Na gaveta

It’s always surreal when what was once a conscious, waking experience wears itself into a dull memory.  The distance between my life in Brazil and my life in the states has grown perceptibly in the last couple of months, and I find that my thoughts have begun to drift towards a fictitious place where scenes from both countries seamlessly combine.

Café do Brasil

My final month in Paris (back in 2010!) was spent primarily in the company of a few very fine Brazilian friends in an apartment in the Marais. I'd wake to the bright metallic blue skies of the Parisian summer, slip on a pair of socks, and pack out the grounds of what to me at the time was pure gold into the Italian espresso maker in the kitchen. I'd set the metal device on the stovetop and glance over at it every once in awhile until it began to sputter and bubble. I would then place the espresso maker to the side at what I arbitrarily deemed to be the "right moment" and pour the contents haphazardly into a mis-matched cup from the set that came with the apartment. At that point, I would clutch the cup dreamily to my chest as I imagined what pastry I would purchase that morning.

The golden substance in question was none other than coffee that my friend had carried with her all the way from Brazil. I loved the deep flavor and rich body of the coffee, and the fact that the caffeine content didn't knock me to the floor. When I returned to the states, my friend spooned a good deal of the grounds into a disposable bag and tucked it away in my backpack for good measure.

 On a professional and academic level, my image of Brazilian coffee production has always been of large-scale fields of identical trees with merciless mechanical harvesting equipment scouring overhead. I have yet to visit a farm (although I've passed them on many a bus ride) but I do realize that the diversity of production here is far greater than I had ever imagined prior. As I love the taste of the coffee here, I have since decided to fully embrace the substance for its flavor and absolute necessary place in Brazilian culture.

It seems that even within the span of the last few years coffee culture has ballooned into an industry of cool. The latest single-farm, small batch-roasted varieties line the shelves of hip cafés safely within the confines of their recycled paper packages. The shiny metallic and glass-framed apparatuses designed to reap the best flavor profile out of such coffees stand by, effortlessly gleaming in the streamy café window sunlight.

And there I am... in awe of it all, trying my hardest not to succumb to the trend, but fully immersed in the very culture of the whole thing. For when I have a really good cup of coffee, I fall hard.

 That brings me to São Paulo, a city full of untapped treasures to both the shrewd traveler and the untrained eye. My dear friend Elle and I have been trouncing about discovering the best places to grab a cup of this luxurious joe. Two of which I'd like to highlight below:

1. Santo Grão

Although it boasts many locations, the one which I prefer the most is in the chic Jardims district of the city. We discovered it on a lazy friday spent sipping happily at a french press while reading the paper.  This particular location is reminiscent of a French café, with tiny circular tables, wicker chairs, and a nice breeze magically flowing around the tables. It's worth a visit to taste the hand-selected cafés from Minas Gerais and read the paper with an excellent cappucino at your side.

Santo Grão   
Rua Oscar Freire, 413  
Jardins - São Paulo SP
http://www.santograo.com.br/ 

2. Coffee Lab



Coffee Lab reminded me of a treehouse dedicated to coffee preparation, with a nonchalant atmosphere and an unpretentious staff happy to demonstrate how they roast and prepare coffee for customers. They also offer free classes to those wanting to increase their knowledge about Brazilian coffee!  This photo is courtesy of the wonderful Elle :)

Coffee Lab

Rua Fradique Coutinho, 1340

Vila Madalena - São Paulo/SP

http://raposeiras.com.br/

The Moments When Everything Makes Sense

Dinner: Broccoli with a mustardy vinaigrette

Dessert: Home-popped kettle corn

Conscious Ingestion

I like to think that each person has the first line of his or her particular novel hiding away somewhere, perhaps resting along the soft part of an underarm or tucked behind the pliable back of a right earlobe. I used to have multiple one-liner story starters in mind, and, as my mother once thumbed through a rolodex for contacts, I would shuffle through these beginnings in order to find the appropriate trailhead for a path of unconscious and consciously driven thoughts during a long walk home.

I am currently living in Brazil, which is an enormous change from any place in which I've lived prior! It seems to me that the heat and the adjustment period has dulled the influence of these thoughts.  After all, once must conserve energy when faced with an unforgiving sun and a constant stream of wonderful people.

This space has been all too quiet during the past year. Life took some amazing turns, but left me so busy that my previous prolific writing style dried up like a summertime California creek.  In the meantime, I noticed the world, especially in terms of blogging, began to change.  Blogs have become dynamic, lifestyle-oriented places, filled with tips on fashion, food, life, culture, and a grandiose slew of other items. That's not to say that I'm done here... I'm far from it.  However, I'm constantly in awe of the dynamic nature of life as technology grows with it. Consequently, I was rendered mute as things changed around me. Stagnancy is no state to stay in :)

Today, I was pleased to have a thought about a first liner and I wanted more than anything to share it in this place.  In living in three different countries, I've noticed the importance that each culture seems to place with sharing meals. I want to give this concept a name that sounds a lot more scientific than it really is- conscious ingestion.

It occurred to me that humans are constantly in a state of ingestion and digestion.  In order to live we require vast amounts of oxygen, nutrients, and attention.  It was through yoga that I realized that the air that I breathe was something that I should be conscious of and grateful for. This concept led me to believe that we should be more aware about how we consume- why stop at air?  Food presents a much more interesting terrain.

