Brining & Dining

We don't eat out much here, partly because Oscar goes to bed at 7pm, and partly 'cause we're such awesome cooks that it's hard to justify the expense. But as with the craft fair, it's hard to put a price on inspiration. So when Rebecca's parents were in town for Oscar-sitting privilege, they were generous enough to stay a few extra hours so we could go out to dinner together two days before our anniversary.

After some Yelp.com research, we decided on Corduroy for some new American cuisine (also because it's Oscar's favorite book). We set off from home on our bikes all dressed up. Jefe doesn't get a chance to dress up as much as Rebecca does, so this was a treat in itself.

A quick ride later and we were soon seated. The menu is simple, with an emphasis on seafood starters with a mix of surf and turf mains. The wine list is enormous when it comes to bottles, but a little sparse when it comes to wine by the glass. Luckily, they have a decent selection of half-bottles; something we haven't seen available outside of France. So, one half-bottle for starters (white) and another for mains (red) works out very well for two people.

The reason that this restaurant merits so much background in this post is Rebecca's choice of main course: a roast breast of capon (castrated rooster) with braised Napa cabbage, which was, according to the waitress, brined over night (the rooster, not the cabbage). I've always been a little wary of chicken in restaurants, partly because I've gotten food poisoning from chicken at a disreputable bar/restaurant. Even when the sauce that they put on the meat is interesting, or the sides are interesting, how novel can a chicken breast be?

Pretty novel, it turns out. This rooster breast was falling-apart-tender, could be easily cut with a fork, was oozing juice, and was incredibly delicious by itself. A revelation to be sure.

What did I do as soon as we got home? Tried to figure out the very next dish that would be suitable for home brining. Pork loin chops, of course.

Recipe in hand (or on computer at least), the method was fairly straightforward, and can be done in under 10 minutes (not including storage time of course).

Salt, sugar, bay leaf and chicken glace (homemade chicken stock concentrate, which Rebecca likes to call "Meat Honey") waiting for 1c hot water. Two center cut pork loin chops, and a pumpkin (for the accompanying pumpkin polenta).

Once the hot water is added and solids are dissolved, add ice (1c) to cool liquid to room temp so it doesn't cook the pork. Refrigerate for at least a couple hours (much more with larger cuts or roasts, up to 30 hours).

Nice and juicy in the middle, and still a little pink since the FDA lowered the recommended cooking temp for pork from 160 to 145.

Ta Da...add a little box wine and you're all set...

Update: The pork chops turned out great, but I over-brined some chicken thighs leaving them in the brine overnight. This page provides some more technical directions for brining. I did a whole chicken for 4 hours and it turned out great, and later did some thighs for 20 minutes, and they also turned out great.

Restaurant Philosophies and Food Epiphanies

fresh artichokes, a lot of work, but worth it

Everyone knows that the French take their restaurants pretty seriously, but it's interesting how small variations in attitudes and the philosophy of patrons and staff can add up to a big difference.

Case in point: In France, waiters leave you alone. Many foreigners interpret this as laziness or arrogance, but they're wrong. For the most part, French waiters ignore you because your interaction with the food and your fellow diners is supposed to be more important than your relationship with the staff. The waiter is not your friend. Your dining companion is your friend. And most importantly, no amount of saccharine sweetness from the waiter is going to make up for a sub-par meal.

But beyond this there are other, larger, departures from standard restaurant philosophy at work in France, and in other European countries, too. In fact, we met with one of the most novel of these approaches in Germany, at a restaurant called Perlin, in the Mitte neighborhood of Berlin. Though it's technically labeled a wine bar, the classification is misleading on several fronts. To begin, you pay a one euro deposit on your wine glass, which gives you unlimited access to a selection of red and white (albeit German) wines. If you would also like to eat, a fixed two-course meal is available. There are no prices listed for food or wine, instead you are asked to pay what you think the meal was worth after you have finished eating. This is an interesting idea, but must sometimes lead to a little awkwardness for the patrons.

inside perlin

First, it must be said that the wine is totally unremarkable. The food is simple, but well made. The ambiance is nice and the staff friendly and helpful, but you may feel obligated to pay more than you otherwise would because the restaurant is putting so much faith in your generosity. In addition, with liberal access to wine, you're likely to be at least a little drunk by the time the purse strings are loosened, perhaps letting out a few more euros than intended.

