Ann Mah's Blog, page 13

Tuesday dinner with John Baxter

It’s officially the hottest time of the year. The good news is, the markets are bursting with produce, which means you scarcely have to turn on the stove. Yes, raw tomatoes are a meal (at least in my book), especially when they’re mixed with basil and garlic, heaped onto country bread, and drizzled with lashings of olive oil. Today’s no-cook Tuesday dinner — summer bruschetta — comes from John Baxter, author of The Perfect Meal: In Search of the Lost Tastes of France.

John grew up in Australia and moved to Paris over twenty years ago. An acclaimed film critic and biographer — and enthusiastic bon vivant — his most recent book, The Perfect Meal, follows his quest to taste the great French culinary classics before they disappear forever. It’s a charming pastiche of essays, filled with humor and warmth. Today I’m delighted to share John’s quick cooking secrets — and his recipe for tomato bruschetta.

  

On eating in hot weather: 

My wife and I both love cheese, so we’ll make do with a green salad, some cheeses and a little fruit. My wife prefers a runny St Marcellin or St Felicien; I like a cream-rich Brillat-Savarin. We are both fans of British cheese also, particularly Stilton, or — a real treat — Fortnum and Mason’s potted Shropshire with malt whisky.

How he relaxes:

Almost invariably, the evening begins with our preferred decompressant – a Tanqueray Rangpur gin and Fevertree tonic with a slice of orange and plenty of ice.

On reinventing leftovers:

My leftovers often find their way into stir-fries or curries. Fry up some onions, garlic and ginger, throw in cumin and other dry spices, then add whatever’s left from the previous meal. Fresh herbs are a nice addition, but if I don’t have them, I mix in shredded lettuce and sliced green onions to add a crunch.

On raising a miniature gourmand:

When our daughter Louise was eight, a school friend invited her to lunch. “I’m afraid we might have disappointed Louise a little,” the mother said as she returned her. “When I asked what she’d like to eat, she said ‘a crab soufflé.’”

So I wasn’t entirely certain, when I asked Louise to suggest some dish from my repetoire that took only thirty minutes to prepare, that she wouldn’t propose a starter involving sweetbreads, courgette flowers and essence of mangosteen. Her response, however, was instant and exactly right: “How about bruschetta?”

Summer tomato bruschetta

By John Baxter

I make this most often in August at our summer place near La Rochelle, on the estuary of the Charente, where the vendors grown their own tomatoes and basil. It provides the perfect starter for a meal of grilled whole St Pierre or a bowl of freshly boiled langoustines with mayonnaise. However it’s just as feasible in a Paris apartment, providing there are ripe and tasty tomatoes to be found. Bruschetta doesn’t work with baguette, nor with American-style sandwich bread or a sourdough loaf. The best is a white batarde or pain campagne, ideally a day or two old.

*Note from Ann: I enjoyed John’s bruschetta twice: once for dinner, accompanied by grilled chicken and corn on the cob, the second time for lunch with a scoop of ricotta drizzled with olive oil.

Two thick slices of bread per person

About one large ripe tomato per person

One or two fat cloves of garlic

Five or six leaves of fresh basil per person

Plentiful olive oil

Salt, fresh pepper and sugar

Light the grill (the broiler). Toast the bread on one side only. Spread oil liberally on a metal baking sheet. Place bread slices toasted side down on the baking sheet. Brush or drizzle untoasted sides well with oil, and reserve.

Chop the tomatoes into medium dice. (Skin and seed them if you wish, though I feel this offends against the peasant spirit of the dish.) Chop the basil fine, crush the garlic, and mix the tomatoes, basil and garlic with generous quantities of olive oil. Add salt, pepper and a little sugar to taste. Heap the mixture on the slices of bread and place under the grill (the broiler). Grill (broil) until the tomatoes begin to soften –- about one minute. Serve immediately.

In the spirit of scientific enquiry, I experimented with different combinations of ingredients; a red beefsteak tomato and a large yellow variety which the vendor called “Pineapple,” and two kinds of basil: the small-leaf variety sold as a growing plant in most markets, and the large-leafed, more pungent Vietnamese kind. Everyone preferred the yellow tomato with the classic basil. But nobody left any of either kind.

