April 2006 Archives

Spring is always an exciting time at the outdoor markets no matter where you live, but here in Paris, there seems to be a collective sigh of relief that we've emerged victorious from a dreary winter. Monday is May 1st, a national holiday here in France. So todays market was a mob scene since most things will be closed tomorrow and we're all stocking up for the holiday weekend. But in spite of the crowds, and having my feet run over too many times by too many dames with their wheeled chariots (the SUV's of Paris), I managed to make it home with most of my toes intact...and made a batch of Strawberry Frozen Yogurt.

I saw these tomatoes and came to a grinding halt, as did the woman next to me (so we had a petit accident), but we were both transfixed on these tomatoes. And I'm sure you can see why. We poked and sniffed, discussing the merits of them and she walked away with a nice sack of them. I was lugging a few kilos of rhubarb and couldn't manage the crowds carrying a sack of fragile tomatoes since I seem to have rather bad luck carrying anything fragile amongst Paris.

These are called Nèfles in French. In English, they're Loquats. When I worked at Chez Panisse, neighbors would bring us cases of them thinking they were doing us a big favor, but we never could figure out what to do with them except pass them out amongst our coworkers in the kitchen to snack on. But I was never a big fan. They have little flesh and a big pit, and they don't have the unctuousness of fresh apricots nor much sweetness. Still, I think they're beautiful and if someone has any ideas for how to use them, let me know.

Some schoolchildren were selling sea sponges to raise money for something. Did you know that in France, kids go to school 6 days a week? They having Wednesday afternoon off, but have to attend classes on Saturdays. That like totally sucks for kids. I should have bought a sponge.

It's vital to make sure you have wine, since May 1st is a national holiday and everything is closed for the long weekend. Of course, there will be the prerequisite manifestation, or demonstration, for workers rights. Since I live in the Bastille, I'm at ground-zero for all strikes and demonstrations. One would think they would be more effective shouting (and drinking beer) in the streets of the more bourgeois neighborhoods, but I once tried to translate "Preaching To The Converted", but it just got blank stares back.
I guess that hasn't crossed anyone's mind but I think it would be nice if maybe they'd 'spread the wealth' and head over to the 7th or 16th arrondisements once in a while.

And what I also don't understand is if people are taking to the streets in fraternité with their co-workers, why do they plaster paper stickers promoting their causes on store windows, mail boxes, métro and bus stations, and any other surface they can, when they know that their compatriots are going to spend the next few days laboring at scraping them off?
(Not to mention picking up all the empty beer cans.)

At the markets right now there are piles and mounds of strawberries. The sweet, fruity scent pervades the air as you get closer to the stands. I always come home with a kilo (2 pounds), which costs about 3 euros (about $3.50) and I eat as many as I can during their season. Some people swoon for the pale gariguette berries, which are slender and pointed, although I've tried them several times and don't find them much better than the everyday Chandler variety that's normally available.

While at the market this week, being such a good customer, I got a deal on a large flat of strawberries so after much jam-making, I decided to take my ice cream maker out for a spin and whip up a batch of Strawberry Frozen Yogurt.

Unlike the crap at the mall, real frozen yogurt is made from plain, whole-milk yogurt, fresh fruits, and some sweetener. Although some people like to drain their yogurt first for a richer end-result, I prefer the lighter style of frozen yogurt. You can use Greek-style yogurt, which is three times richer than whole milk yogurt. Slicing the berries and tossing them in sugar makes the strawberries bright red in color and can make ho-hum berries quite delicious.

Strawberry Frozen Yogurt
About 1 quart (1 liter)

French yogurt is astoundingly good and I suggest you use a good-quality, locally-produced yogurt for similar results.

1 pound (450 g) strawberries, rinsed and hulled
2/3 cup (130 g) sugar
optional: 2 teaspoons vodka or kirsch
1 cup (240 g) plain, whole milk yogurt
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

Slice the strawberries into small pieces. Toss in a bowl with the sugar and vodka or kirsch (if using) until the sugar begins to dissolve. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand at room temperature for 2 hours, stirring every so often.

Transfer the strawberries and their juice to a blender or food processor. Add the yogurt and fresh lemon juice. Pulse the machine until the mixture is almost smooth. If you wish, press mixture through a mesh strainer to remove any seeds.

Chill for 1 hour, then freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions.

Note: My newest toy around here is my Cuisinart ICE 50 Ice Cream Maker. It has built-in refrigeration so you just switch it on and pour in your mixture, so you can have freshly-made ice cream or sorbet just about anytime you want. It's priced far less than other comparable units and I've been using mine frequently for the past few months and truly love it. It's a bit of an investment, but mine's been terrific.
A more economical model, which produces great ice cream as well, is the Cuisinart Ice Cream and Sorbet Maker, which requires pre-freezing.

