CHEESE TUESDAY - BRIE DE LA MAISON AVEC TRUFFE

During my stint at Pain in my... Pain de Sucre, I would sometimes take my time walking home and explore a bit of the Marais, a very popular and charming area of Paris. More than once I stopped into the little fromagerie, Jouannault (at 39, rue de Bretagne, Paris), since they lured me in the first time with offerings of free cheese. I can be quite loyal and since that first visit, would stop every time I passed to buy something.

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When I saw that they had an array of house made bries I was intrigued. When I saw that they made one with a layer of truffles in the middle I knew I had to bring some home. Being a cheese lover means that I discovered the soft temptress known as brie many years ago. She was the first "real" cheese in my life and I think a lot of people start out with her because she's so mild and gentle, careful with your palate, but soft and flavorful all the same. Since then, however, I have somewhat moved on to bigger and bolder cheeses, leaving this quaint little beauty behind. But with the new face-lift of truffles hidden inside, I couldn't help but be tempted. Plus I was quite certain that this little house made cheese would blow all my mass produced American counterparts out of the water.

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Brie is lovely because, for me, it's like butter. Easy to spread and it goes with pretty much everything. It has a soft nutty flavor to it that makes it interesting and texturally I adore it. This brie, as I predicted, was incredible. It certainly had more flavor than most of the brie's I've had before. It's nutty flavor lingered on my tongue and there were soft hints of sweet and sour fermentation in the background. And then there was the layer of truffles.

Truffles are fabulous little fungi with so much flavor backed in such a small package, they're like pit bulls of the food world. Just a little bit and they can overtake a dish. But somehow, Jouannault was able to create a nice balance between the oh-so-strong truffle and the sweet and innocent brie. The truffle flakes were not just hanging out in a free for all in the middle of the brie, but were instead nestled in a delicate bed of what I can only describe as cream cheese. But this ain't no Philadelphia, this was fabulously tender homemade cream cheese. And homemade by French people. So of course it is undeniably superior. The entire cheese was so delicious that I had to eat it up as quickly as possible for fear that my roommate would beat me too it. We fought a little over the last few pieces but each time we put some in our mouth we couldn't help but surrender to its soft, sweet, nutty, truffle-y tastiness.

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A perfect cheese for when you're in the mood for something flavorful but don't want to commit to a day of smelling like gym socks, this Brie de La Maison Avec Truffe was certainly all I thought it was going to be and more. My only complaint is that I didn't buy enough of it.

IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS

The other day Elze and I did some exploring and ended up at the Christmas market. Can you believe it's already December 5th? The weather here has been warmer than I was expecting and something about not being home with my friends or family has held me back from getting into my usual out-of-control Christmas spirit. But Elze surmised that a little Christmas marketing would help clear that up, and though I was skeptical, I came around despite myself. It was just so darn jolly!

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The Christmas market is almost in the center of Paris. It stretches from the Champs Elysees to Place d'Concord, and so when standing in the market you can look to one side and see the Arc de Triomphe lit up in all it's glory, or the big and beautiful ferris wheel illuminated and beautiful. The market is made up of a lot of little faux cottages decorated to the nines and giving one an old timey, Christmases past, feeling. This sight alone started to bubble up feelings of Santa Spirit in me. Then we really dove in.

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Though Elze and I are both on tight budgets it was still wonderful to walk around and look at all the booths. A lot of them are very much the same but it's so cheerful and fun I didn't mind it at all. But we stopped dead in our tracks at the line waiting for churros. Who doesn't like fried dough? And this line was a good sign. Plus it smelled absolutely heavenly. The booth was selling beignets, waffles and cotton candy as well but everyone felt as we did, we all wanted some churros. Now this isn't the churro that we American's are used to. We usually just get one long cinnamon sugar one to ourselves. But this was a large paper cone filled to the max with sugar coated, freshly fried, straws of yumminess. The woman even felt the pile of churros to make sure they were still nice and hot and when they weren't she had us wait a few minutes for the next batch. Now that is what I'm talkin' about!

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Elze and I were both a bit aghast at how gigantic this serving of churros was. Enough to feed a family of five, I pitied anyone who wanted a churro just for themselves. They either had to suck it up and pass on the cellulite inducing tubes or walk around like a fat kid with five pounds of fried batter in their hand. Though they were hot and delicious, Elze and I were unable to eat all of them. And besides, there was plenty of other fair food to tempt us, I didn't want to just fill up on churros, as alluring as it was.

Elze insisted that we also get some Vin Chaud, or Gluwein, as well. I've never had vin chaud and so was a bit skeptical. For some reason I thought it would remind me of hot sake which I find deplorable. But Elze can be quite persuasive and so we both both a cup. And let me tell you, it was delicious! Like hot apple cider for adults it was the perfect thing to warm me up. Sure it may not be snowing and freezing like the winter's I've endured in Colorado, but I had idiotically dressed for a warm fall evening instead of a brisk winter's night. So the hot, spiced wine was more than welcome in both my hands and my tummy.

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After passing a few stands selling sausages from gigantic, round, barbecues, I knew that was what I wanted to gorge on next. But we walked around a little bit longer, taking in the sights, before forcing any more vitals into our already full bellies. There were tons of wooden ornaments and nesting dolls, weird little toys that lit up and nativity scenes, as well as places that had piles and piles of delicious looking cheeses for sale, dried fruits, candies, and charcuterie. Once enough space had cleared in our stomachs we brought on yet another wave of lipids and bought ourselves some sausages. I went for the white sausage since it was long and skinny and I've always been a fan of bratwurst. Elze, went for the red. Both of them were absolutely mind-blowing. My bratwurst was perhaps the best brat I've ever had. Juicy and flavorful I ate the entire thing though my stomach was begging me not to. And the spicy mustard and raw onions they had as condiments were the perfect accompaniment. Elze's red sausage was like the most incredible hot dog ever to exist with burstings of sweet pork flavors and hints of spicy pepper.

