Europeans do it better

Europeans really know how to live. We are not just talking about the French here, but Europeans in general. On a quick weekend trip to Holland I was given a sneak-peak at what Europeans consider normal, but which seems fantastic by American standards.
Let’s start with the most basic, the airplane. Sure the seats have gotten closer together, the planes packed as full as possible, just as you might find on an American airline but there is a certain amount of service that is given that is nearly unheard of these days. The flight attendants are perfectly dressed, coiffed and even beautifully choreographed with their “in the case of an emergency” demonstration to the point where it practically becomes a dance. The announcements are given in two and sometimes three languages to accommodate all the different nationalities. Despite the fact that the flight between Bordeaux and Amsterdam is only an hour and a half, the passengers are not thrown a tiny packet of pretzels or peanuts as the flight attendants run down the length of the plane looking flustered and pressed for time. Instead, you are served neatly wrapped sandwiches, nothing fancy, but much more substantial and much more appetizing than stale pretzels. This is done calmly, and followed by the cart with the drinks, which they manage to have pass twice during the short flight, since they have the timing down to perfection and thus have no need to rush. Personally, I found this incredibly civilized and was extremely delighted on my flight home to even be given a delicious biscuit-cookie upon the second passing of the cart to go with the tea and coffee that was offered. Too often on a short flight in our good old U.S of A. you have to beg for anything to eat.
Once on the ground the civility of European culture is continued. I had the good fortune to experience an event which in the US warrants only a brief letter in the mail but which is celebrated in Europe with all the pomp and circumstance that it deserves: an achievement of a full professorship at a university. In general, Europeans give professors and teachers in general much more respect than we give ours. I don’t know if they are paid any better than our professors but at least they are given the respect that they deserve for years and years of work and learning. Unfortunately this means there is a certain amount of social distance between the pupil and the prof., as is immediately explained to us American students, the professor is NOT your friend. Yet this is not the point I am trying to make. My Dad’s friend had the fortune to achieve his full professorship and thus we went to attend the inauguration ceremony and the conference which was to follow celebrating the event.
At least in Holland, the inauguration ceremony for a professor involves dressing up nicely, in other words, there was not a pair of jeans in the room (take note fellow Californians: flip flops are not appropriate for all occasions, as much as we would like them to be so). The women wore dresses and heels and the men were in their suits and ties. The representatives of the university were in full scholarly regalia, velvet robes with colored bands and fringe around the sleeves, strange velvet caps with four corners and those who were still students (I assume) had black suits and those triangular necklace things in fabric with a medallion around their shoulders (I apologize I have no idea what the term is and don’t even know what to search for on the internet.). They all looked extremely official as they paraded down the hall, somewhat like what you might see in a wedding ceremony. Us Americans grouped in the corner were whispering to each other about how amazing this is, how special, and why don’t we do this? The man of the hour gave a lovely speech, in perfect English no less (the Dutch are universally bilingual and speak English as well if not better than we do) then he and his fellow scholars took another ceremonial walk down the aisle, exuding importance.
The ceremony was followed by a reception in the professor’s hall where they pass their thesis exam under the watchful painted eye of the Queen. We however spent our time chatting, looking at the paintings of professors gone by, congratulating the new prof and plowing through the large assortment of wines, beers, juices and hors d’oeuvres. Those of us considered special enough (or like me, accompanying someone special enough) were treated to an elegant dinner afterward. The dinner involved an amuse-bouche (a tiny serving of split pea soup and corned beef and cabbage, in honor of the regional cuisine I suppose), a delicate entrée of scallops and tempura shrimp, un plat de poisson (a white-fleshed fish crusted with poppy seeds and accompanied by artistic swirls of sauce), un plat de viande (a meat dish, in our case duck), dessert (a lovely mango tarte tatin) and to finish, various sugary bon-bons accompanying a petit café. The dishes were beautifully presented a served. My favorite touch was the sauce for the duck being served out of the copper pot in which it was cooked, which I felt gave an air of authenticity to the chic restaurant. By the time the café with its bon-bons arrived I felt ready to pop, but I did my duty as self-appointed culinary correspondent and tried them all, finding them to all be too sweet after the previous indulgences. The meal was accompanied by three different wines: a white which remained from the amuse-bouche until the duck arrived, then a red and then a dessert wine in a lovely amber color. Contrary to my usual preference for reds, I found the white to be the stand out. The dessert wine was far too syrupy for my taste, but I seem to find that I do not enjoy dessert wines. Yet in true European restraint and logic, the portions were not so large that I couldn’t properly walk to the taxi after the meal had ended and I did not feel the next day as if I could never eat again.
Now I cannot claim that I go to many conferences, but from what I have been told, this degree of quality is quite common in Europe but is quite rare in the United States. Perhaps this is a result of the strong hospitality industry in Europe which has many, many schools and involves quite a lot of training. Perhaps this is the result of thousands of years of tradition which we lack in the US and thus we choose a more business-like, efficient and less ceremonial path. Yet a little bit of the Old World charm and ceremony could really class up the country. Personally I would love to have more opportunities to break out my new LBD (little black dress) and les talons (heels). Sure I love my California casual life, the ability to wear flip flops every day, but sometimes it is nice to feel special, to have an event that makes someone else feel unique and celebrated. It is not necessarily that the Europeans do things better than we do, but they know how and when to add that extra something, remembering the little touches that so often get pushed to the side in favor of economy or efficiency. Personally I believe this is why they live longer than we do.