In talking to the staff, it appears that customers from more food-oriented countries tend to pay less. It is not hard to imagine people from France, Spain, or Italy being unimpressed with the wine. The selection is similar to what you might find at a budget brasserie in France, though the mood is closer to chic bistro. Perhaps this is a sleight-of-hand to trick people into parting with their money in a competitive restaurant environment?

Instead of offering a novel payment system, the Parisien bistro Ober-Salé focuses on the food. With only one chef (Stéphane Corcessin) and one waitress, and thirty seats (seats, not tables), this isn't hard to do. A veteran of other well-regarded bistros (Villaret, Bristol), the owner-chef is alone in the kitchen, and it shows. Lacking the delegation of duties of multi-person kitchens, every dish at Ober-Salé is fabricated from start to finish by one very skilled, technically adept chef with a very real monetary stake in the satisfaction of the clientele.

facade of Ober-Sale

The food is stunning without being pretentious. Flavors are refined, and they harmonize perfectly without being muddy. The presentation is delightful without being overly artsy or minimalistic. Artichoke soup with poached egg evokes the very essence of the artichoke. Having cooked both baby and full-size artichokes, I still can't imagine how much labor went into producing this dish to obtain a flavor that an artichoke itself dreams of.

Your local cafe's spinach-artichoke dip, this is not.

Overcoming the battle between food-obsessed chef and tight-fisted owner is no small task -- imagine the stress involved when they are one and the same! Let's hope that trying to do double duty never begins to detract from the delightful flavors constantly coming out of his kitchen.

Ober-Salé was the site of my second food-epiphany, changing the conception of what food can be and extending the limits of what is possible. The first, not surprisingly, was also in Paris, at the now closed (and soon to be reopened elsewhere in Paris) Un Drôle d'Endroit Pour Une Rencontre (trans: "A funny place for an encounter").

The name seems to be based on a title of an old Deneuve/Depardieu film

People come to Paris for lots of reasons, some of them for the food. Explaining what makes it so unique can be difficult when speaking to people who have never experienced this level of cooking. Yes, it's possible to get cooking like this in the United States, but you are only likely to find it at the most expensive, exclusive restaurants. That you can find such eye-opening flavors at a small Parisien bistro that is half-empty is a testament to the nearly inexhaustible supply of unassuming restaurants that would magically grow three month+ waits if they were transplanted to any American city.

Visitors...

Our visitors are arriving on the heels of each other. We said goodbye to Erika on Wednesday morning, and Trevor arrived with his bike in tow the same afternoon.


Erika's last day in our lovely apartment.


Hello Trevor...with Saturday afternoon oysters. (In case you're wondering what you're missing)


then a nap...


Late afternoon in Parc Blossac


Moules Frites and Muscadet


After all that relaxing, it's time for a trip to the bottle depository.

Stay tuned for more photos and info from the recent adventures and possibly some guest-authored posts.

Armchair Tourism

Jefe rode his bike around in the Spring rain and then fell asleep watching the Paris-Roubaix race on TV...

Perhaps we've been a little inattentive of the blog lately, but we wanted to let you know that it has been for a good reason. Many good reasons, in fact.

1. We've been waking up before dawn to go to this place:

...second semester is almost over at ESIP!

2. We've been doing a lot of planning for our friends' upcoming visits:

...checking out local wineries, cognac distilleries, (and not so local) bicycle routes.

3. We've been biking and running.

4. We're learning to make awesome (gluten) bread. And Rebecca is dreaming of the perfect gluten free loaf... too bad you can't get quinoa flour, arrowroot starch, or even certified gluten-free oats in France.

5. We're continuing to try our hand at artsy photo-taking...

...sigh. We need a camera stand.

6. We've been making fancy things with white asparagus:

7. We've been walking up and down a lot of stairs. Jefe will have more on that soon...

8. We discovered how to make our own French minty green cocktails at home, so we save money without skimping on flavor or fun...

mmm.

How to cook when you only work 35 hours per week...

...like the French do.

