By Ann | July 22, 2014
If I finish all my weekend cooking projects, I often say: “Hmm, maybe I’ll make a peach pie.” (Or a batch of financiers. A pot of black beans. A pint of ice cream. You get the picture.) To which my husband will say: “Please, NO, you’re doing too MUCH, you need to REST.” It’s become a household joke because while he does not think I’m a delicate flower, he does want to avoid a Sunday evening featuring a sink full of dishes, sticky counters, and an irritable wife with sore feet.
So last Sunday afternoon, when I suggested that I “whip up” a batch of homemade ricotta cheese, he looked at me like I was insane—especially since I had just finished ripping my hair out over a quiche that turned out raw in the middle, which I ended up finishing off in the microwave. (#keepingitreal, guys! :) But then he left unexpectedly for work, and I was left to dabble with my cheesecloth and lemons, bottles of milk from grass-fed cows, and Claudia Lucero’s delightful new book, One-Hour Cheese.
Claudia moved to Portland, Oregon in 2006, with a dream of owning a plot of land and growing her own vegetables. Pickling, preserving, and cheese-making soon followed—as did a business of DIY cheese kits, which she sells via her website, Urban Cheesecraft, and Williams Sonoma. In her wonderful book, she shares tips, recipes, and step-by-step photos for simple cheeses that can be made in one hour or less—fresh varieties like paneer, haloumi, or cottage cheese. “All of the cheesemaking techniques shared in this book are based on traditional methods,” she writes. “You will heat milk, add coagulant, drain, mill, salt, and press curds just like humans have done for thousands and thousands of years.”
Ricotta is one of the easiest cheeses to make. It starts with a pot of milk and cream, and a hit of acid, either lemon juice, or vinegar. (Admittedly, this is not technically ricotta, which is traditionally made with leftover whey, not fresh milk, but let’s not split hairs.) Heat the liquid and acid until coagulation occurs, drain the curds from the whey in fine cheesecloth, salt, and eat. C’est tout. Easy, right?
I did all these things, hovering over the pot as I took the temperature of the milk at regular intervals. I thought I saw curds forming, but when I drained the liquid through the cheesecloth, I found no curds at all. Just lots of expensive milk swirling down the drain.
Gloom. Frustration. Despair. Frantic googling. No real answers. The next day, I called Claudia to see if she could help. Here are her tips:
Don’t dump out the pot:
“You might be frustrated, and I don’t blame you,” she says. “Walk away for a while, but whatever you do, don’t dump out the results. Put the whole pot in the fridge for a day if you have to. Take a breather. Surprise results can almost always be saved and turned into something delicious.” (Too late for me, I had already dumped out the pot.)
Check the milk:
Make sure you’re not using ultra-pasteurized milk. “This form of milk has been heated at a higher temperature than pasteurized milk. All the good bacteria are killed along with the bad, and the milk’s protein and calcium have been weakened,” says Claudia. Though it CAN be used “in a pinch” for “loose, acid-coagulated cheese like Meyer Lemon Ricotta,” she doesn’t recommend it. Instead, “look everywhere on the jug to find UP, UHP, of Ultra-Pasteurized and then steer clear.”
Check your thermometer:
The milk needs to heat to 190ºF so “make sure your thermometer is accurate,” she says. “Fill a cup with ice and pour just enough water in to cover the ice. Dip the thermometer into the icy water for about 30 seconds. The temperature should read very close to freezing temperature (32ºF).” As I live in a magical land without home ice-makers (New York City), I employed a similar method, but in boiling water (212ºF).
Add more acid:
“If you use lemons, one of the things that happens with fresh citrus is that some are more acid than others. Squeeze an extra two tablespoons of lemon juice,” she suggests. “If the milk isn’t coagulating, mix in one tablespoon, very gently. It should take affect within one minute. If not, add another tablespoon.”
Use your cooking smarts:
Even if you’ve triple-checked your thermometer, don’t rely on tools alone—use your eyes and nose. “At 190 degrees, the milk is almost at boiling, so it should be foamy, with steam rising from the pot as well as little bubbles forming around the edge.”
Double up the cheesecloth:
“Why not go ahead and double it?” she says. “The finer the holes, the better! With 90-thread count cheesecloth, it’ll drain really slow, but catch all the curds.”
So. Armed with Claudia’s advice, I went to the grocery store and purchased new dairy products. Double-lined my colander. Checked the thermometer. Squeezed my extra lemons. I was ready to go.
Except, this second batch ALSO didn’t coagulate. I tried adding more acid. I used up all the lemon juice and in sheer desperation threw in a tablespoon of red wine vinegar. I lowered the heat; I raised the heat. I googled. I asked for advice on Facebook. I emailed Claudia. My husband came home to experience the full spectrum of my cooking emotions. I could barely talk to him, I was so wrapped up in the drama on the stove.