Trop Gourmande

For the past couple weeks, I’ve been plowing my way through the classic Physiologie du Goût written by Brillat-Savarin sometime around the beginning of the 1800s. It has, of course, been taking me awhile since it’s in French, but since I’m a bit of an odd duck, I find it fun to read all his little anecdotes, stories, and analyses about food. Anyway, I thought that I would share a couple passages which caught my eye. I hope that my attempts at translation do not destroy too much of the meaning and enjoyment of Brillat-Savarin’s writing.

Méditation XI: De la Gourmandise. p. 141
“55_ I’ve investigated the dictionaries for the word “Gourmandise,” and I’ve yet to be satisfied with what I’ve found. The problem is a perpetual confusion between the word “gourmandise” properly said, with the word “gluttony” and the word “voracity” […]
“Definitions: Let us then define it ourselves.
“The ‘gourmandise’ is a passionate preference, reasonable and regular, for things that flatter the taste [buds].
“The ‘gourmandise’ is the enemy of excess; anyone who overeats or becomes drunk risks being punished or put under controls.
“The ‘gourmandise’ encompasses also the “friandise” which is nothing more than the same preference applied to dishes that are light, delicate, small in proportion, for jams, pastries, etc. This is a modification introduced in favor of women and men who resemble it. […]
“The moral of the story: it is an implicit resignation of the order given by the Creator, who gave us the need to eat in order to live, that we are thus invited (enticed?) by appetite, we are kept interested by the flavors and we are rewarded by the pleasure.”

p. 170
“73_ The difference between the pleasure of eating and the pleasure of the table (the pleasure of dining?) […]
“The pleasure of eating is the actual sensation and a direct need that is satisfied.
“The pleasure of the table is the thought-over sensation that is born of diverse circumstances of actions, places, things and people that accompany a meal.
“The pleasure of eating is something we share is common with animals; it does not address anything but hunger and what is required to satisfy that hunger.
“The pleasure of the table is particular to the human being; it assumes the preceding cares for the preparation of a meal, for the location and the assembling of the guests.
“The pleasure of eating demands/requires, not only hunger, but at very least an appetite; the pleasure of the table is more often independent of appetite or hunger.”

(entrance to "La Biche", a very chic baguette heaven)

