My Paris in the rain. Oh, France, you just don’t understand.

It’s my fault really. I should have remembered from the last time I lived in you France. That there’s this way people talk about you. It includes sayings like, “Not everything has to be that hard,” or, “It actually doesn’t have to take two months to open a bank account.” I’ve even heard, “Seriously, just call The States and ask them how they do it. Call China.”




You are a special kind of foreign. Part of me is pleased, that you don’t ever want to fit in. But then there’s this other part. I am so exhausted by you. By all the weird people you create. There’s only so many rough slanders one woman can take, there’s got to be a limit to the leering men sitting down on the park benches, eyes fixed on you. Why are you all rambling? Stop saying things that make others feel uncomfortable, stop walking past me and swaying into me as you grin and bare your yellow teeth with that fag hanging out of your mouth, don’t let your dogs near me. France, there’s only so long that you will get by on this myth that the rest of the world, who has only visited you for no longer than three weeks at a time, has believed.




And there’s more than that. I like your pastry, I do, you really know how to use flour with your hands, you get the necessity of chilled dough, it makes sense to you to use almond and sugar and butter and then to add raspberries, you really do get that and I’m not taking that away from you. But have you heard of cake? And I’m not talking about gateau; that thin brownie-like-sponge you make in a tart tin. It’s cake. A moist, dense, gluteness mass of flour and oil and sugar covered with a quality butter infused icing.




This is why there is a place here that must have read that New Zealand Woman’s Weekly cake book that every New Zealand mother in 1982 bought. The one with the butter cream icing and the cake train on the cover? Except that they are American at Sugarplum and they call icing, frosting, which is ok considering there is moist coconut cake with caramel butter cream icing layered through it three times. And you can get it with a coffee filled with milk and you can sit there for as long as you like and France, you just don’t get that.




But then there are times when you let it rain and the sky kind of turns a silver grey and there are less people on the pavement, the Seine starts to rush a little faster, the honking increases, there is a slight breeze and for some reason you draw very few people to walk along your river. And it is in these times, like today, that I see again how there actually isn’t a myth at all, that you really do possess something of what you claim to, that there is actually something about you that made us all flock here, to a city that doesn’t understand cake or efficiency.



Sugarplum Cake Shop
68 rue du Cardinal Lemoine,
75005 Paris

A special kind of passion

They don’t really tell you about this when you start. Perhaps they don’t consider it very significant, as if it doesn’t really matter if you loose a wee bit of the passion you had before you started. I have heard people talk about a special kind of passion. But no one is ever specific about what that passion actually is. Is it the experience of explosive flavour combinations in your mouth? Using your hands to make food? The creating of something new? The whirlwind of standing in a kitchen, every day, and then going home, putting your feet up and reminiscing on how quickly you moved about the pots and pans? Is it seeing people enjoying your food, them experiencing something new? Challenging people’s taste buds? What were they talking about?

Very good cheap cheese available from Franprix

Sometimes I just wish you could experience it. This feeling similar to no other, as if entering an industrial kitchen and staying there all day at that stove is actually a different world. Working with ingredients you can’t buy from a supermarket. And here in Paris; working with vegetables you can’t even buy in New Zealand. Choux roux; you either peal this with a knife, dice it and eat it raw through a salad or create a paste by using a food processor and then mixing it in a dish to add a hidden flavour. It’s fresh, not tart, the flavour a combination of celery and raw broccoli. But it’s good.

Sorry the picture is so small

These days are not drawn out, there is a clock on the wall above the knives but it is glanced at only from time to time with the response, “I can’t believe it’s already…” It makes home life a question of “couch or floor?” My legs have never been so tired in all my life. And more than that, you are surrounded by food every minute of the day. Your hands, elbows deep in water filled with small white button mushrooms, your hands covered with the dirt from which your vegetables grew in, and the juice of cucumbers and red peppers cling to your now soiled apron. And then everything is combined and cooked or mixed, plated and presented to the people who will pay for the experience of great taste in an environment they enjoy.

Baked croissant of soft cheese and tomato

Before I had entered this world, when I assumed the presence of food in my days to be something I would consistently take pleasure in and when there was no one to tell me about this bizarre way of life, I didn’t expect to loose interest in any one of my meals. I almost want to say it in a whisper, as if it’s not really that true, that it is only a reflection of this world sometimes, but there are moments when the thought of food leaves you a slight nonchalant. Which I still can't believe considering food can be displayed like this in France:




Perhaps the special kind of passion is a love, regardless of how many hours you are surrounded by food, you will always look forward to what you will next slice with your knife or pick with your fingers and pop into your mouth.