Brazil has taught me to look at how and why I eat.  My ever-harried Paulista friends take time each Saturday to sit down to an incredibly rich and delicious meal of feijoada or muqueca (both stew-like dishes with meat and vegetables), accompanied by icy beers and capirinhas. They talk, they look at one another in the eyes, they give the sun some time of day, and then they rest before picking up again with their busy schedules.

In California I was more of a conscientious consumer- I could ingest in such a way because I had the luxury to be able to choose between organic and conventional produce, responsibly sourced materials and otherwise, etc.  In foreign countries, this isn't so easy.  So I return to the conscious aspect of the ritual, which I believe every culture, as the Brazilian demonstrated above, has its merits and forms.

So here's to capturing more of these moments, whether here or in another space. I'll keep you posted!

And below is a salad to celebrate- tomatoes are somehow in season here, so I'm using them... but feel free to substitute them with cooked beets, radishes, or other vegetables that come to mind.

Melon and Tomato Salad

Inspired by this

1 medium-sized melon (cantelope is best, but I used a green melon here with success!)

2 persian cucumbers

3 medium-sized tomatoes

2 large limes

olive oil (an improvised amount)

1 bunch parsley with a select amount chopped and set aside

1 bunch mint with a select amount chopped and set aside

a dash of red pepper flakes

Salt to taste

Cube the melon, peel and slice the cucumbers, and chop the tomatoes into recognizable chunks.  Combine in a bowl and mix with the juice of the limes and a glug or two of olive oil.  Add the chopped herbs, salt, pepper flakes, and anything else you can think of to taste. Voilá! You've got yourself a salad.

Bon appetit!

Inspiration struck

Until quite recently, kale was only familiar to me as a decorative vegetable, sheltering the lines of slice-able meats and sausages at the deli counter which I was to meticulously stock for work.

Yet today, kale proved to be an insightful muse, balancing the bright parsley, thinly sliced fennel, and sweet carrots in a metal bowl that I unceremoniously clanged against the counter and filled to the brim with this tough yet nutrient-laden vegetable of a purple hue.

It's delicious, filled with texture, versatile, and so packed with so many good things that you'll feel more satisfied than you would if you had eaten a giant steak. Try it!

I find myself listening more these days to the sounds that a day emits between the various stopping points that we have collectively established (breakfast, lunch, and dinner of course :)) There's a music behind the hum of the public transit systems, sputtering car engines, playful shouts of children, seemingly all-knowing caw's of the birds. There's also a beauty in those brief moments of silence where columns of noise seem to stop vibrating and stand still. It is in these moments that I realize that despite the fact that there are billions of people teeming on this earth, sometimes nobody has anything to say. And that's quite alright with me.

Anyway, onwards to the kale!

Summer Kale Salad

Consider this a base, and add anything from pumpin seeds to avocado

One bunch kale

One fresh fennel bulb

2 carrots

handful of parsley, chopped

2 green onions (*optional)

juice of one lemon

1 teaspoon agave nectar syrup

salt and pepper to taste

Wash the fennel and slice against the grain into thin pieces, add to a large salad bowl.

Rinse the kale in a colander and let sit for two minutes (so that any dirt falls to the bottom). Dry the kale and either chop or tear into small-ish strips, add to the bowl.

Wash and slice the green onions and carrots, add to the bowl.

Squeeze the lemon on the mixture, adding the agave nectar syrup, salt, and pepper to taste.

Toss and enjoy!

What is fluttering beheath my lashes

Lightly gracing the dull carpet of my room are the soles of a pair of brown leather oxford shoes, laces undone, thin tongues slightly turned in, and interiors looking prim and neat.

I purchased the shoes here, in the US, but I find that they represent some part of me that still resides in Paris... mentally at least.

Before I left that city, I scoured each window display (of which there are many) for the perfect pair of oxfords.

And I won't be the first to tell you, a window display can break your heart.

But this blog isn't about shoes. It's not about those little tears at the seams that occur when normally reticent thoughts somehow submerge around midday. No, no. It's about food, but somehow those lingering Parisian thoughts kept me from coming back here for months to describe my new home turf.

And these days I find myself humbled by a simpler cooking routine, inspired more so by the homely than the ambitious. You'll find me hovering over a small pan, filled about one inch deep with steamy water. Small bubbles hesitantly release themselves from the bottom of the pan, only to hover haphazardly upwards towards the choppy surface. They invariably dissipate into the air.

I pinch the egg shell open with my hands and watch as the mass of transparent protein plops into the water. Magic ensues. I fish the poached egg out of its incubating bath, splay it out against a rough bed of grainy toast, and devour it whole. Then I put on my oxford shoes and bound out into the world.

I promise that I'll be returning shortly. For both of our sakes.

Guest Post by Jordan: The Fifty Dollar Chopped Salad

I think I've told you before, but my twin brother Jordan is an incredibly talented character. He's an amazing source of humor and inspiration for me, even when whole oceans or endless stretches of land seem to surface between us. So here he is with a tale of the family, and of a particularly special salad...