While at the market yesterday looking for things to snitch, I bought a sack of my favorite olives, les Lucques.

Lucques olives are originally from Italy, but are now most closely associated with France and they're unlike any other olive you're likely to sample, free or otherwise. Grown in the Hérault region in the south of France, the Languedoc, they're harvested in the fall and can be difficult to find depending on the time of the year. These olives are meaty and sweet, not soft, salty, or mushy like some olives can be. The green flesh is firm and bright, and the olives themselves must be kept submerged in their light brine since they discolor very easily.

While they are available in jars, I am lucky to have a prime source for these green beauties just steps away from where I live. And they are certainly one of the best things you can possibly eat. The first time you try one, you're likely to be very surprised to find they're unlike any other olives you're used to eating.

These fine olives are meant to be eaten just as they are, perhaps accompanied by thin slices of jambon and a bowl of crisp radishes with a glass of rosés as an aperitif. I buy small sacks of Lucques olives at the market weekly, since if I keep too many around, I tend to eat them all at once; they're that good.

Jars of Lucques olives can be ordered in the US here and here's an excellent guide to olives.

Do you wander the aisles at Whole Foods, soaking up all the good vibes from the organic, sustainable, and good-for-you products?

Ever been tempted to snitch a sample?

Well, you'd better not...

When they say,"Non", they mean, "Convince me."

When they say,"We do not take returns", they mean,"Convince me."

When they say,"It's not broken", they mean,"Convince me."

When they say, "You need a prescription for that", they mean,"Convince me."

When they say,"The restaurant is completely full", they mean,"Please come up with a better story."

When they say,"The restaurant is completely full", they mean,"We already have enough Americans in here."

When they say,"Do you mind if I smoke?", they mean,
"Don't answer 'yes', or we're going to pout and scowl while you try to enjoy your dinner."

When they say,"It does not exist", they mean, "It does exists...just not for you."

When they walk right into you on the street and say nothing, they mean,"I'm Parisian."

When they say,"I don't have change", they mean,"I want a tip."

When they say,"Do you want directions?" they mean, "I look forward to telling you what to do for the next five minutes."

When they say, "I'd like the practice my English", they mean,"For the next 20 minutes, you'll feel like a complete idiot while I speak perfect English and demonstrate a far better understanding of world affairs than you do."

When they say,"They're up on the seventh floor", they mean,
"They're right around the corner from where you're standing."

When they say,"We don't have any more", they mean,"We have lots more, but they're in the back."

When they say,"It's not my fault", they mean,"It is my fault...but I'm not taking the blame."

When they say, "That is not possible", they mean,"Loser."

When they say, "I am a Socialist", they mean,"I'm not responsible for picking up my dog's poop."

When they say, "You package hasn't arrived", they mean, "I'm just about to go on break. Come back and wait in line for 30 minutes again tomorrow."

When they say, "The fat's the best part!" , they mean, "I'm under 40."

When they say, "The cheeses in France are the best in the world", they mean, "We are indeed a superior culture."

When they say, "America is culturally-deprived", they mean,"Please don't show us Sharon Stone's vagina again."

Every year the International Association of Culinary Professionals hands out awards for what they deem are the Best Cookbooks of the Year. Last month in Seattle, I attended the ceremony with a few friends and instead of getting drunk on the free wine and champagne and heckling the winners as usual, I was thrilled when the names were called and not one...not two...but three of my 'chocolate' friends won awards!

Chocolate: A Bittersweet Saga of Dark and Light
By Mort Rosenblum
Award: Literary Food Writing

When I moved to Paris, chocolatier John Scharffenberger told me that I must meet Mort Rosenblum. He told me stories about what a colorful character he was, living on a boat in the Seine, and being a war correspondent for the Associated Press. Not being very adept at making friends via the 'cold-calling method', I worked up the verve and took his advice, and Mort turned out to be one of the most, um, interesting people I've ever met! Having spent a lifetime as a journalist, he tackled chocolate in his latest book, researching everything from the working conditions on the Ivory Coast of Africa to the Mexican chocolate culture of Oaxoca, and finally exploring the exclusive realm of chocolate in Paris, including the laboratoire of the elusive Jacques Genin.

Mort also writes of an interesting 'incident' about my experience with a certain, er, French chocolate company that wasn't very, um, nice to me. Even though my mother always said, "If you don't have something nice to say, blah...blah..." (she obviously didn't have a blog), he coaxed some of the gory details out of me. The rest was a story in my chocolate book, which was later deleted, so you'll have to wait for my posthumous biography for the real dirt.
Since I can't keep a secret for very long, you can read about some of my encounters with them in his book, Chocolate: A Bittersweet Saga of Dark and Light.

I'll be leading a sold-out week-long Chocolate Exploration of Paris in May with Mort that promises to be great fun and we'll be visiting Jacques Genin* himself for a hands-on presentation and tasting. Will report on that in May.

