Thyme For Cooking, the Blog

Caramelized Onion Crespeu with Parsley and Truffle Oil - Weekend Herb Blogging

  Today's Weekend Herb Blogging is being hosted by 28 cooks  (check out her pickled garlic recipe - yum!) 

I case you haven't figured it out, I have a rather large herb garden - thus the photos on my banner: my herb garden.  This time of year, even in balmy France, the pickings and gleanings start to disappear, except for the parsley which explodes during this cool, damp weather. 

During the summer I freeze herbs for winter use.  It's simple to do:  chop them up, put them in ice cube trays, cover with a bit of chicken stock (or plain water) and freeze.  Pop them out and store in labeled freezer bags.  I like the flavor better than dried and drying was a pain.  I do dry a few sage leaves and freeze whole sage leaves, (naked) which works very well.  I also dry some laurel, although I don't know why....my laurel tree is the size of a house, it's not like I'm going to run out anytime soon.

Back to the parsley.  It all looked so beautiful.  I had to do something with it.  I decided on a crespèu (an open, flat omelet, like a Spanish tortilla) 

Caramelized Onion Crespèu

1 large onion or 2 small
2 cloves garlic
2 tbs chicken stock
1/4 cup olives, sliced, Kalamata are best
a few whole olives for garnish
4 eggs
1 good handful of fresh parsley
1 tbs olive oil
1 tbs truffle oil

Thinly slice onions and mince garlic. Heat oil in medium nonstick skillet. Add onions and garlic and sauté over medium-low heat until onions are tender and starting to turn golden. Add chicken stock. Continue to cook slowly for another 20 minutes, until very soft, brown and the liquid has cooked off. Slice olives; snip parsley.  In medium bowl whisk eggs and parsley. Spread the onions out nicely in the pan and pour the eggs over. Turn heat up to medium. Do not stir. Sprinkle the olives on top, kind of pressing them in. When eggs are cooked through, slide the crespèu on to a plate. Put another plate on top and turn it over. Then slide the crespèu back into the pan to brown the other side, another 1 - 2 minutes. When done, flip it over again so that the olives are on top, cut into wedges. Drizzle with the Truffle Oil and serve, 2 wedges each, garnished with whole olives.

The best part was that I got to use some of my treasured Truffle Oil.  It set this off perfectly!
If you are not so lucky, a good olive oil will have to do.

Happy Weekend Herb Blolgging, and thanks for hosting 28 cooks!

Road Atlas: Don't leave home without it!

We were about 5 minutes into our trip to Paris when I realized that I had forgotten my trusty French Road Atlas.  Mon mari, ever the typical male, refused to turn back: "We're going to Paris; I think we can find it".  We did.  There it was.  We could see it off to our left...no behind us....no to our right....wait, there it is again!  It's not that we were lost; we knew right where we were:  in the little village of ?#@!?  We just didn't know where ?#@!? was in relation to the rest of France. 

Allow me to go back:  After leaving home we spent the day touring 'Castles of the Loire'.  We admired (and purchased) tapestries at Langeais, discovered Leonardo di Vinci's tomb at Amboise (didn't know he was buried there!) and thoroughly inspected the kitchens at Chenonceau (see photos).   After an exhausting day (for sis and s-i-l) we spent the night in a lovely small, country hotel, Hostellerie du Chateau de l'Isle near Chenonceau.  Up with the birds (damn, noisy things) we visited the Cathedral at Chartres with its famous Labyrinthe (lunch at McDonald's; happy rellies) followed by an afternoon at the Palace of Versailles.   We had planned on leaving our car at the train station in the town of Versailles and take the train into Paris.  Not being suicidal or in anyway tired of life, we opted not to drive into Paris to search for parking in the Latin Quarter - plus it would be expensive....   The train station in Versailles did not have long-term parking.  It had short-term parking with pictures of big, ugly tow-trucks hauling out cute little cars.  Our options, as we knew them, were to drive back to Chartres train station where we had left the car in the past or, new idea, go to Orly and get transport from there.  Orly it was.  Only we missed the exit.  And my guidebook said that one had to take a bus from Orly to the train station.  Sounded complicated so we decided to simply drive to the train station.