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We left the market full and happy, like Santa after a night of present dropping and cookie eating. And I must say I am most certainly in the Christmas spirit. I look forward to returning with my mom and cousins and indulging in even more goodies. There were plenty of other delicious dishes beckoning for me to try them and I look forward to giving in to their wishes. Now all I have to do is find some poor orphaned Christmas tree to take home and make my own and Christmas will be in full swing!

LETTER HOME #7: SPAIN!

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Bonjour! 

Over the last weekend we (Camilla, Suanne, Elze, Paula and I) had Bastille day and so we were given a long holiday to enjoy ourselves. Thank you french revolution. We decided to celebrate by leaving for Spain (so really we didn't celebrate Bastille day at all) and had quite the time doing so. Pamplona is famous for the running of the bulls which is a part of a week long celebration called the San Fermin Festival. Though none of us know exactly what they're celebrating (Wikipedia informed me it's in celebration of Saint Fermin, duh) we knew that there were bulls, sangria, white outfits, red scarves, hot Spaniards, and a handful of deaths every year. Plus one of the biggest parties seen in Europe. What could keep us away?

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We stopped in Bordeaux on our way to Pamplona. Sadly we were there on Bastille Day in the morning and so everything was closed but we got to see enough of Bordeaux for me to want to go back. Hopefully Camilla will be able to do her internship there and we all have already planned on sleeping on her couch and enjoying the beauty of Bordeaux (as well as the wine). We left Bordeaux and arrived in Pamplona just as everyone's siesta was ending. Our concierge informed us that most people were recovering from the night before and that we had not missed any serious fun yet that day. So we donned on our white outfits and took the bus to the centre of old Pamplona. Though our excitement was almost overwhelming, we could not help but notice how beautiful of a city Pamplona was. A great thing about Europe is that most of the cities I have been to have "old town" which is filled to the brim with beautiful old buildings and I can't help but be charmed off of my feet, especially considering how young the US is in comparison. We wandered around for a bit, got lost, and asked a local where a good bar was for pinchos (the Basque version of tapas) and ended up in bar Gaucho which was overflowing with people. Always a good sign. We began our night of sangria, which was served in gigantic glasses almost too big for Suanne to hold onto, gave each other a "Salud" and started in on the pinchos. Everything was delicious. It ranged from miniature sandwiches which looked unimpressive but didn't fail to surprise and delight, to fried Roquefort, to toasts topped with ham swimming in a creamy cheese sauce. After finishing our sangria we started on our way around the streets of Pamplona. The last night of the bull run is actually one of the more tame nights in Pamplona and since we did not make it for any actual bull running (we aren't exactly the athletic types nor are we all that into near death experiences) we didn't get to see anything too crazy. Thank goodness. Mostly it was just a wonderful festival fiesta where people of all ages take part. I was surprised to see a good amount of children still out with their parents til late. The last event of the festival takes place at midnight in front of a church and everyone stands and sings and holds their red scarves above their heads and waves them around. Then men carrying a large fake bull with sparklers around it and fireworks shooting off of it chase all the children in a mock bull run. I was unaware of what was going on and was quite frightened at first when the crowd started running in my direction with children looking as if their feared for their life. For a moment I thought that the bull run was not over. Then I noticed the smoke and while this is usually a bad sign, this time I was put at ease, that is of course until a spark from one of the fireworks landed on my head and scorched a small spot on my scalp. This stuff would totally be illegal in the states and this wasn't even a real bull ready to gore me!

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By the end of the night (and after many glasses of sangria) we were no longer white but dripping, sticky, and purple, from pouring sangria over each other. This is part of the tradition of the San Fermin festival where people start in white and end up drenched in sangria. It was fun and after calling a truce, breaking it, then calling one again, we decided to go dancing. Paula found a Royal Marine who looked like a greek god and disappeared with him into a corner while the rest of us continued to enjoy sangria and dance. Suanne made her way to an outside bench where her camera, the only one we had from the night, got stolen as she was getting sick from one too many glasses of wine. Elze and I decided to be good motherly friends and pour her into a taxi and take her back to our hotel. Luckily I had had enough to drink that I was able to speak Spanish fairly well. I ordered Elze and I some hotdogs (which were topped with something fried and crispy and were probably some of the best hotdogs of my life), hailed us a cab, and asked the cabby en espanol to take us back to our hotel. Elze turned to me and thanked me because not only was she completely turned around, she also didn't think she could have ordered a hotdog or get back to our rooms. The three of us made our way to our room, crawled into bed, and slept. 

At nine o'clock, Camilla, who is always extremely rambunctious, came busting into our room practically jumping up and down. She had met a few men, gotten lost for four hours, and was now just returning from a night on the town. Paula, on the other hand, had managed to return around 5am and was sleeping in the largest of the two rooms which had four single beds in it, all to herself, while Suanne and I were crammed into a single of our own. Camilla pulled Suanne out of bed, dragged her to the other room, and we all fell back asleep (though Camilla of course had not been to bed yet). A few hours later Elze and I awoke to realize that we had overslept our checkout time, took the fastest showers we could (though I would have given anything to spend more time under the hot water, my head was feeling all of the sangria from the night before) and made our way to the car. The other three had, of course, over slept, and we gave them an hour before going and asking the woman at the front desk to let us into their room. We crawled to the car, forced ourselves in, and began the drive to San Sebastian. 

