What to Make for Your Next Cocktail Party

Dorie Greenspan's new book, Around My French Table, has been stalking me for months now. First, I got invited to a press luncheon for the book in July. It was at Blue Hill and we ate pea soup, Hudson Valley duck, and cheesecake. Everything was delicious. Then, I wrote a story about the book's somewhat surprising success, considering the fact that Dorie Greenspan doesn't have a TV show or food magazine, yet her book is one of the year's most popular (and bestselling) cookbooks. And then I went to a party for a cookbook "tournament" last week, where I met Dorie and ate one of her delicious sable cookies (in a piglet shape, natch).
Can you believe I STILL had not tried one of the recipes in her book?
So tonight, I finally took the plunge. And, unsurprisingly, it was a smash hit. Dorie's Gougères are fabulous. They are cheese puffs, and they are airy and cheesy, a little crunchy and even a tiny bit creamy. They were a cinch to make (I really had no reason to be nervous, but I was, I think because they're just so... French). I used an aged cheddar, and followed her instructions exactly, even the quirky step of putting them into an oven you've preheated to 425, but then dropping the temperature to 375 once they're in. Who knows why. It works.
We enjoyed the gougères with some chilled Muscadet. Even our baby got her hands on some and loved them (poor thing is used to eating puffs of a different sort--flavored with spinach and banana).
What will be next from Dorie's book? Elsewhere in the "Nibbles and Hors D'oevures" chapter I have my eye on Savory Cheese and Chive Bread. But her main dishes and, of course, desserts look amazing, too. Sorry it took me so long!--S

Gougères

1/2 cup milk
1/2 c water
8 T unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces
1/2 t salt
1 c all-purpose flour
5 large eggs, at room temperature
1 1/2 c coarsely grated cheese, such as Gruyere or cheddar

1. Position the racks to divide the oven into thirds and preheat the oven to 425 F. Line two baking sheets with silicone baking mats or parchment paper.
2. Bring the milk, water, butter, and salt to a rapid boil in a heavy-bottomed medium saucepan over high heat. Add the flour all at once, lower the heat to medium-low, and immediately start stirring energetically with a wooden spoon or heavy whisk. The dough will come together and a light crust will form on the bottom of the pan. Keep stirring--with vigor--for another minute or two to dry the dough. The dough should now be very smooth.
3. Turn the dough into the bowl of a mixer fitted with the paddle attachment or into a bowl that you can use for mixing with a hand mixer or a wooden spoon and elbow grease. Let the dough sit for a minute, then add the eggs one by one and beat, beat, beat until the dough is thick and shiny. Make sure that each egg is completely incorporated before you add the next, and don't be concerned if the dough separates--by the time the last egg goes in, the dough will come together again. Beat in the grated cheese. Once the dough is made, it should be spooned out immediately.
4. Using about 1 T of dough for each gougere, drop the dough from a spoon onto the lined baking sheets, leaving about 2 inches of puff space between the mounds.
5. Slide the baking sheets into the oven and immediately turn the oven temperature down to 375 F. Bake for 12 minutes, then rotate the pans from front to back and top to bottom. Continue baking until the gougeres are golden, firm, and yes, puffed, another 12 to 15 minutes or so. Serve warm, or transfer the pans to racks to cool.

Duck Fat: It's What's for Dinner

Fork is such a good sport, I'm telling you. When I told him I was going to make Duck Rillettes, he went right along with it. It's not for nothing that I've decided to marry this guy. He's okay with eating duck cooked in wine and its own fat spread on toast for dinner! (With a salade nicoise on the side just for the illusion of healthfulness.)

Here's a dish you want to whip out for your friends who used to live in France and are nostalgic for some fabulous French country fare. The rillettes are creamy and delicious, just perfect with a glass of wine or Champagne.

If you are making duck rillettes, you need to do a little planning: there's a 24-hour curing period, and then the braising takes about 3 hours. And definitely do some research on where to buy the ingredients. I wound up on a wild duck chase (ha!) for duck legs that weren't confit. I eventually found fresh Long Island duck legs at Todaro Bros. on 2nd Ave. & 30th St. And the man at the meat counter at Garden of Eden on 23rd St. went in the back of the store and filled up a container of duck fat for me. All the other ingredients were typical--for the wine, I used a Sauvignon Blanc.