Which is how  we found ourselves in the smack in the middle of ?#@!? not knowing where it was because I didn't have my Road Atlas.  Sis and s-i-l had been amazingly quiet during all this (I think they were asleep).  Suddenly sis has a bright idea.  "Why don't you ask for directions?" she says scathingly helpfully.  Mon mari pointed out that asking for directions is easy.  It's understanding the answer that's difficult.  She wasn't buying this excuse because she had seen me manage limited conversations in French in shops, cafes, with neighbors, etc.  She has never tried to speak another language so is blissfully unaware of the many pitfalls.  So, I will now attempt to explain for her and everyone else why it's so damn difficult to ask for directions!

Let's say I'm in Paris and I ask directions to Chez Rene (which I would do).  The person would (most likely) turn in the correct direction and say the equivalent of "go straight until you come to xxx street, then turn left for 2 blocks.  It will be on your right"  I understand this easily and thank him. 
Now, I'm in ?#@!? and I already don't know where I am.  I am to ask a nice-looking stranger how to get to the nearest train station that has long-term parking.  So, to be clear: I don't know where I am and I don't know where I want to go but I am to ask a stranger to tell me and expect a concise, understandable answer.  The nice stranger would probably start with the obvious:  what's long-term parking?  (He lives there, if he takes a train into Paris, he walks to the station)  Then the directions:  Weellll, I suppose you could go over to $##@?! or maybe to @##?!$... at which point another passerby stops to be helpful.  An argument ensues between the two as to which station would be best for me.  Then they start quizzing me in rapid-fire French:  What station in Paris do you want?  Do you want the TGV, the RER, the TER or the Metro?  Do you have luggage?  What hotel are you staying at?  Do you agree with Bush's policy in Iraq?  Where do you live?  Do you like France?  I'm still trying to understand the first 2 questions; haven't even heard the next 2... my eyes roll back, I faint and end up getting to Paris in a nice, cushy ambulance. 
We found the station.....eventually....in time to have dinner in Paris which, after all, is the only truly important thing!
Oh yeah: the parking was free, the train took us directly to the Metro station next to our hotel and our car was happily waiting for us, unscathed, upon our return on Sunday.  Train ticket?  4.80 euro each.

Menu for the Week

Not really a post - just a spot for you to comment on the menu in the side bar...
This is for the week of October 27  This week's menu features Pimiento Lasagne, Pan-Seared Tuna with Lemon and Capers, Caramelized Onion Crespeu and Blanquette de Veau.

Paris, for the Eater: Two Restaurants

Some people go to Paris for the shopping, some for the monuments, some for the museums.  All of those things are nice, and give one something to do between meals.  We're one of the group that goes for the food....but, then we go everywhere for the food.  I locate restaurants that we want to dine at and then check if there are rooms attached.  We base a travel itinerary on a new restaurant, an up-and-coming chef or, more often, on an established place/chef that we know will transport us to new heights of gustatory pleasure.  Sometimes we ignore price (rarely, these days); more often we are looking for good value.  We are willing to pay for the food but becoming less willing to pay for the name, cutlery, crystal and china.  This trip we were on a more specific budget because neither sis or s-i-l like to spend money on food (they are 'shoppers').  We needn't have worried.  Our first night in Paris, after a late arrival, we ate at one of the local cafes.  We had a perfectly nice dinner: salad, pâté or calamari to start, followed by steak, pork, chicken, etc. with frites and a simple dessert for 18 euro plus wine.  Mon mari and I agreed that one could certainly get better food in Paris for only a wee bit more money.  My sis and s-i-l agreed that one could get cheaper food in Paris that was probably just as good.  We parted ways for dinner after that.

We stayed at the Mont Blanc Hotel, in the heart of the Latin Quarter, so there was no shortage of places for sis and s-i-l to eat.  The pedestrian areas are chock-a-block with cafes and ethnic restaurants of all types, catering to the large student population from the nearby Sorbonne.  It is teeming with life from about noon on, with the bars and discos all going strong until the wee hours before dawn.  Plus, the hotel is less than half of a block from the Metro (Saint Michel/Notre Dame) and half of a block from the Seine.  It is a simple 2-star hotel with a great location, tiny but modern bathrooms and adequate rooms.  Above is the street mid-afternoon.  Below is at 10:00 Sunday morning. 

I have no photos of the restaurants or food.  I am always much too concerned with eating to actually pause to take pics.  I got the names of both restaurants from David Lebovitz restaurant recommendations.