(Photo of John Baxter courtesy of John Baxter.)

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The view from here

I landed in New York two weeks ago, plopping down into a heat wave so fierce not even our new apartment’s central air conditioning could combat it. But it felt so great to be back in the city, I didn’t really mind the extra sweat. I kept wandering the streets in awe, not quite believing that I’m lucky enough to live here again.

After the heat wave broke, I started settling in earnest. I discovered a farmer’s market at Dag Hammarskjold plaza and fell in love with the sweet corn, tomatoes and giant bunches of fresh basil. We made a trip to Ikea in Brooklyn (by water taxi!) and bought more shelves to house the books that seem to breed and multiply in transit. We put together a stroller, paid someone to assemble a crib, and have thought about going to Buy Buy Baby a hundred times (the name alone prevents me from making the trip).

Yes, the baby’s early September arrival is approaching! And I know I should be cooking and freezing meals as fast as my dutch oven can simmer. Unfortunately, all that freezer-friendly food — chili, soup, spaghetti sauce, stew — seems so out of place in the dead heat of summer. Instead — and in full defiance — I’ve purchased an ice cream machine. Yes, instead of preparing meals to defrost when I’m bleary-eyed and greasy-haired I have been making… ice cream. David Lebovitz’s book, The Perfect Scoop, has the best recipes: mint chocolate chip, the fragrant leaves infused into the cream, a drizzle of semi-sweet chocolate shattered throughout. Cherry sorbet from hand-pitted, pureed Washington State bings, a bit of sugar, water and lemon juice. I know, I’m being shortsighted. I’ve heard all about how wrecked I’ll be in a few months and I’m sure this post will incite a few more warnings — the only thing people love more than regaling a pregnant woman with tales of horror is asking her wildly inappropriate questions (that’s another post for another day, though). But I can’t stop wondering: what should the next flavor be?

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Win a copy of Mastering the Art of French Eating!

I’m giving away bound galleys of my new food memoir and a gift basket of French gourmet goodies. Contest ends today, August 1, 2013. Click here for details.

–And – new giveaway – my publisher, Viking Books, is giving away five additional bound galleys of the book via Goodreads! Contest ends August 4, 2013. Enter here.

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Dining out and about (London): Fish and chips

Every summer, I visit my parents in London for a long weekend. This year, I had a yen for a spot of afternoon tea — scones! clotted cream! strawberry jam! — but when I rang Brown’s Hotel (voted Top London Afternoon Tea by the Tea Guild — whoever they are) I discovered they require a booking of at least two weeks in advance. What ranks next in the British pantheon of cuisine? Fish and chips. And so, I found myself at Masters Super Fish.

I believe Masters Super Fish is what’s known as a “chippie” and a slightly grim air hung over the place — linoleum floors, fluorescent lighting, an efficient (but not exactly friendly) bustle from the Asian-British owner. The menu offers a small array of fried food, but I went straight for the lunch special: cod, chips and a good old fashioned cuppa for the bargain basement price of 6.95 pounds. There’s also plaice, or huss (otherwise known as rock salmon) and a side of mushy peas for a supplement.

But before the fish came the complimentary starter, a few rosy boiled shrimp, a bit of bread and butter. The prawns were sweet and firm, the bread mushy and forgettable. But who wants to fill up on bread, anyway?

Not when you have this to look forward to: sparkling fresh, flaky cod (which hails from London’s famous fish market, Billingsgate), encased in a crisp shell that billows steam when you slice through it. Chips hot from the fryer, a little soggy (just the way I like them), dashed with malt vinegar. Mushy peas, properly lurid green and stodgy. Heaping piles of pickled cucumbers and onions to provide a counterpoint of crunch and acid. A cup of milky tea to wash it all down. The food was so fresh (and freshly fried) — without even a hint of rancid oil — that it almost turned the greasy spoon environs charming. And the meal is certainly filling enough to keep you satisfied for the rest of the day. The only thing missing was the newspaper wrapper (though surely that’s available in the takeaway version?).