My only complaint with this recipe is that the Dijon mustard flavor is fairly strong. Fork and I didn't taste as much of the duck as we'd like. Next time I might tone that down a bit. Because there will definitely be a next time.--S

Duck Rillettes

Total time: About 4 hours, 30 minutes, plus 24 hours curing time
Servings: Makes about 2 cups

2 duck legs
2 T kosher salt
1 small bay leaf, broken
1 1/2 t chopped fresh thyme
1/4 c parsley leaves [I left them as whole leaves]
1/4 t peppercorns
1/4 t coriander
1/4 t dried mint
1/4 c sugar
1 T canola oil
1 white onion, chopped
1 carrot, chopped
2 c white wine
2 c chicken stock
1 c duck fat
1/4 c Dijon mustard

1. Place the duck legs on a rack on a baking sheet and rub them with the salt, bay leaf, thyme, parsley, peppercorns, coriander, mint and sugar. Cover loosely with a sheet of parchment paper and allow to cure for 24 hours in the refrigerator.
2. Heat the oven to 250 degrees. In a large heavy-bottomed Dutch oven, sear the duck legs in one tablespoon of canola oil over medium-high heat until you get a bit of color, about 2 minutes. Add the onion and carrot and sauté until softened, 7 to 8 minutes. Add the white wine and reduce by half, about half an hour.
3. Add the chicken stock and braise the duck legs in the oven, covered, until the meat is tender and falling off the bone, about 3 1/2 to 4 hours. (If it begins to bubble, turn down the heat.) Allow the meat to cool, then remove from the braising liquid; the braising liquid can be reserved for another use such as for a soup base.
4. Remove the meat from the bone and place it in a bowl. Place the bowl of duck meat on top of a bowl of ice.
5. In a small pan, heat the duck fat over medium-low heat until it's melted. Slowly pour the duck fat over the duck meat, using a fork to emulsify the duck meat with the duck fat until fluffy and smooth. Add the Dijon mustard and adjust seasoning to taste. Transfer to a serving dish or container; Sara Levine's restaurant serves rillettes in a French canning jar.

Recipe courtesy of chef Sara Levine in the Los Angeles Times

Local Fusion

JAPONAIS
111 E. 18th St.
NY, NY 10003
Tel 212.260.2020

THREE SPORKS

Tonight, my dad suggested we dine at either ribs mecca RUB or French-Japanese hybrid Japonais. More in the mood for fusion than righteous urban barbecue, we went with Japonais and had an unusual, delightful meal. (Even if my dad still thinks "fusion" is a racket cooked up by restaurant marketers.)

The meal began with a spicy octopus roll topped with sliced tuna and avocado- wasabi- tobiko sauce (amazing, spicy and sweet) and ended with homemade steamed buns with braised pork and scallions with hot mustard sauce (delicious). In between, we ate a sushi/sashimi platter which included some terrific toro; lobster spring rolls with mango relish and blood orange vinaigrette; and--the most fusion-y dish of the night--sirloin tip Wagyu beef cut with shishito peppers, mushrooms and Kirin light beer fondue, made with Brie cheese. And let's not forget the meal's most dramatic dish, "The Rock": thinly sliced marinated New York strip steak, which we cooked ourselves on a 450-degree rock (two seconds per side for medium rare; five seconds per side for medium). Fun!

Japonais is a high-concept restaurant that pulls off its scheme quite nicely. There's some major drama to the space, which is huge, with an Alice-in-Wonderland-type tree in the middle of the room. We wondered how long it'll be around, considering the square footage and the fact that it was barely half full tonight. But we wish them all the best. What neighborhood can't use a great French-Japanese restaurant that lets you cook your own meat on a sizzling rock?!--S

Somewhere Between Stuttgart and Paris

I visited Alsace once during the year I spent as a student in Paris. Unfortunately, I have only a fuzzy memory of what I ate on that trip: a bowl of choucroute here, a slice of kugelhopf there. Fortunately, the March issue of Gourmet features a terrific collection of "Alsatian Sensation" recipes to bring me right back to Strasbourg. Last night I made Chicken in Riesling, Alsace's version of coq au vin. I definitely did not eat this when I visited Alsace, because there is no way I would've forgotten such a delicious and comforting meal.