Chocolate Obsession
By Michael Recchiuti and Fran Gage
Award: Best Photography and Food Styling

After knowing him for almost 10 years, I think I've got his name right. In spite of my mangling his name too many times to count (we're still friends)...and there's certainly nothing convoluted about Michael's sensation chocolate creations. I admire him so much that he's one of America's great chocolatiers, and I profiled him in The Great Book of Chocolate. After working for years in restaurant kitchens, he launched his company in San Francisco in 1997, selling his chocolates via local shops. An advocate of using locally-grown ingredients, soon Michael was a fixture at the San Francisco Ferry Plaza Farmer's Market, and gave out tastes of his chocolates to eager early-morning shoppers. Once the farmer's market opened their spanking-new, gleaming indoor facility, Michael opened his first boutique and his fame spread far-and-wide. With creations like Key Lime Pears, thinly-coated in bittersweet chocolate, and his do-it-yourself kits for making terrifically-gooey S'Mores (hey!...I'll bring the marshmallows...), Chocolate Obsession reveals many of his secrets and tips for successfully producing chocolate desserts and confections in your own home.
And if you ever get a chance to visit his shop, his chocolate fudge brownies are a-m-a-z-i-n-g...

(Maren Caruso, who won the Photography Award for her stunning photography, and co-award winner Kim Konecny, food stylist, will be shooting my next cookbook, due for release in the May of 2007.)

Chocolate Chocolate
By Lisa Yokelson

This oversized book is almost overwhelming with the variety of chocolate recipes. Lisa likes things over-the-top, everything from Chocolate Pancakes to deep-chocolate bar cookies studded with chips and nuts. Everything here is loaded with so much chocolate that you'll go crazy.
You may go insane.

You may end up like TomKat.

But I hope not.

*Many of you have asked where you can get Jacques Genin chocolates. A limited selection is available at Pain de Sucre, 14 rue Rambuteau (Tel: 01 45 74 68 92). As far as I know, they're unavailable in the United States. You can also try to visit his laboratoire at 18 rue St.-Charles. It's not a shop and normally not open to the public, but he's quite nice and often he'll sell his chocolates to visitors if the weather is right, the planets are in correct alignment, and he's in the mood.

Someone, anyone...help!...bring Rice Krispies!

I think I brought too many marshmallows back from America...

Everytime I go back to the United States, I'm certain to spend a good part of one day wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles at Target.

(And can everyone please stop correcting folks when they say "Target", with "Tar-jay", which was somewhat funny...about 10 years ago. But we've all heard it a zillion times before, and people expect us to laugh in response, but it's hard to muster a plausable chuckle anymore, so let's give it a well-deserved rest and go back to calling it Target, please.)
Thanks...

In France, prices for everyday items like towels and bath mats are outta sight and it's worth lugging back an extra suitcase full of sundries, une valise géante, stuffed with corn tortillas, horizontally-lined notebooks, sunscreen, 12-packs of socks, bottles of Target PM, and a Michael Graves' designer toilet brush.
Or two. Just in case. I mean, you never know.

One of the newer items at Target is a line of 'upscale' chocolates, whatever that means.

I guess it's chocolate that's either supposed to be of higher-quality, or has a certain je ne sais quoi. I had completely forgotten about it when I made it to the cash register, my shopping cart overflowing with DVD's, socks, a pistachio-green yoga mat, mini-marshmallows (I need to count out how many are in a bag for a project, believe it or not), a 2007 monthly calendar (they only have weekly and daily calendars here...and who knows when I'll be back), when I spotted some colorful boxes of Choxie, which Target states their new line of chocolate bars will "...satisfy the most sophisticated chocolate palates."

Aside from the people wolfing down corn dogs and gulping down giant Cokes in the snack bar (and damn them to hell...they were out of my favorite: popcorn!), it wouldn't be stretching the truth too much, nor would I be giving myself a ill-gotten pat on my back, to say I was perhaps the most sophisticated palate in the joint at that particular time of day (aside from my craving for Target popcorn, that is...) I felt like they were talking just to me, and me alone. So I knew I had to use my 'upscale palate' for a higher purpose and give those choxie chocolate bars a try.

The first was the hot chocolate bar: deep, dark truffled chocolate with chipotle chili heat.

First off, I have no idea what the heck "truffled" means...so I guess I can't be all that sophisticated after all now, can I?
*Sigh*, how the mighty fall...

I assumed it suggests some rich heavy cream has been whipped in, but the only dairy item listed was butter "oil". Sounds kinda greasy.

