Striking Out (and About)

Well, I'm writing this on Nov 26th with all of the buses and trains back in operation now that the union and the government are talking, but last week, as many of you may have read, much of France was hammered by a transit strike. Although Silicon Valley work-around-the-clock folks may not relate, the French unions enjoy a 35-hour workweek, a month or more of vacation, and they get to retire with full pensions at 50. France's new president, Nicolas Sarkozy, wants to make changes to those policies to reduce the heavy economic burden of such an early retirement.

To protest this, the union went on strike for just over a week. During that time, some of my fellow students missed classes since they couldn't easily get into the core of Paris and traffic jams caused commutes to triple or quadruple in length. Some of the Metro lines were operating on a reduced schedule - it wasn't 100% shut down, but out of about 15 lines, only 3 or 4 were really running...and those were packed solid. Usually I don't appreciate it, but I have to say that the wandering musicians who got on the trains and played their accordions and horns kept the mood light at a very difficult time, so I was really grateful.

Since I walk so much, the strike didn't affect me much, but it did change the kind of decisions we all made about which neighborhoods (arrondissements) we were willing to go to and which were just a tad too far.

Using one of the working Metro lines, I went to lunch last Wednesday with my classmate Kimon out to the 11th to a restaurant I found on Chowhound, Le Temps au Temps. A clearly-knowledgeable Chowhounder had loved this little bistro and rated it right up there with one of my favorite Paris destinations, Chez l'Ami Jean. Interestingly, before I was even able to go there, in a bizarre coincidence, Katy's sister Anne came to Paris while I was out of town and was taken there by an old friend of hers...and loved it. My experience was right there.

This cozy little restaurant is owned by a young couple and has but 4 2-tops and 4 4-tops. You enter to a warm welcome and it stays warm from there. Diners around us were happy to point out what they were eating as we perused the menu and told us what was particularly good. We got into conversations with people from various tables and with the wife of the couple who owns it...and who works the front of the house. The menu, basque-oriented and creative, supplied me with one of the best pork experiences (yes!) in Paris to-date. I started with a mousse of Jerusalem artichoke, topped with a granite of cornichons (small pickles) and sitting on a bed of diced betteraves (beets).

For the main, I was wise enough to order the Cote de cochon "IBAIONA" lacquee - a pan cooked gi-normous pork chop which seemed so moist that it might have been brined before it was sautéed. As with most meat dishes in Paris, it seems, it was accompanied by pureed pommes de terre (potatoes).

Kimon had the pheasant which, while delicious, did have the distinction of still having some feather remnants in it...well, at least it was pretty darned fresh! His purees of chestnut and squash were perfect accompaniments. This was just the right kind of hole-in-the-wall find that we all wish for in a city we visit - welcoming, affordable, unusual, and delicious.

Josh Bob says "check it out" (sorry - old Denver Post reference there)...

Fillet o' Fish

Technique Post

Maybe everyone learned this at their momma's knee, but I came from a non-fishy household, so it really has been a revelation to me to learn to to skin and fillet a fish this last week. In this case, it was a Sole, but I think the principles could apply more broadly. Given that Katy and I eat fish all the time, this could be useful, although unlike the fish markets here in Paris, most all fish that we get back the good ol' U S of A are already filleted. Perhaps if we have another couple over, I can give it a try with a whole fish...

For those of you interested in technique, you start by trimming off the fins by the gills and around the outside (but not the tail) using a scissors. Then, you use your knife to make an shallow cut across the midpoint of the tail through the skin, but not the tail bones. Using the blade perpendicular to the tail, you gently shove the skin towards the body, starting from the line you created with the knife. Once you have a little flap of skin free, at the body, you hold the fish down at the base of the flap with your left hand and use a cloth or a couple of folded paper towels in your right hand to pull the skin off in one sheet, moving your left hand along to keep it at the base of the free flap all the way. I have to say that this was pretty cool. Yeah, I know, I'm a kitchen geek now.

Now it's time to fillet away. Using a knife with a flexible blade (this is really important), you use just the tip, standing straight up, to draw a line down the center spine - just to the dept of the middle of the fish, where the spine is, not to the cutting board. Using just the fingers to gently draw a line down the spine until the meat on either side of the spine just starts to pull away - not more than 1/4 inch. This is where the flexible knife comes in. Having the flexible blade lets you make progressive slices at a shallow angle on one side of spine, from head to tail, pressing the blade down so that it bends and rides along the top of the bones, cleanly separating the fillet. After 3-4 passes, you should have the whole fillet - you can make a cut along the outside edge to detach it.

Since this worked great for me the first time, I'll put this down as one of the great tools that I'll be taking away from this course. Many of the class recipes haven't thrilled me, but I'm seeing the benefit in these techniques that I'm learning - how to fillet a fish, how to tie up a chicken, how to cut poultry, how to make basic sauces, etc.

Please let me know if you're interested in more of these instructional posts
...or not!

Truffles? Yes! Truffles? No!

This last week brought some useful and not-so-useful new skills at l'ecole and some interesting observations about French culture and how subtle some of our differences are.

Truffles? Yes!

