Culinary Hopscotch

Moving Announcement!

2011-09-15T08:13:00.000-07:00

To be sure that everyone saw my last post regarding Culinary Hopscotch's new home, I'm posting it again. Redundant? Yes. Useful? Hopefully!

If you had previously subscribed by entering your email address, you'll want to do the same for the new blog at www.culinaryhopscotch.com. Otherwise, you're going to miss all of the amazing food- and travel-related posts! Like this: http://culinaryhopscotch.com/2011/09/12/portland-state-university-farmers-market/ or this: http://culinaryhopscotch.com/2011/08/30/who-is-secretkebab/.

By popular demand, starting next week, I am going to be posting "On the Menu this Week" posts each Monday. I normally post them on Facebook daily, but have received requests to post them in a weekly format for those people looking for recipe inspiration and the ability to get organized.

Thank you again for following along with my adventures, travels, cooking, and so forth. I hope you'll continue to follow along at Culinary Hopscotch's new home: www.culinaryhopscotch.com.

www.culinaryhopscotch.com

2011-08-20T16:29:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen: It's time to update your RSS feeds and bookmarks because Culinary Hopscotch is moving to www.culinaryhopscotch.com! Please jot down the new website and you can look for random ramblings about all things culinary and cooking classes there.

2nd Annual Foster Farms Fresh Chicken Competition

2011-08-20T15:28:00.000-07:00

When I think of chicken, I think of Foster Farms. The bright yellow logo reminds me of shopping at the grocery store with my mom and dad as a child, spacing out in the meat aisle, asking for everything, and often getting shot down. I was invited to be a part of their 2nd annual Fresh Chicken Cooking Contest in Portland as a guest of Jennifer Heigl from Dailyblender.com. We're Twitter pals, and until yesterday we'd never met face-to-face.

I showed up at Le Cordon Bleu early, and found many nice people from Foster Farms and the culinary institute there to greet me. They explained that the contestants (there were five of them) would have approximately 90 minutes to complete their dishes, at which time the judges (there were four of them) would be presented with their plates. At the same time, all of us in the audience would sample each dish recreated by the LCB chefs, and we would have the chance to vote for the People's Choice Award. Winner winner chicken dinner! Or breakfast. Whatever.

Recipes included Pan-Fried Chicken with Blueberry-Pinot Noir Sauce and Goat Cheese Polenta (Timmy Baker, Eugene, OR), Hazelnut-Sage Chicken with Ravioli (Mary Lou Cook, Welches, OR), Chicken Mushroom Ragout (Megan Futrell, Hillsboro, OR), Crispy Basil Skinned Chicken Breast with Peach Pink Peppercorn Compote (Russell Kool, Hillsboro, OR), and Stir-Fried Chicken with Walla Walla Onions and Hood River Pears (Deb Stoner, Oak Grove, OR). Each of the contestants were tasked with creating recipes that used local ingredients, and of course, the common thread was Foster Farms chicken. This was the Oregon State finals, and the two winners will go on to join the winners from Washington State (crowned last weekend) and California (crowned next weekend) at the finals at the Culinary Institute of America in Napa, CA. Jealous!

Foster Farms received more than 2,000 recipe entries, but yesterday, the Publisher's Clearinghouse-style $1,000 checks would go to Timmy Baker and Russell Kool for their dishes. The People's Choice Award went to Megan Futrell. The judges looked at presentation, originality, ease of recipe, use of local ingredients, and execution, and each contestant did a wonderful job touching on each category. All of the recipes were easy, and many of the judges commented on that aspect during their explanations. They must have had a hard time deciding, because they deliberated for quite awhile before issuing their decision. Ironically, (I say that because they were both Oregon State contestants last year) Baker and Kool were the cream of the crop. They were the only two repeats in the entire tri-state competition, proving they can bring the heat year-over-year.

I never imagined myself devouring chicken dishes at ten o'clock in the morning and liking it, but the event was fabulous and I'm so glad I went. A special shout out to Jennifer Heigl for having me! For me, the winning dish was the Crispy Basil Skinned Chicken Breast with Peach Pink Peppercorn Compote. It's not really shocking; I'm a sucker for crispy chicken skin morning, noon, or night. The compote was tangy, sweet and could stand up on its own, and I'm planning to make a corn meal pound cake to pair it with, as it almost had a dessert-like quality and texture. If you're interested in any of the recipes from the contest, I'm willing to relinquish them and help you share in the chicken bonanza. Just send me an email. I also have the recipes from the 1st annual competition because I'm just that lucky (thanks Toby!).

Best of luck to the Oregon constituency in Napa at the end of September! If you need someone to pack your knives, carry your whisks, or act as paparazzi, I'm shamelessly offering my services to tagalong. It's the kind of person I am; a chicken-loving groupie, and I like it that way.

Culinary Blitzkrieg

2011-07-29T15:00:00.000-07:00

I have been on a cooking rampage this week. I don't know what it is, but if I'm away from my kitchen for too long, I get separation anxiety. I find myself with overwhelming ADD concerning all the things I want to make, mainly because there are so many ideas swirling around in my head. I've already committed to hosting an Indian dinner party next week for friends, but I'm feeling anxious that I haven't put together our meal plan for the rest of the week. I do know that our floor will be perfumed with curry for days after next Thursday evening, so there's an element of solitude in that. Sorry for currying, floor-mates.

So far this week (and it's not over), I have made: cajun pork burgers, chile lime avocados, chicken divan, herbed mash, Alsatian pizzas with caramelized onions and bacon, celery/apple/fennel slaw, ice cream sundaes with ganache and pretzel nougatine, a garlic cheese braid, and right now, I'm curing salmon that will sit atop a fried wonton with avocado mash to hold it all together. Told you: it's an all-out kitchen assault, and I can't be stopped.

I'm blaming Portland. This city is chalk full of markets (traditional and farmers), restaurants with inventive menus, and creative foodies. This walkabout lifestyle, where no ingredient requires any driving, is inspiring me to get off my ass and use every utensil in my kitchen. Henri probably thinks I'm crazy, but he loves going along as my sous chef on our ingredient-hunting missions. And because I'm a sucker for his big, droopy eyes, he usually gets a treat or a sampling from the menu. In fact, I think he's had a home-cooked dinner two or three times this week. Lucky dog...

Happy Friday! Enjoy a sampling of photos from this week's culinary blitzkrieg:

Do-Goodin'

2011-07-27T14:36:00.000-07:00

Wow, looks like this is my first post from our new home city, Portland. So far, we love it up here! The rain has been minimal, we've been doing our best to explore places outside the city center, and there are more restaurants than we know what to do with. It's safe to say I'm spending more time on Yelp and Twitter than I should be figuring out the next best happy hour and where to make a reservation for dinner, but it's necessary when you've made a mental goal to visit every restaurant in PDX. I'm systematically bookmarking places we've been to on Yelp so I can keep track. Don't tell Brady that one.

The amazing "Pettole"-Fried Stuffed Bread of Puglia

On Monday night, we attended a benefit dinner for Aviary Restaurant. Sadly, the restaurant caught fire on the 4th of July (yay fireworks), and was ruined with both fire and water damage. Firehouse Restaurant in the NE was gracious enough to host a benefit dinner for them, which we thought was a really great show of solidarity. So, I called them up and we were on our way towards philanthropic gorging. Truth be told, we also liked that the donation included paired wines.

I picked up Brady after work and we ventured into the NE, a place we hadn't been yet. It was mostly residential with cute little bungalows that lined the street, so there was a tinge of "are we lost?" in the air of the Mini Cooper. But a large brick building emerged behind some houses and I knew we had found it. Firehouse Restaurant is set in, what else? A 1916 firehouse. There were some amazing old black and white photos of fireman, engines and what not against the brick walls, and the kitchen was completely open. A rotisserie rotated around a gaggle of chickens and a brick oven presumably cooked the pizza we would later eat. The restaurant was set-up with communal wooden tables, which meant we would be chatting with our neighbors while eating. For a new couple in Portland, this was hardly a bad thing.

The wine showed up like clockwork when each of the four courses were put out. The menu:

First Course

Tuna Conserva, Pickled Summer Squash & Butterball Potato Salad
"Pettole"-Fried Stuffed Bread of Puglia
Tomato and Basil Braised Romano Beans

Second Course

Farm Lettuces with Radish and Red Wine Vinaigrette
"Pizza Celio" Anchovy Cream, Grilled Radocchio & Grana Padano

Third Course

Rotisserie Chicken with Tomato and Bread Salad
Grilled Pork Spareribs and Jowls with Roasted Green Beans and Cherries
Sirloin Tagliata with Argula, Lemon & Parmesan
Oyster Mushroom Risotto

Dessert

Beer Ice Cream, Mocha Sauce & Pretzel Nougatine

Beer Ice Cream

Lord have mercy. It was one of those meals where food just kept on coming. Thankfully, it was served family style and they didn't overestimate how much food to make; there was just enough for the table, which meant we were able to sample everything but not leave feeling like bloated pigs. My favorites from the menu: the "Pettole"-fried stuffed bread of Puglia (seriously, it was the stuff that dreams are made of), the rotisserie chicken and the beer ice cream. I'm vowing to figure out how to make that pretzel nougatine! It reminded me of peanut brittle, only nix the peanuts and insert pieces of pretzel. Heavenly!

I hope Aviary made a killing that night and is able to re-open very soon. There were numerous people at our table who were big fans of the restaurant and bummed about its current state of affairs. We'd never been to Aviary before, so were we impostors? Nah. We just felt like doing a little something good...and we wanted the food too...and the wine. I'd definitely venture back to Firehouse to try out their food as well. The menu was succinct, thoughtful, and Italian. What's wrong with that?! On a cold, rainy night, I can imagine the vibe behind the roll-up firehouse door: cozy and quaint with food that would knock a fireman out in his Lazyboy recliner.

Why Social Media Counts, or How 140 Characters Scored Me 20K JetBlue Points

2011-06-29T17:18:00.000-07:00

As a Culinary Hopscotch reader, you may be wondering why you're reading a blog post on social media. Trust me...read on and you'll see how this all comes full-circle. You may also dart to create your own Twitter handle.

Twitter is one of those things that has been around for awhile now. You have probably seen the icon on webpages begging you to follow along, but you might not fully understand what Twitter is, how it's useful, and why you should be on it. Facebook seems to reign supreme, and the young, old, and everyone in between know how to use it. To boil it down, Twitter is another platform where people can connect with messages that are 140 characters (letters and spaces) or less. Today, I want to share a personal anecdote about why social media is increasingly important, and how Twitter helped me score 20,000 JetBlue "Trueblue" points.

I follow @JetBlue on Twitter. Why? Because once a week on Tuesday they release their JetBlue "Cheeps," or cheap airfares that are only advertised on Twitter via their handle @JetBlueCheeps. I follow both because I like to travel and don't want to miss any deals that might apply to me. I've been following them both for a few months now, but haven't interacted with either account at all. Until yesterday.

Two days ago, there was a CNN travel article about Twitter and how airlines are using it effectively to resolve customer service issues, complaints, reschedules, and so forth. In some cases, it's an easier and quicker method of getting in touch with an airline than standing in line at the airport. I let my Google Reader stalk the CNN travel section for me (yay technology), so of course I read this article. They mentioned that JetBlue and Virgin America are probably the best Tweeters out there airline-wise, and that JetBlue specifically has resources dedicated exclusively to social media (i.e. there is a person manning the @JetBlue handle on Twitter).

So yesterday, I'm thumbing through Twitter on my iPad, and I see a message from @JetBlue about their CEO @DavidJBarger conducting an in-air contest for 20,000 "Trueblue" points. He was on a flight from JFK to somewhere, and this contest was taking place at their cruising altitude. "Rad!" I thought, and wished I was on that flight. I replied to the Tweet and said "Maybe you should think about having this same contest on Friday during your flight from LGB--PDX at ohhh, 3:10p.m.," a flight I'm going to be on. @JetBlue responded to me and said "Did you pull that flight out of thin air? Thanks for choosing JetBlue but we don't think the CEO normally flies that route." Clearly, this Tweet was just for me, and that was very cool. I wasn't after a handout, and was happy that what I had read on CNN was true: they do monitor their Twitter account and they respond.

I'd learn the next morning that their social media staff aren't the only ones who monitor the @JetBlue account. When I woke up, I had an @message from the CEO himself telling me he had copied the Director of Customer Loyalty via Twitter and asked him to deposit 20,000 "Trueblue" points into my account. I then had a follow-up message from @Tremdave requesting my "Trueblue" account number, which I gave, and less than 10 minutes later, the 20,000 miles were in my account, I was thanked for being a loyal JetBlue customer, and wished a pleasant journey on Friday. Now that's what I call customer service!

There are a couple of things to garner here. First, why would JetBlue do this? They're in the business of running an airline, not giving away free flights for no reason (the points they gave me are equivalent to two roundtrips, by the way). It's actually genius psychological marketing. Yesterday, there I was with 228 "Trueblue" points in my account thinking, "What am I going to do with these? It's going to be years before I collect enough points for a free flight." Now, I have more than enough for a couple of flights, and I'm inclined to fly JetBlue so I can continually add to my balance. Plus, they've shown me that they do listen, they care about their customers, and they are interested in maintaining my loyalty. I like that. And they'll like the cha-ching they get each time I book a flight with them from here on out, my plugs for them via Twitter, Facebook, this blog post, etc..., and the windfall of additional business that may come their way as a result. That's how and why social media works; it's a way to ensure your brand is consistently on the mind of consumers, that you organically pop up first when people Google your name, etc...

Before you rush out and create your own Twitter handle and try to pilfer miles or points from any airline, do realize that this was likely an isolated incident. I was at the right place, at the right time, and said something that resonated with someone who could make things happen. I don't maintain that this is the norm, and I doubt it will ever happen again. Ironically though, I received an email yesterday from a friend offering to give me additional Russian cooking lessons at her home in New York, home of @JetBlue and the place where all of this originated. If nothing else, with a short 140-character message, Twitter helped to condense my world a bit; I'm thinking of using these gift flights to reach my next few cooking classes for @CulinaryHScotch. Are you following me yet?

Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming...

Find Yourself the Spice Monkey

2011-06-17T09:26:00.000-07:00

There has got to be a way for me to convince Nikita to open a Spice Monkey in the USA. First things first: convincing him to give me the recipe for the flat rice snack we had. I'm vowing to figure it out.

Today, I traveled far from Fulham to Alexandra Palace. My beginners Indian cooking class was at Nikita's family home, and I knew upon entry that I was in for a truly authentic experience. His adorable tiny mother, Mrs. G, acted as sous chef, and despite my early arrival, they welcomed me in from the impending rain. While we were chatting, I had a look at the table that was covered in an array of colorful spices, the nucleus of any Indian recipe. Clearly, spices were going to be a large part of our conversation.

Our class took place in their greenhouse, and there were just three of us and Nikita, which was fabulous from a learner's vantage point. We spent a solid hour pouring over the different spices, their taste, their texture, and their origins. He had everything, from dried coriander and two kinds of cardamom to mustard seeds, fenugreek, and ground red pepper. Let us not forget turmeric; my hands and nails are currently stained a gorgeous yellow hue. He even had fresh turmeric, which I had never seen nor tasted before, but it was amazing. I presumed it was ginger by it's looks, but as they say, "don't judge a book by its cover."

From these spices, we created a variety of masalas. Garam masala is probably the most common and widely recognised, and in a grinder, we made our own version after toasting the different seeds in a dry pan. We also created a version that we didn't toast at all, and it was great to be able to compare and contrast the two with our noses. Much of what we did today was sensory oriented. It was a wonderful way of getting familiar with so many spices that we have seen, heard about, or shoved to the back of our cupboards after using them just one time. One of Nikita's biggest points was not to get overwhelmed by the options; use what you like that day, and if you leave something out (like we did a few times), c'est la vie.

Our menu today consisted of aromatic rice, Mrs. G's chicken curry, cauliflower bhagi, potato curry, and shrikanda, an Indian dessert. I had no idea that Indians had such a sweet tooth, but evidently, that is the case, and randomly, I think the dessert may have been my favourite dish. Most people think of curry as blow-your-head-off hot, oily, and generally difficult to prepare, but I learned today that none of that is the case. In fact, with some thoughtful planning, I think an Indian feast would be the perfect way to entertain. We need to be more adventurous with our palettes in America, and it would be nice if you didn't have to drive ten towns away to find a decent curry. I always lament that when leaving London because there are about as many Indian places here as there are Mexican joints in California. Are all of them good? Now, I think we all know the answer to that one.