Masters Super Fish

191 Waterloo Road

London SE1 8UX

tel: 0207 928 6924

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Win a copy of Mastering the Art of French Eating!

–I’m giving away bound galleys of my new food memoir. Click here for details!

–And — new giveaway — my publisher, Viking Books, is giving away five additional bound galleys of the book via Goodreads! Enter here.

The post Dining out and about (London): Fish and chips appeared first on Ann Mah.

Win an advance copy of Mastering the Art of French Eating

Did you know I’m expecting TWINS this fall?

Yes, one (human) baby and one book — my new food memoir, Mastering the Art of French Eating, due on September 26!

Last week, I was honored that the book received a blurb from Diane Johnson, author of Le Divorce (one of the first books that sparked my Francophilia):

“Ann Mah is such an endearing writer about food and places — I’m a big fan of her novel about Chinese food, and here she is writing inspiringly about basic French dishes we thought we knew all about, with recipes. She joins Elizabeth David in being a joy and an instruction to read.” –Diane Johnson, author of Le Divorce

Elizabeth David? Somebody pinch me.

Because I really can’t wait to share this book with you, I’m giving away three advance copies and a few foodie treats from my travels this summer!

Grand prize (1 winner):

–Bound galley of Mastering the Art of French Eating

–Gift basket of French food treats (pictured above), including fleur de sel from the Camargue, pralines and marzipan sweets from Lyon, and wild garrigue honey from Provence.

2nd prize (1 winner):

–Bound galley of Mastering the Art of French Eating

–Signed copy of my novel, Kitchen Chinese

3rd prize (1 winner):

–Bound galley of Mastering the Art of French Eating

How to enter:

1) Subscribe to my newsletter (if you’ve already aubscribed, you’re automatically entered.)

2) Add Mastering the Art of French Eating to your “to read” list on Goodreads (click here)

For extra entries:

–Like my Facebook page, Ann Mah, author

–Follow me on Twitter, @AnnMahNet

The grand prize winner must have a US or Canadian address. Winners will be selected at random. Contest ends August 1, 2013. Bonne chance!

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Tuesday dinner with Lost in Arles

In the dog days of summer (and we’re officially in the dog days, right?) all I want is to escape my stuffy apartment and picnic outside (even if sitting on the ground makes my butt hurt). I’m so happy I’ve discovered this piquant, vegetable-filled Provençal tart from Heather of the beautiful blog, Lost in Arles. It whips together in minutes, involves only a modicum of baking (which you can do in the morning, while the temps are cooler), transports easily to your picnic spot, and is shared beautifully.

Heather is an American travel writer who lives in Arles with her partner, Rémi, and two adorable Golden Retrievers, Ben and Kipling. After visiting her blog — with its gorgeous photographs of Roman ruins, bright market produce, golden French countryside, and two frolicking pups — I always feel like I’ve taken a mini vacation to Provence. And in May, I was lucky enough to actually stop in Arles, meet Heather and glimpse a bit of the beautiful town she calls home. Today, I’m thrilled to welcome her and share a few of her photos and a gorgeous summery recipe!

Provence Time

by Heather Robinson of Lost in Arles

“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful?” Um, nope. Don’t hate me because I have time? Ahh, maybe. It is precious goods for all of us but in Provence it is the unforgettable melody — along with light’s lyrics — that makes this region sing. We stretch it out with upturned faces towards a swash-buckle of blue above even as the winter Mistral winds roar around us, just as we clink and reclink for l’apéro that can last until the light begins to fade at summer’s ten p.m. I may be the only non-wealthy American in the region (or so I like to joke) but the bonus of these days makes me feel rich.

It can be tricky business, this Provence Time. Shops can close for four hours for lunch plus la sieste and a repairman dawdled for five weeks — five weeks! — to repair a broken spring on my dryer door. What a difference from the beat, beat, beat on the tom-tom or the passive-aggressive waltz of New York City and Paris, my former homes. But it is solidly present, right down to the two thousand year old stones of the Roman Arena. I brush the back of my hand against them as I stroll with my two Golden Retrievers each evening. Hello, friend.

