Starting today, the Paris farmers’ markets are “en fête,” which means they’re celebrating with music, photo contests, and all sorts of fun goings-on.

When I get back from the market, I think I’ll make my “Buddha Bowl,” a cold rice-noodle salad piled with fresh, raw vegetables. I’ve been calling this dish “Buddha Bowl” for no apparent reason, except that it sounds cute- and I always seem to feel that much more “zen” after eating one. I naively thought this pet name was my own little invention, until I just googled it (I’m chuckling since I just used “google” as a verb). Apparently, a whole slew of bloggers have a plate-less recipe with the same name and, worse… it’s an actual bowl that one can buy! Since I’m more or less addressing the subject of “enlightenment,” I’d prefer to stay in my own little world and pretend it’s just mine- my interpretation of it in any case.

For my “Buddha Bowl,” I make a three-ingredient sauce, using orange juice and agave nectar as the secret ingredients. The orange juice gives a slight citrus taste and the nectar sweetens it just enough.

For the toppings, you can obvious choose whatever you like. For me, ripe avocado and carrot ribbons are an absolute must.

Shopping List

Vermicelli rice noodles

Tofu (cubed)

Sesame oil (one splash for two people)

Soy sauce (two splashes for two people)

Sesame and sunflower seeds (small handfuls)

Red pepper flakes

Carrot ribbons (made by using a vegetable peeler)

Cucumber (diced)

Lettuce

Bean sprouts

Cashews

Cilantro (or coriander)

For the sauce (two people):

2 tablespoons orange juice

2 tablespoons soy sauce

¾ teaspoon agave nectar

Recipe:

1. Stir-fry the tofu (until it’s golden brown) in the sesame oil, soy sauce and red pepper flakes. Just before the tofu is done, add the sesame and sunflower seeds so they will be slightly grilled, but not burnt.

2. Chop and prepare all the cold ingredients.

3. Cook the rice noodles and rinse in cold water* (move around under the faucet with a fork or your fingers to separate them). Shake excess water out of the colander and let sit a minute.

4. Prepare the sauce by combing the three ingredients and stirring.

5. Place noodles in bowls and cover with about half the sauce. Add the tofu, the veggies and then the remaining sauce. Decorate with the cashews and cilantro.

*The package always says to soak the rice noodles in water, but I’ve never been successful doing this. I just boil them like regular pasta (but only for about a minute- you have to taste) and immediately run them under cold water. Don’t let them cook too long or they’ll get mushy.

This is the perfect dish for a hot day, as the tofu can be prepared ahead of time and served cold.

Some exotic spice, no?  The one that giddily finds its way into Indian and Thai cookbooks; the one I’d always ignored.  Until my most recent cooking adventure, I’d always skipped that part of the recipe, replacing the unknown with the familiar.  I only ever thought freshly squeezed lime juice could be my accomplice in Pad Thai crime.  I knew this friendly fruit could easily replace the so-called “tamarind,” and at least I knew where it came from and what tang it’d give my noodles.

That’s where my story starts, actually- with my trip to the Paris-based Asian grocery store, Tang Frère (*see note below), to buy the ingredients for one of my all-time favorites: homemade Pad Thai. There I was buying bean sprouts, leafy greens, hot chili sauce, carrots, rice noodles, lime- you name it- all those ingredients I usually buy to make my dish.  Yes, there I was, minding my business, when I looked up and saw a stack of bright red boxes marked “sweet tamarind.” Wow, I thought.  It really exists.  And it’s here in France, in front of me.  And, wow, it’s a… fruit?  That ‘s funny, whatever it is, it’s in a… it’s in a pod- a strange little four-inch brown pod. In my moment of folly, I didn’t know anything from anything, except that “tamarind paste” must come from this “tamarind” fruit.  Decided: If I was going to make Pad Thai, I was going to make it “the real way.”  My very spontaneous idea was first to make tamarind paste.

As I learned, tamarind is a fruit that grows on a tamarind tree. The outside, indeed, is a curvy, bumpy pod which is filled with large seeds, a fibrous spine and, of course, pulp. Normally, tamarind is fairly acidic, getting sweeter as it ripens.  The ripe pulp can be eaten just like that or, after being made into a paste, can be used in cooking.  Tamarind contributes to the sweet/sour taste in a variety of recipes; popular in India, it’s one of the main ingredients in chutney, for example.

Cracking open my first pod and tasting the pulp, I was reminded of a date- a similar chewy, sticky texture and a similar dark red/brown color.  Thus, my problem: I thought tamarind was supposed to be acidic.  This was quite sweet.

I forged on and tried using a few different (intuitive) methods of making my tamarind paste. I tried soaking the peeled whole in boiling water, then picking through the seeds and fibers and crushing the pulp through a sieve.  But, it was too liquid, tasted like water and was too sweet.  Then I tried again, with less water, at room temperature.  (I know, there was no “constant” in my experiment- very bad).  This time, my paste was too thick and still too sweet.  I reminded myself I had bought “sweet tamarind” from Thailand and began to wonder if maybe there were other kinds. Then I realized I had no idea what tamarind paste was supposed to taste like or what the consistency should be.

