The start of 'things you must try'

I can see now, it’s going to become a bit of a habit. On those mornings when you wake up without an alarm and you slowly lean over to pull the curtains away from the windows, away from keeping the light out of your bedroom, because you want to be able to see the tops of the trees. It’s spring here so they’re green and still swaying in the breeze that was left over from winter.




It was last Thursday that caused this habit to form. Alarm went off at 8, and I pulled on my exercise gear to get my walk on all the way down to the markets. TPP was out on the streets that particular morning (The Parisian Pee’r). We see him all over the city, always in different disguises.




At 8 the markets weren’t busy as this is early here in Paris for those who have the luxury of buying their vegetables, cheeses, breads and meats from them daily. And every morning, all the time, there’s really quite a culture down there on Rue Richard Lenoir at the Bastille Markets. I think it’s the yelling that I’m most fond of. Or have become most fond of. At first you instantly think; abuse, yet again. But then after time, it is the one thing that you have become to understand about the French. They’re not yelling as such, they’re talking… loudly and urgently because what they are saying is apparently very important. The other day at work the owner came in and said (yelled), “make sure this bread is used up!” My job has nothing to do with bread, I don’t touch bread, I don’t order bread, I don’t talk about bread. It was all very confusing. “I’m not supposed to take bread out to customers,” I said. He replied (yelled), “No I know but I’m just saying (yelling) it should be used up! It’s waste!”




Once you come to these markets and when you get to see how long this particular cheese stall is, that it takes up a considerable amount of space, you will understand why this particular stall is the one I have chosen alliance with. In the twenty minutes of cheese-window shopping on Thursday morning amongst the affectionate yelling (because everything in this market is really very important), I saw a large white bucket and written on the side in blue linked letters was this; ‘fromage blanc.’ Right away I thought that I must try this. And so I bought a small tub for 79 euro cents and I bought some strawberries, almonds, fresh dates and a banana because it makes sense in my head that all those things would only go well together. I came home and placed them all in a bowl in layers, just like you would assemble a tiramisu. My first spoonful consisted of only fromage blanc. Thick, creamy, nothing tart, nothing sickly sweet, just everything perfect and leaving your desire for something creamy completely fulfilled.




And then once I had finished my entire bowl of breakfast (about half an hour later because I am trying this thing of eating slowly), in retrospect, I wished I had left out the banana, strawberries, almonds and fresh dates, because this is something that you don’t want to add anything to.

However, if the occasion calls for a friend to accompany your fromage blanc seulement, I would recommend the following:

Fromage Blanc with raspberry compote
Fromage Blanc with only fresh dates (I can imagine this would have gone well)
Fromage Blanc with caramel sauce and a sprinkling of granola (Grace this is for you)
Fromage Blanc with cake, any sort of cake…

The Art of Eating

There's just an urgency. Sometimes, when you're in your apartment and even though you've been out walking that morning, when it was quiet, when shutters were closed and the last cigarette butt hit the gutter at 5am, you still feel impatient to have the experience that only this day could ever be. And so you're sitting in the sun on your balcony eating a bowl of sliced banana, green apple, raisin, coconut and lemon juice while you watch all the people strolling under your home, who you never thought you’d experience the feeling of jealously over, but they’re all out there, in that wonder of not Paris in the spring time (as a fond friend of mine, Frank, would sing), but amongst all those other people living this strange, strange life of being a person made up of experiences.

Carpe Diem Cafe

This takes you out on your very first experience of going to lunch, to a lovely restaurant, on your own to eat magret de canard and sip a glass of Bordeaux over two hours of people watching and writing. And when you look at those bread baskets filled with real French baguette, it makes you want to lean in towards the table beside you and just like Meryl Streep from Julie and Julia exclaim, “French people, eat French food, everyday!”




And they get to eat it slowly....

Which is something that is lost today; this art of eating.