As I am not working much right now, just building away at my blog Lost in Arles, time I have and it doesn’t have me. After loving meeting Ann and her friend Katia (I think that quite a few of you that also leave comments here have met Ann as well but for those of you wondering, yes, she is just as fabulous as you could hope and the type of person that leaves you immediately whining, “Why, oh why doesn’t she live closer?”), Ann did me the kindness of asking me to share a Tuesday Dinner. Les heures or lack of them is the first thing that popped into my head but truth be told, my recipe is fueled by more than a dash of laziness. Beh, oui. Perhaps living in Provence has had a greater effect on me than I know?

On a typical weeknight:

My dogs, Ben and Kipling, get me up from my computer by barking at me to feed and walk them by six at the latest. The scenery in this old town is gorgeous and I never take it for granted. When I come back, I will pour myself a glass of wine and finish up whatever writing or photo editing I have left before tackling dinner.

On her favorite kitchen staples:

I am really lucky to have two excellent markets in Arles— and as this is the Rhone Valley, there is always fresh-from-the-grower veggies on offer. With the great violet garlic, real butter and spices collected from our travels…well, you can always make something tasty out of that.

If only Arles had…

France is wonderful but oh what I wouldn’t give for Chinese or burrito delivery! Mais, hélas, no dice in this non-chic corner of Provence. And we cook both lunch and dinner, so I truly do run out of inspiration. That is when we indulge in a casse-croute, the little picnicy bits of this and that—saucisson, cornichons, baguette et fromage! 

Note from Ann: Heather’s recipe is delightfully au pif (off the cuff), so I took a few liberties  and used the contents of my kitchen. I added chopped mint instead of thyme, grilled the courgettes, and roasted the red pepper instead of sauteeing it. The tart came together so quickly, I made a second one, just like that, with the extra ingredients!

Savory Provençal tart 

by Heather Robinson

I sliced a red pepper into strips along with a coarsely chopped onion, put it into a sauté on medium heat in olive oil…let le robot do the work on the zucchini…added that in along with copious amounts of garlic (I can eat them like bon-bons like old Sicilian men, so for me it was five cloves) plus the fresh thyme we gather regularly in the Alpilles. Meanwhile I had been pre-baking a pâte feuilletée, yep, store bought puff pastry dough at 200°C for five minutes (I butter the dish instead of using oil to get the bottom of the pastry dough nice and crunchy). Then I spread a generous amount of caviar des tomates or sun-dried tomato spread (this is the kicker) plus a jar of my favorite spicy Arrabiata tomato sauce on top…added the lightly sautéed veggies plus a few fresh tomatoes for bite, more thyme…all was generously covered with a mixture of shredded emmenthal and parmesan, baked until melted et voila!

Even the foodies at the luncheon were happy. I was too. This tart is fast, crazy easy, very inexpensive to make and authentic enough to please even the Provençaux in Provence. You can easily adapt this for the seasons too. This cheesy version was baked for a chilly rainy day, but for these warmer climes, I also leave out the cheese entirely, replacing it with strips of anchovies and dots of black olives. As you wish, either way, tasty. Plus, as an added bonus, nearly all of the steps can be done with a glass of wine in hand. That plus if you put on a little old-timey jazz in the background, well, it is practically a mini-vacay to the South of France. Promise.

(All non-tart photos courtesy of Heather Robinson.)

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How to replace an American passport in Paris

After my passport was stolen a few weeks ago, I went to the U.S. Embassy in Paris to replace it. (Though my husband is a Foreign Service Officer, his assignment in Paris ended last year, and I visited as an ordinary American citizen.) A lot of people are intimidated by the American Embassy — and it is a bit of a fortress — so I thought I’d share a few tips to smooth your path in case you need to urgently replace your passport in Paris. Learn from my mistakes, friends!

After you discover the loss of your passport:

Report it to the French police. This will probably take hours, but it helps guard against passport fraud and/or identity theft. Also, I found the gendarmes extremely kind, sympathetic (and one of them was pretty cute).

Visit the U.S. Embassy in Paris website, specifically the page U.S. passport services and read the information carefully. I don’t recommend phoning the Embassy switchboard as the website is extremely helpful and offers all the information you need. Bottom line: if your passport was lost or stolen, you can apply for an emergency replacement in person, without an appointment, by showing up at the Consular Section of the US Embassy, Monday-Friday, 8.30 am sharp. (Note: The embassy is open during regular business hours, but closed on French and American holidays.)