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One thing about beautiful european cities that can be somewhat frustrating is finding your way around them. Street signs are often hidden and the names of streets seem to change with every block. It makes it especially difficult when you're staying on a tiny one block street in a hotel that is called "Colegio Mayor." What's even harder is when the navigator (Suanne) is using her computer to figure out where to go and it dies just as you're entering the city. Though Camilla is from Guatemala and thus speaks Spanish fluently, it wasn't all that helpful since no one in San Sebastian seemed to know where to direct us. We were sent from one side of the town to the other and one man straight up told us that what we were asking him did not make any sense. Colegio Mayor isn't a hotel, he told us, it's a college. And frankly, I was beginning to get concerned that he was right. After about an hour of driving around I remembered that I had written down the directions myself. It was one of those, "wow I'm an idiot" moments but none of us were too upset at my forgetfulness since we had had a wonderful tour of beautiful San Sebastian while winding around it's old streets. The truth was that we were staying in a college. Apparently the schools turns into a hotel in the summer months when classes aren't in session. The building was beautiful and had a ton of lifelike, life size statues of people who looked to be enjoying the beach. Though these statues were a bit creepy (especially the one of the homeless man who was right by the entrance) the school was absolutely lovely and our rooms were impecable. We were only a short bus ride away from the center of town and after napping for 4 hours until 10pm, we decided we should venture out and get some food. It was late and so the choices were limited but we ended up finding something decent. Probably not the best pinchos in San Sebastian but good nonetheless. 

We were more than thrilled to have two wonderful days in San Sebastian. It is probably one of the most beautiful places that I have ever been and I want to live there for a year when if I can. It's right on the beach and has a small island just a ways from the coast. The buildings are the beautiful and white and the streets are lined with trees. The people are wonderful and the food is delicious. There are green hills that stretch up from the beach and the fine sand is covered with people enjoying the sun. There are numerous old churches which are dotted throughout the city and the entire place has a calm vibe that makes you want to put on something light and freeing and eat paella next to the ocean. Which is exactly what we did. Our second day in San Sebastian we went out for a lunch of paella at a small restaurant near the ocean. It was wonderfully fresh. The prawns were incredible and their heads were full of red juices. I told Suanne that she had to suck the heads if she wanted to get the good stuff because all of the juice from the sauce gets trapped in there and mixes with their tiny prawn brains and is delicious. She turned her nose up at it but was more than happy to donate her prawn heads to me and by the end of the meal I had quite the carnage on one corner of my plate. We made good use of a pile of wetnaps and left for the beach, where we lay for an hour or so getting tanned (or in my case, burned) before the tide came up and started lapping at our toes. Though were were sticky from sweating in the sun, and itchy from having sand on our skin and in our hair and between our toes, we decided to get some shopping in before going home to shower. We are, after all, five girls. How could we resist? I managed to find an awesome leather jacket for half off (too good of a deal to pass up, and since being in Europe I feel quite left out not having one. Apparently it's a must for one's closet) and we got some ice cream before taking the bus back to our hotel to wash off the beach. 

This night we were determined to find some stellar cuisine. We walked around the center of the town and turned down a street that both smelled fantastic and sounded crowded. I knew that we were in a good spot. The entire street was filled with people. Every bench was taken. You could tell that strangers were sitting next to strangers but no one seemed to care because they all had some kind of food in their hand. Most people were holding long sandwiches. Others had plate of hot pinchos. And all of them had come from one bar. El Quinto Pino. I don't think I'll ever forget it. Elze and Paula weren't up for sandwiches so they went to find somewhere else to eat. I knew they were making a huge mistake. Not only was the bar tender a charming though rugged looking spaniard (he somehow managed to pull of a ponytail and curly beard as if they were in style) but the place was absolutely packed with people. The bar was lined with different types of pinchos but I could tell that most people came here for the sandwiches. Camilla spoke to the bartender who informed her that they only had five sandwiches left and that we had to hurry if we wanted some. We debated over what to get. He returned and told us that there were only now only three left. We made haste and put in our orders quickly. I ordered a chorizo sandwich. Camilla a mushroom and roquefort. Suanne a patatas and chorizo. None of them were over 3.50 euros. All of them were incredible. Though it was only a giant chorizo sausage on a beautiful baguette, it was one of the best sandwiches I have ever had. The chorizo was absolutely mind blowing and so greasy that it soaked through the bread making its own red, spicy sauce and forcing me to go through one tiny paper napkin after another. Suanne's chorizo and patatas was so big that she could barely fit it into her tiny mouth but she smiled and cooed the entire time she was eating it. I don't think the three of us have ever been so silent for so long except for some random "oh my gods," and "this is incredible's." While eating bite after bite I noticed that numerous patrons were walking away with plate of what looked like grilled green beans. I asked our bartender what they were (happy to know how to say something in spanish) and he went and grabbed to raw tiny green peppers for me. "Pimentos" he said. I went to bite one but both he and two men at the bar started saying "no no no" very quickly. "They need to be fried he said." I got the impression that they were spicy but decided to try one anyway. They were good and tasted like a cross between a weak jalapeno and a green bell pepper. The three men all seemed impressed that I would eat one raw (though I still don't understand what the big deal was) and I ordered a plate. They were, of course, delicious, and much better fried than not. How surprising. Between bites of our sandwiches the three of us ate pimento after pimento and soon enough the plate was empty. We had a cervesa or two and went to meet up with Elze and Paula, so happy that we couldn't stop talking about the incredible meal we had just experienced. 