Finally, in utter frustration and disappointment, I turned off the heat and walked away. My husband washed the dishes as the pot of milk cooled on the stove. And guess what? Forty-five minutes later, he gave it a gentle stir and said, “It’s coagulating.” And it was! Like magic! It was easy-peasy from that point, folks—just a little draining, squeezing, and salting, and I felt like a cooking genius. Tra la la! This morning I woke up, ate fresh lemon ricotta on toast, and all was right with the world. Tonight I tackle homemade mozzarella! (Ha ha.)
Homemade lemon ricotta
Adapted from One-Hour Cheese by Claudia Lucero
Makes 12 ounces
Claudia uses Meyer lemon juice in her recipe, but I just used the ordinary kind. Even though I added the extra lemon juice and a rogue tablespoon of red wine vinegar, my ricotta tastes lovely, not sharp, but suffused with a fresh, bright flavor.
2 lemons (for 1/4 cup lemon juice + 2 tablespoons extra, if needed)
1 quart (4 cups) whole cow’s milk, not ultra-pasteurized
1 pint (2 cups) heavy cream
Cooking thermometer (I used a candy/frying thermometer)
Squeeze the lemons, strain the pulp, and measure out a 1/4 cup of juice (plus 2 extra tablespoons, if you think you’ll need them).
In a large pot, combine the milk, cream, and lemon juice. Heat over a medium flame. Watch the pot and monitor the heat, stirring every few minutes to prevent a skin from forming on the milk’s surface, and to prevent the milk from sticking on the bottom.
When small curls of steam begin to rise and the milk starts to look foamy, begin checking the milk temperature. Claudia says curds will form rapidly as the milk reaches the target temperature, but this didn’t happen for me. Never mind. When the temperature reaches 190ºF, turn off the heat. Allow the pot of milk to cool undisturbed so that the curds can separate from the whey—they need privacy! Claudia waits 10 minutes, but I’d suggest 30-45 minutes. (I think my lack of patience at this point was the problem on my first attempt.)
Meanwhile, double-line a colander with cheesecloth. Place a bowl under the colander to collect the whey. (Even though I ended up tossing my whey, collecting it first helped me see that it appeared clear and free of milk solids—that it was, in fact, whey.) Use a ladle to pour the curds and whey through the cloth.
Drain away the whey until the curds look like creamy, smooth mashed potatoes, about 15-20 minutes. Gather the four corners of the cheesecloth and gently squeeze the cheese. The ricotta will continue to dry out in the fridge, so I’d suggest leaving it slightly moister than you’d like. Add the salt and stir minimally for creamy ricotta. Enjoy immediately, or chill for a firmer texture.
Here’s some extra advice from my Facebook page, frantic web searches, and Claudia:
“It took a lot longer than my recipe said it would,” says Debbie. “The milk has to get to a certain temp and takes a while. Similar to making paneer,” added Pat.
Switch the order:
“I boil the milk first and then add acid after I turn off the heat. Try that!” says Priyanka. “[It’s] so much better than anything you can buy at a store.”
Read up on the science:
Casein proteins, denatured whey, what?! This post from UCLA’s Science and Food blog (go Bruins!) takes each step of the recipe and offers a scientific explanation.
Experiment with different acids:
What’s the difference between lemon juice, vinegar, and buttermilk? What about draining for five minutes, 20 minutes, or two hours (and overnight)? Serious Eats tries all the methods, with great photographs to illustrate.
Enjoy it on everything:
“Try mixing it into risotto,” says Claudia. “Use it as a pizza topping. In lasagna. Experiment with half your batch and add herbs, cracked pepper, seeds, dried fruit…” And if you want a luxurious texture, “add a splash of cream just before serving.”
And for next time…
Reuse your cheesecloth:
“I absolutely wash and save the cloth,” says Claudia. “Rinse it in cold water right away so the curds come off. Let it air dry and then I throw it into the bin with my kitchen towels until I have a full load—I dry it in the dryer, too. You can also wash by hand with hot water and soap and just hang it to dry. If it shrinks up, just wet it before lining your colander and it should stretch beautifully.”
By Ann | July 15, 2014
Last week, I went to Chinatown for the first time in years and when I turned onto Mott Street, I barely recognized it. There were single-source coffee shops and brunch-menu bistros. Nail salons. Vintage clothing boutiques. A few blocks further, I spotted some familiar sights: bins of dried shrimp and mushrooms spilling onto the street, tanks of fresh crabs, a couple of old ladies haggling over a pile of dragon eye fruit. And also tourists snapping photos of the local color? Dear Chinatown, please don’t turn into the next Lower East Side. Xie xie.
I went to Chinatown because I’d decided to cook up some jiachangcai, or homestyle Chinese food. Usually when I crave Chinese food, I eat out because Chinese dinners are multi-dish kinds of meals and lately I’ve been a one-pot kind of cook. But I’d been craving a dish SO simple, SO homestyle I’d never seen it on the menu outside of China: stir-fried tomatoes and scrambled eggs.