First, to the truffles...the chocolate kind. Both in and out of class, chocolate truffles were one of the big highlights of last week. Our Pastry class on Wednesday took us away from tarts, cakes, and pastry cream and into the world of truffles and fruit. The class had its highlights and lowlights, and perhaps some of those highlight differences in what we expect based upon what we were brought up with, but there was no doubt that the highlight was learning how to make chocolate truffles.

After I got over the horror at learning that our chef didn't care for dark chocolate all that much and thus used a chocolate for our truffles that was "only" 66% cacao (I usually bake w/70% and sometimes even go for 85%), I learned how straightforward it was to make a truffle with chocolate ganache...and how hard it is to make them in either (a) attractive shapes or (b) of a consistent size.

The ganache was much like others that I'd made in the past - particularly for my Mocha Hazelnut Dacquoise cake (damn, I wish I had my kitchen here so I could make one!) - just a blend of melted dark chocolate, cream, and, while we would use sugar, the chef had us use "inverted sugar" with the texture of thick honey called trimoline - a sucrose variant that avoids crystallization in the end product. These are cooked and blended together to make the filling, then refrigerated to make it thick enough to pipe out onto parchment with a pastry bag to form the core of the truffles.

After 30 min or so, we pull the ganache out of the fridge and start to pipe it onto the racks lined with parchment to make our truffles. When the chef shows us how, he creates beautifully-shaped truffles of even size all in a line. When we do it...not so much. While some of our truffles (yes, I'm talking about you, Suzie) looked great, most of ours varied in size from one to the next and looked like Hershey's Kisses or, as the ever-delightful Sarah kept calling them...poo. Yes, very appetizing. Thank you, Sarah!

Despite Sarah's best efforts, we were not deterred. After creating our sheets of truffles, we put them back in the fridge to firm them up for an hour or so, then melted some chocolate, and while it was cooling a bit, filled a tray with cocoa powder, and then proceeded to assemble our truffles. To do so, we just dropped the truffles in the the melted dark chocolate - this would form the outer shell. Using special fine-tined fork-like tools, we pulled the truffles out of the melted chocolate and rolled them across the pan of cocoa to coat them, then set the finished truffles aside.

We each walked away with bags of 2 dozen truffles or so, but, believe it or not, we all felt we were taking as many as we could and still left a dozen or two to...I know it's shocking...toss away.

Please forgive me.

Since that class, I think I've eaten 2 or 3 of the truffles, but going to meet Pierre and Sophie and her parents on Saturday for lunch, I did the right thing, took them out of my fridge, and brought them to lunch so that Sophie and her mother could split and enjoy them. Whew! Dodged another artery-clogging bullet (although, I freely acknowledge, my coming to Paris and facing the once or twice-daily menu with foie gras, duck confit, great butter, chocolate mousse, and tarte tatin is, to follow the analogy, equivalent to throwing myself out into a hail of Mac-10 fire during a drug war).

To contrast a bit with the dark chocolate, we concurrently focused on a couple of fruit projects. Although perhaps nothing new to many of you, I had never made preserves before, so learning how to make confiture was a real pleasure for me. Creating both raspberry and pineapple-mango preserves was pretty straightforward - the biggest challenge was the endless stirring of the cooking fruit until it was thick enough that a drop on a plate didn't run when the plate was held vertically. I haven't tried them yet...perhaps these'll be some treats to take back home to the land of the free and the home of the fog.

Finally, we learned to make something that is popular with kids - particularly if they were not made into little squares like we did in class, but rather into what we all know as "fruit roll-ups". These fruit jellies are pretty damned simple to make, but I have to say that they're just too sweet for my taste. You can also easily see why making these with machines would turn out a very lovely and evenly-cut product - something a little challenging for us imperfect humans. Still, if you know how to present them, they could make a nice little touch at the end of a meal...but, truthfully, I'd still probably go with the truffles - they'd pair better with tea, espresso or cappuccino.



Truffles? No!

Talking about truffles...I thought I might interject a related observation. I think we all were aware that the French are protective of their culture and proud of their traditions. Rightfully so, in my opinion. The French have many wonderful foods, a beautiful language, a tradition of great art and architecture, and certain je ne sais quoi.

...but sometimes, methinks, it goes a little too far.

Case and point was my other truffle adventure this last week. When I'm in the US, Katy and I often buy cheese to serve as an hors d'oeuvre when guests are coming over. Some of our favorite cheeses (often from our favorite cheese shop, Say Cheese), have truffles in them. Most of these come from Italy, but pretty consistently, we can get them at any time of year.

• Sottocenere - a semi-hard cheese with a coating of truffle dust
• Cacciota - a firm mozzarella-like Pecorino with bits of black truffle inside
• Teneralla - a fresh Italian mozzarella with cream, fresh Ricotta, and white truffles inside
• Truffle Tremor - a Californian goat cheese with truffles (wow!)

Back to Paris. Josh gets a hankering for some truffle cheese last week to share with his classmates. Cheese shop one. Hmmm. All of the cheeses appear to be French, except, perhaps for a Parmesan. I ask "Bonjour monsieur, est-ce-que vous avez quelques fromages avec truffes?" A pause. A look of shock. "Mais non!" He laughed. Truffles? Of course not! Those are only available at the end of the year!