What to bring to the embassy:

Bring your forms, completed in advance. Go to the U.S. passport services page. (Really, I cannot emphasize this enough.) It will tell you which documents you need and give links to the forms, which you can print and complete in advance. You can also fill out and print the forms on computers at the embassy, but the system there is not reliable (I had trouble printing, for example) and I got yelled at when I asked for help.

Bring your wallet. You will be charged for your new passport. They take Euros, US dollars, and credit cards, including American Express.

Bring lots of loose change — specifically one- or two-Euro coins. If you are applying for an emergency passport, you can take the photos at the embassy, but the photo booth only accepts change and on the day of my visit the change machine was out of service. Loose change is also handy in case you want to buy a snack or coffee from the vending machine.

Bring something to read to pass the time — a book or magazine. There will be a lot of waiting.

Note: If you are applying for a regular (not an emergency) replacement passport: 

You cannot take your passport photos at the embassy. Instead, take them before your visit — I recommend the day before. Photo Madeleine — a five-minute walk from the embassy (41 rue Boissy d’Anglas, 8e) — shoots photos that meet the required regulations. Also, bring a pre-paid Colissimo envelope. The embassy will ask you for this so they can send your new passport back to you. You can buy the envelopes at the Concorde métro station. The embassy also sells them via vending machine, but they cost €25, the vending machine only takes change, and the change machine was out of service the day of my visit.

Your visit to U.S. Embassy Paris

Make sure to arrive at 8.30 am, or slightly earlier. You’ll wait in line to go through security. You cannot bring your cell phone, i-Pad, laptop, or any electronic equipment into the building, but you can check them at the guard hut. I also had to check my Kindle, which made me very sad as it was my only form of entertainment. Don’t bring a Kindle.

Be prepared to spend several hours at the embassy. I arrived at 8.30 am and didn’t leave until after 12 noon. The lines are long, especially on a Monday, when everyone who has lost their passport over the weekend applies for a new one. The good news is, I found my fellow passport theft victims to be extremely friendly and chatty and their stories of being robbed on trains and in markets were fascinating cautionary tales. I also thought the Embassy personnel was also very professional and polite (except for the woman who got testy with me about the printer).

Don’t expect to receive your passport immediately. If your flight is scheduled for the same day, change it to the next. I saw a woman in tears because she hadn’t changed her flight –even though she’d read the website, (which clearly states “we cannot guarantee that we can issue a passport in time for same-day travel”) she didn’t believe it. Believe it.

There is a clean bathroom.

If you have a question, ask a security guard. There are a few of them wandering around the waiting area. I found them all very friendly and helpful.

With any luck, your emergency passport will be ready the same (or next) day and you’ll be able to go home, a smarter traveler with a good story under your belt.

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Dining out and About (Paris): Frenchie bar à vins

I think I’ve said before that I don’t like writing negative reviews. My theory is, there are so many great restaurants, why focus on the bad experiences? But sometimes there are meals so unpleasant they stick in my craw, refusing to leave until documented. My dinner last Monday at Frenchie Bar à Vins was one of those meals.

My husband and I arrived at 6.50pm and joined the long queue waiting for the restaurant’s doors to open. The crowd was completely Anglophone and very friendly — as we Anglophones tend to be — with strangers striking up conversations about their recent Paris travel experiences. At 7pm, the doors opened and everyone was seated at long communal tables of six or eight.

We waited about 25 minutes for our order to be taken, but I didn’t really mind. The staff was small — two serveurs? — the dining room crowded and, in the rhythm of a Paris restaurant, it’s not unusual to wait for attention. Eventually, we placed our order for truffle mortadella (€14), white asparagus with a poached egg (€14), tortelli with peas (€12), cod (€17), and a glass of Alsacian pinot noir (€9) for my husband.