But it’s not gone. It’s still all inside of me. The desire to come home from that day of cooking things that I didn’t feel like eating at the time, and sitting down to a home-made meal, a me-made meal, has not gone away. Sometimes the desire for that next meal comes threaded through the desire for things to be just a little bit more simple.

Imaginations, yearnings and hopefulness. And tofu.

It’s colder here. Last week never let us in on what these few days would hold. Pants, scarves, boots. Parisians have brought all these things out of their wardrobes again. I can see layers. We were waiting for summer. And we believed it was close. Ever since we were little we were told that that was how it was supposed to happen, that summer followed spring and so there is disappointment in the city this week.




This morning while I was watching the leaves outside my window, which were inappropriately green, I remembered how you told me the other day that you were exhausted from living in waiting. It was more than hanging around in front of an oven for a cake to rise; you were lingering for something that you wanted to come next. Yearning for this unknown that you believed would make you feel more grounded, feel more happiness or at least would just make you feel ok about everything that has happened and that is going to happen.

White Sesame Tofu Mouse hidden under aubergine

I think I had forgotten the day we spoke, that it is true about our imaginations, that we are very human in our thinking-things-up that seem wonderful, all-including and more definite. I am certain that somehow our imaginations are connected with this notion of waiting, because one follows the other. We imagine, sometimes we make steps towards its existence, and then we must wait for its reality to take place. But this waiting is for something that is so out of our control, that our yearning and pining for it to become real can sometimes create a small amount of pain, because in this moment, at this time with all that is happening around us, it is only our imagining.




Some one very amazing the other day reminded me to attain hopeful habits. And so what I am saying is that even though there are some spaces in life without any particular assurance, for now, as you live still waiting for those things which you already love, those things which are right and good, but the reality of them still remains unknown to you, in every sense, perhaps you could live in a way that would complement them if they were to become real. Perhaps discontentment does not have to be a reaction to this tension.

I told you I wanted to cook for people, to have discussion in my home, to encourage you into a space of hopefulness and not deficiency. It’s not quite summer anymore, as I thought it may have been, but at least I can still practice the food that I would love to accompany those pending days with.




And I wish I could have reminded you the other day, that if you do have some assurance in the impending reality of the things you are hoping for, then protect the knowledge that even though they are not-yet-now, one day they will be outrageously-here.

White Sesame Tofu Mouse

White Sesame Tofu Mouse in a Stack of Vegetables

150 grams momen tofu (from good Japanese stores)
1 Tbsp white sesame paste (")
1 tsp extra virgin olive oil
salt
pepper
2 pieces of quality whole meal sourdough
1 aubergine, chopped vertically into 1 cm slices
2 large white asparagus, sliced vertically in half
a bunch of rocket, washed
2 Tbsp sesame seeds
squeeze of lemon juice

Pre-heat the oven to 200°

Momen Tofu

In a bowl place the tofu, sesame paste, olive oil, salt and pepper. With a magic wand (hand-held processor), process the mixture until to becomes smooth and well incorporated. Taste. You may want to add more sesame paste. Season to your desire.

Place the sesame seeds in an oven tray and toast until lightly golden. If they are all black then toast for about 8 minutes.

On an oven tray spread out your aubergine and asparagus. Pour over some olive oil, salt and pepper. Make sure you rub all the vegetables with a good amount of seasoning. Bake until cooked through (about 20 minutes).

White Sesame Paste

Lightly toast your slices of bread.

To assemble, place the bread on a plate, cover with one slice of aubergine, topped with the tofu mixture. Then interchange layers with rocket and vegetables. Drizzle with olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper and sesame seeds.

Inspired peanutbutter, banana and chocolate pie.

There is this desire isn’t there?

There’s got to be this desire.

You know... To add something to someone in this place. Not only to live our daily lives in enjoyment (even though this is important and filled with meaning in its own way). But I am certain there is this other thing.

Because we all have seen it, this world and how it has been made and filled with things that are good, even if those things often seem small or require our pursuit. And then some how there is this other stuff as well, things which are awful and that make people feel suffering, sometimes even on a daily basis. And so this contradiction, this existence of two things at the same time that seem to oppose each other, as if they could not be related in any way at all, actually manage to find common ground (and I don’t mean in a good way). They can exist at the same time and all the while we still live in this place where it is going on.

And then there are these people. All the ones who you know and then some others that you don’t know either. And they are with you in this, experiencing the contradiction in their own lives. Perhaps at times they may be living in some of the awfulness, more than you are, but then at other times they may see the wonder and they may feel joy all the way through them because for instance, they just got home and found a bouquet of pink and white peonies in their bedroom (thank you wonderful flat mate!).




