The week in food

Duck at The NoMad. Perfection.

Parisian breakfast at LA Burdick.

A trifecta of nut butters—almond, peanut and cashew—and sliced fruit on toast at my new favorite cafe, The Butcher's Daughter.

Cookies, made by yours truly! The best part about them? There's Nutella stuffed in the center of every one of them.

Breakfast at Milk Bar. Truffled egg toast.

Bircher museli.

Wash it all down, and enjoy every last bite.

It’s a good weekend for cupcake camp

Seventy-five degrees and sunny? Oh, to be in Paris this weekend… Sounds like good cupcake-eating weather, after all.

Cat Beurnier’s Cupcake Camp is back, this time at the adorable Le Comptoir Général in the 10eme. The deal is a bunch of professional and amateur bakers make dozens of cupcakes to be considered le meiux. Which means someone has to sample the goods. Many, many goods.

It’s not often you see Frenchies behaving like gluttons. To be crass, licking crumbs and going back for seconds and thirds. And fourths. But it happens. I witnessed it last year at the inaugural Cupcake Camp.

So I’m sad I won’t be there this year. To overindulge. To mingle with like-minded Sweet Freaks. And to contribute to a good cause—proceeds, after all, go to the Make a Wish Foundation.

Won’t you go for me?

A day neither here nor there

…and yet I was all over the place today.

Chalk it up to my being in a jet-lagged, comatose state after having not slept Saturday night, and then lying awake from 2 to 6 am last night (thank god I took your advice and got Ruth Reichl’s Garlic and Sapphires to read – I couldn’t have lasted the long night without it!). Or that it was Monday and that half the city is closed on Monday. Or that it was the first day of la rentrée. Whatever it was, I couldn’t get my groove today. It was still a good day, just a neither here nor there day.

It started with coffee and un pain chocolat. But don’t get jealous. The pain au chocolat wasn't any good.

Then I put on mon casque, hopped on a Velib (hel-lo, you), and took off. I was in the sixth arrondissement…

…I crossed over le Pont des Arts to the second and the first…

And when I had to admit I wasn’t going to find the sandwich I was looking for (Cojean, you better have le poulet Casear next week!), I walked back to the Left Bank through le Place de la Concorde.


It looks and feels very much like fall in Paris. Leaves are scattered on the ground, and the air is crisp, bright and cool.

I saw Carine Roitfeld outside the Crillon, but I wasn’t so crass as to snap her photo, even though she looked hot.

But later in the day when I saw the media camping outside DSK’s fancy Marais apartment (le chien returned to Paris just the other day), I did take a picture.

La Maison de la Chasse Nature, a museum that's been on my list for eons and I thought was finally going to get to see today, was closed, as were three other spots on my list. So I decided to call it quits and get ready for mon amie’s birthday party. And when I arrived, finally, it felt like I had my groove back.

Great food and wine. Lovely, fun friends. An adorable Parisian apartment.



Life should be so good.

12 days of Christmas: Prepping for the next fete

A mélange of local friends and talent, an obsession with all things French, and my own Christmas wishes, here’s my daily pick for anyone lacking Christmas gift inspiration.

Many people believe an experience rather than an object is the right way to go when it comes to a great gift. I don’t disagree. Especially if the experience is something like, say, I don’t know, a cooking class. Like how to make Galette de Roi at La Cuisine! Miam!

12 days of Christmas: Granola and spreads savoir-faire

A mélange of local friends and talent, an obsession with all things French, and my own Christmas wishes, here’s my daily pick for anyone lacking Christmas gift inspiration.

One thing I’ve become a slave to here in Paris (one of many, I guess I should say) is spreads. From Nutella, I progressed to Speculoos, and then all those lovely gourmet praliné, caramel, and honey spreads. And then, of course, there are Rachel Khoo’s homemade spreads—like a nice dark chocolate and Earl Grey spread or white chocolate and matcha. Miam.


Her Pates à Tartiner and Barres de Cereales cookbooks are sweet and lovely, inspiring and delicious. I can hardly wait for next year’s title.

An early start

6 a.m. Can’t sleep (thanks, Milo). What do you do?

Walk the dark, sleepy streets of Paris.

Admire the rosy streets lights.

Again and again.

Wonder about all the guests sleeping inside the Crillon.

Pause for a moment to dream about the jewels in Place Vendome.

Go window shopping.


Stop for a croissant.

Hmmmm... or a pain au chocolat?

And watch everyone else start their days.


(Morning, world.)