In short, I ended up resorting back to my lime for that evening’s Pad Thai.  I’m not finished with this one, though!  Next task: find some sample tamarind paste (apparently, it’s sold either as a block that has to be prepared or ready-made in a jar).  Then, back to the tamarind pods (once I figure out if I can find some sour ones!), finger smooshing and sieving.

Anyone know more about tamarind and making the paste from scratch?

*Tang Frère is an Asian grocery store not to be missed.  It has two locations in Paris: 168, Avenue de Choisy (13^th arrondissement, China Town) and 41, Rue Labrouste (15^th arrondissement).  Although both will entice you with an array of not-so-common products, the China Town location is the largest and most well-known.  Fresh tofu, rice paper wrappers for spring rolls, wasabi…

I was planning on writing more about fish today, but have gotten a bit side-tracked thanks to the

This morning I set out to discover a new farmers’ market in a neighborhood that I don’t know very well, and… what a treat!

Located in the 16th arrondissement, this food market finds its home twice a week (Wednesday and Saturday mornings) on avenue du Président-Wilson, between rue Debrousse and place d’Iéna.  I discovered the market thanks to a great little book, Cuisiner comme un chef à Paris by Corinne Lacoste.  Armed with a few canvas shopping bags and 30 euros, I got off at metro stop Iéna, curious about what I might find.  At first sight, the market looked like any other, two lines of discolored white awnings paving the way down the center margin of the street.  Once I eyed the first stands, however, I knew this market was different than the others I’ve been to in Paris so far.  The fruits, veggies and various other delicacies all shouted quality and originality.  I always take it as a good sign when the bell peppers and tomatoes come in awkward shapes and unique hues.  Since it’s both the middle of the week and les grandes vacances (summer vacation) there weren’t too many customers; the atmosphere was calm and relaxed- not the usual Parisian market!  Nevertheless, a line of friendly, talkative vendors smiled behind each stand.  I wandered from booth to booth looking, gaping and asking questions.  I was enticed by both the sellers’ recommendations and the products themselves.

What did I end up with? While I was tempted by almost everything, there were a few things I just couldn’t pass up.  I was especially amused by the display of unusual colors and bought a bagful of purple potatoes- perfect for either a summer salad or finely-sliced chips, the vendor told me.

Since I’d started off on a purple theme (though I quickly deviated), I was pulled toward an enticing stand with a wide array of natural violet shades, from eggplants to choux-raves (kohlrabies, also known as turnip cabbages).  This was Joel Thiebault’s vegetable stand and quickly became one of my favorites.  How could I not enjoy buying a mini purple cauliflower and a bunch of happy-looking squash blossoms from the same maraîcher that supplies the well-known chef Pierre Gagnaire?  According to my little book, Thiebault’s produce is sought after by Gagnaire and other renowned Parisian chefs.  My squash blossoms (whose fragrance instantly took me back to my childhood in New Mexico) were carefully wrapped up in brown paper and handed to me like a bouquet of delicate flowers.  The young woman who was helping me also assisted me in choosing from an endless variety of mysterious-looking tomatoes. I ended up with three sorts: one green, one red and several tiny ones (red, yellow and greenish-red).  I promise to take better note of the names next time!

I always appreciate the chalk-board signs hanging above the products at open-air markets.  They give the name, price and where the product comes from.  Whenever possible I buy local, both for the environment and to support community farmers.  At this market it was no problem finding a wide array of French-grown produce.

Fresh brown eggs, organic peaches, chives, spicy Tunisian-style olives, small round Portuguese breads… Oh, I can’t forget the salt.

The last items I picked up were two bags of sel de Guérande.  This is natural sea salt that is harvested in the marshes of the Guérande peninsula in Southern Brittany.  It’s rather course and collected by hand using traditional methods.  Sel de Guérande is especially well-known for its high concentration of magnesium and low concentration of sodium.  The vendor, Lutetia, proposes a large variety of salt products.  I ended up with a package of salt mixed with different herbs, including basil, rosemary and sarriette (savory).  I was told it would be useful in cooking such things as fish and vegetable stocks, or for use in salads.  Last, a tiny package of sel à la cannelle (cinnamon) winked at me and jumped in my bag- I told it no, but it insisted!

In simple words, the Marché Président-Wilson is a place for rare-finds and high quality.  I’ve already dug into my yellow and red-green tomatoes- full of just-off-the-vine flavor and dripping with sweet juice.

Now for the big question: What am I going to do with the rest of my market treasures?  My head’s already swarming with ideas…

What would goat-cheese filled squash blossoms à la cannelle be like?