OKayyyyy.

I'll just try another Fromagerie. Shock! Amusement! Mais non!!!

Another. Ditto.

What...is...up with that? You go to any decent cheese section in the US and we have American, Dutch, French, Italian, and English cheese. Here? Seulement les fromages de France. Zut alors!

Hmmm...can you say "market opportunity"?

What's with the Chocolate?

We have some chocolatiers in San Francisco. We have some in NY too. But here, it seems like every block in Paris has one. High falootin', low falootin' (well, not that low), they're just about everywhere.

Look on a menu at any bistro or brasserie...Mousse au Chocolat.

Look in any boulangerie (bread bakery)...Croissants au Chocolat.

Stop at any crêpe stand...Crêpes avec Chocolat ou Chocolat et Banane.

But those I expected. Those I knew well both from the States and from my previous experiences in France. I've never actually lived in France before, though, so I never really went to grocery stores. There are local specialist shops with meats, with fish, or with cheese...with pastries, with breads, or with prepared foods, but there are also general grocery stores. These tend to be small versions of our supermarkets, tucked into smaller urban spaces in this dense city than would be available to a typical Safeway or Whole Foods or Gristedes.

It was in one of these supermarchés that I found my most surprising indicator of the French passion for chocolate. This picture shows a set of breakfast cereals on a rack of shelves. If you look closely, you can see that just about every different cereal here has chocolate in it. All Bran with Chocolate. Special K with Chocolate.

Now, you might be thinking to yourself "but this is only one rack of cereal - what about the others?" Well, this was one of just two racks...and several of the cereals in the other rack had chocolate as well. Wow - a couple of more research studies proving chocolate's health benefits and the French will be dancing in the streets...no...wait...they already do that.

Bookstore Cafe? Hmmm.

Back in the good ol' U S of A, we tend to attach cafés to bookstores - kind of two-great-tastes-that-taste-great-together kind of thing (apologies to Reese's). Here, bookstores tend to be bookstores, because you can't stumble over a stale baguette and miss a café, bistro, or brasserie in Paris...all of which are guaranteed to have plenty of chillin' seats where you can read your book, your Paris Match, your Nabokov, or your biography of Woody Allen, all while downing a lovely café au lait or thé (tea) or snack on a little tarte tatin.

So imagine my surprise when I found an attached café! Not to a bookstore, mind you. No, not a grocery store, either. It was attached to something we don't have all that many of in the US...actually, now that I think of it, I don't think we have any. Yes, it was attached to a store that specializes in Foie Gras, Truffles, and Armagnac - the Comptoir de la Gastronomique.

Yeah, I can hear it now.

"Honeyyyy, can you run down to the Foie Gras, Truffle, and Armagnac store and pick up some extra black truffllles??? We're out! And the Swansons will be here at six!"

Not so much.

Now, however is my moment of pride. Even though I had lunch at the café attached to the Foie Gras, Truffle, and Armagnac store, I had none of those things. I was most restrained. I had the Soupe de Moment (Soup of the Day...it was Asparagus) and a light non-creamy Risotto with Cuisses de Grenouille (Frog Legs) in Chestnut Flour. Dee-lish. And not evil (bwah-ha-ha) at all.

No dessert, just a coffee to help me last the day. Thankfully their desserts were not issuing the Siren's Song to me and equally thankfully, their dessert prices were astronomical (9.50Euro for a Tiramisu - that's like $13...puh-leez!). Another diet bullet dodged, merci dieu.

Another day off, another long walk

It was sunny today again, although thankfully a few degrees warmer than yesterday. Not warm, mind you, just warm-ER.

Original plan for the day was to connect up with Kimon again for dinner, so I spent a while online this AM researching Chowhound, eGullet, Frommers, Fodors, and the NY Times to see what's shakin' in the reasonable-but-delicious dining world of Paris. In the time before I met Kimon, I thought I'd grab a quick Jambon et Fromage (ham and cheese) crêpe and check out one of the restaurants on my list, an old bistro on the Ile de la Cite, next to Notre Dame...appropriately enough called Le Vieux Bistro.

Looks charming enough, has good reviews - will probably have to hit it for lunch one day. 20Euro for their lunch prix fixe sounds just reasonable enough.

On from there, I fought my way through the hoards of tourists that seem to have descended on this town to find a little chocolate shop (very near the school, actually) that one clearly-in-the-know Chowhounder described as making a hot chocolate that was so good, it made Angelina's seem like a mix (and most people regard Angelina's as having one of the best if not the best hot chocolate in Paris). This I had to see. He said that the old lady who works there makes each one by hand and the loving care is transformed into magic in a cup.

I did find this Steiger Salon de Thé (tea room) and went in.
I saw the old lady with the magic chocolate spirit.
I ordered my chocolat chaud...

Mais non! C'est impossible! What a tragedy! She apologized, but said that they couldn't make the hot chocolate on weekends. I suppose that my deep emptiness and sadness must have shown on my face, because she insisted that I take a a little dark chocolate noisette (hazelnut) truffle as a souvenir. Holding my chin up high and putting on my best McArthur stance, I assured her that I would return. Monday, most likely. Classmates in tow.