It was also cautioned on the packaging that my chocolate bars be kept "away from amateurs" as they were indeed intended for only the "most sophisticated of chocolate palates." Not wanting to sound like a snob, but I think that might preclude an inordinate number of people who were Target shoppers that afternoon, including the girl who held up the Carmen Electra's Fit To Strip erotic video workout DVD and attempted her own rendition for her boyfriend, who encouraged her, in the video aisle while I, along with several other sophisticated Target shoppers, watched in amusement. (Ok, maybe they were amused. I wasn't. I don't know what's worse; considering buying a Carmen Electra workout video, or performing your own version of her moves in the Electronics Department.)

Getting off my high horse, safely back in the car, I snapped off a bite and took a taste. It was fine. Nice, not too intimidating or offensive. The heat of the chipotle chiles was spot-on; not feeling the heat at first, but the lingering warmth of smoky chili followed shortly afterwards.

Next up was the peanut butter pretzel bar: creamy peanut butter, pretzel twists and roasted peanuts, inside pure milk chocolate. (Apologies about all those lower-case letters, but that's how they're printed on the package.)

What should bother you more than writing in all lower-case letters is the words "pure milk chocolate". What does that mean? "Pure" as opposed to "impure"? If you think about it, milk chocolate itself is actually "impure" chocolate, having been ameliorated, desecrated if you will, with milk. So why not call it as it is? I mean, does anyone buy a Carmen Electra DVD because she's 'pure'? Would we buy Fit To Strip if it came with some assurance of purity?

I think not.

Ok, maybe some of us would. Just keep it to yourself.

Anyhow, the pretzel bar was pretty good. The 'pure' milk chocolate was truthfully enrobing a nice, gooey filling of peanut butter, encasing the whole pretzel twists tucked inside. It was good, although you could buy a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, slice the whole she-bang in half lengthwise, slip a pretzel in, and call it a day for about one-third of the price. Then you could buy another pair of socks, perhaps. Or another designer bathroom brush.

Finally there's mint cookie crunch: dark truffled chocolate (damn them, how dare they use the word "truffled" again...there's so little respect for the truth nowadays) with a cool mint candy and chocolate cookie crunch.

I'm enamored with all things mint and dark chocolate, such as thin mints and Girl Scout cookies. And the last time I was in San Francsico I saw a tribe, or whatever they're called, of Girl Scouts being rousted by the police for trying to sell their cookies in an 'unauthorized' location. What is wrong with a world that punishes cheerful, enterprising young ladies presenting their delicious baked goods in a public venue, yet allows Carmen Electra to make exercise videos and appear on their packaging, in various states of undress, without any regard for public decency, while evoking impressionable young girls, and perhaps a few boys, to follow in her tawdry footsteps?

This minty bar rated not so well on my sophisticated chocolate-palate meter; it wasn't minty enough for me. I found the quality of the chocolate a little lacking as well. I mean, it's hard to be so sophisticated, but the chocolate was lame. (Imagine if Carmen feels a bit lacking, having to hawk all those silly videos wearing those ridiculously skimpy outfits. How does that girl do it?)

The Verdict?

If you're looking for bargain chocolates, you could do worse.
However you could also do better.
Each Choxie bar weighed in at 2.5 ounces and sold for $1.50 to $1.80. But if you lived near a Trader Joe's store, you could pick up a 3 ounce bar of Chocovic's Ocumare chocolate (one of the best chocolates I've tasted) for $1.79. And presumably they don't sell Carmen Electra workout videos there either, so think of what else you'd be saving?

But finally the real test. The "If-I-Keep-It-On-The-Counter, Will-I-Pick-At-It-Incessantly-Until-It's -Gone?" test. Sure enough the chipolte and the mint chocolate bars sit sadly neglected, but the peanut butter-filled tablet is gone.

Now if only I could say the same for Ms. Electra.

I make this every year for Passover. It's not that I'm all that religious (for some reason I seem to celebrate only the holidays where there's lots of eating, drinking...and presents, of course.) But I always pick up a box or two of matzoh, which is stacked high in supermarkets this month, plus I love the sweet-crunch of this toffee-like confection.
The only problem is that I haven't figured out how to adapt it for Easter.
Perhaps you can cut it into ovals with a cookie cutter and try to pull one over on your family.

The recipe is loosely-adapted from baker and cookbook author Marcy Goldman. Marcy's run a web site devoted to the art of baking since 1997, called Betterbaking.com. In addition, she's authored a cookbook of the same name with recipes and ideas and funny stories she's gathered along her life as a mother, professional baker, and consultant.

You don't have to be Jewish to like or make this (just like you don't need to be Christian to like Christmas presents) but it's delicious and super-easy to make...you can keep the candy thermometer in the drawer as well!

Feel free to substitute milk chocolate or white chocolate, and instead of the crushed almonds, to play around with toasted shredded coconut or other kinds of nuts. As I type, I'm thinking wouldn't pistacios and white chocolate be nice together on top?
Maybe next year...