Point being, don't be discouraged when it comes to experimenting with Indian food in your own kitchen. Try your hand at it with a cookbook and only buy small quantities of the spices until you decide which combinations suit your taste best. Better yet, if you can swing it, make a trip to Spice Monkey and take a class. You'll be happy you did. I can't tell you how much easier it was to learn from an expert and see things firsthand. I will be back for another class with Nikita, mark my words.

For now, I'm hanging up my apron to head back to America. Next stop: California followed by a more permanent stop in Portland, Oregon. It may be time for a move into the culinary world, because with each of these classes, I realise more and more that this is what I'm meant to be doing whether it's stirring, writing, teaching, or otherwise.

The Spice Monkey
www.spicemonkey.co.uk
info@spicemonkey.co.uk

Rainy Day Tapas

2011-06-16T07:54:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning to find it was pissing down rain in London. And I mean pissing. A friend's house flooded overnight (sorry Megs!), and there I was with a pair of Havaianas and no umbrella. That's what happens packing-wise when you mix an Italian trip with temperamental England.

Nevertheless, V dressed me in some shoes and a jacket, and off I went in search of Books for Cooks near Portobello Road. I made it there just fine. The shoes, on the other hand, weren't so lucky. Drenched, I entered the cooking shop looking halfway homeless and certainly dejected; this was about to be some cooking class.

After killing about 15 minutes inside waiting for the class to start, we headed upstairs to a small loft-style cooking studio. 22 chairs sat facing the kitchen, and there was a rear-view mirror type apparatus so we could see what Chef Jenny Chandler was doing. This class was totally demonstration-based, which I can't remember if I knew or not, but nevertheless, I was happy to sit back and watch someone else do the dirty work after my trying morning commute.

Chef Chandler whisked around the kitchen and was quite a crack-up with her random anecdotes. She had worked as a sailing boat chef for eight years, and one of her funniest stories was when the captain rushed down to the galley, screaming at her in Italian about how she had created incest with the onions, the "big brother," and the garlic, the "little sister." The moral of his story was that you don't ever put both in the pan at the same time. The "big brother" should go in first and then the "little sister" can be added later. This little pun amounts to a recipe for not burning garlic. We all had a good laugh.

Today's menu was Spanish tapas, or small plates for the less iniated. In about three hours time, we watched her make Piquillos Rellenos de Queso de Cabra (Goat's Cheese Stuffed Piquillo Peppers), Calamares a la Plancha (Griddled Squid), Mussels with Chorizo and Cider, Tortilla de Espinacas (Spinach Tortilla), and Empanada (Galician Flat Pie). What took the full three hours to make took about 20 minutes for us all to devour; it was fantastic.

Some of the more random things I learned today are the following:

1. Madrid has the biggest fish market in all of Europe yet is approximately 400 KM from the sea.
2. The Spanish eat the 2nd most fish in the world per capita after the Japanese.
3. Pork is the most popular meat in Spain.
4. In Spain, they have special tortilla turners. It's like a plate with a knob you can use to flip the tortilla from the frying pan. They can be found in hardware stores.
5. Cider is extremely popular in northern Spain and there's a special technique for pouring it. Bartenders hold the bottle high above their heads in one hand and the glasses low by the opposite hip. They pour the cider without looking at either the bottle or the glass, and this whole dog and pony show allows the cider to breathe. Oh, and they drink it like shots!

Minus the rainy morning, today's class was really fun and informative. Tapas are such a great thing to have in your back pocket if you're entertaining or just don't want to create a massive meal, especially if you're cooking for just two. After finally drying out and warming up a bit, I was getting kind of antsy. Sitting through a demonstration-style class isn't for everyone, and I found myself shifting in my seat a few times because I wanted to get up and prep or clean up the dirty dishes. It's a great way to learn though because you can pay attention the whole way through, but I still I think I prefer the hands-on style of learning better.

Tomorrow, I'm off to India. Okay, not really, but the journey on the tube will seem like it since it's so far from where I'm staying. Once there, anything is possible. Curry in a hurry? saga paneer? Onion bahji? Soon, we will all find out!

A New Take on an Old Favorite: Fish and Chips Hold the Deep-Fry

2011-06-15T08:47:00.000-07:00

Scene: Sloane Square, a rather posh part of London, where life is bustling around me. Range Rovers and Bentleys are dodging black cabs and double-decker red buses, whole Hugo Boss and Tiffany oversee things, half expecting their drivers to stop mid-roundabout and drop in. Although comical (the same Lamborghini has circled the square about four times), it's a welcome respite after Oxford Circus, perhaps the most abhorred place of all by London dwellers. Today has been a bit of an oddball adventure.

I woke up with nothing to do in a city where there is everything to do. Feeling a bit uncertain, I remembered something I was hoping to accomplish while in London: take another Ateliers des Chefs class. The first one I took with them was in Paris last year, and it was a fantastic and affordable experience. I had my sights set on checking out the London studio, but with their strict one-month in advance booking policy, I'd forgotten all about it. I hopped on the phone with them, they had room for one more, and I had something to do today.

So what is Ateliers des Chefs, you ask? Quite simply, it's a different version of Sur La Table. There are gadgets and Le Creuset for sale intermixed with those learning to cook. And one of their most genius cooking classes, in my opinion, is called Cook, Eat, Run. Instead of pony'ing up a bunch of money for a subpar lunch while at work (or in my case, in a touristy cross-section of London), you can actually take a cooking class, eat what you have made, and do it all for £15 and in under an hour. True story.

What we created today reminded me of a jazzed up version of fish and chips. There wasn't a deep fryer in sight, however, so if that's what you're after, I'd suppose you'd be quite disappointed with this menu. The food was tremendous though and it literally only took the 30 minutes that the class called for (look out Rachel Ray).

We started with a quick demo on chopping, which I think was more than half the class had bargained for. I don't consider myself an expert by any stretch, but some of these people looked dumfounded and afraid. Knives and apprehension: always a good combo. Alas, I took over for our table of five and held court with the knife and chopping board. We chopped up a shallot, mint, parsley, and a bit of lettuce; it was hardly rocket science.

Shortly thereafter, we sweated the shallot in some butter until it was sufficiently brown. The instructor added a splash of water to slow up the cooking process because the cast iron pans were quite hot, a technique I hadn't thought to do before. After that, we added in diced pancetta and the room was instantly enveloped in a smokey, bacon'y perfume. In went a good clip of peas, followed by the herbs, and perhaps a cup or so of chicken stock. It bubbled away for a bit and then we removed it from the heat to prep our frying pans for the fish.

You always want to start fish with the skin side down in a flaming hot pan that's been prepped with a bit of olive oil. When it starts to ripple, it is ready. In went the cod for maybe three minutes, we took them off the heat and flipped them gently, and then cooked them for about three more minutes before finishing them in the oven at 200 C. In my estimation, the entire start-to-finish cooking process took about 10 minutes total for the fish, and the pea and pancetta mixture about the same.

Meanwhile, some of the less adventurous boiled potatoes in the background and adjusted their seasonings. I stirred away while listening in amazement, firstly to some classmates who didn't understand what sea salt was, and then a brief argument between the chef and a couple who were confused about why we weren't all getting to cook each thing. Ahem, the class was 30 minutes...total...and to be blunt, $hit needed to get done. They ended up being in my group, so I regaled them with where I'm from, sprinkled in a bit of food knowledge for them, their moods improved, we plated up our food, ate, and out we were in about 45 minutes prep-to-mouth.

It never ceases to amaze me that there is a takeaway from each of these cooking classes I take. Today, it was just how much some people need that carrot dangled in front of them when it comes to cooking. I guess it does pay to drag your children into the kitchen when they're small and give them the tasks that you don't want. I'm sure Sheila had me wielding a knife, and most certainly a potato peeler, at the age of four. Tomorrow, I'm venturing to Notting Hill for another class on Spanish tapas. Small plates, big learning...brilliant.

Wheels Up!

2011-06-01T10:52:00.000-07:00

And we're off! Today is the start of another round of jetsetting and airport concourses. But I can't wait! SNA--ATL--LHR is first on the agenda, and I'm excited to test out Delta's "Economy Plus" on the ATL--LHR leg.

This trip is bookended with stops in London, and on the second round, I'll be participating in two cooking classes: Spanish tapas and Indian food. I can't even tell you how excited I am to get back in a foreign kitchen!

Be on the lookout for blog posts in the coming weeks. Cheers! Arrivederci!

Culinary Hopscotch Continues!

2011-04-18T21:02:00.000-07:00

I cannot wait for June. I just can't. Not only are we heading to Capri to see our good friends tie the knot, but we will also be spending some time in London.

It's an amazing city...a favorite in fact. And despite the stereotypes about the food, I'm planning to take some cooking classes while I'm there.

Keep your eye on the blog for the latest and greatest!

"The Bold Fold"

2011-02-07T18:13:00.000-08:00

I learned today that you don't have to fly to Brussels to find an amazing waffle. All you have to do is get on the 55, exit Chapman, turn right at the Orange Circle, and not park in a permit area. Enter: Bruxie. A friend recently changed jobs and works in the area, and turned our other friend onto Bruxie this weekend. She dragged me back there today.

Buttermilk Fried Chicken Waffle

The 15-minute drive was a full blown commercial about what I was in for. Savory and sweet waffle combinations, homemade 'pure cane' sugar sodas, and Peet's iced tea. Sold. Their menu is small, but their flavor big, and I'm disappointed that I wasn't the Magellan of this roadside waffle stand. There's no inside (or even a bathroom that I could find to wash the maple syrup from my hands), but the al fresco diner-style tables were the perfect pair to this hand food.

For me, I went for the buttermilk fried chicken and waffle. Courtney had the bacon, egg and cheddar. And she decided we needed dessert after all that, so we shared the lemon cream and berries waffle. Oh, and the only side they have is, what else? Waffle fries. We had those too.

Bruxie is caddy-corner to Chapman University, so don't be surprised if it's packed on the weekends or at random times throughout the day. Go stand in line though. You won't be sorry. I'll probably be there too because I now want the prosciutto and gruyere, sun-dried tomatoes and goat cheese, and if I can find the room, the s'mores waffle for dessert.

www.bruxie.com

Happy Anniversary!

2011-01-28T09:15:00.000-08:00

It's hard to believe that last year at this time I was sitting on a plane, embarking on Culinary Hopscotch. My how the time flies!

Here's to another year of culinary discoveries both domestic and abroad. Stay tuned for news about another abbreviated installment this summer!

Newport Beach Restaurant Week!

2011-01-24T19:05:00.000-08:00

It's that time again...when restaurants all over town put together affordable prix fixe menus to get you through their doors. It's Newport Beach Restaurant Week!

Get out and dine this week at a variety of neighborhood hotspots on the cheap. I'm heading to Summer House tomorrow for lunch. Where will you be dining this week?

Brownie Sundaes with Burrata and Balsamic Glaze

2011-01-10T13:50:00.000-08:00

This dessert came from a picture in my head, and sadly, I'm without photos of its fruition this past weekend. I apologize for that and the stock photos below, but I felt inclined to give you something to look at. It sounds weird, but brownie sundaes with burrata and balsamic glaze were the perfect end to a fantastic dinner with friends.

Tasked with the dessert portion of the menu, I wanted to come up with something new and different. I started thinking about what to make, and easy and traditional just didn't seem right given the guest list. If you took attendance, you'd find that 2/3's of the table were foodies, worked in the food industry, or some combination thereof. In fact, in thinking back to the previous dinner party at our hosts' house, the burrata cheese appetizer she made came to mind.

Much discussion had centered around that burrata we'd had a few weeks prior, so I wanted to incorporate it into my dessert. But how? Burrata is a traditionally savory ingredient, and I was to be making dessert. I mulled it over, and then over again, and thought, 'why couldn't this silky-in-the-center mozzarella from the water buffalo take the place of ice cream?' Made with milk and cream, it seemed like a perfectly suitable stand-in.

And it was. I was pleased that the dessert came together as I had imagined because I didn't have time for a trial run prior to arriving. Fortunately, it was perfect: a layer of the burrata over the sweet chocolate brownie base was topped with a touch of fleur de sel and a balsamic glaze I had reduced earlier in the day. The dessert touched three of the five basic tastes, sweet, salty and sour, and in my opinion, seemed like something you would find on a high-end restaurant's menu. Molto bene!

Happy Holidays from Culinary Hopscotch

2010-12-21T22:19:00.000-08:00

I've been backed-up with holiday functions for the last five days. And being that I'll be out of town for Christmas and recently moved into a new place, I decided to have the girls over this evening for a home-cooked meal and a holiday gift exchange.

The weather in California is dreary at best right now, and while looking out the window and thinking about what to make tonight, I'm realizing that this is the first break in the rain that we've had in a few days. What to make? Something cozy. Something comforting. Done.

On the Menu:

Mache Salad with Citrus Spring Onion Vinaigrette & Avocado
Cornbread
Goat Cheese & Chive Smashed Potatoes
Mini Turkey Meatloaves
Homemade Chocolate Lollipops with Slivered Almonds, Peppermint-White Chocolate Dust & Fleur de Sel

Salad

Mache is a tender lettuce also known as lamb's ear. I first used this in Bordeaux during my cooking class, and have been wishing for it ever since. Perhaps I didn't search well enough because I found it today at Trader Joe's in the bagged salad section. It's grown hydroponically so sometimes you'll find it in plastic cartons with the sponge still attached. Just snip it off.

For the dressing, combine the juice of a lemon, 1/2 cup of extra virgin olive oil, 1/4 cup of spring onion, one small clove of garlic, minced, and season with salt and pepper. Whisk to combine and pour over the mache topped with slices of avocado.

Cornbread

I cheated and used boxed cornbread mix. It's just as good and makes things simple, freeing up my time and attention for the rest of the meal.

Goat Cheese & Chive Smashed Potatoes

Before you get jumpy about how fattening these sound, just know that these potatoes are surprisingly figure-friendly. Goat cheese is lower in fat than you think, and I opted to use Yukon Gold potatoes that are a good source of Vitamin C. You can peel the potatoes, or leave the skin-on, which is what I did because I like the variation in texture. The goat cheese helps the milk and butter make the potatoes creamy, and the chives give it a punch of color and a punch on your tongue.

Cover the potatoes with cold water and boil until fork tender, approximately 15-20 minutes. Drain and return to pan. Add in 5 ounces of goat cheese, 4 Tbsp of butter, and start with a 1/2 cup of milk. Season with salt and pepper. Mash with a potato masher, or you can mash them with a fork. Add more milk if necessary, and stir in the chives when you achieve the desired consistency.

Mini Turkey Meatloaves

One of the challenges of cooking for a group is that not everyone likes the same things. This person doesn't eat red meat, this person doesn't like mushrooms, and so forth. It's an ongoing challenge. Tonight, I'm making meatloaf work for everyone by using ground turkey. And I'm livening it up by making the mini meatloaves in a muffin tin. Charming, quicker, and a good way to portion the meatloaf: winner.

My meatloaf recipe is a combination of ground meat (turkey this time), garlic, shallot, onion, Panko breadcrumbs, egg, ground sage or poultry seasoning, and salt and pepper. Using your hands, combine it in a bowl until just mixed. Over-mixing will cause the meat to become tough. Spray a muffin tin with non-stick cooking spray, making sure to coat it well. Drop the meatloaf mixture into each cup, taking care not to pack it down too much. Bake at 350 degrees for 25-30 minutes, or until a toothpick or knife emerges clean from the center.

Chocolate Lollipops

This recipe came from Ina Garten as part of her 'Barefoot in London' episode on The Food Network. For people who hate to bake (myself included), this should be your new go-to dessert. It's incredibly simple.

Take 12 ounces of semi-sweet or white chocolate chips and place in a microwave-safe bowl. In 30-second intervals, microwave the chocolate, stirring in between. Repeat three times, and add 4 more ounces of chocolate. Allow it to melt, and stir with a rubber spatula until smooth and completely melted. Spoon the chocolate onto a parchment-, wax- or Silpat-lined baking sheet, and insert a lollipop stick. Give it a little turn to make sure it's covered in chocolate. Decorate with nuts, dried fruit, or additional candy, and allow to harden for approximately 45 minutes to an hour. I chose slivered almonds, a sprinkle of fleur de sel, and I used a microplane to shave white chocolate-peppermint flakes over mine. They look like they sat out in the snow.