This most humble of dishes uses only a few ingredients: tomatoes and eggs. Scallions and ginger. Salt and sugar. Maybe if you’re feeling fancy, minced garlic and a drizzle of sesame oil. It’s tangy, sweet, and savory, with a sticky sauce that sinks into a bowl of rice creating hot, satisfying, delicious mouthfuls. It’s peasant food. Comfort food. Bachelor food. Akin to a plain plate of spaghetti and tomato sauce, most Chinese people can cook it without a recipe—and I’d wager that a large percentage of them have eaten so much of it, they hope to never see it again.
I discovered this dish while living in Beijing and working at an expat magazine. (Curiously, despite a childhood of Chinese food, I never ate this growing up.) My colleagues and I enjoyed daily lunches at cheap neighborhood dives, feasting on an array of salty, spicy dishes. The memory of that food—fresh from the wok, glistening with oil—still makes my mouth water. Xihongzhi chao jidan—as this dish is called in Mandarin—was part of the daily parade, one of my favorites.
But back to my trip to Chinatown. I didn’t need any special ingredients to cook this dish and I certainly didn’t need to make a special trip to the Chinese supermarket. But as I said, Chinese food is at its best a multi-dish affair and if you’re making one dish, you might as well make two. I decided that this Sichuanese celery beef would round out the meal, which meant hunting down a jar of fermented-bean-and-chili-paste called la doubanjiang. I found it at New York Mart, a newish supermarket that’s like a wonderland of Asian food, where I also picked up a five-pound sack of rice, two mangos, and a bottle of Chinkiang vinegar. And now my pantry is so well stocked, I can throw away the take-out menus! (Just kidding.)
Chinese stir-fried tomatoes and scrambled eggs
Serves two as a main dish with rice, or four as part of a meal with other dishes
5 large eggs
2 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
3 scallions, white parts only, finely chopped
1 tablespoon finely chopped ginger
1 tablespoon finely chopped garlic
5 medium tomatoes, cut into a large dice
1 1/2 teaspoons sugar
2 teaspoons sesame oil
Beat the eggs until smooth. Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a nonstick skillet over medium-high heat until hot. Add half the scallion, stirring until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the eggs and scramble them, forming large curds. Remove the cooked eggs into a bowl. Wipe out the skillet.
Heat the remaining tablespoon of oil in the skillet over medium-high heat. Add the remaining scallion, ginger, and garlic, stirring until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the tomatoes and stir to combine. Sprinkle over the sugar and salt. Cook until the tomatoes have softened and started to release their juices—they should be soft, but not completely disintegrated into a sauce. Return the eggs to the skillet and heat through, stirring gently once or twice to combine. Add the sesame oil. Taste and adjust seasonings. Serve with white rice.
PS Thanks to my lovely friend Lee Ambrozy for help with this recipe.
PPS New York Mart
128 Mott Street
New York, NY 10013
PPPS I’ve finally found a great Chinese restaurant in New York City. It’s called Café China and I’ve eaten there twice and am officially in love with the mapo tofu, shredded pork (yuxiang rousi), and Sichuan spicy fried chicken (Chongqing lazi ji)… I’m hungry just typing this.
13 E. 37th Street
New York, NY 10016
By Ann | July 8, 2014
As I type this, a storm is turning the sky ash grey and wild, with bursts of thunder echoing across the canyons of midtown Manhattan, and flashes of lightening flickering along the East River like a dying fluorescent bulb. Rain is beading on the windows, sheeting across the tiled floor of the neighbor’s roof deck. My husband is at a work event; the baby is asleep in her crib. An hour ago, a mosquito landed on the tender flesh of her upper arm and then flitted away before I could decide whether or not to try to kill it. Black rage filled my heart.
It is summer, folks—summer in the big city—and our early June vacation means we’re here for the steamy duration. It’s the season I dislike the most for its cloying humidity; it’s the season I love with all my heart for its produce. The other day I bought a bunch of kale the size of a small sheep for two dollars. There are melons as sweet as candy, local blueberries in the grocery store, and ears of corn still to anticipate. And then there are the courgettes.
I ate almost everything as a kid, but courgettes (zucchini, squash—call them what you will) were my bête noir. They tasted like earwax to me (not that I have firsthand knowledge of the flavor of earwax), much like cooked carrots taste soapy, and grape jam carries a whiff of the dental office. Even as an adult, I like courgettes only in dishes where I can’t really taste them—soupe au pistou, for example, or this grilled recipe that chars the hell out of ‘em, or zucchini bread with chocolate chips, which is an idea I can really get behind.
This recipe for courgette pancakes comes from The Barefoot Contessa At Home (which I think is my favorite of her books) and it definitely falls into the category of “hidden vegetables.” If you’re experiencing a zucchini glut (though I think that comes later in the season, right?) it’s a great way to use up a stray pound or two. I’ve tried a few zucchini pancake recipes, and this one is the best—there’s no tedious squeezing of excess liquid, just grate and go. The pancakes turn out tender, light, and fluffy, with no weird gumminess in the center.
The other great news about this recipe is that kids like it, too—if my anecdotal evidence of one 10-month-old (!) baby girl bears any weight. When I gave her these savory pancakes, she ate a short stack—the first food I’ve cooked for her that she really, truly loved.