Back in Illinois we have a cookbook of traditional French recipes (purchased long before we knew about our trip). It includes classics like coq au vin, bouillabaisse, cassoulet, and roulade of wild pheasant. Before coming here, we had only tried a very small number of the recipes. Most were very time consuming and/or required seemingly exotic ingredients.

The longer we spend in France, the less difficult these recipes seem and the less exotic the ingredients become. Making a terrine that takes three days, c'est normale! Making your own chicken stock, pourquoi pas? Finding duck fat, goose fat, chicken necks, rabbit, and horse are as easy as walking down the street.

Perhaps this newfound sense of time has something to do with Jefe not working at all, and Rebecca working a little less than she did in the U.S. Perhaps, the inexhaustable supply of excellent restaurants here have raised our standards a little for our own cooking.

There are a few things we now keep around that take home-cooking to the next level. Duck fat: available at all grocery stores and many specialty stores in France. Chicken stock: you might be shocked to find that it isn't for sale in grocery stores, but after you make this easy, delicious roast chicken recipe (adjust for gluten allergy as necessary), you can simmer the carcass and some vegetables and herbs in a pot for an hour or two, strain and store in jars in your fridge or freeze in an ice cube tray. Brown butter: butter that has been cooked until it turns a golden brown and develops a caramel, nutty flavor. Infused olive oils: herbs, or garlic boiled in olive oil and strained, and refridgerated.

homemade chicken stock

The visit of Jefe's brother and the ensuing restaurant testing in Poitiers and Paris lead to a few of these discoveries along with another new favorite: terrine. The word terrine can refer to either the cookware (like a loaf pan with a tight lid) or a chilled, compressed meatloaf that you would make in the aforementioned cookware. We tried a couple restaurants that offered their own take on this dish as an appetizer. It is made with various ground meats (uncured bacon, pork liver, and chicken liver are usually included) herbs and usually port or brandy. Often very aromatic, it is delicious with a side of cornichons and mustard.

In preparation for Jefe's parents, we made Country Terrine, using ground, uncured bacon from our favorite pork butcher Yves Henaud. The three-day prep was worth it. It smelled so nice and was a perfect addition to our regular mid-afternoon snack of cheese, artichokes, roasted beets, bread, and cornichons.

we made a few changes to the recipe with our terrine,

including the use of local Calvados instead of regular brandy

And since the only canned beans available here are white beans, we've been buying bags of black beans (thanks to the exotic grocery store) and soaking them overnight in preparation for tacos. Tacos for which we make the tortillas by hand out of masa (thanks to Jefe's parents who brought a bag of masa from the U.S.) since real corn tortillas are unavailable here. The homemade tortillas are definitely worth the extra effort, they are fresher, fluffier, and taste delightful.

Jefe's dad demonstrating proper tortilla technique

You can hear the filmographer--Jefe's mom--asking the tough questions

La Cocotte Gets a Makeover

You may remember the story of how we acquired this indispensable piece of cookware, which we have used virtually every day since. We have two cast iron pieces at home in the States: one is a vintage country-style cast iron pan from Jefe's family. As our good friend Eric has impressed upon us, nothing will ever come close to this vintage pan (one word: cornbread); if you find a cast iron pan in good condition, treasure it and it will last forever. Even a pan in bad condition can often be restored.

Our other cast iron piece is a 9inch Le Creuset iron-handle skillet. The Le Creuset skillet (which we bought after trying out Trevor's) is another excellent piece of cookware; it's enamelling is silky smooth and remarkably easy to clean. And this is why we were so enthusiastic over finding a new Le Creuset piece for so cheap (a new one would have been prohibitively expensive).

It might seem like we are making a big deal out of nothing, but the Le Creuset brand has a rich history and is a highly respected brand amongst foodies and chefs (and it's a must-have for many traditional French meals--the cassoulet, for instance). The cocotte was the very first product offered when the company started back in 1925. Our pot, which we picked up at a used furniture store, is one of the smallest and lightest versions, the 27cm (or ~4 litre) size (which is good because our oven and stove are quite small). The color is "flame" (one of the first, introduced in 1934).