And so, we are living our lives with people. Every day they are here and it is a good thing to be convinced that it is harder to enjoy your life without them. And then to realize that this would mean it is more ideal to enjoy life with people. And part of that, that with people, could mean making someone feel like one hundred dollars by elevating that person’s feelings above our own. Because imagine making someone feel as though you have chosen that they are more important to you than yourself. I’m telling you: one million dollars.

Of course being realistic about this means that we realize this is not how everyone thinks, ourselves included, and so boundaries are essential, but if it’s just us getting over the fact (even though this can be incredibly hard at times) that I would prefer something different, then aren’t we adding something to someone?

A small way, that should not be overlooked, to add something to someone is by making this pie for that someone.




We call this pie; Inspired. That is because when we were talking about what we should make for a friend of ours who was coming over for dessert, there were several moments of pure inspiration.

• Firstly, at some point within the discussions of the night my flat mate had named, SarahPie, we both thought of peanut butter, which is a challenge in Paris. My peanutbutter hunt became successful after 5 supermarchés. 4.16 euros. Not a bargain.

• The second burst of inspiration happened a few days before SarahPie when my flat mate called out from her bedroom, “we should put chocolate ganache on the base!” Followed by, “Inspiried.”

• Then there was this last minute inspiration when we were both standing over the tart shell looking down at the biscuit base with its set chocolate layer and we both knew something was missing. Peanutbutter…. Creamcheese…. Chocolate…. Biscuits… And then after a silence someone said, ‘Banana.’ Just one word and we knew we had a pie worthy to be made in a country that doesn’t indulge in pie, let alone seriously good tarts. And Charles, this is not a time to make a joke.

Inspired Peanutbutter, Banana and Chocolate Pie




1 packet of Anzac-type biscuits with chocolate on them
½ packet of super wine/petit beurre biscuits
¼ cup butter, melted
1 king sized block of chocolate
1 banana
250 grams cream cheese, room temperature so it has softened
150 grams peanut butter
1 cup icing sugar
1 Tbsp milk
optional: vanilla ice cream accompaniment

There are two options to make the base. Either put all the biscuits in a processor and process until they are all broken up and resemble rough crumbs. However, you don’t want them to be really fine like flour. Pour the butter into the processor and process briefly until all the crumbs are wet. Or, if you don’t have a processor or you can’t be bothered cleaning it after, you can put all the biscuits into a plastic bag and beat the bag with a rolling pin until they like look like rough crumbs. Then put them in a bowl and add the butter mixing really well to make sure the butter has soaked every crumb.




Butter and bake-paper-proof either a tart, pie or cake tin. Pour in the biscuit mixture and with a wooden spoon or dessertspoon pack down the mixture on the bottom and about an inch up the sides of the tin. You will need to make sure you have pressed it all down and up the sides very well so it is compacted. Meanwhile, melt your chocolate and once your base is nicely compressed (it will come together more once refrigerated), spread half the chocolate over the base of the tart. Put your tart shell in the fridge for around an hour for it all to solidify.

Get your pie shell out of the fridge and slice your banana onto the base of the pie.
In a bowl mix the cream cheese with the icing sugar until it is well incorporated and no longer lumpy. Add the peanut butter and mix until it has all combined. Add the milk just to loosen the mixture up a bit and mix well. Pour and carefully spread the peanut butter mixture over the banana, making sure you reach the sides of the pie shell.

With a teaspoon, drizzle the rest of the melted chocolate over the peanut butter mixture and refrigerate until the chocolate has solidified and the pie has chilled.

Goes super well with a quality vanilla ice cream.

Setting the table for one

Fourteen squared meters.

There is a lifestyle in this world that challenges the practice of eating being about the process of sitting down around a table together.

When there is actually only one chair at the table because the place on the other side is filled with the space where you stand to cook from, and when you turn away from your hot plate and place your meal on the table and then shuffle into the chair to eat it, there is not really any room to be together with anyone.

And so sometimes, sometimes, perhaps more often than desired, one has to eat alone.

This is the fate of a fourteen squared meter apartment in Paris, a life from August onwards, which we can only be constructive about. And not for any moment at all does this mean that we cannot eat well in these times.




When you’re standing there in your kitchen (or beside your kitchenette), and you realize that you don’t need to consider how your brother dislikes broccoli, the fact that your best friend finds a plate of only green a peculiar sight or the absolute insanity that your sister can not stand the texture of mashed food; a weird sense of creativity is absorbed into the parts of your mind that categorize food. And for a brief second you imagine a luscious plate of pureed avocado mingled in with blanched broccoli.