The mortadella came out first and was almost as good as I remembered, heady with the scent of truffles (though lacking the decadent truffle shavings of my last visit) and scattered with tiny pickled girolle mushrooms. The tortelli emerged next, a small saucer of mint-scented, goat cheese-stuffed pasta. As we waited for our next dishes, I began to pick up on the kitchen’s system — it seemed to be producing only one type of dish at a time. For example, all the plates of squid “coleslaw” were prepared at once and delivered in a flood. Same with the pigeon. Same with the lamb. Same with our asparagus, which arrived nicely grilled, topped with melted cheddar cheese, a quivering egg nestled beside it. It was pleasant and tasty — though I found the cheddar a bit of an odd overkill — a dish I could have made myself at home.

As we waited for the cod, I watched Frenchie’s chef/owner, Gregory Marchand, mingle among the diners, pausing for photos.

Eventually plates of cod began to emerge from the kitchen. Cod here, cod there, cod everywhere. Except for us. We waited — I’m used to waiting in Paris restaurants — in fact, we waited so long our waitress finally approached us to ask if we wanted to order anything else. “We’re still waiting for the cod,” I told her. She blanched a bit and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, the other waiter told us the cod would take at least ten minutes to cook: “Do you still want it?” he asked. In retrospect, I realize this was a sign. But I was still hungry — we had shared everything, so my dinner had thus far consisted of: a few slices of mortadella, two ravioli, two stalks of asparagus, and half an egg — and we agreed to wait. The waiter offered us a glass of wine as “un geste.” My husband accepted; I could not.

I’m not going to keep you in suspense. It took an hour for that plate of cod to come out. One hour from my last bite of asparagus to my first bite of cod. It took so long that we actually paid the bill while waiting.

And here’s the kicker — the cod, when it finally arrived, was raw.

At this point, I’d had enough of Frenchie Bar à Vins. I told the waitress about the raw fish — she asked if we wanted the kitchen to remake it, to which I could only emit a hollow laugh — and as we left, I told the waiter, too. He wanted to offer us another “geste,” but I just couldn’t sit in that stuffy dining room and allow the high stools to cut off the circulation to my legs any longer.

Later, my husband pointed out that we were the only French-speaking customers in the entire restaurant. And that’s really why I’m writing this post. Because it kills me to think that tourists come to Paris with high expectations, queue up at Frenchie wine bar, and spend a fair bit of money on pleasant but nondescript, sloppily served food. Perhaps it was just an off night. Other friends certainly love the place. But as we walked home, I saw evidence of Frenchie’s colonization of the rue du Nil — wine bar, restaurant, take away shop — and I began to suspect that Frenchie is a victim of its own success, expanding too quickly while neglecting the details. Unfortunately, the devil is in the details.

But let’s end on a positive note, d’accord? Here are a few other wine bars that I’ve enjoyed:

Au Passage

1bis Passage Saint-Sébastien, 11e

Vivant Cave

43 rue des Petites Ecuries, 10e

Verjus Bar à Vins (wish they’d give you real forks, though)

47 rue de Montpensier, 1e

Le Verre Volé

67 rue de Lancry, 10e

(Photo from eat live travel write.)

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Brownies of gratitude

A few days ago, I tried to wash some dishes and noticed there was no water. I had seen no announcement of a water cut in my apartment building’s lobby, received no letter from the Syndic. Without warning, the taps had, quite simply, gone dry. This being France, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding, but I convinced myself I was being ridiculous.

An hour or two after the water disappeared, the building’s gardienne knocked on my door. “Do you have water?” she asked. “Pas du tout,” I responded. “Do you know why there’s no water?” she asked. My heart gave a little flutter. After all, if anyone knew why the water had been cut, wouldn’t it be her? The sense of foreboding loomed.

The minutes ticked by. It was a hot Friday afternoon and everyone seemed to be crawling towards the weekend. A plumber arrived in the courtyard and I spied on him through my living room window as he poked around the pipes below ground. I hoped fervently that the water would reappear. It did not.

At five o’clock, we had news. Thanks to a problem with the city’s pipes, a lack of pressure had caused the water cut in the building. Alas, no one could reach Eau de Paris — they had already closed for the weekend (remember, this is France) and their emergency hotline number was out of service (again — this is France).