As the recipe's headnote explains, coq au vin made with red wine is probably the best-known take on the French dish in America. But most regions of France have their own version incorporating local wines. Naturally, Alsace's coq au vin calls on Riesling to give a "gentle richness" to the dish. Fork has always been a Riesling fan, and for last night's meal he picked out a 2005 Trimbach Riesling, which was a little citrusy and fruity with a nice dry finish.

I used my cast-iron dutch oven to brown chicken breasts and thighs in oil and butter, then took the chicken out and cooked chopped leeks and shallot until they were golden. I returned the chicken to the pot, along with carrots and a cup of the wine. Once the liquid reduced, I put the dish in a 350-degree oven for 20 minutes. While the chicken braised, I peeled small red potatoes, which was a little time-consuming, but I took a seat for the task, and took sips of wine to keep me going. I simmered the potatoes until they were just tender. The final step: a half-cup of heavy cream into the chicken dish (my supermarket didn't have creme fraiche, which the recipe suggested), a shot of lemon juice, and the potatoes.

It was very quiet while Fork and I ate. After a minute he said, "This is a winner." After a few more minutes, as the chicken started disappearing, we sopped up the flavorful broth and bits of shallot and leek with bread. Chicken in Riesling: a winner, a new Alsatian taste, a classic.--S

Tongue and Chic

DANIEL
60 East 65th St.
NY, NY 10065
Tel 212.288.0033

FIVE SPORKS

Thirty-one may not be a landmark birthday for most, but for me, it’s going down as the most special, over-the-top, delicious kickoff to a new year I’ve ever had. Fork took me to the four-star Daniel, which consistently competes with Jean Georges for honors as New York's best restaurant. Over the course of three and a half hours, we were coddled, fed, indulged and served by a legion of French waiters.

We began with a birthday toast in the bar, sipping the restaurant's own Cuvee Daniel. Now, you don't go to a place like Daniel and not go for the full experience. So we opted for the six-course seasonal tasting menu. Since there were two menus we had both, a full 12 courses. “Excellent," the waiter said, taking our order. "So you are in our hands." We opted not to go with wine pairings, instead having the sommelier select for us a delicious, dry, yet full-bodied Mersault, great with fish, and yet hearty enough to "stand up to the meat."

We were seated side-by-side in a banquette in the corner of the room, looking out on the spectacle that is Daniel's main dining room, a palazzo with archways and palms, dramatic curtains and glowing red lampshades on the tables that stretched into the mirrored distance. It was lively, but hushed. "Can you believe this room!" I gushed.

"It's OK, I guess," Fork said.

The first courses arrived in short order: Duck Foie Gras Terrine with Bing Cherries, Fresh Almonds & Celery Heart Salad and a Pate of Quail and Foie Gras “aux Raisins” with Verjus Pickled Basil Seeds, Walnut Pistou & Watercress. Fork said he wanted to send his back. "Tell the kitchen I had liverwurst for lunch," he said. "Very good, sir," said the waiter. "More wine," he chided...

The second course consisted of Maine Peekytoe Crab Salad with Hawaiian Hearts of Palm with Bibb Lettuce & Lemon-Lovage Vinaigrette and “Four Winds” Louisiana Gulf Shrimp with Shaved Crudites, Cocktail Sauce Granite & Basil Oil. It was divine, a perfect combination of textures and flavors. Fork spit his into his napkin. He said there was a hair in it.

The meal really ramped up with the the third course: Sweet Corn Tortellini with Maine Lobster, Piquillo Pepper, Espelette Oil & “Sauce Americaine” and Caramelized Sea Scallops with Summer Truffle, Crispy Potatoes, Satur Farms Beans & Arugula Puree. These dishes really showed off the chefs' chops. The Tortellini were creamy and delicate and the flavor of the fresh local corn was remarkable. The slice of truffle on the scallop was the largest serving of truffle we'd ever been served. Fork was disappointed. "What the hell is American Sauce?"

The fourth course was stunning: Pancetta Wrapped Yellowfin Tuna with Heirloom Tomatoes, Creamy Polenta & Balsamic Bordelaise and Pan Seared Swordfish “en Matelote” with Red Wine Braised Trumpet Royale & Crispy Pork Belly. The combination of the fish and pork flavors were magnificent. The swordfish was the best I've ever had. Fork offered his praise, something about "the power of bacon..."