Every morning at work we all eat breakfast together. Chefs come out from their hot sticky rooms filled with high gas stoves, pastry chefs pull their cakes out of the ovens and glaze the morning scones, servers finish wiping the tables for our very first customers of the morning and we all pull out our chairs, pour granola, soy milk and our very own store-made jam into our bowls. Most of us rapidly speed through breakfast to get back to our jobs as customers come in timidly asking if we are open (wondering why we are all sitting down, chatting and eating breakfast together at 8:30 in the morning). But one of the owners seems to embrace the pleasure of eating at the table with us. His bread leisurely lies in front of him while he sips his tea and then causally picks up his knife to spread a centimeter of butter over his toast, followed by just a 'taste' of raspberry jam. This moment of sitting down around a table with people he sees every day will not be lost on him.



Sarah, on the evening of lemon and mint risotto, re-reminded me about the experience of food being for the experience of people. Never before had I sat and eaten a meal at such a slow pace...

And it was brilliant.

The missing time constraint allows every nibble to become involved. There was opportunity for my taste buds to wrap around every flavour. My body relaxed, legs; leant down under the table and rested on my side-turned feet, hands sat on my lap and shoulders were light against the back of the chair. And I realized then, in that moment of loving being so occupied by what was going on, that it's all about the intermission between each morsel. Because in that intermission, you get the most important task of asking the person sitting in the chair directly opposite you, to share a tiny part of their story. And that person then becomes heard.





And even if there is no one there to share this occasion of food with, then at least you can take your time to be present with what you are surrounded by in that particular moment.

After lunch I walked home from Châtelet to République through Le Marais and I bought this; a cup of nutella, pistachio and amaretto gelato, becuase I wanted to walk slowly and eat slowly, all the way home.

Potentially the best gelato in Paris; Amorino.

Carpe Diem Cafe
21, rue des Halles,
75001,
Paris

A Manner of Mushrooms

“Why are there so many types of mushrooms?” She looked upset as she turned from each basket to another. Some squidge with deformed caps, some brown but not because they were dirty and then some perfectly white and mushroomy. “We don’t need that many, no body needs that many mushrooms.” He lifted his shoulders and then let them drop all of a sudden. She reached her hand forward as if she was going to decide which type to use this evening by picking each one up to feel its weight and texture. He imagined the Shiitake being squeezed by her fingers, the gills pressed by her nails until they easily tore. “Those might be a bit strong for what we’re making tonight?” Her hand hovered over the umbrella-like caps and then moved on to the other basket.

There in the smaller basket was offered a shriveled dark brown and grey variety. “Who could possible want to eat these?” She seemed maddened and on the point of tears. He came up close to her, just allowing his shoulder to brush against hers and he felt her arms rest a little. “These are dried,” he said, but not in a way that sounded as if he knew more than she did. “I think they’re called Porcini. You know how you like those mushroom risotto balls I make? Those are made with porcini stock.” She nodded her head slightly. He leaned in towards her shoulder, ushering her towards the basket beside the porcini. “Are they always dried?” He looked at her, “they’re dried today,” he answered.




Her mouth tilted up at the edges. Her eyes seemed happier. “These are white button mushrooms, right?” He nodded, a bit relieved. “Can we use these in tonight’s dinner?” “Yip, definitely, we could use these.” But then he pointed to the Crimini, a small brown mushroom. She looked over in the direction of his hand. “They look kind of similar to those ones, what are those called?” She pointed back to the white mushrooms. “Those are Agaricus, these ones are similar, but these have a bit more of an intense flavour.” She looked from white to brown, white to brown. And then her eyes settled on the brown Italian sort.

“Bonjour monsieur, nous voulons 750 grammes, s'il vous plait.”

She took the brown bag in her hands and seemed thankful that it was all over. “What do we need now?” He looked up, allowing his eyes to run along all the stall fronts of fresh vegetables from this morning's harvest. “Fresh thyme and rocket.”




Inspired by Antonio Carluccio's, 'The Complete Mushroom Book: The Quiet Hunt,' a present I recieved from my sister, Rachael, and her husband, Matti, this last Christmas.


