remember titrations in chemistry class?  Yes.  The maximum amount of cheese that any given mass of mash potatoes would molecularly tolerate.  You wait in a long line until you come up to the counter, where a large “wok” of aligot sits steaming and stringy.  Mr. Aligot has to plop and pull the ladle high to free the cheesy mass into a small rectangular container. 2 plastic forks and 4 euro later we are pulling the stuff into our mouth like the locals do.  What struck me most was how potato-ey it tasted despite how simultaneously cheesy it was.  The texture: cheese stringy, but not chewy, soft and smooth like good mashed potatoes. But let’s call it what it really is – aligot.  *note, truffade was sold at the same place. From what I could tell, it was aligot with bacon and pieces of potatoes.    

The day before the market started - you have to imagine these things all laid out next to each other in a solid block.  You can see the framing for the ice rink just to the right of the photo.

Salade de chevre chaud...chez nous.

I felt like chicken that night...

When deciding on a city to live in, Lyon was the one that we had in mind the entire time.  The 3^rd largest city France and known for its gastronomy and film/cinema scene – it seemed like the perfect fit.  It was an exciting place that had all those things to offer, you couldn’t walk 3 steps on any given block without coming across a restaurant, a patisserie, butcher or specialty food shop.  The city was awash in “bouchons”, or rustic little restaurants that served all things pig and regional.  Although it was exciting and offered us all that was expected, we had to weigh some important factors.  Did we want to live in a large French city when we were planning on moving to Paris in the spring?  Would Toulouse feel too sleepy after 5 months time?  Big and exciting?  Charming and quaint?  We had to endure a few tense hours – keeping in mind this was the first MAJOR decision (aside from choosing where to eat every night) we had had to make since coming to France. What it all boiled down to was this: no matter where we live for the next 5 months, it was going to be hard and it was going to be wonderful.  I won’t say just yet – you just might have to check back in a weeks time to find out where we’ve ended up.  The apartment search is on!

One of the most special things we came across while here in Lyon was the Poulet de Bresse.  I had seen it on a food network show once and was hoping to get my hands on some of it while in France, the demand is so high in France that very few chickens make it out of the country.  The Bresse chicken was the first livestock granted an AOC designation.  You might be familiar with AOC (appellation d’origine controlee), which is a designation that ensures that certain agricultural products meet very exacting standards with reference to where and how these products are produced.  Most would recognize it on some wine labels, but I was first introduced to the concept when I worked at the cheese shop - yes, cheeses have AOC designations.  Leave it to the French to promote and exalt a chicken to such a degree.  We saw them at the butchers, where they’re always proudly displayed and sold with the heads (red comb and white feathers) and feet (grey blue in colour) on.  Check out these beauties:

We went to a restaurant that specialized in Bresse chicken to see what the hype was all about.  I ordered a poulet a l’Ain a la crème (chicken of the Ain region in cream) and P got the andouillette sausage, which was another specialty of the region, made of pig intestines and other delicious pig insides.

My chicken was presented as a leg/thigh piece resting on a shallow pool of cream, garnished with 3 little pomme dauphinoise and accompanied by a bubbling ceramic dish of potato gratin.   I never had bresse chicken before, but…it was perfect!  Good job France!  Yes, keep them regulated and make sure they always taste this way!  It’s hard to describe, after all it is chicken and I can only liken it to the most chickenest tasting chicken.  If you’ve ever had chicken, steamed/boiled whole, you will know that a free-range chicken, aside from the colour, tastes different from an industrially farmed chicken.  It is a bit “gamier”, that is to say it HAS flavour…which is something we don’t seem to ask from our grocery store, boneless-skinless chicken breast in trays of 2.  I don’t know how the chicken was prepared, but I got hits of a wine-y aroma, and it wasn’t the sauce.

My chicken was the star of the show – but P’s andouillette showed pretty well.  Served with frites, it was white in colour (all the way through) and seemed to be loosely held together in its casing, distinguishable pieces would fall out as he cut his fork through it.  It was very delicately seasoned and what came through was salt, and clean tasting organ meat.  Although, there are no winners and losers at a nice dinner, P and I always declare winners of each course.  My Poulet de Bresse was true to its reputation, but Paul made a surprise come back in the dessert round with the fromage blanc.  Who knew that just a little cup of fresh plain cheese, turned out into a bowl would beat my terrine of grapefruit and oranges served with a coulis cassis?  

Lyon has some great residential neighbourhoods...only they are waaay up some treacherous hills.  The City built up 2 funiculars for a touristy neighbourhood, but most people make the daily trek on these long stairways.

Some things I like about France...

Initially, one of the main factors for choosing a city to live in was its food scene.  I promptly crumpled that thought and tossed it out of my head.  EVERYWHERE in france is a good food scene.  France loves and cares about food - like I do, probably waay more than I do.  Here are some things I like about France:

Little violet drops.  As tasty as they are pretty.  Don't let this elegantly casual display fool you, did you really think that these candies splayed out there like this on their own?  I painstakingly sprinkled the violets just so on a brand new pillow in our hotel room.  Surfaces that didn't make the cut: a white towel, my hands and an unfolded napkin from our sandwiches the day before.

The bread.

Shellfish in baskets and oysters in boxes - don't care how the song goes, but these are a few of MY favorite things.

If you really want to know who I am, you really have to understand this:  there are fewer things in life that are more dramatic and special then long, perfect strips of candied orange peel dipped in dark chocolate.  "Orangette", like a whisper from an extinguished candle flame.  It was expensive, but if I hadn't, my heart would never forgive me. 