The cocotte, an enamalled cast iron "french oven" (aka dutch oven) with a lid, is great both for stovetop and oven use. It produces wonderful frittatas and casseroles and risottos. We even use it for vin chaud. Some readers may remember that the first time we put it into the oven, we melted/incinerated the plastic handle, and had to replace it with a bolt from the hardware store. The bolt worked fairly well; we got used to placing a kitchen towel between our hands and the bolt in order to pick up the lid. One downside is that we couldn't put the lid upside down on the counter top. Another is that the bolt didn't really go with the whole Le Creuset aesthetic.

Well today, thanks to Jefe's brother and fellow foodie, Josh, the cocotte got a makeover...

before, and after

Now our little cocotte is perfect, both aesthetically and functionally (thanks Josh!). Originally, when we moved to France, the plan was to accumulate as little stuff as possible, and to assume that anything we did accumulate was going to stay in France when we went back to the US.

Yesterday, we both agreed that the cocotte is coming with us when we leave.

yes, that's a brand-name handle. don't hate.

Oysters

(Baked oysters with bacon and leeks)

Though we have yet to travel very far west of Poitiers, toward the sea, the piles of cheap oysters for sale may be the surest sign that saltwater is only a quick (high speed) train ride away. In the case of Poitiers, we could take the train in one of three directions to prime oyster country: south to Marseilles and the Mediterranean coast, west to the Bay of Biscay, or north to the English Channel. At the Saturday market, we have found oysters available from the first two locations, and since France is the largest harvester of oysters outside of the Far East, there is an ample selection in terms of size as well as origin. The South is comprised of one growing region, but the West contains four (South Brittany, Central West, Marennes-Oléron, and Arachon). Regardless of origin, oyster sizes seem to range from the size of your palm to the size of a saucer.

After being in the Midwest, living in the midst of such an abundant selection of fish and shellfish is not something that we will soon forget. The sheer variety, not to mention the nonchalance with which the fishmongers clean, prep, package, and sell this seafood makes it seem dream-like. For normal people like us, the reality of preparing and cooking fish is not a fairytale: there are a lot of new rules and a LOT of ways you can screw up (cooking it too long, not cooking it long enough, not knowing how to open the shells, not using the meat in time...remember the soupe de poissons disaster?). Nevertheless, we only passed up the oyster vendors a few times before we bought our first dozen La Rochelle oysters, a little over a month ago.

Since the oysters are so cheap and plentiful, we knew we would be eating them often. So, as soon as we got home from the market we went looking for a proper oyster knife. A good oyster knife is fairly dull, short and stiff with a thick handle. The local highfalutin kitchen supply store (think Williams Sonoma with a tenth of the floor space) sells lots of nice of knives and other kitchen tools, and they had a pretty serious oyster knife for sale. Too bad it was almost $40. We weren't going to have anyone over for dinner that we needed to impress, so we went to the grocery store and got a $6 knock-off (the bottom one in the picture). Since the holidays are when most oysters are consumed, the fancy kitchen store decided to stock a more moderately price $10 knife (the upper one in the pictures) that was a big improvement over our previous one (note the much thicker blade).

After watching a few youtube videos about opening oysters, Jeff went to work. The first one took around 5 minutes, with lots of grunting and swear words. Once he figured out a systematic, albeit still slow, way of opening them, the rest went much faster. This method is called the sidedoor method, and is better if your knife is sharper and thinner. The upgraded knife was stiff enough to open the oysters in the traditional manner, by attacking the hinge first and then working your way around the shell and cutting the adductor muscle that holds the top of the shell closed.

Wanting to truly taste the oysters, we decided to eat them raw along with some other hors d'oeuvres. Besides some toasted slices of baguette, there was butter with shallots, lemons, avocados, three kinds of goat cheese, and roasted beets.
The picture at the top of this post was our second batch of oysters that we decided to bake in the oven with bacon and leeks. It turned out really well, the creaminess of the sauce combined with the saltiness of the oysters and bacon was really tasty.

Of course the oyster experience is not complete (at least not in France) without wine (dry, white) or champagne. Guess where we went to get the wine. Normally we go to William to ask for wine that breaks the stereotypes of what certain wines are supposed to go with, but this time, he urged us to go the more traditional route for this most traditional of French meals.