Yes, my friends, I was looking at an entire weekend without water.

Saturday morning dawned parched and aggravated. After spending a good twenty minutes ferrying bottles of water from a tap in the courtyard to the reservoir of my toilet, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I called the Mairie, the pompiers, the police. I pleaded. I told them I was pregnant. None of them could help. ”You need to speak with Eau de Paris,” they all said.

Finally, I did what any hopeless, frustrated, 21st-century netizen would do: I posted about the situation on Facebook. Within an hour, my luck had changed. Excuse My French came to the rescue.

As you might remember, Olivier Cappaert of Excuse My French helps expats in France solve their administrative woes. (I think of him as the “fonctionnaire whisperer.”) He made a few phone calls, spoke to a few of his key contacts and, an hour after my despairing Facebook post, Eau de Paris workmen descended through a manhole cover across the street to repair a leak. Soon, our taps began flowing again with sweet, clean water. I have never been so appreciative of this basic necessity of human life.

To thank Olivier for his time and kindness, I decided to bake him some brownies. But not just any brownies — I made him a pan of the “absolute best” brownies from David Lebovitz’s brilliant cookbook, Ready for Dessert.

The recipe doesn’t have any secret ingredients, but it does have one secret step — you have to beat the batter for at least a minute until it turns smooth and glossy. (I outsourced this task.) With a generous scoop of nuts (I’m American so I used pecans) and a king’s ransom of melted dark chocolate, these brownies are decadently moist and rich, almost fudgy — succulent, as they say in French. Packed in a sturdy plastic box, they travel well — even via La Poste — making them a perfect gift of gratitude.

You can find the brownie recipe here. I recommend keeping it on hand for those moments when you need to express your appreciation.

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Fresh strawberries

I’m frantically careening towards a deadline, but I just discovered the most amazing household tip and I wanted to share it right away…

This spring, I’ve been addicted to strawberries. But I’ve struggled to keep my berries fresh — which is frustrating when they’re €5.50/barquette. Well, a few weeks ago, my friend Kristin taught me a secret: Rinse them in a mixture of white vinegar and water.

I add a healthy splash of vinegar to a bowl of water, submerge my berries, drain, and store them in the fridge, in a little dish lined with a paper towel. Fear not, you CANNOT taste the vinegar — I swear — and the berries stay fresh for at least a week. Yesterday, I used a vinegar solution to wash some strawberries that were heading south and I swear they actually grew fresher overnight.

Why does it work? According to The Kitchn, the vinegar kills the bacteria and mold spores lingering on the fruit.

If you try it, I hope you’ll let me know if it works for you!

PS Speaking of strawberries, did you know there’s a French phrase “envie de fraises,” which is a little jokey way to refer to someone who’s pregnant?

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Tuesday dinner with Hilary Reyl

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Soufflés have a risqué reputation, but if you’re a dab hand at separating eggs and whipping up whites, you can have one on the table in half an hour or less. Today’s recipe for cheese soufflé comes from Hilary Reyl, a fellow Francophile and the author of a debut novel, Lessons in French. If you love Paris and coming-of-age stories, you’ll love her bittersweet tale about a young American woman who moves to the City of Light in 1989 and struggles to find her way amid a cast of unreliable characters.

 

Hilary lives in New York City with her family of cheese-lovers — her Franco-Swiss husband Charles and three budding-chef daughters. Today, I’m so thrilled to share her tale of fromage fandom, as well as her (delicious) recipe for cheese soufflé!

Soufflé Tuesdays

by Hilary Reyl

I am the matriarch of a family of cheese hounds. My husband Charles, who grew up in Switzerland, is perpetually amazed — and I mean daily — by his affection for Gruyère. When we got him a raclette machine for his birthday, I thought he might cry. Ella, one of my ten-year-old twin daughters can eat an entire Camembert, wake up the next morning and do it all over. My two year-old Iris can say fromage clear as a bell, and she does so at every practically meal. The Reyl family exists in a bizarrely happy Groundhog Day somewhere deep in cheeseland.