Bon appetit!

I hope these recipes give you ideas for one of your remaining meals of 2010. And if you run out of time, give them a try in 2011. Happy holidays from Culinary Hopscotch!

Apple Pie Stuffing

2010-11-30T10:05:00.000-08:00

Apple Pie Stuffing

Nothing says "Happy Thanksgiving" like stuffing and apple pie, so I figured, 'Why not combine them both together?' I wrote this recipe last year, but in the mayhem of a smallish kitchen, cooking it got put on the back burner, as they say.

One of my favorite things about stuffing is that all you need is your imagination, and some cubed, day-old bread. The rest can literally be a combination of whatever you like.

Prepped Ingredients

In this recipe, peppered applewood bacon counteracts the sweetness of the apples. And what's a good apple pie without the crust? Here, breadcrumbs, melted butter, and thyme lay the foundation for this melange of flavors and Thanksgiving staples.

Happy Thanksgiving from Culinary Hopscotch...enjoy!

Apple Pie Stuffing

Par-Baked Crust and Stuffing

Crust

1 Tbsp. Thyme, chopped
2 1/2 Cups Plain Breadcrumbs, plus 1/4 cup
4 Tbsp. Melted Butter, plus 1 Tbsp.

Stuffing

1/4 Cup Sweet Yellow Onion, chopped
2 Stalks of Celery, chopped
1 Leek, chopped (white part only)
1/4 Cup Olive Oil
3 Sweet Red Apples, peeled, cored, and thinly sliced
Juice of a lemon
Dash of Nutmeg, Allspice, and Cinnamon
6 Slices of Applewood Smoked Bacon, crisped and crumbed
1/2 Loaf of Day-Old French Bread, cubed
2 Cups Chicken Stock
Salt and Pepper (to taste)

Oven-Bake Bacon for Easy Clean-Up

Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees.
Drizzle the breadcrumbs and thyme with melted butter. Combine until moistened, but not wet. Press the mixture into the bottom of a metal pie tin and par-bake for 10 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool.
After prepping the apples, cover them with lemon juice to prevent browning and set aside.
Saute the onion, celery and leek in olive oil with the additional 1 Tbsp of butter over medium heat for about 5 minutes, or until tender. Add in the apples, and season with nutmeg, allspice and cinnamon. Continue to saute the mixture until the apples begin to soften, about 5 more minutes. Remove from heat.
In a separate pan, cook the bacon slices until crispy. Drain them on paper towels, and reserve the drippings. When the bacon is cool enough to handle, crumble it.
In a large bowl, toss the saute mixture with the crumbled bacon, cubed bread, and 1 cup of the chicken stock to start. This mixture shouldn't be very wet, so eyeball the consistency and add more if necessary. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Pour the mixture into the crust, and cover with the remaining 1/4 cup of breadcrumbs. Drizzle with the reserved bacon drippings and bake for 45 minutes uncovered.

Stove-Slaving in St. Petersburg for Stroganoff & Kotlety

2010-11-06T10:53:00.000-07:00

Today, our journey took us into the depths of St. Petersburg on the metro, and out of the historical city centre. Exiting the metro, we'd find architecture that triggered immediate ideas of Communism; we had ascended into the projects. Real estate prices here, however, fetch surprisingly high tariffs, and we still are at a loss for an answer as to how people pay to live in this city. It is incredibly expensive.

The food, on the other hand, is quite simple. Russian cuisine is hearty to a point of insulation, and it reminds me a lot of the cuisine I had in Poland earlier this winter. In fact, some of the words are even the same, however, their translations couldn't be farther apart. Take "pierogi" for example. During our city tour the other day, our driver, Alex, took Brady and I to a traditional Russian "fast food" restaurant for pierogi. We walked in, approached the counter, and looked around for the tender dumplings of various fillings, only to find exquisite golden pastries bursting with sweet and savory insides. Lost in translation? Apparently. Russian pierogis have nothing to do with the dumplings you'd find in Polish milk bars and in the frozen food section of Trader Joe's. They are bonafide pastries filled with everything from salmon to apricot jam. And quite good. But I digress. The cooking class is why you are reading.

Brady (or Buh-rian, depending on who you ask) and I jumped on the metro this morning and made our way far out of the city centre. You wouldn't believe how deep these metros are here. A picture wouldn't even do it justice (and we tried), and if that wasn't enough, we descended to find just a row of metal doors with people hanging about. Where were the trains? Behind the doors, of course. We entered the train, the doors slammed shut with a resounding clunk, and we were not getting out. Russian suicide prevention, or something else? We wouldn't find out, but this was unlike any metro either of us had ever seen. The train skated along the tracks briskly, and after about 40 minutes, we arrived at our stop, the 2nd to last on the line.

The plan was to meet our host there at the exit, but as we waited and waited, we both questioned why I hadn't been more judicious in getting a description of this woman, or giving her ours. Clearly, we stood out; Brady, looking like a proper English gent in his camel overcoat, and me with flat boots and round eyes taking it all in. Everyone was staring. Suddenly, from nowhere, Polina appeared.

An unforeseen incident with her electricity forced us to her mom's apartment around the corner where the three of us met her mom and Jack, the English Spaniel. Polina and I were about to be up to our elbows in Beef Stroganoff and Turkey Kotlety, so we got straight to work. Neither of these dishes required any special cooking equipment though, only time. The three of us had a chat before we got started regarding the American interpretation of Beef Stroganoff versus the Russian one. Being that it was invented by a chef in this city, I can without a doubt say, we've got it all wrong.

I didn't see a can of mushroom soup anywhere today, nor did I see a mushroom for that matter. Egg noodles need not apply, as they're not even a part of this dish. Our stroganoff included hand-pounded and sliced meet, an onion, olive oil, a bit of sour cream (save it people), Russian herbs (which Polina so graciously sent us home with), and salt and pepper. C'est tout. The dish truly could not have been easier and I can imagine having it on a cold winter's night, assuming we actually have a winter this year. Based on current reports, it sounds like a long-shot. We boiled off some potatoes for a mash on the side, and there, my friends, you have the real Beef Stroganoff. Where we ever came up with this concoction over noodles is beyond me.

Next to our Beef Stroganoff and potatoes were massive patties called Kotlety. We ground the meat by hand, and passed all the other ingredients (garlic, carrot, onion, and a bit of white bread) through the meat grinder as well. Cinchy. Before forming the mixture into patties under water, we added in an additional Russian dried herb and salt and pepper, and then sauteed them in frying pans until they were golden brown. This was truly winter fare, and perfect for the flurries falling outside the window.

At the conclusion of our cooking, Brady, Polina and I sat down to a lovely lunch, and talked about all things everything. Polina has Russian citizenship, but was born in London so she's a British national above all else. We each shared our interpretation of St. Petersburg, discussed immigration in our countries, pondered what living in the Soviet time must have been like, and laughed about how Russians can't queue or drive for shit. She regaled us with some hilarious stories about being pulled over for driving on the wrong side of the road here (they drove over from London, and she drives on the opposite side in her car), and it was a really fun afternoon.

If you're headed to Russia and fear the food, don't worry. It's really nothing more than meat and potatoes, just like my Irish ancestors noshed on in a similar effort to keep warm in blustery times. The cooking digs today were a real indication of what Soviet Era Russia must have looked like. From the austere apartment buildings with unfinished concrete hallways and stairwells, and the metro experience from start to finish, we were whisked away from European Russia and transported to decades of yesteryear. I'm realizing more and more that traveling through the lens of cooking is a fantastic way to move between countries. Fantastic and different. Really.

Mexican Picnic in Paris

2010-11-01T12:47:00.000-07:00

There has been an idea brewing in the brains of two Americans in Paris, so we decided to perform some due diligence while we were here. A friend came in from London on Saturday who has been living there for the last year or so, and she was dying for a taste of Mexican food. Fine I thought. I had recently read a blog about a new Mexican place in Paris that had the word "authentic" attached to it on more than one occasion. We would be the judges.

After a night out in Paris that looked more like a third-world tumbling routine, we needed a pick-me-up yesterday morning. Off we set for El Nopal near Canal St. Martin. It was a cinchy excursion on the metro, and when we hopped off, we took our chances, turned left and found the street: Rue Eugene Varlin. It was three storefronts in from the canal, and seriously the tiniest place you have ever seen.

A true Harlequin facade, we rammed ourselves inside three-men wide and we were all that would fit. We passed along our order, and the man, whose name we never even got (kicking myself right now), might have been the friendliest person ever. He shared the whole enchilada with us. He was from Monterrey, Mexico with a Columbian wife who was born in Paris, and despite an attempt to live in America and her protests about living in Paris, here they found themselves after not having been given visas in New York. He enrolled in school and learned French, and just five weeks ago opened up this veritable taco stand. And there were were standing in it.

It was en fuego. Quite literally. That's the thing with European Mexican food. Somewhere along the line, someone got the the idea that Tex-Mex was the all the rage. Mais non. We all had a laugh about that in El Nopal when he said, "You can't believe how many people come in and ask if I'm going to make chile con carne." There's a total misconception about what Mexican cuisine actually is in Europe. People think if you throw meat and tomatoes in a tortilla, voila...you have a taco or burrito. Ah hem...no. In any event, El Nopal was the real deal with spice, verve, and a store-keeper with a personality that would make me queue there for lunch day-in and day-out in Paris provided I lived here.

As luck would have it, we stumbled upon Mexican joint #2 today in the Latin quarter on Rue Mouffetard. We had just finished lunch, but couldn't pass up the opportunity to juxtapose two Mexican restaurants in Paris. We shared a chicken quesadilla, and for God's sake, it was another hit. Spicy salsa and well-prepared chicken in a bonafide flour tortilla. And Coronas. We couldn't believe it. Bon chance!

Tomorrow, we're off to the Champagne region of France, and I think our lunch at Jardin des Crayeres will border more on avant-garde than internationale, but we'll see. It's fine though. We leave for Russia on Wednesday morning, and I can only imagine what the cuisine will bring there. I don't think we'll be having tacos and vodka, let's just say that. But who knows...only time will tell.

And We're Off!

2010-10-24T19:01:00.000-07:00

The hopscotching begins tomorrow with a non-stop flight from LAX to CDG. From there, we'll try our luck with Air France onto Lyon and finally, Brussels.

With the French strike that's been underway for the last week or so, things could get interesting upon touchdown. This isn't even a dedicated airport strike, and as we all know, French airport workers are notorious for leaving bags on the runway in favor of croissants and carafes of wine in cafes. Or so someone will understand their plight. Whatever.

Armed with Delta Platinum status, we're hoping we don't have to make a call to the bullpen. Stay tuned!

4 Days, 13 Hours and 13 Minutes

2010-10-20T10:50:00.000-07:00

See that over there? Le tableau des departs? In a few short days, we will be seeing a number of them as we hopscotch over to Brussels, Paris and St. Petersburg. Nous ne pouvons pas attendre!

St. Petersburg Cooking Class Secured

2010-08-24T16:21:00.000-07:00

I'm very excited to report that I've secured us a cooking class in St. Petersburg, Russia. We will be cooking with an English ex-pat on Saturday, November 6th.

While I won't get to practice any of the Russian that I will undoubtedly learn in my upcoming class, we are hoping to take away some newfangled knowledge about Russian cuisine, and some recipes we can replicate at home. I know we will be bringing home a complimentary sack of Russian herbs. Can't wait to see what those are!

Stay tuned for the blog post after the class. There will likely be some cooking taking place in Paris again as well...

86

2010-07-30T18:57:00.000-07:00

Most commonly recognized as kitchen vernacular to nix a part of an order, 86 is also the number of days before the hopscotcher (yours truly) finds herself back for an abbreviated round 2...with Brady this time.

Discussion remains regarding whether or not he will sous-chef for me in one or more cooking classes, but the fact is, there's no way I'll make it through this trip without one. Or two. Or ten. Or 86.

Closing Arguments

2010-03-30T13:04:00.000-07:00

Like Post #2 on Culinary Hopscotch, I am typing this from my seat on the plane. This time, I’m flying United and sitting in seat 41A. It’s the second to last row of the plane, and a punishment, I’m sure, for pulling the rip cord and booking something only ten days ago with miles. Punishment #2? My routing: MUC--IAD--ORD--SNA. I’m effectively referring to this portion of the journey as “The Culinary Hopscotch Campaign Trail.”

I have mixed feelings about going home. Despite numerous friends and family telling me I’m not a quitter, I still sort of feel like one. My trip got a one-month haircut, and while I should be in a German-speaking country right now, I’m relegated to a tiny airplane seat whose audio connection cuts in and out like a WW2 radio broadcast, and whose proximity to the lavatory reminds me of my favorite email forward that was written on a Continental cocktail napkin. At the same time, I am strangely excited to get back. There are tons of people (and animals) that I cannot wait to see, and being the person who can never relax for too long, I am eager to get back to the drawing board (i.e. work).

So, after two months and one day on the road, here I am. I just counted, and after touchdown tonight, I will have transited 13 airports (SNA, DFW, CDG, Girona Barcelona, Granada, Madrid, Paris Beauvais, Pisa, Lodz, Dublin, Munich, IAD, ORD, and back to SNA) on a few occasions more than once, and 25 train stations (Paris Montparnasse, Bordeaux, Toulouse, Granada, Sevilla, Madrid, Pisa, Florence, Rome, Bologna, San Pietro in Casale, Venice Mestre, Venice St. Lucia, Ljubljana, Zagreb, Budapest, Krakow, Warsaw, Lodz Fabryzna, Dublin Connolly, Lodz Kaliska, Kutno, Berlin Hbf, Munich Hbf, Innsbruck) over the course of my trip. I also mixed in a bus ride, and a “mitfahrgeliglenheit” (basically organized hitchhiking) along the way. Trains, planes, and automobiles much?

I need to take a minute and thank those of you who hosted or helped me along the way. Despite my best friends at home begging and pleading with me, I Couchsurfed for the majority of my trip. I have a feeling that most Americans aren’t familiar with this phenomenon, but I would encourage you to check it out. With 1.7 million users around the world, and my ringing endorsement, you’d be a fool to ever stay in a hostel again. For those Couchsurfers who hosted and went above and beyond for me in Toulouse, Barcelona, Sevilla, Bologna, Ljubljana, Budapest, Krakow, Warsaw, Lodz, and Berlin, I honestly can’t thank you enough for your hospitality and encouragement. And for my friends who hosted me elsewhere, financially and emotionally, I couldn’t have done it without you. You all opened up your homes and let me come and go as I pleased, and it made this journey ten times more interesting. Not only was I able to travel through a culinary lens, but I was also able to live your lives with you, if only for a few days. I hung out with your pets, sometimes your kids, and your sharing spirit is truly unmatched.

We’re somewhere over the Atlantic right now south of Iceland, and something interesting just came onto the screen…the Virgin Islands. As it turns out, my suitcase won’t stay unpacked for long because I’m turning 30 in St. Thomas two weeks from today. I’ll have a look and see if I can conjure up a cooking class or something culinary related there, and if people are interested, I think I’ll keep Culinary Hopscotch going on a domestic level for the time being. Raise your hand if you want more blog posts…

Next Stop: St. Thomas

Still Cookin’

2010-03-28T12:59:00.000-07:00

One of the questions I received a lot over the course of my trip was regarding how I knew so many people in the various places I visited. There are a few answers. First off, I travel often and stay in touch, which has meant I’ve been able to cultivate relationships with people all over Europe. And I must be fun, because they generally want to see me again. But a few other things are at play as well. Two years ago, I participated in a home exchange with a couple from Austria. Just like the movie (I always get that question), we swapped homes, cars and lives for a few weeks. It was magnificent. And when I told them I would be back in Europe, they opened up their home to me again, this time as their guest and friend.

On Friday night, after an amazing day spent in the Tirol region of Austria (that’s just outside of Innsbruck where the good skiing takes place) with my friends Jürgen and Annick (and coming soon, baby Jona), Jürgen and I made Erdapfelgulash together. It’s a traditional Viennese dish made from sausages, gurkins, onions, and… nope, not apples like you might have thought you read in the name. Yes, “apfel” is the German word for “apple,” but like the French word for potatoes (“pomme de terre), “erdapfel” translates to “apple of the earth,” which means “potato.”