While France has been harvesting oysters for hundreds of years and has a lot of regulations in place ensuring the sustainability of the oyster beds, there have been two cases of infections (one, and two) in the last few months which are wreaking havoc on oyster production in the Atlantic. Hopefully, the areas of oyster production in France not hit by these maladies will be able to meet demand. Actually, the slump caused by the infections has brought about a surge in harvesting, which will temporarily result in a surplus here. More (and cheaper) oysters for us! So we will definitely be trying them again.

You can't win 'em all...

As evidenced by our recent run of "nyah-nyah" posts, we have been perpetually surprised by the tastiness of things that we've never tried before: duck fat, foie gras, roasted beets, cured donkey sausage (not to be confused with ass sausage--see below), vin chaud, and aged goat cheese among other things. But we feel it is our duty, dear Reader, to admit that we've had some failures, too. Yes, we have tried a few things that someone with decorum would describe as "acquired tastes" (ones we have clearly not yet acquired).

The first of the missteps occurred when Jeff went to the grocery store looking for sausage for a meal of hors d'œuvre. Occasionally, we make a whole meal out of grazing on assorted cured sausages, cheeses, roasted beets, fresh pears and apples, cornichons, artichoke hearts, french bread (for Jeff), and corn cakes (for Rebecca). So, Jeff decided to get some andouille sausage. The concentric circles made it looked a little different than the cajun andouille he had seen back home, but always the adventurous fellow, he got it anyway.

He brought the sausage home and opened it, and was immediately struck with a strange smell....a vaguely barnyard smell. And as anyone who has visited a barnyard knows, the main component of this smell is manure; pig manure in this case (North Carolinians will appreciate the special nastiness associated with the smell of pig farms). Turns out French andouille (specifically the andouille de Guémené that Jeff bought) is made entirely of *gags* pig intestines and rectums; this would be called chitterlings sausage in the U.S. In any case, the smell was unsettling, and only got worse when he tried to cook it. I opted not to have any.

Jeff has tried his share of offal, from chicken gizzards and sheep's head, to sweetbreads, and cow tongue (including delicious cow-tongue tacos in Chicago), but this was a little much. In a final blow to his ego, we discovered that andouille also means 'fool' in French.

Another recent mishap concerned an impetuous decision to buy a bottle of soupe de poissons (puréed fish soup) from the Saturday market. I remember eating something like this back when I was in France as a tweenager. I remember it tasting good, kind of like a French version of New England clam chowder. So I persuaded Jeff (who, despite his aforementioned adventurousness, is always a little tentative when it comes to things of the sea because of his land-locked upbringing) to buy this:

We decided to heat it up, and to add leeks, carrots, and spinach. Sounds pretty good, right? Well, it wasn't. It was VERY fishy, so fishy that Jeff "the Iron Stomach" was only able to eat a few bites. When someone says "something smells fishy," it was that kind of fishy.

It's a good thing I also made a cornbread to go with it or Jeff might have starved.

I'm still not exactly sure what went wrong with the soupe de poissons...should we have mixed it with something else? Maybe a strong soup base like cream of potato? Or something acidic like tomato? Well, the "leftovers" (can you call them "leftovers" if you didn't eat any to begin with?) are burning a hole through our fridge, so if anyone has any suggestions, speak now or we'll have to throw them out...

Le Vin Chaud

After trying glühwein in Germany, and becoming part of William's efforts to increase the visibility of vin chaud in Poitiers, we decided we needed to find out more about this winter beverage. While the Germans often add liquor to their glühwein, the French generally avoid this with vin chaud, perhaps with good reason. There is some risk associated with consuming glühwein: we were warned that if you inhale through the nose while sipping (schnapps-fortified) glühwein, you are liable to gag, not a pleasant thought.

While vin chaud is not available for consumption at the market due to problems with teen alcohol consumption (though it is available in bottles at ambient temperature), nearly all the local restaurants have their own version for sale. In order to complete our study of vin chaud in time (vin chaud dies out soon after Christmas) we started by concocting our own batch.


Attempt #1:
1 bottle Beaujolais red wine
water
grated nutmeg
Cloves
powdered cinnamon
orange slices
sugar

We added all the ingredients except sugar and brought to a boil (whoops) because now that our stove is fixed, it heats up unexpectedly fast. Everything boiled for too long and it turned out a little bitter. We had to add more sugar than we would have like to make it palatable. We decided we needed to do a little more research.