Butter and Thyme Mushrooms on French Sourdough
perfect with a glass of red wine




a bag of mushrooms (Crimini or Agaricus or your favourite)
1 tsp of fresh thyme leaves roughly chopped and rubbed (or dried thyme)
1 Tbsp butter
rocket
one thin slice or gruyere (completely optional)
parmesan
extra virgin olive oil (the green stuff)
salt
pepper
sourdough

Slice your mushrooms. Heat the butter in a skillet. Add your thyme and allow the butter to foam. You may need to add a little oil if it seems as though there is not enough cooking liquid in the pan. Add your mushrooms and coat them with your butter and thyme mixture. Cook, stirring them around the pan every now and then. Once mushrooms start to release a bit of liquid, this means they are cooked enough. Usually around 6 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Meanwhile, on a plate place your slice of sourdough and top it with a slice of gruyere (this is of course optional). Wash your rocket. Once the mushrooms are done, scatter them over the sourdough. Top with the rocket, shaved or grated parmesan, drizzle with oil and a litte extra salt.

Sunday with Company

Home alone and I feel in love. Sunday in Paris (again). Neko Case is singing about Pauline, she does that a lot in my apartment. Today the wind is blowing and our washing on the balcony is swaying bedraggled, the door slams, five flights down at 4 in the afternoon the café below my window is filled with couples, young families and old friends who are manging on their brunch because Sunday in Paris is brunch day for those who don’t work.




I spent a morning and an afternoon standing in this kitchen that is coloured with silver metal and decorated with large industrial pots and whisks and boxes of crushed thick salt that you would just love to let your pantry at home embrace. And there’s this list in a big black book lying on the shelf in front of you and in the page marked with a pen is today’s date. Sunday May 22nd. And on that page is a list; choux, fenouil, courgette, radis, aubergine, concombre, champignon, but it’s longer than that.




Every time something is pealed, cut, washed, dried, placed in a gigantic oven tray (that my arms are too scrawny to hold) and then covered and stored in the walk-in-fridge, you get the most rewarding task of taking that pen in your hand and pushing down the point with your thumb and then crossing that item off: choux. And then you look underneath choux and it says fenouil and so you start all over again.

But then it’s home time and I remember that my flat mate, who is currently in Amsterdam, bought me a gift the other day (the day I couldn’t be in New Zealand to meet my niece). After cooking dinner for a family that evening, I had arrived home and just sitting there propped up with so much haughtiness was a square cut piece of traditional French strawberry cream cake, the cheapest bottle of faux champagne, a card with the words ‘Congratulations Aunty Danielle’ written across the front and a pot of fresh mint, just growing all tall and lanky-like out of a black plastic pot which made me instantly think; Lemon and Mint Risotto!!!!! Nothing could be so perfect as new spring lemon with aged parmesan on this sunny warm day in Paris.




Sunday and Paris and I just had to try my new mint plant out on someone. I invited a friend, Sarah, over for dinner. On the way back to my new potted plant I stopped in at the U, the cheapest supermarché beside Canal St Martin, and I bought Arborio rice, 2 lemons, a dirty 3 euro bottle of white wine, shallots, chicken stock and parmesan and I came home and looked in my fridge and found a boite of white asparagus that I had bought from the market earlier on that week.




I want something novel, I want almond meal, I want Parmesan, I want red onion and I want thyme I thought.


Lemon and Mint Risotto
(for two)

1 Tbsp butter
4 small shallots, finely diced
2/3 cup of Arborio rice
1 cup white wine
2 cups chicken/vegetable stock
zest of 2 lemons
3 Tbsp lemon juice
salt
pepper
fresh mint chopped




In a pan allow the butter to foam slightly. Add the shallots and on low heat sauté till very tender. Add the rice and stir for around thirty seconds to fully coat the rice in the shallot mixture. Turn the heat up to med/high and add the wine all at once. Allow to bubble while stirring the hole time allowing it to evaporate fully. Add 1 cup of stock and stir every now and then. When completely evaporated, add the remaining stock in ladles, adding the next ladle of stock once the previous stock has evaporated. Continue until the rice has come to the texture you prefer (probably tender still with a firmness).
Zest the lemons into the risotto and add the lemon juice and the parmesan. Mix well and taste. Add salt and pepper and perhaps some more lemon juice here.
Stir through fresh mint just before serving.