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After meeting up with the other two girls we went to a bar and had a beer. I knew I had to go to bed early because we were planning on leaving at 7am the next day. Suanne was still feeling the pain of too much sangria. The other girls, however, wanted to stay out and that they did. Suanne and I made it back to our hotel at 2 in the morning (after waiting for the wrong bus for an hour then getting off two stops after the right one and having to hoof it in the rain to our hotel). I collapsed into my bed and was happy to be mature and smart enough to know when to go to bed. I woke up continually through the night and noticed that Elze had not returned to our room. I figured at first that she must just still be partying. I woke up again and thought she had slept with Camilla and Paula because she didn't want to wake me up. I woke up again and saw light peeking in through the curtains. Suanne was supposed to call me at 7 to make sure I was up. Perhaps she forgot, I thought. So I got up and opened the curtains to see just how light it was. And who do I see making their way into the hotel but Elze, Camilla and Paula in their dresses, wet from the rain, and looking like something the cat dragged in. Just as I looked down at the, Elze looked up at me and I opened the window and called down to them, "just getting in I see?" They laughed. "What time is it?" I asked them. "Eight." Elze said. I don't know how they do it. It's not like they're spring chickens any more. I keep telling Elze she's going to look like hell at fifty if she keeps this up but she doesn't seem to care. She calls me an old lady. And for some reason the three of them thought they were going to be in trouble with me. Really I just wanted to hear the gossip of what I missed. Apparently they had met some spanish guys outside of a club and made friends. They danced with them until the club closed and then went back to their place for some continued drinking and frivolity. By the time 6am rolled around they decided to wait outside of the local bakery hotspot and got fresh croissants for breakfast. They then waited forever for a bus which never came and then in a long line for a taxi. By 8am they were making their way into the hotel and I was getting up and getting ready to drive nine hours back home. Elze was still drunk and trying to convince me that we should stay in San Sebastian and that the guys they had met said we could stay in their apartment for a week. "I'm sure they did," I told her, but I wanted to get back. I was a bit jealous that I missed out on all the fun though as I was driving back and saw them passed out on top of each other in the back of the car, I wasn't all that upset. 

I hauled ass back to France and on the way explained to Suanne what the term "hauling ass meant." We made it back in eight hours and managed to miss most of the weekend traffic. All of us want to live in Spain now and Elze and I are trying to figure out how exactly we can justify spending another year in Europe at some other time in our life. San Sebastian was absolutely enchanting and I definitely could go for another chorizo sandwich. 

As usual I have to collect all of the pictures from the girls before I can send some along. I'll probably wait until the end of the week so that I can send some pictures of what we're making this week with them. It's creme glacee entremets, which is just a fancy french term for what is essentially an ice cream cake. I am sure I will be thoroughly exhausted this week not only because of how fun this weekend was (and the fact that I'm getting older and can't quite bounce back as quickly as I could when I was eighteen) but also because we're back with Chef Baccon and started at 6am this morning. It will take some time to get used to and I'm going to need a nap! So I apologize in advance if some of my stuff doesn't look as great as it could. C'est la vie. 

Also this week I am hoping to lock down my internship. It's looking like I'm going to end up in Paris and I am getting very excited about it. Suanne and Elze are planning on being there too along with our friend Christy who couldn't make it to Spain with us because she was vacationing with her parents in Paris over the holiday. It'll be nice to spend more time with them since after this is done I may not get to see them again and we really do have a lot of fun together. I want to stay at my internship until the end of next March and spend that April travelling around Europe. I'd love to go back to Spain as well as make my way to Belgium, Germany, the Czech Republic, Austria, and maybe go to Italy and Portugal as well. 

Miss you guys and love you! Hope you're having your own adventures this summer. 

Love, 

MISSION: MILLEFEUILLE

In the states we most often see millefeuille under the alias of "napoleon," but here, in France, it is always called "millefeuille." Millefeuille means a thousand layers and it is called this because of the layers and layers of flaky buttery goodness (puff pastry, or feuilletage) topped with then even more layers of creamy deliciousness (often creme mousseline). This gives it an impressive stacked look and can often result in some difficulty in eating it. I find the best way is to just dive right in without caring about the mess you are inevitably going to create.

Millefeuille is most traditionally made with plain feuilletage (though don't let that fool you into thinking it's plain, it just isn't chocolate or green tea or any other flavor) and vanilla creme mousseline, but it can definitely be made in an assortment of flavors and I found many of them when I went out looking for this calorie packed little darling.

I decided upon millefeuille for this week because Elze was able to sneak some home from her internship at Hugo & Victor, and she has always raved about how theirs is simply the best. I then also decided to include Pain de Sucre's millefeuille because it was one of the few things I was allowed to eat while there since it is made in a large portion and then cut into smaller, individual servings, leaving ends and trimmings to snack upon. From there I went to Pierre Herme, Sadaharu AOKI, Patisserie des Reves, and Dalloyau, though the later two did not have millefeuille and so I picked random pastries that I thought looked delicious and interesting (we'll call them "wild cards").

One thing I must say before diving in is that I am, by no means, trying to speak for everyone. I have eaten with enough other people and worked with enough fellow students to know that everyone has their own opinion of what is good, what is not, and what should never be made or eaten again. Having friends from all over the world has shown me that some things are preferred in certain countries over others. Having read enough pastry reviews that I have then disagreed with has shown me that just because someone has an opinion which they share on the internet or in a book doesn't mean they speak the word of God. But all the same, it is nice to have something to consider before going out and embarking on your own pastry exploration. Take everything I say with a grain of salt (or sugar) and try to keep in mind what your own personal tastes are when going to any restaurant or patisserie. So, with that said, here is the millefeuille break down.