Perhaps one of the local restaurants could help, so we headed over to La Gazette (which has the same owner as La Serurrerie). The vin chaud came in glass mugs with orange slices, cinnamon sticks and (to our surprise) also came with star anise. The flavor was excellent, subtle and not too sweet. Armed with this knowledge we returned to the kitchen.

Attempt #2
Ingredients:
1 bottle Haut-Poitou (local) red wine
250ml water
cloves
1 tbl. vin chaud spice mix we picked up at the outdoor market (cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg)
cinnamon stick
star anise
one packet of orange flavored black tea
sugar

We heated the wine/water mixture along with the star anise and spice mix until just under boiling. Then we removed the star anise and added the remaining ingredients except the sugar and let the whole mixture steep for 20 minutes. Finally, we added sugar to taste. It was fantastic, the orange tea gave it a very nice flavor and was soothing on the throat, and the anise was also a great addition. Armed with this success, we went to see the expert: William.

A sign at Le Fruit Defendu: "We support VCPC--Mulled wine is not a crime"

We had to stop by Le fruit defendu to pick up wine to go with our gourmet weekend meals (First, Seafood and Chicken Paella, followed by Braised oxtails w/ Spanish chorizo). We queried him to see if we were missing any secret ingredients, and apparently we were not. He promised he would send us some recipes from some "trusted friends," and we will see if there are any procedural changes we can make to improve things further. But until then, tonight's iteration:

Attempt #3
Ingredients:
1 bottle Haut-Poitou (local) red wine
300ml water
zest of clementine
clementine sections
orange juice
cloves
cinnamon stick
star anise
one packet of orange flavored black tea
1 tbl. aforementioned spice mix (cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg blend)
sugar

Combine first 8 ingredients and heat. Once the mixture is hot, add the tea and spice mix, and let steep for 10 minutes. Add sugar to taste.

Update:
The seafood paella and accompanying wine (above and left, respectively) turned out wonderfully. The third iteration of the vin chaud turned out ok. We are eagerly awaiting William's recipes and will probably also try Kristi's suggestion of mixing wine and cider. American style cider is hard to find here; the cider here is mostly carbonated & alcoholic which bears only a passing resemblance to the cider sold at apple orchards in the U.S. We are open to other suggestions (even from our readers in Ukraine and Austria)... let us know!

Duck, Duck,...Fat

I first took note of the duck fat for sale here at the farmer's market. Frequently, adjacent to the saucisson man, there is a van parked, selling all manner of duck- and goose-related products, whole and in pieces, including foie gras and duck fat. I was first attracted by the foie gras, not because I was particularly fascinated by it (although it's difficult not to be a little fascinated, a ban on foie gras was only recently repealed in Chicago), but because of the shear selection; it feels particularly illicit to be browsing for foie gras. I'd never seen so many varieties of such a product in one place. Tucked in among the jars were a few labeled "graisse de canard," and maybe it was that phrase that intrigued me: grease of duck.

I was little tentative about purchasing the graisse for the first few weeks, not sure of what I would use it for, how long it would last, what the storage restrictions would be, etc. Luckily for my taste buds, Rebecca threw caution into the wind and decided to just buy some and figure out the details later. Needless to say, it is delicious, and can be used in all manner of dishes. It is primarily used in the Southwest of France in dishes like cassoulet, duck confit, and foie gras. But the options don't end there. In reality, versatility (relatively speaking) is its most interesting quality.

Apparently, duck fat gives sauteed vegetables a hint of savory flavor, perhaps similar to MSG. Substitute some duck fat for butter in pie and tart crusts, mix duck fat with some blanched and pounded garlic for Gascony Butter (to use as soup flavoring or on toast; variations can be made with shallots and red wine), fry duck skin in duck fat for fritons de canard (though this culinary term can also apply to various renditions), and all roasted and fried potatoes benefit tremendously from being cooked in duck fat.

Duck fat also has advantages from a technical and nutritional point of view. For instance, the "smoke point" of duck fat, the point at which the oil begins to smoke and break down, is above both butter and extra virgin olive oil, though below high quality extra virgin olive oil. Cooking in fat above its smoke point will impart an unpleasant taste to the food. Here is a chart of the smoke points of various fats.