The stew was incredibly tasty and easy, and would be fantastic après-ski. Jürgen advised me that the onions are the most critical part of the process, and as I acted as his prep chef peeling and dicing the erdapfels, he went about with the onions and broth. We worked like a well-oiled machine in the kitchen together, and before long, dinner was on the table and two great bottles of wine were open. I know we downed a 2002 Bordeaux, which was fabulous, however, the second bottle of Spanish wine has evaded my memory. It was red. I do remember that.

At the table, we reviewed the photo books Annick had put together from their trip to Newport Beach two years ago, and laughed about things like their lost luggage that was delivered at 11pm, and the GPS being set to German in their car. She included emails in the book that we had exchanged, and I saw pictures of my home that I hadn’t seen in nearly two months. In a strange way, though, I felt like I was at home. And I was, with good friends. We had a laugh about my German, and Jürgen assured me that with two weeks--which oddly became one week, then three days, and then one day after the bottles of wine emptied-- he would have me speaking perfect German.

If you know me at all, you know that with an invitation and challenge like that, I’ve already had a look at tickets for Oktoberfest. Why? Because Innsbruck is only two hours by train from Munich, and in a place so densely populated with friends, it doesn’t make sense not to go back. Plus, I’d love to take up Jürgen on his offer of German lessons so that I might be able to say something more than “ein breze bitte” or “bier hier, bier hier, oder ich faulum” while wearing a dirndl. Additionally, I would love nothing more than to put together an Autumn meal with Jürgen in their fantastische küchen, drink wine with Annick this time too, and meet baby Jona.

Auf wiedersehen, Austria and Germany. If history repeats itself, I will see you again in just a few short months fir das swei hundert geburstag der Oktoberfest. I think I’ll do a better job of managing my time (and money) next time so I can take the cooking classes I had planned. If bears can hibernate, then so can Culinary Hopscotch. Please excuse this minor commercial break.

Sticking a Fork in It

2010-03-19T10:31:00.000-07:00

Some of you probably noticed a little hiccup in the blog posting over the past week. That was because of an inserted trip to Dublin for St. Patrick's Day where Irish-related shenanigans briefly took my focus away from things. But I do have some bad news for my loyal readers who have relied on my writing to entertain them during boring work days...Culinary Hopscotch is getting a fork stuck in it early.

This journey has been incredible, but it's also been incredibly expensive. As such, I'm going to have to go home earlier than I expected. The good news is that I can get a jumpstart on my book proposal. That was the real reason for this trip, and I definitely have enough material to set things in motion.

Thank you again to everyone for the words of encouragement and for following along on this amazing adventure. I've managed to make it around Europe for close to two months solo, and I'm not even sure I've lost anything along the way...save a few pounds (for all of you naysayers out there).

To be continued...

What's for Lunch in Warsaw?

2010-03-12T07:42:00.000-08:00

In the words of my friend and former Warsaw-dweller "PK," 'Polish food is usually fried and made with pork or cream.' You might be thinking, 'Yum! What's the big deal?' But I have to agree with PK on this one. Polish cuisine leaves a lot to be desired from a health perspective. But it is cold. Colder than a well-digger's ass, in fact, so I understand their obsession with insulating ingredients.

After getting my fix of pierogis yesterday, however, I was looking for something lighter today. I'm currently sitting at A. Blikle for lunch, a cafe that dates back to 1869. It's a Warsaw institution, and the only cafe on Nowy Swiat to survive the Warsaw Uprising of 1944 when the street was reduced to rubble. You'd think that would be an accomplishment in and of itself, but the cafe was actually forced to close when communism reared its ugly head. Lucky for us, when communism became a thing of the past in 1989, A. Blikle reopened to its former glory.

Allow me to set the scene: the background jazz music is at a perfect acoustic level, and the dark wood molding that creeps midway up the wall meets a panel of jade green that's decorated with black and white photos of days gone by. The granite and brass tables are regal, and every one is inhabited by pairs of chatting people. The waiters, dressed in vests and bow ties, bounce from room to room bringing liquid and gustatory treats to those waiting with baited breath. It is no accident this place survived the times.

I ducked in for the Żurek staropolski (old Polish sour soup) and the Tort "Generalski,” reportedly named after General Charles de Gaulle, a former patron of A. Blikle. The soup was light, but incredibly flavorful with slivers of kielbasa and hard-boiled eggs. The cake, on the other hand, was anything but light. A thin pastry crust laid the foundation for layers of chocolate pastry cream and cherry-soaked chocolate cake. The pale pastry dough blushed each time I pierced it with my fork from the oozing cherry juice. It was sinful, and I'm of the opinion that it was this cake that got them into trouble all those years back with the communists. It's against the law for something to taste that good. The jury's still out on whether or not my lunch fit into the "light" category, but that aside, I love finding places that combine classic cuisine with nostalgia and do it well. A. Blikle definitely satisfies both.

Over cups of tea and coffee, patrons licked their lips from the savory and sweet delicacies they ordered, and I looked on thinking about what this place must have been like in its true hayday. In my imagination, men were dressed in coats with tails and smoked tobacco pipes under their tophats. And the women wore furs, and had wind-swept hairstyles with red lipstick. You could sense that element of yesteryear glam. You definitely don't need to be dressed for the opera to enjoy A. Blikle, so if you find yourself in Warsaw, and invariably on Nowy Swiat, head to #33 for an unrivaled slice of cake. You'll be in for a little slice of history too.

A. Blikle

http://www.blikle.pl/

Next Stop: Dublin

Practicing Polish

2010-03-11T13:11:00.000-08:00

When a Pole flicks his/her neck, it means they want to have a drink of vodka with you. When a Pole hands you a map of Krakow and directs you to their favorite "milk bar" for pierogis, you go. I like Poland. It's forceful from an F & B perspective, and I can get behind that.

I showed up at Pod Filarkiem on the advice of Agnieszka and Lukesz, my unbelievable hosts. This place doesn't look like much from the outside (or inside for that matter), but with the throngs of patrons lined up, it becomes immediately obvious that's not the point. It's 100%, bonafide Polish, and that's all they speak here. Some of you are likely thinking, "Kyle, you don't speak Polish." But for those of you who know my obsession with foreign languages, you're probably thinking to yourself, "Who cares, self. I'm sure Kyle waltzed right up and knew what to say." If you thought the latter, well, then you've already earned your first demerit badge of the post.

Lucky for me, I was sent with a cheat sheet, and Agnieszka, Lukesz and I had a rather comical phonetic discussion over breakfast so I'd know how to pronounce things. I had my notes, but I was nervous. Thinking to myself, 'This woman will never see me again,' I took a deep breath, glanced at my pronunciations, and gave it the old college try. She seemed to know what I was saying, but as these things go, my Polish was far from perfect. I ended up with an order each of pierogi ruskie and pierogi z mięsem, and there are probably 20 in each order. Alas, my call for a "po porczi" (half order) of each fell on deaf ears, and I'm currently sitting across the table from a woman (it's all common seating) who is staring at me like I'm Kobayashi.

The good news is, I think I finally found a place where they don't immediately know I'm foreign, with the exception of the people at the counter. Numerous people have (presumably) asked to share my table in Polish, and I just nod with an "I don't have a clue what the $@!# you're talking about" look, smile, and nod, and they sit down with me to stare at my gluttonous feast.

So, pierogis...what are they? I guess the best way to describe them are like tortellonis or gyoza. It's a fairly delicate layer of dough wrapped around fillings, in my case cheese and meat. Both orders came topped with a small pile of grilled onions, and they seem to be relaxing in a butter bath. But not too much. They're fantastic, fresh, and affordable little dough purses that will help me shove on in Krakow until I head to the train station tonight...with my second container of pierogis. Luckily, I also misunderstood the "for here or to-go" question, and mine showed up in takeaway boxes.

I'm quickly (and thankfully) learning that native foods are the reigning champs when traveling, especially if you can get directed to a locals-only joint. If pierogis are as easy as they look to make, don't be surprised if you find a Polish plate in front of you at my house. I'll spare you the leftover Communist stoicism that the counter servers here have perfected, and if you're lucky, I won't even make you order in Polish. Na zdrowie!

Next Stop: Warsaw

Not Going Hungry in Hungary

2010-03-08T12:40:00.000-08:00

This post is a bit of an anomaly. It's a restaurant review, and perhaps you've noticed that I haven't wasted space on my blog waxing poetically about restaurants (and yes, I have been eating in them). That's because I've yet to find one worthy of a ringing endorsement, until today...

I'm currently stuffing my face full of three courses at Stand Bistro. And including a glass of wine, the entire meal is setting me back less than 2000 HUF (roughly $10). I'm not sacrificing ambiance (in fact I'm staring directly at DIO, another Budapest institution), and the food is fresh, tasty, and most certainly, affordable. My pumpkin soup with chickpeas was silky and warm, a perfect insulator on this bitter day. And the papardelle affumicata was a bed of delicate noodles with the perfect amount of light red sauce and pancetta. On deck: an almond mascarpone mousse.

So, while I'm sorry your other two restaurants closed, thank you Chef Viktor Segal for this cataclismic and cost-effective addition to my culinary crusade. Stand Bistro is brilliant, and was well worth tracking down on Google Maps for Blackberry. This just further verifies my point that with a bit of research, you can dine substantially well for pennies on the dollar. Or Forint. Whatever I'm paying with today.

The Hills

2010-03-07T11:43:00.000-08:00

No, not the those hills with the artificial characters who are completely devoid of personality, humor, and often times, taste. I'm talking about the Etyek region of Hungary, a hilly town about 20 minutes from central Budapest. Here, dry white wines reign supreme, and I spent the day tasting them and a few of their red partners in crime with Gabor and Carolyn Banfalvi of Taste Hungary.

The Etyek region is a relative baby when it comes to wine making. It got its start in 1990, and wines from this region are notoriously high in acidity. We began our day at Kattra Pinceszet winery, just off the main drag. Here, we sampled a chardonnay, pinot grigio, olasz (Welsh) riesling, pinot noir rosé, pinot noir, and cabernet sauvignon. The tasting room was set ablaze by a rather charming fireplace, but that was really all that set any of us on fire at this winery. The wines were okay, but they paled in comparison to those we'd find later in the day.

After closing the door on the first winery, we continued up the hill towards Hernyak Birtok. WHAT a winery. For those of you in California who are imagining a cavernous-like structure with enough room for your graduating high school class, well, that's not what this was at all. Upon arriving and surveying the menagerie of cats and dogs that roamed about the property, we were whisked downstairs with glasses to the most charming barrel-lined cellar to start our tasting. Here, the winemaker would extract the wines from the barrels by mouth and fill our glasses with his handmade love.

Hernyak Birtok is an artisanal winemaker that employs relatively minimal technology. They specialize in late harvest wines, and only net about 12,000 bottles per year. Some are sold in hotels in Budapest, but most are sold directly from their winery and you have to drive there to get your hands on the prize. "Birktok" means "estate" in Hungarian, and while their property wouldn't conjure up images of anything Kardashian-like, their "pajama vineyards," as they call them, are unequivocally charming and breed unrivaled wines.

We ate an amazing lunch here of porcini mushroom soup, gnocchi-like potatoes with a dill sour cream (I avoided much of it, naysayers), pork knuckle with a white carrot confit, and a corn bread dessert with fruit and homemade whipped cream. This was all compliments of their son...the chef in this undisputed family affair. The wines at Hernyak Birtok were first class, and we sampled a sauvignon blanc, pinot grigio, grüner, cuvée of pinot noir and chardonnay with sauvignon blanc added later, and a pinot noir. All were divine, and Kattra's wines didn't hold a candle to what we had here. In the background, Bijou, their dog, wrestled with one of their cats in a chair adjacent to the fire. It was like being at home...only thousands of miles away.

After begrudgingly packing up and saying bye, we made our way to winery #3: Kezes-Labos. It took a bit of an effort to find it among the rows of storage cellars, but when we did, Carolyn and I both agreed that the narrow, rock tasting room shaped like a barrel was a lovely respite from the intermittent snow. Sure, the winemaker may have been a bit rough around the edges, but he had us laughing with his method for drinking palinka, a Hungarian apricot brandy. "You take it as a shot, and make sure to breathe it out, and that's how you don't get drunk." Hmmmm. The jury's still out on that one, sir, but the rest of your wines, a really sweet late harvest chardonnay and a regular chardonnay, were quite good.

To finish up our day, we nestled in at Rokusfalvy Fogado, a restaurant, tasting room, and bed and breakfast that weren't all in the same place. We were briefly met by the winemaker here, and learned that after a career in marketing, he opted to pursue his passion and started the winery and restaurant. Sounds familiar! Being that Etyek is a primarily white wine region, again we sampled a pinot blanc, sauvignon blanc, cuvée of chardonnay, grüner and pinot grigio, rosé, but also a first vintage pinot noir from 2008. They were magnificent, and paired nicely with the pinxtos his chef prepared for us.

I got more than my fill of Hungarian wines today, but only tackled a small wine region that was easy to reach from Budapest. As it turns out, there are even more wineries about two hours away from here, so it seems like a third trip to the city is in the cards. You know what they say, "three's a charm." So, that settles it. Who's coming with me?

Taste Hungary
www.tastehungary.com

Next stop: Krakow

Živoli in Zagreb!

2010-03-03T18:00:00.000-08:00

Živoli means "cheers" in Croatian, and it's a fitting title after the day I had today. It was bookended with libations, starting with champagne in the morning and a visit to a winery in the afternoon. And let's not forget about the grappa breaks we took in the middle of cooking. It's a wonder I made it out of the kitchen and into bed alive.

I set-up this adventure with the help of Alan Manic from Secret Dalmatia. He specializes in gastronomy and tours in the Dalmatia region of Croatia. However, upon asking him for help in locating something in Zagreb, he took on the challenge and provided me with a fantastic chance to cook in an amazing restaurant.

Today was busy. BU-SY. It was an absolute taste test about what it would be like to own a restaurant or work as a chef. I arrived at Restoran Klub Gastronomada at 8:00 a.m. to find Chef Sime and Chef Grger waiting for me upstairs. As we drank said glasses of champagne, they told me a bit more about their restaurant and consulting company. The restaurant only uses organic ingredients, and everything is shopped for daily (we would do this later on at the nearby market). They make their food to order (including the risottos), and only serve Croatian wines in-house. The restaurant space is quite small, but they also have three banquet rooms where they can seat more people and hold special events. And on the wall of the dining room was a place for artists to display their work, which they change periodically. It was warm, imaginative and inviting, and I was happy I'd be having my lunch in such a classy place.

So, what did we have for lunch? Well, we started by making the dough for our bread so it could proof while we visited the market. It was really simple, and Chef Sime was happy I'd taken a pasta making class because the kneading techniques were exactly the same and I didn't even need to be supervised. Homemade bread dough was completed in 10 minutes or less. Bread aside, we headed to the market where we picked-up seven types of fish for our soup (I dubbed the soup "The Seven Seas"), produce, paprika cheese, veal, and a few other things. Chef Sime seemed to know everyone there, presumably because they visit the market everyday, and as he was explaining things to me, the purveyors would hand over a sample for each of us to try. I had some amazing corn bread, a delicious piece of sausage, and a piece crispy bacon fat that's used for flavor in recipes.

We carted our loot back to the kitchen, checked our dough and got our bread into the oven, and then went straight to work on the fish soup. He showed me how to properly clean the fish, and I took over de-scaling them and ripping out their innards with my bare hands. It was fun! As I worked on that, he created the base for the soup with a mirepoix of sorts, tomatoes, potatoes, garlic, orange peel, bay leaves, and a bit of Croatian olive oil. From there, we added in the fish (heads and all), a bit of white wine, and covered it with vegetable stock to simmer away in the background.

In the foreground, we grated the paprika cheese and coated it with flour, beat up some eggs, and trimmed the veal into chops. These would later be breaded and cooked. We trimmed up the amazing Croatian greens we purchased, and put those into a giant pan with a bit of garlic and olive oil, and then sprinkled them with nutmeg. They cooked down like spinach, and made a bed for our veal chops and a neighbor for our boiled red potatoes.