Adapted from The Barefoot Contessa at Home by Ina Garten
3/4 lb zucchini (aka courgette, about 2 medium)
2 tablespoons grated onion
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
6-8 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 teaspoon salt (optional, depending on how salty you like your food)
Freshly ground pepper
Olive oil for frying
Grate the courgette into a mixing bowl using the large holes of a box grater. Gently stir in the onion and eggs—I find that the more I work the mixture, the more unwanted liquid is released from the courgettes, so be delicate. Stir in 6 tablespoons of flour, the baking powder, salt (if using), pepper, and cheese. If, at any point, the batter becomes too thin from the liquid released by the courgettes, add more flour, a tablespoon at a time.
Heat a 10- to 12-inch skillet over medium heat and warm 1/2 tablespoon oil. When the oil is hot, lower the heat to medium, and drop spoonfuls of batter into the skillet. Cook the pancakes until golden brown—about 2-3 minutes on each side. Repeat with the remaining batter.
And, just for fun, here’s midtown Manhattan after the storm :)
By Ann | June 30, 2014
When I packed my bags to research an article on Prince Edward Island last month, I had two things on my mind. 1) Anne of Green Gables (more on this soon), and 2) Oysters. Harvested from the deep, moody waters of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, the island’s Malpeque variety has been famous for centuries—even Queen Victoria was a fan, importing barrels to England—prized for its delicate flavor and clean, sweet finish. Interestingly, the island’s oysters have also been fished in the same way for centuries—brought up by long-handled tongs that are powered by human strength alone. I was thrilled to learn more about the island’s native oyster from Phyllis Carr, who owns Carr’s Shellfish, a local seafood purveyor, with her husband, Robert. And the next day, on a bright, clear morning, I visited Carr’s oyster beds with fisherman Philip Buote—and attempted a bit oyster fishing myself.
On the Malpeque oyster:
Though the northwestern end of the island is called Malpeque, “all oysters found on PEI are considered the Malpeque variety,” says Phyllis. Oysters start out as spat, tiny shellfish about the size of a quarter that attach to a solid surface, like a larger oyster. “It’s illegal to bring in spat with mature oysters. They have to be completely cleaned off on the boat and put right back into the sea,” says Philip. It takes four to seven years for an oyster to reach maturity—that’s about three inches long. “Oysters like a hard bottom surface,” says Phyllis. “But the bigger they get, the more room they need to grow. The best oysters grow slowly, without crowding.” Malpeques are sold in three sizes: small choice, large choice, and extra-large choice.
On wild oyster fishery:
The island’s oysters are fished from the wild, using a 15-foot dory and a pair of long-handled oyster tongs that end in rake-like teeth. The fisherman leans over the side of the boat and drops the tongs into the water, closing them at the bottom of the bed to capture a small quantity oysters mixed with mud and seaweed. He then drags the closed tongs up through the water and deposits the cache on the prow of the boat. “Oyster tongs are the only legal way to fish oysters on public water in PEI,” says Phyllis. It’s “very labor intensive,” slow, and painstaking work—each load collects only a few oysters—requiring strength and agility. “A public fisherman spends eight, ten hours out on the water every day, dredging, sorting, dredging.” says Philip.
In case this is all hopelessly confusing, this video explains it better:
On oyster bed politics:
Prince Edward Island’s landscape is defined by the gulf—the water not only surrounds the land, it also reaches into it in narrow inlets and ponds, creating clean, cold pools that oysters love. Many of these areas are considered “public water,” says Phyllis, and fishing them “is strictly governed, requiring a fish-specific license,” which is limited, expensive, and hard to obtain. The island also has oyster beds—called “leases”—which are bodies of water rented from the federal government. Carr’s maintains five leases. They buy oysters from fisherman on the public water, and transfer the shellfish to their beds at Stanley Bridge, where they grow plump and clean.
On working the leases:
During the summer, Philip heads out in the dory once or twice a day to fish the leases, and turn over the beds. “In the warmer months, the leases need to be worked everyday to maintain them,” says Phyllis. Winter brings a dormant period. “We don’t work the leases then,” she says. “Everything freezes over from December to March,and when the water gets very cold, the oysters lock their shells and stay closed.”
On the best time to eat oysters:
Though enjoying shellfish only in months with an “r” is “kind of a myth,” says Phyllis, she thinks the “fattest, best quality oysters” are found in October, November, and December. “Oysters hibernate—like bears,” she says. “They fatten up during the warmer months, and hibernate during the winter.” In March and April, “they’re coming off their winter sleep so they’re getting thin and weak, waiting for the warm water to feed.” By autumn, they’re plump and delicious—just in time for the holiday season.
Just for fun, here’s what happened when I tried oyster fishing:
Did I catch anything?
Me and “my haul.” ;)
Back inside, Philip shucked two fresh oysters for me and I ate them right away, straight from the sea. They were briny and delicate, the ocean-temperature flesh sweeter and warmer than oysters served on a bed of ice. Fishing and eating them was one of the best moments of my life.
(Photos of me snapped by Philip Buote.)