Besides being a little easier to cook with, duck fat also has less saturated fat than butter. Perhaps this fact, along with the health benefits of red wine (in the form of Resveratrol), has contributed to Gascony having the longest life expectancy in France, the French Paradox. On the other hand, with a number of sites trying to debunk this theory, the whole thing (really, both sides of the issue) starts to sound like a conspiracy theory. But would you rather die from a McDonald's-induced heart attack, or a red wine and duck confit heart attack?

The real question for the English speakers reading this blog is "where do I get it?" It is available online, but shipping costs make it pretty expensive. You might try the local farmer's market or butcher. If you live in a more rural area, maybe your local duck hunter can help. Ducks are very fatty, and cooking a duck without removing some of the fat leads to long cooking times. You can ask them for some of the extra fat; their duck cooks faster (and gets crispier) and you get duck fat to render. Hooray!

La Marché

We have mentioned the Saturday market here in Poitiers before, but in the past, we mostly offered photos of our shopping hauls and brief descriptions of some of the vendors. Technically, the market (the building you see in the background) is open 6 days a week. On any given weekday, up to 1/4 of the vendors are open--these are the businesses that lease permanent stalls inside the building; they clearly pay more, but they also have the convenience of not having to worry about how the weather will affect their sales. On Saturday, all of these indoor vendors are open, in addition to the numerous outdoor vendors who set up tents outside around the market.

One caveat...the "normal" supermarkets here are no joke. They may lack the aisle dedicated to Asian and South American foods, but the selection of meats, cheeses, pastas, olives, wines, and bottled water would put any supermarket in the United States to shame. In the United States, for instance, European-style meats (pancetta, coppa, salami, saucisson sec) are usually industrially-farmed reproductions of inferior quality. US cheeses are similar; they are either imported (in which case they risk sitting too long in their packaging due to cost and over-niche-yness) or they are inferior domestic reproductions. Perhaps this is because the American meat and cheese industry remains stalled where American wine was 30 years ago. Unfortunately, the financial crisis may have dealt a serious blow to the people able and willing to afford well conceived meats and cheeses. Also, France doesn't always pasteurize their cheese, something else that won't happen (legally) in the U.S.

The route we take to the market means one of the first vendors we see is the saucisson man. He usually has a dozen or more varieties of cured sausage and is happy to let you sample them. So far, we have tried: natur (plain), goat cheese, fig, blueberry, blue cheese, chestnut, cepes (mushrooms), donkey, duck, and fennel. We buy them three at a time because they make a perfect snack with cheese, olive oil, cornichons, and artichoke hearts.

Since Poitiers is only about 1.5 hours from the west coast of France (the Bay of Biscay), there is always plenty of seafood at the Saturday market: prawns, salmon, swordfish, monkfish, cod, and other fish we haven't translated yet, as well as shellfish like oysters and scallops. For the most part, the seafood is whole and/or unshelled, and can be cleaned upon request.

The picture just above here is of the seafood man shelling and cleaning the scallops we were planning to prepare for dinner. First we picked them out, then we paid, and then we watched as he deftly pried open the shells, and one after another, cut the scallops free and cleaned and rinsed them. It was truly an amazing thing to watch, and we even considered ordering more scallops just so that we could watch him work a little longer.

We are always used to thinking of seafood (and really everything: cheese, beef, sausage, fruit) by weight, but in reality that is a little misleading. Here they often ask you how many you want, or in the case of cheese and sausage they hold the knife up to the item where they are going to cut and ask for your approval. Occasionally, this leads you to spend a little more than you planned, especially in the case of a certain 45 €/kg aged goat cheese...the aged goat cheese vendor has become the bane of our existence, because we are, in perfect honesty, unable to resist him. We have taken to turning away abruptly whenever we get the slightest glimpse his cheese cart--but this is made incredibly difficult by the fact that he sets up in a different place each week. He is a tricky, tricky fellow and his cheese is really, really good.

The butchers usually specialize in either poultry, pork, or beef and lamb. Besides offering their specialty meat, they frequently also offer cooked dishes (someone who does this would be called a traiteur)--meatloafs, salads, and other cold dishes featuring their meats--and may even have wine to accompany them. The most popular pork butcher is Yves Henaud, where a half dozen guys man the 30 ft counter.