Bordeaux...

A lovely visit in Bordeaux.  A much bigger city than Rennes and with architecture reminiscent of Paris.  We stumbled upon a cute neighbourhood close to the centre that would be a dream to live in, but the campus for our language school was way the hell out in the suburbs of Bordeaux.  Upon first impressions, a suburb in France is just like a suburb in BC.  Minus points for the campus out in the suburbs, but we both felt that we could put up with the commute if we lived in the city centre - that is, if we didn't like the next cities on the list.  So, the search continues.  Meanwhile, I'm trying to cut down my duck and butter intake.  It's an uphill battle and one that I foresee losing.  What a way to go down, casting arms to the ground and surrendering oneself to duck and butter.

Not a mini bundt cake, but a canelé - a bordelaise specialty.  Custard batter is poured into little moulds and baked until the outside is caramelized and crusty.  Fancy canelé shops dot Bordeaux's streets, we bought this more affordable version at a market from a simple baker.

  
Well look-ey here, another botanical garden.  Not the season for many varieties, but the grounds are kept and beautiful nonetheless.

Taken on a footbridge at the other end of the garden, pretty carousels, like this one, are characteristically found in many large public parks and squares.  It's even sweeter up close with little kids yelling, "mom, look at me!" in french.

Just another monsieur on his way to work at city hall.  Haven't seen such a great shape on a man since Danny DeVito as "the Penguin"...but really, he who wears the Burberry scarf laughs last.

"'cause I'm saving all my love for you..."

France - I was saving all my love for France.

Not to be down on all the great places that we've been, but this is what it's all about and today reminded us of why we chose to be here.  We've been limping along with our French, but for the most part, people understand and respond to our needs.  Often they'll be so fooled by our calm, ultra cool french demeanor (you know how I like to talk with a cocked eyebrow whilst bobbling my head) that they'll respond in rapid (normal speed) french.  Only after looking at our saucer-wide eyeballs do they get that we parles pas francais.  This just makes me want to learn it all the more.  

So began our 3 week tour around France to find a place to live and study.  First stop: Rennes.  A small town in Brittany that no one ever speaks of, but we got a tip from someone that they loved their time here.  We quickly ruled it out - not because we didn't like it, au contraire (will they accept Wayne's World french?), it was really charming and lively...only too small .  We spent the early afternoon at what I call a "tree" park, but it was really a botanical garden showcasing all sorts of different plants and not just trees.  We wound our way through the old centre in the late afternoon, studying menus to look for a dinner spot.  It was a good food day, meaning that everything that I ate was delicious and delighted me.  

For dinner, we went to a small restaurant called "le Presse Puree".  Ordered food from a hand-written chalkboard and sat back with a glass of white wine from Nantes.  I had a brochette of alternating beef filet and duck breast on vegetables and a side of frites and P had a filet of "lieu" (a white fish) in a red butter sauce, mashed potatoes with pureed broccoli.  His was the winning dish, but mine was tasty all the same.  The restaurant was lovely and the food was nice so we took our time and stayed for coffee and dessert.  Our server was kind and helpful, and sent us off to Bordeaux with a restaurant recommendation (he's from there) and 2 caramels made with salted butter (special to the region).  But this is what it's all about right?  Taking our time because it's so nice to be exactly there - pleasant ambiance, good company, tasty food from an honest menu and service that comes from a kind and thoughtful place.  Even if I can't eat like this all the time, I want to always remember that eating and dining can, and should be so.

 

Old city centre of Rennes

Lunch at the tree park.  Sandwich of jambon de pays, cornichons and beurre.  It's one of those things where you just had to be there.

Roasted chestnuts sold out of the back of a train engine.  I would not have it any other way.  

P freshens up his glass at le Presse Puree

Le Presse Puree

34, Rue Vasselot

Rennes

02.99.79.48.10

Bruges (or as the Flems would say, "Brugge")

Must talk about the dinner at Poules Moules.

I don't have any pictures, so you'll just have to trust me when I say that it was the warmest feeling, skinniest restaurant (spread over 3 levels) I've ever dined at.   Determined to get some Moules Frites while in Belgium, we asked the guy at the front desk of our hostel for a good place to go - and he done served us good.

It was the best french fry I had had in my life, the curry sauce and the white wine sauce that the mussels came with made good friends with them too.  The mussels were perfect - plump, sweet and abundant.  Bonus points for the ones emerging with a thin piece of celery or onion clinging to it - like a Bond girl coming out of the water with the right bathing suit on.  P had a filet of beef, a side of frites with roquefort sauce - decent, but nothing to write home about.

At a hot chocolate/tea room in Bruges.  They bring you a giant bowl of steaming milk accompanied by a portion of chocolate chips to be stirred in...served in a little chocolate dish...also to be stirred in.  The whole affair was balanced out by a plate of biscuits and a selection of chocolates from the chocolatier downstairs.  Didn't grab a card or anything, but I (or P) can show you next time you go to Bruges with us.

An obligatory canal/bridge/old brick building shot of Bruges.  I was enthralled by an intense duck fight taking place.

Remember that surrealist poster you bought at the university poster fair?  When we all thought that surrealism was cool?  In my opinion, surrealism is NOT cool, but float THIS on your subconscious.

A proper belgian street waffle should be made of a yeasty dough (more bread-y than cake-y) with bits of sugar baked right in, then it must topped with a volume of whipped cream equal to that of the waffle.  We got this one with strawberries.

Poules Moules

Simon Stevinplein 9

Brugge, Belgium

050/34.61.19