I spent this morning at my market handing little sacks of this to my favorite vendors (and a few I'm trying to win over.) So if you're out at a market in Paris this morning and see the lots of butchers, fishmongers, fromagers, and olive merchants snacking on something, you'll know what it is.

Caramelized Matzoh Crunch with Chocolate

4 to 6 sheets of matzoh
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted or salted butter, cut into chunks
1 cup (firmly-packed) light brown sugar
optional: fleur de sel, or coarse sea salt
1 cup semisweet or bittersweet chocolate chips, or coarsely chopped bittersweet chocolate
1 cup sliced almonds, toasted and coarsely chopped

Line a 11" x 17" baking sheet completely with foil (making sure it goes up the sides) and preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Line the bottom of the sheet completely with matzoh, breaking extra pieces as necessary to fill in any spaces.

In a medium-sized heavy duty saucepan, combine the butter and brown sugar and cook over medium heat until the butter begins to boil. Boil for 3 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Remove from heat and pour over matzoh, spreading with a heatproof utensil.

Put the baking sheet in the oven and bake for 15-20 minutes, until the syrup darkens and gets thick. (While it's baking, make sure it's not burning. If so, reduce the heat to 325 degrees.)

Remove from oven and immediately cover with chocolate chips or chunks. Let stand 5 minutes, then spread smooth with an offset spatula.

Sprinkle with a flurry of fleur de sel or coarse salt, then scatter the toasted almonds over the top and press them into the chocolate.

Let cool completely (you may need to chill it in the refrigerator), then break into pieces and store in an airtight container until ready to hand out to anyone you feel worthy.
Or trying to win over.

...mazel tov!

This April marks a very special three-year anniversary.
Do I celebrate with a coupe of Champagne?
Do I whip out the KitchenAid and make a celebration cake?
Do I pull out what's left of my hair and be bitter?

No, no...and maybe.

In April of 2003, I shipped two cases of books to my address in Paris, and somewhere between here and there, someone is enjoying a very carefully edited collection of cookbooks that a certain American living in Paris would really like to be using. So here I am, 3 years later, sans my favorite cookbooks, unable to find solace that someone else is leafing through my personally-autographed copy of Mastering The Art of French Cooking by Julia Child herself, (or using it for kindling), or Alice Medrich's Chocolate And the Art of Low-Fat Desserts (if you're snickering, stop it. It's an amazing book.)

Living abroad certainly has many challenges, but one of the most vexing of mine is getting anything delivered. When I moved to Paris, a French friend advised me that you need to be standing there with your door open and your named emblazoned across your chest when they show up to make a delivery.

Before...

And after...

When Andrew announced Euro Blogging By Post, it sounded like a fun idea. Those of us living in Europe would swap packages of our favorite local foods via the post. A great idea, so I carefully spent a few days shopping, and off went my package to Kristina at Clivia's Cuisine in Sweden.

A few weeks later a package arrived at my doorstep, feeling suspiciously light, from Gerda at Dinner For One. I ripped open the package to find lots of ripped packaging and a few meager crumbs, along with a few mouse 'souvenirs'.

Apparently the little euro-critters couldn't resist participating in Euro Blogging By Post #4 either, but at least they left me the bottle of Grüner Veltliner wine that I'm saving. But I salvaged a few of the Mozartkugln, each wrapper emblazoned with a picture of everyone's favorite Austrian (and no, it's not the Governor of California...), but the Linzertart, the orange-scented chocolate, and the sausages (Meat?) were gone for good.

Attached was a note from Gerda, "MOZART Of course!!" but thankfully she included a book for making Austrian desserts that apparently held little interest for the mice and soon I'll tackle some of the recipes, like Burgenländer Marillenknödel and Powidltascherln, or maybe Weicher Marillen-Topfentommerl.

(Raabtaler Weinbackerl and Salzburger Nockerln mit Ribisel-Rotweinsosse sound good too, don't they?)

Or...I could wait until the next round of Euro Blogging By Post, and take my chances....

When I was young and had no deadlines or mortgages (or a blog), I was footloose-and-fancy-free right after I finished college. So just about the day after graduation, I hitched on a backpack and headed to Europe. In was the 80's and it was the thing to do. As I traversed the continent, I met scores of other kids my age doing the same thing and we world-wise travelers (or so we thought of ourselves) were a friendly bunch and would easily meet up and just go off and travel together. My fondest memory was when a small merry group of us banded together and decided to hitchhike through the former Yugoslavia with the intention of ending up in Turkey where we'd explore the entire country in one exhilarating month.

