I am very pleased to announce the release of my new coloring book Recettes du jardin à cuisiner et à colorier, Editions Mango. With 96 pages of seasonal, veggie-centric recipes by Franco-Japonese author Laure Kié. I took care of the illustrations, but the color is up to you!
Adult coloring books have had quite the renaissance in France the past few years, becoming one of the bestselling genres. I brushed off the whole thing until I sat down with Recettes du jardin and my colored pencils. “I know how to draw. Why should I color?” said the arrogant illustrator. Sure enough, I spent the whole weekend storming through page after page. But I get it now! Coloring is a tactile break from gadgets. Each page is a rewarding exercise in concentration. It’s like creative camomile tea, a much-needed digital withdrawal before bedtime.
Note: the recipes are in French, but coloring has no language.
Order a copy here. Or preferably at the local bookstore.
Caught in a breakfast rut this morning, I would have made Gwyneth proud. I refueled with a bowl of miso soup. As all the neighborhood bakers are sunning themselves on the French Riv’ this time of year, those of us ‘left behind’ must fend for ourselves. Baguette is in demand. However miso soup was a welcome savory change first thing in the morning. I admit to loving the French breakfast. But it is a strict formula of coffee, toast, butter, and jam. A tartine, a grilled day-old baguette with a few leaves of butter and a generous smear of jam (quince being the flavor of the week) has easily replaced my matinal soft-poached egg on wheat.
So while we were sunning ourselves on the French Riv’ a few weeks ago, much to my surprise, pissaladière, a caramelized onion pizza studded with olives and draped with anchovies, was eaten alongside an espresso for breakfast. Pissaladière is not reserved just for the morning; it is a savory Niçoise snack at all hours. But hung up on my tartine regime, I instantly turned up my nose at the pairing of coffee and onions. But the sweetly caramelized onions and briny olives baked beautifully into the spongy dough, a long-lost savory sidekick to my café Américain.
Taste a mean pissaladière at Kiosque Tintin (3 Place Gén Charles De Gaulle 06100 Nice). Or save a trip to Nice and make it at home. So whether serving a slice as a light lunch with a green salad or sneaking a little the morning-after, it is highly recommendable over miso.
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Pissaladière
1 ball pizza or bread dough
2 pounds yellow onions, halved and cut into 1/4 inch slices
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 can best-quality anchovies
20 black olives
1/2 teaspoon thyme
salt and freshly-ground pepper to taste
1.) Preheat oven to 350°F/180°C.
2.) In a sauté pan over low heat, cook onions until soft and transparent, about 10 minutes. Add garlic, thyme, salt, and pepper. Cook 20 more minutes until golden and caramelized.
3.) On a floured surface, roll the dough until 1/4 inch thick. Place on a cookie sheet.
4.) Spread onion mixture evenly on dough, creating a 3/4 inch border all the way around. Layer anchovies and olives on top.
5.) Bake for 15-20 minutes or until the crust is crisp.
“Birds do it. Bees do it. Even educated fleas do it.” Cole Porter wasn’t the first to witness a pigeon totem pole firsthand in the City of Lights. These lovebirds literally can’t get off one other! Needless to say, pigeons have got a good life here, much to the chagrin of homosapiens and sparrows alike. They are free to roam without a Navigo. They get weeks of paid vacation. They eat the choicest crumbs in the world, but they never get fat! They are a little aloof, but it’s probably cultural, right? But the life of a French pigeon isn’t completely careless; they are also on restaurant menus.
It all began with a Sunday roast, rather a rosbif (translation: ‘French’ for roast beef). Like always, mon mari was in charge of the roast and I was in charge of the accompaniment. Digging through the fridge, I exclaimed, “Hey! I’ve got all the makings of a ratatouille!” I’ve always thought that any combination of zucchini, eggplant, red peppers, tomatoes, onions and garlic would instantly qualify as a ratatouille, even disguised as a the quick saute. But mon mari is always discouraging me from making it. As Mr. Meat & Potatoes himself, I just shrugged it off as an unsuccessful attempt at force-feeding him something green. But finally, it came out, “c‘est pas terrible! A real ratatouille needs to be cooked for at least a day or two. It should be like jam when it is done”, he insisted. Was this just another cross-cultural, marital culinary scuff?
Sure enough, in a country divided by 200-something kinds of cheese, the preparation of ratatouille has inspired a national debate, too. The ingredients can simply be sautéed. Or they can be layered and baked in the oven. Or simmered away for hours à la Joël Robuchon. I sucked up my pride and rescheduled the ratatouille, leaving it to stew away into the evening hours. Alas, Robuchon, I mean, my husband, was right. Although all the vibrant colors of the vegetables were lost in the stewing, what was left was a rich, meaty concentration of vegetables, leaving it with an intensely savory sauce evoking a boeuf bourguignon. I poached some eggs in the ratatouille and dinner was served.
Although I will still use all three methods, all of them should be explored to come to a personal conclusion. But the simmering method upgrades ratatouille from an unconscious side dish to a sophisticated main course.
Although I have no complaints in regards to my culinary transition to France, every now and then I get a little nostalgic for certain things Stateside. For example, I miss New York and its 31-flavors of take-out. And like all Americans in Paris, I can’t help but sniffle when speaking of Mexican food. But not enough to test the new Chipotle that just opened, which has all the Americans in town speaking Spanglish again (If nostalgia permits, it can be found at 20 Boulevard Montmartre 75009 Paris).
But all my Yankee Doodle cravings were properly satiated having recently completed the food styling for the cookbook of Paris’ first wildly-popular food truck,Le Camion Qui Fume. It will be the most authentic collection of American recipes to ever be published in French. Needless to say, I never had feelings for onion rings or pulled pork sandwiches until the shoot. And embarrassingly, it has inspired me to put ketchup on everything again. But I quickly learned that although most Frenchies will turn up their noses at chili cheese fries, they can’t help going back for a second bite. Vive la révolution!
One of the first things I have learned living in France is that non happens much more quickly than what you want to hear. Similarly, customer service follows the same philosophy. Every time I ask where to find something at the grocery store, I get a few shrugged shoulders and a je ne sais pas. But luckily, I have found a place where useful information is generously rationed, at the biweekly, neighborhood market. And wouldn’t you much rather take advice from an artisan? Recently, I’ve been experimenting with smaller, inexpensive, more sustainable fish like mackerel and sardines. Truite rose, or rainbow trout, a distant cousin of salmon, caught my eye. I quickly inquired how my fishmonger would prepare it. He suggested en papillote, or wrapped up and baked in parchment paper. I brought the little beauty home, stuffed her with a few lemon slices, parsley, plopped on a nob of better, sea salt and sealed her in egg-brushed parchment. Cooking the trout precisely for 15 minutes at 250 C or 480 F, we were left with a perfectly cooked fish for two. Although the truite rose itself is not as tasty as its oilier predecessors like sardines and mackerel, this non-recipe recipe can be suited to any fish with any combination of herbs and aromatics. Just ask your poissonnier!
Which aromatics would you add to your truite en papillote?