A la Biche au Bois 
45, av Ledru Rollin  (near Gare de Lyon)
01 43 43 34 38

It's October so game was on the menu.  I had a Wild Mushroom Pâté to start followed by Wild Boar and Mushrooms in Red Wine.  The meat was meltingly tender and the sauce rich and full of autumnal flavors.  Mon mari had Salade Perigordine and sauteed Lamb Chops - he was going to have the boar until he saw a plate of the chops delivered to the table next to ours...they did look good....  This was followed by some luscious cheeses and a rich chocolate tarte.  Thank god we were far enough away that we could take a taxi back....I couldn't have walked!  Menu price (mine) was 23,90 euro.  Mon mari ordered a la carte which is always more expensive.  Our total tab, with champagne to start, white and red wine with, and a cognac for mon mari after: 95 euro.  The owners and staff were wonderful, friendly, spoke a bit of English and determined to see one left well-fed and happy.

Chez René
14 blvd St. Germain
01 43 54 30 23

A wee bit classier than the other and the food just as wonderful.  This is where you come for classic French bistro fare, and that is what we had.  Escargot and Coq au Vin for mon mari, which, he assures me were fabulous; the escargot in their shells, dripping garlic and parsley butter and the chicken a deep, dark purple; moist and tender.  I had a chicken liver Pâté (excellent) and Boeuf Bourguignon.  The beef was moist and succulent and I have never had a sauce so rich and velvety.  It was a true D.O. (digestive orgasm).  The staff was also a bit more classic French - unsmiling and efficient; but if you asked a question they were pleasant and helpful.  Again cheese and dessert; again a taxi back (although we walked there).  This was a bit more expensive, nearly 150 euro with apéritif, wine, coffee (cognac for mon mari) but it was worth it!  Now if I can only figure out that sauce.... 

Eaters and Feeders and Spanish Eggs

Julia Child once said that the world could be divided into eaters (Those who truly love food: start to think about dinner as they put the fork down for the final time at lunch; relish every morsel; embrace new flavors; search out interesting, untried dishes; walk by a shoe sale to spend hours in the gourmet shop...in short - those who live to eat.) and feeders (Those who eat to live. Food is, primarily, sustenance.  They may truly enjoy food and rave about a good meal but it's secondary to cost, opportunity and convenience.)  I discovered something in Paris.  I am an 'eater' but come from a family of 'feeder's.  Fortunately, there were four of us, so while I and mon mari went in search of gustatory heaven my sis and s-i-l had each other to enjoy their pizza and lasagne with (which, they said, were excellent....but so was my 'Wild Boar and Mushrooms in Red Wine').

That bit was just a teaser.  I'll give all the details of the wonderful places we found on Wed.  Right now I am up to my eyeballs in the French paperwork (quelle surprise!) that arrived in our post box while we were playing, so.... I'll just share a starter recipe I came up with before The Visit:

Spanish Eggs

1 medium onion
3 cloves garlic
1 stalk celery
1/2 large green pepper
1 can (15 oz, 450 gr) whole tomatoes, drained
2 tsp chili powder
1 tbs Worcestershire sauce
1 tbs fresh snipped oregano
1 tbs olive oil plus 1 tsp
2 eggs

Finely chop onion and celery, mince garlic and chop green pepper. Drain tomatoes and roughly chop. Heat 1 tbs oil in medium nonstick skillet. Add chili powder and sauté 1 minute. Add onion and celery; sauté until onion starts to turn golden. Add pepper and garlic and sauté until tender (onions will start to brown). Add tomatoes and Worcestershire, reduce heat and simmer until tomatoes turn into thick sauce, about 10 minutes. In separate nonstick skillet ( I have one just big enough for 1 egg - cute!) heat 1 tsp olive oil. When hot add eggs and fry, trying to keep a nice shape, just until the whites are set; they're meant to be 'sunny-side up'. Divide onion/pepper mix between two flattish soup plates. Put an egg on top of each, salt and pepper and serve.

This is the cute, little frying pan I found in one of those gourmet shops!  Isn't it darling?  Perfect for this dish.  (It's sitting inside a 12" skillet.)  It's also good for making garlic chips, clarifying butter, all of those 'little' jobs.

Sophie's Chicken

We live in a farming hamlet.  We have several acres of pasture land that we have absolutely no use whatsoever for, so, like the people before us, we let the local farmer graze his horse and a few cows.  In exchange for this we don't have to mow it.  Good deal for us, yes?  The French don't like being indebted in any way so in addition we get the odd dozen eggs from Sophie's chickens.  Being neighborly last fall I gave her some of our kiwifruit.  The balance of trade scales tipped, slightly.  I got walnuts in return.  I gave her more kiwifruit (we had about a billion of them).  That was the end of it, I thought. 