Some iteration of this sentence has surely appeared in the stream of consciousness below: There are two things that my family likes to do--play tennis and eat really good food. Neither my twin sister nor I had the attention span to endure anything beyond the youth tennis camps our mother so happily forced us to partake in; however, we both did come to love eating, and what better setting to do so in than at the all too frequent five-o-clock dinners our family has whenever we're both home. Then we were naive children who were unaware of our future as gourmets. Now we are mistakably pretentious (or as we prefer to say, passionate) about really good food. What facilitated the transition were the dinners we had with our family that exposed depth and intricacies of food. I might add that our family loves to characterize the behaviors of each of its members--so naturally, everything from Uncle Terry's classic ice-down-the-back to our Mom's erratic photo-shoots (look at our fridge the next time you make it to the Orinda house) sends our twin-telepathic hilarity into overdrive. Yet, the end product of these lovely gatherings is always the same: a massive feast and a great deal of laughter.

Living on my own and supporting myself the past few months has afforded several great life lessons. Always take the subway ten minutes before you have to, because if you don't the train will probably break down and you'll be late to work. Don't borrow your best friend and roommate's car while he's studying abroad in Germany if you're probably going to rear-end another car and end up with a big bill to pay. And, if you get invited to a potluck with your coworkers make something that they will remember. Well, when I was invited to attend my lab's cookout it wasn't difficult for me to decide on an unforgettable dish.

The heat of a Boston summer is unforgiving and oppressive. The humidity weighs you down so much that you'll avoid eating anything that you might feel sitting in your stomach afterwards at all costs. So what better to bring to a cook out than a colorful chop salad. In fact, the chop salad I had in mind was the one that my Uncle Terry typically prepared for our summer dinners. He was flattered to give away the recipe because, as he said, "Nobody asks for my recipes"! Well, a $50 trip to whole foods (who knew cucumbers were so damn expensive!?) and a few hours of chopping later I had a wonderful salad. So blow off some steam from your long commute home from work where you're the only non member of the army of mesmerized blackberry and iphone users. Look at the recipe below and write it down. Go buy the ingredients and don't open your computer until after you've enjoyed this wonderful salad. We all need a break from our overly connected lives, better to do it eating a great meal!

Uncle Terry's Chopped Salad

2 avocados
6 tomatoes
5 small cucumbers
6 green onions
2 bed bell pepper
4 radishes
Parsley
Salt and Pepper to Taste

Optional: Bacon

Chop the ingredients into small cubes and garnish with a Balsamic Vinaigrette. The final tossed salad should be colorful, textural, and tasty.

Au Revoir Paris!

I often have the sensation that after I leave a place in which I've lived, the streets, shops, restaurants, and people that I've met there will stop spinning in their axes and stay transfixed in time until I return. I felt that way about Madrid, only to find, upon stepping onto those very same cobblestones two years later, that the walls that I once knew were covered with colorful graffiti, the friends that I had kept were hiding their receding hairlines, and the tapas bars that I frequented had been renovated. I would have had to peel back layers of commuter metro rides, late evenings, early mornings, and café con leche's sipped upon lingering afternoons to find my Madrid again.

If anything, I was grateful of my new view of the city. I too had changed, and I liked the way it felt to be a bit more mature, aged, ready for newer adventures but always appreciative of all of the magic that a city can bestow upon a person.


I feel differently about Paris than I did about Madrid. It's hard not to imagine this busy, packed, tourist and Parisian-filled city constantly moving and transforming. Sure, the landmarks that I passed on a daily basis on my aimless, endless walks will remain the same, but the layers of dust and human life that happen to land upon them will shift perceptibly. I cannot wait to see where things go... as long as my favorite boulangerie is still on the corner of Rue Madame and Rue de Rennes and my favorite spot for some wining and dining along the Seine isn't too crowded :)


I'm thankful for this gray city, and for the people that I know and love that helped me figure out my place within it. I guess it's on to new adventures, and hopefully the blog will come along for the ride!

Sundays in Paris

I'm sure that many newcomers to Paris are shocked to see such a lively city become a silent ghost-town on Sundays.


A general calm blankets the city as Parisians opt out of public life for their quiet homes. There is a welcome pause from all of the typical weekday city noise- a temporary end to the superfluous police sirens, the constant tunnels of air from passing cars, and the shouts and conversations from pedestrians. Shops display iron grates and "closed" signs instead of new wares, and the only life on the street seems to be the street cleaners sweeping away the excesses of the Saturday night prior.

I look at Sundays as an opportunity to read the books that I neglected on Friday and Saturday night, to go on long, meandering walks, full of both empty and full thoughts, and to cook some more labor-intensive dishes. Sundays are great for leisurely picnics with friends as well.

Yet, for those craving a bit of action on Sundays, the city doesn't have to be so depressing. In fact, there's a whole quartier that's full of life. Here's a small guide for people who want some nice walking, good food, and an otherwise lively Sunday afternoon.

1) Market Action at Bastille Market


One of the most largest, most action-packed and affordable markets happens to take place on Sundays- The Bastille Market. Walk along the Seine towards Place de la Bastille or hop on the Metro (lines 1, 5, and 8) and get off on the Bastille stop (conveniently named). This market has everything- from beautiful produce to never-ending fish stands and Italian butchers. The prices are right and the crowd is a pleasant mixture of Parisians and tourists. Plus, the boulangeries in the surrounding area are open for quick, on-the-go breakfasts. This is the perfect place to start a Sunday morning.