So droopy-headed, I walked from Steiger and decided to stop by Angelina for a substitute chocolat chaud. I could compare the two, I told myself. I walked down to Rue Rivoli, then fought my way down several blocks past all of the money changers, t-shirt vendors, and postcard shops lining the arcade that sits across from the Louvre and the beautiful Tuileries Gardens. Unfortunately, I was bound to be foiled by the masses of tourists yet again...the line for Angelina's was well outside the door.

Dejected, depressed, and with a sad and lonely pang in my stomach plaintively begging me for a decent chocolat chaud, I had to hang my head and just walk home. I think we'll have to submit this to that collection of "Problems of the Rich" (gee, I was so ready for a $10 hot chocolate, but the line was out the door and I had to deny myself what I wanted just when I wanted it. The tragedy!).

Once I got home, I figured that I would IM a little with the divine Ms. K and identify a good, affordable dinner option to which I could walk. I considered a couple in the 11th arrondissement and Katy suggested one in the 9th, but after reading the reviews on her suggestion, it sounded too touristy for my taste, so I went with the Pudlo Guide that she gave me and chose a duck-centric restaurant called Domaine de Lintillac at 10 re Saint Augustin. I figured that if I got there early, I'd have no problem getting in - and indeed I was one of the first into the restaurant.

This restaurant (they have 3 in Paris) was somewhat interesting. The owners make their own wine, foie gras, and confit and sell it all as packaged goods, in addition to operating the restaurants. I decided to try their goose foie gras terrine as an appetizer, with a small glass of Monbazillac (a sweet dessert wine, like Sauternes). Tasty, but maybe not head-of-the-class good. I followed this with their signature house dish, their Cassoulet (it was damned cold outside, after all), made with their own, homemade black duck sausage and their own duck confit. Served in a hot terrine, I think I may have cauterized a few taste buds on that one.

Net net, I got out of there for under 30Euros and enjoyed pretty much everything. Now that I have my list of restaurants, I'll have to do some experimenting before Katy gets here so that I can make sure she only gets the best of Paree!

Winter's Here

Well, we were off from school yesterday, so one of the other students, Kimon, from Greece, and I decided to meet and explore a little. It was a beautifully sunny day, but damned if it wasn't ice cold. There was a chill breeze blowing through town that left the sky clear and blue and our skin similarly so.

Kimon and I took a walk over to the Grand Epicerie, associated with Le Bon Marche department store. It really is an amazing food store - kind of like a prettier and more full-service and larger version of Dean & Deluca. Fabulous produce, cheese, meats, fish, condiments, etc. plus a huge selection of beautiful prepared foods.

Afterwards, we sought out a Zagat recommendation for a typical brasserie - Balzar - for an early dinner. I had the Raie (Skate wing) in brown butter with a side of steamed potatoes (shockingly delicious for steamed food) and steamed spinach. All very competently prepared and tasty, but not cheap (40E/person and only I had a glass of wine, we shared a bottle of water, and no dessert or salads), and, perhaps not surprising given our early dining hour (near 6PM) and the Zagat recommendation, it was filled to the rafters with Les Américaines! Pas pour mois, merci.

Walking home after dinner, the city was alight and alive...and although I haven't yet figured out how to take a steady night shot without a tripod, the stunning view of the Pont Neuf over the Seine was yet another reminder of why I keep returning again and again.


Have a good weekend, all!

I suppose that I'm a Brest Man

Yesterday was another Pâtisserie day. Ooh la la.

So the main objectives of the afternoon were to create éclairs et une gâteau Paris Brest. Of course nothing in Pâtisserie is ever really simple. You don't just bake these babies...you have to bake one piece, make a mousseline to fill it with, make a fondant to coat it with, etc. Lots of steps and sub-recipes. To make a mousseline, you add butter to a pastry cream (crème pâtissière)...so you have to know how to make a crème pâtissière as well.

The basic pastry dough that serves as the cake component of these recipes is called Choux. Made with water and milk, you just melt some butter in the hot liquid and add in flour - just like making a roux. Mixing this quickly with a spatula, we then mix in eggs, 1 at a time, until they're all integrated, then beat the heck out of it until it's silky and falls off the spatula in ribbons. That's it. Then you have the basis of both the cake and the eclairs.

Since this is a liquidy dough, you actually lay it out on the baking sheet by squeezing it through a pastry bag. For eclairs, all you need to do is squeeze out a simple line.

For the Paris Brest cake, you just make a single circle, plus a stack of 3 circles. The 3 circle stack gets coated with a mound of chopped almonds. Interestingly, the latter bakes up and looks like...well...a bialy. I think I just heard Chef Didier say "Oy!"

The origin of the Paris Brest cake is an interesting one. As related by Chef Didier, apparently there was a bicycle race from the city of Paris to the city of Brest, in the Northwest, in 1894. Along the route was a patisserie, owned by an enterprising pastry chef. To commemorate the race, he invented a round cake with a wheel in its design. Et voila!

Starting with the choux pastry circles, you make a hazelnut chocolate mousseline to pipe into the hollow insides of the "wheel" and for decorating the edge of the other, triple ring. I don't think I'd ever had one of these cakes before, because I surely would have remembered it. It is extraordinarily yummy. I should note, I suppose, though, that there is so much butter in the mousseline, that Katy will surely ban this recipe from our relatively health-conscious household (we do actually cook out of Cooking Light magazine most of the time - it's not all bacon, all the time, despite my poetic waxing on the subject!).