Hugo & Victor: Caramel Millefeuille

And caramel it is. They certainly don't mess around with the flavor at Hugo & Victor. The feuilletage in and of itself is often very caramel-y because it must be topped with some type of cooked sugar to avoid sogginess. I was happy to see that this had been done because nothing is worse than a soggy millefeuille. Well, ok, a lot of things are worse, but you get the gist. This was a lovely millefeuille and if you are a fan of caramel you will go crazy for these sugary layers. The feuilletage was nice, crispy, and flaky, without being so hard that it was impossible to eat. The caramel creme mousseline wasn't so sweet as to make the dessert unbearable and had a lovely color and texture to it. Perhaps the best part of this delight was the gooey caramel center. I ate through the rest with great anticipation for this nugget of deliciousness and it did not disappoint. But I must say, this was not my favorite of all the millefeuille. Perhaps Elze's hype had raised my expectations too high, but I definitely didn't lose feeling in my extremities from how incredible this was. Something about the feuilletage just wasn't right for me. And frankly, though the oozing caramel center was as good as it looked, I think I prefer the original vanilla flavor instead. It was just too much caramel.


Pierre Herme: Hazelnut Millefeuille

There is this thing called, "praliné," which is used in almost every pastry kitchen in France. It is a butter made from caramel coated hazelnuts. It's delicious as I'm sure you can imagine. This is essentially the flavor of Pierre Herme's millefeuille. They did not have a vanilla one to choose from and so I begrudgingly bought this one instead, but I must say, it was incredible. The feuilletage was pretty much perfect, crispy and delicate with a good crunch to accompany the smooth cream filling. It had a nice caramel flavor from the cooked sugar but was not so strong as to overpower the rest of the dessert. The hazelnut cream filling was smooth and super-hazelnutty, but being a big hazelnut fan I was not upset by this at all. There was also a layer of chocolate hazelnut "nutella" containing chopped hazelnuts that added a nice hint of chocolate and an extra crunch to entertain your mouth. For anyone who likes hazelnuts or nutella (and who doesn't love nutella) this is something you would love! A beautiful dessert. My only gripe is that it was topped with a candied almond which I found confusing since it was hazelnut, not almond, inside. From everything I learned at school this is a big no-no. Toppings like this are used to alert the buyer what the dessert contains beneath it's crispy folds. But, alas, I flicked the almond away and happily dug in like it had never happened. 

Sadaharu AOKI: Vanilla Millefeuille

Finally, an original! Though I was quite tempted to buy the matcha flavor as well, I decided that going with the classic would be better for this test. The top of the millefeuille had a thin layer of hardened caramel. I needed a serrated knife to cut through it without completely massacring the rest of the dessert but it was certainly worth it. This layer added a nice caramel crunch and made the dessert beautiful and shiny to look at. The feuilletage was flaky and crisp. The filling was a pastry cream and not a creme mousseline (which means it has less butter and a denser, more custard-like consistency) but this didn't bother me a bit since it was delicious. It had nice subtle hints of vanilla and I was happy to see bits of vanilla bean smiling up at me with each bite. Overall it reminded me of a stellar creme brulee in flavor but with the added charm of the flaky, crispy feuilletage. It was also the smallest of all the millefeuille and, in my opinion, the most realistic serving size. 




Pain de Sucre: Vanilla Millefeuille 

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Oh, the old hell hole. Though I haven't dared show my face there again I do remember with deadly accuracy the state of their millefeuille. And I must say, for me, I absolutely adore it. It is gigantic and tall and would most likely be best if shared. The feuilletage is cooked until almost burnt but I love the rich flavor that it gives the dessert especially in contrast to the sweet vanilla mousseline. But I know this is one of those instances when my personal taste may differ from yours and so if you prefer things lightly cooked you may not enjoy this millefeuille as much as I do. The vanilla mousseline has a strong vanilla flavor though I don't find it too strong as to be sickeningly sweet and as I said, I think it complements the dark feuilletage nicely. The feuilletage is extra-crispy and flakes beautifully into the thick layers of creme when eaten. 




All in all, each millefeuille was quite different from the next. They all had beautiful feuilletage and I was happy that not a single one was one bit soggy. For caramel lovers, the Hugo & Victor is by far the best. If you go crazy for nutella I would recommend the Pierre Herme. If creme brulee is something you have to order when you see it on the menu, I think you would be happy to try the Sadaharu AOKI millefeuille because of it's similar flavoring and pastry cream filling. And if you are looking for something classic and vanilla-y with a dirty burnt punch to it, Pain de Sucre is the way to go. Each one of these patisseries are held in high esteem and I am happy to say that from their millefeuille's I agree with that opinion. 




Wild Cards: 


Dalloyau: Dalloyau

Dalloyau was not on my list of patisseries for this mission but I walked right past it on my way to Patisserie des Reves and so decided to pop in. They did not have a millefeuille for me to taste and so after some consideration I decided to buy the "Dalloyau" since it was named after the store itself. I had no idea what to expect from this little dessert but I was quite happy when I spooned into it at home. It, too, was hazelnut in flavor, and was covered in small little chunks of candied hazelnuts. The inside was, I believe, thin layers of hard meringue and hazelnut creme mousseline. It had a nice, sweet hazelnut flavor and the creme mousseline was wonderfully pillowy and soft. My one criticsm is that the meringue got lost in all of the creme. It seemed to have absorbed a lot of the moisture and I had to look closely to even notice it was there. As such it didn't excite me too much texturally since it was like eating a ball of mousseline rolled in chopped hazelnuts. But all the same, I did go back later and finish the little guy off for a midnight snack. 