The fifth course was the meat course: Duo of Dry Aged Beef: Red Wine Braised Short Ribs, Young Carrot Fricasee, Taggiasche Olives, Seared Rib Eye with Allumette Potato and a Trio of Colorado Lamb: Roasted Chop with Garbanzo-Fava Beans Croquettes; Fig Leaf Shoulder Papillotte; Tenderloin with Fennel Confit. The waiter took great care to unwrap the fig-leaf papillote tableside, revealing a little spice-flecked quenelle-like mound of lamb. "They should have wrapped it in a diaper," Fork said, "because it looks like crap."

After nearly three hours, it was time for me to excuse myself. Fork pulled me aside. "It would be funny if you goose-stepped to the bathroom," he whispered. "Yes, I said, that would be funny, but I declined. While I was away, Fork engaged the captain. "Why do you guys like Jerry Lewis so much?" he asked. "He's not funny in America."

At last, dessert: Vanilla Poached Peach with Almond Biscuit, Fresh Peach-Saffron Gelee & Melon Sorbet; Bittersweet Chocolate-Praline Cremeux, Amer Cocoa Biscuit & Dark Chocolate Ice Cream. Decadent. The waitstaff, aware that it was my birthday also brought a bowl of fresh, sugared berries with a strawberry milkshake in a tiny glass and a candle stuck into a gumdrop. “Happy Birthday” was written in chocolate. Fork said it was "a little too Chucky Cheese" for his taste, and was disappointed the waiters didn't sing. He kept trying to call them over but they seemed to avoid eye contact.

As we sat enjoying the room, the buzz from a truly four-star meal and a plate of the most adorable petit-fours, the man himself, Daniel Boulud arrived at our table and personally wished Spoon a happy birthday. It was a lovely gesture. He then sat and signed books for the drunken fools sitting at a table that was housed within a tent to our left.

All night Fork and I had been amused by the tipsy woman who would emerge from the tent and head for the restroom, seemingly after every course. "It's like she's on a fishing trip with her buddies," Fork observed. She was wearing a peasant dress that looked like a sequin-strewn trashbag. As she got more drunk, her high heels forced her to hunch over when she walked, like she was hiking up a hill. "They'll let anybody in here," Fork sniffed.

OK, so maybe we took a few liberties with our review. But what can one say about Daniel that hasn't been said? I think really this says it all: over twelve courses and three-an-a-half hours we ate: beef, lamb, tuna, swordfish, scallop, lobster, crab, shrimp, pancetta, pork belly, duck foie gras, quail pate, truffle and a tortellini.

We left the restaurant well after midnight, and prepared for our seventh course: four days on the beach in Montauk. Details to come.-S&F

Shout-Out to Clotilde

I just got a finished copy of blogger Clotilde Dusoulier's Chocolate & Zucchini: Daily Adventures in a Parisian Kitchen... and am I impressed! I'm used to seeing cheap-looking pre-publication galleys turn into glossy finished books. So when Clotilde and I met back in February, I wasn't surprised that her book at that point looked like most other galleys, its pages dull and photographs grainy. But the transformation of Clotilde's manuscript to book is much snazzier than usual.

Unlike many cookbooks that have a couple of pages of full-color photos inserted into an otherwise colorless book, C&Z has gorgeous full-color photographs throughout its pages. And what's even cooler is that all the photos are taken by Clotilde herself. She mixes images of Paris's culinary offerings--dried sausage hanging in a gourmet shop window, asparagus and tomatoes at a market, Sacre Coeur and the carousel at the base of the butte in Montmartre, where she lives--with photos of the food. Most cookbook photographs are taken in fancy studios, with serving pieces that are chosen strictly for their looks. But the food photos in C&Z show Beef Bourguignon, Soft-Boiled Egg with Artichoke Bread Fingers, and Lavender Apricot Compote on Clotilde's own dishes. This is the real deal, and it's just beautiful. Looking at the up-close images, you can see how fluffy the Fava Bean and Mint Frittata is; how intense the Chocolate Caramel Tart is. And if the glam shots aren't enough to get you into the kitchen, Clotilde's charming recipe introductions and stories should be. She begins each recipe with an explanation of where it came from, what it is, and how you can tweak it. And the recipes themselves are a refreshing blend of old-school French and international chic.

