Tomato Kumato

I am back in France. It’s strange and nice at the same time… on the one hand, I’m bored so easily and happy to visit new places, but on the other hand, there’s something about France that brings me back every time.

I’m in Paziols again… and it’s amazing to be back. The pattern of life is really different this year. Firstly, we have more kids. Twelve more, to be exact, and the little ones from last year are the big kids this summer. Secondly, we have Patricia, Anne-Marie’s sister, here as a full-time cook. Which is nice, when you’re cooking for twenty people. Cooking for twenty people scares me.

But my first night here, I did it. I made spaghetti Carbonara (never done that before) for twenty people (also never done that before). And it was good. Really good. I’m not too sure how that happened, but I loved it.

But it’s different from making regular Carbonara.

It takes fourteen eggs.

It takes a kilo of bacon.

Which makes more than a cup of bacon grease.

It takes two kilos of spaghetti.

And it takes two American sous-chefs, of course.

Spaghetti Carbonara for Dix

Boil a massive pot of salted water. Cook two kilos of spaghetti. Meanwhile, cook 1 kilo of bacon, chopped. Drain the grease, and, in two reserved tablespoons, cook two onions, chopped. Add the bacon back to the skillet and keep hot. Whisk fourteen eggs together with salt and black pepper. Add 1 heaping tablespoon of crème fraîche. Add the hot spaghetti and hot onions and bacon to the bowl of eggs, stirring to toss and cook the eggs. Serve with grated cheese on the side.

Leftovers are great placed into a baking dish, topped with 1 cup of grated emmental cheese, and baked in a 350 degree oven until the cheese is melted.

As I’m leaving France tomorrow for a month, I thought it only appropriate to do a French-themed post today, and what is more French than pastry?

These are pastries I ordered at a café in Nice with my friends: a millefeuille, a chocolate éclair, and some sort of apple shortbread type thing. Oh, and hot chocolate, which in France seems to often be just that: that cup was essentially full of melted chocolate, and my friend who had ordered it had to ask for a cup of hot milk to mix with it.

Something I’ve noticed about the French and their desserts is the emphasis on elegance. Whereas in the States we will frequently bake a batch of cookies, a sheet cake or a fruit crumble for dessert, in France, desserts are usually purchased at a bakery. It’s hard to even find ingredients like baking soda or baking powder, or even cupcake liners and cookie cutters. The apple dessert pictured above is probably the least typical of all of these desserts: the decoration on top of the millefeuille is always perfect, the line of chocolate frosting on top of the éclair perfectly straight. The desserts look the same no matter where you buy them.

There will always be something very comforting about a slightly less-than-perfect chocolate chip cookie straight out of the oven, but I’m learning to appreciate the comfort in having a perfectly decorated chocolate ganache cake purchased and plated instead.

I’ve often heard that the difference between French food and Italian food is the mindset: the French seek to make something incredible out of what seems like nothing. A croissant is just butter and flour, when it all comes down to it. A baguette is yeast, flour, water and salt. For the French, it’s all in the technique.

The Italians, on the other hand, seek to show off the best of the ingredients, barely adding anything at all. Prosciutto è melone is just that: prosciutto and melon. When I used to stay with a friend whose mother was Italian, she always served us an appetizer of thinly sliced cucumbers and salt: one of the best things I’ve ever had.

When I was in Italy, I came upon this phenomenon once again. I was there with a class of Americans, most of which had never been to Italy or tasted true Italian food. My professor usually ordered for us in restaurants, suggesting a dish he had tried in that restaurant, and also ordering an assortment of fried appetizers. I tasted some of the best pizza, spaghetti with tomatoes and mozzarella, and insalata caprese I’ve ever had.

I use the term insalata caprese lightly. We had taken a boat to Capri from our home base of Naples, and after hiking most of the island (whining and moaning the whole way… I won’t lie), we found a spot by the water and ate our lunch. I had bought one tomato and one ball of buffalo mozzarella, and there, with very little ceremony and over a plastic bag to catch the milk from the mozzarella, I created my own insalata caprese.

Me with two margaritas for the price of one. Olé!