Patisserie Des Reves: Mont Blanc

I have never eaten a mont blanc before and so I'm not exactly sure what they should taste like. But the mont blanc at Patisserie des Reves looked beautiful and delicious and so I couldn't help but take one home. I must say, however, that I may never eat one again. It was horrible! So sweet that my face immediately pulled into a look of dislike, I dissected the thing to see what the culprit was. Mont Blanc is a chestnut dessert, filled with candied chestnuts, vanilla creme, and topped with a chestnut "frosting." It apparently resembles the large mountain and so was named "Mont Blanc." Perhaps the biggest issue I had with this dessert was its sweetness. It was simply too sweet. I found that the cause of this was the chestnut "frosting" that was piped on top. It was like eating straight fondant, and though it had the grainy texture of chestnut, the sweetness was so overpowering that I didn't get even the slightest hint of chestnut flavor. I then went on to taste the vanilla creme which was nice and not too sweet at all, but sadly it had been engulfed in the rest of this dessert and was completely lost if I took a bite of the whole thing. Underneath this mini mountain of vanilla was some sort of soft honey syrup meringue thingy that was also extremely sweet. But perhaps the most disappointing part was the filling of candied chestnuts. I love chestnuts and I especially love how much the French use them in their desserts. But for whatever reason these chestnuts had been soaked in rum, stripping them of all the chestnut deliciousness they had to offer. Overall, I found the dessert very disappointing and so sweet that I couldn't take more than one bite. Even worse than that, they degraded all of the chestnut flavor with sugar and rum so that, if I hadn't known what flavor it was supposed to be, I would have no idea it contained a single chestnut. I am going to have to try a mont blanc somewhere else to see if this is actually how it's supposed to taste or if Patisserie des Reves struck out on this one. 

I hope this has been informative. I certainly enjoyed picking through these desserts and was more than happy to stop by each beautiful patisserie. Next time, however, I may need to spread the tasting out a bit more since snacking on four desserts in one day gave me a terrible sugar headache. I'm just not the spry young pup I used to be and can't down pound after pound of sugar without breaking a sweat. It's a sticky job but I can't deny that I'm more than happy to do it! 

BONNE ACTION DE GRACES

Thanksgiving in Paris. Who'da thunk it? It was definitely a bit of a production, but then again, when isn't Thanksgiving a production? But aside from the usual obstacles one must hurdle on this glorious American holiday, there were some added issues presented here in Paris.

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Perhaps the largest of which was the fact that I do not have a proper oven. Due to the lack of space in this old city, many apartments don't come with a fully stocked kitchen. To maximize space my landlord purchased a microwave oven/oven that works both as a microwave and as an actual oven. It's a genius invention but it's the size of a microwave and so wouldn't fit a turkey no matter how I might try to force it.  The only one of us who does have a real oven is Mr. Johnson, though it isn't the most elite of appliances either. A petit little thing with confusing pictures for settings it presented a few "user-error" moments during the cooking process. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I hadn't even stepped foot into Mr. Johnson's apartment when I started preparing for the feast.

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Being the sole American and a person who has a problem accepting help in the kitchen, I was in charge of the majority of dishes. The menu was as follows, turkey (obviously), dressing, green bean casserole (completely from scratch, none of this French's onion and cream of mushroom soup nonsense), candied sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie. I wanted to make sure I included all the classics since this was everyone's first Thanksgiving. Sandra volunteered to make the mashed potatoes and I was more than happy to pass the torch since my plate was full enough already. Cranberries were nowhere to be found and so they didn't make it to the table and I knew no one would miss them because none of my friends know they should even be there.

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This isn't my first rodeo and so I knew that as much of this stuff as I could get done ahead of time the better. So the night before I stayed up until 1:30 am preparing the stuffing and deep frying my own onion slices for the green bean casserole. Meanwhile, my turkey sat in a bag of homemade brine to ensure that it would be juicy and delicious come dinner time. For a long time I thought I didn't like turkey. It was always dry and boring. I was under the impression that this was why gravy was invented, to make the crumbly slices edible. But then I discovered brining and my whole world changed. Brining is the process of soaking a turkey in a salt water mixture. Since the turkey soaks up a lot of the salt, it then must also soak up a lot of liquid because of a wonderful thing called osmosis. This then results in a juicy and delicious turkey! It can be a bit of a pain in the ass but I definitely think it's worth it.

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So here it was, my Parisian Thanksgiving day. I woke up early so that I could make the pumpkin pie and get the green bean casserole ready for the oven. I made my own bechamel sauce with some shredded cheese and caramelized onions and mixed in the blanched green beans. I spooned them into a baking dished, topped them with bread crumbs and my fried onions, and set it in the fridge to hang out until it's time was up. I then moved on to the pumpkin pie. Not having all my usual tools here made things a bit more of a challenge. Instead of using my beloved Cuisinart Food Processor to mix my pie crust, I shredded the cold butter in with a cheese grater and then mixed it by hand. A lack of counter space and large cutting boards meant I was reduced to rolling it out on the kitchen table and by the end of it I was completely covered in flour. Why do I insist on wearing all black when I do these things? I also didn't have a pie tin and so used one of the cake pans that we have instead. It wasn't the prettiest of crusts but it looked like it would be flaky and delicious and so I popped it in the fridge to cool while I prepared the pumpkin filling.

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Since Thanksgiving isn't celebrated here, that meant that they don't have pumpkin puree at the ready at every super market. Because of this I had to make my own pumpkin puree. I was a bit excited about this because I love making things from scratch and it seemed easy enough. Plus, though they don't rock canned pumpkin they do have gigantic wedges of pumpkin in almost every produce section. I stabbed at the rind and tossed it in the oven to roast and soften. Since I don't have a food processor, I wanted it to be as soft as possible so that it wouldn't be too much work to puree it. And by the time I took it out of the oven it was so mushy that all I really had to do was scoop it from the rind. It was a bit stringy but it smelled incredible and I whisked it into my custard, excited to taste this "from scratch" pie.