Marché Bastille
Thursdays and Sundays, 7:30 am- 2 pm
Boulevard Richard Lenoir
75011 Paris
Métro: Bastille

2) Picnics and Sunbathing at Place de Vosges

Located just a walking distance away from the market, Place de Vosges is the oldest planned square in Paris (built during the era of Henry IV). It's hard to miss, as it's constructed from beautiful red bricks. Apparently Victor Hugo lived in a house along one of its edges. While the restaurants inside the square tend to be over-priced and touristy, the lawn is a wonderful place to sit and relax during the late Sunday morning, perhaps also to enjoy whatever market items you might have picked up earlier at Bastille. I'm sorry that I don't have a picture, but I'm happy to provide directions from Bastille Market...

Place de Vosges
From the Bastille Metro stop, take Rue Saint-Antoine away from Bastille, in the direction of the Louvre, or Notre Dame. You'll pass Rue de Tournelles, an impassé (or dead-end street), and finally your third right will take you right to the heart of Place de Vosges. Again, look for the red brick!

3) Shopping and Dining in the Marais


The Marais, or the hip Gay and Jewish neighborhood of the city is the place to be on a Sunday. Located in the 4th arrondissement and encompassing Place de Vosges, it's packed with small clothing, tea, and gift boutiques, as well as some really good restaurants. Check out Rue de Rosiers for the oh-so-famous (five Euro) falafel sandwiches and many a New York-style Jewish deli.

Rue de Rosiers

Rue de Turenne has some excellent clothing shops and a couple of good boulangeries. Rue de Vieille Temple houses lots of great bars and restaurants, as well as bookstores, galleries, and gelato spots. Wander inwards and you'll stumble upon the Enfants Rouges indoor market, replete with Moroccan, Italian, Lebanese, Caribbean, and Japanese restaurants.

A displayed menu at Enfants Rouges Market

My advice to people coming to the Marais is to use the Saint-Paul metro stop (located on Rue de Rivoli, which is the same street as Rue Saint-Antoine) as a starting point. Wander inwards along one of the major streets (Rue de Vieille Temple is a great one), and stop along the shops and cafés along the way. Carry a map, as it's quite easy to step out of the Marais. Finally, don't be afraid to ask those hip Parisians for directions if you're lost!

The Marais
Métro Saint-Paul
Wander in the direction away from the Seine. The area is bordered by Rue de Rivoli (which becomes Rue Saint-Antoine) and is located in the 3rd and 4th arrondissements

How to Wash and Store Salad Greens

There are two things that are guaranteed to be in my mother's kitchen at this time of year : a bowl of kiwis and a zip-lock bag of washed, dried, and properly-stored lettuce.

The bowl of kiwis merits its own post, but essentially it's never empty and never, ever full of rotten fruit. My mom eats those little furry fruits everyday, standing over the sink unabashedly as she does it. She slices them with a paring knife, allowing the extra juices to fall freely.

The salad greens are her pride and joy. I was barred from washing and drying greens until I was deemed "responsible" enough to do so correctly (it took twenty years, folks!) Proper salad care takes a bit of patience, but it can be quite the nurturing exercise, and it pays off in the end with beautiful, delicious salads! So I thought I'd share the process with you, especially since I want to encourage you to make as many salads as possible this summer :)

To begin, lettuce is grown in very sandy, wet environments. An incomplete washing will leave unexpected gritty bites in an otherwise delicious salad. Furthermore, the greens won't hold salad dressing unless they're completely dry! So not only is a good rinse necessary, but also a thorough drying session.

So here's the step by step process:

1) Pull that beautiful head of lettuce out of your grocery bag and check the outside for spotted, or otherwise too-tough leaves. Discard those reject leaves. Don't feel guilty! Place the remaining head of lettuce in a colander.

2) Place the colander under cold, running water. It has to be cold, not even lukewarm, as the salad greens hold their shape better under a cold rinse! Peel away the layers of leaves, holding each new leaf under the water for a few seconds and using your hands to ensure that all of the sand is removed.

3) Give each washed leaf a good shake in the sink as you go and place it aside, either on an outstretched towel or in another colander designated for clean greens.

4) When the washing is finished, take a look at that glorious pile of dripping leaves! If you're like me and you don't have a salad spinner, take about two kitchen towels and begin patting your lettuce dry.... make sure that you get as much water off of the leaves as possible!

5) Place the dry leaves in a resealable zip-lock bag with a damp paper towel. Drop the zip-lock bag in the crisper drawer of your fridge. If washed and stored properly, they should last for 4 or 5 days!

Enjoy!

Color and Salads

I remember vividly the colors of Spain- the golden yellow cobblestone paths, the vibrant red walls of the tapas bars that I frequented, the chalky gray-white countertops where I'd sip from small glasses of café con leche and slice a fork through those bright yellow wedges of tortilla de patata flecked with caramelized onions.