When I actually lived in the States, I never craved American food. Ever. My favorite food was Italian, which, as a New Yorker living in an Italian-American family, I could get any day of the week. I had my occasional sushi binge, and I was never one to turn down a bagel, but I never had these incredible cravings that I get now. When I get home, I buy myself a bucket of buffalo wings and go to town on them. I need, need, need an American grilled cheese with Campbell’s tomato soup. But more than anything, what I really, really miss is decent Mexican food.

I like almost everything that passes my lips to be hot, hot, hot. I used to carry a bottle of Tabasco around with me to flavor food that was not hot enough for my liking. When I reheat my mother’s tomato sauce for lunch, I add crushed red pepper. Where the Canadian adds parmesan cheese, I wield cayenne. The French are not so into hot. I knew that if I wanted Mexican done right in the City of Lights, I would have to do it myself.

I started out with a recipe for Chorizo Tacos from Nosheteria. The recipe was sort of an outline, so I didn’t feel bad changing things up a bit: I didn’t have nearly as many mushrooms as were recommended, so I supplemented extra potato, which I chopped into a fine dice instead of grating (my grater had been melted by the Canadian and we had yet to receive our industrial one care of my Mom). I never achieved the melting potato that was outlined in the original recipe, but it did its job of soaking up the grease from the sausage, which was actually a mix of merguez and Spanish-style Chorizo, which is cured, not raw. But even with the changes, the slick-less taco filling that was promised came through.

This and some white fish that I just floured, spiced with salt, pepper and cayenne were the taco fillings. I also made two quesadillas: one with the chorizo mixture and a mixture of shredded emmental and mimolette (this is France here… we don’t have pepper jack and cheddar), and the other with cheese and a combination of red and green spring onions.

But wait… there’s more!

I also made my famous guacamole, which I learned how to make from our Mexican housekeeper, Francesca. Recipe at the end.

All I seem to see nowadays as commentary on recipes for cornbread, chili, lasagna, spanakopita… is critique for the fact that the recipes aren’t authentic. Well, I’m sorry, but sometimes I can’t find real queso fresco or Mexican chorizo. And I’m OK with that. The whole point of cooking is to try new things, to experiment, and having a group of friends over to enjoy some slightly Frenchified Tex-Mex is my idea of an amazing night.

The Canadian’s three-liter bottle of Crown Royal (aka Steve Royal) got into the festivities as well: he’s sporting the sombrero I brought him from Mexico!

Chorizo Tacos (adapted from Nosheteria)

1 large yellow onion, diced
2 links of merguez, removed from casing
6 slices of Spanish Chorizo, diced
1 large potato, diced fine
5 button mushrooms, sliced

Heat a skillet over medium heat. Add the sausage and stir until it releases some yellow grease. Add the onions and stir, cooking until translucent (5 minutes). Add the potato and fry until cooked through. Add the mushrooms, stirring until they are cooked and all traces of oil are absorbed.

Francesca’s Guacamole

2 Hass avocados
1/2 red onion, finely chopped
1 tomato, seeded and chopped
juice of 2 limes
salt to taste
cilantro, chopped, to taste

Halve and remove the pits from the avocados. While still in their shells, use a sharp knife to chunk them (think checkerboard) and then use a spoon to remove the flesh. Mash SLIGHTLY with the tines of a fork. Combine with the other ingredients, except the tomatoes, and allow to sit for at least an hour. Add the tomatoes and combine fifteen minutes before serving.

Wow… after a lot of difficulty, I’ve finally participated in my first Daring Bakers Challenge… and I loved it!

The challenge this month was for French bread. “Perfect,” thinks I, “I live in France!” Plus, I figure it won’t be too difficult, considering that I’ve made bread before.

I made my little baby bread ball, stuck it in the oven with the light on (thanks for the tip!) And let my kitchen steam up with the smell of bread dough.

Of course, it wasn’t nearly as easy as I thought it would be. The shaping at the end, especially, proved to be rather difficult, as is pretty obvious from my pictures. The tip in the recipe about putting a pan of water and ice in the bottom of the oven to create steam worked wonders for the crust, and the taste was good, which is what counts.

In the end, I definitely learned something, and I’m feeling much more confident in my bread-baking skills. Who knows… maybe bread will become a new part of my regular repertoire?

I’m so glad I participated in this, my first challenge! Be sure to check out the other Daring Bakers’ posts as well!