My Vegan Mondays

Last week, I managed a double-header Vegan Monday & Tuesday. Can I do it again this week?*

Morning
Cantaloupe
Banana
Oatmeal

Afternoon
Lentil salad with avocado, tomatoes and mache
Banana
White nectarine

Evening
Peanuts... and more peanuts
Pasta with sautéed zucchini and sundried tomatoes**
Banana Twinkie***

*Probably not if dangerous temptations remain in the house.

** Once again, I thought my dish was going to be sadly lacking. I stirred together the zucchini (sautéed in fabulous Nicolas Alziari olive oil from the Cote d’Azur) and pasta and thought it looked so bare and sad; like it was just begging for mozzarella or feta or even just some Parmesan shavings. But then, it was delicious, just as it was. I’m thinking it’s the good quality olive oil.

***If only. It sure wasn’t easy ignoring that box of banana custard-filled sponge cake, hand-carried by Mel from Tokyo.

The impossible pitting of Paris against London

Sometimes I go to London and think “ehh.” Other times I go and am absolutely smitten, like yesterday.

The day started with breakfast and a flat white from Lantana—more artful than even the French can manage.

And then it moved onto shopping. Well, window-shopping. Although both Vuitton and Smythson have bags that I’m coveting, it was Designers Guild that stole my heart. I wanted every single item in the store—too bad the price tags were a wee bit out of my reach.

So I splurged on books instead. While I adore Galignani, I think Daunt might be the best bookstore in the world.




We strolled around Fitzrovia and Maryleborne, ogling the homes, the architecture...



... and the Francis Bacon, (more) Lucien Freud and Giacometti art at Gagosian—which sent us across town to the King’s Cross location to see an incredible Picasso show.

Throughout the day, I was scoping out the new ping-pong scene. But the only new sport I saw was the city’s three-day-old version of our beloved Velib program.

The stations are scattered all over the city; now they just need to introduce some bike lanes.

The French connection (and comparison) continued when we came across macarons at an outdoor market.


While French-trained Loretta Lui’s specimens didn’t come close to Pierre Hermé’s perfection, we loved the lemongrass flavor and that she donates to Ace of Clubs, a charity for the homeless.

Macarons were followed by fromage, of course. And, well, eat your heart out, Frenchies. Behold, The Cheese Room at La Fromagerie.


Step inside and take a giant, heavenly whiff.

After more exploring and wandering and enjoying, we toasted a great day in London with a glass of cava at Camino…


….and then I stuck my face in all the free magazines on the way home to Paris.

Breakfast, anyone?

Only once in a very great while. Seriously.

Summer desserts

Given my love for pastries and sweets, my own capabilities to create them in the kitchen is tragically limited. My plan was to take some pastry courses in August, but that was before I realized the whole the city literally shuts down for the month. Lenotre Pastry School will have to wait until the fall. But on Friday, I got a little warm up at L’Atelier des Sens, a very low-key, friendly place for amateurs like me to learn a few tricks.

One of my favorite things was actually the space. You walk through the main door, into this magical courtyard where many studios and creative offices were located.



And then there were the two bright, airy kitchens, either one of which I’d kill to have.



The course was Summer Desserts—Desserts d’Été—which consisted of two short hours and three recipes: Lavender and roasted peach trifle, pistachio sabayon with mixed berries, and a rhubarb-raspberry crème brulée.

I learned how to peel rhubarb, which, I never realized was so similar to celery. After peeling the fibers off and cutting the stalks, we cooked this with fresh vanilla and butter. The smell of the vanilla and rhubarb was otherworldly.




I didn’t do a whole lot else. Once again, I was limited by my comprehension, but I got to watch the weighing, mixing, cooking and plating techniques. It was definitely a casual environment. There were six women in the kitchen, creating three recipes simultaneously. The instructor was just winging the recipes, adding copious amounts of sugar here and there (I was sort of shocked, actually, by how much sugar went in the rhubarb-raspberry mixture and how he would casually ad lib ingredients to any given bowl).

The results were mixed.

I thought the lavender and roasted peach trifle would be my favorite but the lavender was too fragrant and overpowered the whole dessert.





The sabayon—a light, mousse-like dessert that ordinarily calls for whisking eggs, sugar and white wine together, but our recipe combined eggs, sugar, milk, cream, corn flour and pistachio paste—was odd but good. Our version had too much sugar and wasn’t cooked properly, but certainly I ate it.





The best was the rhubarb-raspberry crème brulée. Again, the crème brulée custard wasn’t cooked well enough, but the rhubarb and raspberry combination was divine.




So, a lot to learn: in addition to the subjunctif and demonstrative pronouns, add French pastry-making to the list.