P.S. Sorry for the crappy image quality - I forgot my new camera at the apt and had to use my low-res, flashless, Treo camera. And yep, that's my finished Paris Brest cake on the right...

Memento

Sorry about the time gap, but classes had been on hiatus for a couple of days this week and double classes on the other days have left me pretty tired. I really don't know where professional chefs get the energy, but I assume that there has to be a genetic component (note me on the right in the sign ;^).

Even though the chefs actually do most of the cooking during our classes, I am typing notes into my Treo so fast that I'd impress an SMS-happy Japanese schoolgirl. Not that I'm trying to impress any Japanese schoolgirls, mind you. The mental challenge in capturing all of these notes is that in any given 3 1/2 hour class, we'll make about 5 different dishes. Keeping track of which pot or pan or which set of prepped ingredients are for which recipe at any given time keeps us wired. It doesn't really help that most of recipes call for rather unspecific quantities or times.

A typical recipe will say something like "boil water with a little sugar" or "bake until done". Of course the chefs, with their experience, know how much salt to add or when to get something out of the oven, but for the rest of us...not so obvious. Some of us (read: "I") are more confused than others. It doesn't help that I have a memory like a sieve...or a chinoise. Come the end of the course, we'll be expected to make at least two dishes in a limited time frame...with no recipes. We need to know them going in.

They will identify six dishes for us from which the two will be specified, but we'll need to know how to make those 6 dishes sans recettes (recipes). I suppose that to put this in context for you, I should note that every time my Katykins and I have people stay overnight, I make fresh popovers in the morning. I've been making this popover recipe regularly for over 5 years now. I still need to look at the recipe. Every Autumn, I make pumpkin pie. Ask Kevin Gorey. I've been doing it for years. It's one of my favorite recipes and I'll make multiple pies during the holiday season. Yep. Need the recipe.

Am I worried?

Does Bill O'Reilly vote Republican?

So, when I start to approach the end of the program, perhaps my best option will be to get some strategic tattoos.

Le Ouch.

Here, Fishy Fishy Fishy...Part Deux

OK, apparently, as I have learned from the collective masses, Kevin Kline may have appropriated the line "Here, Fishy Fishy Fishy" for use in the film A Fish Called Wanda.

Even if that is so, the originators of that classic quote hearken back farther and are none other than Bert and Ernie from PBS's Sesame Street. Check it out here.

Here, Fishy Fishy Fishy

A gold star to anyone who gets the title quote!

OK, Sorry for falling behind on my blogging duties, so today I'll add 3 posts...

This week was a short week...just Tues - Thurs (boy, they have more vacations than the French! Oh...wait a minute...er...nevermind).

Weds was another Savory day. This time focusing on meals built around fish. The star of the show Weds was our lesson in the cleaning, cooking, and serving of a whole Turbot. This bottom-lying flatfish is similar to halibut or flounder in that it has its eyes on the top of its body and swims in a horizontal rather than vertical mode. In the US, us consumers are so used to just popping down to the market and buying a filet of this or a steak of that type of fish, that we rarely get the chance to buy a whole 15 or 20lb fish to clean, gut, cut up, cook and serve. It's a different story for restaurants, and I am in a cooking school for professional chefs, so I guess it makes sense that we learn butchery along with cookery.

Cookery? Not quite as romantic-sounding as "cuisine", but it seemed like a good word at the time.

For this meal, we cut up the turbot and learned to poach it in a pot of water, coarse salt, pepper, anise pods (these REALLY worked great), thyme, bay leaf and some milk. To accompany the Turbot, we learned to make both Bearnaise and Hollandaise sauces (which, when made completely by hand, apparently require the upper body strength of a baseball slugger). To keep ourselves busy, we also made a fish stock, a shellfish stock, and two vegetable sides - Petite Oignons aux Champignons (mushrooms), and steamed carrots, zucchini, and turnips.

Now, when I always made steamed vegetables at home, I'd just clean 'em up, drop 'em in a steamer, take 'em out, and plop them on the plate - sometimes with a little drizzle of something over them for flavor.

But steamed vegetables at the Ritz? Mais NON! That will not do, Monsieur Francophile!

I suppose that if you're eating at a Michelin-starred restaurant, your expectations will be higher for your steamed veggies. So we learned to turn our veggies. Peeling the carrots, baby zucchini, and turnips and cutting them into 2-inch pieces and then those into thirds, you use your paring knife to shape each piece into a lovely little tapered and rounded torpedo. Time consuming, but at the end, you have not just just "steamed veggies" but rather "torpilles des légumes, cuites à la vapeur". Damn, skippy...that does sound (and look) a lot more appetizing. (Sorry, no good pix)

Making the two sauces mostly required a lot of non-stop fast whisking. For chef David, it was aucun problème , mais pour moi...le ouch (c'est moi, a gauche).

Nevertheless, the results were worth the effort.