OK… so here’s the thing. I call myself an Italian-American, but the truth of the matter is, I’m only half. My mother, who does the majority of the cooking in my house, is actually German-Irish, and so she sees no issue with serving cheese with fish-based pasta dishes.

Personally, I never used cheese on these dishes. The only pasta and seafood meal she made was Shrimp Fra Diavolo, and she almost never made it. I worshiped the spiciness of the dish, and I refused to dull it at all with cheese. In fact, as I got older, I would often add more hot pepper.

So it wasn’t until I went to Italy that I realized that you are technically not supposed to eat cheese with these dishes. My brother or sister would order cheese with their Spaghetti con Vongoli, and the server would look at us as though we all had two heads.

I suppose my father never put cheese on his seafood pasta either… I guess I just never noticed. No Italian I’ve ever asked has really been able to explain the reasoning behind this… but then again, no French person can ever tell me why they think peanut butter and jelly is a disgusting combination.

So when I couldn’t tell the Canadian why “you can’t eat seafood pasta with cheese!” he used our brand new cheese grater to cover his liberally with parmesan. I just added extra pepper and shook my head.

Spicy Shrimp and Spaghetti (adapted from Culinary in the Desert)

3 ounces dry spaghetti
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon Cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon chili paste
2 garlic cloves, minced
8 ounces frozen pre-cooked shrimp, thawed
1 28-oz can whole tomatoes
2 tablespoons sour cream
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1 teaspoon dried basil
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook pasta and drain, reserving some of the pasta liquid.

Meanwhile, heat oil in a large saucepan. Add Cayenne, chili paste and chopped garlic and cook just one minute. Lower heat and add shrimp. Stir in tomatoes, tomato paste, basil and salt. Simmer 10 minutes until sauce is slightly reduced. Remove sauce from heat and stir in crème fraîche and pasta. Add pasta water if needed. Serve with extra pepper on the side, or cheese for your non-Italian guests.

Serves one and a Canadian.

If you hadn’t guessed it yet… I’m a little bit of a travel-o-holic.

Not only is my ideal job to be a travel journalist (journalism school… my new job at wCities…), but since starting this blog, I’ve lived on Long Island and in New York City, Toronto, and Cannes. Oh… and Paris. Almost forgot.

So it should come as no surprise to any of you that I also love to take little trips. Nothing can beat living in a new place, but when I’m scrimping and saving, buying the half-off ham at our cheap supermarket, all I’m thinking is about the savings I can deposit to put towards a new trip. I travel cheap, staying in hostels and either buying food at local outdoor markets or cooking for myself mostly (OK… and treating myself to one or two nice meals out), so I can afford to go away pretty often thanks to my shiny, new student rail pass. Since starting in Paris this past September, I’ve been to London twice, Amiens, Amsterdam, and Toronto. Lucky me!

One of my favorite trips this year, though, was of a slightly more… expensive type. This was probably one of the last vacations I’ll take with my family, so I didn’t feel the slightest bit badly about being spoiled with a post-Christmas trip to Mexico, staying in a resort in the west (by Manzanillo, Jalisco) with my family and my cousins.

There was a swim-up bar. Heaven.

The odd thing? I almost missed my cheap backpacking adventures. And so, one morning, instead of heading straight down to the pool with my new Christmas books (three travel narrative anthologies… *squeal*!) I got myself a dollar to get onto the boat to Barra Navidad, the town near the resort.

I realized then that the thing I adore most about travel is the people. The real, true life. Yes, I love a swim-up bar, but even more, I loved getting my feet dirty walking along the dusty roads. It was nice that all of the native Mexicans working at the hotel had some ability to speak English, but it was so much more fun to break out my rusty Spanish on the streets as I bartered for a tiny Mexican hat to put on the Canadian’s three-liter bottle of Crown Royal, affectionately called Steve. The food at the resort was divine, but how can you beat an authentic Mexican taco, bought for eight cents at an outdoor stand? The mere idea makes my mouth water.

Yes, this is a food blog, not the story of my life, and this story, like most stories of my life, does have a food-related point: Gambas Diavolo. Devil’s shrimp. How odd, because to me, they tasted like heaven, served with the heads and tails on, a pile of napkins, and a basket full of fresh corn tortillas on the side.