Paris has its own color scheme- lots of grays throughout the paved streets, creamy white and pastel buildings, dark roofs, bright yellow post offices, and red awnings of brasseries, perhaps with golden letters written elegantly on their windows. Yet one thing I'm grateful for here in my color-seeking ways is the fact that there are splashes of green throughout this city. Sure, I see lots of trees on streets and in these lush parks, but the green I'm most excited to see that that which billows off of giant white plates set on wooden tables....Yes, I'm talking about salad greens.

I think that the French have mastered the art of the salade composée, or, in English, the composed salad. The very base of a composed salad is a pillow-y mass of greens. As much as I love Romaine lettuce, the French salad calls for a collection of greens so soft and gentle-looking a person might be tempted to rest his or her head against the pile and dream of frolicking through French farmland. The item to top the salad is determined by the whims of the chef. I've seen toasts with baked chèvre balancing precariously on the lettuce, draped pieces of prize jambon, little balls of mozzarella and melon, sliced hard-boiled eggs, grilled and curried chicken, you name it! Accompanied by a small basket of hand-sliced baguette, these salads are the epitome of summer to me.

In Paris, one can find these salads at almost any restaurant, bistro, or brasserie. However, I'll give you a tip for the best salad-sighting. Head out to an antique fair around lunchtime and watch as the vendors set up their midday meal. There's nothing more rustic-looking to me than a woman peeling apart layers of sliced ham on a wooden charcuterie board as her son tosses a brilliant pile of multi-colored butter lettuces and her husband mixes the vinegarette in some ancient jar. Normally, on the fold-out table will be a generous wedge of brie and some pain de la campagne as well.

I've been making my own composed salads recently with wedges of tomatoes, cucumbers, eggs, and parsley. I also had quite a nice one with nectarines, mozzarrella, and Parma ham... all tossed with peppery arugula. While I'd like to leave the salad creativity to you, I thought I'd link to this wonderful recipe for a French vinaigrette, courtesy of the amazing David Lebovitz. Make sure you get your hands on a really good Dijon mustard for it!

Bon Appetit!

A Quick Culinary Thought

I promise a more substantial post soon, perhaps with a recipe for a beautiful composed French salad, but for the moment on this Parisian July 4th I thought I'd dispense just one whimsical glimpse towards my homecoming.

The dinner I am going to prepare when I'm home:

Caprese Salad with heirloom tomatoes and fresh mozarella (perhaps buratta?)

Grilled Asparagus tossed with a lemony-mustardy- tribute-to-France vinaigrette

Grilled lamb chops or chicken- Armenian style, served with some brown rice or pilaf

Dessert: Mango sorbet accompanied by a dollop of pistachio ice cream....a crazy and delicious combo that I've just discovered.

Happy Grilling!

Same City, Another Paris

As I was stumbling through the freezing streets in January and February, wishing that my route home was just that much shorter so I wouldn't have to face the biting winds any longer, I swore to myself that when the weather improved I'd explore all of the areas of the city away from the Seine....from the bottom roots of Paris to the very top reaches.

If there's one unfortunate thing that I've learned, it's that it's entirely possible for someone to live here in a little English-speaking, Hemingway café-going, Bon Marché shopping bubble. The sheer diversity of lives within this microcosm is incredible, and just dipping into the shallow pools of those of the wealthiest lifestyle can only leave you shivering with cold. Those who follow such a lifestyle don't know this diversity of this place, and to their detriment, they never will.

I stopped worrying for them. And I also realized that for a tourist here for a week, it's essential to see all of those sights that the guidebooks extol and the famous artists and writers of our time have captured through words and works. If you're here for only a bit, by all means go to the museums, walk along the Seine, stand under the Eiffel Tour, walk up to Montmartre, eat a croissant from a famous bakery (best experience is sitting on one of those parked city Velib bikes while doing it so you can see the crowds go by, go for it!), take a stroll around the Jardin de Luxembourg, hit up lots of open-air markets, eat out, and, if you're lucky to know some people here, eat in at their apartments, check out all of the ancient bookstores, and tiny galleries in the winding alleys... because that's Paris. There is no doubt about it!

But recently, I've discovered a different area of the city, lively, yet full of calm patches... I thought I'd take you along on the trip and give you the addresses of the sites so you can make a day of it if you're here!

1) Belleville Market

This is no ordinary market. Stretching for blocks upon blocks, it's filled with people and goods from all over the world. With roots from North and West Africa to China, the vendors carry fruits and vegetables unavailable at the markets closer to the Seine, and at very reasonable prices. This is the kind of market where you're enveloped by the smells of melons as male vendors yell out sales and dole out slices, and those older French, Arab, and Chinese women jostle you as they pass along with their little French shopping baskets. It's a one of a kind experience, expect a good haul!

Le Marché de Belleville
Tuesdays and Fridays, 7:30-2pm
‪63 Boulevard de Belleville‬
‪75011 Paris‬
‪Métro: Couronnes ‬

2) Canal Saint-Martin

I remember talking to a Parisian friend about my favorite places in the city, and as I rattled off my list, I noticed that she was shrugging ambivalently... apparently I hadn't mentioned one of the best, and most Parisian picnic spots! This canal is tiny, located in the 11th arrondissement, but it's a spot not to miss. Walk or bike along its banks, only to take a quick stop for a home-packed picnic, movie at the theater alongside, or a meal at one of the bistros or restaurants in the area.