One fellow that came along was a very, very blond fellow named Kaj, who was from Finland. His hair was stark-white and wherever we went, people would drop everything, stop and gape, having never seen locks so blindingly void of color. Occasionally, their curiosity would get the best of them and the locals would reach over and caress his hair. In addition to his popular noggin, Kaj was a vegetarian, which made dining out a challenge. Luckily the Turks are very friendly and they were happy to take us into their restaurant kitchens to look over what was available so we could decide without deciphering the menus. Speaking no Turkish, Kaj would point at the various pots and cauldrons simmering away and ask, "Meat?" while pointing at one. Then "No meat?" while pointing at another. Then "Meat?"...No meat?...Meat?...", while working his way through all the dishes simmering away.

It because a source of amusement during our travels and the question would crop up at the most unusual times. Whether we were sitting on a bus taking one of our many long voyages, shopping at the Grand Bazaar, or just sunning ourselves on a pristine beach, one of us would completely out-of-the-blue pop the eternal question..."Meat? No Meat?"

I don't know where Kaj is now, but he would have not been very content traveling with me this time during my recent US tour. I ate so much meat that I'm about to get fitted for a turban and become a card-carrying veg-head for a few weeks. Yes, I think I've reached my fill of 'ol Bessie. But let's face it, it's hard to beat meat. She's an integral part of American cuisine. We Americans are real meat eaters and in between the most exceptional plates of beef ribs I had for lunch in Fort Worth, Texas at George's Bar-B-Q, to the beef brisket I had at Sonny Bryan's in Dallas, I sampled the best of the best.

The original Sonny Bryan's in Dallas opened in 1910. Nowadays the parking lot is full of pick-up trucks and once you step inside, it's pandemonium trying to reach the counter to place your order. Even though I live in France and am used to people trying to wedge in front of each other, I assumed that it's not prudent here to cut in line...especially after eyeing the fully-loaded gun racks in the trucks parked in the dusty lot outside.

Seeing as I left my overalls back in Paris, I did my best to fit in and ordered a combo plate, speaking with a bit of a drawl. My platter was some soft, warm slices of beef brisket and turkey (I added the turkey since I'm beginning to sport a 'muffin-top' after this trip.) But I couldn't resist those jumbo, cripsy onion rings, which tasted every bit as good as they look.

The past week has been an orgy of meat, and it all began at Salumi, in Seattle. I was attending a culinary conference and my friend Judy proposed a multi-course lunch there, how could I say no?

Armandino Batali is the owner of Salumi. And if his name sounds familiar, his son is the muffin-man himself, Mario Batali. After years of working as an engineer for Boeing, Armandino packed up and went to Italy to learn the art of air-curing meats and making sausages. And when we showed up, the line was out the door with locals waiting for warm sandwiches crammed with slices of porchetta and spicy oxtail meat.

As we crowded around the table, the family-style meaty platters began descending on the table. The first sausages were thin rounds of mole salami, with a curious chocolate flavor from a good dose of Guittard cocoa powder (which Armandino told me was very popular with the local Mexican community.) There were also slices of prosciutto made with flavorful lamb and cured pigs cheek, called guanciale. Armandino used to teach a class, 'Make Your Own Prosciutto', which sounded like great fun. On the first day, you'd be presented with a pig leg, then you'd return each week to rub your leg with spices and whatever else goes into making prosciutto. He had to discontinue to classes since he no longer has the time.

He then presented us with enormous, steaming bowls of tiny French green lentils from Puy, topped with warm rounds of cotechino sausage, softly-scented with real vanilla. The course that really got the most comments were little toasts covered with just-melted aged cows-milk cheese, topped with crunchy nuggets of salt. Yum! Was that ever good. And I ate pig's ears for the first time (I abstained from eating the stewed tripe so I figured I needed to keep my 'cred' and not look like a lightweight with all those famous eaters around the table.) So I ate all my pig's ears, which were really quite good. Served on a pile of mixed salad greens, the crunchy slivers of pig's ears tasted like faintly-cooked, crunchy onions, but with a bit more 'bite'.

Taking a non-meat break, we had a fabulous platter of giant white beans tossed with tinned white tuna, finely-sliced red onions, all tossed in a simple dressing of olive oil and vinegar. It was great, and I made a mental note that it would make an easy, and nice summer salad if Paris ever warms up.

At that point, I was begging to stop so Judy reached in her purse (is there no end to what a woman will pull out of her purse?) and brought out the Italian secret weapon: grappa.

Packed like cigarettes, each cylinder was a thin glass tube of grappa, a perfect shot of this high-test liquor, which primed us for the few more courses that were to follow.

Finally, after eating way too much and trying to scribble notes, we all begged ourselves away from the table before Armandino could set another platter amongst us.

Salumi
Pioneer Square
309 Third Avenue South
Tel: (206) 621-8772

Sonny Bryan's
Visit web site for locations.

Why is it when you order French Fries, a disappointing majority of the time they come out in a limp heap, underbaked, greasy, and soft.
Does anybody really like their fries that way?

Anyone?