By Ann | June 24, 2014
Paris restaurants don’t have a reputation for being very kid friendly, so before my most recent trip—my first with baby in tow—I wondered whether I’d be able to eat out with my nine-month-old daughter. Our first lunch at a neighborhood café was not encouraging. We were seated at a corner table with the baby parked in her stroller directly beneath the door of a refrigerator. Every few minutes, a waiter opened the fridge to grab one of the carafes of water cooling within. The glass bottle passed right over the baby’s tender head while the head waiter barked: “Fais TRES attention au bébé!” (Be VERY careful of the baby!) The waiter would shoot me a look that screamed “You are in the way!” and the fridge door would slam shut. When the baby began squawking, we bolted our food and beat a hasty retreat.
After this experience, it seemed likely that we wouldn’t eat out in Paris as a family for the next seventeen years. But after I canvassed a couple of Paris parent friends, we tried again, and again, several times—and found each meal easier than the last. I’ve combined their suggestions with my tips for dining out with a baby in Paris. I’d love to hear your recommendations, too—please leave them in the comments!
Choose wisely—I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Parisians are very child friendly. But not in restaurants. It’s important to pick the kind of place where kids are welcome (I offer a few addresses below). Casual spots like cafés, bistros, or non-French places like pizza or Chinese food are good choices. Only you know your kid’s limits, but personally I would avoid everything else with a baby. “I see the most kids in Asian restaurants, not traditional French restaurants,” says my friend Erin, mother of Felix, 4, and Lucie, 2. Another alternative: “Crêperies are definitely known as family friendly places.”
Eat early—French people are creatures of habit—they like to eat at the same times—that is, one o’clock for lunch; eight o’clock for dinner. If you show up at a restaurant early, you’ll catch the staff before the rush, and there will be few other customers to disturb with baby squawking. “The very best thing is to go immediately at 12pm or 7pm,” says Erin. “Make sure you’re the first people served so the kids aren’t waiting forever.”
But not too early—Paris restaurants keep rigid hours; most aren’t open before 12pm or 7pm. If you’d like to eat outside those hours, look for a place that offers “service continu”—continuous dining service—usually a café. Fair warning: the best food in Paris is not usually found in places with service continu.
Don’t expect kid accoutrements—High chair? Crayons? Kid’s menu? Fuhgeddaboudit. “I’ve never been to a restaurant that has a high chair available or that could easily accommodate our own portable high chair,” says Claire, mother of Theo, 21 months. Restaurants for families do exist, “but they’re chain restaurants,” says Erin. I brought most of the baby’s food from home, and gave her a chunk of baguette from the bread basket to keep her busy.
Case the joint in advance—Don’t just show up with the stroller, expecting to be seated. Scope out the restaurant in advance to see what kind of space they have. Pop in and ask if they’d mind accommodating kids and/or a stroller. “If they’re reluctant to welcome kids, it’s almost always a space issue,” says Erin. Paris real estate is expensive; most restaurants are tiny. “My father-in-law is in a wheelchair and when restaurants see us coming with him and the stroller, they’re like, ‘Forget it!'” says Claire.
Find an outdoor café— “I usually try for a restaurant with ample outdoor seating and sit at the end where I can pull up the stroller,” says Claire. Pedestrian streets like rue Montorgueil or rue Cler offer a large choice of cafés with wide terrasses—though they also attract heavy smokers. We had lunch in one café on rue Cler, which offered ideal seating—lots of room for the stroller, we were outside so didn’t have to worry about baby yelps—but the food left much to be desired.
Goûter is good—I’ve noticed children are more welcome at goûter, or tea time, the four o’clock hour when French people like to eat sweets. I’ve even spotted kids in chic salons de thé like Jacques Genin or Angelina. Otherwise, picnics are an obvious choice for families of young children—plus you have an excuse to buy lots of different types of cheese!
Bottom line—After several lunches with the baby (we never tried dinner since she goes to bed too early), and talking to several friends, my conclusion is that dining out in Paris with young children is not common. But it is acceptable, if you choose the right kind of place and right time, and if you’re considerate of the staff and other customers. In other words, maybe it’s not so different from anywhere else?
Where to eat with kids in Paris
Les Deux Abeilles
189 rue de l’Université, 7e
tel: 01 45 55 64 04
At first glance, this cozy tea salon does not seem kid-friendly—space is tight, voices are low, and there are crisp, white tablecloths. But they offer continuous service from 9am-7pm, which means you could eat super early without worrying about being a nuisance. I love their savory tarts, hearty salads, and gorgeous cakes.
Café Suédois à l’Institut Suédois
11 rue Payenne, 3e
tel: 01 44 78 80 20
This is a charming little lunch/tea counter at the Institut Suédois with housemade soups, bread, cakes, and even elderflower cordial. Best of all, there’s lots of seating in the spacious courtyard. There’s no table service here—just order at the counter and ferry the food yourself. They were kind when we rearranged the chairs to make room for the strollers (and we also spent several minutes replacing everything when we left).