After class, we got to take the results home with us (not a bad little dinner, at all). After getting back to my apartment, however, I checked e-mail and, lo and behold, there was an e-mail from Iana giving me the contact information for her cousin Pierre (and his main squeeze Sophie) who live in Paris and with whom I had gotten along famously in SF when they were in for Michael and Iana's wedding. So I called Sophie to say hello.

Sophie is a real go-getter...as they said in the movie Spinal Tap, she's turned up to 11.

It was 7:30PM when I called and she says "I'm going to a Brazilian friend's house for drinks tonight...can you meet me at 8:30PM? After that we can get some dinner at Chez l'Ami Jean." (the Paris restaurant we realized that we both loved when we met in the US). Pierre had actually scored a prep-chef job for a week just for fun.



Wow. Well. OK, forget the Turbot. It's Parisien nightlife time, mon ami!

I meet Sophie over at Blvd Victor Hugo for drinks at her friend's apt - nice little social scene, but definitely reminded me about how far my command of French needs to go to follow along with their rapide speech. From the party, we left with a couple of other Brazilian friends to go to l'Ami Jean. Getting in to the restaurant at 10:45PM or so, I suppose I realized that I had a late night ahead of me...thank Krishna I didn't have class until 10AM the next day (as if I ever did).

It really was a blast. Good food, good wine...all I was missing was my sweetie, back in Cal-i-forn-eye-a. Wish she coulda been there with me, but as a taste of my upcoming month to come, I look eagerly forward to the rest of my stay.

C'est moi!

OK, I've been getting some pressure from a few of you for a photo of me in my chef's outfit. Well I now have one. I should note that it is not a particularly good or flattering photo, but in the interests of "telling it like it is" and respecting Michael's career in photojournalism, I am including it nevertheless.

All of the pictures today are high resolution, courtesy of Monsieur Lumix. I am also, for the sake of science, including my first video, to see if anyone is interested - if you do enjoy the video, let me know since it takes a bunch of time to upload...



I do, however, retain the right to replace it in the future with a photoshopped image of Thomas Keller with my face.

Today was a pâtisserie day. We learned about all of the common sauces and creams and how the same ingredients can be magicked together in different ways to make soufflé, pastry cream, crème anglaise, glace (ice cream) and crème brulée...and we made them all. They all utilize pretty much the same ingredients - even similar quantities for many of them, but how you mix what and when makes all the difference.

Of course, Chef Didier makes it all look easy, but I think some of it is starting to sink in. I actually got a great ego boost today after the Chef watched me serve a scoop of the Pistachio Ice Cream that we made. Unlike my pastry cream piping skills, I did pretty a pretty decent job of matching his technique, so he asked me what my real job was. After I told him I worked in Real Estate, he said, en Français, bien sur:


"Are you sure that you're not a pastry chef on the side?"

I'm still blushing.

Although delicious, we sadly left a huge pile of them all to toss - you just can't eat a souffle, a chocolate souffle, a bowl of creme anglaise with a flottante (floating island of soft meringue), a dish of creme brulee, and pistachio ice cream all in one sitting.

Not and walk away from it unscathed, that is.

The Camera is Dead. Long Live the Camera.

Well, everybody, I just wanted to let you know that we...are...back in business.

Boo-ya!

First, on a note of sadness, the Canon SD400 camera that I brought on the trip with me, and with which I took my first few pictures at the cooking school...has died. It was sudden and unexpected. There was no long illness. And most sad of all, it was still such a young camera. Katy and I shared that camera at our wedding, on our honeymoon, and on our many adventures together. It will be dearly missed.

Since the untimely death of my dear SD400, I have had to put an extra burden on my poor little Palm Treo 650, with its sadly underpowered, flash-less and low resolution camera. It stepped up to the plate and did its part. Unquestioningly and unfailingly.

Now, my friends, a new era is about to begin.

Tomorrow morning, when I walk the mile and a half to and from school (uphill both ways, I assure you), I will have a brand spanking new Panasonic Lumix DMC-FX12 in my pocket. Just saying that name makes me tingle all over. Hey! I said tingle, not tinkle. Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm talkin' photo romance here. 7.2Mpixel resolution, Leica lens, 4.5X optical zoom, shake reduction, video...the works!

Yeah, baby. You know what I'm talkin' about.

Yep, in less than a day, this BLog is gonna be filled with sharp, high-res stills and video...yeah, you heard me...video. Don't believe me? Come check it out for yourself 2-morrow, my friend.

Yes indeedy do. The Lumix is in the house.

Now That's More Like It

Ah...what a difference a day makes.

I got out quite a bit earlier this morning, stepping into the cool morning air, and seeing a very different sight from yesterday. Gone was the uniform overcast of hier, and here comes the sun. It's alright. In addition to the sky smiling upon me, this was to be quite a different day from yesterday.

Sure, there was the long walk, but only 5, not 20, miles this time
Sure, there was the walk to Le Bon Marché, but it was open this time
Sure, there was a walk past the digicam store, FNAC, but it too was open



Per my registered and recorded PlanForTheDay(tm), I was to go by the Michel Cluizel chocolatier on Rue Faubourg de Saint Honore (yes, the one mentioned in While You Were Sleeping) to take a picture of their dark chocolate fountain at the request of Monsieur Bob, of Say Cheese fame (on Cole Street in SF).