Viola! Brilliance in your mouth.


Broccoli with Avocado Mousse




1 broccoli head
1 avocado
juice of ½ lemon
½ tsp extra virgin olive oil
salt
pepper

Simply cut the broccoli into florets. Blanche the broccoli.
Blanching is the process of cooking something in salted boiling until that something is tender but firm. Run the cooked food under cold water until it becomes cool. If the food remains hot, it will continue to cook, becoming soft and undesirable (in my opinion).
In this case, blanche the broccoli for 2 minutes, drain and run under cold water until cool. Set aside.

Peal the avocado and remove the stone. At this stage you can either mash the avocado into a bowl with a hand held masher, or you can put it through a food processor. Personally I think a hand held masher is sufficient, unless you are making this for a mass amount of people. Once the avocado is at a mousse consistency add the rest of the ingredients and mash or process until fully incorporated.

Place the avocado mousse and broccoli into a bowl and mix well until the mousse is woven into every piece of broccoli.

Serve.


Mexican Mince

For those times when you just want protein and you just want flavour…




beef mince
1 onion, diced
3 garlic gloves, diced
1 tsp red wine vinegar
1 can crushed tomatoes
½ tsp mild chili
½ capsicum/red pepper, chopped small
1 carrot, grated
salt
pepper
corn kernels (cut off a fresh cob or from a can)
sour cream
fresh mint

Heat a teaspoon of oil in a heavy based saucepan. Add onion and garlic, making sure the garlic doesn’t brown. Once the majority of the oil has been absorbed by the onion, add the red wine vinegar, making sure to continually mix while it bubbles rapidly.

Once the bubbling subsides, add the mince and brown for 1 or 2 minutes. Then add the tomato can, chili, capsicum and carrot and allow to simmer until the sauce starts to thicken and no longer holds a consistency resembling water. This is your time to season with as much salt and pepper as you desire.

Once it tastes good to you, spoon the mince into a bowl. Top it with the corn, a dollop of sour cream and some fresh mint.


Grilled Beef Pattie with Gruyere and Guacamole



Pattie
beef mince
½ white onion, diced
2 garlic cloves, diced
1 egg, lightly whisked
a form of bread crumbs (I only had crackers so I put them in a bag and crushed them. But you can also use dried bread or store bought bread crumbs)
1 tsp grated cheese (gruyere, parmesan, cheddar)
herbs (I only had mint sauce in a jar so I used 1 tsp, but fresh chopped mint, basil or parsley works best)
2 tsp of any chutney or tomato puree
salt
pepper
my sister Rachael once suggested adding chopped olives, which go incredibly well
sliced gruyere or any hard cheese for the top

Guacamole
1 ripe avocado
¼ red onion, diced
¼ tomato, diced
lemon juice
olive oil
salt
pepper

Preheat the oven to 200°

For the patties, add all the ingredients except the sliced cheese into a bowl. With your hands mix it all together very well. Shape the meat mixture into balls, the size of a fist.

For the guacamole, in a bowl mash the avocado, tomato and onion together. Season and add a little lemon juice and oil until it is at your desired consistency and taste.

Heat some oil in a skillet (very important: the skillet must have an oven proof handle). Once the oil in the pan has just started to smoke slightly, add the patties and press down with a fish slice. Brown each side well, then put the skillet into the oven for around 6 minutes. Using a tea towel remove the skillet from the oven and top the patties with sliced cheese. Put the skillet back in the oven until the patties are cooked through, probably only 2 or 3 more minutes.
Use the tea towel to remove the skillet and place the patties on your plate with a side of guacamole.

I made three patties and only cooked one for that night, freezing the other two for a later date.


Lemon and Avocado Salad




1 egg
½ avocado, diced
½ tomato, diced
½ carrot, grated
lettuce leaves, whole or chopped
¼ red onion, diced
juice of half a lemon
1 tsp extra virgin olive oil
½ tsp cider vinegar
salt
pepper

Bring a small pot to the boil. Add the egg carefully, not to break it on the bottom of the pot. Allow to boil for 10 minutes. Drain and run under cold water until the egg is cool. Peal the shell off, slice in half and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Meanwhile, place all the other ingredients into a plastic bag, including the liquids. Seal the top of the bag and mix the salad together by juggling the bag with your hands to incorporate all ingredients well.

Carefully pour the contents of the bag into a bowl, top with the egg.

This is seriously a good time.