Christy came home to help me bring the two massive, heavy bags of food to Mr. Johnson's flat, but when she arrived the pie was still cooking away in the oven. One thing I didn't account for is that cake pans are much deeper than pie tins. This meant that the custard filling was taking it's sweet time to set. But time was ticking and I was growing concerned that the turkey wouldn't be in the oven soon enough. Panic set in and I decided to send Christy off so that she could preheat the oven and throw the turkey in so that it could start it's own long cooking process. I threw a bowl of butter in under the pie to melt so that I could prepare the cheese cloth (which I couldn't find so I was really using a wash cloth) which would be soaked in butter and wine and place on top of the turkey for the first hour or so of cooking. Since my microwave/oven is placed exceptionally high I had to stand on a chair to get the butter out or risk spilling it all over myself and ruining my young and beautiful face. But oven mits aren't exactly dexterous and halfway through grabbing the butter I realized something horrible was going to happen. The rack was slipping and the pie with it. Before I knew it, Christy was screaming out "STORKIE!" and the pie was crashing onto the floor.

I stood on the chair in bewilderment. There were two ways this could go, I could either cry at the loss or laugh at the hilarity of the situation. And standing on the chair looking down at the mess on the floor and the wall and all over the place, it really seemed like laughing was the only option. Well that, and eating a bit off the floor. I had spent so long and made my own pumpkin puree and everything, how could I just throw it away without tasting a bit of it. So Christy and I turned into real fat kids and ate the hot mess off the floor. And boy was it delicious. The crust was flaky perfection. The filling was pumpkin spice amazement. It was tragic. It was hilarious. It meant I had to make another pie.

But that had to wait, Christy and I needed to hustle our way to the metro and bring all the fixings to Mr. Johnson's place. Christy and walked to the metro burdened by some of the heaviest bags on earth, with Christy's containing a raw turkey dancing around willy nilly with every step. Standing on the metro with a raw turkey and a bag of ingredients between our feet brought about a few funny stares, but maybe it was the smell of poultry and raw onions.

We made it to Mr. Johnson's apartment and I was happy to unload the goods. It was then that I had to translate the crazy symbols that were his oven setting and stick the turkey in there. After only 15 minutes it was starting to get brown, really really brown, so I turned down the heat and continued with my other preparations. I candied the sweet potatoes and set the aside to caramelize under the broiler later. Meanwhile I started making yet another pumpkin pie but at least this time I knew exactly what I was doing. Everything was going smoothly, but then I took the turkey's temperature.

It was half an hour before anyone was supposed to be there and yet there it was, the turkey was done. What was I going to do? Six rolled by and no one had arrived yet. Six thirty and still not a single sole and stepped foot into the apartment. At seven thirty the first guests were coming and so I decided, screw it, and put the turkey back in the oven to crisp up. But, again, the oven was a bit funky and so one side of the turkey blackened while the other side, the side I could see through the window, was golden and perfect. I took the turkey out and threw the dressing, green bean casserole, and sweet potatoes in to finish. Elze carved the bird and put the pieces in the roasting pan so they could sit in the delicious drippings. We set the table and all sat around, what I must admit, was a beautiful spread.

(Yes, Mom, I know the roll of paper towels isn't adding anything...)

Suanne and her enormous appetite. 

Beautiful Elze behind "the spread". 

Martin digging in on the juicy turkey goodness. 

Luke with his very own leg. Lucky bastard.

Though things hadn't gone exactly to plan everything turned out in the end. The turkey was perhaps the best turkey I had ever had. While I would like to take 100% of the credit, I must admit that the quality of the bird was most likely above any turkey I've ever bought in the states. It was fatty and flavorful and dripping with sweet succulent juice. But even with the delicious meal, the best part of the evening was sharing it with all my friends. It was fun to hear what they liked the most and to listen to them talk about how they had never had this or that before. As per tradition I made everyone go around the table and say what they were thankful for, and we were all thankful for the same thing. To be here, in Paris, with friends from all over the world. Just like the first Thanksgiving we were in new place trying to survive and we had each other to help us through it all.

Everyone left so full they were about to burst, which I told them is another Thanksgiving tradition. There was barely any turkey left because we all had helped ourselves to at least two servings. While I may be a bit sad not to have shared this holiday with my family back home, at least I was able to introduce all my friends here to one of my favorite traditions. And really, no matter where your from, sharing a meal is a great way to spend an evening. Every culture appreciates and practices it. Food is something that can bring anyone together, and isn't that really what Thanksgiving is all about?

Recipes:

Perfect Turkey
adapted from Martha Stewart


I brine my turkey for 24 hours, so make sure you're ready in advance. You also should be aware of the fact that you have to let your brine cool completely before you can soak the turkey in it, so usually it's good to make it a day before you plan on using it.

Ingredients:
10 cups water
3 cups coarse salt
5 cups of sugar
1/2 bottle of dry white wine
Aromatics (this can be anything of your choosing that you think will make your turkey taste better, I used onions, leeks, carrots, herbs de provence and peppercorns.)

Bring to a boil and stir until all of the sugar and salt have dissolved completely. Let cool. Place in a large pot or bag big enough to fit the turkey. Put the turkey breast side down in the brine and add enough water to fully submerge the turkey. You will have to weigh the turkey down with something since it will float in the brine. Leave for 24 hours.

Preheat oven to 425 degree. Remove the turkey 2 hours before roasting, pat dry, and let sit at room temperature. Soak a cheese cloth in melted butter and white wine and place on the turkey breast so that it covers the breast completely and goes halfway down the sides. Place in oven for 30 minutes.

Reduce oven temperature to 350 degrees and brush the cheese cloth and turkey with the white wine and butter mixture as well as any drippings about ever 30 minutes. Roast until a thermometer inserted into the deepest part of the thigh (not touching the bone) reads 170-180 degrees (the times will depend on the size of your turkey, and can be found here http://www.fsis.usda.gov/factsheets/lets_talk_turkey/index.asp). Remove the cheese cloth for the last hour of roasting to ensure a good delicious brown crispy crust.