Congratulations, Clotilde!--S

Going Bananas in Martinique

Take the decadence of classic French cooking--rich sauces, wine reductions, a liberal use of butter--and combine it with a tropical flair--exotic fruits, fresh fish--and you've got an idea of the kind of food I've been eating for the past week in Martinique. Pretty fantastique.

Martinique, is a "department" of France, one of the Windward Islands in the Lesser Antilles, situated between Dominica and St. Lucia. It geographically resembles the US and British Virgin Islands in that it's mountainous (a volcano actually erupted there in 1902) and lush, especially on its Caribbean (versus Atlantic) side. But unlike other islands I've visited, Martinique has loads of fruit trees growing wild--mango, papaya, lime, breadfruit--and is covered with banana plantations and sugar cane fields. The pervasiveness of these tasty crops, coupled with the French and Creole culture, means you eat well--very well--in Martinique.

Breakfast is croissants and pain au chocolat with guava jelly and sliced pineapple and mango on the side; café au lait and papaya juice to wash it down. Lunch and dinner are seafood spectaculars. I ate lobster, prawns, conch, cod, crayfish, red snapper and mahi-mahi, all from the waters around the island. The restaurant at the beautiful hotel Cap Est served a blowout four-course lunch, including snapper carpaccio, seafood mousse beefed up with aged rum, and rum granita (see photo; note the planteur in the background). Le Brédas, a restaurant in the town of St.-Joseph, with Martinique's big-deal chef du jour, Jean-Charles Brédas, made an amazing banana/foie gras mille-fueille. And the humble Chez Tante Arlette, in the adorable fishing village of Grande Riviere, wowed me with grilled lobster and prawns. No matter where you are in Martinique, there's a good chance your meal will start with accras, which are codfish fritters, light and extremely tasty. Desserts often combine fruit and rum; my favorite was the banana flambée with aged rum at Cap Est.

Speaking of rum, it's a huge part of Martinique's culture, society and economy. Unlike most rum, which is made from molasses, Martinique’s rhum agricole is made exclusively from fresh sugarcane juice. I visited three rum distilleries (Clément, Neisson and Saint-James), and even though I'm not much of a rum drinker, they were worth seeing, as living connections to the history of the West Indies from their earliest colonization by Europeans. No pina coladas or daquiris here; Martinique serves its rum either as ti-punch (short for "petit"), an extremely potent concoction of white rum, sugarcane syrup and lime juice; or as planteur, which I much prefer, a refreshing mix of rum, fruit juice, sugarcane syrup and spices. As it's part of France, of course, Martinique also has great wines.

All this, AND gorgeous beaches, cool zouk music and fabulous hotels. Vas-y!--S

Voulez-Vous Diner Avec Moi

I have bad news for Parisians, and great news for Americans.

Disneyland Paris is relocating to Des Moines, Iowa.

Kidding! Here's the news: Pudlo Paris, a Zagat-like annual guide to nearly 1,600 Parisian restaurants, bars, pubs, tea salons, cafés and gourmet shops, which until now has only been available in French, has been translated into English and will be published in the U.S. this summer. The New York Times calls Pudlo "the restaurant guide" to Paris, and BonjourParis says "Many French rely on Pudlo and his simple 1, 2 or 3 plate ratings rather than Michelin." Sorry, Frenchies, your secret is out.

Sure, there are plenty of guides to Paris restaurants in English. But there's something très insider about Pudlo. For one, real French people use it. Unlike the American version of the Michelin Guide, its restaurant and food descriptions are hardly generic ("the top quality meat carries local produce certification, including the sausage aligote and the charcuterie"--how's that for specific?). And where else are you going to find a guide that highlights what it deems Paris's "Bistro of the Year," "Baker of the Year" and even "Hostess of the Year"? Bon voyage et bon appétit.--S

A Weekend in Washington

I was in our nation's capital recently visiting my friend Anne, who left NYC for greener pastures (or more trees, anyway) last year. My dear pal gamely oriented me to the city, explaining its layout and basics. Naturally, I grilled her on what foods are quintessentially "DC." Understandably at a loss, she checked her Eyewitness Guide, but its suggestions, while mildly interesting, were generally lukewarm and included Caesar Salad and southern breakfast foods like grits. Not really in full food discovery mode anyway, I let Anne guide me, and wound up with some delicious meals.