So, monsieur Bob...Voila!

Savoring my sense of accomplishment and perhaps pushing my luck a little, I thought I'd take another shot at walking to Le Bon Marche. It really is a treat to walk around Paris on a bright and sunny autumnal day, so I chose a route that would take me past the Louvre, across the river, and up Rue du Bac, where my favorite eyeglass shop, Les Opticiens du Bac, was. Sadly, it appeared to be no more. I had bought glasses there with Katy just last year, and before that had bought 2 other pair over the years, so it created a brief pang of loss for one of the few traditions I had established between me and mon Paree.

I made it to Le Bon Marché, but after all that hoopla to get there, it looked too chi-chi for my dollar-based budget, so I just walked next door to their Dean&Deluca-like Epicerie (high-end grocery) and walked around. Oh yum. Might have to go back there with my classmates.

As I was doing all of this walking around I would pass one real estate office after another, their windows plastered with bright white 8 1/2x11 sheets, each with a single picture, pitching various flats for sale or rent. As I looked at these pretty apartments, it got me to thinking about Real Estate. Given my new choice of profession (no, not Cooking), I thought it might be worthwhile commenting un peu about the real estate market in Paris.

Certainly there is no end to the number of charming old structures with gorgeous dark wood hand-hewn beams or handsome rough and ancient stone walls. What is rare, however, and my little rental apartment stands in testimony to this, is space.

These moderate-sized apartment buildings have been divvied up into tiny spaces, each often 250 to 300 sq. ft. - a size probably half that of a typical San Francisco apartment with the same number of rooms. Everything is small (well, not exactly everything, I suppose).

My TV? 12"
My bathroom? 4'x4'
My Bedroom? Enough room for a full-size bed and 18" extra on 2 sides

We're talkin' tie-knee.

And my apartment isn't the exception, it's absolutely the rule. As I look at those real estate ads in the windows of rhose sales offices, it's clear that per square foot, Paris is just about double the cost of San Francisco. Thus while most San Francisco properties sell for a pretty rich $750 to $1000/sft, most Parisien properties sell for $1500-$2000/sft.

Oo-la-la!

The Long March

Well. It's Sunday here, in the middle of a 4-day National Holiday weekend.

Tourists are everywhere and families are all out and about. It's a rather grey day, but, although cool, the weather is very comfortable for walking. So walk I did. I don't think I planned to do a mega-walk, but that is certainly how it ended up.


PLAN A

The original plan was to find some recipes online at my apartment, head over to the nearby Rue Montorgueil to hit the seafood, vegetable, and meat vendors to shop for ingredients, then pick up a couple of additional pieces of cookware, return to my apartment and practice some of the recipes from my classes. Simple enough, no? Apparently "no".

Yesterday all of those shops were wide open until late at night. Today? Toute fermé. De-nied!

So, next option...


PLAN B

Go get something to eat and head over to the big department store, Le Bon Marché. Simple enough. Or so I thought. Below is what I ended up doing today, and this was the path:



So I walk from the end of Rue Montorgueil over towards the Ile Saint Louis to my favorite cafe on the Ile, Le Flore en Isle. It overlooks Notre Dame and has a decent brunch and isn't too cher (expensive), although it does get a lot of tourists. All of their outside tables are fully seated, so j'ai marcher inside.

I sit on the banquette, looking out the window at all of the families out on their sunday walks, scarves around the necks of the men, women, and children tied in so many different ways that a sailor would be impressed. For as few times as I've been in Paris, I do have a "usual" at this café, so I order Le Brunch with les oeufs brouillé (scrambled) avec saumon fumé, jus de pamplemousse (grapefruit), croissant, et café crème. As I eat and soak in my surroundings, I note the couple next to me engaging in a hushed tête-a-tête. They longingly reach across the table to embrace, hold each others' hand and touch each other's face. They kiss. They appear to speak of their passion for one another as they mimic les pyramides de I.M.Pei by meeting midway across the table by leaning at 45 degrees in to form a perfect triangle.

Clearly he is French. She, a strawberry blonde, is perhaps German, perhaps Central European, speaking no French. As with their improvisation in geometry, they meet halfway as they speak in a language clearly non-native to each of them...English.

I continue to eat and observe the room and the world outside. She gets up to go wash her hands. Despite the typical French social norms, I engage him in conversation - telling him it's difficile pour moi to see them next to me comme çà since it makes me miss ma femme (Madame Katy). I tell him that I wish I had her here so that I could lean across the table like they have been doing.

He is quite friendly and open and we chat a little. He doesn't usually come to this cafe since it is "tros touristque". I agree, but also note that the view of Notre Dame est merveilleux. She returns, their desserts arrive, et un plus "chapter" de mon expérience Parisienne est complet.

Paying my bill and heading off, I thought I would check out the most chic of the large Parisian department stores, Le Bon Marché, on the other bank of the river, in Saint Germain. It's quite a walk, but the day is cool and comfortable, the trees are awash with the full pallet of autumn colors, les cafés sont plein (full), and the architecture est très jolie.



Walking past the elegant hotel Lutetia, I see the Bon Marché and...it is fermé! Ugh. Sunday! Zut alors!