West Country Girl
6 Passage Saint-Ambroise, 11e
tel: 01 47 00 72 54
Even though I said crêperies were family friendly, I would avoid one of my favorites, Breizh Café, because of the aforementioned space issues. West Country Girl is a good alternative, with excellent galettes in a less touristy (and populated) part of Paris. Admittedly, I have not been here with a stroller. But I have eaten an early, mid-week lunch here and the dining room was practically empty.
w 13 rue de Mézières, 6e
tel: 01 45 48 30 38
I love their pizza. But this restaurant is as chic as its name indicates. I have, however, seen older kids (aged seven and up) dining here—early. There are also a few sidewalk tables, which could be possible for an early meal with a stroller. However, wild horses couldn’t drag me to bring the baby to eat at this restaurant during regular service, either indoors or out.
5 rue du Cloître Saint-Merri, 4e
tel: 01 40 29 89 99
This center near Beaubourg offers everything from a kid-friendly café (with high chairs and simple meals), dance and music classes (for kids), meditation sessions (for parents :), as well as a beauty salon, massages—and babysitting. I haven’t been here yet, but it sounds great for a rainy day.
Do you have any tips to add or addresses to share? I’d be grateful for your advice!
By Ann | June 12, 2014
Three of my favorite things are Paris, walking in Paris, and food. And so, when Jane of La Cuisine Paris and I started planning my Paris popup tour, I couldn’t wait to hit the ground. And even though it rained on the day of my tour—comme une vache qui pisse (as they say so charmingly)—my stalwart fellow food lovers and I enjoyed a delicious (albeit damp!) afternoon.
I wanted to offer insights into Julia Child’s Paris, and so one of our first stops was her favorite cookware shop, E. Dehillerin. Julia described herself as “a knife freak, frying pan freak, and gadget freak,” and it’s easy to imagine her wandering the narrow aisles, admiring the giant whisks and rolling pins, and asking the seasoned salesmen for advice. Two photos of Madame Child still hang above the register and one of the clerks said he’d met her in 1986. The shop has been open since 1820, and it’s still targeted mainly to professionals, which means its prices are listed before tax—hors taxes—unlike most retail shops in France.
We stopped outside Au Pied de Cochon, which is the only restaurant I know of in France that’s open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. The special dispensation for extra hours was granted in 1947, after several lean war years. I like to imagine Julia squeezing into a narrow booth, digging into a gratinéed bowl of soupe à l’oignon after a frosty, wee hour visit to the market at Les Halles (which used to be located just across the street).
We also visited Stohrer, one of Paris’s most venerable addresses, opened in 1730. When Louis XV married Marie Leszczynka of Poland in 1725, her pâtissier accompanied her to France in her retinue. Five years later, he opened this pâtisserie—and allegedly invented baba au rhum in the same spot. More recently, Le Figaroscope named Stohrer’s éclair au chocolat the best in Paris—a pronouncement that I don’t entirely agree with. Nevertheless, we bought a couple just to make sure :)
The rain, by the way, finally stopped somewhere between the charcuterie and the fromagerie, just in time for us to squelch back to La Cuisine Paris for a decadent dégustation. On the menu: andouille de Guéméné, a tripe sausage from Brittany, which—I’m proud to say—was sampled by every single member of the group. We also tucked into rillettes of goose and of pork, rabbit pâté, foie gras, several types of cheese, and more, accompanied by a spritely white wine.
The afternoon ended with a book signing (every author’s favorite activity :) and then I was sad to say au revoir. I enjoyed meeting such a curious, enthusiastic group and loved introducing them to tripe sausage (among other things). My thanks to La Cuisine Paris for a lovely afternoon—I hope to do it again soon!
If you’d like to create your own walking tour of Paris:
18-20 rue Coquillière, 1e, Paris
tel: 01 42 36 53 13
Au Pied de Cochon
6 rue Coquillière, 1e, Paris
tel: 01 40 13 77 00
51 rue Montorgueil, 1e, Paris
tel: 01 42 33 38 20
Or visit La Cuisine Paris for one of their wonderful walking tours, excursions, market tours and/or cooking classes.
(Photos that include moi thanks to Jane at La Cuisine Paris.)
By Ann | June 2, 2014
I’m excited to announce that I’m leading a special Paris pop up tour next Tuesday, June 10, with the delightful cooking school, La Cuisine Paris!
I’ll be hosting a gourmet afternoon visiting a few of Julia Child’s favorite haunts, as well as a selection of wonderful food shops. We’ll shop for some of France’s finest delicacies, from fromage to foie gras, andouillettes (for the daring) to pâtisserie! Along the way, you’ll learn a bit of history of some of France’s most iconic dishes.
The tour will end at La Cuisine Paris where we’ll tuck into our treats and chat over wine!
Please join me for:
–Insights and visits to my view of Julia Child’s Paris.
–A walking tour and tasting of France’s finest, including a visit to the charcutier, fromager, pâtissier, et plus!
–Each participant will recieve a signed copy of my new book, Mastering the Art of French Eating!
For more information, visit La Cuisine Paris.
There are only a few spots left!