She'd reserved us a table for Friday night at Petit Plats, a French bistro a few blocks away from her Woodley Park apartment. It was a lovely restaurant in a converted townhouse, with four (!) fireplaces and a French-speaking host, whose little daughter was doing her homework at the bar and chatting with Maman about le week-end. The pureed vegetable soup was excellent; it was followed by a classic herb-roasted chicken with french fries. Aside from the portions (which were huge), it was a très French meal and the perfect spot for us girls to catch up.

Saturday evening found us in Georgetown, where Anne and I did some pre-dinner shopping (including a stop at a great cosmetics shop called Blue Mercury, where I somehow got talked into getting a makeover). Made up in full Trish McEvoy fabulousness I stunned the crowd at Clyde's of Georgetown, a bar/restaurant established in 1963. Frommer's says Clydes is a hangout for "university students, Capitol Hill types, affluent professionals, Washington Redskins, romantic duos, and well-heeled ladies who lunch"--or dine, as the case may be. We started with a crab and artichoke dip (served with French bread) that had ample bites of both ingredients. I followed this with a burger with sauteed mushrooms that ruled. It was delicious. After dinner we progressed to another local watering hole, Martin's Tavern, which may or may not have been the place where young congressman John F. Kennedy proposed to journalist Jacqueline Bouvier (a guide to the restaurant's famous clientele, which was in a small frame on the bar, was rather unclear, and after a few glasses of wine we had some difficulty following it). Nonetheless, Martin's is a fine establishment with a homey vibe and good drinks.

But Caesar and grits, listen up: I'll be back.--S

The Trinity, French-Style

My rendition of the classic throw-it-together French meal (soup, salad, quiche) went off without a hitch last night. No, it wasn't the most groundbreaking meal I've ever cooked, but it sure was delicious, and had my friends Darren, Patrick and Kate happy and full.

The soup was Potato-Leek, a recipe that I've been making for a few years that has become one of Fork's favorites. It's easy (made even easier by my new immersion blender, a Christmas stocking-stuffer from Fork). The recipe I use comes from Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything, or simply "Bittman," as Darren and Patrick like to call it. (As in, 'How to you make soft-boiled eggs?' 'Ask Bittman.' 'What cut of beef do you use for Beef Bourguignon?' 'I don't know; see what Bittman says.')

Second course was a salad of butter lettuce (aka Boston or Bibb) dressed in oil and vinegar, and Quiche Lorraine, from the new Joy of Cooking. Did you know that a classic Quiche Lorraine contains no cheese? Neither did I, but as that's not a rule I care not to abide (in general, I am pro-cheese), I threw in about 3/4 cup shredded Gruyere. My guests apparently approved of my improvisation: everyone took seconds, and left only a small wedge for Fork to eat the next morning.

For dessert, a Marble Pound Cake (again, Bittman). I had never attempted this recipe before, and I was a little nervous about how "marbled" the cake would be, since I had some trouble mixing the two batters of different consistencies. My attempts at "swirling" them seemed more like glomming one around the other. But my oven worked its magic. When I sliced into the cake, the chocolate had run through the middle, nicely surrounded by yellow pound cake. Delicious.

What's better than a simple Friday night supper with friends? Oh, and props to the French for the inspiration.--S

A Blog Come True

As someone new to blogging I am envious of those who have an archive filled with posts, comments, links and cross-references. 101 Cookbooks, She Who Eats, Grub Street, Diner's Journal... they're all on my weekly reading list. The first food blog I really enjoyed and began regularly reading is Chocolate & Zucchini. C&Z is written by an adorable 27-year-old French woman, Clotilde Dusoulier, who lives in Montmartre, Paris. I'm sure her location in my favorite city has something to do with why I love the blog so much. But Clotilde, who wasn't trained as a chef, is also an ideal host: a curious home cook, self-deprecating, unpretentious, and with a delicious sense of humor. I follow her as she writes about her culinary triumphs and failures, and the many meals that fall in between, as well as meals in restaurants in Paris and elsewhere.

As an avid reader of C&Z I was delighted to learn in late 2005 that she had landed a book deal with Broadway Books. So imagine my excitement when I spotted the advance galley for her book on one of the overflowing book carts in my office. There she was, Mlle. C&Z, grinning with a little basket of magnificent Parisian strawberries in her hand! I immediately requested to interview Clotilde and within a half-hour I had an interview set up. Lucky me, she's going to be in New York in mid-February, and we're set to chat over coffee. Maybe my day job isn't so bad eh?