Canal Saint-Martin
Métro: Juarès

3) Le Parc des Buttes Chaumont

I never, ever, ever thought that I would discover a nature area so beautiful and pristine in this city. I get nostalgic for California every time I come, and then I find that the nostalgia quickly dissolves into an absolute love for Paris and the Parisians that keep this place a secret to all of those colorful tourists out there. One can romp along the steep, grassy, untamed hills, or meditate on a serene patch of green, or watch as little kids climb up the grand rocks to the small lookouts above. Ah, tranquility in this hurried city.

I have yet to go, but there is apparently a really neat bar here called Rosa Bonheur. So if you're in town, check it out!

Parc des Buttes Chaumont
Métro: Laumière, Buttes Chaumont, or Botzaris
or, take a stroll up the Canal Saint-Martin and a make gradual right turn to get there.


So my advice to any visitors here (for longer than a week) is the following: Take a Tuesday or Friday, get up and head out to the market, buy some nice fruit (you won't get much cheese or prepared meats here, but just stop by one of those nearby, always ubiquitous boulangeries to buy some sandwiches for lunch!) Gather your picnic materials, walk along the Canal Saint-Martin up towards the Parc des Buttes Chaumont, and make a day of it there... lay out your goods on the grass and be ready for some good conversation, meditation, or reading time!

Enjoy!

Corners and Ratatoullie

When I step outside the big blue doors of my apartment building I find myself on one of the many busy, bustling streets of Paris. Sirens sound as police cars swerve through traffic, a melange of languages permeates the airwaves in great planes of sound as crowds of tourists idle in front of shop windows, and the normal bangs and clashes of street cleaners sweeping their way through an abandoned marketspace ring through the air. As I make my way down the street I often find myself trapped between quickly moving Parisian businesspeople and the slowly stumbling tourists. The stop-and-go nature of the whole thing is more nerve-wracking than one would imagine!

So as time has worn on, I've begun to search out the little corners and tiny streets distributed sparsely throughout the madness. I like to sit in these tiny impassable streets, slightly removed from the cacaphony, and read a book as the smells of the city woft overhead. Perfumes from flowers in the windowsill above float gently down towards me and the savory scents of cooking vegetables and meats from lunch seem to curl around in the spaces between the apartments. I like to glance up at the tranquil, curtained windows of these apartments and imagine how many tiny living compartments exist in this city, and how many people must cook and sleep and carry out their lives in them.I like to think that sometimes, maybe, just perhaps, one of these lunchtime cooks is preparing the oh-so-famous French plate of ratatouille! It's certainly not the most exciting of dishes, and even though every chef that I talk to here seems to have a "special" recipe of his or her own, the majority of ratatouilles that I've seen are pretty much the same. There's no other way to describe it except a colorful array of vegetables set to simmer in a pot with some oil for an hour or two.So I tried a version of my own. It's great as an accompaniment to meat or as the center of a fritata...

Ratatouille

1 eggplant, sliced into half-moon pieces
2 zucchinis, ditto
2 cloves garlic, diced
1 medium-sized shallot, diced
a good handful of cherry tomatoes
a handful of chopped parsley

Heat a good glug of olive oil in a deep pan over medium heat, add the eggplant with some salt and a bit of water and cook for about 10 minutes. Remove the eggplant and do the same with the zucchini. Remove the zucchini as well, then cook the garlic and shallot until the shallot is translucent. Add the pre-cooked zucchini and eggplant and the handful of tomatoes. Here's the fun part, squish the tomatoes gently with a spoon as you stir the vegetables. Add a bit of water, cover and cook for about 40 minutes to an hour.... you want to check on things and add either water or oil every so often until things are sufficiently cooked-down. At the very end add the chopped parsley.

Serve alongside a main, or with a poached egg on top!

Bon Appetit!

Je Reviens!

Bonjour my friends! I took a bit of a hiatus there, but I just wanted to say that I'm coming back. I've had some great inspiration, namely in the form of some dear friends that came to visit and with whom I some wonderful conversation over excellent food. Here's to some new posts!

Familiarity

A few months ago I found myself literally sighing may way back and forth to campus from my apartment, feeling a bit of teenage self-remorse at the fact that the beautiful Berkeley hills with the fog nestled just so perfectly upon their grassy surfaces just weren't doing it for me anymore. Things had become too familiar.
I've always found myself to have a very fickle relationship with the familiar. When I was at school, I felt attached to the places and scenery that I knew by invisible strings, and upon feeling their slight tug on my shoulders as I walked around I longed to be liberated- to be somewhere new, where my senses would be overwhelmed by the unknown. Yet, I knew that eventually, after I did escape, something else would become familiar, and I would yearn for the old familiarity that I was once so weary of.

Luckily, I'm not there yet in my Parisian reverie. I'm constantly overwhelmed by new, different, sometimes incomprehensible things, but I'm still doing fine. Sometimes, in the dark corners of the day when I'm walking alone on some empty street I do get a dull pang in my stomach, signifying a desire, just for once, to run into someone I know. Yet, at the same time, I'm finding that little colonies of familiarity are settling into my existence here, just like inconspicuous sandcastles along a gentle shore.