I suppose these descriptions encompass what I am trying to experience during my stay in France. It is the exploration of all the pleasures of the table or of dining, not just the food which adorns the table but all that surrounds it. Trying to keep up with conversation with my host family, occasionally even telling my host father “Wait!, Stop!, let me speak!” since I haven’t quite developed the ability to talk at the same time as other people as is so common in France. I have come to love the French form of eating dinner which is focused on being “équilibré” or balanced, having the main dish, usually some sort of salad or vegetable (in which potatoes, rice and pastas are also included in the place of a legitimate vegetable), and either or both fromage (cheese) and dessert. In this family, desserts are typically the yaourt (yogurt) and maybe a bisquit, the closest thing the French come to cookies.
The meal is a progression, it is not simply one step, with everything piled on the plate, consumed as quickly as possible and then dumped in the dishwasher before moving on to other things. After dinner, I go one step further by taking my evening tea, just as I did in the States, and I ask if anyone else would like a “pisse-mémé,” literally a term for evening tea which means “something that makes a grandmother have to pea in the middle of the night.” Some times they accept and take a “tisane” or an infusion, an herbal tea or fruit tea. My host mother likes “fruits-rouge” and my host father likes something called “nuit calme” so that he can “sleep like a baby.” But the dinner meal itself is what we Americans might think of as a 1950s style family meal, with everyone around the table, the parents asking the kids what they did that day, listening to the descriptions of the dramas playing out between Anne-Sophie and Paul at school, remarking that the car needs to be washed, the garden neatened up or that they are going to be gone on such-and-such-day visiting family.
Often, one hears the French say that someone is “très/trop gourmande” implying that they eat too much of one thing or another. When my host father goes searching for the baguette and fromage, sampling each one in large portions, my host mother often remarks that he is “très gourmande.” This is what is described by our friend Brillat-Savarin in saying that being a gourmand is often confused with gluttony. It is, admittedly, a fine line to walk. When does one pass from eating for the pleasure of the savors and perhaps eating a lot because the flavors are so detailed and enjoyable, to simple gluttony, eating too much because, yes, it tastes good, but also because one doesn’t know when to stop. I try not to be too “gourmande” and simply enjoy what is given to me without excess, but it is often difficult, especially with sweets (perhaps that puts me more in the line of a “friandise”). But France has been a good teacher, I’ve lost much of my fear of eating that I held before. I would often deprive myself of things like butter saying “I don’t need it, olive oil works just as well, or toast is just as good with just honey or just jam, the butter is unnecessary.” But it was fear that maybe it was too unhealthy or fattening. Sure its not exactly healthy food but despite my repeated motto of “anything and everything within reason and moderation” I would cut myself off from many pleasures of eating. France is a good influence, a bit of cheese here, some baguette there, a dab of butter and a dessert if you want it is not the end of the world (or the end of your waistline).
Thus I raise my glass to Brillat-Savarin, the French and all those who know how to eat like gourmands and not gluttons, the enjoyment of food is the enjoyment of life and we are here to live it.

A Weekend in Paris

Last weekend was spent in Paris. I did not go for the Eiffel Tower or for the Louvre, in fact, though I saw both, I chose to skip those oh so typical attractions in favor of eating. Yes, I spent my weekend in Paris eating. Eating, and then walking up and down the Seine trying to burn off all that I ate so that I could eat again. Ok, so it wasn’t quite that food oriented but I must say that upon returning to Bordeaux I had a couple days where I generally lacked an appetite.
So what did I consume? Not all good food, unfortunately. I hit up a sandwicherie upon arrival since I felt like I could not go one more step without eating and so I settled for what I could find. But after spending much more time than any normal person would in the Opera Garnier then wandering over to the Église de la Madeleine and running into a crazy melee of people at the Tuileries anxious to catch a glimpse of their favorite designers and models exiting a fashion show, I felt that I needed to inaugurate my stay in Paris with a visit to one of the most famous salons de thé in Paris, Angelina. Angelina’s is always busy, always busting and always filled to the brim with both tourists and hard-core Parisians alike. Located on the Rue de Rivoli, across from the Tuileries it is bright and inviting with a constant background of teacups and chatting giving atmosphere to this Paris institution. Though I’m sure that their teas are of the highest quality and they surely serve a wonderful café I have tasted only one item, their Chocolat à l’Ancienne dit “L’Africain.” This glorious concoction has put them on the map. It has also nearly put me into a coma on nearly every visit to Paris.


This hot chocolate is not your Swiss Miss with the mini marshmallows or even Garadelli hot chocolate mix; this is hot chocolate in the pure sense of the term, “hot” and “chocolate.” I’m pretty sure they simply melt down some chocolate, maybe add a bit of milk, and then pour the thick, creamy substance into a small, pretty pitcher and deliver it to the unsuspecting and/or anxiously waiting client. They serve it with a little cup filled with unsweetened whipped cream and a demi-pichet of water which is absolutely necessary. I made the mistake of decided to start things off with a bang and decided to order one of their gorgeous pastries along with the chocolat chaud, I chose the Paris-New York at the suggestion of my waitress. Next time I go to Paris, please, please, please, someone slap me upside the head if I try to order a pastry along with the intoxicatingly rich chocolat afriain, I nearly ended up in diabetic shock trying to make my way through them both. Eventually I abandoned the pastry, took a long break to make my way through three quarters of my pitcher of water, clearing my head before I felt that it might be possible to slowly finish the second half of my chocolat. That had to be accomplished in between sips of water and long pauses for people watching as best as I could from the back room that they placed me (perhaps they thought it looked unseemly for a girl to be there alone and thus had to keep me away from the sight of the other chocolate craving diners). But there was no way that I was going to abandon my glorious chocolate before it was finished, and finish it I did.


There was one thing that I learned on this weekend in Paris; it is that I should trust my instincts. I knew that I should go to Angelina’s, it was the proper start to my stay and made me incredibly happy, if slightly delirious. But, if a place looks too overcrowded with foreigners, has little flags and English translations on the menu, or makes you feel like you are settling, you should trust your gut and move on. What you get will probably be edible, but it probably won’t be a culinary epiphany either.