We started lunch by sampling four Croatian olive oils with our homemade bread. We were both really proud of what came out of the oven, and everyone agreed that it was fantastic with the olive oils! Alan and his friend Igor joined us for lunch in the main dining room, and our menu was magnificent. It was so simple and relaxed with reflections of the Mediterranean, and there's no arguing that what we made was healthy. We had a different wine with each course that was expertly paired, including a port-like wine and an aperatif at the end.

For dessert, we enjoyed a pie made from olives. I'm sure this sounds bizarre, but if you have the chance, take a page from the writers at The Boston Globe and visit Klub Gastronomada for the opportunity to taste it. Sweet and savory collided in this dessert in a way that I plan to replicate when I get home. I'm hoping if I beg and plead, they will give me the recipe. It was THAT good.

As if all of this wasn't enough, we finished up lunch and drinks, and Chef Sime, Alan and I headed to Korak Winery in Samobor, about 20 minutes outside the city center. High up on a breezy hill, we sat with the winemaker in the most charming little tasting room. The fireplace blazed on in the corner as we made our way through about five bottles of wine, and sampled his wife's homemade cornbread and cheese. We chatted about food, blogging, cookbooks, and we each gave our opinions about what we tasted in each wine. I think my palette is improving because I was tasting all sorts of notes that were evidently spot-on (or maybe they were just saying that).

I learned an incredible amount about Croatian food and wine over the course of the day thanks to Alan, Chef Sime, and Chef Grger. Croatia is a place I will no doubt be back to, possibly even on this trip. I wasn't able to make it to Dalmatia or Istria in the south, and according to all of them, they are must-see parts of this relatively small country. Hospitality seems to be a way of life here, and the people...well...the people are the most welcoming of hosts.

Secret Dalmatia

www.secretdalmatia.com

Restoran Klub Gastronomoda

www.gastronomadi.hr

Next Stop: Budapest

What is Slovenian Cuisine?

2010-03-02T11:55:00.000-08:00

Slovenian cuisine. Slovenian cuisine. What on earth is it? It was a question I was asking those I encountered in Ljubljana, and it was met with the same inquiry..."Hmm, what is Slovenian cuisine?"

Control of this country has changed hands so many times over the years that, from a culinary standpoint, they are influenced by quite a few of their neighbors. And when you factor together the cuisines of Hungary, Italy, and Austria (just to name a few), you get a rather interesting answer when it comes to the initial question. There's pizza on every corner, goulashes galore, soups for those bone-chilling days, giant gnocchi, and quite a lot of meat. After overdoing it for the last two weeks or so on pasta in Italy, I was pretty happy to up the iron intake, I have to say.

Today, I met with a woman who has authored a cookbook in Slovenia, and has a second one about to go to print. Her mission is to get kids into the kitchen, and also to improve the quality of food in schools. Evidently, their system leaves a lot to be desired, not unlike the school lunch program in America, and so she has made it her mission to visit schools and teach kids how to make better food choices. Emilijia is such a fantastic woman, and I felt really lucky that she took a few hours from her busy schedule to visit a market with me and talk to me a bit more about "Slovenian cuisine" (whatever that is).

I met her at the train station, and from there, we went to a pretty swanky market in central Ljubljana. It was actually quite interesting because housed in the basement of a would-be department store was a Whole Foods-eque market. And it was packed with people. We stopped first to check out her cookbook on the shelf next to Jaime Oliver's, and then moved over to the "bio" foods section. They are very popular, and through somewhat broken translation, I gather "bio" equals organic.

It was a rather large cross section of aisles with everything from jams and dried fruits, to chickpeas, lentils, pastas, breads, tofus, teas, and herbs. Emilija is from Koper, Slovenia, which is a coastal town to the south, so we talked a bit more about what their diet looks like. Not surprisingly, it includes fish, and she told me she eats many small meals throughout the day. Most everything comes from their garden, the fish her husband catches, the bread that she bakes, et al. In fact, she showed up to meet me with a bunch of fresh herbs, homemade pasta with calimari her husband had caught, fresh-baked bread, an apple from her garden...all for me. And in the market, she insisted on buying me salt from Piran (another amazing gorgeous Slovenian seaside town) and dried figs that are good for your blood.

Incidentally, when I jumped on the train after meeting her, I had a smorgasbord of treats to sample. And as we glided along the rails and I sampled her delicious gifts, I thought to myself, "So, Kyle...what the heck is Slovenian cuisine?" As you'll see from the picture, I'm still looking and trying to figure it out.

EMILIJA PAVLIČ

Next Stop: Zagreb

Venetian Wanderlust

2010-02-28T11:05:00.000-08:00

For those of you who think that Venice is expensive, I want you to know that I agree to disagree with you. Today, and it is Sunday when everything (including the Tabacchi) is closed, I managed to find a place slinging glasses of wine for €0.66 a glass (not a typo) and another place where dinner cost €6.00 including a pint of beer. No, I am not a unicorn or some other mythical creature; I just did a little due diligence and stumbled upon two gold mines in Canareggio.

And with the money I saved, I bought a fierce new top for St. Patrick's Day in Dublin. Yep...you heard me correctly. There's been a minor modification in my routing and I will be drinking green beer and getting my craic on in the land of my ancestors this year.

Second Impressions…

2010-02-27T09:38:00.001-08:00

I visited Venice for the first time in January 2008. It was misty, cold, and quite dreary, but you could imagine what the city would look like bathed in a sunny glow. That vision became a reality today as my train crossed over the bridge. As the sun filtered through the many canals and Murano glass shops, I hurried to my hotel to get ready for my cooking lesson: a second visit to Ristorante Avogaria.

Venice is an intricate maze of narrow streets and bridges, and I’m convinced that even the locals tote around a map to confirm their way back home at night. I inquired with my hotel about how to get to Dorsoduro (where the restaurant is), but in true Kyle fashion, I bucked their advice and decided to blaze my own trail. I know what you’re all thinking…I walked so far in the wrong direction that I ended up in Mestre. Wrong! I actually arrived at the restaurant an hour early, took stock of the gorgeous place where I had dinner over two years ago now, and was whisked back to the kitchen to begin cooking.

On the menu today was Ravioloni di Pasta Fresca Caripieni di Burratta e Branzino con Sughetto di Crostacei and Pennette Limon con Pecorino Romano e Lievito Biologico. In case you don’t have your Italian dictionary handy, those dishes are large raviolis stuffed with sea bass and burratta cheese with langoustines in a cream sauce, and baby penne with a pecorino romano lemon sauce with yeast. For a blip in time, I had a flashback of yesterday when Francesco said we would be making homemade pasta for the ravioloni. My arms began to throb, and my back began to ache, but in the end, it was fine because this pasta recipe was a fast-forward version of yesterday’s activities, and he handled all of it. The recipe differed slightly in that we used both semolina and 00 flour, and mainly the yolks of the eggs to make the pasta a sunny yellow color. It was quick, easy, and while it chilled in the fridge before we slid it through the pasta machine, we got to work on the rest of our lunch.

We beheaded and filleted the sea bass (okay, he did), and sautéed it in some olive oil before shredding it up delicately (and checking for eye bones) to add to the burratta for the stuffing. We also cleaned the langoustines, zested and juiced a lemon, sampled some amazing pecorino romano cheese, and discussed our Salice Salentino Rosso wine. It’s a blend of Negroamaro and Malvasia grapes, and has notes of plum and blackberry with a bit of spiciness. It was great with the cheese.

Francesco moved about the smallish kitchen while I feverishly scribbled down notes, and took pictures. The lemon pasta tasted like a savory version of Lemonheads (sidebar: I love Lemonheads) and elicited a silent reaction from me…because I was so busy shoving my face full of the lemony masterpiece. And the ravioloni were a close second. The sea bass flavor was subtle, the burratta silky, and after we plucked them off their ravioloni rafts, the langoustines tasted like lobster.

Perhaps you’re wondering how I scored the opportunity for a backstage pass at Avogaria. I wish I had some dramatic answer, like I purchased a scratch card on Ryanair and won the afternoon with the chef, but the truth of the matter is quite simple: I just asked. Francesco remembered me from two years ago when I dined in their restaurant, so when I told him about Culinary Hopscotch and told him I would love for the Venice edition to include Avogaria, he graciously offered to have me as their guest. My second impression of the restaurant was better than the first. It’s off the well-worn tourist path, and the food that comes out of Francesco’s kitchen paints the perfect picture of Venice. It’s light, it’s tempting, and like the jagged streets of this picture-perfect city, there is a surprise at every turn.

Ristorante Avogaria
www.avogaria.com

Next Stop: Ljubljana

Basta Pasta!

2010-02-26T14:01:00.001-08:00

Sorry for the blog delay. This past week provided for a minor commercial break between classes, but have no fear...the upcoming week will be brimming with bloggable material.

Today, I made pasta in Bologna. From scratch. With just 00 flour and eggs, a wooden board, a matterello, and my own (wo)man power. And I am exhausted. I don't think I'll ever look at homemade pasta in the same way again. Something that is seemingly so easy, and rightfully so based on the two ingredients, is truly an art form when you get down to rolling it out.

It’s not that making fresh pasta is terribly difficult; it just takes skill and patience. There are a series of movements you go through when rolling out your pasta dough, and at one point, I was getting particularly frustrated when I couldn’t achieve the right rolling rhythm. Uncle Alessandro thought it was hilarious though, and despite wanting to club myself with the matterello on a few occasions, he stood there patiently until I got the technique right and was able to roll out my perfectly aerated dough into a sheet so thin you could see Sanctuary of the Madonna di San Luca through it.

Up until today, pasta came from boxes, and was drier than the Gobi Desert, and Parmesan cheese generally showed up in a money-colored canister, and ironically, tasted like a crisp George Washington. That is all about to change. I know how to do it now, so going forward, I will make an effort to crown the table with freshly made shapes of dried dough when the menu calls for Italian. Why? Because I'm that cool.

The difference in taste between a dry, store-bought pasta and what we made today was incredibly obvious. Incidentally, slaving away over a wooden board, and covering my dark blue jeans in flour, didn't seem so torturous as I lifted each bite of fluffy tortelloni with butter and Parmigiano Reggiano, tortellini soup, and pappardelle Bolognese to my mouth.

After this carb-o-verload, I marched myself straight to the city center through all of the beautiful arcade-lined streets. I needed the walk. Then, I located an inconspicuous food market where I photographed some gorgeous produce, and then I plunked myself down at a café for a well-deserved glass of wine and the chance to read up on beautiful Bologna. Only my gastronomic adventure wouldn't end with pasta today...

My amazing hosts, Matteo & Julie, took me out for Mexican food tonight. Yes, you heard me correctly. I almost collapsed with excitement when I saw the words "taco" and "nachos" on a menu, and my exuberance probably was a little bit exaggerated. But as I learned today in my pasta making course, it's the piccolissimo things in life. Like how two basic ingredients that you always have on-hand in your kitchen can create a golden feast for the eyes and mouth.

La Vecchia Scuola Bolognese
www.lavecchiascuola.com

Next Stop: Venice

Deep-Fried Pizza. Gnocchi. Saltimbocca. Tiramisu.

2010-02-23T00:05:00.000-08:00

We woke up on Monday with God crying all over Rome. Was he trying to rain on our parade, or force us inside for one helluva day? Well, I don’t know. But the fact is, when in Rome, a cooking class at Le Fate is a must on your agenda.

Chef Andrea Consoli led our class of eight people in one of the tiniest restaurant kitchens I have ever seen. To him, it was heaven, and it was obvious how much he loves his job as a chef and teacher as he whisked around the itty bitty space teaching us the recipes for the aforementioned dishes. We would be his pupils and guests in the restaurant for a solid five hours.

One of the most amazing things I learned had nothing to do with the recipes, per se. It was how to choke-down a four-course meal. As we sat down for course #1, Chef came out with a bottle of Frescadi Spumanti, and filled our glasses before we woofed down our pizzas. The reason for this bubbly choice is to open up your stomach at the beginning of a big meal. He hit the nail right on the head when he said, “Sometimes, as a chef, you go through the process of cooking a huge meal, and after, you’re not even hungry. It‘s definitely from tasting as you go, but even the smells can trick your brain into thinking you‘re full.” That happens to me ALL THE TIME. I couldn’t believe I finally had an answer to a question that’s been bothering me for years.

The Spumanti trick worked. Sitting down a relatively full individual, after bottoms-upping my bubbly, I was primed and ready for the impending courses, which were fab-u-lous. We learned to make two kinds of tomato sauces-- one canned and the other from fresh tomatoes. And I hearby declare the following: I will never put garlic into my fresh sauces again, and will always use a mirepoix in my canned ones instead of a pinch of sugar. I will only cook with the best tomatoes that I can find, and if I have to, I will import them from Italy for the Selenium content that is rumored to help you live a long life. I will also never purchase gnocchi again, but will make it by hand on Tuesdays and serve it on Thursdays. Lastly, I will suck up my distaste for coffee and make The Senator Tiramisu whenever he wants it because even I can admit when I’m wrong…this was good.

Le Fate Restaurant (it means “the fairies”) was certainly off the beaten path in Trastevere, but everyone in the class agreed that it was worth the hike. Even the two most junior members of our class…an eight- and twelve-year-old. They were engaged the whole way through like the rest of us. Chef Andreas was passionate about his craft in a way that was refreshing, and in this “Zero Kilometer” restaurant (that means that everything in the restaurant…wine, produce, meat…comes from the Lazio region of Italy), you could tell that when you’re there for dinner or a cooking class, you’re family.

Le Fate Restaurant
www.cookingclassesinrome.com

Dining Like a Diva on Peasant's Pennies

2010-02-21T13:29:00.000-08:00

Ally and I had somewhat of a breakthrough in Florence. On two occasions, we were suckered (by ourselves) into having drinks at establishments that were painfully touristy. And we all know that touristy equals expensive.

On Piazza della Signoria, overlooking the Uffizi Gallery, we each spent €9 on glasses of wine at an outdoor café. At Harry's Bar (same as the Venice original), wine was €7 a glass. We were glamorous as glamorous could be for the twenty minutes we sat in each place, however, the ding in the pocketbook did nothing to quench our thirst.

BUT, in each case, a welcome surprise arrived on the waiter's tray with our vino: sandwiches and snacks reminiscent of High Tea at The Ritz in London. We thought it was an anomaly the first time, and then it happened again at Harry's.

And that's when it donned on us...

For €7-10, you could have a drink and eat pretty well on what they provided. Did we have it all wrong- searching the city for the most cost-effective bowl of pasta when diva dining was under our noses the entire time? We had mini sandwiches, olives, skewers of prosciutto and mozzarella in an orange, and more. And what's better? We didn't ask for any of it.

The point is, don't count this out as a method of enjoying an evening at a ritzier place than you might normally stumble into. Sure, you should probably dress up a little (baseball hats need not apply), and you would certainly have to be amenable to eating what they brought you. But if you can acquiesce a bit, you too can be a part of the 21st century libation lallygag. It's like a pub crawl...with food...and so much more fabulous.

Tasting the Riches of Firenze

2010-02-19T12:00:00.000-08:00

I decided instead of taking a cooking course in Firenze, I would do something a little bit different. The result: a one-on-one Pecorino, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar tasting. In an area where the olive and grape reign supreme, this would prove to be a magnificent idea for an afternoon out of the rain. Does anyone actually know how balsamic vinegar is made? I do now. But more on that in a bit.

I started by tasting my way through four different Pecorino cheeses. Pecorinos are hard, sheep’s milk cheeses, and the ones I tasted were both new and aged. From a plain new cheese to the pepperoncino, and then aged plain and walnut-flavored, these cheeses were to die for. And it was so interesting how their composition was the same, but the resulting tastes were so different. I sampled these with both honey and cherry jam. Fantastico!

From there, we moved onto the olive oils. I tried three from the Val D’Orcia, Chianti Classico and Montalcino areas of Italy. The olive oil from Val D’Orcia was light and aromatic, and made from Olivastra olives. It tasted fruity, and was more yellow than the next two. It was excellent, and would be perfect on a salad. The second oil, from Chianti Classico, smelled like artichokes, and coincidentally was greener than the previous. It was also more bitter, but in a way that nudged your taste buds at the end in a friendly way. It was made from Correggiolo, Moraiolo, and Lecchino olives. The last one from Montalcino was the strongest and most bitter of them all. Made with Moraiolo, Frantoio, and Pendolino olives, this would be great with a strong fish like salmon to contest it’s more pronounced flavor.