Our favorite way to entertain is to make fondue, with our “signature” blend of Vacherin, Comté, and Gruyère. We stretch the season from November through April and invite groups of eight to ten. Our friends have come to love the ritual, the cornichons, the dried meats, the pièce de resistance bubbling in its communal pot, the white wine and pineapple that Charles maintains will “cut through” the cheese ensuring happy digestion and wonderful dreams. I insist on serving a non-traditional salad of endives, apples and walnuts to give a veneer of lightness to the affair. As I say, our friends love fondue chez nous, but they eat it once or twice a year. For us, in high season, it can be once a week. And no one complains.

On a Tuesday night though, with Ella starving from gymnastics and Margaux from swimming, we need something fast and pleasing, cheesy of course, but perhaps not quite so intense. Julia Child’s cheese soufflé accompanied by a basic green salad is ideal, not only because of its star ingredient, but because it is full of protein, simple and festive for me to make with my daughters, who are avid egg separators. Eggs are one of the staples I try to get at the farmer’s market because freshness makes such a difference in flavor. There are rarely less than a dozen in our refrigerator. We always have some Alpine-style cheese on hand — the recipe calls for “Swiss,” so we use Gruyère or Emmental — and we always have the requisite Parmesan in our dedicated cheese drawer too. Lettuce, avocado and cucumber are generally about, and I enjoy slipping pea shoots into the salad bowl when no one is watching. Then, for a quick dessert, dark chocolate and fruit.

I learned to cook from Julia Child upon my return from a year in the French countryside, at age twelve, and feel very strongly that she changed my life by showing me that I was quite capable of making the food that had seemed so magical to me in France. So, it is with great tenderness that my twins and I turn the splattered pages of my grandmother’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking with its duck-taped spine. For the publication of my novel, I was given a pristine first edition of Julia Child, which I read and cherish but don’t dare consult in action.

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Hilary Reyl’s Soufflé au fromage

Note from Ann: I’m going to be honest — I had a devil of a time making Hilary’s soufflé, but that had nothing to do with the recipe and everything to do with operator inefficiency. First, I couldn’t figure out how to whip egg whites with my Bamix immersion blender — I tried for 45 minutes, the egg whites growing more and more soupy as my temper grew more and more inflamed. Then, once I figured out the trick — use a tall, slender vessel like a cocktail shaker — I realized my soufflé dish was too big for the recipe’s quantity. As you can probably tell from the photos, my soufflé failed to puff over the rim of its baking dish. Never mind, it was still delicious — airy and cheesy — and I’m sticking to Julia Child’s motto: “Never apologize.” By the way, Hilary makes two soufflés for a family of five.

1 tsp butter

1 tb grated Swiss or Parmesan cheese

3 Tb butter

3 Tb flour

1 cup boiling milk

½ tsp salt

⅛ tsp pepper

Pinch of nutmeg

4 egg yolks

5 egg whites

3/4 cup of grated Swiss cheese, or Swiss and Parmesan

Preheat the oven to 400ºF (200ºC).

Butter the inside of a six-cup soufflé mold and sprinkle with the 1 tablespoon of cheese. Melt the butter in a saucepan and stir in the flour, cooking until they foam together but don’t brown (about two minutes). Remove from heat and pour in the boiling milk, whisking vigorously until blended. Beat in the seasonings. Return to heat and boil, whisking, for a minute. Sauce should be very thick.

Separate the eggs, dropping yolks into the center of the hot sauce and putting the whites in their own bowl. Beat the yolks into the sauce (may be made ahead to this point). Add an extra egg white to the ones in the bowl and beat with the salt until stiff. Stir a quarter of the whites into the sauce. Stir in all but a tablespoon of the cheese. Fold in the rest of the whites. Pour the mixture into the soufflé mold, sprinkle the remaining cheese on top. Set in the middle rack of the oven and immediately turn the heat down to 375ºF/180ºC. DO NOT OPEN THE OVEN for at least 20 minutes. Bake about 35 minutes, until puffed about two inches over the rim of the mold and nicely browned. Serve immediately.

More about Hilary Reyl and Lessons in French:

Order a copy of Lessons in French (Amazon)

Tweet with Hilary

Hilary’s website

(All non-soufflé photos courtesy of Hilary Reyl.)

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