We don’t always get snow in Paris in the winter. But when we do, it blankets the city with a brilliant layer of snow. It illuminates what can be gray and drab, and brightens things up when everyone’s spirits are beginning to sag. People tend to stay indoors or huddle in cafés, drinking hot chocolate or vin chaud, hot mulled wine.
Every so often I get requests for “healthy” recipes, or I see things online posted as “healthy” – and I’m not quite sure what the heck people are talking about. What is healthy? My idea of healthy eating is eating fresh foods – some eggs, cheese, and meat, poultry, and fish, along with fruit and vegetables. Buying foods that you prepare yourself so you know…
Not long ago, I mentioned the Lamb Melons I saw at a butcher stand at the Marché d’Anvers in Paris. Since it’s an afternoon market, I thought it might be fun to mosey over there at my leisure and pick one up for Sunday lunch. However I was surprised to see the market completely packed. Since there are less than a few dozen stands, it’s…
During the 1960s, when Paris going through a fit of modernization, it was decided that Les Halles, the grand market that had been in the center of Paris for over a thousand years (in various guises), was going to be finally torn down and the merchants would be moved to a place well outside of the perimeter of Paris. Reasons given were that the old…
Last summer, Romain went to stay at a place in the French countryside with a large, semi-wild potager, a vegetable garden, which the people who lived there fed themselves from. They let weeds grow, didn’t spray pesticides on anything, and they ate most of the food as close to raw as they could. During his stay, he called me and said that he never felt…
When I was a newbie, someone in the cookbook biz once told me that if a cookbook has one great recipe in it, it’s totally worth it. And I agree with that. I have a mountain of cookbooks, and most have plenty of tempting recipes but I’ve only made one thing from many of them. But those that do make the cut become standards—or what…
Way back when, after I arrived in France, I wanted to also be in the south of France, in Provence, and I did go off on the lookout in Paris for a large, sturdy mortar and pestle to make all those Provençal favorites, like garlic-laden aïoli and soupe au pistou. I didn’t know what a mortar and pestle were called in French at the time, so I went…
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