For the first time this week, we arrived at the market with a grocery list based on two recipes we had already decided to make: (1) spiced scallops served on braised red cabbage with pancetta and (2) roquefort-stuffed pork chops. In one sense, this made our trip more difficult, since we had to work harder to stay focused, and make sure that we got everything we were going to need (remember, none of the grocery stores are going to be open on Sunday, so forethought is required). On the other hand, going in with a plan means that the trip takes about half as long, and also that we don't end up with things that we aren't going to be able to use before they get overripe. Today, the only novelty food items we ended up with were free ones, from some of the vendors who have developed an affection for The Two Americans--today, the freebies included: sausages, cherry tomatoes, bay leaves, ginger root, and fresh spinach. It was a good day.

Mushrooms...and Wine

Ok, the last post was basically a maintenance post, just keeping everyone informed until something happened worth rhaposidizing. Well, one of the items in our shipment of gluten-free foods was lasagna noodles. In a fit of energy, we decided to make the lasagna first. And (although those who know us will not be surprised) we decided not to settle for a simple lasagna, but to take it to a level worthy of the ingredients available to us here in France.

We've been trying to maintain a healthy diet and not to succumb too often to the secret of French cooking (butter, butter, and more butter), so we decided to included some zucchini we already had, some mushrooms (not as yet bought), some "fresh" cheese (the closest available thing to Ricotta cheese) and basil, basil, basil. Some elaborations:

Mushrooms...
It's mushroom season around here. While riding, Jeff will frequently see cars parked on the sides of roads near the forests. When he squints, he sees faintly visible, crouched figures creeping through the undergrowth, poking the ground with sticks, in search of fresh fungi. Equally frequently, there are signs posted forbidding the gathering of mushrooms. Of course, they are available at the farmer's market (in abundance), and at the local supermarket, which has been hit-or-miss; sometimes there are three or four varieties, and sometimes only one (typically the Girolles from the United States). Yesterday, there was only one, but today there were three varieties, a good sign that the new ones would be fresh. Jeff was able to sniff the available selection with The Nose (pictured above) and decided on the mushrooms with the overwhelming odor of earthiness. So we got a handful of trompettes de la mort (literally: trumpets of death) or black trumpets.

Once all the ingredients were assembled, including the aforementioned basil (x3: homemade basil-and-garlic infused olive oil, dried basil, and fresh basil), we assembled our masterpiece.

The noodles took the most effort, as they like to stick together--always be sure to put a bit of olive oil in the boiling water, and to rinse the noodles in cold water after cooking! Here's our recipe:

Sauce:

1-2 tbs olive oil

3 cloves of garlic (chopped)

2 small red onions (chopped)

2 slices of cooked bacon (chopped)

2 cans crushed tomato

~1 pint white button mushrooms (sliced)

handful of fancy-schmancy mushrooms (chopped)

bay leaf (if you got it!)

[first saute the garlic and onion in the oil,

then add and steam mushrooms,

then add tomato, bacon, and bay leaf]

Zucchini:

slice up the zukes into wafers (they will form individual layers like the pasta)

Cheese:

usually lasagna calls for ricotta, but we're in France, so we improvised a cheese sauce out of fromage blanc, grated romano, gruyere, basil, rosemary, white wine, and a tbs of gluten-free flour

Noodles:

Precooked 'em for about 6 minutes, and spent another 10 trying to unstick them. They turned out fine, though :)

So, we lightly greased the casserole dish, layered the bottom with noodles, smoothed a layer of tomato sauce on, followed by a layer of zucchini, then cheese mixture, more noodles, tomato, etc. We topped it off with a sprinkle of romano and dried basil...

...with a spectacular result!

To go with this increasingly gourmet lasagna, we had visited the local caviste (wine vendor) Le Fruit Defendu, just down the street from our apartment. The shopkeeper always gives very good recommendations. Besides suggesting wine that goes well with food (and we always tell him what we're having tonight, and which spices we're using), the wine is always interesting and tends to break away from the flavors traditionally associated with its type. In the case of our little lasagna, he suggested Pechigo, an organic red wine grown near the Pyrenees in the south of France.

We can't wait to eat the leftovers tomorrow

(probably after we get home,

exhausted from the farmer's market).

Berlin in one week!!