For those who do not know, chickens are vetted in France much like wine and cheese.  Sophie, in addition to the laying hens, would raise a small flock of the prized 'Challans Black' birds in the fall (Christmas money?).  The family and I were down replanting some hedges near the chicken coops.  We watched Sophie come down from the house with a handful of green strings in her hand.  A few minutes later she was walking back up, with 2 chickens dangling by the feet in each hand.  She did this a few times, then, on the last trip she stopped and crooked a finger at me.  I said 'oui?'  She asked if I would like a chicken.  I translated to the family.  They looked at me, trying not to laugh but knowing what was racing through my mind.  Of course, I had no choice but to accept.  Not to would have been incredibly rude.  What made me drag my feet as I walked toward her was fear that she was going to hand me a string and tell me to help myself!  At which point my total ineptness would quickly become apparent.  Catch a live chicken?  Me?  Let's say I caught one.. then what?  When she started back to the house I knew, or at least I thought, that the bird I was to get would be dead.  Not that the thought made me feel better - I still wouldn't have a clue what to do with it.  I'm a city girl.  Chickens come wrapped in plastic.  Life is kind.  Not only was the chicken dead but most of the feathers were gone, as was the head.  Still had the feet, but after all, she could hardly give me part of a chicken and the feet (so I am told) make good soup.  We managed, between my son (who is only slightly less squeamish) and I to clean it up, cut it up and cook it.  I stewed it in vinegar and white wine and it was probably delicious....we just needed more time between the squawking and the cooking to properly enjoy it.

Did I mention that as I walked up to her house (I'd never been through the back before) I passed a rabbit hutch?  Cute little things....but I am pretty sure they're not pets.

Menu for the Week

Not really a post - just a spot for you to comment on the menu in the side bar...
This is for the week of October 20  This week's menu features Pumpkin Soup, Salmon Lasagne with Smoked Salmon, Shrimp Mary Rose and Rack of Lamb with an Herb Crust.

On Dogs & Cats…and Chickens

Life with pets is always interesting and anyone who thinks that man is dog's best friend is sadly mistaken - cat is dog's best friend....
In another life, we had a very wily, black cat and a very gentle Saint Bernard.
First, the scene: I and mon mari are in the kitchen.  I am washing pieces of chicken in preparation for dinner.  At this point in our lives, we had a rather small kitchen so, as I wash the chicken I am laying it on paper toweling in whatever little free spaces I can find on the counter top.  I am being attentively watched by the cat and dog…that is their job after all: to watch me prepare food in the off chance that something would fall on the floor and their services would be required for clean up.  They are both very diligent workers.
Second, the set-up:  The cat, after thoroughly analyzing the situation, meanders over to give me a leg rub and a look of feline adoration.  He then slowly and ever so nonchalantly stretches, his front paws inching their way up the front of the cabinets.
Third, the action:  One long claw pops out of the front paw and hooks a chicken leg (that I had foolishly left too close to the edge).  The cat drops back to all fours, preparing to dash off with his prize but instead, accidentally, flips the chicken leg into a high arc through the air.  The dog's eyes light up - this cat is, indeed, a true friend!  She opens her mouth for the catch just as mon mari lunges for it.  Both dog and mon mari make contact with the chicken leg at the same time. Mon mari screams (dog’s jaws are powerful!).  Our poor, frightened, little 150 lb. dog immediately opens her mouth releasing both mon mari’s finger and the chicken leg.  What, you may ask, am I doing during all this?  What else - I'm collapsed on the floor, laughing hysterically and telling mon mari that he should know better than to put his hand between a dog’s mouth and an incoming chicken leg!
Finally, the result:  Mon mari is minus the fleshy pad on one finger.  The dog, knowing she did something wrong (but not a clue what) has curled into the corner in the classic ‘See what a good dog I am’ pose.  I am getting the stink eye for ‘not helping’ (Stick my fingers into the fray? I think not!) and for ‘inappropriate laughter’ (It’s NOT funny!).
The cat, of course, is nowhere to be found.....and neither is the chicken leg.