*UPDATE: The tour is sold out! Thanks for helping to spread the word, tout le monde!
By Ann | May 30, 2014
As you might have guessed from my Tuesday Dinner series, I’m fascinated by what people cook during the week—not fancy food, but the fast, ordinary meals prepared after a tiring day of work. Ever since the baby arrived, I’ve developed a new strategy. Instead of grocery shopping one meal at a time (I now think of those days and laugh), I cook large quantities during the weekend and reheat during the week. What I lose in spontaneity, I make up for in speed and peace of mind.
On the internets, people’s lives have a tendency to look glossier than they really are. (Surely this explains the email I received after this post appeared, from a reader accusing me of being a trust fund baby.) The truth is this: I try to get a home-cooked dinner on the table about 70% of the time. Do I enjoy cooking every night? No. Sometimes I’m so tired I wish I could swallow the balanced-meal-equivalent of a pill, and collapse into my pillow. But I try to eat at home most nights because I care about the food we eat, I don’t want to weigh 1,000 pounds, and I pinch pennies like everyone else.
Today I’m sharing my week’s cooking routine: what I prepared one weekend, and then how we ate it during the course of seven days.
What I cooked:
Over the weekend, I steamed a pound of asparagus, sautéed broccoli rabe with chili flakes and garlic, boiled up a pot of quinoa and couscous for packed lunches, and prepared a chicken tetrazzini casserole. (I also made some baby food.) My husband cooked a pot of chili.
What we ate:
Sunday – Turkey chili, basmati rice, cheddar cheese, and pickled red onions (made the previous week).
Monday – Chicken tetrazzini, reheated at 350ºF for an hour until golden and bubbly.
Tuesday – Peanut butter/ sriracha toast, sauteed broccoli rabe. (Note: husband ate chicken tetrazzini, but I’d had an enormous lunch.)
Wednesday – More turkey chili, basmati rice, cheddar, avocado, and pickled onions.
Thursday – Japanese-style donburi bowl. Salmon (cooked this way), avocado, asparagus, broccoli rabe, pickled red onions, black sesame seeds, and dashi broth over sushi rice. This is one of my favorite meals, but it’s only fast if you’ve cooked the vegetables in advance.
Friday – Vegetarian burrito from Chipotle. We get take-out once a week and I look forward to it.
Saturday – Dinner out with friends (delicious Korean food at Hanjan). Drank a martini and forgot to take pictures (sorry).
A few observations:
–We eat a lot of food in bowls!
–My late-night food photography needs work (sorry about those #struggleplates :)
– Not pictured: the asparagus and broccoli rabe also appeared at lunch, atop of quinoa, with sliced turkey breast and cherry tomatoes.
– The rice cooker is my best friend–it produces perfect grains every time, with no pot watching. I’m not sure how I survived so long without one.
– Though we didn’t dip into our freezer this week, I rely on it most weeks.
I’d love to hear about your weekly cooking routine!
By Ann | May 24, 2014
Last summer, I traveled around France with the sole purpose of eating. It was a memorable journey for many reasons (among them this and this), and I’m absolutely thrilled the resulting article is in this Sunday’s New York Times Travel section—my first cover! I hope you’ll read the story and leave me a comment with an answer to this question: What’s your favorite regional dish—in France, or beyond?
I thought I’d share the article’s EXTRAS*—the material left on the cutting room floor, in this case, the hotels I stayed at on my trip, and a few of the food souvenirs I brought home. I’m always on the hunt for les bonnes adresses, and I hope you find these helpful!
PLACES TO STAY
Seemingly torn from the pages of a French fairy tale, the Manoir de Lanroz (282 Chemin de Lanroz, 29000 Quimper, tel: 33-2-98-90-64-43; www.lanroz.fr) is steeped in the charm of an old-fashioned manor house. Bedrooms feature family antiques and views that stretch across green fields to a sparkling lake.
Château Coquelicot (250 route de Castelnaudary, 11400 Souihanels-Castelnaudary, tel: 33-6-42-74-55-90; www.chateaucoquelicot.com), on the edges of Castelnaudary, is a sprawling country house with spacious rooms, a pool, and sweeping views of grape vines. Upon request, the Belgian owners, Françoise and Frédéric Bernier, will prepare a home-cooked supper at their table d’hôte.
L’Avila Cassis (15 Avenue Joseph Liautaud, tel: 33-4-42-03-35-37; www.lavila-cassis.com), a 10-minute walk from the town center, is a bed and breakfast with comfortable, modern rooms, a pool, and a sunny terrace for morning coffee.
Located in the heart of Lyon’s presqu’ile, the eccentric Chambre d’Hugo (21 rue Victor Hugo, Lyon, 69002; tel: 33-6-18-38-27-68; www.lachambredhugo.fr)—housed in an elegant, 18th-century apartment—has only one room, a serene space with parquet floors, linen curtains, classic moldings painted in pale grey, and an en suite bathroom. Breakfasts include homemade fruit compote and fresh smoothies—the perfect antidote to all those bacon-strewn Lyonnais meals.