PLAN C

Well, since I'm already in the 7th Arrondissement, let's explore a new neighborhood. I walk some more and get to a Place (major intersection of many roads) where there's a carte (map) of the neighborhood. I'm now in the 15th, where I thought my friends Nadia and Nicolas had told me to go to a great Chocolat Chaud café - Carette. I look it up in my little pocket guide (thanks, monsieur Bill) and see that Carette is not in the 15th - it is at the Place Trocadero...on the other side of the Seine just across from La Tour d'Eiffel. Should be a nice walk, I reasoned, so off I went.

Now this was starting to get to be a long walk, it seemed, so I was ready...VERY ready...for a chocolat chaud (hot chocolate). So I battle my way through the throngs of tourists, hawkers of crappy tchotchky's, and mimes and get myself over to the Trocadero.

I get to the door and..."Pardon, mais Carette est fermé depuis l'Octobre 2007 pour 3 mois". Closed?! For 3 months?!!

Merde.


PLAN D

OK. Maybe I'll just walk back over the Seine to the 7th since that's where Katy and my favorite restaurant in Paris resides - Chez L'Ami Jean (Pierre and Sophie's favorite too!). I didn't remember the address and foolishly never put it in my phone, but I remembered that it was 1) in the 7th arrondissement 2) it was on a rue perpendiculaire a la Seine et 3) the street had a short name, probably starting with an "m". Since there was such a street named "Rue Malar" in the 7th, I aimed for that.

After another long trek, I find Rue Malar and...Oh Happiness...there is L'Ami Jean! And...and...it is fermé.

Double-merde.

But at least I did find it. OK...nothing to do but walk home, I suppose.


PLAN E

As I walk to the end of Rue Malar and turn right, I take the long walk along Rue de l'Université that will lead me back to Saint Germain and perhaps a little café to keep me going. This street is a long one and leads from the 7th across the long park that leads from the Invalides to the river and on through to the 6th Arrondissement. The Invalides is a huge old building, beautifully lit up at night and is one of those reminders about why Paris is so special...and why I so miss my Katy-girl.

Passing the Invalides, the street goes past a number of government buildings and offices with police stationed outside around the clock. Just a few steps past them and I find myself face to face with No.81 Rue de l'Université. Or, as Julia Child called it when she first moved to Paris in 1948, "Roo de Loo". Julia is one of the inspirations for my trip, so it warmed mon coeur to see where she lived when she first moved to Paris.

Moving along, I was really dragging - this was some long walk - so I made my way to the famous Café des Deux Magots on the Boulevard Saint Germain. When I arrived, I felt blessed. There were several open tables outside, so I went in and asked the waiter if I could just take a table...he said yes! Oh joy! This is one plan that is finally working out! So I chose an open table and sat down, waiting for the waiter to arrive. I watched the terrier on the lap of its owner on the next seat over and I watched the waiters come within 2 tables of me for 15 minutes, but not a soul walked over to or past my table.

I almost gave up when a waiter (who had been to the adjacent table 3 times, studiously ignoring me each time) walked over to clear the adj table. I waved to him, he said "un minute monsieur", finished clearing the almost-empty shot-sized glasses of beer and the ashtray full of spent Gauloises, and walked away.

I was ready to throw in the "tao-elle" when another waiter finally walked up, grabbed the ruins of the three 1/2 pints of beer on my table and ask for my order. Un café creme s'il vous plait. Merci! I could almost taste it...one plan in action...one plan so close to fruition.

Although the waiter showed no sign of it, it felt to me like I was letting them down - waiting so long to order, then buying nothing more than a café crème. Perhaps they're just used to it. Perhaps they do enough volume to justify a few customers ordering nothing but a single biere ou café.

Now, with my order in, I relax a little and look around. They have many many tables on the street and they're situated next to a lovely cathedral that is all lit up for the night. It's been un jour gris (grey day), but ce soir (this evening), les avenues et les eglises (churches) sont illuminé. It is pretty beautiful here. Unlike many cities, spending time in Paris is not just spending time in the present. The breadth of old architecture around the city leads one to connect both with the present and the past at the same time. Something you feel in a place like Old Yaffa in Tel Aviv or in Rome or down in the small towns of the Dordogne. There's a spiritual aspect of this connection - something that reminds me a little of the feeling I get when I feel the connection to the earth in Santa Fe. Have I lived in California too long? Hmmm. Peut être.

Time to move on...pay l'addition pour mon café...et...quoi? What? €5.20 ($7) for just ONE café?! Damn, Skippy. I suppose that that is just the price of drinking coffee at Les Deux Magots...

Off I walked from my caffeine buzz, down Rue Bonaparte past the fabulous Ladurée, looking in to see them still open past 7PM on a Sunday night, still selling those little addictive pills they call Macarons. Exercising superhuman self control, I buy nothing.

Across the street is Hotel Le Villa, where Katy and I stayed for my birthday in 2006 (and the trip on which she discovered L'Ami Jean for us). I keep walking...on and on, past Saint Germain, down to the Seine, across, up past the old markets at Les Halles, and home.

20 miles. 5 plans. 1 tired puppy.

Bonne nuit.