(start rant) I always want to take the plate back into the kitchen, present them to the cook, and ask why they didn't leave them to cook until deep-golden brown and crispy? And don't get me started on undersalted fries. French Fries need to get salted immediately when they come out of the blazing-hot oil, so it clings to the crunchy fries. (end rant)

So imagine my surprise when my friend Dylan whisked me away from the recent culinary conference I was attending in Seattle to walk me a few blocks away to the Baguette Box.

The Baguette Box is a little hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop, owned by chef Eric Bahn, who also owns Seattle's Monsoon restaurant where I'd eaten the night previously. I will spare you the details of the dreaded conference lunches I was forced to endure, but will let you know that it took very, very little prodding to get me to come along (and Dylan's mom is the famous Fran Bigelow of Fran's chocolate, inventor of the most amazing grey salt caramels, dipped in chocolate, and finished with smoked sea salt.) So since there the possibility of chocolate in there, it took little encouragement on his part to get me to play hooky for a few hours one afternoon.

The Baguette Box is basically one long communal table with a chalkboard above the open kitchen announing which sandwiches were on offer that day. Feeling like I needed a break from all the meat I'd eaten in Seattle (more about that in a later post), I chose the Tuna Salad Baguette with Sliced Boiled Egg, which came with crisp-sliced radishes. Dylan wisely chose the Salmon Gravlox Baguette which looked delicious but once you pick up one of these hefty sandwiches, if you put it down you risk it spilling its contents all over the place.

But the French Fries were what really astounded me. A pile of just-fried French Fries were piled into a nice-sized paper cup and generously sprinkled with very good salt. In fact, it was just the right amount. They were dark brown and crackly-crisp. Outstanding, and when I told Eric that I they were the best French Fries I'd ever had in my life, I don't think he took me seriously (he obviously doesn't read my blog!) but they were. And at $2.50, they were the best bargain in town. Hedonists can opt for a drizzle of white truffle oil, but I think that might ruin the sheer perfection of les frites.

Baguette Box
1203 Pine Street
Seattle, WA
Tel: (206) 332-0220

"You're going to flip out."

That was the message I got from a representative and friend from KitchenAid when he found out I was finally going to visit their factory. It was a visit I've been waiting years to make.

I'd been meaning to visit the KitchenAid factory ever they brought up the idea to me a few years ago, asking me to give a baking demonstration there as well. I can't imagine life without my KitchenAid mixer and most other bakers I know feel the same way (and I love seeing how things are made, anything. I just find it fascinating, no matter what I'm watching being put-together.)

And if you have a KitchenAid mixer, you know what I'm talking about. It's without a doubt the one essential tool that most home bakers can't live without. The mixer we used at Chez Panisse was a solid performer after twenty years of hard restaurant use (it outlasted me!) and my personal mixer has been in service for well over 15 years. When I began doing baking demonstrations over a decade ago, I was so enthusiastic that I reached my arms around the one that I was using and gave it a big, generous hug.

Word of that hug reached KitchenAid headquarters and ever since then, I've been lucky to get to know many of the terrific folks who work for KitchenAid, both in the United States and Europe. And when they heard I was heading to the US this month, we worked in a date to visit their factory for a private look at how the mixers are put together. They gave me special permission to take photographs so much of what you'll see here was generously allowed by KitchenAid.

A visit to the factory begins with a viewing of some of the classic stand mixers. The first produced was the Model H, introduced in 1919 and sold until 1927. It weighed a hefty 60-pounds and stores were so skeptical of its saleability that it was lugged door-to-door by housewives, hoping to convince other homemakers of its value.
The price? The Model H sold back then for $199 which is the equivalent today of about $1400.

Over the next several decades the designs changed to reflect the times, with my favorite being this one, totally streamlined with swoops and curvilinear lines, suggesting speed and industrialism. Someday I hope this one is re-issued as a Special-Edition, since I think it's the most beautiful of all the models ever produced.

Others models were made of materials strong enough to withstand the rugged KitchenAid motor within.

There were contemporary mixers on display too, including custom models made to commemorate certain events, including this one. One hundred of them were made and donated as thank-you gestures to the New York City Fire Departments for their efforts and heroism after September 11th.

Another 100 were made later and sold on eBay, with the proceeds going to 9/11 charities.

I learned that KitchenAid is the only company in America which still makes counter top appliances in the United States. All others brands are made overseas, although a few select KitchenAid appliances like the heavy-duty Pro-Line Espresso Maker (which I seriously envy) is made in Italy. Each and every KitchenAid appliance manufactured out of the United States is taken out of the box, vigorously-tested, then re-sealed before it's ready for sale.

The first thing that I saw when I entered the factory are the newest models and colored mixers lined up, practically floor-to-ceiling! They ranged in hues like sunny Meyer Lemon, Martha Green (named after...), Caviar (black with silver flecks), a cheerful Green Apple, Olive, and colorfully-red Bing Cherry.