(my kind of tourist attraction)

On the other hand, there are one or two good tourist traps. I enjoyed a lovely crèpe Nutella on the Champs-Elysées; it was warm and freshly made right before my eyes so I didn’t mind looking like an outsider sitting on a bench next to other tourists and a man mixing various condiments: ketchup, salt, pepper, etc., in a water bottle, which made me feel rather guilty for having my chocolaty treat. I probably should have gone and bought him one too.
But one evening I found a glorious little restaurant, or rather chose randomly from the many restaurants that Clotilde lists on her site Chocolate and Zucchini, and had what was by far the best fish I’ve ever eaten in my life. Unfortunately I don’t know what kind of fish it was, but it was a white fish made with a pesto sauce and served with perfectly cooked haricots verts and petits pois (green beans and peas). I was incredibly happy, and there wasn’t any chocolate involved!
But the event that caused me to even visit Paris in the first place was the chance to take a cooking course. After much internet searching, ie going through the list of cooking courses in Paris on David Lebowitz’ delicious blog, I found something that fit me perfectly. “La Cucina di Terresa” is a cooking course, plus market visit, plus lovely conversation. Terresa, an American living in Paris for quite some time, met me at the Raspail organic open-air market where we went over the menu before making a beeline for the cheese stand. If anyone needs to be reminded that the French are not mean, rude or American-hating, all they need to do is visit this market. Everyone was incredibly nice, the produce looked absolutely glorious and the smells were delicious, to say the least. We were spoiled by the cheese maker who had us try many of his creations, each as delicious as the last. It is a good thing I don’t live in Paris since otherwise I would have bought out the market. We sorted through the produce, taking note of what was still in season, what is coming into season, who sells the best honey (I bought some miel de foret, the only thing I bought in Paris that could be taken home with me) and collected all the ingredients for our dejeuner. Then we took the Velib (the city bikes) back to Terresa’s apartment, which was glorious since I got to see Paris from a whole new perspective and also got to work up an appetite for cooking and eating.


At Terresa’s apartment we donned aprons, washed up and worked on my knife skills (Mom, I’ll be sharpening all the knives once I get home). As nibbles to keep us going while we cooked, we made oven-warmed and crisped radishes, and rice-flour crackers with goat cheese and jam. I learned to make dough for a tarte tatin de pommes, make homemade vegetable stock and the proper way to make risotto. We had a glorious salad with warm olives, greens, tomatoes, lemon zest, mint-infused olive oil, nuts and goat cheese. The wine complimenting the meal, a natural wine from the Domaine de Rancy, vin du pays 100% Carignan 2006, was perfect and was a unique twist to the risotto, since there are only about two vegetables with which you can make a red-wine risotto. Only the radicchio that we used and perhaps the haricots (the beans) that look splatter painted with bits of pink can be used in a risotto made with red wine since very few things can stand up to the intensity of the wine. I think that many people might find the radicchio to be a challenging vegetable to eat, its bitterness perhaps a deterrent but it was nicely complimented by the wine and the glorious creaminess of the risotto cooked “all’onda” which is a more liquidly form of risotto than the drier way of making risotto that I was familiar with. As we chatted through the repas, the risotto even improved, the flavors melding beautifully together. We finished our meal with and apple tarte tatin infused with the flavor of bay leaves and dolloped with crème fraîche. I apologize that I’m not giving away the recipes, but I think that if you want them, you should take Terresa’s course, though she will probably have you cook something else depending on the seasonality of vegetables, but if you ask nicely she might pass along the recipes of my meal, too. Not only is this course instructive (and vegetarian!), but Terresa is great conversation (in both French and English, so don’t worry I practiced my French too!), a warm and inviting host and has a cute, functional and very French kitchen, which means it is tiny, so do not be surprised. We passed far more than my allotted time chatting about the wine, about the food, possible variations, French culture, and many other subjects making the time fly by and I felt completely at ease and satisfied both intellectually and gastronomically.


Fortified by Terresa and my joint efforts in the kitchen I felt ready to take the final tourist plunge: les bateaux-mouches. I checked my pride at the dock and finally, after many years, saw Paris from the water. It was chilly and my camera battery died on me, but I was still glad that I had decided to do something different. I left Paris the next day, the rain that had been threatening all weekend finally coming down and telling me it was time to go back to the still-sunny Bordeaux and perhaps more sensible eating habits.

For those who are curious:

Le vin de repas: http://www.domaine-rancy.com/ vin du pays 100% carignan 2006
Terresa’s website : http://www.lacucinaditerresa.com/index.html