We finished up with the balsamic vinegars, and this was a real treat. All three were the same brand, “Leonardo,” but they each had different flavor profiles. I’ll start by mentioning that any good balsamic vinegar should be made with Trebbiano Modenese or Lambrusco grapes. The first one (#10) was a Balsamico di Modena, and it tasted like brown sugar. It was beyond good. By the way, did you figure out how balsamic is made yet? If so, the “#10” designation will mean something to you.

The second one was a Tradizionale, and the shape of the bottle was different than the first. This is deliberate, and like the A.O.C. designation in France, a balsamic vinegar cannot be coined as “Tradizionale” unless it’s sold in this particular bottle. This vinegar was even sweeter than the one before, and as I told the woman, “It tasted like the darker part of the sugar on a crème brulée.” It was beyond good. Lastly, I tried a #20 Balsamico al Ciliegio, a cherry-flavored vinegar. It was a bit tart, but not in an overwhelming way. At the end, we mixed the olive oils and vinegars in a variety of orders, and I tried some of the vinegars with the cheeses. What an afternoon…

As we finished up, my teacher showed me around the store and we looked at a balsamic that was €240 for a 100ml bottle. It was #100. Allow me to interject at this point and describe what the numerical designations mean. They’re not years as you might assume, but instead, it’s the number of “travasi,” or the times the vinegar moves to successively smaller barrels. The barrels are uncorked, which allows the bacteria to activate, and also allows the water to evaporate from the vinegar. Moving it to the smaller barrels is what concentrates it, and the result is the amazing flavor. Thus, the more barrel action a vinegar gets, the richer it’s going to taste (and the more it’s going to cost).

If you’re looking for an alternative to the living museum that is Florence, do yourself a favor and taste some of their epicurean treasures. For €29, this was an hour well-spent.

1Obsequium
Borgo San Jacopo 17/39
*Booked through Italy Segway Tours

Next Stop: Rome

You Get What You Pay For

2010-02-18T06:26:00.000-08:00

Italian trains leave a lot to be desired. A LOT. Our departure was delayed by a half hour (along with every other train on the board), and we’ve crawled maybe 300 yards from the station in Pisa and have stopped about five times for no apparent reason. I could get out and pogo stick pulling my suitcase faster than this.

The one exception I’ll make to this complaint involves their tariffs. For €5.60, we got our onward tickets to Florence complete with a KISS FM-style concert in our cabin by two harlequin-haired Italians. I’m actually not sure if they even know that anyone else is sitting in here. Or maybe they don’t care. It’s like an American Idol audition, and in their most recent ballad (an Italian song), I recognized only one word: “vaffanculo.”

Ironic, because that’s how I feel about this train right now. I’ll let you look that up yourself.

Next Stop: Florence

Paris Cooking Classes…Take Two

2010-02-17T00:29:00.000-08:00

Traveling back to Paris meant I’d have time for two more cooking classes…on the same day.

Ally and I participated in what I consider to be one of the best values in Paris today at Ateliers Des Chefs. There are six locations scattered about the city, and for €15, we cooked our way through a quick (30-minute) lunch menu in a rather chic demonstration kitchen at the BHV on Rivoli near Hotel de Ville. There were only seven us in the class, which meant it was pretty hands-on, and easy to take notes and follow along, especially since the classes are conducted in French.

Menu: Codfish with a Honey-Soy Glaze and Polenta with Mushrooms

This menu was as easy as it sounds, and if you can understand French, these classes are a huge bargain. The menu was simple and truly done in 30 minutes (where were you on this one, Rachel Ray?), and the food wonderful when we sat down to lunch with the rest of our class.

Ateliers des Chefs
www.ateliersdeschefs.fr

In the evening, Ally, Leila and I moved from one side of Paris to the 15th, home to the colorfully named culinary school, Le Cordon Bleu. It’s on a pretty residential side street, and if you weren’t looking for it, you’ll probably walk right past. In our second class of the day, however, we would get very familiar with butter, heavy cream, and milk on repeat in some version of that order. This was An evening In Honor of Julia Child.

Entirely demonstration-based, the class at Le Cordon Bleu was three hours long. Chef Stril spoke only in French, but a translator was on-hand to assist the mainly English-speaking audience.

Menu: Coquilles St.-Jacques a La Parisienne, Fricassée de Poulet a L’Estragon, and Soufflé au Chocolate a L’Ancienne

We started out by making the pastry cream for the soufflé, and I have to say, I don’t consider the art of the soufflé nearly the death-defying feat I did in the past. Would I call this dish easy or fit for a beginner? Not a chance. But Chef did make it look easy. And all soufflés are bound to fall, so if that’s your hang-up, break out the ramekins and let it go. Chef Stril couldn’t be bothered as the air went out of his chocolate towers; he just opened another bottle of wine. C’est la vie, I suppose…

From there, we learned the proper way to segment a chicken into eight pieces for our chicken with tarragon sauce. Chef made quick work of removing the spine, and at dinner after (I should mention this class only resulted in Barbie-sized tasting plates..and wine…there was wine…), we all agreed that this was a skill definitely developed over time. And this dish took time.

He browned the chicken, then removed it, then used the chicken fat that had rendered off as the base for the sauce. We learned the right (and easy) method to peel a tomato, and then watched as two assistants diced them into uniform pieces for the Chef. He told us how there is always veal stock bubbling away in the Le Cordon Bleu kitchen downstairs because it’s involved in so many of their preparations; that went into the dish too. And we learned how to make a pot lid from parchment paper, which put our dish out of sight and mind while he worked on the scallops and potato cakes.

Our next dish was quite “Republican,” as someone I know likes to say: scallops and mushrooms in a white wine béchamel-style sauce served on the half-shell. This was the star of Chef Stril’s show; we all agreed on that. He opened up the scallop shells to access the meat, and kept the coral egg sack as part of this dish. It’s a gorgeous hue, but I didn’t have any on my plate and probably would have skipped it. After sautéing the scallops until they were only cooked part of the way through, he sliced them into 3mm disks and set them aside. He added shallots and sliced mushrooms to their pan, and then deglazed with white wine and added cream. At this point, he got started on the sauce. Butter, heavy cream, milk, and more, more, more of it all went into the sauce, and at the end, he tempered in egg yolks to help the dish brown under the salamander.

The result, a feast for the eyes and mouth. A buttered shell, a scoop of the creamy mushroom mixture, sliced scallops atop, and a slather of the béchamel to cover the shell. Under the salamander (a broiler would work too) for about five minutes, and Chef Stril had made somewhat quick work of the Coquilles St.-Jacques. I almost dove onto the table for the example one. It was that good.

I can see why they don’t let the audience participate in a menu like this one. It took our Chef about two-and-a-half hours to get this together and he’s been doing it for 40 years. It was a great learning experience though, and since it is hands-off, anyone could participate and have fun…young, old, or food-fearing.

Le Cordon Bleu
www.cordonbleu.edu

Next Stop: Italy

Lord Byron Says...

2010-02-15T23:40:00.000-08:00

"Lobster salad and champagne are the only things a woman should ever been seen eating." I agree to disagree, Lord.

Women should also be seen eating Maille mustard , macarons from Laduree, falafels on Rue de Rosiers, and drinking wine from baby bottles at Refuges des Fondues. Why? Because all of those things happened yesterday in Paris as Ally and I criss-crossed the city in search of vintage fur coats. We found them.

Next Stop:

Two Cooking Classes on Tuesday...

Ateliers des Chefs &

Le Cordon Bleu

Happy Valentine's Day

2010-02-14T12:44:00.000-08:00

A certain Senator turned me on to a particular rosé wine called Domaines Ott. It’s from the south of France, and that sweet, sweet nectar should be required in the south of California as the 6th food group.

Ally and I picked up a bottle in St. Germain near Notre Dame to enjoy over our homemade dinner tonight of pesto pasta (and a caprese salad for me) at the apartment. It was our attempt to channel southern France in a climate that more closely resembles the north pole.

Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone from Paris…the city of love, Valentine's-colored wine, and completely frigid weather. And of course, thank you to my Senator who enjoyed his own bottle today satellite-Valentine's-style in sunny southern California.

Madrid On the Go

2010-02-14T04:52:00.000-08:00

Buenos dias, Madrid! I decided I’d write this blog today in a different format: on the go. Why? Because, again, I’m in a city without a cooking class, so I plan to maximize my day-point-five here by walking around and getting to some restaurants and markets I missed in October. I’m so happy to be back here. I really love this city.

I arrived on the highspeed AVE train from Sevilla at 10:00 this morning (early, I might add), and if anyone is considering traveling between the two cities, you won’t be sorry if you take this train. Modern is an understatement. The seats were as big as business class on a 747, and along the left-hand side of the train, it was single seats only at the window. That’s where I enjoyed Slumdog Millionaire from as we whisked along the rails for the 2.5-hour journey. Cake.

So, where am I right now? Well, I’m sitting in the Mercado de San Miguel off Plaza Mayor. I just helped myself to two pieces of Manchego cheese on toast and a glass of red wine, and I’m watching Madrid live around me. This is actually my second market of the day. Just down from where I’m staying is Mercado Anton Martin. It’s pretty traditional and has all the requisite stalls of a normal European market. There, I bought a bag of green olives from Sevilla for €1.75, and they will be my co-pilots on my journey today as I guide myself around the city. Let’s go olives…we’re hitting the road.

Next Stop: Casa del Abuelo for the shrimp in garlic oil tapa

I don’t even know where to begin about the Gambas a Ajillo at Abuelo. They were spicy, buttery, and I can’t even figure out how that combination is possible, especially since they have no butter in them. In a ceramic dish over an open flame, the man sautéed baby shrimp in olive oil and garlic with a red chili. C’est tout. The taste had me almost drinking the remnants in the ramekin. The restaurant was so small, but actually has two locations, the other at the wedge of Calle de Nunez de Arce and Calle La Cruz, where they serve only drinks and traditional Iberian ham.

The master cutter (no, not an emo with eyeliner) started talking to me over my shrimp, and invited me across the street to try their ham. I obliged and watched a DVD about how the ham from these particular pigs are different: they’re black with longer snouts, floppy ears, and the environment in which they nosh on acorns, which gives them their marble, is totally natural. This ham is actually good for you. Over ham and more Abuelo wine, he and I chatted about his experiences working as a ham cutter at Harrod’s in London under Al Fayed, and also working with chefs like Gordon Ramsay and Jaime Oliver. Where do I find these people? There are no seats at either Abuelo…it’s standing room only, but well worth the €13.30 I spent on three Dixie glasses of good wine, the shrimp, and my ham tasting. I think I was given a guapa discount though.

Casa del Abuelo
C/ de Nunez de Arce 5

Next Stop: Dubliners Irish Pub…in search of the Romanian bartender Court & I met in October

Well, he’s not here, and I just wanted to say hi. Evidently, he works at the bar around the corner now where Court and I bought the blue light glasses. It’s closed right now, but don’t worry--the Coronitas still flow freely here, and are served in buckets if you need a dose of Cabo in the 35-degree weather.

Dubliners
C/ Espoz y Minas

Next Stop: Lhardy Pasteleria

Right around the corner from Dubliners and Abuelo was Lhardy Pasteleria. Their aprons were embroidered with the date 1832, so clearly this place was old. And again, tiny. Different from other places in Madrid, Lhardy is a serve-yourself place where you can sample different strong wines, consommés, and other aperativs. For €2.50, I sampled a tiny glass of Madera wine. It was very strong, and a bit sweet for my liking, but I did like the ambiance in this place. Again, nowhere to sit, but you could tell it wasn’t a place where people linger for long. They’d have a drink, and maybe a snack, and then move on to the next destination. For me, it was Sephora to borrow a bit of the new Marc Jacobs fragrance.

Lhardy Pasteleria
Carrera de San Jerónimo, 8

Next Stop: Siesta

Back at the hostel, I slept off the earlier part of the day in an attempt to ward off fatigue for the evening. It worked.

Next Stop: Plaza Mayor for Carnivale

This was interesting. A man suspended in the air playing a piano as random images and movies were projected on to the top of the piano for the audience to see. I didn’t last long here.

Next Stop: La Negra Tomasa

La Negra Tomasa is a typical Cuban themed bar. In true Bolivian fashion (thank you to my hostel mate from Argentina for informing me of this euphamism), the walls were littered with license plates and posters. And of course, everyone, including me, was drinking mojitos. It was good, but not great. The one in Barcelona trumped it ten-fold. Also, there was supposed to be live, Cuban jazz, but that was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it started later. Time to move on.

La Negra Tomasa
C/ Espoz y Minas (directly across the street from Dubliners)

Next Stop: O’Reilly's

‘Two Irish pubs in one day?’, you’re asking yourself. The answer is yes. I was determined to find the Romanian bartender, and I did at O'Reilly's just like the man at Dubliners promised me. It was meant to be a momentary blip on the radar screen, but of course I stayed all night. He nearly jumped over the bar when he saw me, and was pretty shocked to see me back in Madrid. We caught up, I gave him my Essential Book of Foreign Swear Words, we passed it around the bar and everyone cracked up, ate some Nestle Crunch bar, and of course, drank too many beers compliments of the Bristol rugby team (hope they win today). I wouldn’t be making it to the color-changing toilets this evening; no way, no how. Back to the hostel, and into bed quietly to recoup my energy for my last day in Espagna.

€39.50 total for the day (roughly $53). Not bad for a 15-hour day...

Next Stop: Back to Paris for a few days to meet up with Ally!

Cooking Class #4: Setting the Table Sevilla Style

2010-02-11T11:05:00.000-08:00

"In true fashion, most people don't decide what they want to be until they're 30 or so." ~ Ruth Roberts

Could Ruth, my instructor, today have been more spot on in validating the reason for this adventure? This was her response when I asked her how she got started cooking. Her background in the sport was marbled like a good piece of meat. She took a class in France, and landed a job cooking elaborate lunches for bankers in Madrid. As she told me, a lot of the skill in cooking comes from learning as you go, and I'd learn a notebook full in my class today in Sevilla. There will be tips in this particular blog, so keep reading if you're interesting in learning what they are!

We started out at the market, and decided on a menu of Tapenade de Aceitunas Verdes y Almendras (olive and almond tapenade), Gambas Al Ajillo (prawns in garlic oil), Razor and Regular Clams, Escalivada con Salsa Romesco (baked vegetables with a vinaigrette and romesco sauce), and Dorada a la Sal (Sea Bream baked in a salt crust). Our sweet was Mantecados, a traditional Spanish powdered sugar cookie.

After carting our loot home, we got straight to work in Ruth's kitchen. Her home was beautiful, and the view was amazing on a day when the sun finally decided to show his face. The cumulus clouds were a perfect contrast to the bright, blue sky, and the skyline a perfect backdrop for our lunch on the terrace.

Now, for the tips and information:

In Sevilla, they eat TONS of fish. Most of the stalls at the market were fresh fish mongers, and popular varietals include baby shark, cuttlefish, dorada (this is what we made), razor clams, monkfish, hake, swordfish, and more. If you don't like fish, don't come to Sevilla. You'll be bummed!

When roasting whole eggplants (or aubergines), prick them before putting them into the oven. If you don't, it will explode and you'll spend more time than you care to know cleaning it up.
Do you know how to peel a whole, roasted pepper? After you remove it from the oven, wrap it in tinfoil and then in newspaper or a paper back to let it cool. The skin will peel right off. If you leave it out to cool, the skikn will stick back to the pepper.
Don't discard the more tender unused artichoke leaves. Boil them in water for about 10-15 minutes and strain out the leaves. The resulting water was really refreshing, and it's good for your liver.
To make your own dried herbs, hang them to dry (like you would roses), or dry them in a lower oven. When they're dry, strip them from their stems, grind them in a coffee grinder (I'll be purchasing one of these and I hate coffee), and jar them. Fresh, dried herbs for years.
To make a proper stock (fish, meat, or veg), you should always start with cold water so the flavor comes out of what you're boiling instead of getting trapped inside.

Ok, so that brings me to the end of the tips. As you can see, I learned a lot during this one-on-one lesson about Spanish cuisine, although it was more tailored to the cuisine of Sevilla. Dining on Ruth's veranda over the meal we put together was phenomenal. Our menu was fresh, healthy, and most importantly, simple (it probably sounds much more elaborate than it was). I wouldn't hesitate to entertain with this menu because of the speed with which it could be put together. With practice, I could have all of this done in an hour, I suppose.