Take for instance, this market I can't stop talking about. After two weeks of not waking up entirely too early on a Saturday to stop by the place, I had almost forgotten how happy my visits there had made me. In the meantime, I felt like things just weren't fitting into place. I kept buying food I didn't enjoy, finding my French even more inadequate when I talked to strangers, and just feeling like I wasn't really connecting with anything or anyone.

Then, last Saturday, despite the clouds of impending rain descending on the city, I stepped out the door and went to the market. I couldn't believe it, but I felt as if I was returning to something that had always been a part of my life. The two middle-aged cheese vendors that always roll their eyes at my strange requests in broken French gave me the very same look. The old grizzly guy working one of the many produce stands gave me a wink as he shoveled rustic spinach in a bag. And of course I almost buckled at the knees when the cute guy at the charcuterie stand smiled as he handed me some sliced bacon.

I left the market elated, and as I walked past the bars that I hadn't seen in a couple of weeks, returned home, and carefully unpacked my haul, I just felt right. The same people. The same vibe. I need that. I need some familiarity.

My class is coming to be the same way. I've made friendships that have completely altered my experience here for the better. We deal with the unfamiliar on our own, but laugh about it together over some wine and cheese on these well-groomed lawns.... carving out spaces of familiarity in this city that so many people already know.

Anyway, I digress. This latest recipe is something I'm extremely happy about, not only because it's from this super cool British guy named Rick Stein (thanks Rob!) but also because it's easily assembled from any market haul. Just to give a quick explanation, Rick Stein shares exactly my belief about food- the fact that combining ingredients at their peak in the most simple ways can produce amazingly delicious dishes that anyone can savor without an ounce of pretention. This recipe is so easy, and yet produces something that is unbelievably good. It's a pea dish made from shelling peas, spring onions, and some bacon or prosciutto. I'll attach the video, which is super entertaining, as well.

Peas Braised with Onions and Ham
Taken from Rick Stein

1 bunch of spring onions (the onions with the smaller round white globes)
2 thick tranches (or slices) of French style bacon (or one good slice of Parma ham)
1-2 garlic cloves, sliced thinly
2 cups of freshly shelled peas
1 handful of finely chopped parsley

Pour a good amount of olive oil in a medium-sized pan (make sure it's somewhat deep) and place over a burner at medium heat. When the oil is quite hot add the onions and stir until they're slightly browned on the outside, add some water and cover to simmer. Slice your bacon or ham into "little jewels" as Rick Stein says, or small little squares as I would say. Check on the onions- when they're soft add the ham and garlic and start stirring. Cover and let simmer. When the bacon is cooked (you'll have to wait less time if you use prosciutto of course) add the peas and cover. You'll only want to cook the peas for a few minutes... don't be afraid to taste a few as you go to make sure you get the texture that you want. When the concoction is cooked take it off the stove, pour it into a bowl and top with the chopped parsley. It goes incredibly well with some crusty bread.

Bon appetit!

Attainable Perfection

I was in Paris once before, eleven years ago... when I was much more interested in running around ancient castles and buying trading cards than cooking strange vegetables and watching morning sunrises. My father decided that a trip to England, France, and Ireland was in order, so we set off for a month during the summer. I don't remember much from the trip, except perhaps the Tower of London and the fact that my dad might have clipped a few side view mirrors off some cars on those narrow winding roads.

Now that I'm back in Paris, I have the occasional déjà vu from that trip... such as the time when I played chess with a middle-aged Italian guy under the hot sun in the Jardin du Luxembourg, or when my brother and I insisted that my father take us to a "Hippocampus" restaurant (an ubiquitous chain here). One thing I do remember quite fondly is the fact that even as a child, without the developed taste buds that I think I have now, I still thought that everything we ate was amazing. The quality of the food was so strikingly good- no matter what restaurant we visited or what market we happened to buy a stray melon or box of strawberries from.

One episode in particular stands out in my memory- we were starving, having just walked around the Champ de Mars, and decided to grab a sandwich from a local boulangerie. My father ended up ordering a chicken salad sandwich, essentially a long narrow baguette filled with, well, chicken, mayonnaise, lettuce, and maybe tomatoes. Given my utter fear of mayonnaise at the time, I had no inclination to touch the sandwich. I complained bitterly. yet, when I finally took my first stubborn nibble, I found it to be absolutely delicious. The combination of flavors, perhaps given the freshness of the ingredients, merged perfectly. I munched away while still complaining (you know, to keep up appearances), and to this day I still haven't told me dad I actually liked the sandwich.

So what's the point? Well, I find that for the rare occasions that I eat out or on the street, I end up eating things here that I'd never ever touch at home. I'll happily consume a sandwich with ham, butter, and pickles, or hard-boiled egg, mayonnaise, tomatoes, and lettuce. I once ordered a plate (admittedly by accident) of some sort of bizarre sausage on top of french fries... and it was delicious! Without hesitation, I let the cheese monger at my favorite shop or stand in my market pick out a new cheese for me to try each week. I even can't wait to taste the blood sausage! I don't now if I'm ready for kidney, liver, and brains yet, but I'm sure that because people know how to prepare them here, and have been passing recipes down for generations, then I'd certainly enjoy eating them if I was.