Paris - I'm off to do some Window Licking

I come from a long line of serious shoppers.  I, myself, am a bit of an aberration: I love catalogue and on-line shopping; I hate having to purchase stuff in actual stores.  Fortunately, I also love window shopping or 'faire du lèche vitrines' (to lick the windows) as the French say or I would be going bonkers.  Both my sis and s-i-l are inveterate shoppers.  They can spot a sale at 500 metres, and will run, blistered, sore feet forgotten, to be the first in the door.  They are not the big buyers in the family, though.  I have 2 older cousins whose sighs of "Isn't this cute?" have gladdened the hearts of many a shop-keeper.  Neither one has a spare inch unadorned in their respective houses.  When they go to that great shopping mall in the sky we will simply slap a 'Gift Shop' sign on the front door and open for business.  I freely admit that the thing that keeps my own buying impulses in check is cleaning - I hate to dust.  When you buy stuff you have to put it on view for other people to admire and tell you how clever you are for having spent money on it.  (Are humans' stupid or what?)  Then it gets dusty  and you have to clean it.....It's a vicious trap and I refuse to step into it. 

On the other hand, my pumpkin soup was a great hit - and to people who thought one could only make pie.... 

Pumpkin Soup

1 medium onion
1 cup pumpkin
1 cup chicken stock
1 tbs butter
pinch of nutmeg
1 tbs fresh thyme
2/3 cup chicken stock
1/4 cup vermicelli
2 tbs cream fraiche or sour cream or yogurt

Peel and chop onion. In a medium sauce pan, sauté onion in butter until transparent. Add pumpkin, stock, thyme and nutmeg. Heat to boiling, reduce heat and simmer 20 minutes. Puree soup - either with blender or immersion blender. Keep warm. In a small sauce pan, heat remaining 2/3 cup of stock. When boiling add vermicelli and boil until done, stirring to prevent sticking, about 5 minutes. When done add vermicelli and stock to soup, stirring to combine. Taste and adjust seasoning. To serve, ladle into soup plates or bowls, top each serving with 1 tbs creme fraiche, a grinding of pepper, and serve.

Now, I'm going to go lick some windows....

The Fine Art of Procrastination

I have no e-mail awaiting me saying that they (sis and s-i-l) were declined boarding and hauled off to prison for attempting to smuggle controlled substances (lipstick) onto the aircraft, so, I assume, that they will arrive on schedule today.

Time to do one last readiness run-through:

I spent 12 hours cleaning chez maison, yesterday.  To show for that effort I have one partially-clean, obvious-surfaces-only house and a hoover bag full of spiders, both dead and alive.  I figured if I put some dead ones in with the live ones it would give them something to do (eat) so they wouldn't try to escape.  Because we have a very large kitchen/dining room with a big fireplace and sitting area we rarely use our living room.  Actually, we keep the door and shutters closed so it doesn't get dirty and I don't have to clean it.  In nature's terms this means the living room is a safe haven for spiders and other creepy, crawly things.  Thank the gods my vacuum has a long hose so I can deal with them from a safe distance....say 30 feet.  The only one I couldn't handle myself was a huge wolf spider that had gotten trapped inside a crystal vase.  I knew thought it was dead, but, even so, it was too big for me to go near.  It was a job for mon mari!  (Smart man, he had gone for a bike ride when this cleaning thing started - gotten out'a Dodge, so to speak!)  When he returned I sent him off to empty the vase.  He came back through the kitchen, cooing to the vase.  That bloody spider was alive!  I made him dump it in the back forty!  At least it told him to...(Mental note:  check bed tonight!)

I digress:
House cleaned:  check
Pumpkin cooked and frozen (I did more yesterday): check
7 walks to the walnut tree with the girls to look for nuts:  check
Several hours spent wandering aimlessly through the herb garden:  check
Television shows programmed for while we are gone:  check
Trip to Ikea to buy bedding for the guest beds:  on way to airport - they can make their own beds.  They're big girls.  Check
Meals planned for the entire stay:  check  (I can be efficient about some things)
Holy Crap! The food! There's no food! I forgot the shopping!  Wasn't that scheduled for yesterday?  Gotta find my list....I knew there was something....Gotta run......

ankle note: (everyone does foot notes):  I will try to post my yummy Pumpkin soup recipe with pic's (I'm making it tonight) before I leave for Paris (oh, woe is me).  While I'm gone I have scheduled two of my favorite "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" food stories originally posted back in the beginning of time.  A bientôt!