Roasted Asparagus with Almond Goodness
(for two)




Bunch of asparagus
half red onion finely diced
1 garlic cloves finely diced
100g almond meal
1 tsp fresh/dried thyme
salt
pepper
2 Tbsp olive oil
¼ cup grated parmesan

Sauté red onion and garlic till well tenderized. Take off heat. Add almond meal, thyme, olive oil, salt and pepper to taste. Mix really well with a spoon till a paste forms (you can use a processor except I don’t have on yet!).
Peal the asparagus (if they are especially fresh then you could get away without pealing them) and snap the ends at the ‘natural’ break in the stem. Place in a single layer on an oven tray and drizzle with oil, salt and pepper. Mix well. Roast till your desired texture (I prefer with a crisp, therefore 10 minutes).
On a large platter place the Almond Goodness in the centre slightly spread out. Top with aspaprgus and drizzle with the left over oil from the roasting pan. Sprinkle over the parmesan and salt and pepper to taste.

Gnocchi With My Hands

And it’s like that you know, when you’re standing there at your kitchen bench looking down at your hands, hands covered with the dust left over from flour and patches of wet dough, and its spring outside and you’ve just spent the morning at the markets buying ingredients to make a dinner of gnocchi from scratch with.




A thick fresh cream and aged blue cheese is just sitting there in your fridge with dozens of mushrooms that have been picked that very morning from somewhere in the French countryside, but right now down in the streets it’s quiet because it’s a Sunday in Paris and people don’t start to wake until just before midday, cafes still have their shutters down but you, you’ve been up for hours to watch the morning unveil itself so you can spend a day in the sun way up in your tiny Parisian apartment listening to Ray LaMontagne while you make cookie dough to store in your freezer for future snacking and a homemade Italian meal of gnocchi involving a creamy mushroom and blue cheese sauce.




But you’re just looking down at your hands that are in the middle of creating. And this moment, it’s like an answer and you can’t quite believe you get to live this way, in this life, in this country, making food with the vegetables you bought from the very people who harvested them, and the only thing you can be is thankful because it’s all too much, and you’re too exhausted from wondering how long this will all last for and so you just decide to enjoy it and to try and see how it can be shared.


Russet Potato Gnocchi




Enough for 5-6 people as a main course.

2 large russet potatoes
1 cup standard flour
½ tsp chili powder
1 tsp salt


It is said that gnocchi is best when it is made from russet potatoes and so I went from stall to market stall in search of the most beautiful looking pale beige potatoes with dark brown speckles and I bought two. Then I came home and boiled them in salted water till they yielded to the slight piercing of a sharp knife and I pealed them and pressed them through a very fine sieve on to a floured workbench, all with my own hands, to come up with this:




And I sprinkled over a little chili powder because it was the only spice I had, an embarrassing amount of salt because salt is the only thing that goes with everything, and a reasonable amount of flour to form this dough that I am making for the very first time. And then I worked the conglomeration, with my hands, until it came together.




A well was made to cradle one beaten egg and then there was gentle kneading and an addition of a bit more flour until it came together into an easy ball.




I rolled the dough out between two sheets of baking paper until it was ½ an inch thick and then cut it into 1 inch wide strips,




And then on a lightly floured surface, rolled the strips into rope-like pieces,




And cut out 1 inch long pieces of gnocchi, placing them in the fridge until I was ready to cook them, about two hours later.

A pot of salted water was brought to the boil and decreased to a steady simmer and the gnocchi was added, one piece at a time, and once they had risen to the surface, they were removed with a slotted spoon and were added to my mushroom and blue cheese sauce.