I’ve been given the official go-ahead that it’s safe to tell you about my new job! I now work for a site called wcities.com, where I write Paris restaurant reviews. In honor of this announcement, I decided to post a restaurant review that I’ve been meaning to get up here for some time… Le Serpent Qui Danse.

The name of this restaurant is taken from a poem by French writer Charles Baudelaire. It’s in the 11th arrondissement, kind of far away from a lot of touristy destinations, but it’s totally worth it.

In reality, this sort of food is not very Parisian. A lot of food that comes from other places in France has somehow found its way to Paris: the Lyonnais bûchon, the Marseillaise fish house, and the Savoyard raclette and fondue restaurants. Nevertheless, many people who come to Paris want to sample “traditional” French food go straight for the pot of melted cheese… and this is where capitalism settles in for the long haul.

The majority of fondue and raclette restaurants are decorated in a typical Savoyard/Swiss fashion: as chalets. The authenticity stops there. Mostly what you get served is a pot of thinned, melted cheese and a few cubes of bread which, I can tell you from personal experience, is not what is served in the Alps.

At Le Serpent Qui Danse, the raclette cheese is brought out on a traditional melting apparatus. Basically, there are two heaters on either side of the wedge of cheese, which the diners can arrange closer or farther away from the wedge according to their eating speed. Melted cheese is scraped from the wedge onto plates of boiled potatoes, pickles and meats. This is where Le Serpent Qui Danse proclaims its authenticity.

You have a choice of meats including a pork-free and vegetarian version (not too sure what that entails…), but when I was in the Alps I always had ham, so ham is what I ordered. Our waiter, however, was certain that there was something better, and, alongside our order, he brought a free plate of dry-cured beef. He was right.

Britney and I stuffed ourselves full of cheese, bread, meat and salad that day, and while it was a thoroughly overwhelming gastronomic experience, I would most definitely do it again.

When I was younger, my father and I used to go to dinner, just the two of us, every Tuesday night. At first, we went to this restaurant called il Pomodoro. I would get rigatoni marinara, and my dad would get linguini Bolognese. After il Pomodoro closed, we started going to a different restaurant called Vico. I was older by then, and ready for a new standard, something my mother didn’t make at home. This time, I went for the Bolognese… and I fell immediately in love.

It’s been a long time since I had this pasta sauce. My mother made a mean marinara, but Bolognese was not on her repertoire. We still go to Vico sometimes, but I’ve expanded my horizons, and I usually opt for a salad and one of the lighter pasta dishes instead of the bowl full of heavy, velvety Bolognese that I adored when I was younger.

But when I saw this recent post on Skillet Doux, I was reminded of my former favorite… and I was up to the challenge of trying to make it.

Sure enough, less than five minutes after mixing what looked like a watery base of ingredients together, the smells of Bolognese came wafting from the kitchen. It cooked, bubbling for a full hour, before the Canadian and I couldn’t stand it anymore, and we ate it over mushroom ravioli… delicious.

Bolognese (adapted from Gourmet, October 2002)

1/4 cup of olive oil
1 carrot, chopped
2 medium onions, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
3/4 lb. veal
3/4 lb. ground beef
1 cup water
1 1/2 cup milk
1 1/2 cup red wine
6 oz. tomato paste
dried basil
salt and pepper
2 tbsp. creme fraiche
parmesan for serving

Heat the oil over medium-low heat. Add the vegetables and a bit of salt, and cook until soft, about five minutes. In another skillet, cook the meat until all pink is gone. Drain excess fat and add to the vegetables. Add tomato paste, water, milk, wine and basil. Cook down until the sauce is thick, about an hour and a half. Turn off the heat. Add salt and pepper to taste, and stir in the creme fraiche. Serve immediately over pasta (I like mushroom ravioli, but rigatoni are good as well) with plenty of cheese on the side.

Sorry everyone! I’ve been so bad… I’ve been getting back up to speed reading everyone’s updates (sorry for the lack of comments… I had a lot to read) and I feel badly seeing how busy everyone else has been while I’ve been doing a lot of nothing.

