French cuisine is, once again, a popular topic of discussion these days. Actually, anything controversial about France seems to foster a lot of heated debates. On one side are the folks decrying French-bashing, complaining that the French are unfairly picked on. Then there are the others who eat up books about how superior the French are, because they are better at parenting, they miraculously stayโฆ
Itโs Friday and hallelujah. Not just because itโs the end of the week. But also because I discovered an open hole in my schedule, with the entire day free. And the lure of sunshine coming though my windows was all the prompting I needed to grab my market bag and take a leisurely stroll to the outdoor market on the boulevard Richard Lenoir (M: Oberkampf,โฆ
When I take visitors through those big glass doors of the La Grande รpicerie in Paris, the first stop may very well be the spectacular pastry section, where fanciful cakes wrapped with ribbons of chocolate, or covered with a spun-sugar lattice topping, are proudly displayed in glass showcases like jewels. In the corner, less obvious, are the sweets for le grignotages, or snacking. (Which theyโฆ
When I lived in a small apartment, I had to pass on many of the great things I would find at flea markets and antique sales in Paris. As Parisians say: โSomething inโฆsomething outโ โ meaning that if you brought something into your apartment, you had to get rid of something else to make room for it. Which can be a challenge when thereโs soโฆ
I never feel the need to be the first person to hit the latest hotspots. For one thing, I worked in restaurants and I know that the first few weeks (or in some cases, months) can be tough and it takes time to sort everything out. True, they are open to the public and serving meals, but since Iโm just a regular diner, and notโฆ
Someday, someone is going set up a camera in my place. At least I hope so. Because over the last three years, I can safely say that the craziest things have happened to me. Iโve often toyed with writing a book about it, but no one would believe me, and it would quickly get tossed into the fiction bin, dismissed as folly. Oddly, Iโve beenโฆ
I donโt regularly watch American cooking programs and competitions, although occasionally I come across them on TV here in France, dubbed (Version Franรงaise, or VF), which makes them less interesting to watch. And I donโt go to those cooking vacations where chefs come and cook for guests on tropical islands because, frankly, Iโm never asked. (Although unbelievably, I did just get an email from aโฆ
Every year, beginning in mid-February, thousands of farmers, wine makers, cheese makers, sausage makers, and an arksโ-worth of animals, makes it way to Paris for the annual Salon de lโAgriculture. The salon began in 1870 in a country that was, and still is, justly fond of its agriculture, which is celebrated on tables, in steaming cauldrons, on picnic blankets, in restaurants, and ready-to-slice on cuttingโฆ
Some say that the French can be very narrow in their definitions of things, which is why traditional French cuisine can be so simple, yet spectacular; because the classics donโt get messed with. Other cuisines, however, do get modified to local tastes, like les brochettes de bลuf-fromage, or beef skewers with cheese, at les sushis restaurants, popcorn available as salty or sweet (!?), and whileโฆ
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