I guess the reason for my change in behavior here is that I've found that the French really value precision and perfection in everything they do. Take the language- the strictness of the grammar for example. Its lists of rules and equally rigid pronunciation leave little room for mistakes. When I pass clothing shops, I see the articles hanging daintily on hangers, shrouded in artificial light and otherwise serenely undisturbed... in other words perfectly arranged. And the food? Don't get me started :) I'd happily wake up at 3 am to see a boulanger set up his or her immaculate display of pastries and breads. I never tire of looking here- it's the perfect city for a quiet observer.

Paris Mornings

Every morning, I wake up, place my feet on these cold red tiles, and peer out my window towards the stirring city below. I've discovered that during the Parisian winter, sticky gray clouds cling to the very tops of the buildings, where they either remain for the entirety of the day or find themselves dramatically swept away by the rising sun. I usually ponder their fate for a second, make a cup of coffee, and hastily arrange my things before skipping down my seven flights of stairs to the hazy world of wonders below me.

As I traverse the streets I breathe in the cool, refreshing air. I love the experience: watching students smoke their last cigarettes as they make their remaining brisk, slightly hesitant steps towards class, glancing into the steamy windows of boulangeries, where people wiping the sleep from their eyes form crooked lines, holding my breath as trucks full of fresh meats and cheese round the corners of impossibly tiny boulevards, and smiling to myself as the newspaper kiosk staff pull shiny new copies of magazines and newspapers out of cardboard boxes. People emerge from previously desolate metro passages. Pedestrians adjust their scarves. The city seems to be slowly grinding its way towards consciousness.

This daily snapshot intrigues me. I'm witness to the very act of preparation that it take to make this big, beautiful, sophisticated, mysterious city operate each day. It's like peering into the intricate mechanisms of a giant machine. I've found this to be true for every place in which I've lived... there's no cross-section of humanity quite like that which makes itself evident in the morning.

On Saturday mornings, I hurry down to my new favorite market, Saxe-Breteuil, where to me, the produce is freshest and cheapest. I love watching the vendors help customers pick the very best piece of produce, argue amongst themselves, and practice various ways to keep warm despite the chill of the air. It is in the market that magic takes place- cheese mongers slice generous wedges of Brie and Camembert, grizzly old men hand over sacks of dirt-covered potatoes to chic, well-dressed women, fishmongers line their exotically stocked stalls with freshly- packed ice... and I, I walk, happily drugged through the entire mess as if I was lost in a cave of miracles.

Last Saturday I came across something I hadn't seen before- a vegetable that looked like a mix between an artichoke and broccoli. I believe it's called "Fleur de Bretagne" and it's one of the most bizarre things I've ever seen... take a look!

Being curious, I tossed the remaining euro coins in my hand onto the table and purchased the vegetable (ok, so I timidly asked the gentlemen selling it if I could cook it like broccoli, and upon hearing an affirmative response I put the money in the palm of his hand and proceeded to awkwardly shove this massive vegetable in a green plastic bag)! Since I don't really know what to do, I've been steaming it, tossing it with pesto, lemon, or butter, and serving it with pasta or a fried egg.
Each time I visit this market, I step with more confidence. I've begun to recognize my favorite stalls, and think that I might even try to ask the cheese mongers for their opinion the next time I go! I'll certainly keep you posted... and if you have any recommendations for preparing this odd vegetable let me know! I'll try something new :) Until then, take care!

Paris. Oh My.

Hey guys!

I'm in Paris... but I'm sure the three people that read this already know :) Just saying I'll hopefully be updating soon! So here's a window shot to start things off (I'm currently using my ledge as a refrigerator).

What I like best

I think I've described before how I thrive on the small interactions that surface gently during each day... and how working at a market guarantees a large number of these interactions, whether they end up being good or bad. Yet, I don't think I've described another aspect that I like about these dealings with the public- I love hearing people's plans.

It starts quite simply. A person asks for a pound of pasta and a quarter pound of pancetta, and then puts the two items in a bag brimming with chard, leeks, cans of tomatoes, and the other ingredients that we base our lives upon. The person mentions: "I'm thinking of making this pasta dish I saw in a magazine the other day..." and we proceed to exchange ideas in the well-lit shop, surrounded by the hustle and bustle yet caught in a flurry of ideas that build upon each other like rungs in a ladder towards the dreamy culinary sky.

I like sitting next to someone in class who's deciding between studying in Russia and Portugal. I like talking to someone about writing a thesis, and how he or she might carry out the necessary fieldwork to sculpt ideas into a concrete reality. I like the way these words bounce off of our minds each day, assuming different states until the final product is established. As alarming as it is sometimes, I'm beginning to see the beauty in not having secure future plans. Our conversations are so much more interesting that way.

I have some pretty grandiose plans that are becoming an ever clearer reality. Thanks for all the support to my friends and family along the way towards this decision. I keep thinking I'm so selfish to carry it out, but I'm realizing more and more that we each earn our ways. I'm just going to post a picture of a nice breakfast for now, as I have very few days off from work to really enjoy the non-industrial kitchen, but I'll be back soon.