Sevilla is absolutely gorgeous, and I wouldn't hesitate to come back, although I'd caution you to take note of the weather in summer before booking a trip. Ruth told me today the hottest she's seen it here is 63 degrees Celcius. I'll let you decide what that equates to. In the meantime, I'm off to hangout for dinner with the family I'm staying with. After all that food at lunch, I've got no clue where I'll find the room.

Ruth Roberts- Seville Cooking Class
http://www.sevillecookingclass.com/

Next Stop: Madrid

Gra-Nada Cooking Classes

2010-02-10T07:34:00.001-08:00

It’s true. I made the journey down to Granada and wasn’t able to line up any cooking classes. The city is much smaller than Barcelona, and as it turns out, many people don’t speak English there. Perhaps that was the hang-up with the email I sent.

It didn’t really matter, though. Because another email I sent was met with incredible enthusiasm, an offer of hospitality, and perfect English. I’m starting to think that either I was really angelic in a former life, or I have the luck of the Irish on my side, because this part of the last three legs of the trip have been particularly memorable thanks to my hosts and hostesses.

I found Fina’s apartment website by simple typing “Granada apartments” into Google. I wanted to rent one for a few days, and she immediately responded to my request. Some things went haywire in the process and she wasn’t able to “rent” to me, however, in a truly unmatched pro bono effort, Fina, who is from Seattle but married to a Spaniard, introduced me to her friends and family and let me stay in one of their apartments for free. I’m forever grateful, and can’t wait to go back and see them in their new house in the countryside. As I posted on her Facebook page today, I’m looking forward to baking in her traditional oven, and also by the pool…not necessarily in that order.

So, if there were no cooking classes in Granada, how did I occupy myself? Well, for starters, I got ready upon arrival and Fina, Joy and Danie took me to their favorite Moroccan café for red wine, small snacks, and a hooka. Yes, I said hooka. And I tried it (sorry mom). Despite a mild protest, they insisted, and it was fruity and kind of interesting. We went back to meet Fina’s two-month-old son, Diego, her dog, Henry (good taste in names!), Joy’s cat, Pee Wee, and Fina’s husband, Rapha. They couldn’t have been more hospitable. We ate homemade banana muffins and soup that Rapha made, and I made it to bed with a full stomach and a handful of new friends of the two- and four-legged sort.

Yesterday, I took the (short) bus up to the Alhambra Palace, which was a smart move on account of the incline and what I‘d see there. Despite the rain that lingered throughout my trip, the Alhambra was spectacular! It was conceived as a palatine fortified town, and it’s on a rather steep hill with sweeping 360-degree views of all of Granada. It was really amazing. Between the 12th and 15th centuries, it was used as the residence for the Nasrid Sultans, high commanders, civil servants of the royal court, and soldiers of the elite. Washington Irving even lived there for a bit, and his stay inspired him to write Tales from the Alhambra.

I toured the Nasrid Palaces, and the architecture and details were magnificent. And then, I took a spin through the Alcazaba military area, and had fun with the self-timer function on my camera. Passing back through Generalife (a massive garden) on my way out, I found a Calico cat that accompanied me for quite a bit of the walk. She was so cute, and there were actually wild cats everywhere that were all quite friendly.

Had I been in Granada another time, I could have partaken in an olive oil tasting about an hour outside the city, but unfortunately, it’s closed at this time of year. Granada was really fascinating though, and completely different than Barcelona or Madrid. I’m really glad I came, despite not being able to cook. Rapha told me that this part of Spain is historically poorer than most parts, so stews are very common, and they use a ton of pork in this region. As for the city, the Islamic influence is evident everywhere, from the restaurants to the Turkish baths, to the hookas for sale everywhere (don’t worry-- I didn’t buy one), and of course, the impressive Alhambra that looks approvingly over the entire city.

Oh, by the way…any idea what “Granada” means? Anyone? It’s Spanish for “pomegranate.” I guess my visit here was food-related whether I knew it or not.

Next Stop: Cooking Class#4 in Sevilla

Barcelona's Boqueria Market

2010-02-09T08:59:00.000-08:00

Despite having already discussed Barcelona, I decided Boqueria Market deserved it’s own post. And since I’m the boss of this blog, that’s what I’m doing.

Why, oh why, can’t we have markets like this in America? Why? Boqueria Market makes our farmers markets look like men selling oranges at a dirt junction on the side of the road. They literally had everything here. From gorgeous dried peppers that would make your eyes weep from their beauty (and presumably heat), to candies, nuts, fish, meats, and the most beautiful fruit I’ve ever seen.

Upon entry, my eyes went straight to a clear, plastic cup of a grass green liquid dotted with dark seeds. It was fresh-squeezed kiwi juice. And it cost €1 ($1.36). I can only imagine how refreshing that juice would have been in the heat of a Barcelona summer. And I wished I had more time there so I could take home some of the bounty and create a feast.

It was fun to take a quick spin around the indoor market, and peruse the different stalls. Sure, a lot of them were slinging the same things, but I’m sure the patrons have their favorites they go back to over and over again. Listen up, Obama…while you’re tackling this health care issue, have Michelle work on instating markets like Boqueria around the country. If people saw what this market had to offer, they’d never eat KFC again.

What’s the Difference Between Tapas and Pintxos?

2010-02-09T07:47:00.000-08:00

Moving on from Bordeaux to Toulouse in the evening meant I got to enjoy a late meal of tapas and sangria with my friend. We shared Iberian ham, Manchego cheese, these tiny, deep fried fish that were whole and still had eyes, slices of chorizo, and of course, a pitcher of sangria. The restaurant was down a very quiet street, but completely filled with locals…the crazy kind. In fact, when the music began to pump through the place around 11:30 or so, some of the younger people at the table behind us de-robed briefly to dance on the tables. See?

Toulouse was a fantastic little town, and an interesting departure from both Paris and Bordeaux. Yes, I was still technically in France, but their way of life is more akin to Spain. Life gets started later in the evening, and they share a lot in common with their neighbor to the south. The proximity might have something to do with it. We woke up on Saturday morning, jumped in the car, and drove from Toulouse to Barcelona in just under three hours. That’s where I’d learn the difference between tapas and pintxos.

Both styles of food share a convivial spirit, whereby they’re eaten in a social setting. The difference, I’d find out, is that whereas tapas are smaller portions of food that are meant to be shared, pintxos are literally finger foods from the Basque region of Spain. For pintxos, you stand at a tavern bar with a small glass of wine and grab what you’d like from the displays. “Pintxos” literally means “spike,” and each of the pieces of bread with toppings are stuck with a toothpick. It helps to hold the food together, and then the bartender counts them on your plate and charges you accordingly.

In the tavern where we ate, there were lots of pintxos options, and most had fish. Common toppings include hake, cod, anchovy, but I preferred a pintxos with smoked salmon and a dollop of sauerkraut, or something like it, on top. Other options were olives, stuffed peppers, croquettes, and tortilla de patatas. Don’t be fooled by the name though… “tortilla” in Barcelona is nothing like our tortillas at home. It’s actually an omelet. Pintxos are great if you’re hungry for something small (like we were before the FC Barcelona game last night), and also an interesting way for groups of friends or family to crawl around the town from one place to the next.

Today was a rather busy day, and we finished it off with churros con chocolata at home. Wowsers. After the major injection of sugar, we’re trying desperately to stay awake for the Superbowl tonight. It starts at midnight, and we’re going to a place called Obama Bar to watch it. How ironic is that?

Barcelona was really fabulous, and in the short time I was here, I did a lot. I attended the soccer game last night against Getafe, we hiked up to Park Güell today for a picnic of Iberian ham sandwiches and had views of the entire city, and then we rented bikes and cruised along the boardwalk and all around the city center. Tomorrow morning, we’ll make a quick stop at Boqueria Market, and then it’s off to the airport in Girona. Barcelona…you have been great to me, and I will undoubtedly be back for paella, soccer, mojitos, tequila shots with orange slices and “canarella” (inside joke), and of course, more of those fantastic pintxos and sangria.

Next Stop: Granada

Cooking Class #3: Co-Queen of the Chateau Cuisine

2010-02-05T09:17:00.000-08:00

Trains, planes, and automobiles. I’ve logged time in all three this last week, and today was no different. In fact, I’m on train #2 today after spending the afternoon cooking with Suzanne Bourdais at Chateau Lavergne outside of Bordeaux. My train from Paris arrived early this morning. Quelle chance! And after an amazing day in Suzanne’s enchanting French kitchen overlooking the countryside, I should have known my luck was bound to run thin.

The train I’m on now from Bordeaux to Toulouse was delayed for whatever reason. Had I been able to hear the announcement over the coughing, flat-topped seatmates of mine, perhaps I could have deciphered the reasoning in French. The only thing making this delay more manageable is the dog standing in the aisle looking longingly for his owner who just went to the bar car. That’s right--dogs are allowed on the trains in France. Pack your bags, Henri…we’re moving.

Suzanne was the most gracious of gracious hosts and more and more, I feel like I‘m winning the Google lottery with the people I‘ve been meeting on this trip. She picked me up from the train station, and we were at her Chateau in about ten minutes flat. We drove in past a small vineyard, a few out buildings (I’d find out later their purposes), and into the porte cochere at the entrance. I would be co-queen of the chateau’s cuisine for the day. “Cuisine” is French for “kitchen” in case you were curious.

The house was magnificent. It is styled in the manor of Napoleon III from the Second French Empire, which combines functionality with design. As she flung open the door, rooms flowed into adjacent rooms, yet each section had its purpose. It looked like a living museum, although the flat-screen TV was a giveaway that someone resided there. The kitchen, however, was a modern marvel replete with a wood-burning fireplace that stared back at whoever was manning the helm (the stove). Yet the Style Napoleon III was well-preserved in this room as well, as it was in the rest of the buildings on the property. Suzanne has a dedicated building with a demonstration kitchen for her classes, dining space for her students or groups that rent her facilities, an indoor pool, and a rentable space for events. That’s right ladies-- you can have your wedding at Chateau Lavergne! Word of caution: it‘s booked about a year in advance.

Inside, Suzanne and I put together an aesthetic lunch salad (vous mangez avec les yeux d’abbord) with concentric circles of carpaccio-style potatoes, mache, sliced mushroms, and paper-thin slices of magré du canard fumé (smoked duck breast). We topped it with a homemade vinaigrette. Simple. Marvelous. The duck wasn’t having much luck in our kitchen today because our plat principal also involved the billed species, only this time, we turned our focus to the legs. Suzanne keeps a mason jar of duck fat on her kitchen counter to cook with; I will be keeping a mason jar on mine from this point forward. Over low heat, she cooked the duck legs in fat until they were tender, not dry.

In the meantime, we sautéed diced red onions in butter with a bit of cinnamon. These were so good. They formed the base in our buttered casserole dish, and the duck legs were proudly perched atop. We deglazed the onion pan with a bit of vinegar (stand back, or you’ll get a horrific smelling facial), and added in two tablespoons of honey. This popped a bit at the beginning, so again, another time to be alert so you don‘t get burned. After the sauce reduced and thickened a bit into a carmelized mixture, we added in some chicken stock, dropped in the dates, and poured it over the casserole. We both agreed that had we added more chicken stock at the pan stage, the sauce would have been a bit better consistency and not have thickened up quite so much as we finished the dish in the oven. She prepared a bit of long-grain rice to accompany our chicken dish, however, potatoes or a root vegetable purée would have been nice too. The dish was finished with a sprinkling of toasted almonds, and although mostly comprised of sweet ingredients, was a perfect mélange of salty and sweet.

I think I’ve eaten more duck this week than I have in my life, but in true culinary argumentation, I learned today that duck fat is proven to be fairly healthy. I hope that’s true, because after one week in France, j’adore le canard. We ended our meal with a sheep’s milk cheese from the Pyrenées region of France, quite near Spain. Traditionally, this cheese is eaten with black cherry jelly, and when you enter fromageries in the region, there are jars of the jelly in corresponding displays. I had mine with some of Suzanne’s homemade fig jam, and it was fresh and fabulous.

We washed this all down with a 2005 Bordeaux (excellent year for Bordeaux’s, by the way), and then headed out to the city of the same name to look around before my train departed on a schedule all its own. I guess traveling is a bit like cooking in that you have to be flexible because things don’t always go as planned. I’ll get to Toulouse a bit late tonight, but if I know my friend there, he’ll have sangria waiting for me at the train station (if he hasn‘t finished it all himself waiting).

Chateau Lavergne
Suzanne Bourdais
http://www.chateau-lavergne.com/

Next Stop: Toulouse

Cooking Class #2: Ecole Ritz Escoffier

2010-02-03T08:20:00.000-08:00

I had my 2nd cooking class yesterday at Ecole Ritz Escoffier. It was abbreviated compared to my course on Saturday, but a great value at €55 and I feel like I learned a lot. It was more demonstration-based than my other class, but also hands-on enough. And while most of the class was conducted in French, which I'm proud to report I understood for the most part, they had another chef translate. Our class consisted of about 10 people, and all but three of us were French. The other two gentlemen were from Mississippi, where I learned that Viking has a cooking school. The Hopscotch may need to head south, it would seem!

Our menu was Saffron Risotto with Gambas & Parmesan Tiles. What on earth are gambas, you ask? Don't worry-- I asked my French friend the same thing at the lunch table. It looked like a steroidal shrimp, but evidently, it's probably more closely identified as a crawfish. Where were the men from Mississippi on that one?

Risotto often scares the daylights out of people. Incidentally, it's not that difficult, but does require attention. Before I get to that, though, I'll tell you about our prep work. The nice thing about this course was that our chef focused a bit on knife skills at the start, and after beheading more sea creatures, she taught us the proper way to slice and dice onions. I was pretty elated because my longitudinal/latitudinal method for dicing onions was exactly the way she taught it. What I didn't realize was that inserting the knife and pulling it towards you makes things ten times easier (instead of rocking forward and pushing down), and also reduces the amount of gases released, which results in onions making people cry. It was a tear-free endeavor.

After we got everything prepped, we moved over to the stove. Here, we sauteed red onions in olive oil, and salted them so they would sweat. After, we added in the dry, Arborio rice, and toasted it for a bit before adding a rather large jug of white wine (the pot was the size of a traditional paella pan). That reduced, and after, we ladled in chicken stock until it was absorbed, and then finished by seasoning it with salt, pepper, and saffron, and binding it with parmesan cheese. The entire process took about 20 minutes from raw Arborio rice to al dente risotto.

Quick tip: If you're pressed for time and would like to have risotto at dinner, you can fast forward the cooking by making it earlier in the day. Count for eight minutes after the first ladle of stock, and remove it from the heat and let it cool down. This will result in carry-over cooking. To finish it just before you're ready to serve it, put it back on the stove and add additional ladles of stock for six minutes. This means you're only standing at the stove for six minutes before dinner instead of eighteen.

In the background, other students made parmesan tiles for the plating. I've made these before, and they're a simple and elegant way to dress-up a plate of food. You simply spread grated parmesan cheese in thin clusters on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper, and bake it at 400F for about five minutes. Remove them from the oven, and before they cool, remove the tiles with a flat spatula and form them on something round, like a bottle of beer. As they cool, they'll hold their shape, and they're an edible accoutrement to any plate.

After we learned the proper way to plate our risotto (you eat with your eyes first), we were whisked into a cute little dining room where we nestled in and ate. There was red wine, white wine, sparkling water, and still, and for those caffeine-initiated people, coffee after. It was so much fun to chat in French with the rest of my class (minus the Mississippi men...they were at the other end of the table, so I represented the Francophile U.S.). All in all, the class lasted about 1.5 hours, and after chatting through lunch with an older French gentleman who received the class as a Christmas gift from his son, I said my goodbyes and purchased a gold whisk keychain from the school.

For a day, I was a student at the famous Ritz. Pretty glamorous, huh?

Ecole Ritz Escoffier
www.ritzparis.com

Next Stop: Cooking Class #3 at Chateaux Lavergne in Bordeaux Tomorrow

Can You Meet Me Halfway?