Since I’ve been back, the only things I’ve made have been pasta and fried eggs. The Canadian’s birthday was last week, and I bought a cake! Yes, it was an amazing cake, and yes, it was very French of me to pass off the baking to a professional, but still, it was out of character. You see, I’ve had a very busy few weeks back. Upon arriving in Paris, I hardly had a chance to unpack before I whisked myself off to Paris with Britney to see the Spice Girls! I was in the 6th grade the last time they were popular, and so was everyone else there, apparently. Everyone knew all the words, and it was probably the best concert I’ve ever been to.

We stayed in an amazing hostel, St. Christopher’s, which not only was fun and amazingly clean, but also served up a very good (and very reasonable) hummus with pita appetizer in the bar. I got my hands on a Cornish Pasty this time and we got a decent curry at a chain place (I’m sure to Londoners it was awful, but Britney and I loved it), but I still have to go to Goulder’s Green Chinese food. I also introduced Britney to the wonders of Wagamama, and she has come up with a plan that involves a commuting Londoner bringing her Wagamama for dinner every day to be picked up at Paris Gare du Nord.

I got back to Paris with a terrible cold, but I still set off for the other trip I’d planned: Amsterdam. (This was when I thought the Canadian would be in Amsterdam, not sitting on my couch and boiling the plastic cheese grater to get the Comte off it. Mom, please send me a metal one… the Canadian needs special toys for his special needs.) I went with a friend and took advantage of the loose laws there, and therefore ordered the tray of food you see above. (Applesauce not pictured. Mixed with mashed potatoes=heaven.)
Wow… all this is getting very bloggy. The point of the matter is that I’m back now, and I have an antipasto party to tell you about.

This all began, as so many strange ideas do, in my father’s head. He picked me and my sister up from the city and drove us out to Long Island, where we would be met my my mother, brother and sister the following day. He had decided that “we” would be making a typical Italian antipasto. He gave me a sketchy shopping list… things like “eggplant rollatini-eggplant, cheese.” I knew that he couldn’t do this alone, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to take it myself. Grudgingly, I decided to fulfill his wishes, and asked him exactly what he wanted. Long story short, in the end I made everything, and my father ceremoniously plated the braciole, eggplant rollatini, stuffed green peppers, stuffed mushrooms, and stuffed clams. I stood by the side, saying nothing, but as my brother praised the rollatini and my sister gorged herself on mushrooms, my mother leaned over to me and whispered, “Good job.”

This picture is awful, but it’s the only one I got of everything. From the top right, it’s stuffed mushrooms, baked clams, stuffed green peppers, braciole, and eggplant rollatini. And my father was right about one thing: the key is mixing all the sauces (tomato, braciole au jus, and clam juice) on the plate and sopping it up with good Italian bread. (We get ours from Sullivan Street in the Bronx.) Here are the recipes… they’re approximate, but they work. I cheated on the clams and braciole and got them from the store, but you could just as easily make them yourself as well.

Stuffed Green Peppers

Halve three green peppers and lie them in a baking dish. Stuff with a mixture of one part hot Italian sausage and one part ground beef, Italian breadcrumbs, grated parmegiano reggiano, and an egg. Cover with tomato sauce and bake at 350 for 40 minutes.

Eggplant Rollatini (the hit of the night)

Slice three eggplants lengthwise into strips about a quarter inch to a half inch thick. Make sure they’re all the same size. Dredge each slice in flour, then beaten egg, then Italian breadcrumbs. Bake for ten minutes on each side at 375 degrees. In a separate bowl, combine equal parts ricotta cheese and grated mozzarella. Add a few tablespoons of parmegiano reggiano to taste, and season with black pepper and a chiffonade of fresh basil. Place about a tablespoon of the cheese mixture at the end of each of the rollatini, and roll. Place them, seam side down, in a baking sheet. When all of the rollatini have been rolled, cover with tomato sauce and bake at 350 until the cheese is melted.

Baked Stuffed Mushrooms

Remove the stems from about twenty stuffing mushrooms (large white mushrooms) and bake the mushrooms on a baking pan for about ten minutes to dehydrate them. Chop the stems finely and sautee in butter and olive oil with one large onion and a few shallots. Turn off the heat and add enough breadcrumbs to soak up the liquid in the pan, about half a cup to a cup. Add parmeggiano reggiano cheese to taste… a couple of tablespoons. Stuff the mushrooms until heaping with the mixture, and bake for about another fifteen to twenty minutes at 350.