If I didn't already own several mixers, I would have tried to sneak out the brilliant-yellow Meyer Lemon model under my jacket, although it's being considered for retirement. New colors are constantly introduced, then retired, sop that new ones can be added. So if you ever see a color that you like, get it while it's hot. One enduring color that's been offered for years, with a new expanded product line, is the pink mixer, with 10% from the sale of each going to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. There's no plans to retire that one, and in fact, they've added other products in that color range.

Each KitchenAid mixer takes about one-day to assemble. The actual building of the mixer is done in several stages: The engines are assembled and installed in the cast-metal housing by one team, the parts are heavily oiled (using three-times the amount of lubrication required for a lifetime of use), then sealed tight by another group, then the mixers are tested in another area, replicating 30 years of normal home use. Once they pass inspection, they're packaged up and ready to be shipped off.

Each person in the factory makes an average of 92 standing mixers per day, with 22 people working on the line at any given time. Christmas starts in June at KitchenAid, when temporary workers are hired to assemble mixers to meet the upcoming holiday demand.

I left my resumé.

One of the newest improvements to the KitchenAid standing mixer is their sturdiest whip yet. Unlike the dough hook and paddle attachments, the whip has several different parts affixed together, making it the part that takes the most abuse (sometimes I think I know exactly how it feels.) I watched how each individual whip was spun around while a woman patiently threaded each wire, interlacing them and securing them to the core.

The happiest folks in the factory are not on the floor, but in a special, plusher chamber. These are the "call girls", as they're known. These happy cookers spend their days servicing clients, tirelessly, one right after the other. They're the on-site customer service team, helping customers seeking advice about their appliances. Although the main call center is elsewhere (in Michigan), KitchenAid likes some of their customer service workers to remain in the factory, keeping them in touch with the manufacturing process, so they can respond to requests quickly and accurately.

So when you call KitchenAid, you can ask to speak to someone in the factory in Greenville. You'll get connected to one of the highly-knowledgable service team members there (...and tell them I sent you...they're not likely to forget me!)

Is your mixer making a funny sound?
Hold the phone to the machine while it's operating and they can diagnose it for you.
Wondering how you can raise the bowl so that the whip reaches the absolute bottom of it?
There's a tiny screw located underneath the mixer head that you can turn counterclockwise (on the K5) that'll do the trick. I've been using my KitchenAid mixer for years and never knew that.
Of course if I had read the instructions...and we all read instruction manuals, don't we?

Just a short ride away is the KitchenAid Experience, an interactive center where everything that KitchenAid makes is available to try out and play around with.

There's also a teaching kitchen with demonstrations throughout the day. I did one, making all sorts of chocolate treats for guests, including chewy Chocolate Financiers, Rocky Road with Homemade Marshmallows, Peanuts, and Cocoa Nibs, and Double Chocolate Ice Cream with Stracciatella, using the brand-new ice cream attachment, which works with all KitchenAid standing mixers.

Each and every appliance is available on the floor to play around with and bargain-hunters should descend to the lower-level, a room packed floor-to-ceiling with factory refurbished mixers and blenders.

When a KitchenAid product is returned to a store, it's sent back to the factory. The box is opened, the appliance removed and thoroughly inspected and tested. Then it's re-sealed and offered for sale at a substantial discount: Each appliance meets the same rigorous standards as a spanking-new model.

I saw hyper-powerful 6-quart KitchenAid mixers available for slightly more than $200 and chrome blenders being sold for less than half the retail price. And there was lots and lots of mixers and other appliances in colors that had been retired or in various experimental finishes that you won't find anywhere else.
If you can't make it to the KitchenAid Experience, you can shop find your own bargain on a reconditioned model at Amazon.

Big thanks to the staff at KitchenAid for taking the time to show my everything, as I poked through boxes and rifled through bins of parts. They answered all my questions and I'll never rev up my KitchenAid standing mixer again without thinking of what went into it before it became a fixture in my kitchen and my life.

You can find amazing bargains on reconditioned KitchenAid appliances at Amazon, such as powerful K5 mixers for only $129, and gorgeous chrome-plated blenders for only $39, which will save you hundreds of dollars.

The KitchenAid Experience is located in Greenville, Ohio, about 45 minutes from Dayton and 2 hours from Cinncinati.

The KitchenAid Experience
423 South Broadway
Greenville, Ohio
Tel: 1-888-886-8318

Factory Tours of KitchenAid
1701 KitchenAid Way
Greenville, Ohio
Tours given Monday through Friday, at 10am and 1pm (subject to change, so call ahead.)

St. Clair Place (excellent Bed & Breakfast in town)
224 E. Third Street
Greenville, Ohio
Email: stclairplace@earthlink.net