2010-02-03T07:38:00.000-08:00

Part of traveling is meeting people, especially when you're traveling alone like I am. I've had good fortune on this trip to Paris. I met up with a friend in St. Germain for a beer on Monday night, and we talked about his upcoming wedding(s) in Brazil and Loire, among other things. And then, I headed to Buddha Bar and onto Hotel de Crillon to meet up with the fabulous group in the photo.

I met Pranay and Shavanee (they're just behind me in the photo) in my cooking class last Saturday, just before they got engaged at the Eiffel Tower! Johanna, the other woman in the photo, is friends of someone that Pranay works with in Santa Clara, and her beau is a French photographer. As such, Pranay had arranged to have them inconspicuously photograph the engagement, so they all met to exchange a CD with the pictures, and I joined them. I saw one of the photos on his iPhone; it made me cry. I had known these people for 48 hours, at best, and felt like we were old friends.

My point is: no matter where you are in the world, if you're open-minded, you will find friends. In fact, just today, I got an email from one of the girls from The Bachelor. She's in Paris today too, so as we criss-crossed paths in the Marais that I spoke about the other day, we settled on having dinner together tonight. When they say it's a small world, they mean it. I wonder who I'll run into next?

Le Marais

2010-02-01T06:32:00.000-08:00

The metro is like a warp zone. I descended in one climate today, and ascended in quite another. Look at the picture on the left...it was tough to capture, but the woman behind me and I could hardly contain our laughter as we ascended to the street on the escalator and saw a blizzard before us. That's not rain; it's enormous snowflakes that accompanied me and my umbrella down Blvd. St. Germain until I ducked into a cafe.

So much for that Fat Tire bike tour today...

Instead, I waited for the storm to pass, and after walking down to Marche St. Germain, I took the metro again up to where the Soundwalk tour I had downloaded for my iPod started. It cost €5, and provided a private tour of shops, restaurants, and historic sites in Le Marais. "Le Marais" in French means "the marsh," and this area is one of the lowest in the city, and very close to the Seine. As such, it's predisposed to flooding, which is how it got its name.

It is also the Jewish quarter, which is evidenced by the many falafel shops on Rue des Rosiers. It smelled fantastic. The walk traced the route of a fictitious singer who had an audition at Place de Vosges and had lost her walkman with her tape. With my iPod strapped on, she led me around the Marais to various cafes, bookstores, theatres, and even the bar I had looked up where they do magic tricks. It was closed today or I would have put the tour on pause for a bit.

The tour was impeccably timed, and my walking pace matched the narrator's to a tee. I would arrive at the intersections when it was time to turn, and often be directly in front of the addresses she was referencing. It was also cool how one of the stops was an enclosed courtyard, but she gave me the code to open it up and get inside. Evidently, it was where her mother lived. Je ne sais pas si il est vrai.

The weather improved as the day went on, and this was a fun way to see a part of the city I was very unfamiliar with...until now. Tonight, I'm meeting a friend for a drink back in St. Germain, and then some friends from my cooking class at the Buddha Bar near Hotel de Crillon. Fingers crossed the ascent at the Mabillon metro is more favorable.

Tomorrow: Cooking class number two at Ecole Ritz Escoffier.

Just Another Sunday in Paris

2010-01-31T13:23:00.000-08:00

Today was a little bit random. I didn't have anything solid planned culinary-wise, so I slept in and then blazed my own trail around Paris. For two days now, I’ve been on the prowl for a particular spice shop that has alluded me, so I figured I'd give it one more go. It's still out there...somewhere. You can run little spice shop, but you can’t hide-- I WILL find you. When I finally gave up, I kept walking and bumped into Marche aux Enfants Rouge. It is a pretty small outdoor market with a decent amount of food stalls. I didn’t need anything, but poked around and noticed all of the little enclosures off the stalls with tables. They were all packed, and I presume the patrons were noshing on what they had bought at the market.

From there, I continued on my way. After figuring I was nowhere near the spice shop (that‘s just a guess), I turned around and saw Cirque D’Hiver in the distance. It was time for it to start, so I walked down and got a ticket for €10. The ring was micro compared to Ringling Bros, where I haven’t been in probably 20 years, but the talent was phenomenal. My palms started to sweat when the trapeze artists did their thing, and these three acrobat men did a bit that required the strength of a bevy of Clydesdales. That would be them in the picture on the left. I digress…this has nothing to do with food.

After the circus, I pulled up Google Maps and discovered I was really close to Breizh Café. I knew it was open on Sundays, and despite telling myself I wouldn’t buy any food today, I couldn’t resist. Breizh is rumored to have some of the best buckwheat crepes in all of Paris, and I would completely agree. I had a jambon (ham) and fromage (cheese) crepe and a glass of white wine, and stopping in was a wise decision. Further validating this detour was the fact that Pain de Sucre was just around the corner.

In December, Budget Travel ran a culinary advent calendar of Paris where they featured a different place each day. That’s how I found out about Pain de Sucre, and also about the boulangerie later on. Here, they have macarons and gourmet marshmallows, and while I’ve managed to restrain myself from the macarons (salted carmel and chocolate mint), I couldn’t resist biting into the pistachio marshmallow I purchased. O.M.D (Dieu). Silky. Savory. Sweet.

Update: I inhaled the salted carmel macaron after dinner tonight, and it was the best portable dessert I've ever tasted.

Heading back to Montmartre, I exited the metro at Abbesses. It’s one of the oldest and deepest metros in Paris, and still has the original Guimard style glass covering. It’s one of only two left that do, Port Dauphine being the other. It’s also a hop, skip and a jump from Coqueliocot, a fantastic boulangerie also featured on Budget Travel's Paris blog. There, I picked up a piccola baguette, and promptly ate half of it on the walk home. It was fluffy on the inside, and crusty on the outside. In other words, parfait.

People always wonder how French women eat like they do (and I did today) and don’t get fat. Let me tell you…it’s the stairs in the metros and in Montmartre. So much for not buying anything today. After all that walking (and climbing), I decided, I earned it.

Tomorrow: Fat Tire Bike Tour

Cooking Class #1: Brangelina. Broccoflower. And Sausage Cheese.

2010-01-31T12:36:00.000-08:00

Paris is literally bustling around me right now. A certain someone suggested I head to Place de la Concorde and type my next blog from here. So, here I am…sitting in the park off Place de la Concorde (I opted out of dodging traffic to get to the fountain) writing. It’s a clear and brisk day in Paris, but the sun keeps making an appearance. Sitting on park bench being flanked by Hotel Crillon to the left, where my new favorite cookbook is from, and the Eiffel Tower to the right is hardly torture.

Yesterday, I survived my first cooking class in Montmartre. I woke up and walked down to the Jules Joffrin metro to meet up with my class, and found my instructor (from Los Angeles) with her green shopping cart, three other Americans, and two Aussies. It was a fantastic group! We got started right away on a super market sweep like that of my last blog post, only this time, our Sherpa provided tons of inside information, truly breaking down the last bit of apprehension that any of us had shopping in this style.

We visited a traditional boucher where we bought our meat (we also stopped for a brief moment in front of a horse meat butcher…there are only about 40 left in Paris), a cheese shop where we learned about the layout of the store (it’s intentional…the strongest cheeses are kept at the front for ventilation reasons), a fishmonger, a fruit and vegetable market, and finally, a boulangerie with an oven so old, when it breaks, the stores closes down for weeks at a time while the part is retrieved from some obscure place in France. The bread was to die for.

The menu was completely up to our group, and we decided on some things that were outside of our cooking comfort zones. To start, we beheaded and cleaned langoustines, and removed the nerve and egg sacks from fresh scallops. We seered the scallops and sautéed the langoustines, and served those with a confit of fennel and onions, alongside a sauce we made from the langoustine shells and cream (have no fear-- we strained them out). Delicious.

Our main meal was constructed from lamb shoulder. As I mentioned before, it’s cold in Paris (it actually snowed during class yesterday), so a stew was the way to go. We browned the lamb, and deglazed the pan with Calvados, an apple liquor, and then into the pool went onions, shallots, carrots, garlic and white wine. The stew simmered for about two hours while we got busy with other things, like the celeriac puree and sautéed romanesco served alongside it. If you’re not familiar with romanesco, check out the picture. It tastes like a cross between broccoli and cauliflower, and is sometimes aptly called, broccoflower.

For our second protein, we chose duck breast, since most of us weren’t familiar with how to cook it. We cleaned up each piece of meat, including trimming away some of the fat and scoring the fatty underside so the fat didn’t bubble up and pucker. Then, we browned them in a dry pan; you wouldn’t believe how much fat rendered off each one. They went into the oven for about seven minutes to finish cooking, resulting in medium rare duck that we served with a red wine reduction. The fat was so crispy and delicious, and the duck tender and mild. It was, in most of our opinions, the star of the show, and I will never shy away from making duck again.

While the stew simmered in the background, we polished off our starters, but not before we separated eggs and extracted vanilla beans for crème brulee. Wowsers. I don’t know what was better: eating it or getting to torch the top. Who says cooking isn’t fun? We also learned about the cheeses we had selected, and the order in which to eat them. It seems rather obvious, but some people forget that you should always eat your strongest cheese (in our case, a bleu) last. That way, the fortitude of the flavor doesn’t alter the taste of the other cheeses. We enjoyed these with our breads from the boulangerie.

I honestly don’t think I have ever eaten so much in my life. There was wine and champagne involved too, and lots of great conversation about Paris, culinary delights, restaurants, Costco, celebrity chefs, and the lives we lead elsewhere. After class, a few of us popped up to the Sacre Coeur to walk off our lunch. It was beyond necessary. The views over Paris from the butte were magnificent, much like our lunch was, and I had fun showing a few of my new friends around Montmartre.

While I knew a lot of what was taught, I also learned a lot in this class, chief among them not to be timid of new ingredients. Adventure is part of a successful kitchen experience, and being able to adapt and roll with the punches is a lesson for life.

Cookn with Class
18th Arrond.- Montmartre
€160/4 Hours Including Market Tour

www.cooknwithclass.com

Next class: Tuesday at L’Ecole Ritz Escoffier

To Market, To Market

2010-01-30T09:21:00.000-08:00

One of the great (and obvious) things about renting an apartment while traveling is the availability of a kitchen. It allows you to take control of your culinary destiny, and also act like a local. Take yesterday for example. Upon arriving, I knew I'd need to make a trip out for food, but what I forgot was how different the experience would be.

In high school French class, I remember learning the words "boulangerie" (bread bakery), "poissonerie" (fish monger), "boucher" (butcher), "fromagerie" (cheese shop), "patisserie" (sweets bakery), and "marche aux legumes et fruits" (vegetable and fruit market). These are all independent entities in France. It seemed so silly at the time--to think that someone would gallivant down the street stopping into each of these different places to purchase their food items. Why wouldn't they just go to Ralphs or something?

The truth is, while it may be a bit more time-consuming to shop this way, it's really quite charming and enjoyable, and the food seems to be fresher. The shops are all tiny, and in some cases, have standing room only, but that's all you need as you pop in for a baguette, a bag of potatoes, or a portion of brie. It also means they don't have enough back-stock to compensate should something nuclear occur, hence, the farm to market phenomenon, whereby the farm ends up on your table and the prices remain affordable. Sure, they have "supermarkets" here, but it's a loose translation and they more closely resemble a 7-11, in my opinion. Charming? Hardly. In fact, normal "supermarkets" are not allowed in the 20 arrondisements at all. Charming? Indeed.

My shopping trip yesterday resulted in a dinner of carmelized onions and brussel sprouts with potatoes, a sautéed breast of chicken, sliced tomato salad, and a glass of rosé. If I had to estimate, I'd say the entire dinner (including wine) set me back about €5 (just shy of $7). Stopping into the markets was fun, and I was also able to practice my French. Schlepping the bags up the vertical stairs in Montmartre in the rain, well, that's another story.

The fruits of my labor...simple and delicious. My kind of meal, indeed.

So Long, Farewell

2010-01-29T08:41:00.000-08:00

I’m sitting on my flight right now typing this from a window seat. My carry-on was ever-so-slightly too tall to fit in the overhead bin despite two men trying to help me, and it was because of a pair of socks or something equally squishy and ironic.

Neither of these things are characteristic of my travel style, so a mini panic attack ensued that consisted mainly of my face turning red when she asked whose bag it was. When carrying it to the front of the plane to have it checked, however, the flight attendants on AA 484 let me put it in the crew baggage/closet area onboard. I didn’t say much. Just a brief lament about how on this very same route a few years back, my bag didn’t make it, and then I giggled at the irony. I think they could sense my distaste for checked luggage because they asked me for my bag and told me it was our secret.

When we took off backwards from SNA, a tear rolled down my cheek, which is also not characteristic of the titanium exterior I like to uphold. But I could see all of Orange County from said window seat, and realized, “Holy hell, I’m not going to see this place for awhile.” Cue Pussycat Dolls ‘I Hate This Part Right Here.’ Leaving this morning was no better. I had to say bye to my parents, my animals (I never did find Tommy to say bye to him), and Brady…the human version. After having his car backed into by a lime green VW Bug when he pulled up, I couldn’t help but thinking it was symbolic. Was this his way of telling me he was smashed I was leaving? These are the types of things I think about when I’m trying to distract myself from getting all worked up. It didn’t work.

It’s hard to believe I’m on an airplane right now bound for a place 12,000+ miles away. For the longest time, this day seemed like it would never get here, until this week, when I could see it on the horizon and wished it was off in the distance somewhere (kind of like the ground from this airplane right now). I feel anxious, excited, sad, eager, manic, confident, and like I could cry at any minute. Does anyone have a Xanax handy? Seat 11E is open next to me, and there are a variety of people I wish were sitting in it. The reality is, I’m flying solo. And I’ve got a lot of days, hours, and minutes to fill before I’m sitting next to someone on my return flight home from Istanbul.

The beverage cart is approaching, and I’m going to grab some water and hydrate. It’s going to be a long flight to CDG from DFW, and I’m hoping the two aisle seats flanking my middle one (yet another move I never make) are open so I can sprawl out for the flight. After a trip to the Admirals Club for my requisite red wine and Tylenol PM cocktail, I’m going to put January 28th behind me. I always say I don’t like even numbers, and I’ll be honest-- I’m not a huge fan of this day. Perhaps, that’s why I’m returning on lucky number 13 (of May). Finally, something that makes sense!

Up, up, and away...Project Culinary Hopscotch is underway.

Preliminary Thoughts...

2010-01-19T11:53:00.000-08:00

Here it is: Post #1. It casually violates the spirit of things being that I'm sitting in California typing this and this blog is about my impending travels in Europe. But I've been getting a lot of questions about how I feel now that I'm leaving so soon, and I thought this might be a fun post to look back on in May when this adventure is said and done.

People have asked me if I'm nervous. I'm not. Well, to be fair, I guess I am a little nervous. But more so about spending all of my money during my first week in Paris than I am about getting sold into slavery in a former Soviet Bloc country, if that's what people are asking. I actually feel pretty prepared. I've been to quite a few of these places before, and the ones I've yet to grace my presence with have been on my wish-list for a long time. I've done my research, spent countless hours on Fodors, and I've asked a million questions that have been met with thorough answers. My spreadsheet(s) and Evernote are overflowing with information. My Blackberry will function abroad. I'm going to live to tell about this.

Some things are booked, and some things are not. That is hard for me. I'm a planner through and through, and leaving things to chance means there's still time for a minor panic attack. I'm not packed yet at eight days out (I keep getting asked that question too), but it won't be time-intensive. You'd believe me if you saw the size bag I'm taking. When I land, I know that "All Trains Go to Paris," and where to find my apartment because this stay will equal a hat-trick. And I have enough planned the first week to distract me from the fact that I'm approximately 12,260 miles away from the people (and animals) that I love back home.

Spending three+ months on the road in Europe is something I always saw on the big screen in my head, but never thought it would materialize. Work. Obligations. Bills. They have a way of rising to the top of people's lists like foam does on a cappuccino. I don't like cappuccino though. And I don't like those other things either. So, instead of daydreaming well into my 40's about how I could've, should've, and didn't, I made a choice to take the fork in the road that a lot of people wouldn't. Months have gone into the preparation of this culinary crusade, as I like to call it, and it's all coming to fruition a week from Thursday. Aiyee. I mean, yippee.

Okay, you got me...maybe I am a little nervous.

Destination #1: Paris

2009-10-14T12:31:00.001-07:00

January 29th- February 4th, 2010