Slightly off the bouchon trail (though convenient to public transportation) Mama Shelter Lyon (13 rue Domer, Lyon, 69007; tel: 33-4-78-02-58-00; www.mamashelter.com/lyon)—the latest outpost of the Philippe Starck-designed hotel chain—offers a throbbing bar downstairs, while upstairs rooms are like a modern cocoon, quiet, with fluffy duvets and industrial-chic furniture. Though space is cramped, prices are reasonable, and the staff is young and friendly.
In the pretty, half-timbered village of Rosheim, La Rose d’Alsace (10 Rue de l’Eglise, 67560, Rosheim; tel: 33-3-88-50-10-44; www.larosedalsace.com) has simple, clean rooms and makes a good base for a choucroute (or wine) tour of the region.
Housed in a newly restored 16th-century hôtel particulier—check out the medieval well at the flowery courtyard’s entrance—La Cour du Courbeau (6-8 rue des Couples, 67000 Strasbourg; tel: 33-3-90-00-26-26; www.cour-courbeau.com) offers spacious, quiet rooms with modern fixtures in the heart of Strasbourg.
Galettes from Brittany
Buttery treats abound in the region, but the picturesque village of Pont-Aven—once, briefly, the home of Gauguin—is famous for galettes, in this case sugar biscuits made with local butter and studded with flakes of sea salt. Each shop has its own secret family recipe, but the thick-cut “palet” cookies at La Boutique de Pont-Aven are delicately sweet with a lightly crumbly texture. Where to buy it: La Boutique de Pont Aven, Place Paul Gauguin
Pralines from Lyon
Rough-textured and hot pink, these sugar-coated almonds are a familiar sight in the city’s pâtisseries, whether used as a filling for tarte aux pralines, crushed and sprinkled on rice pudding, or studding soft loaves of sweet brioche. Buy your own bag and experiment at home. Where to buy it: Monoprix, locations all over the city.
Cassoles from Languedoc
The region’s traditional terracotta cooking vessel, is essential for preparing your own cassoulet. At the Poterie Not Frères, a family business started in 1830, each cassole is made on a man-powered pottery wheel and shaped by hand. Where to buy it: Poterie Not Frères, Mas-Saintes-Puelles
Garrigue herbs from Provence
A mix of rosemary, thyme, savory, lavender and other plants that grow wild along the Provençal Mediterranean coast, the earthy perfume of this dried herb blend enhances everything from bouillabaisse to roast chicken. Where to buy it: Cassis open market, town center (Wednesday mornings)
Pain d’épices from Alsace
Gingerbread doesn’t need to be limited to Christmas—at least not in Alsace, where slices of the moist, sweet, spice bread are enjoyed year-round with a cup of tea, or at cocktail hour, topped with foie gras and paired with a glass of Riesling. The artisanal loaf from Le Bucher des Buissons, tastes delightfully old fashioned, dense with honey and rye flour. Where to buy it: Pains Westermann, 1 rue des Orfèvres, Strasbourg
*Note: This material was originally prepared for a longer version of the article.
By Ann | May 22, 2014
My love of Russ and Daughters is well documented, so when I heard that the 100-year-old appetizing store had opened a café, I sprinted for a table. I was greeted by a long and narrow space, herringbone tile floors, a counter in the front, tables and booths in the back. The decor reminded me a malt shop from another era sharpened up with a contemporary edge, a little bit Art Deco, a little bit post Modern.
At a table in the back, a friend and I settled down to business right away, gazing at the placemat that doubles as a menu. While I hemmed and hawed over smoked salmon paired with eggs benedict, scrambled eggs, or potato latkes, in the end I went with a sandwich called the Shtetl: smoked sable, plain bagel, goat cream cheese. My friend, Shana, had the chopped salad: rows of smoked whitefish, beets, avocado, apple, hard-boiled egg, and bits of broken matzo arranged on a bed of lettuce.
The sable was velvety rich with a tang of woodsmoke, offset by the mustard bite of pickled capers. I liked the goat cream cheese, but to be perfectly honest, it didn’t taste that different from a regular schmear. Shana reported that her salad was delicious (and I do love Russ & Daughter’s whitefish), but it was small, and afterwards she was “still a little noshy.”
We filled in the cracks with an egg cream each—chocolate for her, malt for me—mine was a drink of milk, seltzer, and malt syrup (?) that managed to be at once fizzy, frothy, sweet, and rich (is malt umami?!). And as a final treat, we ordered up a pair of blintzes, browned in butter, stuffed with sweetened farmer’s cheese that breathed a gentle note of cinnamon.
I will admit, the bill was not cheap—$60 for two of us, quite a bit heftier than what one might expect from your corner diner/deli/malt shop. (It broke down like this: $18 for my sandwich, $14 for the salad, $7 per egg cream, $14 for the blintzes—needless to say, this is a place for a special lunch treat.) The prices, however, weren’t any more expensive than any other trendy New York lunch spot. And the quality, ah, the quality was sublime. Can you really put a price on that?
Russ and Daughters Café
127 Orchard Street
New York City
212 475 4881