The book will be published in May. Meanwhile, in preparation for the interview, I've set out to test recipes from the book. So far I've tried two: Navettes a la Fleur d'Oranger (Orange Flower Shuttle Cookies) and Caviar d'Aubergine (Eggplant Caviar). A cookie and a savory spread, both quintessentially C&Z in their simplicity and Frenchness. The cookies reminded me of Italian biscotti (the kind my family makes, not the chocolate-dipped, very hard kind Starbucks sells). Orange-scented and not too sweet, they were ideal with tea or coffee. They went over well at a family dinner, where my grandfather in particular enjoyed them.

The spread, on the other hand, was totally different from anything I'd had before. Made of the roasted eggplant flesh (the purple skin discarded), garlic, olive oil, balsamic, lemon zest, lemon juice, parsley, toasted cumin seeds, salt, pepper and chili powder, it made a fine appetizer (or mid-day snack, as I consumed it), with crackers or pitas.

More to come, as I prepare for my Feb. 13 rendezvous with Clotilde.--S

UPDATE: (3/19/07)
Read the interview with Clotilde here!

A Spoon in Paris

I truly felt bad about going to France without Fork. I know how much he loves the place, its food, its wine, its rap music... but when my parents decided we needed a family vacation in Paris the week before Christmas I couldn't say no. So I sucked it up, packing my suitcase with empty Tupperware and Ziploc bags to smuggle back some cheese. We stayed in a lovely apartment in the 7th and spent our days strolling, eating, visiting museums and shopping. It was miserable. Really. Fortunately for Fork, the cheese made it home, along with some yummy poultry liver pate made with port wine from Hediard. For the meals I consumed, he is resigned to live vicariously. Herewith, the rundown.

Best in show: tie between cassoulet and a variety of salads

This tie might seem ridiculous; how could a rich, slow-cooked bean/sausage/duck stew possibly be on par with a plate of cold vegetables? Here's how: the French, I learned this trip, make some surprisingly kickass salads. Salade de chevre chaud is particularly triumphant, with creamy pats of the cheese browned on toast or bread, atop greens dressed in some sort of vinaigrette (often one with a little cream). They're almost always hearty, either with or without meat (with its potato salad, haricots verts, beans, greens and other veggies, a salade vegeterienne at a cafe in the Marais was just as filling as a curried chicken salad set amid mesclun at the cafe of the Musee d'Orsay). So yes, the salads are awesome. But. That cassoulet (at Aux Fins Gourmets, a charming place Fork & I first discovered on Boulevard St. Germain) deserves major kudos. It came in its own little crock, still bubbling. Bread crumbs on top. White beans, pieces of pork sausage, bits of duck on the bone. The flavors were... how you say... magnifique.

The runners-up would be surefire winners in New York any day:

-A delicious jambon/fromage/crudite (which in this case meant lettuce, tomato and slices of hard-boiled egg!) baguette sandwich at a hole in the wall in Reims (called, hilariously, "Pause Sandwich")
-A fatty but yummy boeuf bourguignon at adorable La Varangue (jammed with Americans thanks to its great write-up in a Rick Steves book)
-An amazing leg of lamb in a curry sauce with rice, figs & prunes at a little restaurant on a cobblestone-paved portion of the 6th called La Jacobine
-Great spaghetti al vongole at our local trattoria, Carmine

In the culinary experiences category, my sister's snail episode deserves mention, if only for our reaction to it. Dripping in butter and garlic, the slippery little sucker flung right out of the clip poor Laura was using to hold the shell, hit her in the gut and ricocheted onto my shin and then my shoe. We had a hard time containing ourselves, naturally, and it was several minutes before I could compose myself enough to gracefully bend under the table and retrieve it. And then I had to convince myself it was not sanitary to eat the thing, even if the escargot was still safely ensconced in its shell.

Oh, and the boulangeries, fromageries and patisseries. Baguettes, croissants, brioches, camemberts, chevres, St. Marcellens, macarons, mille-feuilles, buches de Noel (tis the season!)... I ate them all. Bonnes fetes.--S