Gravy


Since I was afraid that the brine would make my turkey drippings too salty for use in a gravy, I made my gravy ahead a time with a chicken carcass I had from dinner the night before. I then pan fried the turkey giblets with some bacon and added that to a pot along with the chicken bones. I then deglazed the pan with white wine and added that, along with more wine, peppercorns, and herbs de provence, to the pot with the poultry bits. I cooked this over low heat until it was nice and brown, a few hours. I strained the bits away and brought it to a slow boil. Meanwhile I mixed about a quarter of a cup of flour with a cup of wine by shaking them in a jar. I used this, little by little, to thicken the gravy until it was at a desirable consistency.


Candied Sweet Potatoes


Ingredients:
Sweet potatoes (about one for two people) peeled and sliced into disks.
Butter
Whiskey
Maple Syrup
Brown Sugar
1/4 cup water

In a sauce pan mix the butter, whiskey, maple syrup, brown sugar and water until the butter melts. Add the sweet potato slices and coat with the liquid. Cook over high heat until the liquid is thickened and the sweet potatoes are almost done. Transfer to a baking dish and finish in the oven to make a caramelized glaze on top.


Pick Axe Stuffing


Ingredients:

Bread (good crusty kind)

Dried Apricots, chopped

Leeks, sliced

Sausage, crumbled

Bacon chopped

Cashews, chopped

Tear bread into small pieces and leave out to dry for a day or two. 

In a large non-teflon pan, cook the sausage, bacon, leeks, and apricots until browned and delicious. Add to bread with cashews. Deglaze the pan and use as the juice to bind the stuffing along with eggs. The stuffing should be fairly moist but not too wet. Place in baking dish and heat at about 350 degrees until warmed through. 

From-Scratch Green Bean Casserole

Ingredients:

2 medium onions, sliced and caramelized

1lb green beans, blanched

1 teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon nutmeg

Salt and pepper to taste

1/4 cup tablespoons flour

2 cups milk

4 tablespoons butter

1 cup cheese, grated (parmesen, sharp cheddar, or some other hard, strong cheese)

Fried onions (I just battered mine in egg and flour then fried in vegetable oil)

Bread crumbs

In a large pot melt the butter until it starts to bubble. Add the flour and whisk until it becomes thick and golden, about 2-3 minutes. Add the milk and continue to whisk until it thickens, about 5 minutes. Stir in 1/2 cup of the cheese, caramelized onions and spices until incorporated. Then stir in the green beans. Pour into a baking dish and top with the bread crumbs, fried onions, and remaining cheese. Bake at about 350 degrees until warmed through and the cheese is melted.


Pumpkin Pie


Crust
Ingredients:
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons salt
1/4 cup water
1 cup (2 sticks) cool butter

If using a food processor, but all the flour, salt and butter in the mixer and pulse until grainy. It doesn't need to be too even since the cold butter chunks are what make the crust flaky. Then slowly add the water until the crust just comes together. Roll out onto a floured surface. I then fold it into fourths to move it to the buttered pie tin and unfold it to gently fill the tin. Place back in the fridge to cool while you make the pumpkin filling.

Filling
Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups pumpkin puree (this should be about one can or about 1 1/2 lbs fresh pumpkin, roasted and pureed)
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
3 eggs
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons ginger
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon nutmeg
2 tablespoons flour

Mix all of the ingredients, I recommend sifting the spices in, with the whisk attachment of an electric mixer until well blended. Pour into the cooled pie crust, brush the crust edge with egg wash, and bake at 350 degrees on top of a parchment lined baking sheet for approximately 1 hour. Check after 50 minutes to see if the filling is set. Simply give the pie a little shake and if it jiggles, it needs more time.

STAY TUNED...

Writer's block, a horrible headache, and turkey digestion are preventing me from feeling inspired enough to write anything witty for you guys. So instead of forcing some lackluster quips for you I am promising two posts tomorrow. One analyzing the millefeuille I was happy to sample from Hugo & Victor, Sadaharu AOKI, Pierre Herme, and Pain de Sucre, as well as wild cards from Patisserie des Reves and Dalloyau. The other recounting my Thanksgiving in Paris with my foreign friends. There were a few surprises and some hilarious accidents, but all in all it turned out well.

Until then enjoy your Friday!

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DUCK, DUCK, DUCK, TURKEY!

Martha Stewart

So I'm not going to get a chance to post anything too interesting because I'm preparing Thanksgiving for all my foreign friends. I know, I know, I said I was going to do it last Saturday but I was just too jet lagged. And this way it's on a Thursday and is thus more authentic.

I did have yet another revelation yesterday. As I was running around from butchery to butchery to find a turkey I had to talk to numerous butchers. And, much to my surprise, they were all lovely! Especially the man who actually had a whole turkey to sell me. He spoke a little english, I spoke a little french, we laughed, it was wonderful. And that is when I realized that when it come's to the French, they are either awesome and charming, or horrible and rude. There really is no in between.

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It shouldn't come as too much of a shock since that seems to be how they operate. They aren't really mediocre at anything. They either kick-ass or fail completely. Food, good. War, bad. Art, good. Breath, bad. Perfume, good. Bathing, bad. No gray areas, no middle spot, just one end of the spectrum or the other.

As I continue my exploration and interpersonal relationships I hope I will encounter much more of the good than the bad. But the bad can be good too. It certainly is humorous. Who doesn't laugh at the thought of the Maginot Line? I know my Marine brother-in-law, Todd, thinks it's a sign that God has a sense of humor. Honestly though, I cannot wait to meet more of the charming people that Paris has to offer me, and I plan on returning to that boucherie just so I can get a good dose of happiness. Nothing quite like a nice person to brighten your day, even when you're spending 77 euros on a turkey.

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